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#i think the one in the Little Guy Conference is a male

hells-wasabii · 3 months

Note

could i request a drabble or headcanons for:

Vox with a reader (male, but can be gn if u want) who is also an overlord, and he is in business with Vox. He tends to annoy Vox allot, and is the type to push people’s buttons on purpose. He is also known for practically being nocturnal, so it’s very hard for Vox to get ahold of him for a business meeting.

Vox subconsciously had a crush on him, but denies it to himself, convinced he just finds him so annoying he must be confused. But one day, during a meeting with him, (which is in the middle of the day) he notices him nodding off. He is annoyed at first, but then suddenly the reader’s head falls against his shoulder….😱😱😱

I’m basically just asking for Vox’s reaction to reader falling asleep on his shoulder LOL, just added some backstory for fun :P

have a good day ^^

A/N: For this request i went with a drabble so i could play into the back story a little more, i hope that's alright! But i really like this prompt! can't go wrong with denial of feelings!

Character: Vox

Type: Drabble (Falling asleep on his shoulder, m!reader, Fluff)

You were late again.

You usually were when it came to your meetings, if you even showed up that is. Sometimes you couldn't help yourself. There was just something special about waking up to a slew of angry emails and voicemails.

Most times you were late just for the hell of it, wearing on the nerves of your host, but this time you really hadn't meant to.

It was common knowledge you were practically nocturnal, after all, you were the overlord associated with nightlife. Your body functioned on a different schedule than most demons.

The video demon hadn't actually expected you to come in for this meeting, he'd certainly been surprised to receive a confirmation email pop up on his screen right as the first rays of sun peaked through his window. Now it was-- the overlord checked the time on his phone again-- 1:12 p.m.. And you'd even set the time. Most of your meetings took place in the evening, sometime near sunset. A little earlier than when you would be waking up if he recalled correctly. Not that he actually cared enough to memorize your sleep schedule. He certainly didn't like you or anything thing, and anyone who said otherwise was a damn liar. That would be completely preposterous.

Especially seeing as to how you were the guy that pissed him off the most. Almost as if it was your fucking job to make him short-circuit and then keel over laughing about it. Just thinking about it made his screen heat up.

The door to the conference room burst open and there you were, huffing and puffing, grinning that insufferable smile of yours that you wore before fraying his wires.

"You're late, asshole." You opened your mouth, undoubtedly with some ridiculous excuse about having to help an old hag across the road, but Vox was quick to continue. "Let's get this over with."

To make matters worse, of all the places you could have sat in the conference room you just had to choose the one next to his. It was like you knew exactly what to do to push his buttons. But it was fine. Totally fine. Vox hoped beyond hope that you would take the meeting seriously at least.

And you did, thankfully. About 20 minutes had passed, the two of you discussing numbers and business. The video demon chanced a glance your way, a grumble in his chest when he notices you were starting to nod off.

Choosing to ignore it he continued on, moving on to the revenue of the project spread out before the both of you. Then suddenly, there was a thud against his shoulder.

There was no fucking way.

Sure enough, Vox cranes his neck and you're passed out on his shoulder.

Great. Just fucking great.

You were lucky you looked so peaceful or he would have shoved you off right then and there. That was what he told himself at least.

Vox does his best to stay still, but not too rigid. He stays there for what couldn't. have been longer than an hour before you finally wake back up. Not that he particularly minded, having taken the time to browse the ratings of his latest shows.

"Shit, sorry." You mumbled an apology as you straightened in your seat. Your eyes never left the other Overlord, looking for any reaction. This time might not be too great if he blew his lid. But you could've sworn he was blushing.

"It's fine," he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. "Just don't let it happen again."

You can't help the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Sure thing, pictureshow."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox headcanons #drabble #fluff

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moonit3 · 6 months

Text

INTIMACY

➥ warnings/notices: yandere, nsfw, mlm, male/amab! reader, teasing, handjob (receiving), dom! yandere, sub! reader, reader gets paid to be touched by the yandere, reader gets bites by the yandere, blood.

➥ yandere! ceo x male! secretary reader.

➥ synopsis: the meeting is canceled last minute, leaving you and leonard alone in the hotel room.

➥ a/n: the first amab! reader writing of the blog! I’m a little to excited with this one, because at the same it was a challenge to myself, it was also quite fun to write it ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ i know that some guys/amab people love yandere context, but there isn’t much context for them, so this is for them! also, this is probably the most smut one shot that i ever wrote it…

a business conference, that what he was invited him for. leonard is going to give speeches to others businessmen all over the wolrd like he always do almost every years to gain even more money. however, he doesn’t see like this, instead, the rich man sees this as an opportunity to get closer to his secretary.

young, clumsy and kind. those are the perfect words to describe you, his personal assistant who gain the position a couple of months ago after leonard fired the previous one for misconduct and it was the best choice he ever did in his life. because of that, he can sees you almost daily and bring you to those businesses travels without anyone asking why.

“it’s seems that tonight meeting got cancelled.” his words called your attention, making you stopping typing in the laptop to look at him. the way your eyes stares at him is adorable, too innocent to your own.

“did something happened, sir?” you asked him. a little worried over the meeting was canceled, you know how hard leonard worked to his presentation. “or they moved the conference to another day?”

“no announcements were made, but probably so.” he replied, getting up from his bed and stepping closer to yours. it was a good idea to share the hotel room with you, so he hadn’t to worry about curious eyes. “we have the entire night for ourselves then…any plans?”

you thought for a couple of seconds before speaking again, “how about we just relax? it’s been a while since i saw you resting, sir.” the worrying in your voice is noticeable. “you’ve been working twice as hard in recent days, so take a break. you deserve.”

as his secretary, you need to take care of him always and since leonard doesn’t know when to stop working, you have to remind to him that he is a human and that he needs to take a break from time to time. not to mention that you never saw him sleeping, only working.

“you should take a bath, sir.” you turn the laptop off, putting it away. “a bath always help me relaxing after a long day of wor.”

“really? then you should join me.” his lips turn into a grin.

your entire body froze freezes with his words. too shocked to speak something, this got to be a joke, a silly one. “i’m sorry? i think you said it wrong, sir….” your mind is begging to this to be a mistake, maybe you heard it wrong.

“didn’t you heard?” by his hands, leonard makes you stand up in front of him and there is no chance you can’t escape from his sharper grasp, not when he is too tall and stronger for the average person. “i said ‘you should join me to a bath’.”

this is getting weird. leonard shouldn’t be flirting with someone like you, a mere secretary who keeps falling in duty for simple reasons as tripping or forgetting important meetings.

“i-i don’t think that appropriate for the two of us, sir…”backing away from this situation sounds the best, but not when leonard’s hands are holding your waist and putting you closer to his body. “wait! y-you aren’t going to do anything weird, right?”

the bubbles in the water is enough to hide your nudity from leonard’s curious eyes and despite sitting in opposite sides of the enormous bathtub, it’s feel so small the distance between you and him.

“see? taking a bath with your body isn’t that hard~” he is teasing you, there is no way he would sit with his legs so widen like this during work hours. your eyes are struggling to not look at his thing. “it would be better if you got closer, [name].”

“no, thanks.” you replied. “i’m perfectly fine on my side.” you still can’t believe you accepted to be in the same bathtub with him for almost one million in any currency of your choice. “you said there is something else that i need to do in order to gain the money and i’m afraid to know what is it.”

leonard smiled, its finally happening. “well, you have to let me touch you…” okay, your boss is the strangest man you’ve know in earth, but who is you to judge? “how about you let me stroke your pretty cock?”

“w-what?!” okay, now you can judge him. “you c-can’t do that! it’s weird and y-you are my boss! it’s morally wrong to do those stuff with your worker!”

he doesn’t let you talk anymore, but he does bring you to closer to him to take a seat in middle of his legs, feeling his large bulge closer to your butt cheek. if he dares to take things further, it won’t fit.

“then, let’s keep it a secret between the two of us…” his hand goes lower to reach the head of your member and grab it around his large hand while the other one holds your waist, not letting you go away. “and if you let me do it, then i will add another million to your paycheck next month for the next five years.”

“really?” the amount of money that would enter your bank account is immense…it will be more than enough to rent for that travel across asia and to continue paying your younger brother’s intuition! “you can continue it, sir.”

you can’t see, but his lips curves into a smile as he continues to touch your cock, teasing the tip as whimpers began to come out of your mouths. the lewd sounds that echo through the tiles of the bathroom, little amounts of precum coming out of you and your body rubbing shading his is driving him crazy.

leonard is taking his time to rubbing your shaft, taking it slowly to see how easily your body reacting to his touch. your back keeps moving back and forth, giving him no option than holding your body closer to his chest…aren’t you an eager one?

“aren you enjoying it, darling?” he rests his face at your shoulder, admiring how much precum is leaking from the tip of your cock and listening to the sweet melody escaping from your lips. “i can go faster if you want, but you have to ask it nicely~”

you cried out in pleasure with a suddenly fast stoke, “ah—“ his grab gets harder, cutting your words for an instant. “p-please…please! i-i need it!”

the way your hips began to move in an attempt to make you come faster, however leonard holds your waist closer to his pelvis. not letting you continue it as the strokes on your cock gets faster and faster, til moans are the only things coming out of your mouth.

“fuck…i can feel that you are close, babe.” your body is reacting so well and seeing the tears from your pretty eyes by a mere cock stoking means that your body will react even more when he do the whole thing. “do you want to come? do you want to come by the hands of your boss?”

leonard’s hand moves from your hips to your neck, moving your head to the side and then biting your collarbone. a scream came out of your lips and blood start coming out of your neck, the crimson hits the water of the bathtub, making it slightly red. despite the scream of pain, but it seems that you enjoy the bite as you came shortly after.

and for the part time tonight, you moan when the cum came out of you cock, dirtying your abdomen and leonard’s hand. it’s feel so much and you don’t know if you can stay awake anymore…

“[name]?” he notices your eyes closing and how your body became heavier by laying against his body, how cute. “…it’s seem that i went to rough.”

your sleeping figure is a great view to leonard. the shirt he put on you after washing the blood and cum away makes you look adorable, his clothes are too big for someone so small like you. he is holding himself from kissing you all over, knowing that you are tired from the earlier events.

he sits next to your sleeping body, finally using his phone after a long day without touching it. leonard saw the unread messages coming from an unknown number, but the profile picture shows that it’s one of the associates that invited him to this business travel.

[unknown number]

-> it’s sad that you couldn’t come, leonard. don’t worry, nothing exciting happened there, but i will send the archives from the meeting.

leonard smiled to his phone one last time before going to sleep, this time, he is sharing the bed with you and holding your hand to assure that you won’t leave so soon.

@moonit3 writings

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bonesandchalamet · 7 months

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isn’t you - t.chalamet

masterlist

requested: y — “timmy Is with Kylie but fall in love with co-star!Reader.”

pairing: Timothee chalamet x costar!reader

warnings: writers strike is not existent in this fic + angst

a/n: this is for my Timmy girlies 🥲 I know we are hurting out there rn…

it was a low key relationship— at least according to him, until this weeks US open and he’d hit the front covers making out with his new girlfriend.

you’d never grown close to timothee chalamet, not with his good looks and charming humor did you allow yourself to grow attached to a man who wasn’t available. sure, you could be friends, men and women are friends all the time, but there was something else about Timothee that just made it impossible to be friends with him.

“so tell me,” the reporter starts, her eyes dazzling with excitement as she scans both of your faces for the same energy, but you lack it. no amount of caffeine and self preparation could make you happy to sit beside the world renowned actor, Timothee chalamet, “have you guys gotten close throughout filming? I mean, it’s been almost year you have to be best friends by now, right?”

it’s Timothee who laughs, he does his typical adjustment in his seat, leaning forward he begins to speak, “I mean we’ve gotten close, I’ve begun to pick up the little things she does.”

the reporters eyes grow wide, she’s begging for me, “like what?” she asks, and you cock your head to the side to get a good view of his side profile.

he chews the inside of his cheek when he’s slightly nervous, you’ve noticed this before, he fidgets with his rings too, and finally he opens his mouth, “I don’t know, I can’t think of anything right now.”

“you have to have something in mind.” you finally say, a rush of blood flows to your cheeks as you and the reporter wait for what feels to be like minutes, but really is seconds, before he finally comes up with something, “how you set out coffee for me every morning. you never get it right, but it’s still a nice gesture.”

the reporter presses her hand to her heart, “y/n, do you have anything that Timothee does that helped you grow close to him?”

where do you begin? his laugh, his smile, his jokes, his voice, his charm. you could go on and on, but you can’t pick those. not without making it so obvious you were in love with him, so you’ll result to something less awkward.

“his jokes, that reeled me in for sure.”

—

the interviews are done. it’s the press conferences and red carpet debuts are all that are left. Timothee is known for always having a hand around his female co-stars waists, or even just being close to them, which will make things ten times harder to resist him.

the tiny black midi dress shows your curves and all other assists to your physical beauty. standing in front of the cameras, you smile and pose. it’s not long before you feel a hand against the small of your back and the scent of his cologne.

“you look,” he pauses for a second, moving his body in front of yours, so it’s just you two, his eyes scan you up and down slowly before finally reaching your eyes, “beautiful.” he exhales the words, it’s almost faint against his lips but you hear him.

suddenly, he’s moved back beside you exposing you back to the bright flashes of the cameras and you’re trying your best to pull away from him, but he’s like a flame and you’re the moth. he finds his way to pull you closer to him, and without even knowing it he’s falling. he’s slowly, but surely, falling deeper into a feeling he thought he’d felt for another woman, but it wasn’t until you showed up tonight.

“you’ll be the death of me.” he mutters silently to himself before moving along the carpet by himself now. he takes a quick chance to look back at you, you’re smiling and posing with another male costar who’s perfectly cozy beside you, and that’s all the reasons for him to turn around and join you on the other side. what was he jealous of? you were single for all he knew, he was the one who shouldn’t be running back to smile beside you.

“it’s hard to resist you.” he admits, he turns his body away from the cameras slightly angled towards you.

your eyes flicker up into his, beautiful big and round, your pupils are dilated at just the very look of him, “what do you mean?” your lips attempt to curve into a frown, but you force the resistance and keep them poised into a smile trying not to let the emotions get to you.

“I mean,” he pauses, his head tilts down closer to your ear. you can feel his warm minty breath run down your neck, “I can’t have you, but I want you. you make my life a living hell.”

“dido.” you reply. finally moving from his grasp, turning your body you face the cameras and walk down the carpet until you’re at the end. he’s feet away from you, chatting with another costar, but his eyes don’t leave you. you can feel them scanning every part of your body as you move around to the sound of people cheering your name.

he fights every instinct to touch you, to kiss you like he did on screen, or pull you into him. he stands beside you angry, mad at himself, for falling too soon for another woman that wasn’t you.

#timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee fanfic #timothee x y/n #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee imagine #timothee chalamet fanfic #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #timothée x reader #timothée fanfic #timothée imagine #timothée x you

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capslocked · 1 year

Text

WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY

male reader x jeon heejin

part 1 of journalistic integrity

16k words

It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval.

It isn’t planned or anything.

Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens.

And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that.

The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”

She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”

“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”

“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”

“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”

“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”

“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”

Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”

“Ah.”

Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.

She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”

“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”

“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”

“Isn’t there always.”

“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”

“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”

Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.

That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.

So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.

There’s this story.

Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning.

Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.

"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.

So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.

Now, honest to god–

(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)

–it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do.

Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.

"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.

Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.

"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat.

After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.

You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.

"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."

Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it.

It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."

A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."

"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."

"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…"

Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic.

"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."

“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.

“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”

“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”

“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something."

Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.

"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"

"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."

When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.

"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."

You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"

"It’s a question."

Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking:

What kind of journalism career is this?

You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.

"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"

"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."

“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.

Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”

“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.

See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–

“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”

“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”

There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested.

It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”

Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”

“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”

“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”

When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.

Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.

You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.

"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"

"You’re flirting with me."

Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth.

You tilt your head, quizzical.

Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"

It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”

Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:

“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”

Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions.

Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.

“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”

You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.

If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident.

(Albeit woefully precarious.)

Here’s what you learn:

Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her.

Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).

So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.

Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.

You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.

You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.

And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.

Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.

Monday, you decide.

She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.

You tap your pen against your desk.

Monday.

5:00 p.m. rolls around.

You call.

The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.

“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”

“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”

There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.

“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place.

“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”

“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”

“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”

“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”

There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”

“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”

“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”

“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”

Oh, it’s a terrible date.

Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.

Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.

So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.

“You know we could just… get out of here.”

It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.

Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough.

“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”

She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.” “A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”

“And it was?”

You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.

“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”

Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar.

You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.

Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.

“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”

You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.

Maybe ever.

Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.

“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”

And you do.

Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.

Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.

Heejin shakes her head. “How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.

She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”

While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration.

And you think maybe you’ve found it.

The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.

You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.

“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”

“What would?” you ask, confused. “If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”

There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.

You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.

Holding her, you kiss her again.

Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.

"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."

With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.

Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.

Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.

Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”

“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”

It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.

It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.

This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”

“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”

“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”

“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”

“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”

The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.

“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:

“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–”

Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.

Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.

It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.

Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”

It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”

Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?”

“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”

“Oh.”

“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”

“I would stop though.”

“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.”

“I see.”

“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”

“But you have.”

“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”

Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.

“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.

There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.

“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”

“And that’s what you want to do with me.”

Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”

“This is what you want to do right now?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”

It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.

“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.

You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning.

“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.

Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.

The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.

Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.

You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.

So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.

You kiss her forehead.

In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.

“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”

“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”

“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”

“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.

“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”

“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”

“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.

Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”

While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”

Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”

“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”

It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.

“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”

She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.

Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.

“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.

If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles.

If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.

Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.

But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”

“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow.

Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.

“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”

Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.

There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.

A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.

“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.

And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.

“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”

Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.

“I am?”

You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat.

When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”

You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.

“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”

“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”

“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”

“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.

“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.

Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”

Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits.

This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.

Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary.

Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.

“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.

All bets are off.

The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.

“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”

Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs.

You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.

“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”

She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.

Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.

“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.

“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.

When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you.

“Mmph.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.

“Mmmmph.”

Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.

Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.

“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.

She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.

Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”

The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.

But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own.

She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.

“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”

She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.

“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.

“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.”

“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.”

Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate.

“Fuck.”

This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”

To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.

Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.

There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.

It’d be pretty difficult to miss.

Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.

It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.

“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”

Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass.

Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.

Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”

She nods again.

“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You’re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”

Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:

“Daddy, please.”

It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm.

Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.

“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill - near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”

(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)

It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.

So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.

From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.

She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket.

Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly.

Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone.

“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.

Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”

“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic.

Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.

“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”

“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”

She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact.

“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”

A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.

“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.”

“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.

“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”

“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”

“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”

“The vibrator.”

“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”

“You always say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”

“I mean, in a way.”

“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”

“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”

“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”

By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.

“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”

“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”

“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”

“Do you?”

Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”

“The vibrator.”

“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”

“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”

“Better than just now?”

“Different.”

“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”

“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”

“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.

Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”

“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”

“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.

“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.

“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.

Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.

“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”

“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”

Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.

That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door.

And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.

(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”

“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.

“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”

“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.

She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”

The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”

Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”

“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.

“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”

“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.

Heejin smiles.

“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”

The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.

“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.

“One time,” you concede.

“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”

It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”

She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.

Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.

“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”

(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)

So yeah, you cum.

It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.

“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.

“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.

“Um. Don’t worry about it.”

Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.

“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.

Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.

Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).

There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.

She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.

“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.

“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”

You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.” “That seems extreme.”

“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”

She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.

“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”

When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:

“Wanna take a shower?”

You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.

Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.

And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–

“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”

There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.

Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.

Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.

“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”

You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”

“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.

“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”

Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.

It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.

You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”

“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”

You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.

She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.

It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.

When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–

“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”

She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable:

“On my face.”

It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.

It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.

“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”

Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.

She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.

“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”

“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about it?”

“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”

Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”

You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”

She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”

“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”

“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression.

She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.

“It’s a promising start. Who else?”

“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.

“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”

“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”

“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”

“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?

You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?”

Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:

“I just fucking love your cum.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”

You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.

“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.

Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.

Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.

When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.

“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”

“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”

“Of course you were.”

You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.

Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.

“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”

You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”

“I could always wait in the bushes.”

You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”

#heejin smut #loona smut #male reader #loona heejin smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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hotchners-wifey · 2 months

Text

Save Her

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader, Platonic!BAU x Reader, Morgan!Sister Reader

Summary: Y/N has a past she's never told anyone about, she was involved in some heavy things when she lived in England with her Aunt and Uncle. Things she thought were murdered along with her best friend, things she thought went missing with her boyfriend. Things that followed her to Quantico, Virginia. Previous Chapter~

Next Chapter Chapter Warnings: Mentions of murder and dead bodies, Physical Affection from Spencer Reid, gasp. bullying Morgan pt. 2, slight suggestive comments from Rossi A/N~ Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for Save Her.

________________________________________ Three days before Y/N disappears ________________________________________ I walked into the bullpen with three cups of coffee, Spencer looked up from his computer and walked over to me, "Hey let me help you with that." He grabs the coffee and my suit from my hands, I smile and walk over to my desk. I place my laptop bag onto the the surface and turn to Spencer, "I grabbed you and Derek your favorite coffee's, I know how much you hate the coffee here and I know how Derek likes his coffee a certain way." Derek seems to pop out of no where at the sound of his name and the word coffee, "Don't tell me you went all the way across town to get me and pretty boy some coffee?" I shrugged and set the cardboard cup holder down on my desk and grabbed my coffee and raised it in the air. "I got myself something too, but you're lucky I remembered what you like because I was going to only get myself and Spence a coffee." His jaw dropped a little and I laughed at his face. I was going to make a snarky remark but JJ came out of the conference room, "Guys we got a case." I sighed knowing that our joyous moment was over, we walked into the room and Emily, Rossi, Penny and Hotch were already in the room. "Alright we've only got four minutes to debrief before we have to be on the jet. So lets get to it." Hotch motioned for JJ to tell us everything we needed to know. JJ nodded and pressed the buttons on the remote. Two pictures of popped up on the screen, "So late last night the bodies of Judy Harris 35, Caucasian female and Bobby Arin 38, male African American were found at a park near a neighborhood in Chicago. Their hands were tied in a praying position and they had one single gunshot wound to the head." I looked at the pictures in the files and noticed their hands were covered in dirt and made a mental note of it to ask when we were on the jet. "Alright that's all we need to know for now, Wheels up in five." Hotch announced before leaving the room, I grabbed my file and rushed down to my desk, Spencer caught up with me, "Hey you okay?" I turned towards him with a tight smile and nodded, "Yeah I just left my go bag in my car, so I'm going to run down to the garage and get it." He smiled, "Well we can go together because I left mine in my car as well." I nodded and we walked towards the elevator. As we were heading down the the garage I leaned my head on his shoulder again, seeing as this time he was standing my head barely reached the top of his shoulder so I just laid my head on the side of his arm. He adjusted himself and wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I could think to myself was. Don't blush, keep your expressions neutral and don't make it obvious that you're in love with him. We walked towards his car first since his was closer then mine. The entire time he kept his arm around my shoulder, we got back in the elevator and we starting heading back up to the lobby, his arm fell off my shoulder when the elevator stopped at the main lobby. I tried my best to not act hurt when the doors opened because the entire team was standing at the doors. "Hey we were wondering where you two went." Rossi chirped suggestively, "We left our go bags in our cars so we went down to get them." I said with a shrug and Rossi's small smirk turned to a full blown smile, "Yeah whatever you say lovebirds, just remember to wear protection." My jaw dropped as the team walked by us and into the elevator. As Emily passed me she spoke quietly, "You might want to close your mouth before your feelings for Spencer come spilling out."

Taglist~ @sebastiansstanswhore

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #derek morgan #emily prentiss #spencer reid #david rossi #jenifer jareau #criminal minds fanfiction #fem reader #spencer reid x reader #penelope garcia

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twinklelilstarkey · 2 years

Text

Tutor: Trip - Rafe Cameron

Words: 5.4k+ Type: Fluff & Smut Summary: Rafe packs for his trip and faces the reality of two weeks without you. Warnings: Fem!Reader. Secret relationship / Forbidden love. Almost being caught. Rafe's family doesn't like them together. SMUT {male masturbation + Rafe imagining happenings of past chapters}. From this request

Tutor Masterlist (for context, you should read the smuts <3)

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

By clicking to read more you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and mature enough to read mature scenes :)

Rafe is supposed to leave his house in the space of an hour, and it’s not looking good. He has a headache of the size of a planet, and he still has to finish packing everything before he gets to leave. He also knows that as soon as his dad sees that he’s that late with their plans already, he’ll be getting a whole entire scolding. So, to say he’s a little in a bad mood is an understatement.

He doesn’t want to go. It will be two stupid weeks full of conferences and meetings of his dad’s business. Sure, Rafe understands that it’s needed for him to go to all of this stuff since, one day, Ward will pass him everything, but, God, why now?

Rafe obviously hasn’t seen you after last night, and the two of you haven’t texted either. He expects you to be still asleep, so he hasn’t even bothered to do it yet - not wanting to wake you up. But he has to admit, you haven’t left his mind for more than five minutes. Every time he’s distracted while packing, he will find himself thinking back on yesterday and how you looked and felt.

From what he heard a few hours ago, the guy who he beat him made his way into the house and cleaned up his own wounds. The owner of the party, who Rafe has no idea who it is, found him and decided to take him to a doctor. Rafe simply gave the guy a possible black eye, a serious bloody nose, and a busted lip. He has done worse. And, to add to that, Rafe's name hasn’t been mentioned once.

When thinking about the guy, Rafe finds himself thinking about you yet again. The way you held his hands or the way you looked at the blood. If there was a time when Rafe couldn’t read you by your expressions, it was yesterday. You didn’t seem scared for one second, but can he conclude that you were 100% comfortable with it?

Rafe sighs as he throws another shirt into his bag carelessly and faces his wardrobe once more. He can hear his family downstairs, especially his dad walking in and out of the house with all of the bags to the car. He can occasionally hear Rose speaking to him about the hotel, but Rafe zones out right after.

His sisters’ are also up. Sarah is already out of the house, and Wheezie must be finishing getting dressed - for some reason. Wheezie is one that likes to wake up early but never gets ready at this time, which is weird. Again, Rafe zones out before he can even get a conclusion out of the sounds around him.

He stands before his bag and begins to count how much he already has and how much more he still needs. Rafe is still waiting for the ibuprofen to work on his headache, but it still isn’t doing a thing, meaning that he’s left to count and think for a few more minutes.

A car pulls out of the driveway and, not even 3 minutes later, there are voices in the hallway downstairs. Rafe’s ears perk up at the familiar voice of someone, and he frowns a little. He stands in the middle of his room, quiet and non-moving, waiting for the confirmation he so needs for this morning to go well.

“Wheezie still needs to eat her breakfast, but she will come down pretty soon.” Ward’s voice is heard downstairs, “Feel free to do whatever while you wait. Do you want anything to eat?”

The voice answers more softly and not as loud, and then, suddenly, Rafe doesn’t hear it anymore. He restarts walking around, running his hands through his hair as he’s growing more and more frustrated with what he still needs to pack. He still needs to get the stuff in his bathroom, all of his chargers, and headphones… God, why is he standing still again?!

There’s a knock on his door, and Rafe tenses up. It could very much be his father, trying to see if they can leave in just a few minutes or trying to see if there are any bags he can bring down to the car. But every single thought stops as the knock is heard again.

Rafe opens the door, and you, who had just been looking over your shoulder, look up at him. A beautiful smile appears on your face when you see him, and Rafe’s heart skips an entire beat.

“I’m tutoring Wheezie today.” You explain to him, “And I was able to plan it as a morning tutor session with Rose, two hours ago.”

Rafe can’t even get the words out. He already had the will-not-see-you-in-2-weeks-better-start-getting-angry-at-the-world mentality, and, now, you flipped all of his plans around. Your eyes leave Rafe’s before he can figure out what to say or do, and you notice his bag and the mess that it is.

You push past him inside his bedroom, leaving Rafe to try to ignore the way his entire body seemed to react at the way your arm grazed his. Rafe closes the door and turns to face you, only to find you staring at the bag. You’re wearing a pink top and white jeans, and Rafe seriously looked at the back of those jeans for quite a while.

“Are you always this bad at packing?” You ask, breaking Rafe’s staring contest with your ass.

“Only sometimes.”

You look over your shoulder at him as he comes closer. You turn around to face him and eye him up. Rafe has this cute little smile going on, and it doesn’t take you long before you take his face into your hands and bring his face down for a kiss.

Rafe’s hands don’t come to you right away and that makes you pull away with a small whine.

“What?” He asks you.

You look into his eyes for what feels like just a tiny bit, and Rafe is left in the silence. He stares down at you, and his hands finally move to hold you. They lay across your sides and pull you in closer to his body. You let out a little sigh, and that makes Rafe smile at you.

“That was it?” He asks against your mouth.

“You did that yesterday too.” You remind him.

That almost makes the man before you laugh. He had completely forgotten how you had been pouty before coming into the bathroom the night before, and he also had forgotten that he had no idea why. Rafe squeezes your flesh underneath his hands, and you peck his lips with half-closed eyes.

“You could have told me.” He says, “I would’ve fixed it right there.”

“You did.” You remind him with a small giggle. “And I’m still sore.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, and you shake your head cutely, kissing his lips at least 3 times before saying anything else.

“Don’t be.”

You let go of Rafe’s face and wrap your arms around his neck. You stare at him for just a moment and your moment is easily broken by the sound of a car door closing. Without letting go of Rafe, you look over your shoulder at the mess that is his bag and back at him.

“Do you need help?” You ask him.

He doesn’t answer you verbally but the look he gives you is enough to answer you and make you laugh. You let go of him and turn around in his arms to face the bag. Your hands quickly lay on the shirts just seemingly thrown in, and you begin to take them out and fold them better. Rafe watches you for just a bit and finally decides to let go of you.

He faces his wardrobe again and continues to look through his clothes to pick some more. You are quicker at folding everything than he is at picking the clothes, and you can tell by the way he’s still standing there.

You walk over to him and peek into his wardrobe, laying your hand over the fabric of a few clothes and taking a closer look at each. Rafe watches you, and then you turn back to him with the last three shirts he would need. He grabs them and goes to put them away in the bag.

“What else do you need?” You ask him.

“Suits.” He says simply, looking up at you after talking.

He walks over to you and the two of you eye the different blazers in the hangers. You reach to touch some of the sleeves and Rafe watches you as you touch everything with so much care. You quickly notice the way he has stopped moving and look over at him, smiling as soon as you meet his eyes.

“Stop staring at me and get to work.” You tell him, trying to use an authoritative tone.

He doesn’t do as told, and you send him a playful glare before moving more to kiss his cheek. You turn back to face the wardrobe and take a step back when noticing something by the corner. You frown slightly, and Rafe looks in the direction you’re looking at. You lean into the wardrobe to grab what your eyes seem to have recognized, and you let out a chuckle.

“You still have this?” A giggle escapes right after, and Rafe smiles at you.

“Couldn’t throw it away.” He tells you while eyeing the underwear in your hands.

“Is it a prize or something?” You ask while trying to hold back your laughter.

“Of course, it is.”

You shake your head at him with a smile and try to ignore the way your entire body wants to fall into a pit of shame for a second. You fold your underwear in your hands to break your stare with Rafe and hold it in your hand.

“Want to keep it forever?” You ask playfully, and he chuckles, offering you a shrug.

“For the memories.”

You laugh in a mix of actual amusement and disbelief, and Rafe watches you as you let it out. You take a step back from the wardrobe, and Rafe grabs three different, random, hangers with suits. You walk over to his bed while he walks over to his bag at the end of it. You throw yourself on the comfortable bed and continue to hold the panties in your hand.

“Don’t you have to tutor?” He asks you as he tries his best to fold the suits before putting them on the bag.

“Not yet.” You say before closing your eyes and laying your head in your hands.

Rafe watches as you lay there, across his bed, on your stomach. He tries to stay focused on the outside noises of his bedroom, trying to see if he can hear his sister walking out of her room to have breakfast or even his dad walking over to his room to check on his damned bags. Knowing how they are, he doesn’t want the two of you to get caught together.

Rafe closes the bag and forces himself to look away from you. He grabs the other bag and really just starts throwing all that he will need. From the things in the bathroom to his chargers, laptop, and all the rest of his essentials for the two weeks.

When he turns off the light of his bathroom and walks out, he still finds you on his bed, but, this time, laying closer to his bag. He doesn’t think much of it and begins to zip everything up. He looks around his room, trying to see if he has forgotten anything important, but it doesn’t seem like it to him.

You roll around on the bed, now laying on your back, and you sigh loudly. Rafe leaves his bags by his door and walks over to you. He doesn’t move to get closer to you, but he does look down at your body as you lay there staring back at him.

“What time is it?” You ask him.

Rafe pulls his phone out of his back pocket and checks it. He only has 15 minutes until it’s officially time for him to leave. He opens his mouth to tell you the time, but the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall is heard. The two of you stay silent as the person that is outside walks away, and the two of you only relax after a few more seconds.

“Almost 10.” He simply says, and you don’t say anything back.

You stare at him for a little bit longer as Rafe throws his phone beside you on the bed, and you outstretch your hand towards him. He looks at it for a while, and when he takes it into his, you only pull slightly, making him know that you want him closer to you.

Rafe does as told, and you try to hide your triumphant smile. When he's close enough, you peck his lips, and Rafe rests his arms just by your head, hovering over your face. You kiss, again and again, and all of the kisses are small and short. You always pull back to look at each other. When a smile begins to grow on Rafe’s face, he simply moves his head down and snuggles it close to the crook of your neck.

He hears you let out a giggle at first with how his breathing supposedly tickles, but you eventually stop and wrap your arms around him to pull him closer. Your torsos are glued to one another, and there isn’t an inch that isn’t touching. You hold Rafe as your fingers begin to work through his smooth hair, and you feel him begin to lay kisses all over.

The warmth of his lips is familiar and maybe even a little ticklish, but you don’t move. Your fingers work through the back of his head, messing with his hair a little too much, and Rafe slowly leans his head back. He stays there watching you as you watch him, and as your fingers continue to work their magic at making him want to close his eyes.

Your lips connect yet again and, this time, it isn’t a peck. The kiss isn’t rough or fast, it’s very slow and, at the same time, very heart-clenching. You don’t want Rafe to go. Yes, there have been times before when you didn’t touch him or kiss him for two weeks, but you two still saw each other in between. Now, you’ll have to come to his house to tutor and find it without him.

Your tongue smooths against Rafe’s, and your lips move at the perfect pace. You try to push back all of your thoughts as you continue on, and Rafe’s hand on your waist makes you want to get even closer to him. You two are already flush against each other, yet it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. You deepen the kiss, and it almost catches Rafe by surprise. A small moan comes out of your mouth, and Rafe forces himself to pull away. You cannot do this. This will lead to something else, there’s too much risk and almost no time.

You stare at Rafe sadly, and he knows better than to not give you another kiss. It’s ridiculous how much you two have each other wrapped around your little fingers. You can get anything from him with just a pout and it shows. Your hold on his hair tightens, but the kiss comes back to its sweet and slow pace yet again.

The sound of voices at the end of the hallway reaches your ears, and neither of you move just yet. Rafe’s hand moves from your waist to your cheek, and he pulls away at the same time a door, far from his room, opens.

“You need to get back.” He tells you.

You unconsciously frown and Rafe kisses it away, not ever trying to hold himself back. When he pulls away, he has to force himself to stand back up and isn’t even surprised when you don’t move to get up with him. He takes a step back to give you space to move, and you take an impatient deep breath before actually moving, even in the slightest bit.

You sit up first, and, once you're up, Rafe watches as you begin to make your way towards the door. You try to fix your hair as you walk around, as well as your clothes, and you turn back around to him when you reach the door.

Before you notice, the urge is much bigger than you. You close that small distance between the two of you just one last time and kiss Rafe. Your hands lay over his sides and his own move to cradle your face. It's truly a goodbye kiss, but you cherish every bit of it.

“Can you text me when you get there?” You ask him sweetly, and he grins at you.

He whispers his answer, and you force a grin to match his.

You turn the doorknob after moving away from him and pull the door open. The hallway is absolutely empty, and you cannot hear a soul in the entire house. You turn back to Rafe to find him looking around the room, and then he looks back at you.

A light bulb flashes at the top of his head as he remembers.

“Where did you put your underwear?” He whispers.

Your saddened expression breaks into a small perfect smile, and you step back into the hallway.

“Somewhere safe.” You shrug, acting nonchalant.

Rafe is now standing in his doorway as you talk to him innocently just before his door. There’s a safe distance between the two of you. A smile on your face and a confused grin on his.

Rafe is still trying to figure out what you mean when he notices two people appearing in the staircase of the hallway.

You look over your shoulder, still with a smile on your face, to find both Ward and Wheezie. Their eyes are on the two of you right away. They both notice the way you're smiling, and Ward feels his body tense up when he sees that you two are talking. He knows it could be worse, but he also knows how wrong it feels to have his son so close to someone like you.

“Are you all packed?” He decides to ask Rafe.

“Yes, sir.” Rafe says with a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Wheezie is holding her breakfast in her hands, and she sees how you’re beginning to walk away from her brother. The two of you don’t look like you were doing anything, but she has to say that the sight of it is weird. Two completely different people who have never spoken before were just talking and smiling at one another.

You turn your back to Rafe and begin to make your way over to Wheezie’s door, right at the same time she does the same thing.

“Where were you?” She asks you, knowing that you had gotten here earlier.

“On the balcony.” You answer with such ease, and your usual softness makes it sound real, “I was on the phone with my mom.”

“And… Rafe?” Wheezie whispers as she opens her bedroom door, away from Rafe’s field of view.

“I was asking him if you had already gone down to eat breakfast. I wasn’t sure because I didn’t hear your door.”

If your voice didn’t sound convincing enough, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket as you spoke. Your screen shined with a notification of a text and, for some reason, Ward relaxed at that. He’s fine with you speaking to his son for whatever reason, only if it’s a quick conversation, but he has to agree that the idea of you being alone with him all this time isn't the best.

Ward walks over to Rafe and grabs onto one of his bags so that they can finally get on the road (and, eventually, the plane). Rafe passes his dad the lightest bag and grabs onto the heaviest. He snatches his phone from the bed and leaves his room.

Rafe can hear muffled words being shared between you and his younger sister as he closes the door of his bedroom.

Ward and Rafe both walk past Wheezie’s bedroom door right as you’re about to close it. You offer Ward a pleasant smile as always just before he looks away and begins to go down the stairs, and your eyes move on Rafe. Your smile doesn’t disappear, and his own appears. As he reaches the start of the stairs, he looks at you for a little longer, right before his father notices his absence behind him, and you two look away at the same time with the exact stupid smiles on your faces.

(...)

Rafe groans as he closes the hotel door behind him. He has been waiting to get to this room for hours, and time has never moved so slowly. He texted you right as he got to the hotel, and if things couldn’t have been worse, his dad stopped to talk to some people at least 4 times before they talked to the receptionist.

Rafe’s tired, hungry, and annoyed. Which all results in his usual bad mood and lack of desire when it comes to talking to his father’s friends downstairs.

He looks at his two bags just at the end of the bed, and he wants to scream at the fact that he still needs to unpack. Rafe considers taking a nap first at least 5 times, but he eventually lets himself understand that his nap will take an entire night due to how dead he feels.

His father dismissed him for the whole rest of the day because he already knew that Rafe didn’t look like he wanted to be there with him today. He can’t exactly put his finger on why since Rafe does seem like he’s making an effort to sound nice to his friends and even to him, but he just cannot understand. What could it be that is throwing him so off?

Rafe grabs the lightest bag first, putting things away in their respective spots. Bathroom things in the bathroom, laptop on his bed, and everything else where it feels right. Then, it was the clothes’ bag. He began by putting the suits in the hotel’s hangers, then his underwear and socks in the drawers and, as he shoves his hand to grab onto the pile of clothes that you folded, he felt something. As Rafe pulls it out from the side of his clothes, he almost laughs. This is the place you considered so-called safe?

He throws the underwear to his bed and continues to put the things away in the wardrobe. He also takes his bags into the corner of the room when he’s done, and he swears that his eyelids have never felt so heavy.

He takes his clothes off, except for his boxers, and gets more than ready to sleep. He turns on the TV for some background noise and slips inside the cold sheets of the hotel’s bed. He sits, laying his head back on the headboard and closing his eyes for just a few seconds while he tries to relax and get his mind in place.

Rafe re-opens his eyes and grins at the sight of the underwear again. He grabs it, looking at it as if it truly was his prize. That makes all sorts of images run through his head, and Rafe deeply regrets it right after.

He would do anything to touch you right now. To feel the soft skin of your thighs or your soft kisses against his lips. Rafe sighs at himself and leans his head back, fingers still playing with the delicate fabric.

In his mind, all that appears is the way you looked in those jeans this morning, the way you smiled at him, the way you moaned at just a kiss in his bed, and the way you didn’t want to leave. God, he would really do anything to have you right here. You could've been right beside him, probably without any of your clothes. You would look beautiful as always, looking at him with your pleading eyes and small pout just like you do when you don’t get what you want right away.

He can imagine the way you would sit on his lap and hold his face in your hands carefully. You’re always so soft with him. It makes him want you more and more each time. The way you would kiss him so velvety at first, be so slow and so sweet. You would be seated on his lap like it was the most normal of things and pull away to just whisper something. Your breath would hit his lips, and it would never take you long to kiss him again.

If his hands hadn’t been on you yet, they would be now, and he would begin to move your hips against him. You would probably already be so wet for him, just like every other time, you would grind your wet pussy over his boxers and possibly leave a mark behind. When you would pull away, you would plead for him with your eyes to touch you, no matter how fast or how rough, you would always want him to touch you.

God, if only you were here.

Rafe looks down at his lap and isn’t even surprised to see and feel how hard he really is. His ears appear to be in a soft ring. It’s that sort of lust that one has all of a sudden, one so strong not even your body can keep up. Rafe can only really imagine you before him, or imagine touching you, but he did have your panties in his hand.

He doesn’t hold back in any way, Rafe pulls his boxers down and his hard cock easily springs out. His hand can never compare to yours, your soft and smaller hand. Not now that he knows how it feels to have you touch him and pump his cock with your hand as you moan onto his face.

Rafe wraps his hand around his cock and begins to move it up and down. His other hand clings to the panties in his hand, the delicate fabric being a victim to his harsh grip, and he knows how easy it would be to rip them. He can imagine the way it would be to just have you under him and rip your underwear out of the way every time he takes you. Every time he gets to taste you and every time he gets to fill you with his cum.

Rafe lets out a soft groan at the image in his brain of how you looked just last night. He had been so rough with you and you wouldn’t care. Your eyes would fill up with tears and you would sob, but you never, ever, want him to stop moving into you. The way your smaller hands would grab onto his arms and cling onto his skin, forcing his arms to tighten around you. Your teary eyes staring at him through the mirror as you rested your head on his shoulder and moaned in his ear over and over again.

Everything around Rafe begins to feel like a bubble. The air seems thicker and warmer. His heart has begun to beat quicker, and he can hear it muffledly in his ears. His hand is gripping onto his cock tighter, and his body is already burning with all that his mind is able to think of you.

He looks down at the panties in his hand, he lets go of them and imagines how you wore them. How he was able to feel the wetness and warmth of your pussy through the fabric when he first touched you. The way you look at him every time he touches you is almost like a fantasy to Rafe. He has no idea why he likes it so much. The way your face frowns in pleasure, the way you always want him glued to you, and how your eyes plead him for more each and every time he’s with you; All of it is like a drug. One of the worst ones too. Rafe swears that he doesn’t understand it fully, but he knows he would be able to do the worst of things possible if it means getting to see you look at him in that way for the rest of his life.

Your innocent-looking face and your sweet little smiles never change when you look at him. No, you’re just as sweet and innocent when with him. And that innocence never seems to change, not even when he’s balls deep inside you and thrusting into you so hard he’s scared that he might break you. Especially never when you look down at the way his cock slides in and out of you, glistening with all of your juices and stretching you time and time again. You always like to watch it and then look at him as if to check if he’s still looking down at you.

Rafe groans while leaning his head back again, and he stares at the ceiling. His eyes are closed and all that hunts his mind is you. You hunt him for every second of his days, and he gets frustrated when he can’t exactly hold on to you.

Rafe can feel the way his insides are tightening, the way his dick has begun to throb on his hand, and how his precum brushes against his fingers when he moves his hand near his head. He can already imagine how you would look with all of his cum coming out of you, and how he would reach closer and move his cum back inside of you. Just like yesterday. You were so sensitive that you almost seemed to lean away from his kisses at the first touch, and when his fingers met your abused and slightly swollen pussy, you moaned and jumped a little. His fingers were covered with his cum and yours and all of it was fucking filthy.

He lets out a final grunt as he looks down at his lap. Rafe watches as he gets closer and closer to his orgasm, trying to force all of the nasty images at once into his mind. His hand grabs onto your underwear and moves higher and faster with his hand. His tip is red, and he is so hard.

It only takes him one more memory, and Rafe finally reaches his climax. He tenses up at first, letting rope after rope of cum dirty your pair of panties in his hand. He grunts and even lets out a whimper as he continues to touch himself all throughout his orgasm. His eyes close again as the euphoric feeling consumes his exhausted body, and he feels his muscles finally relax.

Rafe swallows harshly, breathing heavily and keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds longer. He doesn’t open them as he doesn't wish to find an empty room once more. He doesn't want to not find you before him or to not feel you kiss him with so much love and so much care. Or even to not have your love-filled eyes stare back into his as if you are looking at the love of your life.

Rafe, after maybe two minutes of resisting doing it, finally opens his eyes. He doesn't care for the disappointment at first, but it eventually gets to him.

He looks down once more and sees the panties still in his hand, but now with its delicate fabric stained with his cum. He doesn’t know for how long he stares at it, but he does. To be quite honest, he doesn’t even know what to do with them after this. He’s at a hotel for fuck’s sake.

His phone vibrates beside him, and he looks at the screen while he puts his boxers back on. The contact name flashes on his screen and his tired body still has the strength to react to it. He grabs it and brings it to his ear as soon as he picks it up.

“Hi.”

“Hi!” Your sweet and happy voice feels his ear, “How was your trip?”

His once frown of pure annoyance and bad mood now curves into a smile as his heart squeezes itself. It’s a strange feeling. He’s not sure he has ever felt it with anyone else, but the reality is that his heart does it with you every time without a miss.

His eyes fall back down onto the mess over his bed, and he sighs before answering your question.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this for 2 weeks?

Hope you enjoyed this! Do you have any ideas for what else could happen while Rafe or Y/N while he's on his trip - send me some ideas if so!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron flyff #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfic #drew starkey #obx rafe

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overalls4all · 2 months

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Cameron and Alex are on day 5 of a two week masculinity retreat. The retreat was sponsored by their boss, who made every man in the office attend. Cameron and Alex were expecting typical corporate crap, but they couldn't be further from the truth. Rather than some boring conference hall, the retreat was held in a huge lakeside cabin in the mountains. The two office mates entered the house where they were greeted by a man in overalls.

"Howdy men!" the man wore duck brown overalls over a blue flannel shirt. He was in his early forties and had a rugged stubble and buzzcut hair. "Name's Cal. I run the retreat here. Your boss said to expect some nice young men like yourselves.

"Uh, thanks Cal," said Cameron. "Is our boss here already?"

"Yes he is. He's out back helping set up. You boys will go and join him after you get properly dressed," replied Cal with a warm smile.

"Oh we didn't know there was a dress code," Alex answered. "We just bought some hoodies and jeans."

"Don't you worry, boys. I have the right clothes for you in here," Cal lead the two coworkers into a side room full of rows and rows of overalls.

"I ask that all men who come to this retreat wear overalls every day. I find having a sort of uniform helps us bond together as men," Cal pulled on his overalls straps with pride as he handed the boys a pair of duck brown bibs.

Cameron and Alex exchanged confused glances. This was not what they had in mind for this retreat. They figured it would be a few boring seminars followed by a catered lunch or something. In spite of this, the two guys took off their jeans and started putting on their overalls. They both stepped into the legs, feeling the coarse material run up their sides. They felt goosbumps as they reached over their shoulder to grab their straps. Finally they could feel their own hearts beating as they held the bib to their chest and fastened the buckles.

"Now you too look like proper men!" Cal was clearly proud to see the two young men in their new overalls.

Cameron looked down at his overall and then over at Alex. Cameron never noticed before how handsome Alex was. He appeared so manly and rugged in his overalls. Little did he know, but Alex was thinking the same thing about Cameron. The two coworkers couldn't help stare at each other in their matching overalls.

Cal smiled, "I can tell there is a strong bond between you too. That's something we'll explore during our retreat. Men nowadays are missing that kinship that existed in our father's and grandfather's days. I want men to share their masculine energy again. That's why your boss brought all his male employees here. A stronger bond will produce better work. And after all, men were born to work."

Alex and Cameron took in every last of Cal's words, even as they were staring each other in overalls. Both really wanted to bond with the other, and work as a great way to bond.

"Yes, work is a great way to bond with other men," said Cameron, almost without thinking.

"I want to work more with Cameron. I want to work in overalls," added Alex.

"Then you are in the right place. Come, men," Cal lead the two overalls-clad workers out to the backyard overlooking the lake.

Outside were their boss and several other coworkers who had already arrived. Each one wore matching duck brown overalls, just like Alex and Cameron, and just like Cal. Already they were acting closer than mere coworkers, many standing with their hands around each other's shoulders or hips. Others stood tall with their hands on their overalls straps.

As Alex and Cameron approached, each man greeted them with a firm handshake and compliment on their overalls. The two newcomers responded in kind, happy to share their regards for their new favorite outfit.

The coming two weeks would be transformative. Cal led the group of employees, each dressed in matching overalls, in masculine activities, like wood-chopping, working on cars, lifting weights, and carpentry. After each day of hard masculine labor, the men would gather around in their overalls, crack open a beer, and listen as Cal gave a sermon on the importance of masculinity in today's modern world. Each day, the men would would feel prouder and prouder to be a man and to embrace overalls as the uniform for any real, proper man.

As the night came to an end, the men would pair off and return to their bunks. Alex and Cameron were bunkmates of course. They would crawl into bed together, their muscles sore from the day's laboring and their bodies still covered in their overalls. There they would continue their intimate masculine bonding as they expressed their newfound fraternal love for each other.

Now, not even a week into the retreat, Cameron and Alex have already pledged to wear only overalls once they return home. In fact, all of the workers have made the same pledge. Their boss is requiring them to wear overalls at the office too, and any new employee or intern will be required to attend Cal's retreat to be properly educated on how to be a man.

Cameron and Alex have never been happier, as they have since moved into together. Two men sharing a life full of masculine energy, united in their overalls. They have never felt such purpose and meaning. They were men in overalls, and proud of it.

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drdemonprince · 4 months

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Something I think you're missing in how you talk about trans men: how recently you transitioned.

I came out circa 2007, and there was almost no information about us, no community where I lived (the local support group was all older trans women), no media outside of "Boys Don't Cry" and the way-better-but-still-basic "Parrotfish," no anything at all except TERF lesbian communities that coveted and hated us in equal measure, and general GSAs that were sweet, but dominated by cis people. I learned that the worst thing in the world I could be was a trans man - to be a trans man was to be a regressive agent of the patriarchy, and if I couldn't force myself to be nonbinary or a cis woman, I was evil.

In the early 2010s I attended a conference where a trans woman, a national celebrity I looked up to, made a joke about how useless trans men are during her keynote speech. I walked out of that room crying because as far as I knew, she was right - I was almost an elder by the standards of an atomized community where we were expected to die young, and even I couldn't name a single trans man in history who'd mattered.

We take it for granted now that trans men like Lou Sullivan made a difference, but to bring attention to him, folks like me had to swim upstream against a wave of accusations of misogyny from TERFs, and sometimes even from trans women. The acceptance you rejoice in at bathhouses? That was hard won through outreach by trans men. I even remember a specific trans male-run ambassador program in San Francisco circa 2013 dedicated to integrating trans men into the queer male community.

The world that's welcomed you was built by trans men who, like me, felt agonizingly alone and unwanted in both cis and trans communities. You paint a picture of lazy hangers-on who don't understand how good they have it, and maybe that's true for the folks you're looking at, but they don't reflect the hard work trans men have been putting in at every level of organizing for much longer than our efforts have been recognized. I've been involved in the fight for our liberation since I was a teenager, working on school and state-level policy change, medical access, the preservation of history, mentorship, dodging evictions, and all the little jobs my tired, autistic ass can take on, and I've never been rewarded for it outside the thanks of the people I've helped. All I ever wanted was to make things better for the generations that came after me.

I'd just like to have that reality acknowledged - that those of us who came before you built what you're now able to enjoy, and we can use that history to empower and encourage younger generations to continue doing the work instead of implying that no one's been doing it at all.

Thank you for this message. I would like to read a lot more about your perspective on this history. Please let me know your @ -- in private if you prefer. There are some elements of how this is framed here that do make me go, hm (the view was the worst thing you could be was a trans man?) but I am also appreciative of this this glimpse at what I don't know I don't know, and am interested to learn more about it.

But I also want to push back against the idea that I have no knowledge of how things were during the times you're talking about -- I was a queer, gender-questioning adult at that time too, and I was active in many trans spaces.

My medical transition is very recent in the grand scheme of things but I've been rolling deep with trans guys and going to trans masc events since 2003-2004 (in Cleveland and Columbus). I remember how the not-full-blown TERFY yet still very toxic radfems spoke about men, sexually preyed upon trans guys in some cases, and sometimes said things critical of transition. I knew several trans guys who had quite a guilt complex about becoming a "man" because they had internalized that men were inherently predatory and evil. Personally, I'd always thought that line of thinking was absurd and a very poor excuse for feminism, so it didn't get under my skin in the same way. Instead of making me not want to be a man, it made me not want to be a feminist. Which is pretty typical sexist bro shit to do really. Again, no big evidence of transmisandry here. certainly experiences that were emotionally very fraught and challenging for people, but not misandry or transmisandry.

These queer and feminist groups that I moved within were VASTLY more exclusionary to the trans femmes in the city, who were not even permitted to attend events for sexual assault survivors in the Columbus scene. I DID see trans women on the social periphery of these groups be discouraged from transitioning, and I did hear just about every vile transmisogynistic slur and exclusionary idea you can think of be passed around by many without challenge.

The transmisogyny stood out to me even back then as particularly egregious and rampant -- it disgusted me and caused me to distance myself from those groups of people in 2007-8. It was the outspoken hatred of anyone with an "amab" body and frothing transmisogyny that made me not want to be associated with that crowd or to contemplate transition, honestly -- not any kind of widespread anti-transmasc sentiment. These groups held top surgery fundraisers and hormone start date celebrates for trans guys and expressed desire for trans men openly and included them warmly in just about everything while treating trans women like predators and telling them they should just be feminine men (far, far away from them).

So my experience just does not track with what you are saying. I imagine we have two very different vantage points on similar periods of time, and I think there certainly is a lot more about trans masc history I could stand to learn and so many trans masc elders' whose names I should be putting more respect on. And I'd be very open to hearing more about that from you. But I do have to push back against the characterization of the era as someone who very much was there.

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compacflt · 5 months

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sorry if youve already talked about this but do you have any views on Goose's christianity? I assume with the cross he wears and Carole referencing him going to church that he is christian, im fascinated by how that might affect his character but im not religious at all, i was raised atheist in a mostly atheist country, so the fact that the tg characters might be caught me by surprise, i know thats not statistically correct but i just assume people arent religious until proven otherwise. feel free to speak on this topic in regerds to fhe other tg characters as well or to disregard this ask completely if it doesnt interest u

yeah. Americans were more religious in the 1980s than they are today. By like some order of magnitude. 90% of Americans were Christian in 1986. And the military tends to be more religiously conservative than the general population. So, I don’t mean to correct you, but the more statistically accurate assumption would be to assume that [X American character] is Christian until proven otherwise.

On the other hand. Characters’ relationships with religion is one of those things that is so personal, it’s completely useless to headcanon. it’s like music taste in that way. Goose outwardly presents himself as a Christian & also makes passing references to cheating on his wife. That’s like one of the 10 main things God told you NOT to do. (check out a little thing called “exodus 20:14.”) So it’s pretty useless to infer any relationship with religion because everyone treats religion differently, and goose doesn’t sit us the audience down and explain the exact kind of Christian he is.

Whatever. He’s a dude in the Navy of the 1980s. Religion comes secondary to dudehood. People can be (and frequently are) hypocrites. That’s what makes people so interesting.

There’s this great military line: “There are no atheists in foxholes.” Your moral code gets a little screwy when you’re constantly facing death or the prospect of death.

I think it’s okay not to shy away from the complexity of these characters. You can let Goose be a complex person who is statistically likely to be a conservative Christian who cheats on his wife sometimes and/or lies to her about it. That was, like, a commonly accepted male archetype in the middle of the 20th century. Those guys existed. Top Gun is a military movie. It confers complexity! That’s what military movies do! It’s okay to let bad people be bad people. Their emotional beats can still hit just as hard.

#idk if you’re the person who put the goose stuff in the tags of one of my previous posts about this #but if you are—it’s okay for goose & Carole to have a complicated relationship.#many people in military marriages—hell marriages in general—do.#she can still love him #he can still love her.#he can still be a good dad (again also he is forward deployed from his family so not entirely sure how good of a dad he is from afar)#how much of rooster's life was goose (deployed navy pilot) actually THERE for?#good dad in absentia?#anyway #people are complicated #& often hypocrites and often willfully ignorant #and yes goose is still a 'good character' whom we are supposed to mourn when he dies #it was the 80s.#nick goose bradshaw #top gun #Carole bradshaw

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ssanovak · 1 year

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Getting Out of There Alive

Trigger warning! This fic has a lot of detailed gore, torture and some mentions of depression and self hatred!

@xweirdo101x‘s request; I was wondering if I could request BAU Team x Male reader, while the team are on a case reader gets kidnapped by the unsub and tortured (if possible could reader get an injury where the skin has been removed from the lower jaw down to the shoulder showing his bottom teeth and muscles?) All other injures are in your ball park, the team have to find reader before the unsub kills them!

And maybe could you write about the emotional trauma reader has with the injury on his face like how it makes them self-conscious, depressed, ugly maybe even comparing themselves to a zombie? I guess a kinda self-hate towards themself?

-8.5k words-

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You took a step towards the door, your head feeling like it was spinning and you stumbled slightly. You nearly knocked a guy over who turned to you and asked “You okay there buddy?”

“Yeah, sorry, just a little dizzy, I think I need some fresh air”, you laughed.

“Oh, had a few too many, eh?” He laughed too.

“Something like that”, you replied, taking a tentative step towards the door. When you managed this without falling over you took another one, and another until you stood just outside the door in the chilly early spring night air. You decided to try and walk the feeling off, as you were sure it wasn’t alcohol intoxication as you’d only had two drinks. As you walked the feeling in your head only got fuzzier and you decided to stop for a second and sit down on a low-lying dividing wall. You noticed a movement towards your left out of the corner of your eye but when you turned your head to better view the source there wasn’t anyone there. You pulled your coat collar up against your neck, unsure whether your shiver was due to the cold or the growing sense of unease you felt. You pushed yourself up off your perching spot and continued walking, trying to ascertain if you were in fact being followed. Once your suspicions had been all but confirmed and you were sure you weren’t alone you decided to call for help.

You took your phone from your pocket and fumbled around struggling to press the button to turn the screen on so you could unlock the phone with face ID. When you’d succeeded you clicked through to your contacts, opening your recent calls. You realised with annoyance that everything was doubled and blurry and you squinted trying to read the names or numbers. When you were unsuccessful in working out any name, you decided to just click and hope for the best.

Hotch blinked as his phone rang, having been deep in thought about the current cases the BAU was working through and staring into space. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and checked caller ID before he answered, “Y/L/N! Enjoying your day off so much you thought you’d phone to check up on us all?”

“Hotch?” Your voice felt loud and unnatural in your head.

“Did you misdial? Expecting someone else?”

“N-no, no, just c-couldn’t make out the n-n-names on my contacts”

“That drunk, eh?”

“No.”

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“I th-think I-I’m being f-followed.”

“Hold on, I’ll get the team.” Hotch raced out of his office to the balcony and signalled to the team down in the bullpen that they were needed in the conference room. As he opened the door and walked into the room he spoke into his phone again, “I’ll put you on speaker, they’re on their way now.”

As the team hurried up the stairs, confused and on edge, towards the same room Hotch had just entered Rossi noticed something was going on through the blinds in his office and he dropped the file he had been reading and hurried out to join the team.

“Okay Y/L/N, the team’s here, tell us what’s going on.” Hotch spoke, putting the phone in the centre of the table.

“I don’t really know,” you started tentatively and the team exchanged a confused glance, “I-I was in a b-bar, had a couple of dr-drinks, started feeling woozy, not d-drunk woozy, s-s-something else. S-so I w-went outside f-for some fr-fresh air, and I’m f-fairly certain s-someone’s following m-me.”

“Y/L/N where are you?” Prentiss piped up.

“I, uh… Oh s-shit, where the f-fuck am I?” You said, looking around at the seemingly unfamiliar landscape.

“Morgan, get Garcia to track his phone”, Hotch ordered.

Morgan scooped his own phone out of his pocket and called the technical analyst.

“You’ve reached the office of Penelope Garcia, fountain of all knowledge, how can I bestow my gifts on you today?”

“Hey baby girl, we need you to track Y/L/N’s phone please.”

“Just right to it, must be serious, you got it hot stuff.” Garcia responded and got to work.

“Morgan, Prentiss, you two get to an SUV, as soon as we have the location I want you ready to go.” Hotch commanded and the two agents left the room.

“Guys, I re-really d-don’t feel s-so g-good” you slurred, your voice growing weaker as you struggled to force the words out.

“We need to keep him talking,” Reid spoke quietly, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. You hadn’t officially disclosed your relationship with your fellow agent to the rest of your team, knowing it was against the FBI rules around fraternisation but they had a feeling that something was going on between you two and Rossi put his hand on the youngest agent’s shoulder squeezing slightly, hoping to reassure the brilliant doctor that Y/L/N would be okay.

“Kid, keep talking to us okay? We’re tracing your phone now.” Rossi said to Y/N.

You steadied yourself against the nearest wall and took a breath before replying, “m-kay, b-but I’m s-so t-t-tired.”

“Y/L/N, I need you to find somewhere to sit, as visible as possible, and keep yourself awake until we get there okay?” Hotch spoke clearly and slowly, hoping the younger agent wasn’t anywhere too secluded or difficult to find.

“This is a f-fucking n-nightmare, I c-can’t b-believe this is h-h-happening” You mumbled, trying to keep your emotions in check, you found a step and sat down.

“Y/N, it’s going to be okay,” Spencer spoke softly, “Penelope’s tracking your phone, Derek and Emily are on their way, and I need you to take a deep breath for me and describe where you’re sitting, can you do that for me?”

Hearing your boyfriends voice soothed the anxiety gnawing at your stomach, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath in and then opened them again, looking around you, “Uh, a d-d-doorway, on a s-step” you answered the question.

“Brilliant, okay, what can you see across from you?” Spencer knew that your description wouldn’t be enough to find you, but his main focus now was keeping you calm and conscious.

Silence echoed out after his question and Hotch was the next to speak, “Y/L/N?”

Still nothing.

The team kept quiet, listening for a sign that you were still on the line. A sudden thud made them all jump.

“Y/N!” Spencer shouted at the phone.

A shiver ran around the room at the next sound they heard, the cold and cynical voice was clear and calm as he spoke, “Who did you call, hmm? Ooh, Hotch, that would be SSA Aaron Hotchner, am I correct?” Glee evident in his voice as he asked the second question.

“Speaking.” Hotch replied, eyes narrowing.

“Good, that saves me a call, now, unless you wish to find your agent spread around the country in pieces, you’ll play by my rules now, do we have a deal?” The man spoke as if making nothing more than a business call.

“What do you want?” Hotch questioned, brow furrowed, leaning on the table over the phone.

“All in good time Agent Hotchner, all in good time,” and the line went dead.

“Damnit,” Hotch closed his eyes and lowered his head, contemplating his next move. “Reid, call Morgan and tell him what’s just happened, get the phones location from him and then tell them to proceed with caution, Dave and I will be there as soon as possible, I want you and JJ to check the M.O of all our current cases, we need to work out if this guy is potentially someone we’re already looking for or a new unsub entirely, and then I want you to start putting together a rudimentary victimology profile. Morgan and Prentiss will help you with that when they return later. We’ll call from the scene and pool info, let’s go.” The Senior Agent grabbed his phone and gear and then threw the SUV keys to Rossi.

Nobody else spoke as they got to work, high stakes cases were an everyday occurrence for the BAU, but it always hit differently when one of their own was in danger.

~~~

Your eyes snapped open and they stared unblinkingly at the ceiling as your brain searched for answers to currently unanswerable questions. You blinked, slowly, trying to clear the grey film that clouded your vision. As the view in front of you cleared you found yourself more confused than you had been when you had first woken up. You took a deep breath and tilted your head to the right. The room you found yourself in was fairly basic. You looked around at the corked walls, the low ceiling and the concrete floor. You assumed you were in a basement of some kind as there were no windows. You noticed a security camera in the top corner of the room on the same side as the door and made a mental note that you were being watched. You tried to sit up, now that your thoughts were coming through clearer, but found yourself unable to move. You looked down at your body and realised you were chained to the cold metal slab you lay upon. Confusion furrowed your brow and you desperately tried to remember how you’d ended up in this predicament, however the last thing you could remember was throwing on your jacket and leaving to enjoy your rare Friday night off. You tugged at the restraints, trying to work out if they could be broken with some force but realised they were too tight for you to use the full extent of your strength to pull against them. You gave up trying to break the bonds and went back to trying to work out where you were.

You had no idea how long you spent laying in the silence before the door opened and a well built man walked in. The man didn’t speak as he entered the room, and you found this unnerving as you studied him as best you could from the angle you were laid at. You guessed he would be around late 20s early 30s but couldn’t really tell as the lower half of his face was covered with a surgical mask. He pushed his glasses up using an index finger against the bridge. You made note of the way his hand twitched slightly as he lowered it back to his side.

He turned and dragged a trolley into the room from the hallway. Your eyes widened as you saw blades glisten in the dim light coming from the centre of the room. You began to struggle once more against the chains as he walked towards you.

“Don’t touch me”, you spat as he reached towards your face. He laughed and grabbed your face and then with his other hand he grabbed a piece of cloth and forced it into your mouth. It tasted musty and you wretched trying to spit it out but he forced your mouth to stay closed and then twisted your face away from him to tie a knot around the back of your head too tightly for you to force the material from your lips.

“You’re not in a position to dictate or make demands regarding what I can and can’t do to you”, he spoke calmly.

Your body stiffened in fear as you saw him pick up a scalpel and you struggled once more against your restraints as the blade was brought up to your body. He traced your jawline with the sharp tip, running the cold metal down your neck and along your collarbone, you flinched slightly as he made a sudden movement but were relieved when the only thing he cut was your clothing. However your relief was short lived as he pulled your shirt away from your skin and dragged the knife through the skin beneath it. When the blade connected with your flesh you bit down hard in an effort to force any response from your body, all disgust at the dirty rag gone as you were thankful for something to clamp your teeth together on. The twisting of the blade made your stomach turn and you were sure your jaw would break under the pressure you exerted to stop yourself from making any noise, however you didn’t want to give this bastard the satisfaction of eliciting a reaction from you. You managed to keep silent as the blade made easy work of tearing your skin apart. You could feel the anger building in your assailant at your lack of a reaction when the swipes of the blade got more violent and less controlled. He growled in frustration and dropped the now bloody blade back onto the trolley, then turning back to you he uncurled your fingers that you had scrunched into fists at your side and flattened your hand against the table. A second later he lifted a hammer from behind him and brought it down forcefully against your outstretched fingers, the sudden unexpected sensation causing you to yelp in pain against the gag, and he grinned in satisfaction. He brought the hammer down once more from above his head and you felt a silent tear roll down your cheek as you heard a sickening squelch and pain flashed up your arm once more. His methods of eliciting a response from you grew messier and more depraved just as you got used to each one and became able to control your bodies pain response and dissociate from the predictability. Eventually the pain became insufferable and dark clouds rolled into your field of vision as you lost consciousness again.

When you came to moments later the smell of burning hit your nose, an acrid, nauseating smell that made you choke as you tried to gasp for fresh air which was unobtainable. Another laugh filled the room you tried to focus on something, anything, other than the intense searing pain you felt. You tried to escape mentally, tried desperately to bring something pleasant to mind but the pain was so much; unbearable, unfathomable and incessant.

You didn’t know how long this continued for, torture to the point of passing out, waking up and the torture continuing, and trying to mentally escape when your thoughts were coherent enough to understand your predicament.

Pretty soon you gave up on the hope of getting out of there alive.

~~~

Hotch ran his hand over his face and then through his hair, further messing up the usually pristinely gelled style he wore and then raised his arms above his head stretching towards the ceiling as he yawned. JJ leant on one hand staring down at the file in front of her, reading it for the umpteenth time as if she believed she would gain new information this time. Rossi sat with his head in his hands, eyes closed slumped forwards. Morgan and Prentiss conversed in hushed tones, whilst the first took a sip from his cup of black coffee, the latter popped the can open of her energy drink and took a long drink. Reid poured his sixth cup of coffee of the day, which should have alarmed the others as it was only 8am, but they had long since stopped questioning how he continued to function when his blood must be mostly coffee.

None of the team had slept much in the last two weeks as they scrambled to put everything within their power into finding you, concern growing each minute that elapsed without any new information. They would’ve feared you already dead if they hadn’t had a steady stream of haunting mail that contained photos detailing your every injury. These pictures were all pinned in chronological order to the board they had set up during the first hour after your kidnapping. They told a grisly tale and each one was just another reminder that they’d failed you yet again. Spencer was barely talking to anyone any more, his usual anecdotes and statistics long since forgotten as he grew more and more anxious that the next photo would be accompanied by a location of your body. He didn’t know if he could take much more of the investigation before he took his gun and started banging on every single door in the vicinity they had narrowed your captor down to demanding entry to check for you. He knew this wouldn’t actually yield results but he felt like all their collective information had so far come to absolutely nothing and recalled Einstein’s famous quote about insanity being an expectation of different results whilst repeating the same actions over and over again and thought that anything new and unconventional would be worth a try at this point.

Then the phone rang and everyone jumped, hyper vigilance being the standard for their emotional state lately. Morgan answered his mobile and said “Yeah baby girl, I’ll put you on speaker.”

“He messed up!” Garcia blurted out excitedly.

“What are you talking about Garcia?” Hotch said, stifling another yawn.

“The kidnapper messed up! He left us a fingerprint!”

“Please tell me it was in the system!” Hotch said sitting bolt upright suddenly alert.

“Bossman you think I’d have called you if it wasn’t? I’ve got his name address, every school he ever went to, every dentist appointment he ever missed and every time he’s ever sneezed in public up on my screens right now, I’m sending each address over to you! Go get Y/N back!”

“Fantastico!” Rossi exclaimed as the entire team jumped into action.

“I know” Penelope said twirling her pen around her fingers.

“Catch you later baby girl, you’re a star!” Morgan hung up the phone and grabbed his gun from the desk in front of him.

Spencer’s gut felt like it was doing somersaults as he followed behind the rest of the team, he wasn’t sure he could take it if they were too late and no matter what he did he couldn’t get the final image of you weak, bloodied and bruised out of his head. As the teams neared the various locations they had as a possibility for your location he felt like he might vomit the last cup of coffee he’d drunk and wished Garcia had phoned a minute earlier so he wouldn’t have had time to fill his stomach. He tried to focus on the task at hand but his mind kept wandering back to the image of you and every thought willed you to hold on another minute.

~~~

You took a breath weakly, wondering what dying would actually feel like, whether it would be painless and whether there was something you were headed for at the end of this life. The emotional pain had long since given way to numbness but you had enough of your wits about you to tell something wasn’t right, more than the obvious. The skin around some of the wounds you could see had started to change colour, and the pain in your muscles had intensified immensely. You shivered once more as you wondered, not for the first time, why your body hadn’t given up a long time ago. You were unsure of how long you had been in this room, at least the first three days you were sure of, but after that days or weeks could have passed and you had no way of working it out. You sighed coughing slightly and struggled to take a deep enough breath back in. A sudden loud bang came from above you and you heard a shout, your attention snapped up to the ceiling and then to the door, hoping against all hope that you weren’t hallucinating the ruckus you could hear coming from the house above. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you caught the words ‘FBI don’t move!’. You’d been found, you let out another sigh and gasped trying to catch your breath.

You coughed and heard someone call out “Y/N, where are you? Can you hear me? Please, if you can hear me make a noise!” It took you a minute to connect the voice to a person, confusion clouding your thoughts but once you realised Emily was the one shouting you tried to call out, make a noise, do something but you couldn’t catch a breath to make more than a strangled pathetic sound.

You slumped back against the table, tears coming thick and fast and you wanted to give up and sleep. You knew that you had to do something to alert them to your location and you tried banging your foot against the metal but groaned in pain as you smacked broken bones on the surface.

The footsteps above you stopped and you heard another shout “Y/N? Do that again!”

“Oi, you lot! Shut it!” You heard Rossi tell the other agents to be quiet.

You didn’t want to but you had to force yourself to lift your foot once more and slam it down onto the table making a loud crash, seeing stars as you caused yourself insurmountable pain. You slammed your foot down once more, letting out a strangled sound from your throat, determined to carry on until they found you but the pain was causing you to black out a bit.

You heard a thud as a wall panel was busted down and you heard another shout “Fake wall! In here!”. Spencer’s voice felt like the only thing you needed to hear right now and you willed yourself to stay conscious as footsteps ran down the stairs that were behind the blocked off area. Then the door to what could have been your tomb flew open and Spencer came crashing through and you closed your eyes against the harsh glare of the torch he held.

“Y/N!, oh my gosh, Y/N! Stay with me, open your eyes, sweetheart you’ve got to open your eyes,” Spencer let a tear run down his face as he looked at you laid on the slab in front of him, hands hovering over your body not wanting to touch you for fear he would hurt you further. You opened your eyes slowly and looked up into his face which was just above yours, you felt his fingertips gently stroke your chin and could smell the coffee he’d drunk not long ago on his breath as he looked down into your eyes. You smiled, a burning surging through your face as you did so, you screwed your eyes up in pain and Spencer grabbed your left hand after taking a moment to analyse whether there appeared to be any new injuries on your body since the last photo. You squeezed his hand with what little energy you had left, making sure he was really there in front of you. “It’s going to be okay, I promise you, you’re going to be okay, I need you to keep looking at me okay?” He soothed you, stroking circles into the back of your hand with his thumb.

You looked up at him and were vaguely aware of the chains on your ankles being touched. You tried to respond but found you couldn’t get a deep enough breath to speak so you nodded, realising too late that it was a mistake as stars shot through your vision once more. You hissed in pain and the hands that were near your ankles were removed instantly.

“Y/N, I want you to squeeze my hand, one squeeze for no, two for yes, okay?” You thanked your lucky stars your boyfriend was so intelligent, marvelling at how quickly he’d worked out a solution for communication. You squeezed his hand twice and he nodded, grateful that you were at least lucid enough to help them help you.

“Okay, was it one of us who hurt you a second ago?” he asked, and you squeezed his hand once. “Can Hotch continue trying to get these restraints off you whilst we wait for the paramedics?” you squeezed his hand twice and Spencer turned to his boss, “keep trying, you didn’t hurt him”.

The hands returned to the chains on your ankles and Spencer turned back to you. You could feel the little adrenalin that had helped you make a noise draining from you and you wanted nothing more than to give up and close your eyes. Then a sudden movement of the chains caused you to let out a strangled scream in pain as the metal fell against your broken foot. You saw your boyfriend’s panicked look and vaguely heard him talking but the pain was so overwhelming you couldn’t make out the words. You closed your eyes, ready to let sleep drag you under but you remembered the unspoken promise you made to stay awake and you blinked them open once more and tightened the grip you had on Spencer’s hand.

“The paramedics are nearly here, please hang on for a little longer y/n, do you think you can do that for me?” He said, looking down at you. You squeezed his hand weakly once and then again. He smiled softly at you and another tear rolled down his cheek.

You kept your gaze fixed on him as the paramedics came rushing into the room and busied themselves finding a suitable vein to insert a catheter and give you some painkillers before they could move you. Once the medication took effect you sighed and relaxed your grip on Spencer’s hand, deciding you were now safe enough to let yourself drift out of consciousness and into the inky blackness once more.

~~~

Spencer’s heart felt like it was in his mouth as he travelled alongside you in the ambulance, listening to the sirens and watching the paramedics try and assess the horrific situation in front of them. You were hooked up to just about as many machines as the crew had at their disposal, your breathing was shallow and laboured and every now and then your body would heave with the effort of taking in enough oxygen.

When the ambulance pulled into the nearest Emergency department and everything burst into life around him. The doors were thrown open and the gurney was pulled out of the van into the loading bay with one paramedic pulling and the other pushing from the other end of the trolley.

Spencer followed after them but was stopped by a nurse as you where wheeled into the sterile surgical room with a trauma team in tow.

“Sir you can’t go in there” the nurse said calmly but firmly with her hand on his arm. He tried to pull away when a firmer set of hands were placed on his shoulders and he was steered around to a waiting room off to the side.

Spencer looked round into the face of his colleague, Emily’s eyes wide and face set into as neutral a position as she could manage, “What do I do now?” He asked the other agent.

Emily indicated that he should sit down and then sat next to the seat she’d indicated to and turned to him, “We wait, it’s all we can do.”

Spencer stayed standing as he looked back to the doorway they’d come through and muttered “If he is dead, I need to see his body, make damned sure.”

“Make sure of what?” Emily questioned, but she wasn’t sure she really wanted the answer.

“That he’s actually dead.” Spencer clarified nonchalantly.

“Right.” She was right, she hadn’t needed the answer after all.

“What is it Emily? Are you uncomfortable that I no longer trust anything other than my own senses when it comes to death because of you? Because you should be.” Spencer spat, clenching his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

“Spencer…”

“I don’t want to hear it! You’ve made it so that I will never be able to trust what is perceivably happening without double checking!”

“Please don’t do this, not now.”

Spencer continued as if he hadn’t heard or didn’t want to hear Emily’s pleading, “I’ve spent so long trying to build trust back up with all of you, it takes everything I have to actually believe what’s happening in front of my own eyes, but never once have I felt like that with Y/N! I don’t know if I could handle that kind of betrayal, not again, and not from him.” Hot angry tears ran down Spencer’s cheeks and he turned and kicked the nearest chair which fell to the floor, the resulting crash making Emily jump. Spencer’s shoulders shook with the muffled sobs he was containing.

Emily quickly realised that he wasn’t actually wanting to argue, and that in this moment instead of facing the fear and the pain that he felt, anger was a much easier secondary emotion to deal with and she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Spencer, come here.”

He looked up at his colleague with tears still streaming down his face and was surprised when she opened her arms out to her sides and indicated for him to give her a hug. He took a step towards her and she took one to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders pulling him down towards her. He buried his face in her neck, wrapped his arms around her waist and sobbed as she held him. A stray tear wormed it’s way down Emily’s face and she blinked furiously to stop herself from fully crying too.

“He’s going to be okay.”

“You can’t say that, you can’t know that, statistically speaking…” Spencer mumbled against his friends shoulder, sniffling slightly.

“Shut it with your statistics for once will you! Now, he’s going to be okay, I’m telling you he will be. I truly believe that, okay?” Emily pulled herself away from him so that she could look into his face as she spoke.

Spencer nodded dropping one arm to his side and standing upright wiping his face with his other hand. At that moment Hotch and JJ entered the waiting room.

“How’s he doing?” Hotch asked Spencer.

“Don’t know, but it doesn’t look good” Spencer’s lip wobbled as he spoke and when he was done he bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself crying again.

“Spence it’ll be okay, he’s in the best place possible right now,” JJ spoke softly and put her hand on his shoulder squeezing slightly and nodded to him.

“We’ll all wait here, Rossi and Morgan are following up with the task force now, unfortunately the unsub wasn’t anywhere to be found so we’re still searching, but there’s not really much more we can do, we don’t have any new leads to go on for the moment, so we’ll regroup later and see if any new information comes to light from where Y/N was being held.” Hotch explained quickly to the group before turning to Spencer once more, “Reid, obviously you can take as much time as you need, you’re not expected to return to work until… Until we know what the situation is with Y/N at least.” Hotch internally grimaced at his tactlessness, he wished he could’ve worded it better and offered his youngest subordinate some reassurance at the same time but he thought better of it than to potentially keep digging that hole.

All four sat down in silence whilst they waited for what felt like an eternity for any news of your condition. After a while a nurse in scrubs came into the waiting room and looked around at them.

“Which one of you is Spencer Reid?”

Spencer stood up and the others looked to him.

“You’re listed as Y/N’s emergency contact, can we talk to you privately for a moment?”

Reid followed the nurse out of the room and when he came back he looked only a fraction less pale than he had when he left, “He’s alive,” He breathed and slumped down into a chair.

“Oh thank God!” everyone let out a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding.

“What else did they say?”

“Not much, it’s too early to tell really, some of his wounds were very badly infected, they’ve got him on strong antibiotics and he’ll be in the ICU whilst he recovers. They’ve had to remove some skin on his face and some of the flesh underneath too, the road to recovery is going to be extremely painful and difficult, and he’s not out of the woods yet. They’re going to wake him from the anaesthetic soon.” Reid listed off everything the nurse had told him and the others listened in horror at the grim reality.

“Spencer, it’s completely up to you, do want one of us to stay with you?” Hotch asked gently, concern evident in his voice and demeanour. Spencer shook his head and Hotch shared a look with Emily and JJ of silent agreement that they would all take it in turns to check in with him every now and then. “Okay, well we should get back to the others anyway, give them an update, and you can call if you need anything.” He said, standing up and looking to the doorway to find a nurse waiting to direct Spencer to the private room you would soon be moved to.

When they wheeled your bed into the room Spencer got up and walked towards you, and you turned your head to him groaning as you did so. You pressed the button on the morphine drip you’d been given and hoped it would kick in soon.

“Hi.” Spencer said, smiling at you, you tried to smile back but your movement was severely restricted. You turned the left side of your mouth upwards and reached your hand out towards him.

“Hi yourself,” You croaked out, mouth feeling like sandpaper as you spoke. You coughed and Spencer’s face crumpled in concern. “Water?” You requested and looked towards the nurse who nodded her head and left to grab a jug from the nearest nurses station.

When she returned a minute later Spencer took the jug and poured you a drink, moving to press the button to raise the head of the bed upwards so you wouldn’t choke. He put a straw into the cup and held it up to your face as you took a sip. Your throat felt better instantly, and you sighed a little as you realised that the meds had kicked in too.

“Thank you” You said, looking up from the cup in his hands to see his eyes were glistening and it was your turn to frown. “What is it?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Spencer put the water down and ran a thumb over the back of your hand as he took it, sitting down in the bedside chair as he did so.

“If you say so,” You said, using the remote for the bed to lay yourself back down so you were more comfortable. “Spence, I’ve just used that morphine they gave me and it seems to be working for the most part, but my damn leg feels like it’s on fire, what’s up with that?”

Spencer’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it again before he frowned once more. “Which leg?” He asked, his voice wobbling slightly.

“The Right one,” you replied.

“Oh” Spencer’s face went pale as he looked from your face down to the end of the bed.

“What?” You could feel panic rising in your chest as you struggled to work out what was wrong. You used the button on the bed once more to sit up again, sitting further this time until you could see for yourself what the issue was. Your mouth dropped open and tears welled in your eyes as you realised why he hadn’t said anything else. “Oh,” you echoed his earlier sentiment and pressed the button once more to lay down again. You felt sick, but given your empty stomach you knew you weren’t about to vomit. You dropped Spencer’s hand and looked away from him. “What else should I know about?”.

“Uh, I… I don’t know, you have a lot of wounds.” He answered, looking away and then back down at you.

“How bad?”

“You’re going to need skin grafts for one of them.”

“Where?”

“Your face.” He looked down at his hands and picked at a piece of skin on one of his index fingers.

“Okay.”

You lay in silence, not looking back at Spencer ignoring his attempts at talking to you. Eventually he gave up and sat back in his chair and you shut your eyes and after a while of laying listening to the noises of the hospital you fell asleep again.

When you woke later you turned to the side to see that he had fallen asleep next to you, hand resting on his palm as he leant on the arm of the chair. You watched him sleep peacefully and the slow steady rhythm of his breathing lulled you back to sleep.

~~~

The next few days went by painfully slowly, Spencer never left the hospital, rarely leaving your side other than when he needed to use the bathroom or get something to eat. He ignored everyone’s pleas to go home and shower and get some proper sleep in an actual bed, because he didn’t want to leave you alone, especially not in this headspace. Even though you refused to talk about it he knew that the mental ramifications of your ordeal and the injuries you’d sustained and the scars you would now carry for the rest of your life were taking it’s toll on you. Multiple times he had to wake you as you pleaded to the images in your head not to hurt you anymore. You told him on multiple occasions that you would be perfectly fine in the capable hands of the doctors and nurses but still he insisted on staying with you.

After days of the same it took Garcia coming to the hospital and practically begging Spencer to get him to leave, she promised she would call him immediately if you needed him and he made her swear that someone would constantly be there whilst he went home to catch up with himself for a night.

When he returned the next morning he found Rossi sat in the chair beside your bed, who nodded towards the younger agent and stood up interlocking his hands behind his head and stretching as he yawned.

“Thank you for staying with him.” Spencer offered his appreciation as he took the seat that had just been vacated.

“No need to thank me kid, he’s one of us, I’m here for myself as much as for you.” Rossi turned and left the room, heading to grab himself a coffee before he went to work.

The corner of Spencer’s mouth turned upwards as he realised just how much of an impact you’d had on everyone in the BAU. As he sat thinking about everything you’d been through in your time at the FBI you woke up, blinking slowly as you scrunched up your eyes against the daylight streaming in through the window. You’d never been much of a morning person and you grumbled as you looked over at the clock he’d brought for you on the bedside table.

“Please tell me you only just got here.” You grumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

“I swear!” He held a hand over his heart and the other up in the air, “I promise you that I only just got here, I got a full night’s sleep and I even showered this morning!”

“Good” You mumbled, scratching the skin above the dressing on your face.

“That probably needs changing” He pointed to it and you nodded.

“I want to see” you said, more for your own conviction than an explanation for him but he turned back to look at you once more from where he’d swivelled to press the call button on the wall.

“I don’t…”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t think it’s a good idea, or that you don’t want me to get upset. It’s my face, I’m going to see it sooner or later, so why not sooner?” you said, folding your arms across your chest. You’re already seen your leg, or rather, what was left of your leg after it had been amputated just below the shin, and now you were sure you were ready. Or you thought you were sure. Now that it might actually happen you were starting to feel nervous and you’d hoped Spencer wouldn’t put up too much of a fight as you thought any resolve might’ve left you.

“Okay, okay, if you insist,” he said and you sighed a little.

As the nurse came into the room he explained the situation and you sat quietly and nodded when the nurse was making sure you were ready to see the damage and understood that there were a whole number of possible surgeries waiting for you in the future and that you didn’t need to worry about it at all.

As she peeled the dressing away Spencer winced slightly, and you swallowed hard against the lump in your throat. You picked up the mirror that the nurse had brought in with her and slowly angled it so that you could see yourself. You gasped when you saw the full extent of the injury. Starting from just below your top jaw was a gaping wound in your skin. You swallowed and watched the muscles move as you did so and closed your eyes for a second to stop yourself from retching. When you opened them again you took in the detail of the teeth that were visible through what should’ve been your cheek, and let your eyes wander down to your jaw, equal parts horrified and unable to look away. You put the mirror down and nodded to the nurse when she asked if she should redress the wound now. You didn’t speak until she was finished and had left the room.

“I look like a walker.”

“A what?” Spencer queried, cocking his head to one side.

“Uh, sorry, I forgot you don’t do television, Walker is the term they give to the zombies in The Walking Dead.”

“Oh.” Spencer said looking down into his lap.

“Oh? I tell you I look like a zombie and the only thing you can say is ‘oh’?” you laughed, feigning offence.

“I’m… Um, of course you don’t! I’m sorry! I didn’t really know how to respond to that, you caught me off guard, please don’t take my inability to communicate in that moment as anything more than exactly what it is!” Spencer fiddled with his watch, twisting it around to the underside of his wrist and then back up again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound so accusatory, I was trying to make a joke,” you put your hand on Spencer’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

He sighed and reached out to cup your other cheek in his hand, “You’re a windup sometimes Y/L/N”

“Thank you” you smirked with the good half of your face.

He moved his hand and shoved your shoulder laughing himself. His laugh made the feeling of disgust dissipate from your stomach and you spent the rest of the day trying to keep him laughing. At the end of the day you managed to convince him to go home again, promising him that he didn’t need to ask anyone to come and sit with you, and that you’d call him if you needed to speak to anyone.

When he left the feeling of disgust returned, only this time with it came an anger at your kidnapper that you hadn’t really felt until this moment. You lay down on the bed on your left hand side, tears rolling down the good side of your face. You were glad to have this moment of weakness by yourself, and vowed to keep Spencer away from this feeling you were keeping inside, he’d been through so much, you didn’t need to add to his emotional baggage with something neither of you could change.

~~~

A few months later and you were laying alone in your apartment on your couch, staring at the television but not really watching anything. You heard a knocking on your door but you ignored it, hoping whomever it was would think you were out and leave you alone.

Y/N! I know you’re home! Open the door please!” Spencer was knelt down on your front doorstep, shouting through the letterbox.

You continued to ignore him, taking another swig from the bottle you held.

“If you don’t open it, we will!” Another shout came from the front door and you recognised Morgan’s voice and you decided to unlock it rather than face the bill your landlord would dump on you if he kicked it in. You put your drink down and pushed yourself up onto your foot, grabbing the crutches you’d yet to get fully used to using.

“Please leave me alone” You said when you opened it whilst it was still on the chain. You pushed it shut again but stayed stood by the door knowing full well they wouldn’t just leave that easily.

“Please, Y/N, we just want to know you’re okay! It’s been a week since anyone’s heard from you, just let us in and we’ll be out of your hair in as little time as it took you to answer the door,” Spencer pleaded through the slot.

You undid the chain and opened the door once more, swinging it open as you stumbled back into your living room, taking another drink after you flopped back down onto the couch letting the crutches slide to the floor. Spencer and Derek walked into the dark hallway, flicking on the light as they did so and they were horrified by the state of your house. The floor was strewn with takeout rubbish, dirty laundry and empty bottles.

“Welcome to my shithole” You said, unenthusiastically and you forced a laugh which was as emotionless as you wished you were.

“Y/N, please, we get it, we really do, but you can’t just shut yourself away like this! Surely having all this stuff on the floor makes getting around difficult too, can we help you clear it up?” Morgan spoke as he pushed some rubbish to one side and sat on the other couch across the room.

“Do whatever you like, I really don’t care anymore” You said, downing the rest of your drink and shutting your eyes against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Budge up” You opened your eyes again to see Spencer stood next to the couch. You pushed yourself to one side and he sat next to you, looking at you with a furrowed brow.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not some charity case you need to pity you know”

“I’m not looking at you like anything!”

“It’s the pity I can’t stand”

“I’m sorry for caring!”

“Spencer please, for your own sake, don’t.”

“Unfortunately for you that’s not a decision I can make.”

“Lucky me” you roll your eyes and reach down to the side of the couch where you had a stash of drinks, you went to grab the bottle opener when you realised it wasn’t on the coffee table anymore.

You looked around to see Derek holding it and made a motion for him to throw it to you and twisted your lip up in annoyance when he shook his head. “Nuh uh, it’s 10am on a Saturday, you’re not doing this.”

You leant back to put the bottle back down but lost your grip and it fell from your hand, shattering on the floor and Spencer jumped next to you.

“Bollocks!” You exclaimed. You smacked your forehead with your hand and threw yourself back against the couch.

“Well that’s one reaction to being told you’re cut off” Derek said, raising an eyebrow.

“Didn’t do it on purpose Morgan”

“I was trying to make you laugh dumbass” he smirked.

“Ha ha ha” you looked at him and shook your head.

“Ouch” He replied.

“Okay, look, I need to clean that up now, are you two done with your welfare check?” You asked and indicated to the floor.

“Please let me help you with that at least!” Spencer said exasperated.

“M’kay pretty boy, whatever will get you gone faster” You said, folding your arms.

The two got to work cleaning up the bottle and the sticky mess, you weren’t entirely sure what to do with yourself so you swung your other leg up onto the couch and closed your eyes. Before you knew it you were being gently shaken awake by Spencer and you stretched and yawned, headache beginning to form as the alcohol had begun to work it’s way out of your system. You groaned and sat up looking round at the room. To your surprise the two had used your impromptu nap to clear up as much of the room as they could and you looked at the clock on your mantlepiece and saw it was now 3pm. You looked around and realised Derek must’ve left as you noted the lack of car outside the window.

“Sorry, must’ve needed that sleep” you mumbled as Spencer moved you slightly and sat down, putting your legs back down onto his lap.

“Please don’t apologise. I wish you’d come to me when you were struggling rather than shutting me out. It was actually nice to be able to do something that would help you”

“Really?”

“Of course! Why would you think I wouldn’t enjoy helping?”

“I guess after the way I broke it off with you, I didn’t think you’d ever want to do anything for me again”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Dumping someone by text is usually enough to be sure anybody would stop talking to you entirely, let alone want to help you”

“Well I guess I’m not just anybody, I can’t just switch off the part of me that loves you, even if you did break my heart.”

“You still love me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“I figured you’d stopped loving me the minute you saw how ugly I was.” You mumbled the last sentence, looking down into your lap with tears in your eyes again.

“What?”

“When you first saw my face, in the hospital.”

“Y/N, you’re still the most handsome man on this entire planet, scars or no scars you’re gorgeous, plus I don’t just love you for the way you look, so even if you were somehow turned into a worm I’d still love you for your personality” He put his hand under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him, tears glistening his face too.

“Did you just make an internet culture reference?”

“JJ explained that one to me, I’d still rather have a book over a blog any day” He grinned and you put your hand over his, taking it away from your face and holding it. You moved around on the couch so you were sat flush with him and you leant into him, basking in the sense of belonging you’d missed so much.

“I’m sorry” You said again, tears rolling down your cheeks over the scarred and non-scarred indiscriminately.

“No apologies, remember?”

You nodded and leant onto his shoulder.

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too Spencer, I love you too.”

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wesleyswrld · 11 months

Text

The Beginning

Samantha Carpenter sighed in frustration as she wiped off blood off her boyfriend's knuckles for the second time that week.

"Donnie, you have to stop going this. It's scaring me."

The young teens where in the kitchen of a beautiful two story home in Woodsboro. Donnie was seated at the oak table, with Sam standing over him.

"I'm sorry." Donnie apologized, he completely didn't mean it. He'd go to war for Sam, anybody so well as looked at her to long or god for bid said anything about her was in a world of horror.

Sam finished cleaning his wounds and wrapped them up. "Yeah?"

Donnie began to nod, but Sam gave him a "Really" face and he shook his head.

He stood up to his full height of 5'10, and gave her a kiss. "I will protect you at all costs, Sam. I love you."

"Sometimes you can protect me without hurting anyone."

Three years later.

"You remember when I told you you can protect me without hurting anyone Donnie? This is one of those times that could have worked!" Sam shouted at Donnie.

Donnie rolled his eyes, as officer Judy Hicks put him in hand cuffs.

He had beat up at guy who thought it was a great, brilliant idea to slap Sam after she stole his wallet.

Donnie didn't even know why he wanted it back there was only 10 bucks in there.

The guy was out cold with a busted lip and an unrecognizable face on the parking lot ground of the local theater.

"He had it coming Sam, I couldn't fix that with fucking words!" Donnie shouted back as officer Judy sat him in the police car.

"This is officer Judy requesting a ambulance to the south side of the parking lot at 100 Meijer drive. We have a unconscious male and a domestic disturbance."

Sam signed rubbing her hands down her face. "Jesus, And. You're so fucking-"

"What, Sam?! I'm so fucking what?" Donnie stood up in anger, getting out of the car.

"Sit down, Clark!" Officer Judy shouted, standing in front of the two.

Donnie groaned but complied, sitting back down in the police car.

Donnie was beyond pissed with Sam he didn't understand why she couldn't realize he had to protect her.

He couldn't save his little sister so he had to save her.

Officer Judy turned to Sam. "Get in the car, Sam, I don't want to see you again."

Sam rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I'm not leaving him with you!"

Officer Judy walked towards Sam with her hands on her hips. "Do you want me to arrest you too?"

"Go Sam, I'm fine." Donnie sighed telling the brunette.

Sam nodded at turned walking towards her car. She got in and looked at Donnie one more time before putting the car in drive and leaving the parking lot.

Five Years Later.

"I'm really surprised mom let you watch me." Tara Carpenter told the Clark boy. The two where eating dinner at her house.

Donnie laughed, shrugging. "What can I say Little? I've had a change of heart."

Tara laughed remembering Donnie's teenage behavior turning for the worst.

Tara's mother Christina was at a conference in London and asked Donnie to look out for Tara.

Donnie of course agreed and moved in with Tara till her mother came back, Tara was just as excited to hangout with Donnie and didn't mind a babysitter.

Donnie had made his famous gourmet Mac and cheese which was just Italian seasoning added.

"Amber has a crush on you."

Donnie choked on his drink. "Oh, for real?"

"Yeah, she said she thinks you have a big di-"

Donnie unfortunately choked again in shock of how crazy kids were these days. "Woah, woah, woah, chill."

Tara shrugged. "Her words not mine."

"Do you miss her?" She asked Donnie, her older sister Samantha had left 5 years ago without saying goodbye to anyone.

Donnie sighed, "I miss her everyday. I wish I was better to her."

Tara nodded. "Yeah, you were a bit of an asshole."

"Yeah, I hope she's happier now."

"Me too."

After dinner Tara persuaded Donnie into going to the store to get chocolate chip cookie dough.

Donnie grabbed the store bag and closed the door to his Dodge Charger, he walked to the house door and went to unlock it with his key. Only to find it unlocked.

"Huh?" Donnie just assumed he just thought he locked it before he left.

He opened the door to see Tara laying in her own blood.

"Tara!" Donnie immediately went to Tara and dropped to his knees.

"What the f-fuck. Little, hey." Donnie put one of his hand on her wounded side, trying to stop the bleeding.

"D-Don it hurts." Tara cried, trying to push his hand away.

"Tara, you have to let me put pressure on it." Donnie fumbled with his phone dialing 911.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Hi, yeah my friend was attacked, her leg is broken, she has a hole in her hand and multiple puncture wounds."

"Is she conscious?"

"Yes, p-please send a ambulance she's in a lot of pain."

"I will send officers and an ambulance. What's the address?"

"Uhh, 809 Wood Ave. please hurry."

"Donnie?" Tara moaned as she came too. She sat up grabbing a glass of water on the tray next to her.

Donnie took his headphones out and put his phone down. "Hey. H-How are you?"

Tara gave him a sad smile. "Still in pain."

Donnie kisses her forehead, and moved a piece of her hair out of her face. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

He let out a choked sob. "It's all my fault I should have been there."

Tara shook her head. "Donnie, you had no idea that was going to happen. It is not your fault."

"I'm sorry, little." Donnie laid next to Tara in the small hospital bed.

Tara laid her head on his shoulder. "I know, I love you."

Wes Hicks

She's awake.

Leaving school now.

#sam carpenter #scream #tara carpenter #amber freeman #wes hicks #chad meeks martin #sidney prescott #ghostface #scream x reader #sam x reader #sam carpenter x reader #mindy meeks martin #gale weathers #kirby reed #richie kirsch #ethan landry

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honestlyspookytyphoon · 1 year

Text

Cake, Coffee And ... Charles

Synopsis: Unexpectedly, you meet a group of celebrity friends in a small café in France. What happens when you ask them to watch your stuff while you make a phone call?

Word count: +/- 2.5k words of me daydreaming about one of my (many) crushes 🥺

Warnings: none, I think? I originally intended it to be angst, but I decided to go all-in and add a fluff ending instead. Not really proof-read so probably some language mistakes, my apologies!

A/N: Translation (French/English or vice versa) is provided if necessary. I am now going for Charles as the male protagonist (just to put a name), but you can imagine anyone you like! Feedback is highly appreciated! 🤗

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

When you and two colleagues first got the idea to go to a 3-day scientific conference in Nîmes, a historical city in the South-East of France, it had seemed wonderful.

Nice weather and great food. A beautiful scenery and French gentlemen. La douce France at its finest.

Yesterday, the three of you arrived at the hotel well on time. Your room was tidy, the bed was comfortable and it was only a 10 min walk from where you stayed to the city centre. After you washed off the tiredness of a 5-hours TGV-trip, you went out. Strolling through the many narrow and colourful streets and seeing the Arena and other ancient Roman buildings, you fell in love with the city immediately. The next two days are going to be amazing, you thought to yourself.

Today, however, had been nothing but a nightmare.

On you way to the venue, the weather had decided to become an absolute brat. The pouring rain got you drenched, the humidity made you sweat like a horse. You felt dirty.

The presentations had been way too high-level and sucked all the energy from your brain. You really tried to understand the maths that were involved. But you failed miserably.

The deliciously looking chocolate cupcakes had been devoured before you even got to the snack tray. You were hungry.

The final straw was the fact that both your colleagues announced that they would leave earlier then expected, meaning that they could not attend your presentation tomorrow.

Long story short, your mood was going down. Fast.

It was now 5.30 pm. The day had ended and everybody was expected to meet outside the conference venue at 7.30 pm to go for dinner. Instead of joining the others in pre-drinking, you decided to go back to your hotel room to shower and change and rest for a bit.

On your way to the hotel, you passed by a small, cosy café, which, you realised, did not catch your eye before. The front of the little house was painted pastel blue and the tables under the porch were covered with cute checkered table cloths. The porch itself was decorated with fairy lights and the most beautiful flowers you had ever seen. Seeing the café lifted your mood instantly. I have to visit this gem tomorrow, you said to yourself.

The final day of the conference went by in a haze. Your presentation was scheduled just before lunch and you had been nervous the entire morning. However, once you stood there, microphone in hand, things went very well. You managed to respect the 20 minutes timeframe without missing the essentials and you had several interesting discussions afterwards.

There were no presentations scheduled in the afternoon and many participants were packing or had already left. You had opted to leave tomorrow, such that you could still buy some souvenirs for your parents - a tradition you started years ago. You had managed to score some beautiful decorations for your mum and a cute can of traditional sweets for your dad. Being pleased with the gifts, you decided to visit that café you saw earlier and treat yourself to a delicious local pastry.

It was 4.30 pm and, apart from a small group of friends, the café was empty. You greeted the bartender and took a seat next to the window. While admiring the interior of the café, your eyes landed on said group of friends. One of the guys was looking your way. Your eyes met and you flashed him a smile. He smirked and whispered something to his friends.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Veuillez-vous quelque chose à boire ou manger?”, the bartender asked. Hello miss, would you like a drink or something to eat?

French was not your first language, and although you were quite good at it in school, it was a long time since you last spoke it. Nonetheless, you always tried to speak the local language when you were abroad, so you collected yourself and tried to answer. Keep it simple.

“Oui, j’aimerais un thé vert et quelque chose petite à manger. Avez-vous des patisseries locaux, peut-être?” Yes, I would like a green tea and something small to eat. Do you happen to have any local specialties on the menu?

“Bien sur! Aujourd’hui, nous offrons La reine de Seba. C’est un petit cake chocolat avec poudre des amandes. C’est comme un brownie.” Of course! Today, we offer La reine de Seba. It is a small chocolate-almond cake. It is very similar to a brownie.

“C’est parfait. Merci beaucoup” That sounds perfect, thank you very much.

While waiting for your order to arrive, you decided to quickly check your phone. To your surprise, you had four missed calls from your supervisor. You must have been in town when she called. Sensing an urgency, you decided to ring her back. You noticed the low signal symbol, so you knew you had to go outside to call her.

Instead of packing all your things and leaving the bartender confused, you decided to leave your belonging in the café and ask someone to watch them while you were out. Since the bartender was out of sight, you had to ask one of the friends. A bit hesitant, you got up and approached their table.

“Euh, mes excuses de vous déranger, mais je dois téléphoner et je n’ai aucun signal ici. Est-ce que vous voulez gardez un oeil sur mes choses pour quelques minutes, s’il-vous-plaît?” Sorry to bother you, but I have to make a call and I do not have any signal here. Do you mind watching my things for a minute?

“Ah, bien oui. Pas de problème, ma belle”, the guy you greeted earlier responded. Of course. No problem, dear.

Thanking them, you made your way outside. The guy, whom you would later meet as Pierre, turned to his friends.

“Je n’ai pas menti, tu vois. Elle est polie et très mignonne. Et avez-vous vu qu’elle porte un badge de l’ université? Elle est intelligente aussi! Une 10/10, à mon avis.”

I did not lie, did I? She is kind and very cute. Also, did you see that she has a badge from the university? This means she is smart as well! A 10/10 if you ask me.

The others threw in arguments and started to discuss how amazing their significant others were. Charles stayed silent.

He did not have a girlfriend. Being a professional racing driver meant that he was always in the public eye, always busy training or travelling around the world. Although he hates to admit it, it was not an ordinary job. He was not an ordinary guy. He was a well-known face in France, which lead to girls throwing themselves at his feet but also made it hard to find someone who looked past the racing driver name-and-fame. And if he did, the girl was screwed over by the media or fans or the distance got the best of their relationship, leading to Charles breaking things off. He did not really mind being single, since he was always surrounded by friends, family or his team, but he would lie if he said that he did not miss someone to love love.

He was still looking into the direction of the exit/entrance, hoping you would be back soon. “Ca serrais dommage si nous ne la verrons jamais, n’est ce pas Charles?”, Pierre teased. It would be a shame if we never saw her again, would it not, Charles?

Charles started blushing. “Euh”, he stuttered, “je ne sais pas. Elle est jolie, oui, mais nous ne la connaissons pas. Et, en plus, elle ne nous connait pas. Elle ne s’intéresse pas au monde de F1”. I do not know. She is pretty, yes, but we do not really know her. She did not even recognize any of us. She is not interested in the world of F1.

“Tu es incroyable. Qu’est-ce-que tu veux? Qu’elle commence à crier au regard de nous? Nous tous savons que relations avec fans ne marchent pas.”, Pierre sighs. You are unbelievable. What do you want? That she starts crying when she sees us? We all know that relationships with fans do not work.

Charles had to agree. All of them had one or more relationships with fans before and they all ended badly. Maybe it was not a bad idea to look for someone who was a complete outsider. Pierre knew his best friend. He knew that Charles was having a debate with himself, on whether to talk to this girl or not and risking to fall in love. Pierre had been in situations like this before. He had never been short on female attention, but it was only at the start of his current relationship that he has felt some nervousness talking to a girl. Charles had encouraged him to talk to his now fiancée and this was the perfect opportunity to pay him back.

“Elle va rentrer. Confies-moi, mon frère.”, Pierre winked. She is coming back. Trust me, my brother.

Charles groaned. Pierre was up to something and he did not know to be happy or scared. Or both.

You re-entered the café in a fuzzy state. Your supervisor has called to ask how your presentation went. Instead of being happy that all went well and some interactions were sparked, she decided to start questioning your delivery and answers to the questions. You did want not your high to become a low, so you suggested to discuss all when you were back. Damn, you hoped the cake did not take long to be served. You needed chocolate.

Heading back to your table, you saw the bartender signaling that your order was ready. Thanking him, you took your plate and went back to your table. However, you did not miss the guy from earlier looking at you again, and you realised you have not thanked them yet.

“Merci encore pour garder un oeil, c’était très sympa de vous.” Thank you again for watching my things. It was very kind of you.

“De rien. Je m’appelle Pierre”. He offers you his hand. “Quel est ton nom, ma belle?” You are welcome. My name is Pierre . What is your name, dear?

“Je m’appelle Y/N. Enchantée, Pierre.” I am Y/N. Nice to meet you Pierre.

“Es-tu ici toute seule? Parce que tu peux s’assoir ici si tu veux.” Are you all alone? Because you can come sit here with us if you want.

“C’est très gentil de vous, mais je ne veux pas déranger. Je vous connais, je sais qui vous êtes. Je veux respecter vos reposes et privacy. En plus, je ne suis pas française, donc je ne vais comprendre rien de vos questions ou réponds”, you answered shyly. That is very kind of you, but I do not want to impose. I know who you are. I want to respect your time-off and privacy. Also, I am not French so I would not understand a thing of what you are saying or asking.

You knew who they were. Ever since the 2021 championship, F1 has revived in your country and it was hard to escape. To be honest, you were not that into F1 - you were more into MXGP and MotoGP - but you knew the in and outs of the sport.

“You are not disturbing if we ask you, right? And do not worry about not understanding”, Pierre stated, “we will switch to English for a pretty girl like you.”

The blush that rose to your cheeks was the only confirmation Pierre needed. Shooting a quick wink to Charles, he got up to take your plate and placed it at the empty spot next to him and across Charles.

I hate you, Charles thought.

Charles’ brain stopped working the moment you were in front of him. Your hair was put together in a messy bun, with some loose strands falling out. Your jeans and red top hugged your silhouette in all the right places. You held and started conversations so effortlessly. How you got along with Pierre and laughed at his stupid jokes. Damn, he was a lost cause already.

“Right, Charles?”, Pierre asked.

Charles’ face went blank. He was zoned out and did not know what to say. Pierre saw the confused expression on his friend’s face and smirked. I knew he would fall for her. Why am I so good at this? He should thank me, buy me a house in Guadeloupe or something.

“You have visited Slovenia already, have you not?”

Charles was quick to recover. “Yes, I have indeed. Do you want to go?”, he asked, looking in between you and Pierre, not knowing who to answer.

“Hahah, not right now though, that would be a bit weird”, you laughed, “but I do want to go one day. What did you think of Slovenia? Is it worth the visit?”

Your attention was full on Charles now and he was not letting this opportunity pass.

A couple of teas, cakes and many laughs later, it was 7pm. “Oh, look at the time”, you said surprised, “I really should be going. I still have to pack and check my travel plans for tomorrow.” You started to collect your jacket and purse. “I had a great time talking to you”, you said while looking fondly at Charles, something Pierre did not miss. “Thank you for inviting me”.

“The pleasure was all mine”, Charles said, beaming after what seemed like a 2-hours tête-à-tête with you. “Ours”, Pierre corrected, “the pleasure was all ours”.

“You guys are too kind. Bye Pierre, bye Charles, bye Jean and Théo”.

You got up and made your way to the door. It took a glare and a kick to the shin from Pierre for Charles to realise that you were really leaving and that he needed to take action if he wanted to see you again. So, before you could open the door and walk out of his life forever, he put a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey Y/N”

“Hey Charles”, you smiled.

“Listen, I really enjoyed talking to you. It feels like you know me, even though we just met, and it feels great to be able to talk about other things than racing. So, I was wondering if I could maybe get your number?”

The shock on your face was visible. I blew it, Charles thought, she thinks I am a creep.

“ I mean, only if you want of course and I will not stalk you, I promise.”

You knew he would not. He was gorgeous and genuine and you would be a fool if you let this guy go. Taking a business card from your purse, you scrapped your work number and wrote your personal number on it instead.

“Here. You can call or text me anytime you want. I will try to answer as soon as I can. Most people only get my work number, you know, so do not lose it.”, you said, shooting Charles a wink and million-dollar smile before walking out of the café.

“I will not, I promise. I will not lose you, Y/N. Never”, Charles said to himself, looking at your number as if he just won the lottery.

#f1 imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc imagine

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moonit3 · 12 days

Text

˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ MAKING YOU MINE

⟡ cw: male yandere, biting, blood, violence towards reader, amab/m! reader but with neutral pronouns, implied future noncon but nothing written about it, choking, toxic behavior.

⟡ word count: 1.5 k

⟡ yandere! male boss x amab! reader

⟡ notes: can this be considered as a rewrite? probably not, since there isn’t much than a few similarities between the original piece with leonard and this one is way better, I promise. unfortunately this won’t include any nsfw content as i still struggling how to write amab! readers, so please don’t mean to me.

when your boss invited you to attend one of the most popular conferences of the world, you had to accept it. not only you would gain an extra bonus from the next couple of months, but also who doesn’t enjoy staying in a five star hotel with everything paid? you didn’t waste time to pack your stuff and travel across the word along with leonard, the ceo of the company you works at.

your mind already made plans to relax at a grand hotel room that has the size of your childhood house, perhaps a bath full of bubbles? sleeping in a bed so soft that makes your body think is clouds? or even better, eating all the food from the menu! that would be amazing plans if you haven’t learn that you will be sharing the same room with leonard himself…

“you look quite disappointed,” he said. “didn’t you know that as my assistant during the conference, you will have to share the bedroom as a way to prevent you from leaking information about my next project.”

the man arrange his tie when his eyes stare at you laying down at the king size bed, already having given up after learning the horrible news of having to be his unwilling roommate for the rest of the travel. it’s almost comical to see that one of his employees is now looking like a dead corpse, he would laugh if hasn’t worry about your current state.

“bold them to assume that i would remember of those secret projects when i can’t even remember of what i ate yesterday.” a laugh came out of your throat when rolling over the bed to reach for your phone. without thiking much, you began scrolling over social media to find something interest or a silly game to lose time before today’s conference start.

when you do find some game worth to waste time, your phone was quickly stolen from your hands by no other than leonard himself.

“give me that!” you got up from the bed and tried to reach for your precious little phone at his hands, even standing on the tips of your toes to try to grab it from him. “don’t be stupid, sir! you are too old to act like a little kid.”

of course, your words didn’t made any difference on his behavior. what would you expect from a guy who inherited dad’s company instead of climbing the social ladder to archive it? you know that leonard is one of those guys who think they can have anything by using money or threats. and you have a feeling that you will fall into his trap soon.

between one of your attempts to reach out for you smartphone, he throws your precious item away into the ground, smashing it in million pieces all over the wooden floor. the sudden loud noise made you freeze in front of him, too scared to act out of fear of what he is going to do next. is he angry at you for acting this way? you hope not, he is the one to blame for it. and he was the one that started it.

silence took over, you didn’t dare to speak a word with leonard’s sharp eyes looking down at your face. damn it, why he got to be so tall? he already looks so intimidating during work hours back at the company and now having smashed your phone to the ground only twice that feeling growing inside your body.

before you create any courage to say a word or two, he began laughing like a mad man while you can only imagine what is going on inside his head. seconds ago, he looked ready to yell at you for his own mistakes and now he is just laughing? rich people are weird, your grandfather was right.

one of his hand lays on your cheek, caressing it like he has known you for ages. it seems that make him feel better, his lips curves into a small smile with his finger trancing all over you [pale/tanned/dark…] face.

in your perspective, his affection or whatever you call that, it’s making you feel horrible. the expression on your face says all, you aren’t comfortable by having a man touching your face like this and you wish he stopped with it. however, when you try to move away, leonard harshly grabs your face and brings you even closer to him. his touch on your face is cruel, almost like he could rip apart the skin away from your cheeks and just throw you across the room.

“you are pathetic, [name].” he said. “you know that, right?”

his words hurt you, it made you feel horrible knowing that a man you often look up to is saying something like that right at your face. between the newly sobs coming out of your throat, you manage to beg him to let it go and unfortunately, he doesn’t listen to your pleading. instead, his grip only gets tighter as he brings your closer to him, now you can feel his breath right at your neck. the smells reminds you of those expensive drinks and even more expensive cologne that you could only dream to afford for yourself.

your mind was preparing you for a slap, maybe a punch right onto your nose that would leave you feeling like a piece of trash. but imagine your expression when you only felt his lips brushing against yours in a lustful and rough kiss. by your instincts, you succeeded push him away, just for a fleeting moment you saw his eyes full of fury, making you freeze.

“i-I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t meant to—“

you didn’t get to finish your pleadings, not when leonard’s hands quickly wrapped around your throat and began squeezing it like you were nothing, but one of those squishy toys. his strength is too much for you to fight against it, so you simply give up in trying to put up a struggle for him.

it took less than a minute to your vision to become pure darkness, leaving you completely at the mercy of your boss. even with your mind telling to open your eyes and try to put fight, you body can’t handle simple commands to put a fight against him. indeed, you are stupid to believe that you had a chance to fight leonard…

…..

….

…

water.

the liquid that means essences of all living being of this planet flows over your naked skin, hitting the large bruise around your neck left and the freshly ones that leonard gave you as the result of trying to mark you as his only. the crimson coming out of newly formed bite marks around your chest and neck was way too much be clean by a cloth. so he had to bring you inside the bathtub, took off your clothes and didn’t waste the chance to join you in.

there isn’t a place where leonard hasn’t touch your sleeping body, well with the exception of a certain place. the man would wait to tease your cock for when you fully regain your consciousness, just so he can admire your lewd expressions and record it to keep you in place. he knows it’s wrong, but can he blame himself when you are just too addicted? you are a drug that he can’t control it and he wants more and more of the weird sensation that you brings to him.

once the blood stopped coming out of your injuries, leonard decided it was the perfect time just relax inside the bathtub without caring about the world outside this hotel room. he turned the water off, letting the cold air hit his skin as the water disappeared down the drain. even sleeping, you body searched for a heat source and as he expected, your body moved around to find a heat source that is him.

it’s pathetic how your body acts without any shame to get closer to his, trying to bind yourself onto him to keep yourself warm. how leonard wishes to have brought his waterproof camera to catch this intimate moment between you and him, but there is no worry when he knows there will plenty of moments like this to record in a soon future.

he knows your life won’t be the same when you open your eyes to see your boss handing your naked body so personal, and leonard can already imagine how surprised you will be when hearing about your new position as his spouse. will you try to fight with him? probably not, only if you wish to carry more marks over you body. the most applaudable possibility is you agreeing with his statement with fear controlling both your physique and mind, afraid that he will killed you.

“my dear mine,” carrying your sleeping figure towards the bed, leonard can only smirk when taking a final look before putting a robe on you. “you have no idea what you makes me feel.”

@moonit3 . don’t repost it, don’t modify it, don’t plagiarize, translate it without my permission.

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ghostofaboy · 8 months

Text

Risky Business

Pairing: Max Lord/Male OC Rating: Explicit. Seriously, over 18s only. Word count: 2252

Summary: Max finds himself in the men's room at the office when he spots something interesting… a glory hole

Warnings: Oral sex, public blow job, come eating, a little bit of internalized homophobia

Note: This has not been beta read so I apologize for any mistakes.

The meeting was dragging, and Max was on the verge of losing his temper. It was bad enough that it had started over an hour late due to a miscommunication with the marketing department, but now it was overrunning due to one overeager junior executive. The guy was clearly angling for a promotion, and on some level Max respected that, but boring your bosses was not a smart move. Hansen… Harmen… Herman… whatever his name was, had been speaking for forty-five minutes now about… something…

Max had no idea, truthfully, he’d started tuning him out after only ten minutes. By this point, the young man had completely screwed himself. Any point he’d hoped to make could have been made a long time ago. Glancing around the table, all Max could see were glazed-over eyes and a couple of the older execs gently snoozing.

While this was a waste of time, the bigger issue troubling Max was that the longer this went on, the more uncomfortable he was becoming. He needed to pee. He’d needed to pee for about an hour. He had his legs firmly crossed under the table and had stopped sipping on his water, but the problem wasn’t going to go away.

“...there is a clear link between-”

“I’m going to need to interrupt you there.” Max cut him off, finally reaching his limit. “You make some excellent points, but we’re running over here. Put everything in a report, and I promise you, I’ll look it over.”

“Sir, I-”

“It’s getting late.” Max locked eyes with the young man, his tone turning a little firmer. “Put a report together and send it to me.”

“I… yes, Sir.”

The sigh of relief from the rest of the gathered men was audible, making the overeager young man blush. As everyone started to file out, Max remained seated, his legs still tightly crossed. To his dismay, Grant Davidson, one of the senior board members, was lingering. Probably hoping to speak with him.

“Grant.” Max stood carefully, his smile fixed as he approached the other man. “Whatever it is, can it wait?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I really need the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Grant waved a hand and nodded. “Of course, of course. It can wait, I’ll meet you back at your office. Oh, and I hope you’re not too desperate. The executive bathroom on this floor is out of order.”

“What?” Max paused at the door. “You’re kidding me! Damn it! Where is the closest one?”

Grant thought for a moment. “Two floors down, I think, unless you want to slum it. There might be one on the east side of the building on this floor, but I’ve never been in it, so I can’t speak to its condition.”

“Thanks.” Max nodded as Grant sauntered away. Weighing up his options and his screaming bladder, Max sighed deeply. He was going to have to brave the unknown bathroom.

Leaving the conference room, Max headed towards the elevators and then took a right into the east side of the building. The east side of each floor was dedicated to the non-public-facing side of the business. Maintenance, mail room, interns. Each floor was different, and this one was a rabbit warren of small storage rooms and offices for the lowest-paid employees. Finally, as Max feared he would have to duck into a closet and piss in a corner, he spotted the men’s room.

Pushing the door open, it wasn’t as bad as he feared. It wasn’t anywhere as nice as the executive bathrooms he was used to, but it was clean and smelt fresh. A single urinal was next to the two stalls to the right of the door. On the opposite wall were two sinks with a large mirror hanging over them. Max stepped forward and then frowned as he noticed the “out of order” sign hung haphazardly on the urinal. Grumbling under his breath, he turned on his heel and headed into the stall furthest from the door. Yanking his fly open and freeing his cock, Max let out a long, loud sigh as the stream began.

Relief filled his body as Max continued to piss, taking the opportunity to glance around the cubical as he did. Bland gray tiles stretched from door to ceiling, with only the mirky green of the stall dividing wall and door to add a pop of color. Max looked around with a slight sneer on his face at the dismal condition of the bathroom before his eyes snapped back to the wall of the stall.

Was that a hole?

Shaking the final drops of pee from his cock, Max didn’t bother to tuck himself away as he bent down to get a better look. It was definitely a hole. Perhaps four inches across, not quite perfectly circular, and it had obviously been cut by an amateur rather than be a part of the design of the stall. Max was puzzled for a couple of seconds before he realized what he was looking at.

A glory hole.

A men’s room in Black Gold’s headquarters had a glory hole. A small shiver ran down Max’s spine at the thought of all the men who might have come in here since the hole was cut. How long had it been here? Right under his nose. Max’s cock twitched as he flushed the toilet before lowering the lid and sitting down.

Idly stroking his hardening cock Max bit his lip as he wondered how many men used this hole on a daily basis. Was it well-known in the building? Was that why Grant had sent him here?

Reaching into his trousers, Max pulled his balls out, rolling them in his left hand as he lazily pumped his cock to full hardness. Spitting into his palm, Max was just settling in and was ready to jerk off when he heard the men’s room door open. Max froze, listening to the man’s shoes click on the tiled floor.

The man went into the stall next to Max, and for a few seconds, Max sat in silence with his cock in hand, wondering if his new neighbor had come just to pee or wanted something more. The seconds ticked by while Max ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, watching as a bead of precum formed before rubbing in gently over the slit.

Max wasn’t sure how to get the other man’s attention. He’d never even seen a glory hole before, let alone used one. Licking his lips, Max racked his brain, trying to think how to get the other man’s attention.

As if answering his thoughts, Max’s eyes lit up as a semi-erect cock slid into view, as the man in the next stall thrust into the hole. With barely a second's hesitation, Max was on his knees, mouth open, wrapping his lips around the tip of the stranger’s dick. There was a barely audible gasp from the other stall, and Max smiled. This was everything he’d wanted. He’d had fantasies about this for years, and now it was happening.

His own cock throbbed, but he ignored it. Instead, he brought one hand up to grip the base of the length in front of him as he began to work. He started by teasing his tongue around the head, gently poking at the slit with the tip of his tongue before flattening it out and sucking on the head.

Inch by inch, Max worked his way down the length of the shaft until he could feel it hit the back of his throat. He gagged slightly, just long enough to feel tears pricking his eyes, before pulling back and beginning again. His own arousal ached between his legs, but all Max could focus on was the cock in his mouth. The world blurred around him as he swallowed the throbbing length again and again.

Enveloping the cock once more, Max traced his tongue along the underside, drawing a hiss from the stranger. As his lips stretched around the girth, the sinful desire to be degraded filled his being. Rolling his hips in the air in time with his ministrations, Max hollowed his cheeks, bobbing his head along the full erection before him.

On the other side of the thin wall, gasps, grunts and the occasional whine filtered out of the other man’s mouth, filling the men's room. It wasn’t long before his jaw was aching. As much as Max wanted this, he wasn’t used to putting in this much work.

‘I’ll have to do this more often to build up the stamina.’ He thought with a small grin.

Pulling back to focus on the tip, Max swirled his tongue around it before flicking at the slit just as before. The tang of precum was Max’s reward, dribbling out of his open mouth and gliding down his swollen lips.

Ghosting his tongue over the leaking red head, Max worked the shaft into his mouth to the very back of his throat. Swallowing around the length, he shivered in pleasure as he pulled a loud, wanton moan from the other man. After swallowing for a second time, Max still himself, the desire to be used overtaking him. He needed his mouth fucking. He needed to be used as an object. He needed to choke on this cock. He needed this to complete the fantasy he’d had in his head for so long.

Understanding what Max wanted, or needed, the other man began fucking slowly into his mouth, testing the water to see if this was what Max truly wanted. When Max didn’t move or pull away and instead opened his throat as much as he could, the other man started to pick up the pace. Soon, the unseen stranger was thrusting his full length into Max’s waiting mouth with abandon. Max’s face burned as his skin prickled with arousal while needy, wet, gagging noises were pushed out of his mouth with every thrust.

His own cock leaked onto the floor between his knees, throbbing in time with the cock gliding over his tongue. He could feel himself tumbling towards the edge and Max reached up both his hands to steady himself against the wall of the stall. His vision swam as the other man began panting loudly on the other side of the partition.

With a breathy cry, the man came, flooding Max’s mouth with bitter, salty seed. Swallowing what he could, Max could feel some of the come escaping, dribbling out of his mouth and down his chin. Resisting the urge to wipe it away, a shiver ran through Max’s body at the thought of looking at his come-stained lips in the mirror later. Digging his nails into the hard wood of the stall, Max moaned around the cock, still twitching on his tongue. Time seemed to slow as his nails scraped against the wall of the stall, his back arched and his body quivered as he released himself into the men’s room floor untouched.

The cock gently withdrew, and Max could hear the sound of a zipper companied by a long sigh. Still on his knees, Max didn’t trust his legs enough yet to stand. Instead, leaning his head against the cool wood of the stall, Max tried to focus his eyes. Between his legs, his small cock was already softening, shrinking back down to its usual micro state. He could see the other man’s feet, with nice-looking, moderately expensive shoes, shifting around before leaving the stall.

Max heard the rush of water coming from the faucet, and while the other man busied himself at the sink, Max climbed to his feet. The full realization of what he’d just done was starting to dawn on him. What if someone found out? He was the CEO of Black Gold! He was meant to set an example. What would people say?

Pinching his eyes shut, Max sat down on the toilet and waited for the other man to leave. What had he been thinking? This wasn’t like jacking off in the privacy of his office or the regular ‘massage’ sessions he’d been having. He’d blown one of his employees. Surely, there were laws about this kind of thing.

The sound of the men’s room door clicking shut snapped him out of his spiral. Max opened his eyes and let out a long, loud sigh. Time to get back to reality and possibly face the music for his moment of fantasy.

Tucking himself back into his trousers, Max grabbed some tissue to wipe up the mess he’d made. Bending down to clean up the come, Max’s eyes were drawn to a small piece of cardboard on the floor just under the stall door. Finishing his task, Max picked it up, turning it over in his hand. His eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face as he realized what it was.

A business card. Looking it over, Max could see that there was no name, but there was a number.

Tucking it into his pocket, Max left the stall and went over to the sinks to clean up. Come had dried slightly on his chin, while his already plush lips were pink and swollen. Max smirked to himself at his disheveled state. Putting himself back to his usual well-groomed state, Max couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Leaving the men’s room, he patted the card in his pocket as he made his way back to his office. The possibilities were intriguing.

#maxwell lord #max lord #max lord x male oc #maxwell lord x male oc #max lord x original male character #maxwell lord x original male character #wonder woman 1984 #m/m fiction

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typinggently · 2 years

Text

Student Teacher Conference

William Butcher/John (Homelander) No powers AU that I had to write since no fics magically appeared in the three hours after I made this post. Butcher (man of dubious profession with anger management issues) and Homelander (very important poster boy with no qualifications for his job PLUS anger management issues) share custody of one (1) child. They hate each other's guts. There's a student-teacher-conference.

Homelander is five minutes early to Ryan’s teacher-student conference. Butcher, who was twelve minutes early, watches him get out of his Royce and wonders whether the parking lot has cctv that would catch him clock the cunt over the head and arrive on time, on his own. Before he can put some serious thought into that plan, the guy’s turned towards him, one hand checking that slick little hairdo of his. “Oh. Are you wearing that?” His eyes look like dish soap pods in the cold-bright lights.

Butcher already turned towards the entrance of the school, speaks over his shoulder. “Didn’t bring a spare outfit, if that’s what you’re asking.” It’s a warm evening, so he undid the first few buttons of his shirt, but he’s wearing a suit jacket and the shirt’s got a print, but it's silk. He’s perfectly appropriately dressed.

Homelander catches up with him by the door, shoulders him out of the way and gives him a once-over, bottom to top. “Ryan’s teacher is going to think he’s getting raised by a cokehead homosexual.” Butcher gives him a toothy smile, the 5ft something, blond-gelled hair and manicured nails, red pocket square and fake tan, crisp white button-down and navy-blue suit of him. “No doubt, Love.”

For a second, it looks like the cctv in the parking lot will be the least of their troubles, but then a willowy woman with Kate Bush hair and a clunky necklace appears seemingly out of nowhere to Butcher’s right, forcing both of them to step back, stand down. “You must be Ryan’s parents. So happy you could make it, please come in.“ She’s standing in an open doorway, which explains her sudden arrival, and Butcher shoulders Homelander out of the way to step through first.

The classroom looks just about how Butcher expected based on what he’s seen on TV and the chairs are about as hard. He’s sitting right next to Homelander, close enough to smell his cunty little perfume – in other words, too close. He keeps his eyes on the teacher and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Ryan’s grades are fine. He’s quiet and is a pleasure to have in class. Homelander wants to know how he’s doing in PE. Butcher wants to know if he’s gotten better at speaking in front of the group. Homelander – He – Both of them, apparently, want to know if Ryan has any friends. If the other kids leave him alone. There’s a bit of a flicker in the teacher’s face, there, and Butcher frowns. Next to him, Homelander shifts in his chair. “It’s nothing to worry about. Boys his age can be a little shy and take a little longer to open up to their peers. But I see that with his support system at home, he’s not trapped in the endless spiral of toxic masculinity we are all working so hard on dismantling.”

Butcher bites his tongue to stop himself from frowning. Next to him, Homelander shifts in his chair. “Sorry?” And Butcher doesn’t mean to look, but at the crystal-clear, dangerously light tone in Homelander’s voice, he spares a glance out of the corner of his eye. Homelander is wearing a very bright grin, frozen on his face. “Sorry, what was that?” He looks like a porcelain doll, the kind that fucked up little girls would collect, polished and brimming with an underlying threat of violence.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply – I’m just saying that with his unique situation, Ryan has two very different, very positive and loving male role models to look up to.” The teacher must’ve picked up on the hostility seeping out of Homelander’s very pores and she throws Butcher a little glance, a borderline desperate little smile. “Which is, of course, a very good thing. It’s refreshing to see two fathers so involved in their son’s life. It’s a sign that society really is changing for the better.”

There’s a brief silence. The teacher keeps her eyes glued on Butcher. Homelander is staring at the teacher with his doll-grin. Butcher is looking at Homelander. He can practically see the wheels turn under that Barbie-hair. Ryan’s teacher is probably on top of his list of people he has to impress, second only to Mallory. Revealing that your kid is growing up with two people who’d rather skin themselves alive than spend an afternoon at the park as a "family" is probably not the right way to do that. Unfortunately, that goes for both of them.

“Right, yeah.” Butcher clears his throat and reaches over to pat Homelander’s thigh. Homelander snaps his attention towards him, electric blue eyes and gold-shimmering lashes. “No harm done, Love, you know what she meant to say. Society is changing for the better innit? And we’re all doing our part.”

“Right, yes.” And just like that, the stupid poster boy smile is back, brighter than the sun and sweeter than sugar water. “Of course, yes.” Homelander, apparently on the same page and back in character, puts his hand on Butcher’s, clumsily lacing their fingers as he returns his attention to the teacher. “We love the way society is changing. Love, freedom and equality, those are the pillars this country is built on. We spend every waking minute trying to teach Ryan exactly that.”

The teacher nods, tries a little smile, apparently feeling a little safer now that she doesn’t have to worry about a polished yuppie emailing the board about supposed homophobic microaggressions “And that shows. He’s truly a special boy.”

Well, Butcher thinks drily, squeezing Homelander’s hand. At least she’s not going to think Ryan’s being raised by cokeheads.

#'Wallissa why is he called Homelander still?' -- see. he isn't. his name is John.#Butcher just refuses to call him that.#the boys #homelander x butcher #butchlander #<- ngl that is still the funniest possible ship name #drabble

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