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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

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TEACHER'S PET PT.1 | CL16

an: what's this? a student x teacher fic LOLOLOLOLOLOL if my dad had loved me i wouldn't be writing shit this unhinged i promise x

wc: 4.3k

warnings: mentions of infidelity

The first time she'd caught him staring, she thought it was an accident. The second, merely a coincidence. The third, however, she knew it was on purpose.

It wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Not really. In a class of nearly a hundred students, it seemed absurd to imagine that his attention could be directed at her—out of everyone. But there was something different about the way his gaze lingered. The first time, she’d been bent over her notebook, pen poised between her fingers, when a prickling sensation crept up the back of her neck. Her body had responded before her mind could. She glanced up and caught his eyes on her—just for a second—before he turned away, resuming his lecture as if nothing had happened.

She told herself it was nothing. Professors scanned the room all the time; it wasn’t unusual. But the memory stuck with her, burrowing into the quiet moments of her day, resurfacing when she didn’t expect it to.

The second time, it was subtler, but undeniable. She was seated toward the middle, further from the front than usual. Maybe she'd subconsciously chosen that spot to test it. To see if it would happen again. As he paced through the lecture, hands animated in the air as he spoke about the History of French Art, his eyes swept over the students, pausing just long enough on her to make her heart lurch. This time, she held his gaze for a beat longer than she should have, curiosity flaring to life. But just as quickly, he looked away.

Coincidence, she’d thought. It had to be.

By the third time, it wasn't a coincidence anymore.

It was late October, the air turning crisp as the days shortened. Leaves fell in lazy spirals outside the tall windows of the lecture hall, a cold wind knocking against the glass in soft, hollow gusts. She had arrived early, settling into her usual seat—closer now, near the front, where she could no longer pretend she was avoiding it. He arrived minutes later, his leather satchel worn but polished, the faint scent of coffee trailing him as he passed. He was always well-dressed, the kind of polished professional that seemed to belong to a different era—dark, tailored suits, pressed shirts, cufflinks that gleamed subtly under the classroom lights.

She had begun to notice the details: the curls in his dark hair, the way he absently adjusted his watch while answering questions, the deliberate, measured way he spoke, each word chosen with care.

But today, she felt him notice her. Before the lecture even started, his gaze found her. It was a quick thing, just a flicker in her direction as he arranged his notes at the podium. Her heart tripped in her chest, but she kept her face impassive, pretending to reread the passage in front of her, though she couldn’t concentrate on the words. When he began to speak, the room seemed to shrink around them. The voices of other students faded into the background. She found herself hyper-aware of the space between them—the few feet that suddenly felt like miles.

His lecture today was slower, quieter. He paced less, choosing instead to remain near the podium, his voice steady but subdued. She could feel his presence even when she wasn’t looking at him. When she dared a glance up from her notes, his eyes found hers again, not lingering too long but long enough to send a pulse of heat through her skin.

She tried to focus on what he was saying—something about Paul Cezanne and the nature of his art—but the words slipped past her. Instead, her attention drifted to the curve of his jaw as he spoke, the way his lips barely parted between words. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he know how often she thought of him lately? How she’d started to dread the days without his lectures, without that strange, invisible thread of tension pulling tighter each time their eyes met?

As the class drew to a close, she felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Everyone else began packing their things, zipping bags and rustling papers, but she lingered. Just a little. Her fingers slowly gathered her notebook and pens, her movements unhurried, as if she had nowhere else to be. She watched from the corner of her eye as the last few students filtered out, leaving only the two of them in the now-silent room.

She stood, slipping her bag over her shoulder, ready to leave, when his voice stopped her.

“Miss?”

Her name sounded different on his lips. Softer. She hesitated, her heart picking up speed, and turned slowly to face him. He wasn’t looking at her, not yet. His hand was poised above the chalkboard, chalk still in his grip, but he seemed distracted. He wiped at something absentmindedly, as though the motion was only a pretext to gather his thoughts.

“Yes?” she asked, keeping her voice steady, though her heart was anything but.

He turned to her then, his expression unreadable, the lines of his face shadowed by the dimming afternoon light filtering through the windows. His eyes, though, were sharp, studying her with a quiet intensity that made her chest tighten.

“You did well today,” he said, his voice low but clear, as if they were the only two people in the world just then. “Your insights during the discussion—they were... thoughtful.”

“Thank you,” she managed, though the words felt distant, automatic. There was a strange heaviness to the air, as though it was thicker, pressing in around them. The space between them felt far too small, too charged with things unspoken.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Is there something else?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He held her gaze, and in that silence, something shifted. His lips parted, just slightly, as if he might say more—but he stopped. She thought she saw the faintest flicker of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished almost immediately.

“No,” he said, his voice even again, controlled. “That’s all.”

She nodded, a quiet acknowledgment, though the air still buzzed with what had not been said. And as she turned to leave, she could feel the weight of his eyes on her once more, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

The library was unusually quiet for a weekday afternoon. The familiar scent of old books and polished wood mingled with the faint hum of the heating system as they walked through the aisles, the muffled sound of footsteps against carpet the only break in the silence. She and Logan had come here to study—a common enough ritual for them when end of semester exams loomed, the weight of expectations pressing down like a lead blanket.

He slid into the chair across from her, his laptop open before she even had the chance to settle her bag down. Logan was efficient like that, practical. His blond hair was tousled from the brisk wind outside, and he gave her an easy, absent smile as he booted up his computer, already lost in his task list for the day.

"Ready to drown yourself in more French Literature?" he asked, his voice warm but distracted.

She nodded, though her mind was elsewhere. The conversation with Professor Leclerc still echoed in her head, like the ticking of a clock she couldn't silence. Her fingers itched with the memory of his eyes on her, that unreadable expression, the way he'd spoken her name as if it carried weight, like he knew something she didn’t.

She forced herself to focus, pulling out her notebook and the folder with her most recent assignment—an analysis of La Liberté guidant le peuple painting by Eugène Delacroix. She'd thought she’d done well, putting in extra hours at the library and wrestling with the dense material until it finally clicked. But when she unfolded the paper and saw the red scrawl at the top, her stomach sank.

52%.

Her breath caught, heart thudding uncomfortably in her chest as she stared at the number. Not even a C, but a D. How? She skimmed through the feedback—detached but firm in Professor Leclerc’s familiar handwriting. Unclear analysis. Lacking depth. The words felt like they were meant to hurt, stinging more than they should have.

Logan looked up from his screen, noticing the shift in her expression.

"Everything okay?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his brows furrowing in concern.

She hesitated for a moment, then turned the paper around to show him. He glanced at the grade, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Ouch," he said, though his tone was still light, casual. "That’s rough. I know you spent ages on that."

"Yeah..." she muttered, unable to stop the flicker of frustration and disappointment from colouring her voice. She clenched her fists, crumpling the edge of the paper slightly as the words replayed in her mind. Lacking depth. The phrase stung more than the grade itself. What had she missed? And why did the criticism feel so much more personal than it should?

"You should talk to him," Logan said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Go to his office hours. You might be able to make a case, ask for extra credit or something."

She stiffened at the suggestion, the knot in her chest tightening. "I don’t know. He’s... strict about grades. I doubt it’ll change anything."

Logan shrugged, looking back at his screen. "You never know. Worst case, you get some feedback on where you went wrong. Best case, you convince him to give you another shot."

Her pulse quickened. Convince him. The idea of sitting in that small office with Professor Leclerc, discussing her work, his gaze on her again—it was unsettling, but not in the worst of ways. The very thought made her stomach twist in a way she couldn’t quite define, a mixture of anxiety and something else. Something that felt wrong but pulled at her nonetheless.

Logan looked up again, catching her hesitation. "Seriously, it’s no big deal. You’re one of his best students—he’ll probably just tell you what you need to fix. Maybe offer extra sessions or something."

His words felt innocent enough, completely unaware of what the suggestion stirred in her. Extra sessions. The thought sent an unexpected jolt through her. Her mind flashed briefly to the quiet, almost charged moments in class, the way Professor Leclerc’s voice dropped when he spoke directly to her, the way he lingered a little too long when he passed her desk.

She forced herself to shake it off. This was ridiculous. There was nothing going on—nothing she could even explain. She had a boyfriend who cared about her, who wanted her to do well, and all she could think about was how it felt to stand in that empty classroom, her professor’s eyes on her like she was the only one who existed.

"Yeah... maybe," she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out tight. She stared at the grade again, her mind a swirl of confusion, frustration, and something she didn’t want to name. "I’ll think about it."

Logan smiled at her encouragingly, leaning forward to squeeze her hand briefly. "Don’t stress. You’ve got this."

She returned the smile, but it felt thin, forced. As he went back to typing away at his notes, she couldn’t help but glance again at the feedback on the page. The red ink stared back at her, cold and unforgiving. But even more than that, the thought of confronting Professor Leclerc, sitting in his office alone, weighed on her in a way that made her throat tighten.

Could she really face him after everything? Would he look at her the same way he did in class? Would he push her in the same subtle way he had before, or would it be worse, with the closed door and the quiet of his office wrapping around them?

She knew she should go, knew Logan was right—it was just about the grade. It was practical. But the thought of those “extra sessions,” of being alone with him again, felt anything but simple.

And yet, despite the unease, she couldn’t deny the small, traitorous part of her that wondered what it might be like.

"Actually," she said, her voice quieter than she intended, "I think I’ll go to his office now."

Logan looked up from his screen, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Right now?"

She nodded, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into her notebook. "Yeah... I don’t want to let it hang over me all day. It’s better if I just get it over with, right?"

He smiled, a warm, easy grin that was comforting in its familiarity. "Good call. I’m sure he’ll understand. Just be confident—you’ve got this."

She smiled back, a little tighter than before, but she hoped he didn’t notice. The knot in her chest was tightening again, a strange mix of nerves and anticipation that made her feel a little lightheaded.

Logan closed his laptop, stood, and walked around the table toward her. He leaned down to kiss her, his lips brushing hers in a soft, reassuring goodbye. "Text me when you’re done?"

"Yeah, I will," she murmured, her heart not quite in the kiss. She tried to focus on the comfort of his presence, the safety of their easy rhythm, but her mind had already drifted, tugged in another direction by thoughts she couldn’t fully control.

Logan gave her a last, encouraging smile before turning back to his seat. "Good luck."

As she walked away, her fingers clenched the strap of her bag a little tighter, the soft echo of their parting kiss lingering, but quickly fading. Each step toward Professor Leclerc’s office felt heavier, the atmosphere around her shifting as she crossed the campus toward the quiet wing of the humanities building.

It wasn’t far—just a few minutes’ walk through the maze of lecture halls and corridors she’d grown familiar with over the last few semesters. But today, it felt different. The air was cooler, the fading autumn sunlight casting long, golden shadows across the stone walls. Her breath felt shallow, quickening with each step. By the time she reached the languages faculty office wing, the silence was almost oppressive, the only sound the faint click of her shoes against the floor.

When she turned the final corner, his office door was in view—closed but with the light seeping out from beneath it. She hesitated just a few paces from the door, her heart thrumming in her chest. She knew she had to knock, but something made her pause.

And then, her eyes drifted to the window beside his office door.

The blinds were drawn half-closed, leaving just enough of an opening to glimpse inside. At first, it was only the dim light that caught her attention, the low glow of a desk lamp casting a golden hue over the room. But then she saw him.

Professor Leclerc was standing behind his desk, his blazer tossed over the back of his chair, the crisp white sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. His glasses, which she’d rarely seen him wear in class, perched on the bridge of his nose as he focused intently on something in front of him—papers, perhaps, or a book. The soft, thoughtful frown on his lips was different from the commanding presence he carried during lectures. It was quieter. Intimate, almost.

Her breath hitched as she watched him, her body reacting instinctively, against her will. The way his shoulders tensed slightly when he concentrated, the curve of his jaw in the low light, the way his forearms flexed as he absently adjusted his glasses—it all felt impossibly distracting. The mundane act of him rolling up his sleeves, of removing the formal layers she was used to seeing him in, suddenly felt... intimate. Personal.

Her heart sped up, pounding hard against her ribcage, and heat flushed through her chest. She knew she shouldn’t be standing there, peering in like this, but she couldn’t tear herself away. The way he looked—casual yet somehow more powerful without the blazer, the sharp lines of his face softened by the glasses—was doing something to her she hadn’t anticipated.

Her mind flickered back to the kiss Logan had given her just minutes ago, but it felt distant now, like a faint memory that didn’t belong to this moment. All she could think about was the quiet allure of Professor Leclerc, the slow burn of attraction that had been building for weeks now, whether she wanted it or not.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t go into his office feeling like this, her thoughts racing in directions they shouldn’t. She had a boyfriend. She was here to talk about her grade, to be professional, to fix a problem. Nothing more.

But as she stared through the narrow gap in the blinds, watching him shift slightly, leaning back to stretch his arms above his head, she felt that sense of professionalism slipping away. The tension in her stomach coiled tighter, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached out to knock on the door.

Before her knuckles even made contact, his voice called out from the other side.

"Come in."

Her breath caught in her throat. He hadn’t even looked up, hadn’t seen her standing there, but the sound of his voice—low, calm, commanding—felt like it wrapped around her, pulling her in. She hesitated for a second longer, her pulse thrumming in her ears, before finally pushing the door open.

The office was warmer than she expected, the scent of old books and polished wood heavy in the air. The soft glow from the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, creating an almost intimate atmosphere despite its professional setting.

Professor Leclerc glanced up from his desk, his glasses still resting on his nose, and for a moment, their eyes met. Something flickered in his gaze—recognition, perhaps, or something else she couldn’t quite name. His expression remained neutral, but the intensity behind his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

"Miss," he said, his voice smooth, like velvet brushing against her skin. "I didn’t expect to see you so soon."

The door clicked shut behind her, the sound louder than she expected in the quiet room. She felt a sudden rush of heat rising in her cheeks, her throat tightening as she stepped further inside. Professor Leclerc had returned his attention to the papers on his desk, marking something with precise strokes of his pen, but the moment she entered, his eyes flicked back to her, and she felt pinned under the weight of his gaze.

She stood there, frozen for a moment, unsure of where to place herself in the room that suddenly felt far too small. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, making it hard to think clearly.

"Have a seat," he said, his voice low but authoritative. It wasn’t a request.

Without thinking, she moved quickly toward the chair in front of his desk and sat down, too eager to comply. As soon as she settled, she realised how obedient she must have seemed—too quick, too eager. She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself, gripping the strap of her bag tightly in her lap. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she hoped he couldn’t see.

He took off his glasses then, placing them carefully on the desk, and leaned back in his chair. The gesture felt deliberate, a small act of removing a barrier between them, and she couldn’t help but notice how different he looked without them. His eyes—sharp and intense—were fully on her now, no longer obscured by the glass. The lines of his face were clearer, more defined in the soft lamplight, and her chest tightened at how attractive he was, especially like this—more relaxed, more... human.

"You came about your essay," he said, stating it like a fact rather than a question.

"Y-yes," she stammered, cursing herself for the shakiness in her voice. Her throat felt dry, and she shifted in her seat, trying to regain some composure. "I—um—just wanted to understand where I went wrong. I didn’t expect to... do so poorly."

He nodded, his expression unreadable as he flipped open the folder containing his copy of her work. His fingers traced the edge of the paper, his touch light but purposeful, and for some reason, her heart skipped a beat at the simple motion.

"You missed the core of the analysis," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Your analysis was surface-level. You wrote only about what we could see, but you didn’t engage how you felt. You didn’t deconstruct the painting—you only described it."

Her cheeks burned at his criticism. She bit her lip, nodding, though the words stung. She should have expected this, should have been prepared for him to be direct, but hearing him say it—especially in this setting, in this tone—made her feel smaller somehow.

He turned the paper toward her, pointing at a paragraph near the middle. "Here, for example. You’re focusing too much on the colours of the painting, but not enough on why Delacroix used them. You’re missing the underlying tension he’s working with—between art as a system of signs and the meaning that constantly escapes it."

His explanation was calm, almost gentle, but it still felt intimate, as if every word he said was meant just for her. His eyes lingered on hers, watching her reactions carefully, and she nodded again, barely able to focus on what he was saying, her mind still buzzing with the proximity of him, the quiet authority in his voice.

"I see," she whispered, though she wasn’t sure she fully did. It was hard to think clearly when he was sitting across from her, the small space between them charged with something unspoken.

He shifted slightly in his seat, leaning forward just enough that she could smell the faint hint of his cologne—clean, subtle, but warm. It surrounded her, making it harder to breathe, harder to stay focused. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her bag, her knuckles white as she tried to ground herself.

"You have potential," he continued, his voice softer now, like he was letting her in on a secret. "Your writing is strong, but you’re holding back. You need to dig deeper. Don’t be afraid to get lost in the complexity of the ideas—that’s where the real analysis happens."

Her stomach flipped at the way he said it, at the way his eyes seemed to darken slightly as they met hers. She didn’t know if she was imagining it, but the air between them felt heavier now, like something was shifting. The quiet hum of the heater in the corner was the only sound breaking the silence, but it did nothing to ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in the room.

"I’ll... work on that," she managed to say, though her voice felt weak, distant from her own ears. She could barely process his feedback, her thoughts too consumed by the way his gaze lingered on her, the way her body reacted to his closeness.

He sat back in his chair, his posture more relaxed now, though his eyes never left her. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Good. I’m here to help you with that. You can always come by during office hours if you need more guidance. I can set aside extra time for you if you’re struggling."

The words—extra time—sent a shiver down her spine, the implication innocent enough, but something about the way he said it, the way the room felt in that moment, made her pulse quicken. She could feel her cheeks growing hotter, her breath shallow, and for a moment, she was sure he could sense it, could see exactly how flustered she was.

This was wrong.

She shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not here. Not with him. She had a boyfriend—Logan, who loved her, who trusted her, who was waiting for her to text him when this was over. But as Professor Leclerc’s eyes held hers, steady and unwavering, it was impossible to deny the pull she felt, the quiet attraction that had been building in her chest for weeks now.

"I... I should go," she said abruptly, standing too quickly, her legs shaky as she gathered her things. She could feel her heart racing, the room suddenly feeling too small, too warm. "Thank you for your time, Professor."

He stood as well, watching her closely, but he made no move to stop her. His expression was calm, though there was something in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite name, but it made her chest tighten. He nodded once, his voice smooth as ever.

"Of course. You know where to find me if you need more help."

She nodded, barely able to meet his gaze as she turned toward the door, her fingers fumbling with the handle before she managed to push it open. The cool air from the hallway rushed over her as she stepped outside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Only when she was a few steps down the hall did she let out the breath she’d been holding. Her hands were shaking, her mind racing as she tried to process what had just happened—nothing inappropriate, nothing overtly wrong, but still, the way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her, made her feel like she was walking a fine line.

Her chest tightened with guilt. She had a boyfriend. Logan loved her, trusted her. And Professor Leclerc... he was her professor.

This was wrong.

part two

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #original character #formula one x reader #ferrari formula one #ferrari formula 1 #ferrari #charles leclerc #logan sargeant #williams racing #carlos sainz #teacher au

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mariasont · 6 months ago

Note

Can I request Hotch finding gender neutral reader asleep but they legit fell asleep to a true crime serial killer podcast- or they’re like obsessed with a new serial killer show (me with Hannibal rn 😮‍💨) thanks!!! Have a good day!!! <3

Late Night Podcast - A.H

a/n: omg i love love love this idea <3 thank you for sharing your idea with me i hope i did it justice! and i hope YOU have the best day 🕊️✨

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, hotch and reader being just so cute, bau!reader, reader and hotch are both simps

wc: 0.7k

Hotch's meeting dragged on, each minute stretched longer than the last tangled in bureaucratic red tape, and suits who really couldn't give a damn whether the BAU lived or died. It was all incredibly migraine-inducing, and he couldn't wait to go home and take you to bed.

He knew all too well that you'd be in his office, a realization that came with a twinge of regret. Not because your presence was unwelcome, but because your selfless nature meant you tended to put his needs before your own. You'd insist the after hours peace and quiet was perfect for catching up on paperwork.

He was very aware that was all a lie, you never needed to catch up on paperwork; he knew your work was always meticulously complete. He recognized your true motive; ensuring he got home at a decent time. And it usually worked everytime. The sight of you, patiently waiting, was the sweetest incentive to end his day.

"In this episode, we recount the tragic and violent story of Aileen Wuornos, a woman who turned from victim to perpetrator, ultimately becoming America's most infamous serial killer with seven murders to her name."

He stopped short in the doorframe, his eyes sweeping over the unexpected stillness of his office. There you were, draped across the couch in a tangle of limbs, one arm flung above your head while the other wrapped around your torso. The hem of your shirt had lifted just enough to reveal the softness of your belly. The rest and fall of your chest was the only movement, fast sleep.

You fell asleep to a seriel killer podcast.

He fought back a laugh, the sound caught in his throat as he laid the remainder of his work aside. You looked so peaceful, despite the macabre background that seemed to bounce off the walls. He paused your phone, knowing you'd hate to wake up and lose your place.

He smoothed your hair back, his rough hand lingering in the softness. The battle against his smile was lost; it warmed his entire face. He didn't want to wake you.

"Aaron?" Your voice was so sleepy, rough and cracked, but perfect all the same.

He wondered how long you had been asleep for.

"Hi, sleepy head."

Your eyes opened briefly, a couple of deliberate blinks as you nestled into a new position, curled on your side with hands tucked under your face. A smile, that you tried to hide, melted across your face as you quickly snapped those beautiful eyes of yours shut.

"Shh, can't hear you, sleeping," you mumbled under your breath, your nose wrinkling slightly as your struggled to keep a straight face.

A soft laugh broke through as he rubbed his face. "Well, this is the first time I've heard someone sleep-talk so clearly."

You said nothing, just the slight twitch in your lips as you pressed deeper into the couch.

"I'll take that as a yes to my carrying you out to the car then."

Before you could even muster a reaction, he scooped you up, your legs swept up in a fluid motion as you found yourself hoisted over his shoulder. Your breath hitched into a gasp, quickly transforming into laughter as you slapped your hands to his back.

"Aaron!" The word was muffled by the sound of his shirt as he started to march towards the door. "Put me down!"

"A lot of talk coming from someone who is supposedly sleeping."

His hand ground your ass, eliciting a burst of giggles from you as your hands roamed the expanse of his shoulders, legs dangling in front of him.

"Will you at least grab my phone? I need to finish that podcast on the way home."

A quick spin set your hair a flutter as he leaned down to grab your device from the table.

As he moved for the door, your hand found its way to his hair, mussing it fondly. "Thanks, handsome."

He finally let you down, hand entwining with yours. "Well finish the podcast together, but no more serial killer stories before bed."

regular taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x gn reader #aaron hotchner fluff #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner

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kaciebello · 6 months ago

Text

King of thieves

Masterlist Luke Castellan x Hades! reader (implied, fem) Summary: Luke is naturally borrowing things without asking. He is rather shocked when someone beats him at his own game Warning: no use of y/n author note: English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) Word count: 1,7k Song: Karma by Taylor Swift

May 3rd

Luke was the son of Hermes. The god of messengers and travellers. The god of thieves. It made sense he couldn't help it. Sometimes, his hands just moved independently and suddenly he was carrying a gold bracelet in his pockets. Nonedobletly belongs to one of the aphorides kids. He's used to giving a few days and then pretending to find it in one of the fields. He watched his sibling bring many questionable things to the cabin, with even more questionable origins. That is was he not surprised by his friends' accusations.

“Give it back.” She said, one hand on her hip and the other palm up to him.

“I don't have it.” He argued back. His arms crossed over his chest. The girl just narrowed her eyes.

“I don't have time for this. Give it back.” The girl said as if it would suddenly jog his memory if he took her bracelet with the scythe charm on it. So again, he shook his head, signalling he did not have it. The girl just sighed and let her hands hang around her body.

“I swear if this is another paintbrush situation, I will burn you on a stake Castellan.” Grin spread across his face as he watched her walk away. Possibly trying to retrace her steps, trying to see if she just lost it after all.

She didn't. The bracelet was burning hole in his pockets right now. Had she just searched him better, she would have noticed him moving it from pocket to pocket. He snatched it first thing in the morning, they made a bet during breakfast and shook on it. She did not even notice it. Luke thanks his chams for that.

In his defence, he had all the reasons to steal it. Well maybe not legal reasons, but reasons nonetheless. He turned around on his heel and walked back to his cabin.

–

May 10th

“Are you sure you don't have it?” She said as she circled him, her sword lifted his way just a little bit. Luke couldn’t do anything but laugh. They were both sweaty from all the sparing, and the bright sun did not help. Her hair was messy from all the jumping and rolling around. He found her endearing like this.

“It's been a week, If I did I would have given it back to you at this point.” He turns his body to face her. It was the truth, had he taken it by accident, which wasn't the case. The girl just frowns at him before looking at him in the eyes.

“I feel like you're lying.” She says taking a few steps to him. Her sword taps his chest as she does. Luke could only smile. He knew the bracelet was placed safely in a box that was wedged between the wall and his mattress.

“ Maybe I am, maybe I'm not.” he teases her, placing his hand on the sword. Not worrying about any scratches.

“Which one is it, Castellan?” Now it was his turn to take steps closer to her. They were almost chest-to-chest at this point. Looking at her doe eyes, a smirk spread on his face.

“ Do you consider telling half-truths a lie?” The girl just snickered at him before moving back. he would feel the sword moving and tap him on his biceps.

“Pull your sleeves down, it's distracting.” Luke flexed his mussels one more time before doing so.

–

May 17th

“Did you steal this too?” She says looking at the can of Diet Coke in her hand. Luke just rolls his eyes. He did.

“No, now shut up and enjoy the view.” He took her can and set it aside alongside his. The Girl just shrugged and lay down, watching the stars. Luke followed suit. Although it was his idea to go stargazing, he didn't pay much attention. sure, his eyes were very much watching the stars, but he was mentally screaming. Probably more than the younger campers he could hear in the background. They were so close that their hands were brushing against each other.

His pinkie itched to wrap around hers, but his nerves only allowed him to twitch without actually moving it. The girl was babbling something about the stars but he really couldn't make out any words. Only focusing on the way her voice made him feel. All silly and like he was made pudding.

His ears almost perked up when he heard her sigh. Turning his gaze from the stars in the night sky to look into those in her eyes, trying to figure out what was annoying her. It was like his heart stopped when she turned her whole body to face him. They were so close he could almost feel her breath on his face.

He mimicked her. Resting on his side next to her. To others, they may look comical, but Luke certainly did not care.

“Ya know,” Her eyes shift behind him. “ OH MY GOD, THAT ONE LOOKS LIKE A SCYTHE!” She yelped and pointed to something behind him. He could only turn his head before he let out a laugh.

“You're still one that?” He turns to her with moon-crescent eyes. The girl had a look of disbelief on her face.

“Yes, I'm still on that! You stole it and won't admit it!” Her finger poked his chest. He could only grab her wrist and pull her on top of him, shaking them both in laughter.

–

May 24th

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he says over his food. The girl pointed her fork at him.

“Yes, you do. this is like the paintbrushes and the bracelet. Where is my book.” She says. Luke just rolls his eyes as he has nothing to say. For once, this wasn't his fault. Yes he borrowed her paintbrushes once and forgot to give them back, and yes he's currently in possession of her bracelet, but he would never take her books. He's not a monster.

He leans over and takes a bite from her fork. The girl just huffs.

“I wasn't even near your room.” He defences himself. She has nothing to prove him wrong.

“I just have this feeling it was you. It's like my 6th sense.” She says again and looks into the distance. Intentionally avoiding eye contact.

“Well, I don't know what to tell you. What would I even do with your book.”

“Read it.” He raises his eyebrows at her.

“ Medical books?” He questions her. She just nods, as if any of this makes sense.

“Yeah, maybe you wanna steal my job too. Who knows.” She shrugs and returns to her food.

“I do not want-”

“Yes! Sorry for bothering you guys, but I found this book outside by the beach. And you're the only one I know that actually reads stuff like this.” The small Apollo kid places the book on the table and skips away.

The girl's gaze fixated on the book. Her tongue poking her cheek. Luke smirks before chuckling to himself.

“looks like your 6th sense is broken, sweetheart.”

“Oh shut up.”

–

May 31st

Luke was nervous, and he did not like it. He was used to making people nervous, not the other way around. So why was he fidgeting with his fingers? The little box in his pockets burned more and more every minute.

He was standing in the little clearing in the woods. Enough trees for them to have privacy but clear enough for them to stargaze again. He could hear the snap of a twig, making him turn around to the sound.

There she stood in front of him. In his eyes, she looked as much as any goddess could. he was seen if he ever met Aphrodite, she would resemble his dearest friend.

A smile spread across his face and she mimicked him.

“Grover told me to meet you here. He said it was an emergency. You don't look very emergent.” She joked and made her way to him. He let out a huff, but let her to the little blanket that was laid out on the floor. They took their shoes off and sat down.

They both took half of a sandwich he stole from the kitchen today and looked at the stars again. Luke already learned that stargazing gives him time to gaze at her without her noticing much. Today he wasn't so careful.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she says, swallowing the last bite of her food, her eyes not moving from the stars.

“Like what?” he cocks his head at her.

“Like I stole something from you.”

“Because you did.” An offended gasp left her as she whipped her head from the stars to him. He just giggled at her expression.

“Excuse you?? I did not. That’s your speciality and we both know that!” She argued back. “There is nothing I could steal without you noticing.”

“But you did.” He says again, moving closer to her. She glares at him while she moves to sit in his lap. Frowning her eyes, she takes a breath to speak again, but Luke stops her by shaking his head.

“You, my little star, have stolen my heart.” He says, looking her straight in the eyes. Again before she can speak he interrupts her. “Also, I have something for you.”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out the little box. Her eyes were glued to it. He turned it around and opened it. Inside was absolutely nothing. Luke's eyes widened in shock and fear. Little whispers of no’s and panicked patting of his pockets.

“What's wrong? Looking for something?” She says flashing her wrist at him. Luke didn't pay it much attention. He started to apologise and grabbed her arm. His palm lands on something cold. he stops and turns her wrist to his vision.

There sat a bracelet with a scythe charm on it. the one that was supposed to be in his pocket. Frozen he stared at it before shifting his eyes at her. She just smiled at him.

“How?” He breathed out. She just laughed.

“I snatched it from you like a week ago. Surprised you didn't notice.” She says it with such ease, knowing she beat him in his own game. He can just shake his head.

His arm sneaked up to her neck as he pulled her to a kiss. She may have stolen his heart and her bracelet back, but from now on, he's gonna steal all the kisses he can.

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sirfrogsworth · 7 months ago

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Dinner with Aunt Denise & Uncle Jeff A Tale of Science Fair Photography

Ever since my parents died my aunt and uncle have done their best to fill some of the hole left in my heart. It almost feels like they adopted me in a way. They check on me. They help me clean. They helped me sort through all of my parents' belongings. And from time to time they invite me over for dinner when I'm feeling up to it.

Last week I got a new invitation. I had been feeling pretty lonely as of late so I graciously accepted. Before I left I saw my camera sitting on the table and realized I had this fancy new lens which is especially suited for taking pictures of people.

I thought to myself...

"This lens has only taken pictures of bridges at sunset."

Which is cool and everything, but I don't really want my only photos to be of bridges at sunset. I like taking pictures of other things.

I didn't have any lighting equipment handy—just a single external flash. And without a solid plan for how I was going to use it, I quickly packed said flash and headed westward. As I saw the sun lowering in the sky above the highway my big photography brain had an idea...

"I should take pictures of *people* at sunset."

I needed a reflector of some kind to bounce my flash against. I thought poster board would probably suffice so I stopped at Walmart and headed to the arts and crafts area. I found these tri-fold poster board thingies that grade school kids use to display their science fair experiments.

I got 2 for $7!

What a deal!

After I arrived I asked if my aunt & uncle minded having their photo taken. My aunt said she was fine with it but warned me that no one had ever been able to take a decent photo of her.

I'm typically not one to be braggadocious, but I replied...

"Well, that's because you've never had your photo taken by ME."

I'm not sure I should have been so cocky considering my lighting equipment is typically used to display the life cycle of earthworms, baking soda volcanos, and... potato batteries—which was the delightful and totally real project I just found on Google.

Science Fair Entry from Billy, Age 10

After a delicious feast of bratwurst, salad, and non-electrified potatoes, I convinced my aunt and uncle to sit for a sunset photoshoot. They even helped me set up my science fair project.

Science Fair Entry from Froggie, Age 42

I decided to do a quick test indoors to make sure my plan would work. Jeff volunteered for my first experiment.

Without my contraption...

With my contraption...

I think my experiment was quite promising. But would my idea hold up outside during the sunset with constantly dimming conditions?

We moved everything to the backyard. The tri-fold poster board was a bit ornery regarding its uprightness and needed to be tamed. My Uncle Jeff used a large rock, some pillows, and a step ladder to keep the makeshift reflectors in place.

I started taking test photos without the flash to figure out the background exposure.

Those pesky power lines were going to need to be zapped later in Photoshop, but I was really digging the scenery.

I dialed everything in, started taking photos, and even on the little rear camera screen I felt like they were turning out well. With the sun setting the sky looked like it was on fire. But then the batteries died in my flash and I was starting to lose that fiery sky as darkness began to creep into view.

Unfortunately, all of the potatoes were in our bellies so my aunt scrambled to find regular batteries in the house.

This photoshoot had become a complete team effort with everyone doing their part to make it a success.

Surprisingly it was my Uncle Jeff was giving me some bona fide model poses. He just naturally has some sort of... resting model face. Very masculine and authentic. And my Aunt Denise is just pure sunshine manifested as a person. So I had no problems getting nice expressions from her.

So... would you like to see the pictures?

Will I get a blue ribbon on my science fair project?

Am I building up the suspense too much?

Okay, here we go...

I suppose the only validation I really need is from the person who has never had a decent photo taken of them.

Let's see the verdict.

All of those hours and hours of photography training helped me learn the problem solving skills I needed to pull off a photoshoot with seven dollars in supplies.

Take a small light source, bounce it off something larger, and you get a big light source.

And big light sources make people look snazzy in photographs.

Easy!

Are you kidding me?

I lost to the potato kid?

What kind of rigged nonsense...

#photography #long post

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octuscle · 7 days ago

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Model Job

Chester didn't know much about the modeling job he was hired for. He had been told to come in a blue suit. A neat hairstyle was required. The studio was a sober room in a functional office building in an industrial area. Nothing glamorous, but that wasn't what he was after. He was after money. Dirty money. He had a bunch of creditors breathing down his neck, and if he didn't want to be evicted from his apartment, which was way too expensive for him, he had to get this job.

The guys waiting in the casting room largely fit the current stereotype: bearded, tattooed, manly. Their hair was either super short or their long manes were tied back in topknots. But a few of the men looked just like Chester: well-groomed hair, clean-shaven, no visible tattoos. But in contrast to Chester, these men were usually rather petite, almost feminine. Chester was well-groomed, but clearly a real man. He prayed that this was the type of man they were looking for. Because then his competition would be very manageable. If they were looking for a guy with a mane and a full beard, however, he had no chance.

The waiting time was endless. The men spoke little to each other. Again and again, someone was called into the casting room, and mostly a disappointed or angry man came out. Chester was just happy that he had a charging cable for his cell phone with him. And that there was Wi-Fi. This way he could pass the time and did not have to rely on the goodwill of others to recharge his battery. After what felt like an eternity, someone called out, “Chester Cavendish?” It was unnecessary to call his name. Chester was the last to wait. But it was good to hear his name. His name was part of his capital. Not that he had anything to do with the Cavendish family, the Dukes of Devonshire. If he had their money, he wouldn't have to model. But the name sounded good. Respectable. Impressive. Hopefully it would help.

“Mr. Cavendish, if you would please stand in the spotlight over there.” Chester did as he was told. He had only been able to catch a glimpse of the panel that had to decide his fate. Now he looked into the spotlight and couldn't even guess what was happening behind it. ”Move naturally, Mr. Cavendish. As if you were waiting for your girlfriend in front of the hairdresser.” Chester took a few steps, turned around, paused, always careful to show the spotlight his best side.

“I don't know,” someone murmured. ‘He looks too much like old money to me. Too well-groomed, too upper class.’ ‘The problem is that we don't have anyone else.’ ”If he was a bit more relaxed. A bit more peppy.”

“Okay, that's better. Brown shoes, five o'clock shadow...” ”I think so too, much better for our target group!”

Chester began to feel more comfortable. Apparently, his type was well received by the client. His type matched his name. Black sheep from a good family. Good background, but slightly rebellious appearance. “He looks a bit conformed.” ‘Yes, the hairstyle is not bad, but he could show a bit more skin.’ ”You said it, sex sells”

Chester hadn't been sure whether it would be too intrusive to wear a sleeveless shirt... But it didn't seem to be a problem. He posed a bit more provocatively. And the muttering from the other side of the spotlight was obviously approving!

“I don't know about you, but it's too 90s for me. Too metrosexual.” ‘I agree.’ ‘And he could do with a bit more muscle too.’ ”Mr. Cavendish, how many times a week do you train?”

Chester wondered what difference it made how long it took him to get his muscles in shape. He was proud of his muscles. It was damn hard work, after all.

“Four or five times a week. But call me Chester. Mr. Cavendish was my father!”

“Thank you, Chester. And it's impressive what you've achieved in the gym!”

Chester listened, but only understood fragments. “…a little bit...”, “…too well-behaved...”, “…bad boy...”. It was difficult for him to continue playing the waiting game.

“Chester, do you think your normal job and modeling go together? Or is that a problem for you?”

“No problem! I still work a bit in my dad's construction company, dudes! He'll understand if I have to go on camera.”

Whispering again... And then, “Yes, he could indeed look more like a construction worker.”

Chet was slowly beginning to lose interest. He wasn't a model, he was a handyman... But he also wanted to be an influencer. That's probably why he had to do this kind of shit.

“Sorry, Chester, I forgot. How often do you go to the gym?” “Name is Chet. Gym is like for wimps. I hav me fuckin' workout six days a week at the construction site. N' three times a week i go boxin'.”

“I think we have the perfect candidate.” “I agree!” “But somehow he's not quite up to date yet, is he?” “Yeah, a few tattoos maybe.” “What do you think of blond hair?” ”Deal!”

Chet was the epitome of the C-Class celebrity. We knew him from a few modeling jobs, we knew him as a fitness influencer, we knew him from trash reality soaps like Love Island. But just a little bit. He wasn't famous. But he made a lot of money. And for an airhead like him, that was quite a lot!

#male tf #reality change #ai image #jock tf #tank top #smart to dumb #getting dumber #inked man #bro tf #broification #jockification

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allur1ngs · 1 year ago

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✮ enflame ✮

TW: bada being too fine for her own good, a little bit of possessive!bada, lots of protective!bada, cold!bada (to anyone who isn't you), super brief mentions of violence, bada having beef w your bodyguard, pushy men, btw the picture to the farthest right is purely for aesthetics and not meant to represent reader’s skin tone or body type!!

SUMMARY: you manage to tear bada away from her work for an evening of shopping, where the soft spot she has for you is unveiled.

part iii. bloody knuckles

WC: 2.9k

A/N: read this for more background on this au. this is not exactly a part two to the headcanons but i got this idea out of nowhere so yeahhh

DISCLAIMER: all characteristics portrayed are purely speculation and fiction, they are not meant to reflect bada's actual character, values, or attitudes. please keep this in mind!!

From the moment Bada arose from her slumber, she sensed that her day would be draining. Usually, waking up before the sun had the chance to peak above the horizon wasn't difficult for her—so many years of doing so had made sleep fatigue all too familiar. However, last night, she stayed awake into the wee hours of the morning, something she typically tried to avoid.

So when her body starts to naturally wake up only a few hours later, she groans loudly into her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and mentally cursing her past self for staying up so late.

Although all she wants is to stay in bed more than anything, she forces herself to rise from her plush king-sized bed and tosses the warm sheets aside.

Briefly, she turns around to gaze at the spot where she had just been lying when a thought strikes her. You must be asleep in your own bedroom. Curled up in a similar, large bed, a pocket of heat cradling your figure while your chest slowly rises and falls. Your eyes must be tightly shut, eyelashes fluttering as you fight to remain asleep despite the rays of sunlight that will soon begin to peek through your curtains. Your soft lips must be pursed together. Your lips...

Bada wishes you both shared the same bed. She wishes she hadn't been so courteous to buy you a new bed, comfortable sheets, and all the amenities you needed when you first arrived. She wishes instead that you were lying in her bed. She wishes she could wrap her arms around you, and pull you close whilst you slept. She wishes she could foster a beautiful heat between your two bodies. She wishes she could run her fingers across your skin--

Bada shakes her head, sighs loudly, and turns away sharply from her bed. She rubs her eyes as she makes her way over to her dresser, mumbling berating words under her breath for thinking of you in such a way. It's not appropriate and beyond that, those types of thoughts lead to feelings, which she does not--cannot have for you.

Bada's day seems to worsen after dressing herself in her usual attire, a freshly ironed black suit and slacks. The fabric touches her uncomfortably, and still feeling the edges of sleep mar her vision, everything is suddenly bothering her.

But the final nail in the coffin is when Lusher, one of Bebe's most trusted mafia members, walks into her office hours later, carrying a tray of breakfast.

Immediately looking up from the papers in front of her, Bada expects to see your lovely face greet her, but is met with Lusher's cheeky expression instead. She tries not to display her palpable disappointment, but concealing her feelings has never quite been her strong suit. Her mother had told her this many times when she was younger.

"Don't jump out of your seat in excitement, now." Lusher jokes, placing the breakfast tray on the desk.

Bada's lips tighten into a firm, thin line as she stares down at the food, feeling her hunger quickly escape her. "Thanks."

"I know I'm not who you wanted to see, but I can't lie, your disappointment hurts me." Lusher moves a hand to her chest, acting like she'd been wounded.

Bada sighs, shaking her head. "Why isn't she here this morning?"

"Still in bed, apparently." Lusher clasps her hands behind her back. "We found her asleep on the couches late last night. She must have been waiting for you to leave your office so she could wish you a good night, but ended up falling asleep out of exhaustion."

The butterflies that dance in Bada's stomach internally, are a stark contrast to the disapproving expression she wears externally. "I've told her many times not to wait up for me. It's not healthy to be staying up so late."

Lusher sighs dramatically. "You're telling me. How many times have I asked you to head to bed earlier?"

"That's different." Bada denies while picking up her golden ink pen and continuing to write. "I have work to do. Waiting so late into the morning just to wish me a good night is..."

"Sweet? Incredibly kind, and definitely a testament to how endearing your fiancée is?"

Bada clicks her tongue in annoyance. "What are you still doing here? Don't you have something better to do than bothering me?"

"You know there's nothing I like more than bothering you." Lusher shoots back with a sly smile.

Bada tried to continue working, she really did. She attempted to push through filling out papers, even though her wrist was screaming at her to take a break. However, come midday, she was already fed up.

Ruffling her hair and groaning loudly, Bada stands up from her table, the chair she'd been sitting out whining loudly against the floor. She wastes no time in shuffling to the door, grabbing the handle, and pulling it open.

Right when she does, she catches a flash of your figure walking down the hall toward her, your bodyguard only a few paces behind you. As her gaze connected with yours, she felt as if the world transformed, shifting from monochrome sketches to vibrant watercolor paintings

"Oh." You speak first, an easy smile finding your lips. "Good afternoon, Bada."

"Good afternoon." She greets back, trying her damnedest not to sound overjoyed at your presence. "Were you coming to see me?"

"I was." You nod. "I just wanted to let you know I'm planning on going to the mall."

"Are you now?" Bada says absentmindedly, her hand coming up to clutch at her tie and loosen it. The fabric suddenly feels much too tight around her neck.

"Yes..." You trail off, your eyes taking in how Bada's pale and lithe fingers grab at her tie and jostle it around, making it dangle a bit messily across her collarbones. Such a simple action should not be so attractive, no--it shouldn't. It's really ridiculous how easy it is for your fiancée to be so naturally alluring.

"That sounds nice." She hums. "Are you looking to buy something in particular?"

"No, not really." You shake your head. "I'm really just going to look around, and not stay at home all day."

Home. Bada's heart warms at you calling the mansion you both reside in your home. Although it technically is, it's different for you to perceive it as such. It means you feel comfortable here, with her--living with her--

"You should come with me." Your voice brings Bada out of her stupor, her eyes immediately finding yours.

Her mouth opens and closes dumbly, a clear look of shock painted across her face. She tries to quickly gather her bearings, half-heartedly muttering out, "I--I wish I could, but I have a lot of work to do--"

"Bada, all you do is work," you remark, crossing your arms over your chest. She has to force herself not to think about how cute you look doing so. "You deserve to have some downtime. Even if it is only for a few hours."

She stands there, still a bit shell-shocked, staring at you before her eyes shift to the figure behind you, finding your bodyguard, who is trying very hard to conceal her amused smile behind a shaky hand.

Bada's gaze turns icy as she eyes down your bodyguard, prompting the subordinate to immediately turn away and dispel her smile. "All right. I'll come with you."

"Wait, really?" You awe, your eyes going wide and your smile growing. "I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

"Well, you're right. I do need a break. At the rate I'm working at now, I'll never do anything productive by the end of the day." Bada admits with a tired smile. "Are you ready to go, then?"

"Yes." You begin to nod, but your smile slowly turns into a frown. "But you should change into different clothing."

For the second time that day, Bada is left surprised by your boldness. "Change? Why?"

"Don't you want to wear something other than a suit for once?" You ask innocently. "It seems... stuffy to be in it all day."

"Stuffy." She laughs breathily. "I guess you're right." Bada looks between you and your bodyguard. "Will you be all right to wait for me?"

"Of course." You smile.

"Great." She smiles back.

When Bada comes back, she isn't wearing her usual black suit. And although you'd been the one to suggest it, you're not quite ready for how amazing she looks in casual clothing.

A black leather jacket is draped over her shoulders, with slick white lines running down the sleeves and across the chest. She has paired the jacket with matching black leather pants and a black shirt.

In that moment, you want to scream at whatever higher power exists for making your fiancée so unfairly attractive. How were you supposed to act normal around her when her mere presence makes you hot below the collar?

Well, despite your internal struggles you give her a compliment before you're off to the mall, hopping into a sleek black sports car and speed away.

Your first destination in the large mall is a relatively luxurious clothing store. You can't lie; you had wanted to go into the store since you passed it on one of your trips to the mall without Bada, but you were too intimidated to enter. However, now, with her by your side, you feel much more comfortable stepping into the expensive store.

Approaching the door, your bodyguard begins to step forward, about to open the door for you like she always does, but Bada is quicker. She grabs onto the handle and opens the door, stepping aside to make room for you to walk in.

You look at her and smile while mumbling a soft thank you, to which she gives you a small smile back and nods. Your bodyguard begins to walk in after you, but again Bada is faster and enters the store, letting the door swing closed behind her. It almost hits your bodyguard in the face, making her flinch back and sigh.

"Keep a look out from there," Bada tells her sternly through the glass doors.

"Yes, Boss," your bodyguard begrudgingly mumbles back, understanding that this is payback for teasing your fiancée earlier.

Bada turns back around, her eyes easily finding you in the small crowd of people. You're looking around the store with wide eyes, a smile gracing your lips as you observe the embellished clothing around you. She smiles fondly to herself, finding every expression of yours much too cute for your own good.

However, before she can make her way to you, the familiar sound of a voice greets her from behind. Turning around, she finds In-Su, one of her business partners and the owner of the clothing store. Greeting him back, an air of professionalism immediately envelops her as she begins to engage in conversation with him

Meanwhile, you're in your own personal heaven. The clothing you've been browsing is exactly your style, and despite the high prices, you know you can afford it all, thanks to the black credit card Bada had gifted you.

A few minutes later, your hands are already starting to get full as you reach to pull another article of clothing from the rack when you suddenly feel a firm force push into your side, causing you to lose your balance and almost fall to the floor. making you lose your balance and almost fall to the floor. Thankfully, you manage to steady yourself before you do, huffing while turning to your right to see what--or more accurately who--had bumped into you.

"Excuse me." A well-dressed man stands a few feet away from you, his lips forming a snobbish frown.

Despite your irritation, you instinctively apologize. "Oh, sorry--"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, eyeing you up and down. "You should be careful where you stand."

Internally, you scoff at the man, but externally, you only mumble another half-hearted apology before turning away and walking down another aisle.

"Have I seen you before?" The man follows after you.

"I don't think so." You answer back flatly, trying to ignore him and busy yourself by flipping through pairs of jackets.

"I swear I've seen you before. I never forget the face of a beautiful woman."

This time, you're unable to control your expression and outwardly cringe. Is this random man who bumped into you flirting with you right now? After acting so rude?

You say nothing to him in response, choosing to completely ignore him instead.

"You know, when someone compliments you, it's common courtesy to say thank you."

Now you're starting to get increasingly anxious. You don't feel brave enough to confront the man, but he doesn't seem to understand that you're not interested and clearly uncomfortable with his advances.

Taking your silence in offense, the man scowls before grabbing your wrist rather roughly, making you drop all the clothing you'd been holding, and twists you around to face him.

You gasp at his painful hold, attempting to break away from him but unable to due to the sheer strength of his grip. "Let me--" you begin, but the words die in your mouth upon seeing someone standing behind him.

The man, who had been staring you down, notices the shift in your expression and suddenly becomes aware of a very strong presence behind him. He turns around, still gripping your wrist, and comes face to face with a scarily calm Bada Lee.

"Do you need something?" He snaps at her dumbly.

Bada stares down at him with steely eyes, her expression so devoid of emotion you're almost terrified for him. "I believe I should be asking you that question. Is there a reason why you're touching my fiancée?"

The man looks between you and Bada, scoffing disapprovingly. "Tch, she didn't tell me she was engaged."

"Even if she wasn't, in what world would it be appropriate to touch a woman who clearly isn't interested in your pathetic advances like that?" She asks rhetorically, her voice rising with every syllable. Clearly, her anger was getting to her.

The man grits his teeth, feeling his ego bruise because not only is Bada embarrassing him, but she's also easily intimidating him with her presence. "Hey, just who do you think you are?" He raises his voice to match hers.

"I think the real question is," Bada takes a step closer, leaving hardly any space between her and him, "who the fuck do you think you are?"

In that moment, the man's entire demeanor shifts. He turns to look around the store, finding every shopper, worker, and even the store owner staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes set into firm glares. Some of them have their hands in their pockets or are grabbing something hidden next to them. His face pales, and looking back at Bada, her face starts to become familiar. He hadn't recognized her out of her normal formal attire, but now--

He gulps, quickly letting go of your wrist like your skin burned him and steps away from you both, his posture shrinking. He starts to make his way toward the exit, attempting to ignore the stares of everyone in the store but is stopped before he can make it out.

"And where do you think you're going?" Bada's hardened voice echoes through the store, making the man freeze in his spot, his entire body going rigid.

Bada's footsteps slowly approach him from behind again and stop just shy of him.

"You made her drop her clothing."

The man turns around, avoiding eye contact with Bada and finding your eyes instead. He's about to mumble an apology when she speaks up again.

"Pick it up." She demands flatly.

The man stays still in his spot, shocked and embarrassed. But clearly, he didn't move fast enough for Bada's liking, because he feels himself get shoved in your direction, almost falling onto his face.

"Do it. Now." She says, her voice bordering on yelling.

Immediately, the man throws himself onto the floor, scrambling to pick up every article of clothing he made you drop. He does so as quickly as possible, then stands up, about to pass you the clothing, when he feels Bada's unwavering gaze bore into him and decides it's in his best interest not to touch you anymore, so he carefully drapes the clothes across your arms.

He turns back to face Bada, approaching her with a cold sweat.

"Hold on." She stops him yet again. "You bumped into her, didn't you?"

"I--" He tries to explain himself but is cut off.

"Apologize."

This time, the man wastes no time in fulfilling her demands. He turns to you, apologizing profusely while shaking like a leaf. You're unable to even think about accepting his apologies before he practically runs to the store doors, throws them open, trying to leave the mall. But as always, Bada is ten steps ahead.

She nods at your bodyguard, who grabs onto the man's suit with little effort, turns him around, and punches him straight in the gut.

Bada then steps in front of you, blocking you from seeing what your bodyguard is doing to the man. Her hands grab the clothing from your arms, relieving you of their weight before slinging them across her right shoulder. She then gently holds your wrist up to her eyes, the ice behind them shifting to a warm and caring glow.

"Does it hurt?" She asks softly.

You feel your body turn to mush at the attention she gives you. "A little."

Bada sighs, leans in, and places her soft lips against your wrist, kissing it with a reverence and sweetness everyone besides you is surprised to see.

It's clear to everyone that the ice around Bada's heart melts only for you.

enflame: to excite to excessive or uncontrollable action or feeling

#bada lee x reader #bada x reader #bada lee #bada #street woman fighter 2 x reader #swf2 x reader

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capquinn · 3 days ago

Note

eek dad quinn when his wife is pregnant at the lake house or with a baby at the lake house during the summer 🥹

dad!quinn at the lake house during the summer? an absolute dreamboat

There’s just something about Quinn in this setting — like he’s been waiting all year to step into this version of himself. The way the air feels softer here, the mornings slower, the evenings stretching long past sunset without a single deadline in sight. It suits him, this pace, like it was made for him. He’s completely at ease, the weight of the season, of the baby on the way, resting gently on his shoulders instead of pressing down.

For you and Quinn, it’s the perfect place to just be — to sink into the rhythm of each other and let the anticipation of what’s coming linger in the background, soft and unspoken.

You’re stretched out on a lounge chair on the dock, a book open in your lap, though your focus on the words comes and goes. Your bump catches the light, glistening from the sunscreen Quinn insisted on slathering over you before you even stepped outside.

“You’ll fry out here,” he’d said earlier, his voice soft but firm, his hands careful and thorough as he worked the lotion over your skin.

From the water, you hear the splash and laughter of Jack and Luke, their banter carrying across the stillness. Quinn’s voice threads through, low and easy, teasing one of them for losing balance on the paddleboard. You peek up over the top of your sunglasses just in time to see him dive off the dock, his form cutting cleanly into the water before surfacing, shaking his hair out with a grin that makes your chest ache. He belongs here, you think — not just to this place but to this version of himself. Easy, happy, home.

You lose yourself in your book again, the rhythm of the day lulling you into a haze. The sunlight feels heavier on your skin, the warmth almost coaxing you into sleep. You barely register the sound of footsteps on the dock, the creak of the boards under his weight and then —

“Comfy?” His voice is low, teasing, and impossibly close.

You blink, startled, only to find Quinn leaning over you, dripping water all over your legs and the edge of your chair. His hair is soaked, beads of water clinging to his shoulders and dripping down his chest, his shorts clinging to his hips. He’s grinning, his cheeks pink from the sun, his eyes bright.

“Quinn,” you say, your tone caught somewhere between amused and exasperated as you push your sunglasses up your nose. “You’re dripping.”

“Yeah,” he says, unbothered, leaning closer so the shadow of him blocks the sun. “You didn’t hear me call you.”

“I was reading,” you counter, though the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

He hums, one hand bracing against the back of your chair, the other finding the armrest beside you. His gaze dips briefly to your belly, his smile softening before flicking back to your face.

“You’re gonna burn,” he murmurs, brushing a finger lightly against your shoulder, where the strap of your dress has slipped just slightly.

“Am not,” you argue, though you don’t stop him as he adjusts the strap, his knuckles skimming your skin.

His gaze lingers for a moment, his finger tracing a path along your shoulder with a tenderness that feels like second nature. And then his hand shifts, settling gently on the curve of your belly.

“How’s she doing?” he asks softly, his voice barely louder than the sound of the waves lapping against the dock.

“She’s good,” you say with a small smile, covering his hand with yours. “Kicking a lot earlier. I think she likes it here.”

His thumb brushes against your belly in slow, absent circles, a habit he’s picked up in the past few months — like he’s already memorising the feeling of her. His lips tug into a quiet, lovesick smile, and for a second, he’s lost in the thought of her, of you, of everything waiting just around the corner.

“She’s gonna love it here,” he says, almost to himself, his eyes faraway. “Next summer, we’ll bring her down to the water. Show her the sand, maybe dip her toes in the lake.”

“And what if she hates it?” you tease, your voice light, though your heart races at the image he’s painting.

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head like the very idea is impossible.

“She won’t. She’s ours. She’ll love it because we do.”

His grin widens, soft and lopsided, and before you can think of a reply, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s warm and lingering, carrying the faint taste of the lake.

“Love you,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing lightly against yours for a moment before he pulls back, the sun catching the drops of water sliding down his shoulders.

You laugh softly, shaking your head as he straightens, dripping wet and unapologetic, the soles of his feet leaving faint prints on the dock. He’s already turning back toward the edge, Luke’s shout drawing his attention. But just before he dives back in, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you.

His smile, soft and sure, holds something unspoken — like he’s anchoring the moment, holding it in his heart for safekeeping. It’s the kind of look that makes your chest tighten, the kind that makes you feel seen, loved, completely his.

As he disappears back into the water, you stay there, fingers brushing absently over your bump. The sun warms your skin, the sound of his laughter mixing with the waves lapping against the dock. For a moment, it feels like everything — the lake house, your baby, the way he looked at you just now — is part of some beautiful, endless dream you never want to wake up from.

#someone stop me (but also don't)#dad!quinn #quinn hughes x reader #capquinn’s requests

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deadbeat-motel · 10 months ago

Text

ᗩᑎGEᒪ ᗪᑌᔕT ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

Me going talky-talky below the cut

I wanted to redesign this guy the most because of so many issues I have with his actual design, namely:

The suit is a travesty.... for both his background as a hypersexual porn actor and a previous mafia member. It does not read well as a good design for an Italian mobster of the 1920s. Do you really not think he would rock a pinstripe? I mean come on, those three horizontal lines on his suit look really tacky to me. You should've taken that pinstripe suit from Sir Pentious and given it to him instead. and not only that but it doesn't even read well as a porn actor who has no qualms about being sexualized and pretty much even revels in it. why does the suit basically cover him up like a conservative politician? come on, let him show off a bit more.

WHY A BOWTIE??? WHY??? A SIMPLE GOOGLE SEARCH WILL SHOW YOU THAT A NECKTIE WAS MORE IN FASHION DURING THAT TIME RATHER THAN A BOWTIE. The bowtie was something that pissed me off so much about the design.

He's not a very good spider design. the only thing about him that looks remotely spider-like is that he has those eye dots under the eyes and the many limbs.... nothing else. not the very large abdomen or the actual 4 pairs of limbs a spider is supposed to have. Not even a web pattern on him like Spiderman who embodies "spider" more than him.

YOU TOOK THE FLOOF OFF OF HIM??? THE ICONIC FLOOF???? unacceptable. In retaliation, I'm giving it back bigger than ever you coward!

Anyways, here's the thought process I went through with this design:

He needed to embody his Mafia/porn addict themes through his clothing so I went with an outfit that looks like a slutty Halloween costume of a mobster. Plus it would have also differentiated him from his family who most likely would've had a stronger Mafia vibe than he did.

Gave him a tiny little hat too because i thought it looked cute.

I remember hearing that Angel Dust's most iconic part was his head's unusual shape, so I decided to keep it on him but tweaked it a little bit with his hair covering the other half of his face. (This was for some kind of lore reason, maybe he's insecure about his heterochromia, That's where he was shot and has an X over it, or his eyes are malformed on that side, still thinking about it)

Originally was going to have matching black gloves for his arms too but then it was harder to see what was his arm or leg so I let him have nothing instead to keep the pairs of limbs separated

Gave him some hoop rings too because why not let a bad bitch have one?

I've seen necktie cat collars go around earlier and thought it would fit well for Angel Dust considering I didn't give him a shirt and that i took off his choker as well.

Aside from a MASSIVE flooff, I also gave him a massive spider "butt" with the missing pair of limbs. I decided to make it legs because honestly, It's much harder to think of how he would emote naturally with 6 arms. Plus it was interesting to think about how a 4 legged bipedal would work. Immediately my first thought went to Squidward Tentacles from both the show and the musical but then it wouldn't work because of the complexity of the legs. It's main purpose now is to both hold up the large spider "butt" and be his self-defense when being approached from behind.

Originally was going to have those big ass claw things on his mouth (I'm most likely wrong but the 'chelicerae' thing?) but thought it would clutter the design too much and because there was a big possibility that Val probably ripped them off of him when he had bitten once, if not multiple times, in self-defense.)

I'll probably talk about him more when he pops up in an episode I'm going to go in-depth about or give him his own dedicated rant about how Vivziepop treated his story.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel redesign #deadbeat motel redesign #deadbeat motel rewrite

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politemenacephd · 9 months ago

Text

The Surrogate (Part One)

Miguel O'Hara X Peter B. Parker X GN!Reader (+18)

Part two Series Content: Planned pregnancy, Breeding kink, PinV sex, Oral sex, Threesome, Web knotting, Aftercare, Possible Angst/fluff.

Miguel and Peter want a third child, and apparently they've run out of options. That is, except for you, their friend and colleague. They offer to cover everything, and the pay is life-changing. There's just one catch: they went to concieve naturally.

notes: i am working on arachnophilia, shits jst kinda rough, but i started this a while ago, enjoy x

‘You want what?!’

You almost spat out your drink in shock, unsure if you’d really heard what you’d just heard correctly. It was a miracle you didn’t accidentally spit alcohol into your companions faces.

You were sat in a booth at the bar all the spiders went to in Nueva York when off duty. It was pristine and white like almost everything else in this world, with floating tables and neon lights adorning the walls in various space themed shapes.

You’d been here a couple times before yourself, but tonight was different.

You’d been brought here by two of your friends from the Spider Society; Peter, one of the older ones, and Miguel, the head of the entire institute and Peter’s very open partner. They’d been incredibly cryptic about why they’d wanted to meet, with Peter simply insisting over and over that it was important, that they needed you to hear them out, and though you’d rolled your eyes a bit as he followed you around the HQ like a lost dog you’d eventually relented to his pleading.

You were now very aware of why they’d been so cryptic.

As you wiped away the small dribble of drink left sliding down your chin, Miguel and Peter continued to watch you in silence. Miguel was fixed with his usual sombre expression while Peter beamed at his side, hands clasped on the table in an inviting, open manner. It was the strangest contrast.

‘Just, think about it!’ Peter said. ‘That’s all we’re asking!’

‘No, no—wait, so I heard correctly?’ you stammered. Peter and Miguel shot each other a look before turning back to you in unison. After some nudging from Peter, Miguel forced a similar patient smile onto his face.

‘Yes. You, heard correctly’ he said. You gabbed at them both.

‘I—So, you, want me to be your surrogate?’ you repeated dumbly. The two men nodded.

‘W…. why?’ you asked, your voice audibly wheezing as you darted between the two. The two men just glanced at each other. They seemed almost dumbfounded that you would ask such a question, like they hadn’t anticipated your immediate acceptance.

‘Well, we… We love the girls, so much, and—we just, we want another one’ Peter said. ‘It’s all we talk about at home! Every night, how May and Gabi deserve a sibling, and—recently they started talking about it too, and—we can’t tell them no!’

‘But, I mean—sure, that’s great, but Why me? Why are you coming straight to me? Have you guys ruled out adoption, or… I mean I’m just, surprised? Or, confused? Definitely confused’ you replied slowly.

‘Ah, no, we haven’t… ruled it out, per say’ Peter said with a shrug. ‘Just—it’s, hard to work out adoption when uh—’

‘Peter isn’t from this universe’ Miguel bluntly interrupted. You could hear the slight sadness in his voice. ‘And—with my genetics, and my background, it—the government would never allow it.’

‘Oh… Oh, I see. But, why me then?’ you stammered. You were on good terms with the two men, that was true enough, but you hadn’t thought you were this close. It was so out of left field as well.

‘We—ran an analysis on whose genetics would be best suited for the role’ Miguel muttered. You noticed that he looked embarrassed to be admitting this. ‘Because of what happened to me, how my DNA was spliced, it’s tricky. I’m not genetically compatible with a lot of people. You were, one of five candidates, and we believed you were the best.’

You couldn’t help but wonder who the other candidates were, but more so you were stuck on the idea of needing to be genetically compatible. You knew Miguel was unusual, but, that unusual?

‘So, you came to me first, huh?’ you asked, lightly stirring your drink.

‘Yes!’ Peter hissed. He was leaning in over his lap with his fists tucked to his chest, his eyes wide and desperate. ‘Yes! Because we trust you!’

You couldn’t help but smile at his sweet insistence. ‘Hey, guys, I like you too, but—’

‘We’ll compensate you’ Peter insisted. ‘We will! Miguel will pay WHATEVER you want. The entire time we’ll pay for housing, food, medical care. You will be absolutely safe. And, along with that, we’ll give you a full payment after the babies born as thanks! We’ll—’

‘Hey, hey, woah!’ You raised your hands to try and slow the man down as he began physically crawling over the table in his excitement. Miguel grunted and silently grabbed his collar, dragging him back to his seat. Peter squirmed a little in his partner’s tight grip. ‘I’m just explaining, I—’

‘Look, that—that’s all amazing. I just—’ You were silenced as Peter reached over once more to slap down a cheque on the table. You darted your eyes at the two men before lifting it up.

‘Holy…. Shit’ you hissed.

It was a lot. A LOT of money. Not so much as to be impossible or unreasonable, but enough to make your stomach drop.

‘I—you’d, give me this?’ you stammered.

‘Yes! For your labour and time’ Peter said. ‘Fair compensation.’

You paused. This amount of money was enough to make a serious, permanent difference in your life. You’d told yourself you could cope, that you could just put up with the status quo, but this changed everything. And what, all you had to do was carry their baby for nine months?

Peter leaned closer. ‘Are you, just not comfortable with pregnancy, or—’

‘No’ you said, eyes still fixed on the cheque. ‘No, it’s—fine, just… Are we, doing this like, casually?’

‘I’m willing to pay for us to both have lawyers. You can choose yours, so you’re comfortable, just bill me ahead of time for the cost. We’ll draft up contracts to be sure no boundaries are broken, and to ensure you have a legal right to what we say we owe you, and of course with clauses to protect your personal autonomy’ Miguel explained. Man, when he talked business he was so commanding, you thought.

‘Huh. Okay. I mean… I, I guess I, would be fine with that’ you muttered back.

‘I understand this would be a large undertaking’ Miguel said, his body leaning a little closer. You watched with wide and curious eyes as his arm came down over the table. You were fixated on the bulge of his bicep, nearly the size of your head now bursting from the seam of his slim fit shirt. It made you a little dizzy, as did the thick, dark hair across his forearm. You watched his calloused fingers drumming on the table, revelling in the clack of his talons.

Peter must have seen you eyeing him because he rushed to hide his smug smile. He knew you were giving in.

‘I’m taking it seriously. You will be compensated, you will be cared for. I just need to know that you understand what you’re getting into. We… Trust you, well enough. That’s why we’re asking you. We trust that you’d have our best interests as heart, just as we’d have yours’ Miguel said slowly. You nodded.

‘Okay. Sure. So, do we do invitro, or—’

The way their faces changed caused you to stutter on your words. They glanced at each other, their faces strained, as if they dreaded what they had to say next. Miguel pumped his brow once before turning away, leaving Peter to sigh and address you alone. Clearly Miguel didn’t trust himself to deliver whatever the bargain was.

‘We… Ideally, we, would like a… natural, conception’ Peter said, his voice dipping slightly on the word ‘natural.’

You felt all the blood rush from your head, only to rise back up and fill your cheeks with a pulsating warmth. Natural? Conception?

‘So… You, would want to get me pregnant—’

‘Physically. By us’ Miguel said. You hated how you shuddered slightly at his voice, at that smooth, husky, sombre tone. It slid down your ears like silk.

‘It’s just, our preference’ Peter explained with a lopsided smile. ‘Miguel’s not a fan of, sterile environments like an invitro lab, brings back bad memories you know? And—well we don’t like the idea of anyone having access to his genes, or mine, that’s bad news. Plus, it’s less stress on you, theoretically. No doctors poking you, or injecting thing, blegh. You know. You know, of course you know.’

You nodded along slowly as he spoke. I mean, it made sense. You had felt some concern when it was first brought up but they both seemed sincere, like this was just the best option, and they seemed so excited. You decided to continue entertaining this idea.

‘Ah… Sure. So, would it just be, one, of you? Like we work out who we want, or—’

‘Well, I mean, we’re not fussed about who the biological father is’ Peter said, his lip tilting into a shy half-smile. ‘It can be either of us. But, chances of success are higher if, we… both, are, trying.’

You raised both brows as you slowly realized what he was coyly implying. ‘You—so, both of you? You’d, both be having sex with me?’

‘Yyyyeaahh’ Peter said. His dorky smile was so annoyingly sweet, you thought glumly, especially on such a handsome face. You always struggled to say no to him. ‘It’s just, like we said, ensure it happens quicker.’

‘And you’re both fine with this?’

‘Yes! We discussed it before, I made the big guy go to therapy first’ Peter said, playfully tugging on Miguel’s arm as the man stoically stared into the distance. He was putting on a stern face but he was clearly endeared by Peter’s affectionate attitude. ‘Its fine! It’s easier, with you being a friend, because you know us and you respect our relationship already.’

‘I sure do’ you said with a slight laugh.

‘See? Exactly! But yes, we talked about it, we know it’s just business. Well, I mean—not to say, it can’t be fun, I mean that’s what they say right? Making the baby is the fun part—’

‘Peter, please’ Miguel groaned between gritted teeth.

‘What? What! What did I say?’ Peter whined. You stifled your laughter as the two bickered.

‘What I’m saying is, we wouldn’t expect you to just, lie on your back like a brood mare and, uh—just, put up with it’ Peter said in a hushed voice as he returned to you. ‘We’re happy to both be involved, we’re happy to, make sure you’re enjoying yourself too, just—we’ll work out the boundaries.’

Again, you nodded slowly. It was a lot to take in, but they seemed to understand that.

‘Just… Just, gimme a minute’ you asked as you picked up your drink. Miguel nodded while Peter went into a ramble about how fine that was, words which you quickly tuned out as you disassociated into your own thoughts.

It was all happening so fast. You supposed you’d have time after this to work it out, though, They said there’d be contracts drawn up, that would take time. Just… did you want to do this?

Having the baby sounded scary, but as they said it’d be around the clock care. With the head of the spider society and all his equipment on hand it’d be hard to imagine something going wrong. You did also trust the two of them, they were your friends and had proven themselves to be good men. Well, most of the time.

And it wasn’t that you were opposed to sleeping with either of them. They were unbelievably attractive, each in their own unique way. Miguel was gorgeous, a top heavy giant with beautiful eyes and such a deep and expressive face, and Peter had that sweet DILF charm about him. They both did, really.

So what was the hang up? Really, WAS there a hang up? It felt like there should be one, but, the more you thought about it, the more you realized you couldn’t find one.

9 months of work was rough, real rough, but you’d be cared for to the max. You’d be paid an extraordinary amount, enough to change your life. You’d be done and over, a clean cut single job once it was done, and supposedly you’d have your own lawyer to ensure you were protected.

Should everything go to plan… It sounded, almost perfect.

You just had to suck up the courage to lie down and let these two men put a baby in you. The moment you contemplated the thought, your face started to heat up, and you rushed to take a drink to cool it down.

“Okay. Ah, can I… Speak?” You asked, awkwardly calling back their attention. The two men turned to you in unison.

“Okay…” you said slowly, before taking another, conclusive breath. “Okay. I’m in. If—”

‘OH! YES, THANK YOU!”

Your response was cut short as Peter flung himself over the table and wrapped you into a bear hug, an embrace so tight that you could barely breath. Miguel simply offered a sympathetic, if slightly exasperated smile over Peter’s back, before helping to claw the man back once more. “Thank you, thank you- oh this means so much to us!” Peter stammered, ignoring your attempts to quiet him. You could feel other people staring across the bar now and it was becoming quite distracting.

“Yeah, yeah, just- Okay, I happy to start the process. I do want that lawyer, uh- not that I don’t trust you guys, but, like you said it’s a big deal’ you said. Miguel grunted approvingly.

‘I wouldn’t have wanted you for the job if you hadn’t accepted that’ he replied, idly glancing at his nails. ‘I’d only accept someone who was, well… Smart enough to set boundaries, even if we are friends.’

‘Right, right. Good. That’s- good’ you said. At this point your mind was racing. You’d accepted the offer, but, what now? It’d probably be a while before any action happened but the sudden, daunting realization that action *would* happen hit you like a truck. You glanced over to where Miguel and Peter were now deep in conversation.

God, they were both huge. Huge. Miguel especially was enormous, nearly 6ft 9 with that thick neck and toned upper torso, the glint of his chiselled collar bone gleaming beneath the neon bar lights. Peter wasn’t as muscular but he was still tall, nearly as tall as Miguel, and he had that quiet, unsuspecting dad-bod strength about him.

You felt your shoulders hunch a little. You had no idea what to expect going forward here, all you knew is that—

‘Hey, sorry, are you gonna finish this those?’

You jumped back to reality to find Peter pointing across you at the table. Your eyes slowly followed his finger, which you realized was pointing at a half-finished bowl of fries you’d got when you arrived after missing dinner. Your eyes shot back up.

‘Uh… I mean, probably not, no’ you said. Peter didn’t say anything more; he just made that sweet, pleading puppy dog face and tilted his head a little. You and Miguel both sighed in unison, but you willingly slid them over to him.

“Oh thank you—” Peter said before his words were turned to garbled mess as he finished the bowl. You turned awkwardly back to Miguel instead. “I’ll send the paperwork over tomorrow” Miguel said, pre-empting your immediate thoughts. “We’re in no rush, so, we’ll work out the details at your pace.” ‘Aha, ah- sure. Thanks. I mean I’m, assuming it’ll be a long process anyway, right?” you replied.

Miguel tilted his head a little. ‘You mean, the pregnancy? Yes, though, I’ve heard it goes quicker than you think. We’ll do all we can to—’

‘OH, no! Not like, the pregnancy specifically” you elaborated, hands now raised. That drew Peter to look up from devouring everyone else’s meal, his eyes curiously fixed on you. Miguel’s stony red gaze remained locked in much the same way.

‘I mean the uh… The, baby making process’ you explained, giving a shrug to try and ease the awkwardness of saying such a thing. Miguel didn’t flinch though; he continued to stare, his head slightly tilted. ‘Like, making a baby can take… months, up to a year even. We’ll have to work around that timeframe I assume’ you said, finishing your point in a rather stilted manner.

Peter turned to look at Miguel. The neon lights were blaring at his back, shadowing his face until his features popped. So sharp, so thick-set, so chiselled. To your surprise, he suddenly smiled in a way you’d never seen before. He gave you a smug, wolfish grin, flashing just an inch of fang.

‘Oh, no. Don’t you worry about that’ he murmured, his voice unnervingly confident. You blinked and watched with a burning core as Miguel leaned forward to finish.

‘It won’t take long at all.’

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman atsv #atsv peter b parker #miguel x peter #miguel x y/n

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charmercharm3r · 1 year ago

Text

steady streams

Masterlist

8/8 of The Sleepwear Series

wc: 4k

Synopsis: Sometimes, the dead of night is the only time you get him all for yourself.

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, fluffy bf!chan, genderneutral!reader, unprotected sex, handjob, oral, light choking, talk of pleasuredom!chan hehehehe, reader crying during sex but nothing bad!! they just luuuuvvvvv each other so much..pretty tame

Chan is a man already spread way too thin, mind in a million places, phone always just in reach, shoulder so weighed down by his duties that sometimes he feels like a fucking zombie. And he admits, sometimes he thinks he actually is. But hey, it puts food on the table and keeps a decent amount of change in his pocket.

That’s why you always made sure he left all of that outside the door when he came home. Chan was grateful you didn’t ever let him sulk for too long, or let him leave early in the morning on an empty stomach– those meal preps in the fridge are life savers for his incredibly long days.

It was another one of those days, drainingly long and so, so far away from you. Another thing that weighed on him, he felt like the world’s worst boyfriend for spending so much time at work and only being able to see you so late into the night when he came home. In all honesty, it did suck, of course it did. But you understood him and his workaholic lifestyle, and dating him turned you into a night owl as well.

Judging by his lack of enthusiasm in his texts, he just wanted to get home. So you opted to pick him up in the wee hours of the morning instead of him taking a taxi, sending him a quick notice and a few comforting hearts.

Chan was waiting outside the building by the time you’d gotten there and let out the loudest sigh as soon as he sat in the passenger seat. You were thankful for the lack of traffic on the corner of the street because he threw his bag in the backseat and leaned over the center console to take you into an exhausted embrace. He still smelled so good, musky but somehow the vanilla lingered on his clothes and skin, you couldn’t help taking in a deep breath of the scent as you hugged him back. “You okay, hon?” You cooed, voice muffled by how tightly he held you. Only receiving a groan in response, you laughed lightly and kissed the part of his body you could without breaking away.

He held on for a bit longer until he’d had his fix, pulling away but keeping content with his hand in yours. The drive home was pleasantly quiet, your late night playlist softly playing in the background while Chan kept his eyes closed and head rested back, occasionally rubbing his thumb into your hand to tell you he was still awake because of course he was.

Getting back home as you unlocked the door, he let his forehead fall against your shoulder from behind for a moment. You say nothing, leading him in and tossing all your belongings down before Chan could follow suit.

“What do you need from me tonight, baby?” The gentle nature of your voice was already calming as it was, but your open arms were even more inviting. As if the hug in the car wasn’t enough, Chan leaned his head into your neck and encased you in his arms, intent on not letting go. He didn’t need to explicitly tell you that he needed the physical affection, he always wanted it, but it never hurt to ask.

“Need to shower,” he murmured back as his arms slithered tighter around your torso and crushed your bellies against each other.

“Eat something small and I’ll get it started.” Hands in his hair, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go easily now that your nails raked against his scalp.

“‘M not hungry. Stay with me,” Chan’s voice was low while pulling far enough just so he could peck your cheek and trail his lips to yours for a chaste, longing kiss. He moaned against you, practically melting in your arms.

You barely nodded before he was blindly leading you towards your ensuite bathroom, the same route you’d make a million times a day that either of you could do in your sleep if you’d gotten any. Clothes were strewn about the pathway through the bedroom door, past the perfectly made bed, and into where the steamy oasis awaited. Granted, it took a minute to get it the right temperature, but Chan just couldn’t stand the wait. He dragged you into the shower before it was hot enough and bore the burden of standing in the lukewarm stream just so he could have an excuse to hold you skin to skin.

There couldn’t have been less space between your bodies but it still didn’t feel like enough for him. All he wanted was in his arms, lightly scratching up and down his bare back as the water finally reached the perfect temperature.

“Would you like to tell me about your day?”

“After you tell me about yours. Wanna listen to you talk.” His admittance made you smile and kiss his neck.

“Well, then let me help you clean up and I’ll tell you about all the drama at work.” Chan nodded and leaned back, keeping his hands on your hips at all times. His eyes closed as the warm water began to soak his hair and drip down his face. The image of him was enough to stop you in your tracks and admire his pretty features. Delicate and somehow prominently defined bone structure, pink plump lips with a lovely cupid’s bow, your eyes raked down his thick neck to the built traps of his wide shoulders and broad chest and you wondered how on earth you came to call this beautiful human yours. His looks alone were enough to cast a spell over you, make you want to do anything you could to take care of him, in this very moment you were entranced.

With him still holding on to you, you reached for the shampoo bottle and poured a bit in your hands, lathering it up before massaging the bubbles into his hair. Chan’s lips parted a little at the action followed by a slight groan. “My boss is still an asshole, but today was okay for me, he was pretty occupied. Remember that girl I was telling you about? The assistant? Well, I saw her sneak into my boss’s office during his lunch break.”

Chan peaked one eye open, “what? Really?”

“Mhm,” you nodded your head, “you’ll never believe what happened.” Once your fingers started to get rubbed raw, you figured it was time to rinse. “Head back,” he followed your instructions and let the water clean the shampoo away. “My boss came back after lunch, but his wife was with him!”

Both of Chan’s eyes shot open and he gasped, “no way! Was the assistant still in his office?”

“Yes! And the door was closed! I saw the whole thing as it was happening. Head up.” Conditioner next, then body soap on a scrub glove. You took your time rubbing the exfoliating glove over the expanse of his skin, enjoying getting to clearly see all of his little features up close, particularly his chest and arms. Chan smirked a little as he watched you ogle him.

“What happened next?” He prodded.

“I couldn’t see what the assistant was doing inside his office, but I heard her say that she was just leaving his week’s itinerary and organizing some files and she ran out. The wife was totally clueless.”

Straightening out his arm, you held it up as the soap coated his skin, smelling like a soft lavender. “Damn, I really thought the wife would finally realize her husband was cheating on her.” Chan mindlessly used the suds to clean his lower half as well.

“You and me both, babe. Turn around.”

His back was like a dream to look at, let alone get to see all soapy and wet. You squeezed the glove across his shoulder and let the suds drip down for your own amusement. The little giggle that left you had Chan peaking over his shoulder, “enjoying yourself?”

“Mhm. A lot,” you kiss his lips as he chuckles before continuing your task. “Wanna tell me what made your day suck so bad?”

Chan’s head fell forward with a long sigh, he rinsed the conditioner from his hair. “It’s not even anything terrible. It’s just… the regular stuff that is getting so exhausting.”

Taking the shower head off the hook, you rinsed his body and hung the scrub glove, handing it to him to put back so you could wrap your arms around his waist. Chan’s head hung in the hot water while you pressed your ear to his back and listened to his heartbeat. The soft rhythm was almost mind numbing somehow, not realizing you were feeling him up and down until he cupped his hands over yours to stop before they got too low. “How can I help you?” You could only whisper, wishing there was a way to make all of his responsibilities evaporate like the steam on the bathroom walls.

“Just hold me.”

It was another few quiet moments with him like this until you started to get antsy. Your boyfriend was right in front of you, yet it still felt like his mind was so far away. You knew it was, a bad habit of his that not a lot seemed to break as he thought of all the things he still needed to do. And you missed him, so much that you couldn’t bear to tell him because it’d be one more thing on his plate.

Instead of voicing your concern for his overly bombarded thoughts, you figured it’d be more beneficial to put a pause on his brain all together.

So slow that he didn’t seem to register, you tiptoed your hand south and splayed your palm over his pelvis. It wasn’t until you took hold of his semi-hard cock did Chan realize what you were doing. His head shot up and tried to look back at you, but you lightly wrapped your hand around his neck and said, “relax, baby. No more thinking tonight.” You felt him swallow, then nod.

Not even thirty seconds later and he was at full mass, entirely at your mercy as the water acted as lubricant for lazily pumping him. Knowing just where to touch, just how to nibble lightly at his skin, just enough pressure around his neck to make his head fall back, Chan bucked into your palm and already felt so grounded beneath your touch. The warmth of the water was making him overheat even more now that his high was rising quicker than he’d expected. Your fingertips ran over the head of his cock before wrapping your hand into a tighter ring and speeding up your movements, Chan shuddered and let his head rest back against the side of yours. While you worked him up further, he placed a grip over the hand on his neck and squeezed tighter while his other reached back to grab your ass and pull you flush against his back side. Every time he rutted into the ring of your palm, your hips moved with his, fluid and in sync with every motion until he bit his lip to hold back the strained moans that wanted to erupt. “Let go, sweetheart. You deserve it. I won’t let you go,” the loving coo of your voice was what tipped him over the edge and release onto the tiled shower walls with a deep groan. You squeezed his neck just a little tighter while his nails dug into the fatty flesh of your ass, hips twitching until his shoulders slumped forward with relief.

“Fuck, I needed that. Thank you,” Chan rolled his head to kiss your temple. As he turned to take you into a hug again, you quickly took the shower head and cleaned the wall off and washed his seed down the drain.

“I know.” You hugged him back, but still felt his erection hard against your stomach.

His breathing returned back to normal soon. “Did you shower earlier?” He asked, you nodded, “good.”

Before you could question him further, Chan was guiding you out of the shower and letting the steam flood the bathroom even more. He dried you down before drying himself, taking in your lips as you attempted to wrap your hair in another towel to catch you off guard with your arms up and body exposed.

The kiss was hungrier than any of the past few shared since picking him up, so much needier and desperate that he unexpectedly picked you up and dropped you onto the bed in a matter of seconds. You squealed when your bare back hit the mattress and Chan fell to his knees in front of you. Doing your best not to get the sheets wet with your soaked hair, you looked down at him wonderfully confused, “what’re you doing?”

His lips were peppering kisses up and down your legs, coming to your thighs and he looked up at you through his long lashes. “You’re so sweet to me,” Chan said into your skin. “Packing me meals. Picking me up so late at night. Getting in the shower with me even if you’re already clean just because I asked. Always treating me so good and that was just today. You didn’t think I’d let you leave without a reward, did you?” Each sentence was accompanied by more kisses and slight teething to leave soft red marks.

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, he made his way higher and hooked his arms under your thighs. “I wasn’t going to ask for anything in return,” you admit, unabashedly indulging in how pretty his hair was when it was wet and curly, you couldn’t stop from twirling it between your fingers as his kisses came to the junction where your thigh met your pelvis.

“You don’t have to ask, baby. I wanna give it to you. Y’always deserve something just as sweet as you are. Let me? Please, please let me?” He was begging as his warm breath fanned over your center, sending shivers up your spine and raising goosebumps along your limbs.

Just a nod and a whine, he was overly enthusiastic in the way he began to devour you. Slurping noises filled the room from the very start, Chan clutched your thighs tightly to keep you from squirming and against his mouth at all times. His big tongue covered so much area, made you feel tingly all over especially when he peered up at you from between your legs, an obvious smirk as the same tongue wriggled to tease you for making such pretty nosies for him. Maybe a little too lost in it, Chan sat up onto his knees, hunched over and took your lower body up with him to fold you in half as he continued to stimulate what felt like every nerve in your body. He was looking down at you now and slightly menacing but in a way that was painfully arousing, he knew what he was doing when he began to hum. Hands in his hair, you were rutting into his face as if he was only there for your pleasure, and he loved it. So much so that even after you came into his mouth and he swallowed every bit, after you finally let him go and he placed you back onto the bed, Chan begged to let him do it again.

“Baby, I don’t think I can. Too tired and sensitive,” you breathed heavily as he crawled over your body.

“I know I can make you cum one more time at least. If not with my mouth, then…” His voice trailed off, lowering to place supple kisses across your chest and up your neck. “Let me fuck you, nice and slow just how you like. Wanna keep making you feel good, the way you make me feel. Wanna feel you around me, pulling me in so deep that you feel me in your belly,” he emphasized his sultry words by tracing his fingers across your lower stomach, making you shudder again. “Let me fuck you so soft until you cum around me, make you feel how much I love you and appreciate everything you do for me.” Your stomach twisted at his lewd, heartwarming promise, there was no denying him when he asked so kindly.

Tugging his head down for more kisses, Chan hiked your legs around his hips and immediately aligned himself with your core. The initial push in was a burning, blissful stretch to accommodate his swollen size, the both of you a sensitive mess from already coming once each and loudly groaning into the bedroom air.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck– you feel so good, so warm,” he mumbled against your lips, unable to shut himself up. Not that you minded, you adored when he told you how you made him feel, and he loved the reaction you gave him.

“See that, sweetheart?” He bucked his hips impossibly deeper, seeing the bulge in your lower belly protruding slightly. “What’d I tell ya? Isn’t that just the prettiest sight? Aside from you, of course,” Chan chuckled as he slowly fucked in and out of you, pressing his forehead against yours to watch as his tip prodded lightly upwards from your stomach.

His fascination for seeing himself within you was maddening, when he said he’d fuck you slow, you didn’t think it’d be this slow, to the point of almost stagnant. Whining and clawing at his biceps, you tried to buck yourself back and forth just for the friction and he laughed. He actually laughed watching you struggle to get yourself off after protesting it not even ten minutes ago. “Oh, you’re just so cute! Trying so hard. Is it working? Think you can do it yourself?”

“Baby, please– you said you’d–”

“I know, I know, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I could never say no to your pretty face.”

Chan adjusted his stance so his thighs brushed against your bruised ass and settled on his forearms on either side of your head. Cheek to cheek, you held onto him from under his arms, one hand hooking under his shoulder and the other reaching as far down as you could to dig your nails into his ass the same as he did earlier. The slight pain of your nails was encouraging, pulling out and pushing into you again at a languid pace. The sound of wetness filled the room from both the sloppy kisses he was leaving anywhere he could and from where your bodies connected.

He was alway vocal in bed especially when he was feeling the way he did now, at rock bottom but somehow on top of the world because he had you beside him, conflicted inside thinking he doesn’t deserve the love and support you provide but can’t seem to fend off the selfishness to push you away. You were better that sleep, better than three hot meals a day, better than any drug that could run through his veins because drugs eventually wear off, but there was no way he was ever going to get you out of his system.

So yeah, if the opportunity to tell you how much he adored you ever came around, he was going to take it. Such as now, for instance, fucking into you with nothing but love and passion while also letting out all of his day’s frustrations through his words.

“My beautiful baby, you fit me like a glove. Oh, you sound so pretty when you say my name. Say it again please? Hngh– there we go– ah, fuck– do that again. God, this hole is perfect, so perfect for me. Don’t ever wanna pull out. Wanna fuck you all day and night, make you cum over and over again until you can’t remember what day it is. How does that sound, love? Would you let me? Just say so and I’ll do it.”

If dirty talk was an olympic sport, he’d take the gold year after year because the flame in your gut was burning brighter and brighter with every thrust– or was that just his cock?

Didn’t matter, it could’ve been minutes or hours that he spoke to you like this, kept you teetering on the edge with just the right pace and depth to have your toes curling. It was so good that you wanted to cry, not just from the pleasure but because of how much you loved him, and there was no way to express that love without actually making the two of you break into tears.

But you couldn’t hold back the few that escaped down your cheek, though it was the sniffle that caught his attention to sit up and look at you with deep concern. “Baby? What is it?” He pulled out immediately, making you whimper and claw at his back for him to return. Chan was confused, but did as you asked and slowly pushed back into you, making your eyes screw shut and dig back into the mattress. “Talk to me, why are you crying?”

As he swiped the tear away with his thumb, you held his hand and nuzzled your cheek into his palm. “Love you so much,” it came out as less than a whisper and if Chan wasn’t looking at you, he wouldn’t have understood.

His eyes softened more than they already were, he almost felt the need to let a few tears shed as well but held up the strong fort for your sake. If he had cried too, that would’ve been the end of your little steamy session, and Chan knew better than to take the promise of pleasure away from you. So he squished your cheeks with both hands and planted kiss after kiss against your puffy lips, not letting you breathe as he did so.

“Love you so much more, you’ll never understand.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, not letting his eyes stray from your glistening ones, he continued to fuck into you until your body began to feel like it was floating and you were locking him between your legs in a vice grip, finally closing your eyes as the high stole your vision with a white blur. Chan’s head fell to the side of yours, still holding on when the pulsing of your walls finally let him give in to the euphoria he’d been trying so hard to keep at bay because truth be told, he almost came as soon as you said you loved him.

Bodies damp and tired, Chan would’ve collapsed on top of you if not for his knees tucked below him. Kissing you slowly, feather light and cherishing, he slipped away for just a moment to grab tissues off the nightstand and wipe you clean, then reaching for a clean pair of his boxers to slip up your legs. He giggled when he realized how much bigger they were and weren’t going to stay up.

The comforter was still neatly tucked under the corners of the bed, but Chan decided that while he had you here momentarily immobilized, he’d tuck and roll you into the blanket like a burrito, just your head sticking out of the top. “Nooo! I can’t hold you!” You complained, but laughed along with him anyway.

“It’s for your own good! So you can’t run away from me,” he challenged and wrapped himself around your blanket bundle tightly.

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“You’re stuck with me, actually. I have you trapped with no escape.” He rubbed his nose into your cheek with a sleepy grin.

“Oh nooo, what will I do?” The fake worry made him sigh, but still smooch your cheek sweetly and roll over so he was on top of you again.

“What do you think will happen with the assistant and your boss?”

“You’re so nosy!” The two of you giggled much too loudly for how late at night it was.

He didn’t let you loose, choosing to keep you wrapped up tightly in the blanket, safe and sound and in his arms.

tags: @sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit. @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @hamburgers101@skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @lvrhyuka @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @leebitsimpracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @kaitchan @iadorethemskz

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