#that they would lose their homes and livelihoods and if they didn’t get the fuck out of there right then they might also lose their lives

[whereimnotme]

Photo taken during climate action protest in Canberra, January 2020, featuring another of ScoMo’s tone deaf quotes - ‘thankfully we’ve had no loss of life’ - from that ill-fated small town PR tour.

"Yes, two, that's quite right. I was thinking about firefighters really," said Morrison, before expressing his "sincere condolences" for the 27 lives lost during the ongoing disaster.

Officially, 33 people were ultimately killed directly by fires that summer with another estimated 445 people dying from smoke inhalation.

Meanwhile the PM fucked off to Hawaii on holiday.

I am still incandescent with rage.

I just spent some time scrolling through this blog and am suffering from sever laughter. Thanks so much for collating the countries craziest moments. One of my favourites is when Scott Morrison was in Hawaii while the bushfires where burning.

December 2019: As Australia's east coast is engulfed in the worst bushfires in living memory, rumours begin to circulate that Australia's Prime Minister Scott Morrison may have secretly fucked off for a holiday in Hawaii.

Keep in mind, this is what is going down in Australia at the time:

The Hawaii rumour is initially written off as a fringe conspiracy, because surely nobody could be that fuckin tonedeaf, and it was quickly forgotten about... until an Australian man visiting Hawaii UPLOADED A SELFIE ON THE BEACH WITH THE PM THROWING A SHAKA.

At which point all hell broke loose.

Overnight the formerly popular "Scomo" became the most despised man in all of Australia. Think "firefighters shouting out of their windows to news cameras" level of despised.

After about two days of radio silence and pretending like he was still at home running the country, the Prime Minister's handlers finally dragged him onto call with an Australian radio station, where he pinky promised to return to Australia as fast as he could in an attempt to calm things down.

Unfortunately Scott's empathy consultant (a real job) then had to watch Scott pour more gasoline on the dumpster fire by uttering the now famous phrase "Look I don't hold a hose mate" when asked by the radio interviewer why the fucking fuck the fuckhead wasn't fucking in Australia doing his fucking job during a massive fucking crisis.

Testing just how much worse things could get, Scomo then proceeded to NOT rush back to Australia as promised, instead attempting to complete the rest of his holiday, a fact that was exposed when a passerby snapped a picture of him still lounging on the beach two days later.

Eventually, holiday complete, Morrison did reluctantly slink back to Australia, and in an attempt to calm things down, he decided to pay a visit to a small town that had been destroyed by the fires.

Which was a big mistake.

Scomo still had not registered how absolutely and totally he had screwed the poodle with his Hawaiian beach vacation, and he walks into what is now taught in PR classes as one of the greatest examples of "what not do do in a crisis" in all of history.

Scotty from Marketing, as he is now dubbed by the nation, spends a painfully cringe-inducing hour wandering around a burned down town with TV news cameras in tow, having to FORCE PEOPLE TO SHAKE HIS HAND in what is some of the most awkward footage you will ever see.

At this point it's probably also worth mentioning that, before becoming Prime Minister, Scott Morrison's biggest claim to fame in politics was being the guy that was so far up the coal lobby's arse that he literally brought coal into parliament and waved it around, claiming it doesn't hurt people.

So when a protest was organised it turned out to be one big national fuck you to the Prime Minister, the likes of which the world has never seen before or since.

Needless to say, at this point Scomo's career was dead in the water, but thanks to the rules brought in to stop Australian political parties from knifing their leader every two weeks (a popular Aussie passtime) Morrison basically couldn't get fired until after the next election.

And so, when the election rolled around in 2022, we decided that was an opportune time to travel over to Hawaii to erect this bad boy tribute to the Prime Minister, on the very beach where Scomo had sat and drank margaritas that one fateful week in December as Australia burned (thanks to @chaser for funding the ticket)

[rynfiles]

want u around !

✎ᝰ — post breakups with the blue lock boys

★ — oliver aiku, rensuke kunigami, sae itoshi x gn!reader

★ — genre + warnings: angst + literally all the boys fucked up, ooc for sae (sort of)

The morning rises and Oliver awakens from his slumber, mainly because of his dark-furred border collie, Ella. But also from the recent, recurring, dream, one that brought him peace but also drifted him from reality. You both were dressed comfortably, lounging on the rooftop of his apartment, and enjoying the starry night. You both talk of the future, his soccer career, family, personal thoughts, and just about anything to avoid silence and to say what you truly want to say, that you love him. You were nervous; nervous laughter instead of joyful, clammy hands, playing with the ends of your hair, anxiousness rising, you were a frazzled mess. Oliver took notice and asked if you were okay, instead of responding “normally”, you exploded your heart onto him and told him you love him. Your emotions flooded your brain and mouth, and instead of stopping after the confession, you spewed out how your heart beats for Oliver, how your body yearns for him, your heart tugs at even the thought of him, just everything you’ve held in for the night.

Now his body yearns for you, his head hurts and his heart aches at you being the missing piece from his life. He wishes he didn’t screw up, he wishes your feelings of anger and hatred, he replaced with love and nurture, he just wishes that he had done right. He wishes for you to still be around.

The large double doors open, indicating that the Blue Lock players are released from the facility for a small break. It’s been a gruesome year, some suffered more than others, but it wasn’t the worst the boys have handled. Especially for Kunigami, his world shattered on multiple occasions and his heart was ripped from his chest as well. Not only did he lose a spot in the Blue Lock project but also lost one of the most important people in his life, the love of his life.

As the young male continues to exit, and says his goodbyes to his friends and teammates, he looks around for his parents, and you as well. Now he’s very aware of the certain circumstances between you and him, but that doesn’t stop him from having at least a sliver of hope. He’s praying and begging that you would be next to his parents and hug him tightly, he’s hoping that you’re there to greet him with your warm smile, he’s hoping for some kind of inkling of your presence. Hope is what is keeping his head held high but as he gets closer to the parking lot and finds his parent’s car, anxiety starts to replace that hope. It heightens once his parents spot him and exit the car, but you don’t.

Kunigami's brain starts thinking that maybe you were too busy to come with, maybe you forgot the date, or maybe you actually don’t care anymore. No, it couldn’t be that there’s no way you no longer have care for him, you said you love him. The breakup couldn’t have been that bad that you completely erased him, there’s just no way. Kunigami opens his phone and opens your messages, he sends a text but it doesn’t send. He panics and calls you but it goes straight to voicemail, he tries again yet the same result. He tries to call and text, yet the same message is repeated over and over again.

Kunigami soon becomes frustrated and realizes that you really have erased him from your life.

As he enters his home, Sae sighs heavily from the escape of the paparazzi. Usually, he just ignores him but he has dug too deep into his sorrows and tries every way to avoid them, not even having enough energy to throw a snarky comment at them.

Since that conversation, Sae’s emotions have been running rampant and they’ve been affecting his livelihood, as well as his playing skills. Thankfully, he can play it off and have no one notice but that doesn’t stop his mind from wandering to the last few words that were said and how you walked away teary-eyed. Soon enough, his mind becomes hazy and he misses a shot or incorrectly executes a play, but instantly saves it. Some of his teammates have noticed but don’t dwell on it since they know how Sae can be.

He drags himself to his room, half expecting you to be there and half expecting an empty bed. He plops himself on his bed and immediately starts cursing himself, getting angry at his sloppy plays, getting angry for even wanting to care, angry at allowing himself to become who he became, and just angry at himself. He’s frustrated at how he let fame and recognition change him to hurt his lover, the love of his life, the one thing that brought light to his mundane, cyclical life.

He promised himself to not mess this one thing up, this one thing of perfection, the one thing that he genuinely enjoyed. Yet, he did exactly that. But what did he expect? He’s Sae Itoshi, the man who’d rather put soccer over everything and who would rather tend to himself than to his loved ones. He tried, truly, but even that wasn’t enough to stop you from leaving. Nothing of him could stop him from leaving you and he may as well sit in that truth.

★ I had a completely different idea for these boys but why not write some angst ;p

★ hope you guys enjoy my first post here <3. lemme know which one is your fav !

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: matthew 5:10

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗋𝗒𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[starseedpatriot]

I have no patience for you trolls that don’t understand why Trump had to push the jab anymore. I really don’t. And I’m not apologizing for it either.

#1 Had he not done so, he would have been labeled an enemy of the people for not providing a vaccine. He also would have been immediately attacked harder than ever, and then immediately impeached. For fuck sake, they attacked him for talking about the things that did work, how the hell do you think they would have acted had he come out against the vaccine???

#2 Had he not done that, we’d still be in lockdowns. We’d still have mask mandates, and half the damn country would still be at home.

#3 Pay attention to this one. Read it twice, even - HE MADE SURE IT STAYED UNDER AN EUA - THUS ENSURING THAT IT COULD NOT BE MANDATED ON CITIZENS.

#4 He gave ALL OF US more than enough information on HCQ, Ivermectin and Regeneron. As well as Chlorine Dioxide, Vitamin C, Vitamin D, and Zinc. He literally told the populace about all of that - like a broken record - FOR MONTHS before a fucking vaccine was even mentioned.

#5 No one in this country was forced to take it. Yep. Some private companies mandated it. But ya know what? PEOPLE STILL HAD A CHOICE. Anyone in this country that took the vaccine made the choice to do so. I get that folks were forced to take it or lose their livelihood. I’m empathetic and understanding to that - at the same time, I’m not gonna ignore the fact that even those folks caved to fear and didn’t even offer up the opportunity for God to serve up a new job or career in their lives. For every person I know who took it to save a “job”, I know someone who stood firm in their convictions, denied it, and were lead to better opportunities by a divine hand. I’m sorry, but the vaccine was an ultimate test of faith in this country, and many failed to place their trust and faith in God to see them through, instead choosing to take the jab to stay in their comfort zone. God can’t work for you if you never even give him the chance by not standing within your truth and conviction.

#6 DJT putting Fauci up front shined a spotlight right on him and exposed his shit to exponentially more people than it ever had been before.

#7 DJT told us all from the get go what Covid was, where it came from, and how to treat it. Many, however, still choose to ignore all the above points and ree like school children being told they can’t have a nap.

He literally had no fucking choice. Period. End of story.

[max--phillips]

Idk I’m just thinking about the last time this happened I was still in a pretty shitty place in my life, I was in the midst of my one failed attempt at traditional college, and the concept of a Trump presidency was still just a joke. I remember going to a gathering that night around a fountain on campus and having to talk myself out of getting into a fucking fight with a couple of jackass kids who were making fun of us for being upset. I was 18 staring down 19 and I know I was an idiot then, and so were those kids, and maybe I had hope that those kids changed as much as I have in the last 8 years, but clearly that was wishful thinking.

I couldn’t tell you how I felt that night, frankly, I don’t remember a whole lot beyond big details and the above. I imagine I probably felt a lot like this—hopeless, pissed off, scared. I remember contemplating taking the pride stickers I had on my car at the time off. (RIP that shitty Aveo.)

But I also remember feeling absolutely fucking positive that I was suddenly going to face violence. That I would walk outside to go get lunch or dinner or whatever (because let’s face it, I wasn’t going to class at that point; remember, failed attempt at college) and I’d be harassed or attacked because I was a visibly queer person who people perceived as a woman. But that didn’t happen. Other than the jackasses at the vigil that night, and the other jackasses who interrupted the military swearing in ceremony at the next home football game to scream Trump’s name (which, regardless of how you felt about the election or the military, was inappropriate and rude), I never faced anything. That’s a sort of benefit of being a white person in Indiana, I guess, is that the vast majority of people have a very “mind your own business” approach to things and for the most part will leave you alone. (I have heard awful things about people of color being harassed and spit on and attacked, though, which is why I specify being a white person. Indiana was, after all, the first state to be called in 2020, and the second state this year, both for Trump, of course. I don’t remember when we were called in 2016, but that’s beside the point.)

This is just rambling, so I don’t think there’s a cohesive point to this, but somewhere in there is this: history repeats itself, and if you’re privileged, chances are this will go just like last time (sans pandemic, statistically speaking). But, unlike last time, we know what to expect, and it is even more imperative than ever that we leverage our privilege for the benefit of those around us. You gotta get over yourself and stand up for people. Because those with less privilege are in far more danger than before—violent racists and transphobes and their ilk have been emboldened, there is a framework for healthcare for millions of people to be ripped away, people are going to lose homes, livelihoods, families, loved ones, lives. We can’t just sit here and wish for it to go away. We have to actually do something.

Do I know what that something is? No. I’m tired and I’ve been on the verge of a panic attack all day. Beyond that, finding a silver bullet solution to the world’s problems is far, far above my pay grade. I write porn, for fuck’s sake, not theory. (Again, failed attempt at college!) But wallowing in fear and sadness, while okay for a little while yet (we all need to process and cope), will not accomplish anything once the chips are down and you will need to eventually get your ass up and help people around you. Posting is not helping, by the way. Witty one liners are not going to fix anything. Volunteer. Donate. Go do something.

Alright. I’m done rambling for now. If none of this makes sense, fair, I’m not trying to write a damn manifesto here, I’m just rambling. Hopefully there’s something useful in there but mostly I’m just writing this shit out for myself to actually comprehend the thoughts I’m having, and maybe possibly force something encouraging out of the miasma. And I guess I do have one piece of advice, and this particular piece of advice is always useful, I think: malicious compliance is your friend. I have a feeling it will be very important in the coming years.

[spaceumbredoggos]

Rant time!

Crimes my ABA therapist team/father did on me:

Locked me in my room due to my violent autistic meltdowns (The lock was turned around on every door of every room I lived in.) This caused me, out of my own anger, to smear shit in the carpet, break my window, kick a hole in the wall, and scribble all over my walls. Yeah… But what else were they supposed to do with my violent meltdowns? Tumblr, can you tell me? I clearly showed signs of PDA autism or even ODD.

After I had scribbled on the wall, they had made me clean the wall (natural consequence) but to make sure that I would do it, they took away my tv. I eventually just adapted to life with no TV so my dad just painted over the scribbles and patched up the walls with me. Good thing my dad worked in real estate and knew how to patch drywall.

On the subject of no tv, if u did anything remotely violent, I would have my tv (and to an eventual extent, my electronics) taken away for a week. When I stopped having violent meltdowns, it was changed so that any hint of grumpiness had one prompt to get corrected otherwise, no electronics for two days. I would have fucking panic attacks over losing my electronics for two days because that was my special interest livelihood.

They held my special interests over my head with strict screen time (tv was an exception) regulations where I had to earn the time. Taught me how to do personal hygiene but at what cost? I still struggle with excessive screen time use to this day. I also wasn’t allowed social media, but I snuck that. It just taught me to sneak my electronics and not get caught, and the times I did get caught, they would take them away for two days. They also had so many parental controls on my phone to the point where I didn’t have google or access to games on my phone, and arguments would start over whether to have google or internet access on my phone. The only reason how I knew my environment was toxic was because I snuck internet access and looked up signs of abuse.

Autistic shut downs were considered “noncompliance” and were punished severely. It started with taking my electronics away for a week, then two days, then everything would be taken out of my room. I was having really bad mental health issues that caused autistic shut downs in high school due to PE (story for another time.) Dad pulled me from school when there were dozens of other solutions (even the people at the school suspected something going on at home.) I couldn’t keep any of the friends I made from high school and then the pandemic hit. My shut downs got worse, so my dad took my mattress out of my room, sometimes right from underneath me. Of course, I didn’t stop shutting down, so my dad finally resorted to dragging me outside for me to lay on the ground, then berating me by saying things like I was gonna “end up like a fucking homeless person” and shit like that. This escalated to him throwing my then nine year old sister outside simply for stomping her feet. Long story short, my therapists backed him up.

One time, I was having severe suicidal ideation the day before my eighteenth birthday because of the abuse. I also wanted to report my dad’s abuse (nothing was done when I reported it a few months later, although I did get out of that environment, but who’s to say he’s not abusing my ten and six year old sisters and my step mom? I mean, he’s shown that he is willing to abuse them before (more on that later) so what’s stopping him from doing it? Oh well. Pointless worrying) but nothing was done. My dad was a transphobic bigot and he only would let me transition if I were, with the therapists’ advice, sign over my entire rights as a person through power of attorney. Yeah, first off, power of attorney doesn’t really do that. That’s a conservatorship, which is what Britney Spears had. Also, of course I had my electronics and phone taken away because they didn’t want to “cloud my thoughts” aka access vital information for escaping abusive relationships.

The icing on the cake for all of this is that they left me home alone for two weeks (read my one shot Breaking Point, which is a little more exaggerated version of what happened. I might make another draft that’s more in line. I added some things for shock value, but yes, Penny the dog did chew her beds and the couch. Yes, my dad had blamed me because even though I walked and took care of that dog, I still was sneaking electronic time (no one was there to really enforce that rule) on character ai, which pissed him off. I did try to k*ll myself with a knife, and some meds and alcohol. Wound up hospitalized for a week, then in a crisis home for two weeks. It was there where I was finally able to escape the abuse by reporting it to adult protective services. Even after I left and moved out to my gran’s house, my dad still withheld my Nintendo switch and laptop, and only gave them back after an angry call from APS.)

That’s also not to mention broken financial promises. My dad had promised me $50 usd for every A I got. Got straight A’s since halfway through my junior year and I was on a quarterly system, so I had accumulated well over $1000. Plus, I got $560 dollars in cash graduation money presents from my family that I had put in my wallet. My dad never gave me back my wallet after I moved out, even though I had lost it. So that’s why I am flat broke.

Finally, after I had left the psych ward after a week in it (in May of ‘23) my dad refused to let me have any access to birthday presents or any sort of contact with my mother’s side of the family (my gran, who is my savior, and my aunt and uncle, who have helped me out immensely.) He wouldn’t even let me text them and had parental controls on my new phone (which I never got back after I moved out.) Yeah, he was very controlling. I am now shunned by my entire dad’s side of the family sans some of my step mom’s family.

[itsjohnnybad]

Not only do they not understand that, but they don’t even want to. I’ve read so many comments and answers just here on Quora alone where they’re all either very smugly insisting that they’re delighted with the election results and that now “the country will be what it’s supposed to be,” or they’re whining about losing friends and family members because of their extremely deluded and disastrous choice—-and they seriously seem to think that they’re the victims here.

They “victimized” the rest of us by putting an unquestionably sociopathic, narcissistic, truly evil person into the highest office perhaps in the world, and yet they’re happy about the way it turned out? They actually admire him for being “as smart as Hitler was?” They seriously think that he’s going to do anything for them, given his chummy and very close butt-buddy relationship with Elon Musk and like “elites?” (Didn’t they used to say they first voted for Trump because he wasn’t one of “the elites?” How ironic that he’s now been bought by the biggest “elite” in the world.) And they’re truly astounded that anyone would decide to cut whatever cords that tied them to those they used to be close to?

Pardon my French (no insult intended to the French people), but what the fuck did they expect? If someone they claim to care about is going to get a royal screwing from the soon-to-take-office (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little at that one) dictator-wannabe—and very well will be—and his far-right, literally fascist agenda and they made it happen by voting for him, do they really expect their once-close family member or friend to say, “Well, that’s okay—you just voted to take my SS retirement away and to abolish the ACA, which is the only healthcare system I can afford and on which my whole family depends, and on top of that you voted for someone to have absolute power and control over every single facet of my life, all the way down to whom I love and marry and what I say in public or private? AND you know he’s already said he’s going to make everything more expensive by instituting tariffs on foreign-made goods, that he really isn’t going to be able to reduce grocery prices after all, and that he’s going to wreak havoc on the economy by deporting millions of immigrants who practically make up the whole farming industry? Well, hey, that’s okay; it’s not your fault—you do you”? (Of course, that’s provided any MAGAT could even understand that, which wouldn’t be a very sure bet.)

I very fortunately don’t even have any MAGA friends—I wouldn’t have any MAGA friends—-but I have cousins and their families who are down-home redneck Southern Baptist evangelical Trumpsters through and through—-and every one of them are dead to me. I don’t communicate with them anymore. I don’t care what they think. I wouldn’t even attend their funerals if they were to literally die now. And on Quora, where I used to let anyone say anything they wanted on my posts, if any MAGAt tries to post a single word on them now, the author is just quietly blocked, muted, and deleted. I don’t tell them; I don’t even (virtually) speak to them at all. They’re just gone; I don’t even read their moronic comments beyond the least amount of words necessary to identify them as Trumpsters. I can tell by the first few words—-most people can—-and it’s B/M/D. Into the great black Void.

Hey, they asked for this. They don’t get to play the injured innocent now that they’ve literally destroyed so many people’s lives and livelihoods. They knew what they were inviting into the White House. It’s not like they weren’t aware that the viper was a viper; that’s exactly what they want him to be—-as long as his venom doesn’t creep into their bloodstreams. It will, of course; it’ll poison the whole world, let alone America, and then they’ll be saying, “But we didn’t think he meant us!” They’re already saying that—-evidently it’s fine and dandy for Trump to thoroughly nuke everything and everybody else, as long as it doesn’t affect them. And they still think anyone with two brain cells to rub together would want a “friend” like that?

Not I. Every MAGAt currently wasting valuable oxygen simply by being here and breathing it in might as well not be as far as I’m concerned; like my redneck cousins, they’re dead to me. And I don’t give a ripe fuck about them or their opinions. As long as they stay off my feed and out of my space, I don’t even acknowledge their existence. And if they do attempt to cross over into my area, they’re simply sent off into the Void.

Hey , you break it; you bought it. That has never been more true than it is now. They made that flea-and-tick-ridden bed; now they can just lie in it. Case effing closed.

(Seen on Quora. I feel the same way)

[petalsmooth]

1) Most people don’t have 9-5 jobs. I love Dolly’s song but I don’t think that is a standard work day anymore. Even when trying to be relatable, it’s little things like that shwoing she isn’t. 

2) I thought she cut out the junk food? Back to Domino’s and pastries?

3) I thought the latest spin was that the movie was pro-choice? Now she’s marketing it to mother’s? Then why not release around mother’s day? This doesn’t even take into account everyone was led to believe initially it was an LGBTQ film.

4) You aren’t a martyr Lili. No one asked you to attack Kim, you did it for self serving reasons that no celebrity had an obligation to back you on. Nor did you lose your livelihood as happens to some people who are attacked by twitter mobs. You and your family were even the cause of one for Cole that caused him eventually to opt out so no one is playing a violin here for you.

5) I think what bothers me most is she thinks this is the worse thing in the world. Try looking over at Ukraine and Russia and Iran right now. The latter of which is something I’d THINK a REAL feminist would be impassioned by. Are you waiting until more celebrities speak out on it so you can tag yourself in for attention?

6) No, people think you are an annoying hypocrite who pipes off without thought, often malice and always narcissistically. Anything that happens, you turn about to you rather than focus on the event itself. 

7) Lili now trying to pretend she didn’t hire paps to take her picture at home so create the impression she is a larger than life celebrity while downplaying idea she wants to be one.

I’ll close with this because it’s hilarious:

“ Her upbringing back in Cleveland alongside her steady career path has meant that she has been able to stay grounded. For the first two series of Riverdale she lived in a modest studio apartment, somewhere that felt worlds away from her appearances at Comic-Con, which she confesses made her feel like a “fucking rock star”. “I think I’m very good at keeping the ego in check. As soon as you start to lead with your ego, people can smell it from a mile away. You’re an actor, get over yourself! It’s just so cringey when people think that they’re so incredibly interesting, like more interesting than the average person.”

Says the girl who keeps doing interviews about being a rising star and we don’t know what she is capable of. Saying later in interview known for spouting off but contradicts herself with quote above about celebrities finding themselves fascinating being cringe all the while being same girl who said only keeps yes people around her now. 

As I recall, also, you were upset Cole was getting far more people in his lines at Comic Con than you were. You whined on camera about it. You said in another recent interview called a DIVA on set who wouldn’t come out of her trailer. She has deliberately turned fans away and demanded shown annoyance he stopped for them. You have said in past didn’t want to take any little old thing offered, only quality roles. You deliberately slighted people like King Princess until recently when obvious her star was rising then make a point of playing her music but before that was beneath your public acknowledgement. But you were quick to glom on to people you thought more famous or “respectable”. Sure, you don’t have an ago at all.

Just another puff damage control piece where she takes on criticism leveled at her and tries to play them off as untrue. But hey...at least she has internalized the moniker Princess. 

[wormstacheangel]

have some latinenatural for day 1 of @spnprideweek dean trying to come out to himself

Dean didn’t like going down this neighborhood. It never made him any money, plus the block is a dead end, so he always ends up circling back around with his heavy cart. His Tio always yelled at him for it, wasting precious time in a block where nobody paid him any attention because these Americanos aren’t used to people walking around selling comida.

Pero Dean always had one customer that always came running out whenever Dean came around, and he was worth the extra minutes he had to petal in the hot sun.

“Dean!”

Dean hears his name, expecting it but still feeling relief from hearing it. He looks ahead, his fingers stopped ringing the bells that have become background noise to him by now, and sees his favorite customer running out of the big white house Dean can only ever dream of renting. He wouldn’t ever dream of owning; he can’t have dreams so impossible.

Dean petals a little bit faster until he breaks in front of the pretty face he sees at least three times a week.

“Cas.” Dean practically beams at him even though he was trying to stay cool. Smooth. “Mi Angelito.” Dean winks, and he doesn’t miss Cas’s eyes widened and ears blushing at the nickname. “How you been?”

[continue reading under the cut or read on ao3]

Cas was dressed in his usual white button-up and slacks but they looked a lot more ruffled up than usual. His hair looked unkempt as it curled at the ends—Dean wasn’t complaining he loved it—and his typical neat shirt was wrinkled with sleeves pulled up to his elbows. He looked the guy up and down before his eyebrows creased together.

“You okay, Cas?”

“Yeah.” Cas sighed, shoulders slumping as he reached to run his hand through his hair—that probably explains the bed head—before smiling back at Dean with a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” Dean jumps off the bike and walks over to his cart. “The usual?”

“Please.”

Dean nods once before getting to work on a raspado de vainilla for Cas. He works in silence for a minute, just the sound of the ice scraping between them before Dean looks back at Cas.

“You know, si quieres, you can talk to me.” Dean looks up to see Cas was already watching him. “I know I’m a nobody, but I hear nobodies are great to vent to.”

“You aren’t a nobody, Dean.” Cas’s expression softens at the words. His eyes brighten as he looks at Dean, almost as if he can see into his soul. Then, just as Dean was about to drown in those baby blues, Cas looked away. His fingers started to twitch as he looked sheepishly at the ground. “Plus, my problems are small. I can deal with them by myself.”

Dean looks away, packing the ice into the cup before reaching to pour the vainilla as he talks. “Yeah, I know you can, pero; I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to.”

Cas is nothing but a customer that Dean has been crushing on—it was a small, slow, and scary realization. The only reason they’re on a first-name basis now is because Cas once left his name tag on, and Dean asked what it meant.

Dean handed Cas his raspado across the cart, Dean needed to keep his distance, but he knew when Cas reached for it, their fingers would touch; he looked forward to the simple touch each time.

They did, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat before he works on chicharrones, lots of limon, and a little bit of chile.

“But I get it, you know, if you don’t want to talk to me.” Dean looks up to see Cas still staring at him but with eyes filling with tears. “Holy shit.” Dean put the bag down and walked around to stand by Cas’s side. He grabbed a napkin from his cart and handed it to Cas to wipe his eyes. “Dude. Dude, please no llores. Don’t cry. People are gonna think I did something to you, and I’ll lose customers.” Dean tries to joke, but Cas doesn’t crack a smile. Instead, he rolls his eyes.

“Dean, nobody but me ever comes out here.”

Dean shrugs. “Potential customers then.” Dean grabs another napkin and reaches to wipe the tears that were already falling. “Estas bien, Angelito. Talk to me.”

“I-I shouldn’t.” Cas accepts Dean’s kindness for a second longer before gently moving Dean’s hand away. “You’re working. Let me just pay you so you can stop wasting your time here.”

Dean nods, stepping away from Cas so as not to seem pushy. As much as he loved being so close to Cas’s face, he didn’t want to seem creepy about it. This neighborhood has eyes everywhere, and Dean couldn’t really risk having his cart, his livelihood, be taken away just cause he has a small crush on the white boy.

So Cas gives him the exact change to the quarter and smiles sadly before he waves goodbye. Dean waves back as he gets on his bike to pedal out of this neighborhood and into a more comfortable one. He didn't ring the bell until he was out of there.

Cas doesn’t come out to see him the next day or the day after that, and now he has to wait until next week to see him. If Cas still wanted to see him.

“I don’t know why you still go over there,” Sam says as he helps Dean unpack the car.

Dean’s side gigs included selling his homemade food Friday through Sunday—he can almost call himself a caterer—while on Thursday, he preps during the day and works as a janitor in a big law office at night. Today was Thursday, so Dean had to wake up early to go to the big marketplace downtown. They sold the chicharrones de harina in bulk for cheap, and they had all the ingredients he’ll need to make the syrups for the raspados himself.

Sam rarely comes with Dean to get all these things since he was always busy with school, but today he came along on the day that Dean ran out of maiz azul. It just meant more trabajo para los dos.

“Or why you still sell raspados when you make more money on the weekend with your food.” Sam continued as they struggled to carry the bag of maiz to the kitchen. They both let out a heavy breath when they finally dropped the bag in the kitchen. Dean’s going to spend the next hour cleaning and soaking the damn corn after this. That doesn’t even include cooking it and finally making the damn masa.

“El trabajo es duro but I like it.” Dean pats Sam’s shoulder before they go back to the car to get the rest of the things. “I like going down neighborhoods and saying hi to people.”

“I get that pero why do you have to go to their side of town?”

Dean doesn’t know how to answer that.

He hasn’t told anyone about Cas. About how one day he was bored and wandered over to that neighborhood only to find Cas laying on his front lawn with a book covering his face. Dean, for some reason, couldn’t help but to ring the bells louder, startling Cas. Dean laughed for half a second before a book went flying to his face, knocking him off his bike. Cas learned too many cuss words in Spanish that day, but the big bruise was worth it.

Still, Dean didn’t want to tell anyone about Cas. Afraid to even speak of him because that would mean that his crush was real. That he had actual feelings, romantic ones, for another guy.

He knows que su Tío no lo va sacar de la casa pero todavía Dean tenía miedo. He was scared to admit this part of himself was real when it felt like a sin in his culture. ¡Ser gay es una cosa pero bisexual! ¡Ni madres! That doesn’t exist. Not where he is from.

So he’ll keep it to himself. Keep Cas as his secret fantasy and nothing more.

“The houses are nice to look at. One day, Sammy!” Sam was already groaning at Dean’s words that sounded more like an old man’s recurring ‘when I was your age’ stories. “One day, I’ll get us a house like that! One where we can each have our own room. And bathroom.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. Let’s just finish this so I can go back to my homework.”

“¡Estas pendejo! After this, you’re gonna help me clean the bathroom and throw away the trash before Tio comes home.”

“But Dean,”

“¡Pero nada! ¡Piensas que soy pendejo como tu, pinche mamón! Don’t think I don’t know you spend that time babeando por tu novia.”

“Dean!” Sam quickly passes him in a huff of embarrassment while Dean laughed, following Sam back to the car to get more groceries.

When Monday rolls around, Dean forces himself to come down Cas’s street again. The bells rang softly at first, only getting louder as he came closer to the house. He didn’t see a car in sight, so he thinks maybe Cas isn’t home.

He was already pedaling away when he heard someone call out to him. He hits the breaks half haphazardly, and the gallons shake on his cart, threatening to fall out. He was about to turn around, but then he realizes he hears footsteps running closer, and then he hears heavy breathing by his ear.

“Fuck.” Cas hands rest on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. “Are you-are you trying to run away from me?” Cas looks up with a teasing smile, it was beautiful, and Dean didn’t realize how much he missed him until now. “I am your only customer around here, so that’s a pretty bad business decision if you ask me.”

“I-I didn’t think you wanted to see me.” Dean could have joked around with him, but instead, his mouth decided to kick the conversation off with some honesty. Dean looked down at the bike handles as he talked. “Since you didn’t come out last week, I just figured-”

“Oh.” Cas stood up straight as he ran a hand through his overgrown hair; his clothes looked neat again, though. “I didn’t mean to make you think-”

Dean holds his hand out to stop Cas from talking, feeling embarrassed with every word. “Para. You don’t have to explain. No me debes-you don’t owe me anything.”

“I know that, but I want to. Talk, I mean. If that’s okay with you.” Cas looks at Dean with soft, warm eyes, a drastic difference from the red-rimmed eyes from the last time they saw each other. “After you’re done with work, of course.”

“I um-I usually head home around six. I can um,” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, not meeting Cas’s eyes as he carefully says. “I can come by after if you want.”

“I would like that.”

Dean's head shoots up to stare back at Cas, who looked shy, pero siempre más guapo que la última vez que Dean lo miró.

At that moment, Dean wanted to lean in and kiss him more than he has wanted to kiss anyone in his 26 years of life, but he won’t. He still wasn’t sure if this was Cas asking him out as a friend or as something more. He was scared, but he knew his heart raced in excitement more than anything.

Dean finally broke away from the staring contest as he cleared his throat to get off his bike. “Todavia quieres-Do you still want your raspado?”

“Oh. Sure!”

It was silent while Dean made raspado, but he couldn’t wait for their fingers to graze again when he handed the cup over to Cas.

“Just the raspado today.” Dean still loved when Cas said it, trying not to laugh even though he loved Cas’s embarrassed blushing. Cas reaches into his pocket, but Dean reaches to touch his shoulder to stop him.

“On the house.” Dean holds it out and just like before their fingers touch, burning him.

“No, Dean, I couldn’t.”

Dean shakes his head to stop him from arguing any further. He jumped back on his bike and looked back at Cas as he said, “You can get me something later. Is seven okay?”

“Seven is…perfecto.” Cas flinched at his Spanish, but Dean couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Pues, te miro mas tarde, Angelito.” Dean reached to pat Cas’s cheek before he started pedaling away.

“Dean! I don’t know what that means!” Cas calls out to him.

Dean doesn’t turn around to respond, mostly to hide the stupid shit-eating grin he had on his face. “I said I’ll see you later!” But he does wave goodbye, ringing the bell as he goes.

Dean really liked him, and it brought fear into his heart pero al mismo tiempo; he hasn’t been this excited to just be around someone in such a long time. So maybe this is his time to accept that maybe, for sure, he is crushing hard on a guy.

Dean sighs as he stops on the sidewalk to hang his head and quietly whispers, “For fucks sakes, soy un pinche gay.”

Well, at least he can admit to himself—sort of.

[13atoms]

Deep Focus: Chapter 1 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom’s a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off.

But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. [7.7k]

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There was such a style to everything Tom wrote, everything he directed. A sincere passion that you suspected was always meant to be used elsewhere. You wondered if his craftsmanship was ever appreciated, on the other side of the screen, as strangers got hot and bothered watching each meticulously designed frame of his vision come to life.

Sure, it was porn. But Tom directed it like he could win an Oscar for ‘hot lifeguard pounded poolside’. This was his livelihood, his passion, and it was a damn shame he wasn’t award-season eligible.

The names would make you wince, as you saw them uploaded to the site, thumbnails and previews drawing in viewers by the million with their shots of heaving bodies and glistening sweat. Tom never called the videos such crass things. Not in his scripts. You would get copies titled ‘Romantic Night In’ or ‘Office Love Affair.’ He was a fan of sugar-coating what would be inside those innocuous white pages, a veneer of respectability which Tom insisted upon, regardless of how obvious the true nature of the videos was. But once the videos were sold, it was out of his hands. Your face contorted mid-faux-orgasm would be plastered across the site, and everyone involved would try and forget what happened.

Ignore the comments.

Keep moving.

You often wondered how Tom wound up in this place, with his sharply tailored suits and polished shoes, eloquent and educated, his words almost poetic as he directed mid-budget porn in hotel rooms and his studio day-in, day-out.

Then again, he never seemed particularly bothered by it. He gave each shoot his full attention, his full boundless enthusiasm and all the professionalism he could muster. You wondered how he balanced it, sometimes, the creative drive to press on with trying to be creative and shoehorn romance into films knowing that, ultimately, it was porn.

He had interviewed you like a real director might, talking about your life and experience and ambitions, almost apologetic when he had finally choked out ‘could you undress’, barely glancing at your naked form before he hired you as his first employee.

You asked him early on, while watching him try and assemble a fake restaurant-date set in the studio, complete with faux windows and an extra playing a waiter, why he bothered when three-minutes of good quality fucking footage would make him the same amount of money. He’d given you a strange smile, the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged.

“I make what I’d like to see.”

The words haunted you later, as your rather attractive co-star bent you over the white-cloth covered dining table and you allowed mewls and groans to escape your mouth without a second thought. Trying to avoid the muted blue of Tom’s eyes behind the cameraman.

Despite your reservations when you first started to work for him, Tom had won you over. His gentler, more romantic approach to pornography had a loyal following. Both of your pseudonyms garnered huge numbers of views across various platforms, and Tom was keen to cultivate a collection of female-friendly porn. Against all the odds, it was working.

And you loved working with him. He was a great director, and inspired writer, and a genuinely brilliant boss. He made sure you saw royalties, good pay, that everyone you worked with was screened and tested, always keeping you safe. Always.

Each time he called a wrap, passing you a robe and offering a meek congratulations on your performance, you found yourself more and more pleased you had wound up working with him.

“You really do have a talent,” he’d told you one day, distracting you as you discussed a new script in his office.

You were sat opposite him, Tom’s glasses perched on his head as he watched you read, your feet resting against the leg of his desk. You’d come in to your shared workspace to try some costumes out, to discuss new scenes, still recovering from a thoroughly exhausting shoot the day before. There were still light bruises around your wrists, and you caught Tom glancing at them worriedly each time your long-sleeved shirt slipped.

“I love that you’re such an actor,” he continued, hands tapping the desk as he spoke, “like, a real actor.”

Your eyes drifted across the script, scanning it with your bottom lip between your teeth. He always appreciated your input, wanting the ‘female fantasy’ in a lot of his work, and he’d timidly shown you some ‘student-professor’ script he’d been working on. He was like that, embarrassed in a way which you wouldn’t expect from a man with his considerable experience in adult entertainment. He was assertive, certain, even stern where it counted. But with just the two of you together, dancing around what was sexy and what wasn’t, he seemed desperate to avoid saying anything you might perceive as too ‘crude’.

“What do you mean?” you’d chuckled, still flicking through the first draft.

He only entrusted you with such early versions of his work – but that made sense. Your careers were symbiotic, tied to one another with an unspoken pact. He directed everything you were in, and you were in everything he directed.

It made sense.

“You don’t just… I don’t know. You never make my scripts seem silly. Or cheesy. You… you really try and make them feel real. I could write anything, and you’ll deliver the lines well. I was overseeing auditions earlier and... I just kept thinking none of them were you. I think you might be the best in the business.”

You rolled your eyes, offering him a disbelieving smirk, and he scoffed.

“I’m serious! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, and you turned back to the script, frowning as you flicked through the loose-leaf pages. Tom fidgeted behind his desk, unhappy with losing your attention, but you ignored him.

“Here. If you want the fantasy to be believable, I think he needs to lock the office door. Make a show of it, you know. Cover my mouth,” you comment dismissively. Tom already has as pen in his hand, making notes. “It could be hot, maybe ‘Don’t make a sound or you can’t cum’, something like that. As if there’s other students in the corridor outside.”

Nodding, Tom dutifully wrote down your words, mouth slightly open in realisation as he listened.

“Don’t make a sound…” Tom repeated, and you felt yourself blush.

“Not… not that exactly,” you backtracked, “you’re the real writer! I just think, there needs to be some build up. A remind of the power dynamic. Him going straight to oral is a bit… fast. That could happen in any old plot, you know?”

You felt his eyes on you, looking up from the paper to spot Tom leaning back in his chair, a distant smile on his face.

“You really are the best,” he praised, “that’s great. I’ll do rewrites tonight.”

For a moment, you let his words hang heavy in the air. Then you blinked back at him, a slight frown pinching your forehead at his strange mood. He was calm, for once. Tom was usually a ball of enthusiasm, and you wondered if your dismissal of his words earlier had done something to hamper his spirit.

“It’s always easier to critique,” you dismissed, “I love the script, it’s great. I really think it’ll be good. Hot. Maybe I can wear a Britneyschool girl costume, or something?”

He frowned a little, pinching the bridge of his nose at the thought.

“No, weird. We’re going for University student, just… a nice pair of jeans or something.”

“Don’t they wear suits where you went, posh boy?” you teased, loving how it riled him up. “I’ll try and dress like a smart person.”

“You are smart, don’t give me that.”

You rolled your eyes, loving how you managed to fluster him, putting the script back on his cluttered desk as you reached for your bag. This was how your meetings always went, a few hours of notes, some teasing, and a hasty retreat once Tom told you the next shoot day you had to attend. You still had a few hours of social media to do for the last video you’d shot together, notes from Tom, and you lamented the sight of the sun setting outside of your shared office. You’d hoped for at least a bit of natural light today.

“I’m serious, you are!” Tom asserted, and you ignored him purposely as you shut down your laptop, preparing to take it home.

“Yeah, I know, whatever. Don’t work too late!”

“Rich coming from you,” he sighed, “it really doesn’t matter if we send that last edit late.”

“It matters to me! I’d quite like to get paid this week, you know?”

Tom sighed. The two of you tried to produce a couple of videos a week – one for Tom’s site and another to sell to a third party. It didn’t leave either of you with much free time, both of you left in the tiny office at all hours as you worked to keep up with demand.

“Very true. But I’d rather you got some sleep, you know I can help if you’re short on money,” he offered, shuffling papers on his own desk.

He was always quick to jump to an offer to help, and you tried to ignore the fondness spreading through your chest at his eagerness to look out for you. That gentle protectiveness which coursed through Tom was enough to make you melt.

He was one in a million, that was for sure.

“I’m fine, Tom. Thank you though, I’ll ask, if, y’know –”

“Do! Any time. Actually…”

Tom cut himself off, typing something into his phone, and your pocket buzzed with a notification.

“Get yourself a nice dinner.”

You checked your phone to see a transfer from Tom. It wasn’t a crazy amount, but too much for just dinner, and you huffed performatively as he grinned at you.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous –”

He barely made more than you, and you were certainly doing perfectly comfortably.

“Royalties are really good this month. That old break-up sex video is trending again, apparently.”

You smothered a smile. It was hate-fucking, as you’d told Tom a hundred times. That was the title. You could still remember the look on his face the day you’d filmed it, his twitchiness, the unknown male actor who had slightly scared both of you with his sheer size as he stepped into the studio. The male star had fucked you like you’d broken his heart, hands on your neck and hips bruising yours as he pounded into you, and you’d be a little alarmed at how little you had needed to act in his domineering presence. He’d been muscular and tall and assertive, almost injuring you with his enthusiasm, and the shoot had ended with you a sweaty mess, struggling to walk, eyes watery.

You had ached from the moment Tom helped you up from the bed, a protective body between you and your costar as you watched the man collect his clothes and his paycheck. The footage had been great, you’d watched Tom edit it, but it had been your first taste of Tom’s protectiveness. The actor had never returned, and Tom had bought a hot water bottle for the office, pressing it into your lap as he brought tea for the pair of you, loathing how you winced as you moved.

He’d taken you out for dinner that night to celebrate a good edit, but you knew the real reason. That neither of you wanted the other to be alone. It had been a lovely evening, a restaurant then a bar, without a break in laughing conversation the entire night. It hadn’t been a date, but if it had been a date, it would’ve been the nicest date you’d ever been on. In those moments, you wondered if Tom was really cut out for the industry. If you were.

As much as Tom hated the film, it was hot. It had propelled your studio into the spotlight, and it paid a significant chunk of your rent.

“Thank you,” you smiled to him, wracking your mind for anything else that needed discussing before you headed home.

Maybe you’d get takeaway. That would be nice.

Tom cleared his throat.

“What are we shooting tomorrow, by the way?”

You looked up at his words, frowning a little at the realisation you hadn’t been given a script yet. It was unlike him, to be so unprepared. Usually everything was organised weeks in advance. With a glance at the shadows under his eyes, you decided not to tease him about it.

“We’re shooting tomorrow?”

“This week… we’ve only got one video. I was just thinking something simple, I haven’t called a costar yet, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to –”

It was your paycheck on the line as much as Tom’s, and you wondered how the hell you’d forgotten.

“Do we have a camera crew?” you frowned.

“No, not yet. I can call though. Or I could just do it myself, if we’re not doing anything too complicated?”

You thought for a moment, leaning against the open doorframe as Tom started to pack up his own desk, nimble fingers tapping across his keyboard.

“Solo?” you suggested, stifling a laugh as Tom blinked and tilted his head to face you.

“I missed that, love?”

“Solo. Like ‘hot female solo’ or something?”

He smiled slightly, closing his laptop lid.

“That’ll do well, I’m sure. Do we need anything costume-wise? Props?”

Toys. He meant toys. You smiled at his refusal to call a spade a damn spade.

“I’m sure we can find everything here. It’ll be nice to do a simple shoot for a change,” you enthused, holding the door for Tom as he moved to turn off the lights, lingering nearby as he locked up the office.

“Yeah. Single-shot, no camera-man either.”

“Cheap,” you sighed, as though it was the sexiest thing in the world.

You did the books, and avoiding having any more costs this month sounded great.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, falling into step beside you as the two of you left the warehouse studio.

He looked ready to say something else, but changed his mind. For a second the two you stood by the exit, words trapped beneath your closed lips as the early evening air enveloped you.

“Do you need a lift home?” Tom finally offered.

“No. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time. Twelve?”

“Perfect.”

He reached an arm out, ready for you to walk into his embrace, and you froze. The moment was over as soon as it started, his arm retracted, and you could only stare. His hand found the curls at the back of his head, scratching there, a blush dusting his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lights of the car park. You could kick yourself as you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. He felt awkward. You contemplated hugging him, but the moment had passed. Instead you rocked on your heels for a second, before turning to leave.

“Bye, Tom!”

“‘Night! Look after yourself, don’t forget dinner. I’ll see you – ”

He cut himself off as you walked too far away, and you could have kicked yourself for the sadness in his final syllable. You sighed as your feet fell against the pavement, your whole walk home haunted by the awkward shuffle of Tom’s hands as he went to hug you goodbye.

*

You were surprised by how difficult it was to brush off that awkward memory. As you ordered and ate dinner, you were reminded of Tom with every bite, that he’d snuck aside part of the company’s petty cash budget to give you dinner. That both of you had gone home, separately, to separate empty houses and empty beds.

Had he wanted to go for drinks? Wanted company? You had come to accept a long time ago that the man was your closest friend. He would be the person you called in an emergency, a shoulder to cry on. You liked to think he’d lean on you the same way.

Despite that, you spent limited time together outside of a professional context. You never met up on weekends, or casually called. Of course you didn’t. He made a career out of seeing you naked, watching you fake orgasms for other men. As you readied yourself for the day, you reminded yourself that of course, he would be nice to his only full-time, very lucrative actress. To his business partner.

As you’d queued up the company’s social media posts the night before, you could only think of Tom behind the camera, orchestrating each photo and clip you uploaded.

You couldn’t help the grin which split your face as you walked into the studio, bag flung over your shoulder, overpacked with everything you thought you could possibly need. Tom greeted you, emerging from his office with a smile.

Before you could overthink it, you walked into his arms, giving him very little choice in the matter as you greeted him with a hug. In his surprise you felt his body stiffen, his arms slowly wrapping around you, and you were momentarily gobsmacked by the muscular form he seemed to hide behind those suits.

He was a little more dressed down today, smart black jeans and a button-up white shirt, unruly hair sticking up like it did when he forgot to brush it. He looked better than yesterday, like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, bemusement clear in his voice.

You pulled back from the hug, a little embarrassed at the affection until you saw the smile stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. Suddenly the previous night, worrying you had inadvertently rejected him, seemed to be erased.

“Morning! What have you got for me?”

The studio space was cleaned, but empty. The camera stood in the corner as Tom lead you further into the room, his office door open to the side of it, and you frowned at the emptiness of the space.

There were tape marks on the floor where sets were usually assembled, conspicuous without the usual hive of activity buzzing around some piece of furniture you would be thrown onto or fucked against. There was nothing.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to do,” Tom was saying, his gentle voice booming in the empty space, “we don’t have a script or anything so… I’ll leave it to you.”

You bit your lip.

It was more freedom than you were used to, less direction, less to build the fantasy where you could forget you were ultimately in a warehouse with just your business partner. It was… nothing. Tom said your name quietly, and you nodded, stepping back to assess the space.

“I’m just thinking,” you reassured him.

Had the studio always been this quiet? You tried to remember a shoot day where it had been this silent, this calm, without the stress of lighting people or cameramen or scripts being thrown around. You could hear every step Tom took as he walked towards the camera, the wheel-mounted tripod creaking as he moved it across the floor, checking batteries and SD cards while you stood in place, your bag still hanging from one shoulder.

Noticing your frozen stance Tom frowned across at you, nothing but gentle concern in his blue eyes and the fine lines around them.

“I was thinking something kind of minimal, maybe cosy?” he offered, “Maybe an armchair? Something like that?”

You thought about it for a moment, crossing to the corner of the room to finally set down your bag.

He was finally getting into ‘director mode’, growing more energetic by the second.

“I’m thinking we just frame it on you, no distraction. Single take, if we can.”

You nodded silently as he crossed to the storage cupboard he’s overeagerly labelled a ‘props department’. It was stacked high with fabric and furniture and lingerie, tubs of various exotic sex toys near the door. Tom stepped straight past them.

There was a mattress in the props room, materials to build a bed, and you pondered on the idea for a moment.

“We could keep it really simple, maybe?” you suggested, “Find a warm background. Or just use white. Try and get one twenty minute shot, or something.”

You reached for lube without thought, collecting the near-empty bottle of body oil beside it too, as you perused the options in front of you.

“Remind me to buy more of that,” Tom mused, sparing a glance to the bottles in your arms before standing beside you to peruse the options.

You nodded silently, your free hand rifling through bagged silicone toys, slightly in a daze as you picked out a few options. There was a slight blush dusted across Tom’s high cheekbones as he turned to see your arms full of dildos. You smiled as it took him a second to find words, and wondered how the hell he’d chosen to start a porn studio in the first place.

“Colour co-ordinated,” he commented, and you smiled, picking out yet another pink toy from the pile.

“Naturally,” you smiled, “I think that’s everything? Could we drag a mattress and pillows out?”

He nodded silently, already moving to manoeuvre the double mattress leaning against a wall in the props room. You rolled your eyes before helping, knowing he was being a gentleman, or whatever he called it. You called it putting his back out.

He rejected your help, so you grabbed as many pillows as you could, following him back into the main studio, privately smiling at the dramatic grunts he made trying to move the mattress. He tossed it to the ground with a grunt, shoving it into the corner of the room, before pausing again.

You dropped everything down on to it, toys, lube, pillows and all.

And then both of you waited.

It was so strangely intimate, just the two of you in the room, the strange nature of your relationship weighing heavy after last night’s miscommunication. Suddenly there was nothing you wanted to do less than take your clothes off.

“White sheets?”

“Hm?” you hadn’t processed what Tom said, too wrapped up in your own world, frowning down at the bare mattress.

“I was thinking white sheets.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He was off, assigned another task, and you almost envied his distraction as you slowly sorted the pillows how you wanted, gathered the toys absentmindedly. Before Tom came back from the props closet you made yourself scarce, catching sight of his slim outline through the doorway. Facing away from you as he rummaged.

In the single bathroom of the studio you cleaned anything that would be going inside of you, avoiding your reflection, trying to shake off the odd nervousness coursing through your veins.

Why? It had been years since you felt this way before a shoot. Before you’d met Tom, even. Sure, shoots could be exciting, exhilarating, intimidating, but this self-consciousness, this self-doubt… it had come from nowhere.

You pressed your forehead to the mirror, closing your eyes, breathing deeply. The tap running sounded like a waterfall, the silicone under your fingers felt alien, the air almost claustrophobic as you wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

Tom was done making the bed when you got back, frowning at his phone until he heard you re-enter the studio space, quick to look up and see if you were happy with his set. You felt hyper-aware of him, of every movement he made, a clean towel and toys cradled in one arm as you took in the space. It was a simple premise, just a clean fitted sheet pillows in a corner, a clear space for you in the middle. You knew it would look good on screen. You knew this was an easy job.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“Do you want to face the camera? Or kind of, not acknowledge it?” Tom asked, speaking again as you forgot to reply, too caught up in your own mind. “Maybe if you ignore it that’s more… voyeuristic?”

“Sounds good,” you responded, kneeling to prepare your space. This was autopilot, your day job. You could do this.

“Right.”

He sounded a little put out by your response, but moved the camera anyway, switching to a knee-height tripod. You stood, stepped back to give him space, and frowning at the sudden headrush. You blinked, catching yourself staring at the flex of his arms as he moved the heavy equipment. You didn’t realise how long you had been staring into space until Tom called your name a second time, crossing into your personal space.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice was so soft you wanted to cry, fingers hovering beside your bicep, his gentle eyes demanding for you to meet them, daring for you to lie while his face is so close to yours.

Somehow, the guilt of his worry made you feel worse.

“No, I’m…I’m being stupid. Sorry, just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I, uh, I slept fine. I’m not sure. Just not really feeling it.”

His face fell, but you knew he wasn’t disappointed in you. He thought he’d done something wrong. Immediately you were talking, doing anything you could to soften his guilt.

“It’s my job, though. I can do it. This is great Tom, I think it’ll be a good shoot.”

“Sweetheart –”

You sighed, eyes falling to the mattress, before forcing a smile.

“Let’s get this over with!”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but you forced yourself to move, pulled your feet from the floor with far more effort than it ought to take. There was some comfort in rummaging through your own bag, that piece of home, something private from the studio. You found the vibrator you’d brought, a pink bullet you used almost exclusively at home, fully charged that morning. Behind you, Tom snorted in amusement.

“Nothing here is ever charged,” you shrugged off his stare, knowing damn well you didn’t have to explain yourself.

You wanted to explain anyway though. Just in case, Tom thought anything he did wasn’t enough. He seemed perfectly fine with the criticism, though you knew he was making a mental note. He always did, then you had something to say.

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, you stripped to your underwear, folding your clothes neatly and being careful not to show any self-consciousness in your posture. You’d never been ashamed or embarrassed before now, and you weren’t about to start. Even if it was just you, and a very well, fully dressed Tom. Vibrator clutched in your fingers, you finally sat on the damn mattress.

He was the other side of the camera now, somehow both distant and a few feet away. You found yourself staring at your body in the monitor, just watching. Tom’s voice broke you out of yet another daze, and you wanted to pinch yourself. Why couldn’t you do it today?

“We don’t have to do this today, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay I just… I forget it’s just us sometimes, you know? There’s such a production and so many people and at the end of the day…”

Tom smiled, a relief on his face that told you he had been feeling it too. That this was weird.

“I know what you mean. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Just give me a second to warm up, we need to make something, after all.”

You stretched, not really sure why, moving a little around the nook Tom had created, shuffling pillows and practicing where you wanted to lie back, watching a monitor as Tom played with a soft lighting, twisting and turning to find the most flattering angles you could.

As he shuffled things around, Tom nodded to the spread of toys you’d set out. You’d added your vibrator to the pink line up, perfectly organised on the white towel.

“Do you want those in shot?”

You shrugged.

“Might be hot?”

He nodded silently. You moved the toys in to the frame, trying to blink away the cloud which had settled in your mind. The world felt foggy, your arms like they were moving through treacle, and you knew Tom had noticed.

As he prepared two directional microphones, you tried not to feel claustrophobic. The audio from the microphone he was pointing towards your pussy would be almost grotesque, and you fought not to shuffle further from it as you imagined Tom listening later, headphones in, as he balanced the levels between your moans and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself.

Fuck.

Why was this so different to a regular shoot?

You’d done solo shoots before. With Tom. And half-a-dozen other crew, you reminded yourself.

You caught sight of his curls above the monitor, face serious as he set everything up.

“Speak?”

“Testing, testing,” you spouted off nonsense until he offered you a thumbs up, happy with the audio.

Then there was nothing else to do.

He stood, looming over the equipment. And you looming over you.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, smiling at your frown. “You’re in charge here, I’m just the camera guy.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was trying to put you at ease.

“You’re the director,” you reminded him, knowing how he preened himself under the title.

You were impressed that his eyes had only roamed down your body once as he took in the shoot, glancing at the indulgent layout of toys, double checking the monitor, one headphone in. He had that stance he always adopted when he was directing, and you knew it was his favourite moment in any of this. The moment everything was pinned on him.

It happened so quickly you almost missed the moment he knelt down, blinking in surprise as his face remerged at your level beside the camera.

“Then my direction is: enjoy yourself. Forget I’m here. Let’s show them something real.”

He must have seen your shock, because it made him smile.

“Real?” you questioned, and he nodded firmly.

“I’m serious.”

For a beat, both of you were silent, his eyes meeting yours over the body of the camera.

“If you can,” he offered, “I understand it’s not always…”

You interrupted him with a hand, smiling your understanding of what he was saying, and dismissing it in one motion. The silence dragged on, and you decided to push this forwards. If you were done by lunch, Tom would probably insist on taking you somewhere nice.

“I don’t know if I should use – ” you ghosted a finger across the biggest toy, worrying a bottom lip between your teeth, “Simplicity might be key.”

“Do what you want, darling. What feels good.”

You nodded mutely, and for just a second you saw doubt flicker across his face. This was new territory, and even you weren’t sure if this was a step too far.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. If I’m… actually… it might take a while. Let me know if I’m taking too long.”

“Take as long as you need, darling. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tilting your head at him a little, you realised abruptly just how intimate this was. Moreover, that you wanted it anyway. That you were about to make him watch you cum. Make him hear you, smell you. He couldn’t touch, but he could watch.

And that was enough for you to perform.

Tom gave you a countdown, red lights peppered your field of view, and he was recording. He had taken a seat on the floor behind the camera set up, one headphone in to monitor audio, waiting.

You stayed sat up, back arched a little as your hands began to caress you own body, keeping on eye on the monitor while your face was out of the shot. You rubbed along your thighs, across your stomach, teasing at the lace of your bra and the elastic of your underwear each time you passed them, trailing your fingertips. It didn’t really feel like anything, doing this to yourself, but you knew to tease the camera. Tom would cut out anything too slow.

Your gaze remained firmly on the screen as you began to make your touches firmer, more deliberate, dragging lines into your skin and flirting with the camera. You admired the soft skin of your breasts as you started to shift your bra, enjoying the stiffening of your nipples in the monitor until –

The screen went black, and you immediately glanced at Tom, frowning as you lost the visual of yourself. He met your questioning gaze sternly, eyebrows furrowed, and you remembered his direction.

“Enjoy yourself.”

With nothing left to look at you closed your eyes, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the sensitivity of your breasts as your fingers idly danced across them. You shoved your bra down unthinkingly, wanting to feel more, rubbing at the heaviness of your breasts and wincing as you enjoyed the pleasure and pain of pinching at your nipples, teasing them to attention. You glanced your nails across them, feeling it in your core. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Fuck the cameras.

It was hard to let to, to stop the delicious feeling of your fingers on your own breasts, but you forced yourself to free one hand, shoving off the bra, desperate to feel yourself without it. You knew you were grimacing, it wouldn’t be sexy, but you didn’t care. That was Tom’s problem.

You needed to touch yourself.

One hand reached below the waistband of your underwear, seeking out your clit, guided by a familiar ache. It was all you could focus on, your other hand forgotten, cupping your breast, the sensation vague and lost as your fingers found your clit. The sensation overwhelmed you as you shifted the hood, your body beginning to produce wetness. The room was a little cold, the air relieving against the heat of your bare skin, making your nipples peak as you leant back into the nest of pillows behind you.

You felt your stomach tense, a bolt of electricity tensing the muscles up and down your body as you brushed across your clit a little too hard. Your middle finger probed your pussy experimentally, slipping inside of you, quickly joined by a second as you played with the wetness there.

One, two, three pumps of your fingers inside you was enough for you to gasp, your eyes still closed against the bright lights as focused on nothing but feeling. No more fucking around.

You reached for your vibrator, hand knocking against the thick silicone toy lined up beside it, writhing as you pressed it against the fabric covering your clit. You cycled through the settings as fast as you could, still desperate for more stimulation.

More. It was on the highest setting. You wanted more.

Without moving the vibrator you shoved your underwear off, huffing as you kicked them away, not caring where they landed. The tip of the toy nudged against your clit exquisitely, and you froze.

There.

There.

You thought about Tom watching you. The hot blood coursing through your body, the line up of toys just waiting to be shoved inside of you. The sensitivity of you clit as you held it against that perfect point. The air against your dripping, aching pussy. The muscles starting to clench, the rhythm of your body. Building, building, you didn’t fight the feeling.

This was what you wanted.

That warm familiarity of the vibrator on your clit, the runaway train of your thoughts, it was enough to drive you over the edge. You hadn’t realised the keening, groaning noises you were making until you heard them, pleasure leaving your lips as an afterthought.

You felt empty.

Blindly you reached out, sticky fingers finding the shaft of a toy you wanted, a smaller one you could take right now. A dollop of lube in the palm of your hand was all it would take, a few pumps of the toy enough to coat it, the excess lubricant smeared on the sheets. You didn’t care. Not your problem.

Without conscious thought, you were still rubbing yourself, two fingers absently making circles against your clit as you fidgeted to be able to take the dildo. You didn’t bother preparing yourself anymore. You were wet enough, and you wanted the stretch.

Needed it.

Needed to feel full.

You shoved the toy into yourself, gritted teeth and your spare hand grasping at your breast, giving the nipple a sharp pinch to interrupt the overwhelming feeling of that silicone pushing inside of you. Your walls were stretched open, a gasp reaching your ears as you felt a nudge against your cervix.

It wasn’t enough. You felt wild, desperate, as you sloppily pulled the toy from yourself and shoved it back in, clenching down and still needing more.

Your fingers found a larger toy, arousal and lubricant smearing across your body as you discarded the dildo which you had just been fucking yourself with, leaving it somewhere on the mattress, forgotten in favour of the bigger option. It was thick. Maybe, in your right mind, you wouldn’t have considered it. But instead you coated it in lube, squirting the clear liquid on to the tip and rubbing it down the toy, focusing on nothing but the need pulsing through your pelvis.

On the emptiness inside you, begging, pleading to be filled. It hurt, how much you wanted to be stretched out, to feel something pounding into you. You felt animalistic, desperate for anything. The last of your conscious thought was occupied by the need in your clit, the demand for friction, and you just didn’t have enough hands. It was impossible to think. When you finally sank down on the fake cock, leaning back, legs apart, gaze focused on nothing but your own swollen pussy, it was a relief. You gasped, then sighed, pushing another inch of the toy inside you. You felt stretched already, split in half, but you kept going. With each thrust, you took the silicone further inside of you until you felt the dull ache of the toy going too far.

Finally, that emptiness felt sated, and you stayed still, too stuffed to risk moving and too blissed out to care.

But you needed more.

Each bear down made the toy threaten to shift, and you didn’t have the brain power to thrust and pay attention to your aching clit. You moved gingerly, grabbing a pillow to straddle, holding the toy inside you as you hunted for your vibrator.

You couldn’t even lean too far to reach it, you were so full it ached. And it was delicious.

With the smooth plastic finally in your hand you leant back, ready to bring yourself to another orgasm. With a blink, you realised there was a tear tracking its way down your cheek, and you smiled to yourself.

And then you accidentally looked forwards. Your eyes met Tom’s. The camera. The lights. The switched off monitor.

You wanted to cry.

He was watching you directly, with those sharp blue eyes, one finger resting along his jawline, his usual calculating, wide stance replaced with one knee hugged to his chest as he sat on the concrete floor. He was watching you.

You. Stuffed full, straddling a pillow on the bed Tom had fucking made, covered in a mix of lube and your own arousal. That strange feeling from earlier came back full force.

God. He had seen you actually come. Without acting or cheesy lines or clever angles to hide the worst of your O-face. You could pretend to come, tell your male co-stars what a good time you’d had, follow direction, anything. But this was too real. And it was just you and Tom. In the corner of a huge studio, bright lights and cameras and –

Had he called cut? You wouldn’t have heard. Did he realise you’d lost control? That you had forgotten you were supposed to be acting and been so desperate and –

“You’re doing amazing.”

You smiled at him weakly, gasping as the toy inside you nudged your cervix as you fidgeted. You didn’t realise that you were awaiting direction until he spoke.

“Another one?”

His voice was a little throatier than usual, though you supposed he’d been quiet for a while. His eyes kept drifting from your face, and you wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

You nodded silently, closing your eyes, listening to the increasing pitch of the vibrator as you turned it up to its maximum setting.

The minutes stretched on as your orgasm built, little raises and falls of your hips accompanying that insistent buzz of your favourite vibrator, the toy inside you starting to ache as it stretched you apart. It was impossible to forget that Tom was watching you now. That his piercing gaze was on you. As a matter of professionalism, you tried to avoid looking up. You ignored the camera, fucked your body in the way you knew it would respond to, only half-faking it as you came a second time.

You moaned and groaned and gave the camera an indulgent few seconds of overstimulation, the vibrator pushed against your clit to make you writhe and shake. You pulled yourself off the dildo in a mess of arousal, played with yourself, showing off how stretched out you were.

Fingers swirling in the arousal inside of you, you sighed in relief when Tom called, “cut.”

Dropping the toy, you pulled your legs together, ignoring him for a second as you took deep breaths. Taking stock of your body, the residual pleasure and pain and stickiness. A lot of stickiness.

Tom took pity on you, shifting a softbox so you had a clear path out of the corner you were hemmed into.

“Go and have a shower,” he told you, the most softly-spoken command you’d ever heard.

Nonetheless, you followed orders. On weak legs, you indulged in as long as shower as you dared, cleaning up and then just… waiting. Trying to avoid the real world. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in a robe, you found your clothes folded outside. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but you thanked the universe for him anyway.

When you re-emerged you were fully dressed and feeling a lot more like yourself again. And, actually, quite proud of yourself. Tom’s busyness told you everything had been recorded properly, equipment moved and the mattress bare, leant against the wall.

“All good?” you asked, more to announce your presence than anything. He stopped moving, offering you a gentle smile.

“Perfect! I think it’ll be great. Do you want to go get lunch somewhere? To celebrate?”

Predictable as anything. The thought made your heart swell with fondness for him, his head tilt and excitement, his strange place here.

“I think I’ll just go home,” you tried to smile apologetically, but you could still feel the ache inside you, the dull oversensitivity of your clit against your underwear.

The embarrassment and excitement fighting in the fit of your stomach.

Tom nodded, clear understanding on his face. He held the door for you on the way out.

“Are you coming in tomorrow?” he asked, quietly, like you might run off if he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

*

Your bedroom fell silent as the vibrator stopped, the battery finally flat. You whined in disappointment, desperate for another orgasm. Your fingers replaced it instantly, rubbing, desperately pulling more wetness from the arousal weeping from you, but you were too oversensitive.

Panting, vision blurry, your thighs aching, you blinked away tears. You glanced at the nightstand. Tom hadn’t text you.

*

When you woke up the next morning your phone was dead. You’d forgotten to charge it last night, and leaving it in your room to charge offered a strangely peaceful morning. You had a few hours before you would be expected at the studio, and no work to do before then.

You indulged in spending time getting ready for the day, making a decent breakfast, doing a few chores you’d been putting off.

Processing what had happened yesterday.

In the clear light of day, you wondered if you ought to be embarrassed for the way you’d completely lost yourself at the shoot. The more you thought about it, the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised at you’d just followed Tom’s direction. Done what he’d asked. It had been intense, for sure, but you’d done what he’d asked. If anything you regretted the moment he’d had to speak, losing your nerve. You hoped he didn’t want pick-up shots today, you weren’t sure your body could take any more.

You thought about the night before, clearing up the scattered clothes and charging the vibrator you’d left strewn beside your bed, more ashamed of the images which had been conjured by your overactive imagination in the late-night privacy of your bedroom. You hated that everything you imagined was involved blue eyes. Distinctive curls. Pulling buttons from smart shirts and kissing along sharp cheekbones. Poor Tom. He didn’t need you overstepping that mark. And yet when you had closed your eyes, imagined you were under those lights again, all you could imagine was Tom. His creative gaze. Listening to the smoothness his voice leant to everything he said as he instructed you even more intimately than usual.

As you switched your phone back on, you forced the thoughts from your mind. They couldn’t follow you to the studio. The two of you had built something good. Something successful. The studio was doing well, you were both saving money away for the future, building your brands. You couldn’t screw that up now by imagining him like that. He trusted you. You trusted each other. Relied on one another.

You wondered if he ever fucked other actresses.

[absurdthirst]

Headcanons on the boys seeking comfort and snuggling into their s/o for the first time? I just wanna hold the smol boys 🥺

Snuggling For The First Time:

Javier: It happens after that night. The night that truly rocked his world. Not the night that Carillo shot that boy in the head, no he managed to bury his feelings when he was burying himself in your body. He didn’t need your arms around him, he needed release, his brain clear of everything but the euphoria of an orgasm. Not the night that he reaches out to you, its the night of the ambush. It the night that the Search Bloc and Carillo were ambushed on their way to a raid. The night that they were slaughtered like animal in the streets. Pure luck and an order had kept Javier from being right there with them, and he knew it. He would have been one of the bodies on the ground instead of knocking on Horacio’s door to tell his wife that her husband was never coming home. After he was done, he beat on your door. You two weren’t exactly a couple, you fucked for release. But tonight, he needed you. He needed solace, something he knew he could find in your arms. He didn’t say much. Hell, he didn’t say anything. He just pushed you down on the bed and stripped his jacket, climbing on top of you. You were expecting hot kisses, a bruising grip. Instead, he buried his head against your chest and press his ear hard against your heart, desperate to hear your heart beat. For the first time in forever, he could close his eyes and relax.

Catfish: You and Frankie hadn't been together for too long. You knew about the man’s past, his drug use and the PTSD that came from his time in the service. He calls you, your phone ringing at 2AM. His normal low and calm cadence was panicked. “Baby, I - I need, fuck, I’m so sorry. It’s late. I-” “Frankie, are you okay?” There’s a long pause, you think he’s hung up. “No.” This leads you to driving across town and beating on his door. When He answers, he looks wrecked. He pulls you into the house, his arms wrapped around you tight. It’s not a good night. He’s been fighting himself, fighting a craving for the sweet relief that cocaine use to bring him. Instead, he called you. So you lay down with him, your hand running through his hair as he grounds himself in the fact that he’s not alone. That someone is beside him and cares enough to be there for him. You don’t talk, just start humming some odd tune that is soothing, and slowly you start to feel him unwind, his body sagging against yours as he drifts off. Tomorrow morning he’s going to be sheepish and trying to shuffle off, embarrassed that you had to see him like that, but you won’t let that happen. He needed you and you were right where you needed to be, with him.

Ezra: Ezra hasn’t needed anyone in a long time. He prides himself on it. Or he did, until that last trip to the Green. The horrors that were wrought there, the emotional turmoil of losing his arm has weight heavily on him. It’s not being cheeky to say that he lost something of himself down on that toxic moon. His entire livelihood, his way to survive was based on the skill of his hands. And now he was missing one, the dominate one. When he returns to you, he’s not the same man that left so many cycles ago. He tries to pretend he’s the same, but at night, when his mind wanders unfiltered is when his insecurities come out. He’s been back a week when he has his first nightmare. Watching his arm get cut off again, this time without the meds and attempting to do it on his own. His own scream woke him up, the covers twists around his body and you are looking at him with such compassion, such understanding that he just can’t do anymore. He can’t pretend he doesn’t need you. When you pull him down against you, he doesn’t resist, burrowing his head against your neck as he pours out all his fears of inadequacy now that he is triplegic. Relaxing as you reassure him that it will all be okay. 

Mando: He tells himself it’s not for himself, that it’s for you. Today he almost lost you and the child. You are passed out on the bunk, the child in his pram. He doesn’t even know how long he’s been watching you breath. Just to reassure himself that you are still there. Slowly he sinks down on the hard cot, wincing as his back screams for him to get a mattress for this hard, uncomfortable piece of shit. His arms come around you slowly, careful not to wake you. He will be gone before you wake, but while he can, he pulls you into his arms and gives in to feeling you closer than you’ve ever been before. Maybe one day this will be a normal thing, holding you every night.

Tovar: He doesn’t come to you for comfort. But at the same time, when you are done, breathless and sweaty sprawled out in the bed, he’s not letting you go. After you’ve cleaned up, he’s pulling you into his arms, grumbling about how women need to be coddled. It’s funny how when you try to move away, his arms tighten, refusing to let you out of his grip. His hand forcing your head back down on his chest. You ignore the little sigh he releases, pretend you don’t hear it, even though you can hear every breath he takes. Only when you relax against him and he is sure that you won’t move does he move one hand to your hair, playing with it until you fall sleep. Only then does he close his own eyes, murmuring out “Mi consuelo”

Whiskey: Whiskey is a man who has shied away from physical intimacy for a long time. Not sex, but intimacy. Holding someone close, burrowing into someone until he’s not sure where he ends and they begin. The last time he did that with someone, she was killed. Taking his son and his dream of a family with her. So when he realizes he loves you is when he starts craving that intimacy again. Hell he hasn’t even acknowledged his feelings out loud or told you that this thing between you is becoming more serious on his part. The first time he snuggles into you, he spends the night. It’s not a rough and tumble roll in the hay before he regretfully makes excuses on why he has to leave or a quickie on his office desk. This is more sedate, a different pace that your cowboy sets. And when he is done, he doesn’t get up, he pulls you closer to him and sighs, closing his eyes and immediately falling asleep. Something he hasn’t done in years. At last he’s found what he needs, comfort. And he’s found it in you. 

Max Phillips: Once you are his, he is immediately snuggling into you. It’s your heat. He fucking loves it. He might be an annoying prick of a frat boy but this vampire has a low core temperature and loves how soft and hot you feel. He’s not going to be able to resist that allure. Its immediately after he’s take you for the first time. When you are fucked out and boneless, his cock still buried in you as his body curls around you. He will stay just like that for the rest of the night.   

Marcus: Snuggles happen pretty fast with Marcus. This man was born to cuddle and needs to give and receive love. After your third date, he doesn’t want to push things too far too fast, that’s gotten him in trouble in the past. Being too eager. So when the two of you are horizontal on your couch, mouths fused together, he doesn’t take it farther even though he is aching to. Instead he rolls onto his side, off of you and tucks you into his body and curls his arms around you. He presses kisses against the nape of your neck and starts talking softly about what he wants, making sure that the two of you are on the same page. He’s content when you are perfectly happy with staying just like that, although in an hour or so, you sleepily ask him to come with you to the bedroom. His own smile sleepy as well. Even if he doesn’t have sex with you tonight, holding you all night sounds just as good to him. 

MasterList

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[leo-interactive-fiction]

Wait!! What about a mirror World scenerio where the ros meet their counterpart like alter E is a big bully or something and for more angst alter MC died to save the ros please ಥ‿ಥ

Haha, that’s an interesting ask! There might be some slight spoilers, so beware. I’ll just label them as Alt’X’ for each character’s mirror. Let’s see...

E: Though they bare a similar appearance, AltE carries a hollow glare over a blood-flecked face. Each step they take dispairs E, who bites back their sunken dismay. “What happened to you...?” AltE glowers, “Everything that didn’t happen to you. But I still have power, and I’ll use it to take back everything I lost.” “Our power wasn’t meant for that--” “My power is meant for whatever I need it for,” AltE interjects, readying their stance, “Kill me if you think you can. I’m not changing course otherwise.” “Wha-- No, I...I don’t want to kill anyone...” “Then you’ll die more pathetic than most.”

R: a figure dressed in a gold-lined suit passes their brimmed hat to their consigliere, causing R’s expression to sour. “Ran back to him, did you?” “A half-truth,” AltR crosses the threshold between them with a chilling levity, “The family isn’t something to disregard. Not when we all could benefit. Isn’t that what we wanted? A carefree life. Is the price of carrying along with a simple deceit really worth giving that up?” “I’ve heard that before.” “Our father did everything in his power to solidify our family’s stability,” AltR extends a manicured hand, “It’s not too late to return, you know. There’s plenty of uses for people like us, and no amount of comfort unavailable to you. Our father can assure to that.” R turns away the hand, “Your father, perhaps. I think I’ll take chances down my own road.” “I’ve yet to hear a truer misfortune. Your abilities were a keen reason to extend my hand, which makes this an unfortunate loss,” AltR turns away, waving to their partner, “Plan B. Get rid of the outliers.”

L: AltL approaches with a familiar Hospian blade in hand, its polished surface casting light into L’s eyes with a deadly sheen. “So you’ve chosen violence...” “I’ve chosen Victory,” AltL stabs their sword into the ground, raising their fingers to the laurel pin in their hair, “The wisest method of achieving peace is through that selfsame method. To conquer is to unify. This is the future I foresee, and the one I aim to bring about.” “I only see the destruction and pain you’ll bring.” “Then you’re short-sighted. Every fire begets flowers in the spring. The rubble I create will bear materials to rebuild for a better tomorrow.” “Any future built upon the sacrifices and anguish of the innocent, even in the name of a greater good, is one I can not abide by!” AltL reclaims their arms, “Abide in your grave! I see only one path before me, and you stand before it!”

V: V aims their pistol at the slender figure before them, a hesitance resting on their trigger figure as AltV stares at them with an expression of heavy grief, “They’ve done so much to you.” V steadies their hand, “Who are you? A spy? Why are you...” “Don’t you recognize yourself?” “You’re different.” “I never ventured over that hill.” V freezes, losing their hold on Silvy and allow the firearm to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. AltV takes a tentative step closer, a hopefulness in their tone, “I can give you a second chance! Don’t you want to see them again?” “Them...?” “You know...the Nomads. Our--” “No, no!” V covers their ears with an agonizing cry, “Get them out of my head! I don’t want to see it again! It’ll happen again!” AltV watches on in grim sorrow, “They’ve done so much to you...”

P: P’s eyes narrow on the golden wreathed spear their doppelganger carries, their tone very nearly spitting acid. “Seeing myself wield that so easily pisses me off...” “And seeing you still wallowing in your weakness makes me sick. I guess they never taught maturity in this world.” “Shut the hell up before I fucking pike you with that damn spear.” “Is creating a string of expletives the height of your vocabulary?” “You must not’ve gotten a good ass-kicking when you were younger if you turned into such a pompous little shit.” The two of them huff, their words crossing over each other simultaneously: “At least I’m not as insufferable as you.”

M: M’s brow raises at the anguished look their alterego gives them past their glasses, their own eyes gazing over the neatly tied hair and manicured outfit until the alter ego speaks up. “You look like an absolute mess! I don’t know how I feel seeing my own body in such an awful condition.” “I don’t...wear glasses...” “What? I’m...” AltM touches their glasses with a puzzled look, “...You know we’re far-sighted, right?” “I can...see fine...I think...” AltM comes close and holds their hand up in front of M’s face, “How many fingers am I holding up?” “...Four...” “It’s one finger.” “That’s...okay...” AltM gives a scrutinizing look, “Are you an idiot?” M gives a light laugh. “How many fingers...am I holding...?” They ask before sending a solid punch into their doppelganger's face. Wiping off the small patch of blood welling on their knuckle, they hum over the unconscious body, “You had glasses...so...I’m a little...surprised...you couldn’t see that...”

Ra: Raven paces around their alter-ego with a darkened glower. Mirroring them, AltRa backpedals with a fretting look. “Are...you okay?” “Look at you,” Raven seethes venomously, “Still being raised on lies, or maybe they’re now truths to you. By that witch.” “I was glad to have been raised by--” “Don’t!” Raven nearly pounces on them, shutting down their vocalization with their own vehement protest, “Don’t you dare say that name!” “What happened between you...?” “Nothing!” “Ka--” “No!” Raven looms over their cowering alter, their fingers tightening around the grip of their knife, “I’m -- We’re -- Raven, and...we’re going to have an...eventful discussion...”

S: S gives a hard look to the figure before them, adorned in a racing jacket emblazoned with a cogwheel symbol etched in gold. S reacts with a voice of clear animosity. “Well, would’ya look at that. Rightfully sponsored, and by Gear no less.” “Ya gunna get on me for makin’ good on an opportunity? Were ya plannin’ on livin’ in that hovel scrapyard forever?” “That’s home to me! That’s where all our family is!” “Our family was better relocated.” “What?” S’s shock gives way to a rising fury, “Ya sold out the yard?! That was...Everything. Ma an’ Pa gave everything to that place!” AltS’s brow creases into a stony countenance, “An’ it wasn’t workin’ out. Family ain’t just gunna pop our dinner into existence.” “Shut the hell up ya damn sellout. I’d rather starve.” “Guess this world ain’t one for common sense,” AltS mutters, taking off their jacket, “Ah well. Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

F: They cross their arms upon coming face to face with AltF, glancing over their baggy street clothes and unkempt hair with a displeasure at their mouth. They easily recognize the bow hanging over their shoulder. “You’ve come to the wrong place for sport, I’m afraid. Your hunt has ended before its begun.” AltF shakes their head, “I’m here for you. To appease you, as ruler of my own world.” “A ruler who would wrap themselves in pauper’s wear. A testement to the sorry condition of your nation, brought upon by weak ruler. But I will be different.” “You misrepreset me. We have relinquished much of our material wealth, but those still yet present hold spirit beyond their means. But such rulership that you anticipate will alienate our proud people--” “I’ll not have you lecturing me upon the finer points of my actions,” F snaps coldly, “Ruling is my birthright! In the progress of my livelihood have I carried the expectation of my duties, and I will spend the rest of it in assurance that I fulfill them, even should it come at a cost to the rest of the world. My duty is to Frenza foremost.” “I see now that it may be unwise to continue a discourse. You’ve blinded yourself to your place in the world, content to your familiarity.” “You think yourself more righteous than your station, Husk. Morality holds little place here,” F releases a self-satisfied smile, “Should my people call for injustices and bay for blood, who am I to refuse their pleas?”

Thank ya for the ask, it was fun to write though it took some time to come up with stuff haha. I hope ya enjoy

[mvnvgedmischief]

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

chapter:  4/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 8 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Sirius knew that work was going to be high stress all day. He felt sick to his stomach, thinking about the way he would continuously have to talk to people, when all he wanted was some peace. He wanted downtime. Time when he didn’t have to think about how he needed his paycheck to put food on the table, clothes on his brother’s back, pay bills to keep his lights on, wifi for homework. Regulus occupied his thoughts at all times, protecting him was Sirius’s only priority these days. He didn’t have time for anything else. Not his friends, not his interests, not music. Nothing could come between his focus and his brother’s wellbeing, because if it did, Sirius would never forgive himself. The consequences were too dire. So instead, he just wished for downtime that wouldn’t come, and prayed for the weekend to approach even faster. 

The weekend, when he could finally sleep again, albeit not well. The weekend, when he had the time to take a breath, even if it was only brief. Because his weekends were also spent finding ways to better equip his apartment for his younger brother, going to long grocery runs so Regulus had lunch to take to school, meal prepping all of the things he couldn’t bring himself to eat for dinner. He was definitely tired of all of the ways his mind was spiraling out, he didn’t have the time. He didn’t fault Regulus for it, it wasn’t the teen's presence in his life that was causing all this stress. It really was his own fault. A bit of crying at that first hearing had given Walburga and Orion the satisfaction of a victory over him at that first hearing, and they seemed to crave more of that chaos. They wanted to watch their children suffer, and this was how they chose to do that. So instead he spiraled in the privacy of his own home, because he could practically hear the words they burned into his mind whenever he saw them, and feel the ache of old beatings. 

But it was only Thursday, and that meant he still had to do this all day, and  then get berated by the rest of the team for not attending their weekly bonding happy hour. If he was lucky,  no  one would ask him to go. He knew he should be less terrified of them asking, most of the people on his team were his friends. There was simply the question of Remus, and Sirius didn’t have the time to be thinking about him in the first place. 

He didn’t have time to think about  the way his hair curled just the right way to fall into his eyes when he slept, or the way his caramel freckles made him look sunkist. He didn’t have time to think about the  pink scars that ran down Remus’s face or how they got there. He definitely didn;’t have time to think of the comfort  of his hand combing through Sirius’s own mop of unruly curls. So instead, he needs to  put  all of that out  of his mind. It wasn’t going to help him do well at work. It wasn’t going to solve his problems. He didn’t have the  time for this, nor did he have the emotional bandwidth. Perhaps that was why Sirius was conveniently avoiding the idea that he had asked Remus on a date. With some luck, Remus would think he was just an asshole who ghosted him. That was definitely complicated by the fact that they worked together, that he couldn’t just disappear. He wanted to, he really did, because there was simply no time. 

He set up his deliverables as though he had made tons of them, because his employment in this company  rode on it. Just two months ago, he was pegged to be promoted within the next two cycles, and now he could barely hold on to his sanity enough to handle his workload. He was so fucking tired, and he had so much on his plate. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the long day of meetings ahead of him. He had no true motivation to do his job right now, all he knew was that his exhaustion was no excuse. He knew that his boss, Alice, was giving him a whole lot of leeway right now. She was probably doing more than she should to help him. Being a mentor on the senior design team didn’t mean she needed to keep tabs on his personal life and pick up his slack. 

“Sirius–” 

When Sirius focused back into the meeting he was calling into, it occurred to him that they’re talking to him. So he did what he always did, blamed it on a shoddy connection. 

“Oh, sorry, can you repeat that? My audio cut out.” 

“Remus was saying that some of  the poems could probably use illustrations, and he was wondering if you had any ideas on which ones needed it.” 

“Thanks, Peter.” Sirius was glad that he knew the people on this team, that Peter and James were as close to him as anyone could be. Because otherwise, he’d probably be fucked. 

“So I was looking through them, and I was thinking Bite, Magick, and Love I could probably use larger scale illustrations. But at the same time, we don’t want to crowd the book. How attached are you to the current order or page arrangement?” 

It felt too close, but he was lucky that he had at least read the titles of some of the poems in the first half of the book. Sirius knew Remus didn’t actually know what his level of involvement was. He thought it was just doodles, but Sirius would be responsible for presenting everything from kearning and font choice within the pages, to illustration and cover art to the design team. He was integral to the success of this book as a product, and he  needed to start acting like it. 

“I’m pretty attached.” Remus sounded cold to Sirius, and he wondered what exactly he had done wrong in this meeting. And yet, he didn’t have time to think on it. He needed to keep things moving, keep getting valuable information out of the author. Hook up be damned, Sirius needed this book to actually get off the ground. 

 “Okay, well we should get a meeting on the calender to discuss. What poems and what scale of illustrations you want–” 

“Shouldn’t you be deciding what the illustrations look like and the logistics of those. Isn’t that what you  get paid for?” Remus really wasn’t making this easy on Sirius. But he had dealt with bigger demons and divas then whatever this attitude was. So he put on a light and airy smile, one they’d never know didn’t reach his eyes over the low quality webcam and nodded. 

“If you’d like to take a hands off approach with the design work, that can absolutely be arranged. But in the case of a fledgling project with a new author, the design team, myself included, really hope to prioritize your artistic license so that we can get a better sense of your vision for your literature, should Quill move forward with other publications in the future.  We can provide a completely in-house service, with as much input as you feel necessary during the design process, and deliver collateral towards the end of the project when final edits are done, if you would prefer, Mister Lupin.” 

Sirius practically wanted to scream. He needed Remus to stop fucking with his job, with his livelihood. He couldn’t lose this project. He needed all of the billable hours he could get if he was going to justify the overtime he needed in order to provide for his brother. This was ridiculous. But his clinical and polite answer must have thrown Remus, because he didn’t get much more attitude out of him. The back and forth had ended. So instead, Sirius pulled up his deliverables for the week, which included new iterations for the covers, and twelve illustrations for the three poems he had mentioned. 

He noticed the way Remus looked at his drawings, like he was pained by whatever his thoughts were, and Sirius wants to scream that he’s under no obligation to think that they’re good. But then he remembers that Remus seemed to be nitpicking on purpose, based on his critique of the design system itself. Sirius didn’t have the time to deal with that level of petty, just because he hadn’t been answering. He was too busy. He had too much on his plate. So instead he continues his presentation. 

“I don’t like any of these. Maybe you should start over.” Remus sounded vindictive, even mean. Like he was doing this out of spite.  Sirius could feel his heart drop in that moment. He didn’t want to start over. He didn’t have the time. 

“What do you not like about them?” Sirius is trying to salvage his work while he can. 

“The vibe is off.”

“Oh, is there something specific that throws it off or...” Sirius trailed off, wondering what exactly he needed to change. 

“No, it’s the whole thing. All of them are just off.” 

Sirius needed to think quick on his feet. He didn’t have the time to start from scratch, so he pulled up his original thumbnails that he had discussed with Remus. 

“These are the original sketches we discussed. I moved forward with the ones we talked about. I’m happy to rework those sketches,” no, he wasn’t. “But if there’s another sketch that you think would fit your vision better, please let me know.” He felt like he was pleading with Remus not to hate his artwork. He’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t a blow to his self esteem to hear that everything that he did was bad. 

“No, I would suggest you start over.” 

Sirius nodded, his mind immediately whirring with ways he could start over and re-design this project. He really didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to do hundreds of thumbnails to get set on thirty, only to be destroyed in a meeting again. Especially when Remus seemed so excited about all of his illustrations before the meetings. It felt like too much. He didn’t have the energy for this kind of behavior. 

Luckily, Marlene directed the conversation away from Sirius’s work. The rest of the call went on without a hitch, like the only person who’s work Remus had a problem with was Sirius’s. He knew that it was more likely for Remus to have a problem with him, because design work was usually something an artist thought of as easy; however, this felt calculated and cold. If Sirius had been avoiding Remus before, it definitely wasn’t about to get better. So instead, he listened to the end of the meeting, and started the project all over again. He could do this. It was an unremarkable critique. It didn’t matter.

[uhhhhyandere]

If you're still doing requests how about omegaverse with omega Light and alpha m!reader who's a kickboxer. The reader's and Light's families are close and have high expectations of the two eventually marrying in the future, but the reader has no interest in being tied down and focused solely in his training and career. Lately he's noticed that some of his belongings have gone missing, like an old shirt or his boxing gloves, strangely enough the medication to help control his ruts keep (1/2)

running out quick, but writes it off as him being absentminded. One day he's forced to visit Light at his house and catches his scent forcing the reader into a rut, mating with Light all the while unaware they're under surveillance by the task force but Light finds this highly amusing. Now with mating bite and possibly pregnant, Light is tied to the reader no matter what now. (2/2)

we ain't gonna talk about how this has been sitting in my inbox for more than a year and ain't gonna talk about how i’ve almost had it done for more than a year, then forgot until i was digging through my drafts. no comment. i stink. i know, okay?!?!?!?!?!? AAAAHHH but i had fun finishing it so that’s what matters!! 

6.6k words m!reader x light :) 

warnings: smut! light is a.bottom and that's a hill i’ll die on.

Sweat, blood, and tears. It’s all you’ve ever known, and it’s all you’ve come to love and live for. The adrenaline of the ring, the quick, decisive movements, the thrill of winning, and the lessons learned from losing, it all accelerates your pulse and excites your nerves. Hard work never daunted you. You’ve learned to keep pushing, to run when you can’t walk, to fight when you’re knocked down, and to do whatever it took to come out on top. Your alpha blood craved the victory.

5am runs followed by strength training, then workouts after school was a routine you forced into your system. With your lifestyle, however, there was no other option. Strength. Flexibility. Reflexes. You needed everything to be successful. At the forefront of that “everything,” was commitment. There were things you had to miss because of training: family dinners, parties, club meetings, and more you’ve gotten an earful about for missing, but at least your family understood that boxing was your livelihood, no matter how much they were against it. It wasn’t some hobby you were going to drop when you got older. You wanted to make a career out of it, to be able to fight until you have to retire. 

Of course, that was the plan. There were things, expectations, that naturally got in the way. It wasn’t ideal when your only son wanted to be a boxer of all things. How dangerous, risky, a dream you only have as a child. Well, fuck them, you said. Your dream was going to be your reality, and you couldn’t care less who or what stood in the way. Hard work perseveres in the end. You just had to focus. To get distracted by anything was the risk of losing that future. 

The Yagami’s were a prime risk of losing that future. Your families were intertwined from before you were even born. Friends through their years of schooling and beyond. They married in the same year, moved into houses on the same block, and, of course, had their oldest child in the same year. It was like clockwork from there on out, a script to be naturally followed through the course of time. It only helped all the better when you were born an alpha and Light an omega. 

Light’s and your baby pictures were taken together. Vacations were taken together. Chief Yagami pulled strings at school so you were put into the same class, assigned the same tutor, put in the same prep course, and the same private academy. At that point, you were almost sure your parents wanted to be there when you two undoubtedly mate. Your paths were carved to be identical, linked to the very end, yet so you saw them as so incredibly different. 

However, you and Light were fundamentally different people. He was not a friend you chose, but someone who’s just been there. A constant, a tick on the back of your neck that left you with no choice but to live with its existence. You’ve come to accept the reality that he’s going to be there for the near future, the far future if your parents had anything to say about it. They and the Yagami’s had a matching plan, but while they were audibly planning your wedding, you were conniving a scheme of your own. 

The Koyanagi Invitational. Held at the beginning of January, this tournament-style invitational welcomes only the best of the best in fighters from all over Japan. The winners almost always see themselves on the international stage. It’s a nationally televised program, and you were only one win away from securing your spot in round one after your championship match for your region coming up soon. 

Your time is always dedicated to your passion, but now more than ever. Your trainer, an alum of the invitational himself, has allotted the time you desired to train in the gym at the expense of his other lessons. The trade-off was after your championship, you had to find another place for the time it will take to make up all the canceled lessons with the clients you were replacing for the time being, which shouldn’t be hard to do if—when you win the regional championship. Therefore, your time was acutely cut short for academics, social events, and everything else that was not training, but those were the sacrifices you warned everyone you would be making to come this far and reach even farther. You were not even keeping track of Kira at this point. Even that was on the backburner. What? Were they going to kill you for missing dinner with the Yagami’s for the third time this week? 

“Y/N,” your name was called. Through the surging endorphins of your body, you were able to feel good enough to answer the call from your father from the sweat you were yet to shower off. You’d rather reek on the way home rather than use the gym showers. Dropping your bag from your shoulder, you rub the muscle there as you approach the full table. “You were supposed to be home forty-five minutes ago.” You sighed, dropping your hands back to your sides. “Yeah, sorry, dad. Lost track of time. Coach was fixing my style again. Swarmer has always been good for me, I think. Just refining it.” You didn’t miss the shared look between your parents. 

“Well, it’s a good thing we scheduled this later because we knew you’d do this,” your mother says, low heat in her voice. “Get cleaned up and be down here in no more than ten minutes.” Biting your tongue, you nodded, making eye contact with Light as you turned to grab your bag and follow her request. “You could at least put jeans on.” You weren’t even down the hallway when your mother spoke again. This time, you were not being civil for the company’s sake and didn’t bother concealing your groan.  

“It’s not like we have company over.” The Yagami’s were over for dinner or you were over there at least four times a week. It would be odder to have dinner with just three instead of seven (or five, if you missed due to training or Soichiro because of the Kira case) people around the table. You pulled out the chair they left for you beside Light and lowered yourself into it, immediately taking another drink of water from the gallon water bottle you lugged around. “Or, at least, no one new.”  

“Y/N—,”

“No, he’s quite right. There’s no need to dress up for us. We’re practically family already.” Mrs. Yagami, your savior, laughed. “Light just always does,” which is wildly true. Light had a tendency to always look presentable and put-together no matter where the setting was. Late-night study sessions and other in-house cases were the only occasions you would see him clad in anything comfortable. Then, there was you, in your sweats at all times except when you were forced into your uniform at school. 

Luckily enough, the comparison game was not thrown between the two of you too often. It wasn’t necessary when your parents were convinced you would mate and live the rest of your lives together. An unspoken truth that simmered in the air whenever you all got together. 

“How is your training going anyway, Y/N?” Soichiro was an odd sight at the table anymore. The Kira case was an equivalent time commitment to your championship training, (except he gets paid to almost die. You get into fights willingly) and it was more and more late nights on the investigation team.

Especially now, of all times, with the dead FBI agents from the United States the news mentioned one morning, he was busier than ever. 

“Gets harder and harder, Mr. Yagami. Though, I’m keeping up. With the championship on the seventh, I can’t afford not to. The guy’s a monster from what I’ve heard. Tomorrow we’re watching his match from the semi’s.” Your mother cleared her throat. 

“Soichiro, sorry. We just prefer not to talk about business at the dinner table. Our son has a tendency to talk about fighting at all hours of the day, so we cherish this time where we don’t have to hear about it.” Ignoring her blatancy, you took another drink. 

“Well, I like to hear about it.” It was Light who spoke up. “It’s his passion, with all due respect. Do you not see it when his eyes light up when he describes his feelings or explains his regime? He’s someone with an innate gift he wants to pursue. Not to mention the strength he possesses to live this lifestyle. If anything, you should be proud to hear him talk about it, the time he dedicates. It’s nothing short of awe-striking, what he can do.” Your skin feeling unbearably hot, you blinked a few times and hoped to hide from the admirable line of defense Light brought up for you. Peeking from your pit of embarrassment, you met his eyes, bright and unabashed, and you smiled a silent thank you to him. He, without moving a single facial feature, accepted it. 

Instead of seeing the literal meaning of his words, you knew your parents saw the underlying tone of them. Their son being stood up for by Light Yagami. It must mean Light cared for him. Another step towards the future they have been quietly planning, so they smiled, and you wondered if Light saw through it just as easily as you did. 

He and you never sat down and had a conversation about your parents’ expectations. Whether it was reluctance or the pure awkwardness of it all, it never came up when you were together. It didn’t matter, though, because if you could avoid it, which you could easily with your training, you would. At all costs. You did not have the time for that and would not for anytime soon. 

After dinner, Light and you were pushed to do the dishes, as you always were if you were present. He washed, and you dried and put them away. In the midst of the sink running and the clinking of dishes, you found yourself with the desire to properly thank him outside of the small look you gave him before, but thought twice, three times about it at risk of looking too thankful and soft. “Just say it,” he spoke instead. 

“What?”  

“You look like you have something to say. You’ve glanced at me twenty-three times in the past seven minutes.” Despite the small grin on his face, you still couldn’t help but consider saying “it’s nothing,” which he would undoubtedly disbelieve, and let it blow over. Knowing him, though, he would twist it out of your system anyway, like a lawyer rinsing the truth in a cross-examination. 

“Just—uh thanks, man. For before.” Light laughed, scrubbing in the curve of a bowl. 

“You don’t have to thank me for something like that. You’re the type of person society needs, and to have someone talk down at you for being excited about your dreams is wrong. I was only doing the right thing, and I’d do it again.” You avoided his gaze as he explained, suddenly invested in drying the utensils one-by-one. 

“Well, yeah, means a lot.” 

Was Light’s smell always so nice? Yes, you weren’t going to fool yourself that this was the first time you’ve noticed. You’ve been nearby during one of his heats, and you remember nearly falling out into your own primal senses because of it. If it weren’t for your own reluctant self-control, you’re not sure where that night would have gone to. You’ve managed to deduce his smell to be some sort of chestnut, brown sugar mix. Intoxicating, but undeniably would foster an unwarranted reaction from you if you were too close during those times. 

Not to mention that you’ve noticed Light’s good looks sporadically throughout the past. While he plays tennis, focuses on a particularly confusing calculus problem, biting his lip and twiddling the pencil between his digits, or just smiles at you from across the hall at school, you’ve acknowledged it, but never let it grow to anything else. You didn’t want to. Sure, he was handsome, but you had a million other things to focus on than to be tied down by any sort of relationship. Besides, if worse comes the worse, your self-control is unmatched from your countless hours of training. No single individual could sway you from your path.

“It’s really nothing. Like I said, don’t mention it.” And you didn’t plan on it. Light stayed to finish up homework as well as teach you a good two-thirds of the material before telling you he was heading out on his short walk home after you returned from a quick bathroom break. It was getting close to the bedtime that enabled you to get your full eight hours before 5am.

The closer the championship came, the less you saw of people. You ate breakfast and left earlier, came to school right from the gym, (yes, you resigned yourself to shower in the disgusting stalls) went back to the gym after school, and got home later. It gave you less time to do homework or hang out with anyone that wasn’t your trainer. Good thing you had your good friend Light who insisted it was fine to stay late in your room and catch you up on what you were behind in. 

It only made sense, then, with your exponentially increasing schedule that things started to become hectic. Of course, you were missing more of what you usually missed, but most recently you’ve begun to misplace things. A t-shirt you knew you had in the drawer, your go-to nighttime sweatshirt, a pair of shorts. You figured some might be at the gym or dropped in your transit from one place to another, but your sweatshirt never left your house and you sure as hell never left it in the hamper to get washed. 

It was just your busy schedule, you and your parents agreed. You needed to step back and relax if you were beginning to lose things. Plus, you were hardly sleeping with your anxiety building for the coming fight and the late nights you were practically forcing Light to pull with you.

“You don’t have to do this with me all the time,” you mentioned one night. “If I’m messing with your schedule or anything, I know it’s probably super inconvenient for you to do this so often. I never asked—.”

“You didn’t have to,” he answered. “It’s no trouble. I offered, after all. It’s not like I see you much outside of these sessions anyway. Even at school, you seem to always be in a hurry. I’m actually pretty worried about you. How much sleep are you getting? Are you eating enough? Drinking?” You waved him off. 

“You know I always do. I have to eat and drink enough to do this in the first place. I don’t carry a gallon bottle around for the gains, after all.”  

“And your sleep?” You glanced towards your window. 

“Needs work these days.” A small whack resounded off your temple. Surprised, you watched the weapon be flipped between the assaulter’s fingers in front of you. “What was that for?” 

“Don’t be stupid. I get you want to work hard for your match coming up but killing yourself with all this hard work and no rest will undoubtedly lead to your defeat. It’s common sense. You should know that more than anyone.” You set your pen on the desk, the fatigue weighing your eyes down. “Even your dark circles are even showing.” You relaxed your shoulders. “You don’t have to put up your tough guy front with me.”  

“You don’t have to put up your perfect student façade either.” You paused. “Sorry. Uncalled for. You’re right, as usual. I love it though. I want to be the best, and this guy I’m coming up against? He’s a maniac. This is the first tournament he hasn’t gone below the belt or spit on an opponent. Who knows when he’ll start, though? I have to be quick. This fight cannot last long, or this guy will injure me. I can’t afford that if I’m moving on to Koyanagi.” You laughed. “You’re really right. You know I’ve been losing stuff left and right? Old shirt here, that black sweatshirt I wear all the time? Gone. No idea. Some tape in my bag. It’s like some leprechaun is stealing my stuff.” 

“They’ll turn up. Maybe if you get a proper night’s sleep tomorrow and train only in the afternoon, you’ll remember where you left them.” You groaned, stretching in your spot and allowing yourself to slouch against the wall you leaned against and to shut your eyes. “Hey, at least finish this last problem and sleep in your bed.” 

“Don’t want to. I’ll sleep right here.” 

And you did, because Light Yagami was too weak to lift you up.

A sore back and neck now healed, you found yourself wrapping your hands for the long-awaited match in the locker room. Heart already beginning to pound, you tried to find solace in the silence around you, but all you could hear was the rhythm against your ribs. 

“You ready, kid?” Your coach asked from the entranceway. “Two minutes.” You nodded, reaching into your bag and finding odd space in there. No fucking way. Though your old boxing gloves were present, your current ones were not. God, another thing my dumbass lost. There was no time to sit and shit on yourself. I just lost the fucking match for myself, damn it! You didn’t think about it long before you exited the locker room and into the blur of voices and music on the other side. Your opponent stood on the other side of the room, taller and wider than yourself. “Size ain’t nothing kid. Put your confidence into work too here. Don’t forget the mental part of the fight, ya hear me?” 

You didn’t. In the crowd, you saw your family and the Yagami’s looking either nervous or excited. The camera crews around swung cameras across the area of the mat. As your name was announced and you entered the ring, the lights began to move around you. The crowd cheered and yelled in excitement. Your coach encouraged you from behind you.

Sweat, blood, and tears. It is what has gotten you this far, and it will continue to bring you higher. You did not train and work to lose right where you should be beginning. As your opponent entered from the other corner, the familiar sense of adrenaline rushed your veins. Yes, you could do this. 

Ten  

Nine 

Eight 

Seven

Six 

Five

Four 

Three 

Two 

One 

K.O.

You woke up in your bed the next morning. A white ceiling, white walls beeping a steady heartbeat around you. Then, it all came coming back. The elbow, all the dirty moves used against you pounded in your skin. Out of everything, your head ached the most. Tiny explosions cascaded your brain as you rolled your head along your pillow. 

“You’re awake!” It was your father. “Your mother’s worried sick. That stupid asshole. Why they didn’t disqualify him after the first dirty hit, I’ll never know, but you had a fair fight.” You squinted through the migraine.

“…Did I win?”

“From a DQ, yeah. Hardly counts, and I’m sure you hardly feel like it. The guy was a nutcase. The kind that takes out their aggression through the sport rather than respecting it. You’re gonna be out for the count for a while, you know that, right? Grade three concussion. You’re going to have to take a break. Me and your trainer already called every gym around and put you on the blacklist—,”

“But dad—,”

“Nope, I’m not going to hear it. You are not allowed to even think about working out or training. We are going to keep our eyes on you at all times because we all know how you think and what you’re going to try to pull. Recovery is the most important part of an injury. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll never get better in time for the invitational. Got it?” You guffawed. 

“You can’t keep eyes on me at all times.” 

“Not me, personally, but there is someone with a similar schedule to you that you happen to go to school with and happens to live around the block.” You glared at the man. 

“You recruited Light into helping you, didn’t you?” He shrugged and took the steps forward to stand at the foot of the bed. 

“It’s more so he volunteered. He knows just as well as the rest of us you need to be watched or you’ll train at some faraway gym or secluded area. It’s for your best interest. You’ll go to school with him and he’ll take you back to their place until we get home—.”

“I don’t need a goddamned babysitter,” you bit out. 

“On the contrary, would you not sneak off to train despite your condition?” You shook your head. You were in no condition to be having an argument, yet you stood your ground. 

“It’s the lack of trust for me.”

“Yeah, we don’t. Not when it comes to putting your health first. Light was even telling us about how you’re behind in school too. With a concussion, you’ll need help anyway. Discussion over.” If your headache could get any worse, you were pretty sure it would have. 

Not that you thought that he was kidding, but you weren’t expecting the doorbell to ring so early as you brushed your teeth, a towel wrapped around your waist from your shower. Spitting quickly, you left wet footprints across the wood floor as you approached the door. 

“By god,” you muttered, opening the door. “You really were enlisted, huh?” Light shrugged. 

“Well, by the looks of it, you didn’t go out earlier to work out than usual in order to look like you didn’t, unless you’re showering from a quick one between when your parents left for work and I got here.” You rolled your eyes, opening the door wider and stepping aside to allow him room to enter.

“Funny. No, I just got up. Guy really did me in one, and you don’t actually have to listen to my parents. You know I’m not going to go do anything that can put my recovery at risk.” He slid his bag off his shoulder and set it on the couch. 

“I know you, and the second you don’t wake up in pain, you’re gone. Sitting back and doing nothing kills you, after all. I don’t need to have known you my entire life to tell you that.” The side of your lip quirked. 

“Yeah, whatever. Let me get some clothes on,” you turned around and returned to the bathroom. Putting on the folded clothes you left in the corner, you grabbed your bag from your bedroom and met with the boy digging into his bag. “Ready, babysitter? I’m going to call you that all day, by the way. No matter who we’re with.”

“Great. I can’t wait.” …

It wasn’t so bad, having a sitter. You mean, you were with Light when you weren’t training, anyway. Going to his house every day after school was even normal, mind the odd words being thrown around the school by the observers. No one confronted you about it, which came as no surprise. Who was going to confront a boxer about those kinds of rumors? 

Light didn’t seem to mind, either. As one of the top bachelors of the whole school, you were sure he had to be aware of them. Just like your parents’ desired future for the two of you, you never spoke of it. Perhaps he was as nervous to bring it up as you were, or at least as reluctant. Still, nothing would change. If he would not speak of it, neither would you.

You never suspected, however, for that dam of silence to ever break in either of you. …

It was nearing the end of your recovery when the only thing between you and getting back in the ring was a doctor’s okay. Your parents and the Yagami’s were going out for a “night on the town,” quote-on-quote. Sayu was at a sleepover, and your parents ordered you to make your way over to Yagami household. 

“It’s getting close to you being cleared. No point in ruining it now, Y/N. Just go. You probably have work he has to teach you anyway.” You glared at your parents as they stood adamant. “Go. We will have him drag you there.” “As if he could,” you muttered.

“Let me in!” Two minutes of knocking, you resigned to lifting up the third rock from the right and grabbing the key from the underside. After you broke in three times in a week at age seven, you would think they’d change the key’s location. 

You set your possible overnight bag on the couch. On the main floor, it was quiet, which wasn’t all surprising. Light has been spending more time in his bedroom than ever. That was saying a lot, itself, because he was always in there in the first place. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting you. You grinned.

Footsteps light, you tiptoed up the stairs and turned the corner. There were small noises coming from the other side of his door that you could hear from the far side of the hall. As you creep closer, you couldn’t necessarily distinguish what the noises were. Nonetheless, it was clue enough he was too preoccupied to notice the huge scare you’re about to give him. 

Hand on the doorknob, you turned it and screamed as you entered.

Though, turns out you were the one that got more scared. Not in fright, but of shock. Light, however, remained composed as ever despite the position you caught him in.

His smell overpowered the room. You nearly were kicked back from it. Back bent upwards off the bed, his mouth agape with small guttural moans and breathless gasps escaping it, all while his hand worked every so slowly stroking his cock. His other hand fisted what you recognized as your lost sweatshirt covering his nose and mouth. Above the material, his eyes were trained on yours, head rolled to the side as his motion continued. 

“Jesu—what? Is that my…” Looking around the slightly torn up room, you recognized t-shirts, tape, and even your current pair of boxing gloves lying around the room or on his bed. “I-I don’t…” His fist threw the sweatshirt to the side as the hand came down hard on the bed. 

“You don’t—mmh—what? Get it? I know you’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer at times, but you can put this together, can’t—uh—you?” His grin grew wider and more wicked as he took in your reaction. “I’ll say, you have an unspeakable amount of willpower, but I think—ah—I’ve had enough of it.” 

“What do you mean? Did—did you plan this?! To trigger my fucking—ugh.” He rolled his eyes. Whether it was from pleasure or annoyance, you couldn’t tell, and your mind wasn’t really in a state to think about it under the current conditions. 

He had you trapped. His smell corrupted the very air around you and seeped into your skin. It was overpowering. You could feel your rut, your ever so clandestine, rut-stained self, emerging from its thick chains. You couldn’t even take a step backward or turn to open the unlocked door. All of your nerves screamed at you to take him. To make him scream so that all he could say, all he could even think about, was you, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t. 

Because this isn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to be linked with him outside of your parents’ desire for you and him to be wed one day. This was the path to that future, the future that distracted you from your goal.

Light shifted to stand above your lack and bent form that was on its last legs before the rut would take over. A hand softly stroked your head, as a parent would stroke a child’s, and set itself under your chin. It nudged upwards, forcing your gaze to his. At such close vicinity, the scent, his scent, him, it was all you could perceive. 

“You really are the worst. The epitome of holding yourself—your desires—back. I know you don’t want what our parents want. I know the thought of something tearing you from your dream kills you. I know that you think that this,” he motioned between the two of you, “would be the exact definition of a distraction, so you’ve pushed it all down. Never acknowledging its existence. Well, do you acknowledge it now?” 

You didn’t answer. You were nervous about what would come out of your mouth if anything did. Your willpower would die with the next exhale you took. Annoyed with your last stand, he dragged his hand from your neck to your shoulder and shoved your weak state down so you were on your knees. He leaned down so his breath ghosted over your lips.

“You really put on a show for me, you know. Answering the door with only your towel on back then. Deep down, I think you want this too. Deep down, you know that this was bound to happen. Just like your pain in a fight, you ignore it. You’re not a complicated individual to figure out. Just give in. What’s the harm in letting someone else take the reins for once?” He stared down at you, you felt it, but you refused to meet it, choking on shallow breathes in order not to inhale his scent too much. You remained silent, using your leftover strength to power onto your two feet. 

“Not going to talk? Fine. Your mouth could—,” you didn’t even allow him the time to finish the sentence or pull through on what you knew was going to be his statement as you rushed to shove him rough enough to force him to fall on his ass on the floor next to the bed. He looked up at you from his seated position, eyes wide and excited. You seemed more shocked than him and took a step backward towards the door. His eyes, yellowed and urgent, followed your movements. 

Swallowing, you willed yourself to extend your hand down as a form of apology: one you were unable to voice in current conditions. Light’s hand, soft and delicate, grasped is softly at first, allowing you to lift him to stand just over the bed, then squeezed, brought his other hand to your forearm. and tugged your unsuspecting form onto the bed with him, so you unwillingly straddled his legs. 

He was quick to surge upward and lock his arms around your neck. Meeting his lips was kissing the devil himself: everything about it was all-consuming, hot, wrong. Light did not start out slow, just as he was with everything else. With guns blazing, his tongue tore open your lips and invaded your now open maw with vigor and power your conscious self could not meet. He brought his hands to your ass and tugged you forward to push your bodies tight together. Breaking only to breathe and begin to force your shirt up your abdomen with his cold fingers. You helped. God, you shouldn’t have, but your clothes were getting so hot. As soon as the article was off, Light latched to your neck, teeth quick to bite. You gasped, tilting your head back to reveal more skin to him. He brought his hand up and tugged on your hair, eliciting another groan from your lips. 

“For someone who abhorred the thought of us together, you seem to be enjoying yourself.” His mouth continued down your form, biting the skin, and then licking the newly affected area. By now, you could feel your length suffocating even under the looseness of sweatpants. The undeniable urge for relief, for him, the one who was adjusting you to stand in front of him. An obvious, wordless request to rid yourself of your confines. “Go on. I’m waiting,” he said, leaning back to show his nude-self off. His cock glistening with a delightful mix of slick and precum. Inviting. Warning. Waiting. Jesus, you needed your fucking pants off! 

Hurrying to get your legs bare, you allowed your own slick to make its first drops onto the floor. Light did not make any moves, only locking his eyes onto yours. A silent argument, but you were in no mood to trifle in such affairs with your mind clouded. Surging forward, you would have been able to straddle him once more would it not be for his hand solidly placed on your abdomen. “I said, I’m waiting, you sex-craved beast. Tell me how much you need this. How much you want to be mine. To follow the path carved for you with me. I have enough here to get me through my heat, but you don’t get ruts too often, do you?” Why and how this twig held so much authority, you would never know. 

“Just let me—,”

“Let you?” He laughed. “Do you think you’re the one in charge here? What? You think because you’re physically stronger, because you’re an alpha, that you get dominance here?” His eyes, though yellow, spoke true on his words. They demanded compliance. “Now, be a good boy, and beg to fuck me. Beg to stick your cock inside me.” To stress his point, he ground upwards ever so slightly. You hissed at the contact. 

“God, please just let me—please just—fuck. Light, I need to fuck you. I need to take you, to mate you, to—fuck—I want you to scream for me, and only me. I want your throat raw from how loud and how much you scream for me.” You gripped the headboard above him while your other hand trailed down his lithe body coated in sweat until it reached his hole. His slick dripped from there due to his heat so that your finger slipped right in. Light moaned. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Please,” you slipped a second, then the third digit in. Light’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as his back arched to meet the thrust of your fingers. 

“Shit, it feels so good, Y/N, alpha. Go on. Mate me. Be mine forever just as I’d be yours.” You adjusted yourself to settle comfortably between his legs and used your hands to lift them, bending him in half to expose himself to you. You hissed as his first squeeze around you before you continued to sink in. Shared moans filled the room as you cursed out for each other. “Yes, feel how tight I am for you, how your cock was meant for me.” Heat shot through every nerve fiber of your being, and you did not bother to begin your thrust languidly. Instead, you rushed to build to a quick, pounding pace. Your rut pushing you to go deeper, and faster as he tightened around your length. Your hips met his groan with an audible smack, and, at a certain angle, Light cried out. “What are you… waiting for…? Bite… me. Claim me, you beast.” 

You could barely hear his words through your focus, your feeling, and, after a short while, even Light could not manage words. Only gasps, moans, and a few small screams escaped his lips and you sought your release. Closer, and closer, and closer… fuck. You ground your pelvis into his. 

“Shit, I’m gonna—oh, fuck,” you whispered, a quiet worship into the air as you allowed yourself to empty within him. You pulled out slowly, watching small amounts of liquid viscously drool out. Light’s skin was flushed deeply red, sweat glistening off his skin, and cock red, pulsing, and heavy against his torso. His labored breaths from his wide, open mouth forced his stomach to rapidly grow and shrink before he quickly regained himself and focused his eyes on you.

“What? Do you think I’m done with you?” He smirked, still breathing heavily, chest rising and falling. “Come here.” You let his legs go to allow him to surge forward and capture your lips with his own. “I’m still rock hard. Why don’t you do down there and do something about it, hm?” Light supported his point by guiding your hand to grasp his cock. “Go on.” 

His scent was all-consuming. Your nose trailing the skin of his cock as it followed your tongue up and down his length. You swirled your tongue around this head while your hand worked the base of his cock. “Eyes on me, alpha. Eyes on your omega, now.” Yellowed eyes dared you to look away. “Go on, and take me in.” Light gasped as you swallowed him. “Fuck, fuck, yeah. Now, suck. Yes. Just like that. Bob your head—just like,” he grasped your head and guided your movements, “that, yes. Damn, you’re a terribly slow study with math, but fuck, you learn to suck cock quickly.”

You followed his instructions, hand lightly teasing his balls, mouth taking him deep then pulling back, until you began to move on your own volition. “Oh, yes. I’m gonna- fuck. You better fucking swallow all of me. I don’t want to see a single drop on the bed.” Light watched with sick delight as you struggled to take his spend in. He was quick to reach down when you retracted your mouth, sealing your jaw shut with his hand until he saw your adam���s apple bob. “Oh, good boy. Now,” ignoring your painfully—once again—hard cock, he pulled you back up, “claim me. Bite me, alpha. Do it.” 

“N-no, I can’t.” 

“You can and you will. Go ahead.” Light moved his locks and stretched his neck out to you. There was nothing more you wanted to do than sink your teeth into the smooth stretch, to have your scent follow him as he walked around the school every day. “Bite me, Y/N. Do it now,” and you did. Light howled in pleasure as copper filled your mouth. You licked the raw skin before sinking you teeth in deeper and sucking what you can. 

“Light,” you pulled back, eyes blown wide. “I—,” he shushed you by tightly gripping your cock with a wide smile. 

“It all worked perfectly,” he said, beginning to stroke your length in tandem with his words. “I thought replacing your gloves would cause you to lose, to grieve, to stay here, but when I heard of your opponent and talked with him just a bit before your match, angering him about what kind of person you were, I had to. I had to.” You bit your bottom lip, unable to articulate words as he picked up his pace, tightened and loosened his grip, and brought in his other hand. “It hurt to see you injured, but I had to what had to be done. I needed you to make me yours. You don’t belong with anyone else besides me. Your dreams, your work ethic, your body, your mind, they’re all mine, and now, with this,” he motions to the raw, bloodied skin of his neck, “my plan has come to fruition beautifully. It’s like the universe deemed it so.” Your breathing escalated. His thumb moved to tease the head of your cock. “You’re all,” he laughed, “fucking mine.” 

He met your lips the same time your release spilled into the open air. “Now,” he leaned back, “let’s keep going, hm?”

[xpeachesncream]

off the grid | prologue

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 844

chapter warnings: cussing / mature language, but pretty basic intro to the series.

notes: i’m new to posting my fanfic on tumblr, so please be nice until i get the hang of things! :( 

> series masterlist <

Home.

You associate everything good and bad with home. As much as you love being home and being around people, places and things that bring you comfort - you also find the need to take a break from it all.

So, that brings you here. You're currently on this plane to Seoul because you needed this break and thought it could be fun to swap homes with a complete stranger. You knew nothing about her and she knew nothing about you, but the thing you both could agreed on was the fact that you just needed to be away. You had dropped everything for this. You put in your leave request at work, packed your bags and declined to spend the holidays with your loving parents in Europe. You upped and left in such a whim that you didn't even mention it to your bestfriends back home.

You were just so tired.

Work was becoming overwhelmingly stressful, with all these projects piling up left and right with no end in sight. Your friends felt like everything was at a standstill in life; so much of a standstill that your hangouts almost became too routine because there was nothing new going on with everyone. Your ex is one manipulating, lying ass dude who quite frankly, is also fine as hell and you keep letting him fuck you over because fuck! Who the hell else do you have to call for some good dick and lovin'? Absolutely nobody.

But this was it. You were drawing the line and this was all done. Not today, not tomorrow. California can wait until you get back. This shit was getting old.

Stepping off the plane and into a cab, you can't help but breathe in the fresh air. It's cold, reaching about 20 degrees Farenheit as the late afternoon hits. You're just excited to finally stretch your legs and get to the loft to wash up and rest. The loft isn't too far from the airport, but you can't help and marvel at the city views during the ride over. You were excited to be here and to finally set foot into a new environment for awhile. You had vowed you would immerse yourself in your surroundings instead of being glued to your phone and social media, however the first thing you do out of habit when the taxi comes to a stop at a light is check your phone.

No new texts, besides your bestfriend, Namjoon sending you and Yoongi the usual, hilarious meme he finds in his explore tab on Instagram. All of a sudden, a pang of guilt hits you because you knew Namjoon and Yoongi would have enjoyed being on a trip like this with you. But, you quickly reminded yourself that you were doing this for you and they'd understand - after they inevitably give you shit for not telling them and leaving, of course.

After washing up and dropping your things off, you head to the convenience store around the corner to grab some necessities and a few groceries to get by for a bit. Not gonna lie, you get a little sidetracked because you get a bit excited finding new things to impulsively purchase, things you wouldn't find in the states. You bring back a little bit more than expected already, but you know what? Treat ya'self. You were here, and you were going to be here for a bit so why not indulge?

After eating a small dinner from the convenience store, you throw on your pajamas and turn on the tv. The loft itself was beautiful and cozy, and the taste was right up your alley. The added bonus was the view of the city it had, being that it was right in the middle of everything. The city lights brightly welcomed itself in to the living room and brought you peace. This was the moment that made you realize you made the right decision in coming here. It had always been on your list and you felt impelled to cross that off sooner than later. The tea you're sipping on hits the back of your throat warmly as you continue to sit and gaze at the view. The TV is on, but it doesn't compete with the hustle and bustle of Seoul's livelihood outside. You can't wait to explore and create new adventures, coming here with a completely blank canvas and unknown itinerary.

You wanted to completely fall off the grid to start something new. Temporarily, at the least.

So, what was tomorrow going to be like? You had no idea, and that was exciting. All you knew was the outfit you were going to wear and a general idea of how to navigate the nearby streets to start off. Maybe, this is where it would have been nice to have help. Namjoon and Yoongi would have for sure taken the reigns on this. But, let's focus y/n. This is your trip and this is how you'll be spending a majority of December. Have fun with it.

What's there to lose?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble request: Andy finds out reader is cheating on him through texts she hasn’t deleted from an unknown number. He then messaged her pretending to be her lover to meet him at a hotel, once she gets there he catches her and turn into dubcon. Also I love your writing :)

I Know What You Did

Warnings: cheating, dubcon, blackmail, smut

“I saw you.” Andy said as he stood in the doorway.

“What did you do to him?” You asked as you clutched your phone in your hand. You looked up and down the walkway of dingy motel rooms.

“Here? Really?” He hissed.

“What did you do?” You stepped back and he caught your arm.

“He’s fine. Clueless. He has no idea you’re here.” He pulled until you stumbled forward. You resisted but he quickly lost patience and yanked you through the door. “No one knows but us.”

He spun you and pinned you against the wall with one arm. He slammed the door with his other hand and held you there, his arm almost across your throat.

“The texts?” You gasped as his hand closed around yours and wrestled for the phone.

“I ran into him at that pathetic shop he works at. He sold me some nonsense toy even my son wouldn’t want.” He tore your phone and whipped it into the room without looking. “You know you learn a lot of tricks when you work with criminals “

“Andy,” You pleaded as his eyes burned.

“Andy, what?” He spat. “You sneaking around with him? Here?”

“Better than a married man,” You grabbed onto his immovable arm. “I told you-"

“You said you needed to think. I wasn’t aware you needed him to help.”

“You know we can’t keep doing this,” You begged. “Your wife--"

“Goes jogging everyday with a neighbour; Jared. They stop for coffee at the café two blocks away. I smelled the cinnamon on her one day. I followed her. They like to fuck in the bathroom or find a bush along their route.” Andy snarled. “I didn’t choose this. I… need this. I need you. Or—why? Why did you lie?”

“I wasn’t lying. You just won’t listen to me.” You squeezed his arm. “Andy, it’s not fair to either of us. To your family. I can’t just be the other woman.”

“You don’t know--" He slipped his arm around you and turned you. He walked you backward into the room, an arm at your throat and the other around the back of your neck. “You aren’t the other woman. She is.” He shoved you and you tumbled onto the bed. “I’m the other man. I’m… unwanted but I thought you wanted me.”

“I do, but… Andy, if anyone found out, I’d lose my job.”

“No, I’d make sure you didn’t.”

“And then? Everyone would think I got my job on my back. Please. Go home to Laurie. Talk to her.” You tried to stand and he caught your shoulders. “You’re still her husband.”

“And I’m still your boss.” He growled. “You should be more concerned with me than the rest of your vapid coworkers.”

“You wouldn’t--"

“Turn over,” He pushed you down to the mattress. “Get your ass up.”

You stared at him and blinked. He cracked his knuckles then pulled his dark jacket down his shoulders.

“I have every single picture you sent me, sweetheart. They’d make for some interesting cooler talk, don’t you think?”

“No--"

“Shhhh,” He raised his hand. “One more word and I’ll send the best one to that stupid cashier.”

You held your tongue. It didn’t matter that Cal owned the shop or that he was your hope at a normal relationship. Your job, your livelihood, your reputation was on that bed with you. You were stupid to think you could ever be a girlfriend; no, you were always just the other woman.

You trembled and turned around. You got down on your elbows and knees. You buried your head in your hands in shame. Usually Andy’s orders turned you on but in that moment, you only felt sick.

He neared and grabbed the hem of your skirt, the same houndstooth pencil you wore to work that day. He rolled it up, impatient as he forced it over your thighs and ass. He moved his knee between your legs and urged them apart. His fingers tickled along your ass, your tights nonexistent beneath his touch.

He traced the seam along the middle of your ass and you shivered. Your thong no doubt visible through the sheer nylon. You drew a leg up as you thought to crawl away and he caught your ankle.

“Ah,” He drew your foot back and smacked your ass harshly. “I won’t warn you again. I mean it.” His hand spread over your ass and he rubbed. “You remember that day you got under my desk…”

“Please,” You hung your head.

“I remember. You were so distracted you didn’t notice my phone… I still watch it… when I’m lonely.”

“Wha--" You gasped as he pinched you.

“Don’t worry, it’s still our little secret.”

He pushed his fingers down along your crotch and pulled at the tights. He stabbed his fingers through the nylon and jolted your body as he tore them. He picked at your thing and slid his fingertips along your folds.

“Fuck.” He purred. “You can’t pretend with me, sweetheart. You’re fucking wet.”

You squeaked and brought your hand up to your lips. He played with you as your thighs quaked with anticipation. He forced two fingers inside you suddenly and you bit into your bottom knuckle. He pushed his fingers to their limit and held them there.

“How many time did you fuck him?” He snarled.

You shook your head and he drew his fingers out and slammed them back in.

“I didn’t… we only… fooled around a little.”

“Only fooled around?” He mused.

“Yes, yes,” You breathed. “I wanted to take it--" He thrust his fingers in and out of you again. “Slow.”

“You’re mine,” He growled as his hand moved steadily inside of you. He pressed his thumb to your clit as he teased you. “Got that? You tell this boy to find someone else.”

You quivered and let out a long shaky breath.

“Got it?” He asked pointedly.

“Yes,” You uttered and he sped up. “Sir.”

“Mmmm,” He purred and pulled his fingers out just before you reached your peak. “it’s better this way. You’d have realised I’m the one you want.”

He spread your lips with his fingers as he fumbled around behind you . He stepped closer and the tails of his shirt tickled your ass. He dragged his tip along your folds and paused. He exhaled slowly as he pushed into you, squeezing his fingers around his cock as he sheathed himself. He removed his hand only as he reached his limit and the teeth of his open zipper bit your flesh. You were so full it hurt and yet it was entirely delicious.

“Who do you belong to?” He thrust so hard you nearly fell completely onto your face.

“You.” You stammered and he did it again.

“I can’t hear you,” He grabbed your hip and your shoulder as your back arched.

“You, sir,” You cried out as his flesh clapped against yours. “You, you, you…”

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Good Business: Part 17

Fandom: Marvel (Mob AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a ruthless mobster. He’s also referred to as Big Buck due to his towering strong frame as well as his round stomach. You’re the owner of a small diner, a place that Big Buck decides to visit. Based off this drabble.

A/N: I’m so close to finishing this story! 

Despite you being curled into his side on the way back to your place, Bucky could tell you’re distant. Rightfully so. He left you, abandoned you. If you wish to never see him again after he brings you home, then he’d understand. It’d hurt like hell, but he’d do anything you ask.

When the car stops in front of your home, you let out a sigh. Bucky slowly pulls himself from you to step out of the car, offering his hand to you as you follow him out. 

He pulls out your keys from his pocket and opens your door. He moves to the side so you could step in, but you don’t hear him following you or closing the door.

You turn around and see him nervously standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. You gulped and murmured out, “Are you going to leave me again?” Your voice is so small and fragile, a stark contrast to the boisterous, firey woman that he knows. 

“Do you want me to?” he asks with a hesitant look in his eyes, “I’d understand if you did. I dragged you into my mess and then ran away like a coward.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want you to leave. I-I was mad before, but I also understood. I just-” you ran a hand down your tired face, “I missed you so much and I’d ask Steve to tell me how you were doing but he didn’t say anything other than you’re alive and I guess I should’ve been happy with that, but I feel ashamed for also thinking that I wished you were falling apart like I was.”

“I was falling apart,” Bucky stated as he stepped into your home, closing the door behind him, “I missed you too and I’d have Steve call me every day to give me updates on you. I wrote you letters almost every day. I couldn’t stop thinking about your laugh or your smile or your eyes. God, sweet cheeks, leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.”

You rush over to Bucky, throwing your arms around him and he catches you. You hold each other tight, sobbing into each other and relishing in the feeling of being able to hold each other again. 

“I love you, Bucky,” you whimpered.

Hearing you say that made Bucky’s heart feel like it was ready to burst. His hold on you tightens as he kisses your head and whispers back, “I love you too, sweet cheeks. So fucking much.”

_______________

After the proclamations of love, Steve stepped into your home debriefing Bucky about everything they’ve accomplished and proceeded to order his best friend some proper rest. 

You pulled away from Bucky and gave Steve a tight hug, “Thank you, Steve.”

He hugged you back and kissed your cheek, “You’re welcome, Y/N.”

After he left, Bucky looked nervous again, looked slightly out of place, “Um...so..now what?”

You can’t help the giggle that escaped you and that made Bucky smile, “I don’t know about you Big Buck, but I’d like a shower. Join me?” you hold out your hand to him and he takes it.

“I’m going wherever you’re going, sweet cheeks. I was away from you too long. You can’t get rid of me now. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stop and turn around, pressing your lips to Bucky’s in a soft kiss, “I love you,” and then turned back to continue the journey to the bathroom. 

You began to slowly undress each other as the shower ran, Bucky’s touch was soft and delicate. You found yourself leaning into him while his fingers grazed along your skin. You kissed his chest before stepping into the shower, him right behind you. 

The water cascaded over the both of you and you could already feel the exhaustion and pain wash away. You closed your eyes, relishing in the warmth of the water and Bucky’s presence. 

You felt his hands on you again, except this time they were lathered in soap. The lavender scent filling your nose. 

He scrubbed your body, all the while being as gentle he could be. This feeling, this intimacy, it was something you haven’t felt before. Even when you two had sex, you didn’t feel this closeness, this....love.

You felt him cup your face and press his lips to yours, his voice low and soft, “I’m sorry, baby. I know I hurt you, but never again. I’m here. I promise I’ll be here for as long as you want me to. I love you, Y/N. I’m not leaving again.”

His words made the dam break. You let out a sob and leaned forward, crying into Bucky again. While you were crying of sadness and exhaustion, it was also of relief. Bucky’s back and he’s not leaving ever again.

___________________

Bucky hears a knock at your door and he glances your way. You’re still fast asleep, the previous events clearly taking a toll on you. Carefully and quietly, Bucky slid out of bed and headed to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw Steve standing there. 

He slowly opened the door, signalling for Steve to remain quiet as he allowed his friend to walk in, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to check up on you two. It’s been a few hours and-” he held up a bag of takeout from your diner, “Sharon wanted to ensure that you guys ate.”

“Thanks,” Bucky murmured, taking the food and heading to the kitchen.

Steve entered in behind him and watched as Bucky began to take the food from the containers, “So, how is she?”

“Exhausted. Tired. Sad. Relieved. We talked it out. We’re-” he paused and ran a hand over his unkempt beard, “It was a rough patch, but I think we’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded and gave a small grin, “She told me she loves me and I told her the same. It was a long time comin’, huh?”

“Oooohh yeah, pal.” the two friends chuckled, “But it’s good to see your relationship survive through all this shit. It’s not easy.”

Bucky bit his lip. He was hesitant on what he wanted to say, “There’s-I need-” he sighed, “I’m going straight now, Steve.”

He cocked a brow at his boss and friend, “Oh really?” sounding a bit unconvinced.

Bucky leaned against your kitchen counter, “Yeah. All of this,” he waved his hand around vaguely, “I can’t do this forever. I eventually wanna get married, maybe have some kids. I don’t wanna have to worry about getting killed every day or worry about the people around me. This business...we’re getting old. I think it’s time to hang all this shit up.”

“Buck, I know what you’re saying and I agree, but you worked so hard to get where you are. You’re just gonna give all of it up just like that?”

“Not necessarily. The businesses that I run and own, I wanna keep that. I don’t want anyone losing their livelihood because of me. But the gang wars, the under the table shady shit? That’s all gone. And if people wanna continue down that lifestyle, fine by me, but it won’t be under my name and organization. The Barnes Family will be going straight, we’ll be doing good business from now on.”

“Whatever you want, Buck, I’ll be there by your side. You know that. But tell me somethin’: if you never met Y/N, do you think you’d be making this decision?”

Bucky glances towards your bedroom, and a soft smile appears on his face, “No, I don’t think I would. She’s changed me, for the better I think.”

“Yeah,” Steve snorted, patting his friend on the shoulder, “I think so too.”

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