#US Tracking and Tracing Companies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidmotif · 2 months ago

Text

Hands-On Learning

Summary: Reader is deep in preparation for her finals, much to Spencer’s frustration. When she creatively incorporates him into her anatomy review, it turns into a pleasurable experience for them both.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: f!receiving oral, face sitting, face riding, f!masturbation, softdom!spencer, but he's needy and desperate, anatomy terms that may have been used incorrectly (sorry), slight dry humping, overstimulation, yearning.

Word Count: 3.3k

Masterlist

Finals season.

The ever-dreaded, ever-disliked period between the end of April to June where every student you know is scrambling to absorb roughly four months of material in a matter of weeks.

All bets are off in this lawless space of time. Coffee at 2 AM? Completely advised, go right ahead. Hundreds of dollars spent in food delivery? Sure. Anything to keep the grind going, right? Major papers that should’ve taken weeks to write being done in a frantic three hours? It’s a rite of passage, really. And luckily, you get to spend a much-needed summer break afterwards, recovering from all these horrific decisions you’ve put yourself through.

Needless to say, your current setup involved many textbooks, flashcards scattered about, and highlighters in the most random of places, all in the name of preparation for this beast of a week.

And of course, it was all set to the sounds of a very needy Spencer Reid, who’d been begging for your attention since he’d gotten here.

“You’ve studied so much already, I swear. Can’t you take a break?”Spencer questions petulantly, sitting on the bed adjacent to your desk, where you were currently hard at work memorizing the thirty-one pairs of nerves that made up the spine.

You’d been studying intensely for this semester's finals. By making a couple of well-informed choices beforehand, you were actually quite on track when it came to your learning and retention of material.

For the most part, it seemed like you were on track to sail through all your classes without a hitch. That held true, until you brought up Introduction to Anatomy.

Anatomy was fun, by all means. Interesting labs, interesting people, interesting content. However, what daunted you more than anything in pertinence to the material was the enormity of the terms and vocabulary you were expected to know in time for the exam.

“I haven’t studied enough.” Is your quick response, a small smirk finding its way to your lips. Despite loving your boyfriend, there was a certain pleasure in seeing him so desperate for you, a power-rush that felt unbelievably good.

And to your credit, you really were hard at work memorizing these terms. As much as you enjoyed his company (and the sex he wanted to engage in), it simply could not take precedence over the task at hand.

“You know, multiple studies recommend at least twenty minutes of a break for every hour you study, for peak brain efficiency, and you-” He checks his watch, mentally calculating how long you’d been at that desk. “You’re due for at least an hour’s worth of break at this point.”

You finally look up, your finger halting on the paper it’d been tracing over. “Spencer, you know I’d love to take a break but-”

He sighs heavily. “I’m aware. This is important. I get it.” He grumbles, flopping onto the bed in a slightly dramatic fashion.

You giggle at the scene. For all his propriety, there was never a more amusing sight than your boyfriend reduced to base desire and instinct. You take pity on him though, and smile gently at him.

“Look, why don’t you get out? Go have lunch, do whatever, and come back. Hopefully I’ll be closer to finishing then, and we can hang out then?” You offer, hope in your voice.

He sighs and nods, lifting himself off your bed. “Yeah, sounds good.” He murmurs, coming over to the desk to place an affectionate, chaste kiss upon the top of your head. “Good luck.” He says, cracking a half smile as he leaves, which you return with a smile of your own.

The door closes, and you’re left with nothing but silence, and the lateral cutaneous branches looking up at you from their place on the page. Time to work at it, you suppose.

It’s about two hours later, when you hear the tell-tale knock of your boyfriend at your door, presumably back from his excursion away from you. Your place at your desk is momentarily abandoned in favor of letting him in, and there’s instant delight in your eyes, considering the two cups of coffee he presents to you. One is iced, one is not. Without any words exchanged between either party, the iced coffee is grabbed and you grin.

“Thank you.” You say, taking a sip. Of course he’d remember your order perfectly.

“You know, that could’ve been my coffee, for all you know.” He teases, striding into the room.

You roll your eyes fondly whilst you close the door. “Spencer Reid drinking iced coffee? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Coffee is supposed to be hot!” He protests, immediately, this being an obvious subject of passion for him. “Hot brewed coffee contains far more antioxidants, and doesn’t risk being watered down by ice- oh, and another thing-”

You stifle a chuckle whilst watching him. This had been an ongoing debate for you two, essentially since the day you met. Your first date had been at a coffee shop. When he'd asked for your order, he looked almost appalled at the prefix of “iced” you’d tacked onto your statement.

Nevertheless, he still ordered it, and did his best to educate you on why hot coffee was “clearly” superior.

Somewhere between lecturing you on caffeine effectivity and nutritional information, you were head over heels.

“Anyway.” He says, breaking your thoughts, and seemingly done with his argument. “How far are you into studying?”

You make your way back to your desk, biting your lip as you stand over the material. “Pretty far.” You murmur, reluctantly. “I dunno. I know I know this material, but I feel like it hasn’t solidified in my brain, you know? Like I need to keep hammering it in until it’s basically muscle memory for me.”

He moves slowly to be behind you, his hands coming to rub your shoulders gently, soothing the worn out muscles on your back. His touch is warm and reassuring, a quiet way of saying, “You can rest.”

“You know.” He murmurs, softly. “You’d probably do better with a break. Take a breather, let your brain relax for a second.”

There’s a pause, before he adds in a quiet voice, “Maybe spend some time with me?” His hand comes to move some hair away from your neck, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the side of it.

You melt into the movement. He always knew exactly where your weak spots were, where you’d falter and give right into his ministries.

But you know you can’t. You force yourself to breathe and look away, as though that simple act might help you forget how his hands had lingered on you just a moment ago.

“I want to, I swear. But I won’t feel good about taking downtime until I’m absolutely sure I’ve got this.” You say, firmly extricating yourself from his grasp.

He gives another one of his heavy sighs, accepting his fate quietly, knowing he won’t be able to convince you outside of your own accord.

“Alright then. I’ll just hang out here then.. For however long that might take.”

You give a small, pained smile. “Thank you. I know I’m being difficult.”

“You’re not. You could never be difficult.” He responds, immediately, returning your smile with one of his own. “It’s just finals season. I know your performance will be wonderful, and we’ll have all the time in the world afterwards to spend time together.”

Your heart melts. You were beyond lucky to have him, and that adoration and knowledge is displayed plainly through your expression. “Thank you.” You repeat, unable to verbalize just how much his support meant to you. “I hate finals.”

“You and I both.” He shoots back, cracking a grin. “You’re going to do great.”

There’s no trace of doubt in his tone at all.

For the next hour or so, you both quietly coexist in the same space, the names of musculature and types of fibers muttered under your breath. After a while, the terms click into place, and with a quiet breath, you let the tension go. The final step in your preparation involved practicing the newly learned terms on a human model. Ideally, it would be one of the fake skeletons in the anatomy lab. Your gaze, however, drifted to your boyfriend on your bed, sprawled out, reading your physics textbook for fun.

Nerd.

An almost evil plan enters your brain, and your voice goes sickly sweet as you call out his name.

“Spence?” “Mm?” He murmurs, looking over the book.

“Can you strip down to your underwear, please?” A harmless smile plays on your lips as you ask.

Spencer’s all ears as he hears that, and in record time his clothes are shed. “Are you-” “Lie back on the bed.” You order.

He’s so obedient and eager, immediately complying with what you’ve asked of him without question. You smile, and discreetly grab a washable marker before making your way to where he was laid out.

“God. I’ve been so insanely needy for you all day. I’m so glad you’re done.” He says, his expression reeking of starvation as you straddle him. You can feel him harden under your touch, and choose to ignore that.

You lean down, your head at about his chest. His breathing quickens in anticipation, already so turned on from the minimal contact between you two.

Before he can make a move of his own, you pull out your marker and mark the space between his clavicle and shoulder.

“Brachial plexus.” You murmur, much to his utter confusion and dismay.

“You have to be kidding me.” He says, his look of confusion quickly morphing into one of realization. “I thought you were done-”

“I’m not.” You say, with a small smirk on your lips. “But I will be, if you’re quiet and let me work on you.”

He groans. “You’re evil, this is evil. I won’t-”

“The faster we get through this, the faster I’m all yours.” You interrupt, mostly ignoring him, because you know he’ll do anything if it means touching you by the end of it.

He takes a pained breath and tries to relax while you work on top of him, his obvious erection straining against the fabric of his briefs.

The pen drags down his chest, as you move down on him to better position yourself in accordance to the medial pectoral nerve you were marking.

“Baby, please.” He groans out, his hands fisting in the sheets below him in an attempt to not grab you and take you right then and there.

The slightest bit of friction seems to set him off, and you can tell he isn’t playing it up in the slightest. He truly was, well and gone for you within this moment.

“Sorry.” You murmur. “Just marking your.. anterior cutaneous branches.. of the thoracic nerves.” The pen drags against a spot on his chest, and he shudders.

“Won’t this stain my skin?” He says, a slight whine in his tone, doing absolutely anything to free himself from the absolute torture of this predicament he’d found himself in.

“Nah. It’s one of those pens they use for surgery.” You respond, dragging it along his sternum to mark a few more necessary terms. “It’ll come right off in the shower.”

You know exactly how to push his buttons. You lean in closer and whisper against his ear enticingly, “We can get clean together.”

He squeezes his eyes at that, the feeling of your lips brushing against his earlobe triggering an involuntary response, a low moan escaping him. “This is.. so unfair. I just want to touch you. Please.”

“Not until I’m done.” You fire back. “C'mon. You can be good and wait, right?”

“Easy for you to say.” He grits out. “You’re not the one, half naked and hard and having to watch you be..” He trails off.

“Be what?” You ask, a bit distracted as you mark another nerve of importance.

“Be.. sexy.” He mumbles out, clearly embarrassed by his own musings.

A small, wry smile comes upon your mouth. You lean back, a breath of laughter slipping free. “You think I look sexy?” You say, a teasing lilt in your tone.

He rubs a hand over his face, clearly mortified. “Yes. Yes, okay!” He grumbles out, clearly self-conscious by just how much he’s managed to be affected by you. “You’re on top of me, drawing on me, and I’m aware they’re just anatomical terms, but God the way you say them.”

His voice devolves into a near whimper, pitiful and aching. “It’s killing me.”

You hum, pleased with yourself. “Killing you, huh?”

“Yes.” He mewls. “Killing me. I want you so much, please. You’re so smart. Please. I know you’re going to do so good on this final. Just please, please, let me touch you.”

He collapses into his words, into you. No pride left, just need.

“Yeah? You think I’m smart?” You murmur teasingly, tracing the plastic of your marker along the side of his neck.

“Yes.” He moans, lowly. “So smart. You’re so hot when you’re working so hard. Makes me want you so bad.”

Your head turns back, and you can see the wetness of precum leaking from his cock on his briefs. He wasn’t faking it to get your attention. He yearned for you, plain and simple.

Your eyes find his, and they’re full of need, his expression absolutely shameless and desperate. “Please.” He repeats. “Please let me touch you. I don’t care how. Just- god. I can't do this. Please.”

It’s enough to make you yield. You slide off of him, and he lets out a soft, needy sound, already missing the press of you, until his breath catches at the sight of you stripping, your clothes landing somewhere off the edge of the bed without a second thought.

“You wanna touch me?” You murmur, crawling up the bed a little.

“Yes.” He whispers, nodding.

The way he looks at your naked body, eyes fixed, hungry, reverent.. it’s almost too much. You feel dizzy from the weight of it.

You straddle his face, a thigh on either side of him whilst you hover over his face, and then you look down. “Touch me then.” You murmur.

He practically growls as his hands wrap around your thighs. “With pleasure.”

He pulls you down entirely, effectively forcing your core against his mouth, his tongue lapping against every inch of your wet folds.

You moan, your hands coming to grasp the headboard in front of you. There’s absolutely nothing he could be thinking about, besides the taste and smell of you flooding and overwhelming his senses.

He devours you with a single-minded focus, his tongue expertly alternating between flattening and lapping you in slow, deliberate strokes, and quick flicks against your clit. It’s all done in service to you, Spencer thinking of the fastest way to unravel you, desperate to taste your release against his tongue– to hear you moan his name and shake above him.

He gets his wish when another stroke of his tongue finally causes you to come, your sweet release flooding his face, and him eagerly drinking it in. He moans as he attempts to pull you even closer to his mouth (if that was even possible).

You let out a breathy laugh as he seems to slow down, indicating the end of your session. “Spence.. Oh god. That was so good.” You try to get off him, but his grip on your thighs is iron-clad.

“Again.” He moans.

“What?” You ask, not sure if you heard him right.

“Again, please.” He begs, voice broken. “I need you.”

The absolute depravity and torment in his voice lulls you into complacency, as you assume your previous position above him.

“Okay. Okay, baby. We can go again.” You murmur, soothingly.

He wastes no time going right back in, his tongue albeit, a little slower now, keeping in mind that you’d just orgasmed, and that you were probably still sensitive.

He’s right to do so, little high-pitched moans and drawn out of you as you get comfortable again, despite the overstimulation.

His tongue circles your clit slowly, never properly touching it, delaying your next release. After a while of this teasing, you finally moan out his name, your hips shamelessly rocking against him.

“Spencer, god. Please. Need to come.” You beg, feeling yourself at the edge of a small death.

Spencer responds in kind, rapidly flicking his tongue against your swollen bud, and in record time, you’re coming again, much to his delight. He doesn't let up until he's absolutely sure he's lapped up every single drop, not letting any of it go to waste.

“Okay, baby. I gotta get off. Gotta breathe. So do you.” You pant out, as you get off from your seat on his face.

He shakes his head, tugging you closer.

“Please, wanna keep touching you.” He pleads, eyes teary, your release practically dripping off his chin. His hand digs into your arm with a lustful urgency. “Please. We can go again. I know we can.”

You yield to his request, because honestly, who could deny him right now? His hair messy, lips shiny and his voice, fractured and full of ache, barely held together.

You nod, lying down, on the bed, motioning for him to roll on top of you.

He rolls over and kisses you, and it’s absolutely sinful. You can taste yourself on him, moaning as your lips easily part and make way for him, the wet warmth of his tongue sliding against yours. There’s nothing held back between the two of you as your lips connect and reconnect, as his hand slowly slides down the expanse of your skin, finding your clit and beginning to rub slow circles against it.

“Oh god, Spencer.” You moan bonelessly, feeling the effects of your previous two orgasms and the one you were hurtling towards currently taking over you.

“Yeah?” He mumbles. “That feel good?”

“God, yes.” You moan. “You always know how to touch me, always know how to make me feel good- oh-”

He groans in delight as he dives in for another kiss, his fingers sliding across the slick bud even faster now, determined to make you fall off the edge for him one last time. He humps your thigh, practically desperate for some relief for his aching cock as well.

“Say my name.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Spencer.” You wail out, in response.

“Louder.”

“Oh god, Spencer, please!” You groan, your body beginning to tense up with the tell-tale signs of an orgasm, your body taut like a bowstring.

“That’s right, come for me.” He whispers, placing a sweet kiss against your collarbone, his hips continuing their rut in an attempt to chase his release as well.

And with a shout, you come, your body seizing up and succumbing to his touch, your hands wrapping around his neck in an attempt to ground yourself as you experienced the intense pleasure that could only result from being with him.

He seems to follow shortly after to the sound of your moans, a wet patch appearing on the front of his briefs.

You whimper as you come down for your orgasm, Spencer stroking your skin soothingly, peppering little kisses wherever he could reach.

“You doing okay?” He pants out.

“Better than okay.” You murmur, folding into his embrace, feeling as if you were floating on clouds, or some other poetic description of just how light you felt in this moment.

“I pushed you pretty hard, huh?” He mumbles, his voice tinged with a slight bit of concern.

“Don’t worry. I deserve it for teasing you so hard." You mumble.

"Thanks for helping me study, by the way." You tack on, already feeling yourself drift off into a quiet, peaceful slumber in his arms.

He chuckles a bit, and places a kiss against your forehead. “Glad I could make the lesson... hands-on.”

woah!!! hello!! so unfortunately, much like reader, i have also been swamped by finals :( but, this idea came to me and i decided to write it and try to make my way back to writing even a little bit more regularly. as usual, please like, reblog and comment if you enjoyed this fic. reblogs are basically the lifeline of tumblr, and if you'd like my work to reach more people, i would 10000% appreciate it so much. thank you so much for reading regardless, and i hope it was enjoyable. thank you thank thank you for all your support!!!! <333

2K notes · View notes

txttletale · 13 days ago

Note

genuinely curious but I don't know how to phrase this in a way that sounds less accusatory so please know I'm asking in good faith and am just bad at words

what are your thoughts on the environmental impact of generative ai? do you think the cost for all the cooling system is worth the tasks generative ai performs? I've been wrangling this because while I feel like I can justify it as smaller scales, that would mean it isn't a publicly available tool which I also feel uncomfortable with

the environmental impacts of genAI are almost always one of three things, both by their detractors and their boosters:

vastly overstated

stated correctly, but with a deceptive lack of context (ie, giving numbers in watt-hours, or amount of water 'used' for cooling, without necessary context like what comparable services use or what actually happens to that water)

assumed to be on track to grow constantly as genAI sees universal adoption across every industry

like, when water is used to cool a datacenter, that datacenter isn't just "a big building running chatgpt" -- datacenters are the backbone of the modern internet. now, i mean, all that said, the basic question here: no, i don't think it's a good tradeoff to be burning fossil fuels to power the magic 8ball. but asking that question in a vacuum (imo) elides a lot of the realities of power consumption in the global north by exceptionalizing genAI as opposed to, for example, video streaming, or online games. or, for that matter, for any number of other things.

so to me a lot of this stuff seems like very selective outrage in most cases, people working backwards from all the twitter artists on their dashboard hating midjourney to find an ethical reason why it is irredeemably evil.

& in the best, good-faith cases, it's taking at face value the claims of genAI companies and datacenter owners that the power usage will continue spiralling as the technology is integrated into every aspect of our lives. but to be blunt, i think it's a little naive to take these estimates seriously: these companies rely on their stock prices remaining high and attractive to investors, so they have enormous financial incentives not only to lie but to make financial decisions as if the universal adoption boom is just around the corner at all times. but there's no actual business plan! these companies are burning gigantic piles of money every day, because this is a bubble

so tldr: i don't think most things fossil fuels are burned for are 'worth it', but the response to that is a comprehensive climate politics and not an individualistic 'carbon footprint' approach, certainly not one that chooses chatgpt as its battleground. genAI uses a lot of power but at a rate currently comparable to other massively popular digital leisure products like fortnite or netflix -- forecasts of it massively increasing by several orders of magnitude are in my opinion unfounded and can mostly be traced back to people who have a direct financial stake in this being the case because their business model is an obvious boondoggle otherwise.

#ask #Anonymous #ai discourse

868 notes · View notes

xndrpndr · 2 months ago

Text

The Final Mix

A/N: Written for a prompt by @woollypoison. Much love for hosting! This is also my first time officially writing smut. Enjoy!

Karina & Hyeri x Male Reader Smut

5.7k words

Now here’s the thing about Lee Hyeri:

She gets it.

She’s loud, she’s lazy, and she’s casually filthy, sure. But she doesn’t pretend this is about attachment or romance or whatever else people try to slap onto a good fuck. She moans like a banshee, curses like she’s getting paid by the word, and she’ll laugh in your face if you try to call this passion.

It's not passion. It's Tuesday.

You like her for that. That, and the fact that she squirts like a pornstar and doesn’t mind doing it on company time.

Desk, floor, couch, conference table—pick your battlefield. She’ll bring the war. (And open the floodgates.)

Today’s bout happens to be in your vocal booth.

Or, happened, rather.

“Don’t fall asleep in here,” you remind her, yanking your pants up. “You drool on anything expensive and the label’s gonna think I adopted a stray.”

“Hah,” she laughs dryly. “You owe me lunch, for that one. Or, I dunno, a lozenge. I can’t feel my throat.”

You snort, still half-naked, still sweating—absolutely not in a position to debate sexual reparations.

Meanwhile, Hyeri’s lying across the vocal booth bench like it’s a fucking chaise lounge, panties twirling in her fingers, skirt still hiked up, and blouse open like the concept of modesty just doesn’t apply after three orgasms.

Which, it doesn’t, so you’ll give her that one.

There’s sweat on her chest and something else between her thighs—it yours, obviously—and she’s tracing lazy circles around her navel with one red-tipped nail. “I really think I hit that harmony this time,” she muses. “Like... actually nailed it.” She is, of course, referring to the song you’re supposed to be recording and not the chorus of moans she let out as she came all over you.

You shoot her a sceptical look, shoving a cable out of your way with your foot, hunting for wherever your belt got thrown off to. “You moaned through half of it.”

“Artistic expression,” she shrugs, reaching for a tissue. “Adds texture.”

“It adds me spending an hour editing out your sex noises,” you grimace, pulling your belt out from where she's hidden it under her. “That or we schedule another day to record.”

“Oh no,” she mocks, wiping your cum from between her thighs. “Not post-production work—y’know, the thing you’re paid to do. But,” she’s thinking now, tapping her chin with a finger, “you would like another day with me all to yourself, now wouldn’t you?”

You flick her the bird as you slip back into your button-up. She smiles like she’s won something. She has, technically. Three times, in fact. The first when you ate her out on the bench. The second when she rode you on said bench. And the third against the booth wall, displacing soundproofing with a leg around your waist, your cock in her cunt, and a finger in her ass for good measure.

But unlike your little sexcapade with Hyeri, this was supposed to be quick.

Track the bridge, tweak her verse, maybe do a dry run of the group chorus. Nothing that warranted sweat-slick skin and a room that smells more potent than a fish market. But with Hyeri, quick is theoretical. She’s chaos and lust wrapped in short skirts and high heels—all while masquerading as the Nation's Little Goody-two-shoes.

And then, like the universe itself is showing its disapproval for your pseudo-professionalism, your phone buzzes.

12:15 PM – Karina | Vocal Tracking

“Shit.”

You have exactly thirteen minutes to unfuck the studio.

Hyeri doesn’t look up, popping a mint and digging in her bag for lipstick. “What now?”

“Karina’s coming.”

She looks up. There’s a beat. Then she laughs—not shy, not sorry.

Delighted.

“Did you schedule us back-to-back, again?” she asks, sitting up, buttoning her blouse like it’s a suggestion and not an obligation. “Jesus, you’re bold.”

“I forgot,” you admit, which is true. Sort of.

You remembered the moment Hyeri finished singing the bridge. But when the Nation’s Little Sister is in your vocal booth moaning into the mic and flashing her tits, your list of priorities gets jumbled just a teensy bit.

She cackles, sliding off the bench and onto the floor like this is all the setup to a really good punchline. “Wow. Can’t wait for her to sing backup on the chorus while standing in a puddle of my cu—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Hyeri holds her hands up. “What? It’s a collab.”

Right. The collab. Two idols, one producer, and a track about heartbreak or temptation or something equally ironic. Not to toot your own horn or anything but the beat’s good. An obvious hit.

What makes no sense is the lineup.

Hyeri—basically retired idol turned variety darling turned actress. 90% charm. 100% chaos.

Karina—hot as all fuck, a pillar of fourth-gen K-pop, and somehow still the weirdest girl in the room. ‘A loser in a goddess’s body’ as the internet puts it.

There’s absolutely no correlation between the two other than industry and that they’re both drop-dead gorgeous. It’s like some wacky higherup wanted the most oddball idol pairings possible. And for some reason, you’re the glue holding it all together.

The calendar notification flashes up at you again, sending you hurtling into action. “Fuck, I really thought it was just you today,” you scramble, grabbing the tissue box and frantically wiping off the bench drenched in her sweat and fluids. “Are you gonna help?”

Hyeri just shrugs. “I had bridge duty,” she begins, ignoring your pleas entirely. “And Karina’s laying down the second verse, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, dejected and slightly annoyed. She’s not doing shit. “Just…” you begin, like this makes up for anything,”— don’t leave your bra again.”

She pauses, looking down at her chest like she only just remembered she owns one. “Shit—did I?”

You both spot it at the same time in the far corner of the room. Lace, red, costs three figures. Definitely hers. You snatch it like it’s a grenade and shove it into her tote without ceremony.

Hyeri simply grins. “Oops.”

“Can’t believe you left it in the booth last week,” you hiss. “Karina walked in and asked if you were doing your laundry in here.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you got hot.”

“That’s not even a good lie,” she replies, quite obviously amused by the whole fiasco. “You should’ve said I was doing vocals in lingerie—very French. Very sexy.”

“Very suspension-of-contract,” you mutter.

“Barely noticed it was gone, to be honest. Was it the black one?”

“...Yes.”

“Mm,” she nods. “Thought so. I’ve been wondering.”

“For a week?”

“I’m not particularly sentimental about bras,” she says, like it’s a flex.

You shake your head. “Do you want it back?”

“Nope. Keep it,” Hyeri zips her tote with a smile, “as a memento.”

You shrug. Can’t argue with that.

With one last wipe you finish scrubbing down the vocal booth like it’s a crime scene clean-up, which, given your contractual obligations such as: Don’t Fuck The Talent, might actually be.

Three sprays of some bergamot mist tries to mask the smell of sex, sweat, and the lastest in your long line of poor decisions. It doesn’t. At best, now it smells like bergamot and sex.

But it’ll have to do.

Hyeri simply watches from her place on the floor. She’s mostly dressed now—blouse crumpled but closed, lipstick redrawn, auburn hair finger-combed into something that says either sexually satisfied or hungover. Almost normal is how you’d describe her—the faint marks just visible above her collar put an emphasis on the almost.

With a couple more sprays of the citrus you and Hyeri are out of the booth, but you’re desk is a mess too: A tangle of wires, half drunk coffee and—

The recording light is still on.

The waveform’s still rolling.

The track: armed. The booth: live.

You lunge for the keyboard.

Stop recording.

Three peaks. Clear as day.

You don’t need audio engineering school to know what they are. You’re staring at the literal shape of her orgasms.

“Wow,” she says, squinting beside you. “It’s like… orgasmic morse code.”

You glance at her. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“Dunno,” she shrugs. “Sounded smarter in my head.”

You look back at the waveform, playing one of the peaks.

No vocals. No takes. Just moans. Whines. Wet, slick sounds. You. Her. You in her. And then:

“Oh my fucking Gggggggod,” she moans through the monitors.

Hyeri watches your face. Smiles.

“I should delete it,” you say looking back.

“But you won’t.”

“But I should.”

“But you won’t.”

She’s right. You won’t.

Instead:

Export > Documents > Private > ALT_Hyeri_Vocals.wav

“Ooooh,” she sings, nudging you with her shoulder, a little too pleased. “Wait, alt vocals? Not even a cute name? Not even ‘HyeriMOANS_FinalVII_REALFINAL_usethisone.wav’?”

“It’s for the back-up vocals,” you lie as naturally as you breathe.

“It’s for your spank bank,” she retorts.

You don’t answer. Partly because she’s right and mostly because you’re red from realizing how much you moaned, too. Not your finest hour, you’ll admit.

“Shouldn't you be going?” You finally ask her.

“Fine, fine.”

With one last devious smile, Hyeri pulls on her tote, checks her reflection in the black of the studio glass, and re-combs her hair. “Well,” she says, turning to leave, “have fun explaining our completely professional relationship to Karina.”

“What? Why would I ever—”

“Oh come on,” she cuts in, laughing. “These fourth-gen girls? You think they’ve never walked into a studio that smells like cum and perfume? Please. I’d seriously be surprised if she hasn’t picked up on it by now.”

“Hyeri.”

“I’m serious. She’d have to be Mother Teresa to not know what’s going on in here.”

You’re mortified. Full-body cringe—It’s delicious to her. “So, unless she’s got a cross under her clothes, you’re not fooling anyone.”

You go pale. She beams.

“You couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

She pretends to think for a second before landing on a simple:

“Nope.”

At the door, she turns, planting a kiss on your cheek—sweet, sinful, smug. “Good luck,” she sings. “See you next week.”

And just like that she's gone.

You’re completely frozen. Save for the moment you spray the bergamot again.

Five times this time.

Spoiler alert:

It doesn’t help.

Karina arrives at 12:16.

Which is a little late. But when your producer’s secretly been balls-deep in your sexy co-worker, and your body has curves that put cue balls to shame, a little late is just fine.

She pokes her head in, hair in a low ponytail, gray hoodie and sweatpants on, face bare save for chapstick and what you hope is not suspicions of contract violations.

“Hey,” she chirps, offering a small smile. One of those slow, polite things that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Traffic was a nightmare. Did I miss anything?”

Only a live porno starring your dick and Hyeri’s everything.

“Nope,” you lie, voice almost cracking. “Perfect timing.”

She steps inside like she owns the place, which is fair, considering her vocals are probably worth half your paycheck this quarter. Then, she gives you a quick once-over—nothing obvious, but her eyes pause on your sloppy collar, then your flushed ears. You sit up straighter. Try not to look like you’ve just been reverse-exorcised by a woman with zero gag reflex.

Then Karina sniffs.

“New room spray?” she asks, nose wrinkling.

“Uh, yeah. Some limited edition one, I think. Intern picked it up for shits and giggles.”

“Huh.”

You try to make yourself look busy, turning away and absentmindedly double-clicking shit on your desktop, minimising and maximising random windows just to make your screen flash. You wish you could minimize yourself while you’re at it.

“You, uh… just finished with Hyeri?” she asks, looking over.

There it is.

You nod. Neutral. Casual. “Yeah. She was recording the bridge.”

“Mm.”

Just a sound, not even a word. And yet you can practically hear the subtext screaming: Bridge, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?

You shouldn’t be scared of her. Of all people, Karina is the probably least intimidating idol you’ve ever worked with—soft-spoken, professionally polite and always just a little behind the tempo of group conversations.

So then why the fuck does she manage to hit the nail on the head with every word out of that gorgeous mouth?

“I could tell,” she shrugs. “Smells like her.”

You cough so hard you hit a new vocal register.

But Karina doesn’t say anything. Just makes her way to the booth.

You’re about to ask if she wants water—anything to offset the tension and your crippling anxiety—when she peels off her hoodie.

And fuck you.

It’s not even that it’s scandalous. It’s a black sports bra. Basic. Functional. Nothing that should bring a grown man to his metaphorical and literal knees. It’s gym attire. But it’s her gym attire, and that makes a world of difference.

The bra doesn’t so much as hide her tits but politely suggest they quiet the fuck down, doing a noble yet futile job of containing what you really wish wasn’t. Because God damn if her breasts aren’t full, shapely—obscene in their perfection, indecent in their splendour. And if that weren't enough for you, right below her stomach tapers in, all sharp lines and lean muscle, just begging for you to run your hands and tongue along.

Karina tosses her hoodie onto the vocal booth bench—the same one you railed Hyeri on half an hour ago. She stretches, arms up, spine arched, that long line of torso on blatant, mouth-watering display. You pretend you’re checking the input levels, but your gaze keeps slingshotting back to her like it’s tied on elastic.

She catches you.

Which, yeah, you’re about as subtle as a cymbal crash.

“It’s really…  stuffy in here,” she remarks as she meets your staring gaze, fanning her face with one hand. “Something must have happened in here.”

Well, if she didn’t know earlier, then she definitely knows now. And she’s fucking with you to boot.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Your throat works around a lie. Futile, probably. Any moment now she could report your horny ass to a higher-up and have you on the street within minutes. But she hasn’t. So either she’s getting off fucking with you, or she wants something in return for keeping hush. Either one isn’t particularly ideal.

“A‑ah, yeah,” you stammer. Smooth start. “HVAC’s acting up. I’ll put in a ticket.” You flick a random knob that does absolutely nothing, praying she’ll drop it. “Let’s get your tracking done before the air gets worse, yeah?”

Karina nods. Noncommittal. Disbelieving.

Man, you’re so fucked.

Karina nails the verse on the first pass—pitch perfect, emotion dialled, consonants crisp enough to slice butter. And for a little while, you forget about her standing in a room soaked in Hyeri’s cum.

Second pass? Even better. Third? Pure polish. By the time you hit stop for real, you're covered in goosebumps and it has nothing to do with the prospect of losing everything.

Karina’s simply that good.

You press the talk‑back. “That’s the one. Seriously, Karina—gold. Take five?”

She lifts one ear‑cup and flashes a grin. “Sure.”

You breathe a sigh of relief when the conversation ends there. Maybe… just maybe… you’ve dodged a bullet.

You lean back, arms stretching over your head, casual as you can fake it. The worst is over. You’re in the clear. She probably bought the ventilation excuse. Probably thinks nothing of the citrus-and-sex sauna she walked into.

Professional crisis: averted.

Thank fuck.

Perhaps Hyeri’s wrong. Perhaps Karina’s a little too sweet, a little too spaced-out, a little too fourth-gen golden girl to know what a post-sex room smells like.

Karina hums a little under her breath, fiddling with her phone. She looks harmless. Normal.

Just a girl in a sports bra and sweats, checking her messages, laughing at a reel.

But then you let your gaze skate over her bare stomach again. Then those magnificent tits.

And you wonder how that would be possible.

You shake your head. Refocus.

“Seriously, you crushed it,” you say, half to fill the air, half to genuinely compliment. “Some of your best work, period.”

Karina beams, cheeks flushing pink. And for another second, it’s easy to forget the whole ticking-time-bomb nature of this room. To forget Hyeri’s cum still somewhere deep in the booth fibers. To forget everything except how fucking pretty she looks smiling at you.

You even start mentally scheduling next week’s sessions—like you’re gonna get away clean.

You’re an idiot.

Because then she ruins your fucking life.

“So,” Karina starts, tilting her head just slightly, “how long have you been fucking Hyeri?”

You choke on absolutely nothing. Do a spit-take with no drink.

She says it like it’s a joke. Like she’s asking if you’re out of oat milk.

Except she’s not joking.

Not even a little.

“I—I—what?”

“I mean, I’m assuming it’s Hyeri,” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin. "She did look pretty worn when I passed her in the lobby.”

You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You wish you could eject yourself into the sun.

You wish she hadn’t said it with that much fucking glee.

“Don’t worry,” she says in a half-shrug. “I’m not gonna tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Thank fuck.

“There is just one thing though…”

Oh fuck.

"I don’t really like being left out."

What the fuck?

"I want in."

What the fuck.

You stand up, pace around the room. Try to gather your thoughts, try to process what exactly she’s proposing here.

Karina wants to fuck you.

You won’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. That you’re some righteous saint without the need for fantasy.

But this is Karina you’re talking about.

It’s one thing for you to be caught with Hyeri, but Karina? Pillar of a whole generation? If the two of you were caught it’d be—

“—A PR nightmare?” she supplies. “A scandal? Headline of the century?”

You nod so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

She just shrugs again, careless, reckless, hot as sin. "Don't care."

You open your mouth. Close it. Try again. "You—you have no idea what you're asking—"

"I do," she interrupts, stepping closer, breath frosting the booth window. Her voice is silk now. A trap you’re already caught in. "I know exactly what I’m asking."

She walks back to the bench, hands bracing behind her, legs spreading just enough to hint at what’s awaiting you.

“I want you like she has you.”

You’re not strong enough.

You’re not stupid enough to pretend you are.

But even if you managed to steel your resolve, Karina bites her bottom lip. Runs a hand along her crotch.

"I’ve wanted you since the demo."

And you’re moving before you even register it.

You’ve soaked in some legendary sights on the label’s dime.

Dawn over the Han River from sixty stories up, neon Tokyo streets glitter‑wet after midnight rain, front-row seats to an Eiffel Tower light show in a suite. Gorgeous, all of them. Low-end bucket‑list kinda stuff.

But this view might just take the cake.

Sweat slicks Karina’s collarbones, soaks the carelessly lifted sports bra, gathers at the dip between her breasts, slides down to where your hands own her hips. Every grind turns your spine to liquid. Every thrust drives you deeper. And every bounce sends those perfect tits—shape and size defying God and physics—swinging in hypnotic rhythm.

“You fill me so good,” she pants, words cutting the hush of the booth, dirty and devotional at once. “Knew you'd feel this good—just knew it." She braces one palm against the glass, the other yanking her own hair into a makeshift ponytail, dragging it off her glowing face. The move juts her chest higher—an unspoken invitation, one you answer with your mouth. You latch on to the reddened mark just above her nipple, tongue finding its way around the sensitive circumference.

She whines.

You suck harder.

She tightens.

And you’re gone.

You should be thinking your job, about morality, about the very real possibility that a lone intern could wander past and see silhouettes doing something distinctly un‑PG behind the frosted glass. Instead, you’re cataloguing micro‑details: the faint scent of her shampoo under the musk of sweat, the tremor in her thigh when she sinks too deep, the almost reverent way her eyes lock on-to you when you hit that spot.

“Been wanting this for so long,” she reiterates, rolling her hips in a tighter circle. “Wanted your cock buried so deep I can’t hit a high note without it in me.”

The image alone nearly finishes you. You grit your teeth, hold your release back with sheer will and bruising fingers at her waist.

“Fuck, Karina—”

Karina leans in, panting against your mouth, grinding harder and harder, chasing her high and yours without a single shred of shame.

“Wanted you so bad,” she whines, breath hot against your ear, “thought about this every time you said my name—every fucking time—”

Your head falls back against the booth wall with a thunk.

You’re losing it.

She feels it—smiles a broken, wicked smile. “Already that close? Poor producer.” She makes a teasing cluck of the tongue, a soft caress to your cheek, then she slams down hard enough to shatter the bench. “Then give it to me,” she growls. “ Give me everything.”

You can’t not obey.

Pressure builds and so does your pace. Driving into her with a fury you didn’t know you had in you. Karina’s moaning openly now, every last shred of composure thrown to the wind.

Pressure builds then detonates.

Heat floods every nerve.

You break.

She follows.

And it’s bliss.

Her cry is earth-shattering, torn from somewhere deep as she clamps down hard around you, milking you for everything you’ve got. Her thighs lock, her body seizes. She’s trembling, gasping, riding wave after wave like she doesn’t know how to stop.

Her nails rake your back, half for balance, half to brand you, and you let her. Let her take. Let her have you. Her breath stutters against your mouth as you kiss through the fallout—sloppy, greedy. A thank-you and a promise and a question all at once.

Aftershocks hit her in uneven jolts, and you revel in the way she twitches around you with each one. You’re still inside her. Still hard. Still pulsing. Still drowning in her.

KArina collapses forward, full-body flush against yours, forehead pressed to your collarbone. Her heartbeat drums against your ribs. You’re shaking. So is she.

For a long, breathless moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your combined panting, then, your lips colliding.

You’re engrossed. And so is she. So much so that you both miss the sound of the booth door opening.

“And here I thought I came too early,” a voice says from the doorway.

You don’t look right away. You don’t have the mental bandwidth for anything beyond Karina’s skin and the twitch in your cock.

And besides, you already know exactly what you’ll see.

Your head finally turns toward the door.

Hyeri’s grinning. “You two certainly wasted no time.”

“Hyeri,” you begin, less surprised, more irritated, “ what the fuck are you—”

“Save it,” she interrupts. “You’ll ruin the mood.”

“What fucking moo—”

In an instant Hyeri’s blouse is open again, revealing an absence of fabric over her tits.

You feel Karina tighten.

“Room for one more?” she asks with a sly grin.

You look at Karina.

Karina looks at you.

And Karina—God bless her, damn her, ruin you for life—grins.

"Yeah," she says, voice high and sweet and so very, very gone. "Okay."

"You good with it, Producer-nim?" she teases.

You are not good.

You are very, very bad.

But Karina’s hips are still pressed against you, and Hyeri’s smile is so knowing, and your cock—traitorous, eager—twitches inside the girl already dripping down your thighs.

You’re fucked.

Yet you nod.

Reluctantly. Helplessly.

(Gratefully.)

Hyeri claps, wickedly pleased. “God, I love consent.”

Then she drops to her knees.

You’ve soaked in some legendary sights on the label’s dime.

Dawn over the Han River from sixty stories up, neon Tokyo streets glitter‑wet after midnight rain, Karina, sweat-slick, tits swinging and your name on her breath as she rides you into the Earth’s core.

But this view might just take the cake.

Which is ironic, because there’s no view at all.

Because Karina’s sitting on your face.

Full weight, full warmth, full heaven and hell combined.

Her meaty thighs clamp around your head, her cunt pressed flush against your mouth, slick and perfect and utterly suffocating. Her ass—round, shameless and the urban dictionary definition of fuck you—is covering everything else.

You couldn’t open your eyes even if you wanted to.

And you don’t want to.

Because the raw sensation—the taste of her dripping down your tongue, the way she grinds against your mouth with broken little whimpers—is worth more than any skyline on Earth.

You’re drowning in her.

And if that wasn’t enough?

Hyeri’s riding you at the same time.

Usually, you’d feel her braced against your chest, feel the needy, desperate grip of her hands as she takes everything you have and begs for more with every bounce.

But you suspect her hands are elsewhere: fondling Karina’s bare tits, holding her throat as they duel with their tongues. Either or works.

Because God if that mental image isn’t Louvre material.

A lick to the clit softens Karina’s grip around your ears and you settle for sound instead.

Wet, filthy kisses sound somewhere above you. Giddy little gasps. The faint slap of a palm against skin. Karina moans into Hyeri’s mouth—or maybe it’s Hyeri moaning into hers—you can’t tell, you don’t care.

“Fuck, you’re cute,” Hyeri purrs against her, the smacking of lips resuming instantly.

You feel the words vibrate through Karina’s body, then feel her clench around your tongue.

“Sensitive too,” Hyeri adds. “You like it when I touch you here?” Karina gasps, the result of having her pussy licked and her tits caressed.

Karina tries to answer, but it comes out as a high-pitched whimper instead.

Hyeri laughs softly—not cruel, but giddy, drunk on the power she holds.

You hear the slick sound of their mouths meeting again. The sticky, obscene sound of a kiss that isn’t meant for cameras or fans or anything else where clean and polished is the expectation.

Just raw, messy and private.

Karina breaks away from it first, panting hard, lifting her hips just enough that a thin string of slick snaps between your mouth and her pussy.

You catch a glimpse of her when you blink up—face flushed, eyes glassy, lips and nipples swollen from Hyeri’s assault.

You’d worship her if you could breathe.

But Hyeri’s hand is curling into Karina’s hair, tugging her up—gentle but insistent—and she moans like she’s been waiting for it.

"On your hands and knees, baby," Hyeri coos through another kiss, brushing the hair out of Karina’s sweaty face. "Be a good girl for us."

Karina whimpers, flushed and dazed, but obeys without hesitation, scrambling off your mouth and onto the bench, ass high, head low, presenting herself so shamelessly it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

The second she’s steady, Hyeri slinks in front of her—legs spread, pussy slick and glistening, thighs trembling from earlier—and cups Karina’s flushed cheeks in her hands.

"You know what to do.”

Karina doesn’t hesitate.

She dives in, mouth open, tongue flat against Hyeri’s cunt, licking her like she’s starving for it. Like she needs it more than air.

Hyeri gasps, hips twitching, hand fisting tight in Karina’s hair. She catches your eye over Karina’s bowed back, grinning like a cat who got the cream.

“Well?” Hyeri says to you, mid-moan. “You just gonna sit there and look pretty?”

You don’t need more encouragement.

You’re behind Karina in an instant, hands gripping her hips—tight, possessive—and line yourself up.

One push. Slow? Yes. Deep? All the fucking way.

Karina cries out into Hyeri’s pussy, body arching towards the flat of the bench. Hyeri laughs, breathlessly. Her hand strokes Karina’s cheek almost tenderly, but her words are anything but.

“Fuck, you’re loud,” she teases. "Who knew you were such a slutty girl?"

You thrust into Karina again, harder this time, savoring the ripple of her ass you do, the obscene wet sounds filling the booth as she tries—and fails—to keep up with both of you.

"He was like this with me, too," Hyeri purrs, hips rolling against Karina’s mouth in lazy, devastating circles. "First time he fucked me? Thought I was gonna cum at the first thrust.”

You’re turned on by the memory, driving yourself intoKarina harder.

Karina whines around Hyeri’s clit, her thighs shaking, her slick dripping down your cock every time you bottom out inside her.

Hyeri threads her fingers tighter in Karina’s hair, guiding her movements now, rocking her face exactly where she wants it.

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Hyeri croons, locking eyes with you again. “Makes the prettiest fucking sounds.”

You can’t do anything but nod, the tightness and sight stealing your breath.

Karina's arms tremble where she braces against Hyeri’s thighs. Her moans are constant now—muffled against Hyeri’s.

And you’re so close you can taste it.

Hyeri gasps, grinding down against Karina’s mouth with reckless, frantic need.

"You close?" she teases, voice shaky but still smug. "Gonna fill her up while she makes me cum?"

“Fuck yeah,” you manage to get out.

Your hand finds its way to Karina’s clit: extra stimulation to make her tighten, to get her closer to her own release, to motivate her to suck Hyeri even harder.

Your strategy works like a charm, and you’re graced with the sight of Hyeri’s head’s rolling back, a sharp cry escaping her as she cums all over Karina’s face. “Fuuuuuuck me,” she exclaims, thighs clenching around Karina’s head, hands yanking her closer like she never wants her to stop.

Karina whimpers too, grinding her ass back against you in frantic, desperate little jerks, her own orgasm building with nowhere to go.

And then you snap.

You grab Karina’s hips, pull her flush against you, and empty yourself inside her with a strangled groan, spilling deep into her own trembling body.

Karina falls apart between you both—moaning and sobbing and soaking the bench with her release.

The three of you collapse together, sticky and shuddering and utterly spent.

And despite being suffocated and impaled at the same time, Karina perks up again. She’s still panting, still catching up on oxygen, but that doesn't stop her from asking:

“Now who’s ready for round two?”

The booth door swings open.

Hyeri’s hair is a disaster, Karina’s everything is either red, swollen, glistening or all three, and you’re pretty sure you’ve left fingerprints in places you’re contractually forbidden to even think about.

(And probably teeth marks, if Hyeri’s wincing is anything to go by.)

And yet, somehow, you’re all laughing.

Half-dressed, fully wrecked, riding the tail-end high of the worst—and best—decision you’ve made in years, but still: laughing.

Karina tugs the hem of her hoodie down like it might erase the obvious evidence of a threesome. Meanwhile, Hyeri buttons maybe one button of her blouse and calls it a day and you’re wiping sweat off your forehead with the sleeve of your shirt when you notice it.

The recording light is still on.

The waveform’s still rolling.

The track: armed. The booth: live.

You lunge for the keyboard.

Again.

Stop recording.

There are fourteen peaks this time.

You know exactly what they are before Karina even asks, hobbling over as she pulls her sports bra back over her tits.

“What are those?” she asks, peering at the screen with curious eyes.

Hyeri’s already smiling, smugness just emanating from her. “Our orgasms,” she says proudly, like they’re her children.

“Wait, it was recording? The whole time?”

“Courtesy of me,” Hyeri says, with an even bigger smile now. “Turned it on while you two were getting busy. “

“Surprised you’re smart enough to know how,” you tease. And she hits you right back, literally.

“Ow!”

“Gonna fap to this one too, are ya?” she cackles.

“He’s gonna what?” Karina squeaks, slightly turned on.

You barely make it three seconds into the collective laughter before Hyeri steamrolls right through it.

“That’s it!” she exclaims, snapping her fingers. “This could totally work!”

"Work?" you echo. "What do you—?"

“We use this,” she begins with manic glee, dragging the track into the main sequence, “in the final mix.”

Karina’s eyes light up. "Wait, that’s genius!”

You’re frozen. Horrified. Horny.

“We could layer it in,” Karina continues. “Just subtle. Like an Easter egg.”

“A very hot Easter egg,” Hyeri adds, giving you a wicked eyebrow waggle.

You can barely think up a response. Between the countless hours today you’ve spent having sex, agonising about losing your job, and simply dealing with the pair of women before you, the amount of fucks you can currently give is strewn remarkably thin.

Not thin enough, though.

“This,” you say, pointing to the screen,“is a horrible idea.”

It’s Hyeri’s turn for her eye’s to light up.

“Hear that Karina?” She steps closer to you, hand going to your exposed cock. “Sounds like he needs some convincing.”

“Mm,” Karina hums in agreement, fingers making their way up your chest. “Definitely does.”

You groan, running a hand down your face.

You’ve already lost.

“...We’ll put it in the song.”

“Yay!” they both squeal at once, pressing quick, sticky kisses to either side of your cheeks.

You sigh, sitting back at the console, exhaustion setting into your bones.

But you’re already thinking about it.

You’re thinking about how those breathy, desperate little sounds could melt into the track.

How no one would ever know except the three of you.

How every time the song plays, it’ll remind you of the heavenly feeling of Karina’s pussy on your tongue and Hyeri’s cunt on your cock.

You sigh.

You’re weak.

But with the two of them broaching yet another round, who could possibly blame you?

Your hand finds the mouse.

Export > Documents > Private > Vocals — The Final Mix.wav

What a fuckin’ Tuesday, huh?

#karina smut #karina x male reader #hyeri smut #hyeri x male reader #aespa smut #girls day smut #karina #aespa karina #lee hyeri #hyeri

861 notes · View notes

phantomrose96 · 1 year ago

Text

The conversation around AI is going to get away from us quickly because people lack the language to distinguish types of AI--and it's not their fault. Companies love to slap "AI" on anything they believe can pass for something "intelligent" a computer program is doing. And this muddies the waters when people want to talk about AI when the exact same word covers a wide umbrella and they themselves don't know how to qualify the distinctions within.

I'm a software engineer and not a data scientist, so I'm not exactly at the level of domain expert. But I work with data scientists, and I have at least rudimentary college-level knowledge of machine learning and linear algebra from my CS degree. So I want to give some quick guidance.

What is AI? And what is not AI?

So what's the difference between just a computer program, and an "AI" program? Computers can do a lot of smart things, and companies love the idea of calling anything that seems smart enough "AI", but industry-wise the question of "how smart" a program is has nothing to do with whether it is AI.

A regular, non-AI computer program is procedural, and rigidly defined. I could "program" traffic light behavior that essentially goes { if(light === green) { go(); } else { stop();} }. I've told it in simple and rigid terms what condition to check, and how to behave based on that check. (A better program would have a lot more to check for, like signs and road conditions and pedestrians in the street, and those things will still need to be spelled out.)

An AI traffic light behavior is generated by machine-learning, which simplistically is a huge cranking machine of linear algebra which you feed training data into and it "learns" from. By "learning" I mean it's developing a complex and opaque model of parameters to fit the training data (but not over-fit). In this case the training data probably includes thousands of videos of car behavior at traffic intersections. Through parameter tweaking and model adjustment, data scientists will turn this crank over and over adjusting it to create something which, in very opaque terms, has developed a model that will guess the right behavioral output for any future scenario.

A well-trained model would be fed a green light and know to go, and a red light and know to stop, and 'green but there's a kid in the road' and know to stop. A very very well-trained model can probably do this better than my program above, because it has the capacity to be more adaptive than my rigidly-defined thing if the rigidly-defined program is missing some considerations. But if the AI model makes a wrong choice, it is significantly harder to trace down why exactly it did that.

Because again, the reason it's making this decision may be very opaque. It's like engineering a very specific plinko machine which gets tweaked to be very good at taking a road input and giving the right output. But like if that plinko machine contained millions of pegs and none of them necessarily correlated to anything to do with the road. There's possibly no "if green, go, else stop" to look for. (Maybe there is, for traffic light specifically as that is intentionally very simplistic. But a model trained to recognize written numbers for example likely contains no parameters at all that you could map to ideas a human has like "look for a rigid line in the number". The parameters may be all, to humans, meaningless.)

So, that's basics. Here are some categories of things which get called AI:

"AI" which is just genuinely not AI

There's plenty of software that follows a normal, procedural program defined rigidly, with no linear algebra model training, that companies would love to brand as "AI" because it sounds cool.

Something like motion detection/tracking might be sold as artificially intelligent. But under the covers that can be done as simply as "if some range of pixels changes color by a certain amount, flag as motion"

2. AI which IS genuinely AI, but is not the kind of AI everyone is talking about right now

"AI", by which I mean machine learning using linear algebra, is very good at being fed a lot of training data, and then coming up with an ability to go and categorize real information.

The AI technology that looks at cells and determines whether they're cancer or not, that is using this technology. OCR (Optical Character Recognition) is the technology that can take an image of hand-written text and transcribe it. Again, it's using linear algebra, so yes it's AI.

Many other such examples exist, and have been around for quite a good number of years. They share the genre of technology, which is machine learning models, but these are not the Large Language Model Generative AI that is all over the media. Criticizing these would be like criticizing airplanes when you're actually mad at military drones. It's the same "makes fly in the air" technology but their impact is very different.

3. The AI we ARE talking about. "Chat-gpt" type of Generative AI which uses LLMs ("Large Language Models")

If there was one word I wish people would know in all this, it's LLM (Large Language Model). This describes the KIND of machine learning model that Chat-GPT/midjourney/stablediffusion are fueled by. They're so extremely powerfully trained on human language that they can take an input of conversational language and create a predictive output that is human coherent. (I am less certain what additional technology fuels art-creation, specifically, but considering the AI art generation has risen hand-in-hand with the advent of powerful LLM, I'm at least confident in saying it is still corely LLM).

This technology isn't exactly brand new (predictive text has been using it, but more like the mostly innocent and much less successful older sibling of some celebrity, who no one really thinks about.) But the scale and power of LLM-based AI technology is what is new with Chat-GPT.

This is the generative AI, and even better, the large language model generative AI.

(Data scientists, feel free to add on or correct anything.)

#chrissy speaks

3K notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

Your car spies on you and rats you out to insurance companies

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (Mar 13) in SAN FRANCISCO with ROBIN SLOAN, then Toronto, NYC, Anaheim, and more!

Another characteristically brilliant Kashmir Hill story for The New York Times reveals another characteristically terrible fact about modern life: your car secretly records fine-grained telemetry about your driving and sells it to data-brokers, who sell it to insurers, who use it as a pretext to gouge you on premiums:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/11/technology/carmakers-driver-tracking-insurance.html

Almost every car manufacturer does this: Hyundai, Nissan, Ford, Chrysler, etc etc:

https://www.repairerdrivennews.com/2020/09/09/ford-state-farm-ford-metromile-honda-verisk-among-insurer-oem-telematics-connections/

This is true whether you own or lease the car, and it's separate from the "black box" your insurer might have offered to you in exchange for a discount on your premiums. In other words, even if you say no to the insurer's carrot – a surveillance-based discount – they've got a stick in reserve: buying your nonconsensually harvested data on the open market.

I've always hated that saying, "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product," the reason being that it posits decent treatment as a customer reward program, like the little ramekin warm nuts first class passengers get before takeoff. Companies don't treat you well when you pay them. Companies treat you well when they fear the consequences of treating you badly.

Take Apple. The company offers Ios users a one-tap opt-out from commercial surveillance, and more than 96% of users opted out. Presumably, the other 4% were either confused or on Facebook's payroll. Apple – and its army of cultists – insist that this proves that our world's woes can be traced to cheapskate "consumers" who expected to get something for nothing by using advertising-supported products.

But here's the kicker: right after Apple blocked all its rivals from spying on its customers, it began secretly spying on those customers! Apple has a rival surveillance ad network, and even if you opt out of commercial surveillance on your Iphone, Apple still secretly spies on you and uses the data to target you for ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product – provided the company can get away with treating you as the product. Apple can absolutely get away with treating you as the product, because it lacks the historical constraints that prevented Apple – and other companies – from treating you as the product.

As I described in my McLuhan lecture on enshittification, tech firms can be constrained by four forces:

I. Competition

II. Regulation

III. Self-help

IV. Labor

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

When companies have real competitors – when a sector is composed of dozens or hundreds of roughly evenly matched firms – they have to worry that a maltreated customer might move to a rival. 40 years of antitrust neglect means that corporations were able to buy their way to dominance with predatory mergers and pricing, producing today's inbred, Habsburg capitalism. Apple and Google are a mobile duopoly, Google is a search monopoly, etc. It's not just tech! Every sector looks like this:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

Eliminating competition doesn't just deprive customers of alternatives, it also empowers corporations. Liberated from "wasteful competition," companies in concentrated industries can extract massive profits. Think of how both Apple and Google have "competitively" arrived at the same 30% app tax on app sales and transactions, a rate that's more than 1,000% higher than the transaction fees extracted by the (bloated, price-gouging) credit-card sector:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/07/curatorial-vig/#app-tax

But cartels' power goes beyond the size of their warchest. The real source of a cartel's power is the ease with which a small number of companies can arrive at – and stick to – a common lobbying position. That's where "regulatory capture" comes in: the mobile duopoly has an easier time of capturing its regulators because two companies have an easy time agreeing on how to spend their app-tax billions:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Apple – and Google, and Facebook, and your car company – can violate your privacy because they aren't constrained regulation, just as Uber can violate its drivers' labor rights and Amazon can violate your consumer rights. The tech cartels have captured their regulators and convinced them that the law doesn't apply if it's being broken via an app:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

In other words, Apple can spy on you because it's allowed to spy on you. America's last consumer privacy law was passed in 1988, and it bans video-store clerks from leaking your VHS rental history. Congress has taken no action on consumer privacy since the Reagan years:

https://www.eff.org/tags/video-privacy-protection-act

But tech has some special enshittification-resistant characteristics. The most important of these is interoperability: the fact that computers are universal digital machines that can run any program. HP can design a printer that rejects third-party ink and charge $10,000/gallon for its own colored water, but someone else can write a program that lets you jailbreak your printer so that it accepts any ink cartridge:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Tech companies that contemplated enshittifying their products always had to watch over their shoulders for a rival that might offer a disenshittification tool and use that as a wedge between the company and its customers. If you make your website's ads 20% more obnoxious in anticipation of a 2% increase in gross margins, you have to consider the possibility that 40% of your users will google "how do I block ads?" Because the revenue from a user who blocks ads doesn't stay at 100% of the current levels – it drops to zero, forever (no user ever googles "how do I stop blocking ads?").

The majority of web users are running an ad-blocker:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

Web operators made them an offer ("free website in exchange for unlimited surveillance and unfettered intrusions") and they made a counteroffer ("how about 'nah'?"):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

Here's the thing: reverse-engineering an app – or any other IP-encumbered technology – is a legal minefield. Just decompiling an app exposes you to felony prosecution: a five year sentence and a $500k fine for violating Section 1201 of the DMCA. But it's not just the DMCA – modern products are surrounded with high-tech tripwires that allow companies to invoke IP law to prevent competitors from augmenting, recongifuring or adapting their products. When a business says it has "IP," it means that it has arranged its legal affairs to allow it to invoke the power of the state to control its customers, critics and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

An "app" is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to add an ad-blocker to it. This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model" and it's everywhere. When companies don't have to worry about users deploying self-help measures to disenshittify their products, they are freed from the constraint that prevents them indulging the impulse to shift value from their customers to themselves.

Apple owes its existence to interoperability – its ability to clone Microsoft Office's file formats for Pages, Numbers and Keynote, which saved the company in the early 2000s – and ever since, it has devoted its existence to making sure no one ever does to Apple what Apple did to Microsoft:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

Regulatory capture cuts both ways: it's not just about powerful corporations being free to flout the law, it's also about their ability to enlist the law to punish competitors that might constrain their plans for exploiting their workers, customers, suppliers or other stakeholders.

The final historical constraint on tech companies was their own workers. Tech has very low union-density, but that's in part because individual tech workers enjoyed so much bargaining power due to their scarcity. This is why their bosses pampered them with whimsical campuses filled with gourmet cafeterias, fancy gyms and free massages: it allowed tech companies to convince tech workers to work like government mules by flattering them that they were partners on a mission to bring the world to its digital future:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

For tech bosses, this gambit worked well, but failed badly. On the one hand, they were able to get otherwise powerful workers to consent to being "extremely hardcore" by invoking Fobazi Ettarh's spirit of "vocational awe":

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

On the other hand, when you motivate your workers by appealing to their sense of mission, the downside is that they feel a sense of mission. That means that when you demand that a tech worker enshittifies something they missed their mother's funeral to deliver, they will experience a profound sense of moral injury and refuse, and that worker's bargaining power means that they can make it stick.

Or at least, it did. In this era of mass tech layoffs, when Google can fire 12,000 workers after a $80b stock buyback that would have paid their wages for the next 27 years, tech workers are learning that the answer to "I won't do this and you can't make me" is "don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out" (AKA "sharpen your blades boys"):

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

With competition, regulation, self-help and labor cleared away, tech firms – and firms that have wrapped their products around the pluripotently malleable core of digital tech, including automotive makers – are no longer constrained from enshittifying their products.

And that's why your car manufacturer has chosen to spy on you and sell your private information to data-brokers and anyone else who wants it. Not because you didn't pay for the product, so you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.

Cars are enshittified. The dozens of chips that auto makers have shoveled into their car design are only incidentally related to delivering a better product. The primary use for those chips is autoenshittification – access to legal strictures ("IP") that allows them to block modifications and repairs that would interfere with the unfettered abuse of their own customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

The fact that it's a felony to reverse-engineer and modify a car's software opens the floodgates to all kinds of shitty scams. Remember when Bay Staters were voting on a ballot measure to impose right-to-repair obligations on automakers in Massachusetts? The only reason they needed to have the law intervene to make right-to-repair viable is that Big Car has figured out that if it encrypts its diagnostic messages, it can felonize third-party diagnosis of a car, because decrypting the messages violates the DMCA:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2013/11/drm-cars-will-drive-consumers-crazy

Big Car figured out that VIN locking – DRM for engine components and subassemblies – can felonize the production and the installation of third-party spare parts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

The fact that you can't legally modify your car means that automakers can go back to their pre-2008 ways, when they transformed themselves into unregulated banks that incidentally manufactured the cars they sold subprime loans for. Subprime auto loans – over $1t worth! – absolutely relies on the fact that borrowers' cars can be remotely controlled by lenders. Miss a payment and your car's stereo turns itself on and blares threatening messages at top volume, which you can't turn off. Break the lease agreement that says you won't drive your car over the county line and it will immobilize itself. Try to change any of this software and you'll commit a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Tesla, naturally, has the most advanced anti-features. Long before BMW tried to rent you your seat-heater and Mercedes tried to sell you a monthly subscription to your accelerator pedal, Teslas were demon-haunted nightmare cars. Miss a Tesla payment and the car will immobilize itself and lock you out until the repo man arrives, then it will blare its horn and back itself out of its parking spot. If you "buy" the right to fully charge your car's battery or use the features it came with, you don't own them – they're repossessed when your car changes hands, meaning you get less money on the used market because your car's next owner has to buy these features all over again:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

And all this DRM allows your car maker to install spyware that you're not allowed to remove. They really tipped their hand on this when the R2R ballot measure was steaming towards an 80% victory, with wall-to-wall scare ads that revealed that your car collects so much information about you that allowing third parties to access it could lead to your murder (no, really!):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

That's why your car spies on you. Because it can. Because the company that made it lacks constraint, be it market-based, legal, technological or its own workforce's ethics.

One common critique of my enshittification hypothesis is that this is "kind of sensible and normal" because "there’s something off in the consumer mindset that we’ve come to believe that the internet should provide us with amazing products, which bring us joy and happiness and we spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return":

https://freakonomics.com/podcast/how-to-have-great-conversations/

What this criticism misses is that this isn't the companies bargaining to shift some value from us to them. Enshittification happens when a company can seize all that value, without having to bargain, exploiting law and technology and market power over buyers and sellers to unilaterally alter the way the products and services we rely on work.

A company that doesn't have to fear competitors, regulators, jailbreaking or workers' refusal to enshittify its products doesn't have to bargain, it can take. It's the first lesson they teach you in the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

Your car spying on you isn't down to your belief that your carmaker "should provide you with amazing products, which brings your joy and happiness you spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return." It's not because you didn't pay for the product, so now you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.

The consequences of this spying go much further than mere insurance premium hikes, too. Car telemetry sits at the top of the funnel that the unbelievably sleazy data broker industry uses to collect and sell our data. These are the same companies that sell the fact that you visited an abortion clinic to marketers, bounty hunters, advertisers, or vengeful family members pretending to be one of those:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/07/safegraph-spies-and-lies/#theres-no-i-in-uterus

Decades of pro-monopoly policy led to widespread regulatory capture. Corporate cartels use the monopoly profits they extract from us to pay for regulatory inaction, allowing them to extract more profits.

But when it comes to privacy, that period of unchecked corporate power might be coming to an end. The lack of privacy regulation is at the root of so many problems that a pro-privacy movement has an unstoppable constituency working in its favor.

At EFF, we call this "privacy first." Whether you're worried about grifters targeting vulnerable people with conspiracy theories, or teens being targeted with media that harms their mental health, or Americans being spied on by foreign governments, or cops using commercial surveillance data to round up protesters, or your car selling your data to insurance companies, passing that long-overdue privacy legislation would turn off the taps for the data powering all these harms:

https://www.eff.org/wp/privacy-first-better-way-address-online-harms

Traditional economics fails because it thinks about markets without thinking about power. Monopolies lead to more than market power: they produce regulatory capture, power over workers, and state capture, which felonizes competition through IP law. The story that our problems stem from the fact that we just don't spend enough money, or buy the wrong products, only makes sense if you willfully ignore the power that corporations exert over our lives. It's nice to think that you can shop your way out of a monopoly, because that's a lot easier than voting your way out of a monopoly, but no matter how many times you vote with your wallet, the cartels that control the market will always win:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/12/market-failure/#car-wars

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

2K notes · View notes

writeriguess · 2 months ago

Note

this is like really specific but can you do eijiro from mha x fem reader and theyre bsfs but theyre like rly tight and everyone ships them and one night theyre in the common room and r super tired and end up deciding to stay there and cuddle tg (or something. idrk how it would work but i wanna cuddle w eiji..) and then like maybe they get caught at the end? idk writers freedom. thank you!!

Warmth in the Common Room

The common room was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional crackle from the fireplace. It was late—way too late—but you and Eijiro had lost track of time, as you always did when it was just the two of you.

"Alright, alright," you mumbled through a yawn, stretching your arms over your head before flopping dramatically onto the couch. "I'm calling it. I’m officially dead."

Eijiro laughed, his voice warm and rich. "Nah, c'mon, you got more in you than that," he teased, nudging your leg with his foot as he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of you. His red hair was a little messy, and his usual energy had dimmed into something softer, sleepier.

You groaned. "Nope. Gone. Brain melted. I am but a shell of a person."

He grinned, resting his arms on the coffee table. "That’s tragic. Guess I'll have to carry you to bed."

You cracked an eye open. "You would do that."

"Duh," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're my best friend. Plus, you're tiny. Barely even a workout."

You gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me! I am a perfectly average height."

"Yeah, if average means short."

You flicked a pillow at him, which he caught with ease, laughing. But the movement drained what little energy you had left, and with another sigh, you curled onto your side, pressing your cheek against the couch cushion.

It was peaceful like this. The kind of quiet that only existed when it was just the two of you. It wasn't the first time you'd stayed up talking about everything and nothing, but tonight, exhaustion was settling deep in your bones, and you didn’t have it in you to move.

Eijiro let out a long sigh, tilting his head back against the couch. "Man, I'm beat."

"Then sit down," you mumbled, patting the empty space next to you.

He hesitated for a second before shifting up onto the couch, sitting beside you. His warmth radiated through the fabric of his sweatpants, and something about it made you want to burrow closer.

Your eyes fluttered shut. "Mm. You're comfy."

Eijiro chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re just saying that ‘cause you're half asleep."

"Am not," you grumbled. "You're all warm and solid and—" A yawn cut off your words, and you tucked your arms closer to yourself.

A beat of silence passed before he murmured, "You wanna, uh, I dunno… just stay here?"

Your brain was too sluggish to process what he was actually asking. "Here?"

"Yeah. Just for a bit. I mean, if you wanna crash, I could stay, too. Keep you company."

Your lips curved in a lazy smile. "That’s cute, Eiji."

He groaned, face turning pink. "Forget it. I'm gonna—"

You grabbed his wrist before he could move. "No, no, I wanna. Stay." You blinked up at him, your fingers wrapped loosely around his. "Stay?"

His eyes softened, the hesitance melting away. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Okay."

You scooted over, making space for him to lay down next to you. There wasn’t much room, so you ended up pressed close, his arm tucked beneath your head like a pillow. The heat of his body seeped into yours, his slow, steady breaths lulling you into something close to sleep.

His voice was barely a whisper. "You good?"

You hummed in response, shifting just enough to rest your forehead against his collarbone. His heart thumped steadily beneath your cheek.

Eijiro let out a slow exhale. "Everyone's gonna lose their minds if they see us like this."

You grinned sleepily. "Let 'em."

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just existed, wrapped up in warmth and exhaustion, his fingertips tracing absentminded circles against your back. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe it was just him, but you felt safer like this than you had in a long time.

You were half-asleep when you heard it.

A stifled gasp.

Then a whisper—loud enough to break through the quiet:

"I knew it!"

Your eyes snapped open. Standing in the doorway, eyes wide and victorious, was Mina.

Behind her, Kaminari had his hands clapped over his mouth to contain his laughter, and Sero was nudging Bakugo—who looked so unbelievably done with all of this—like he'd just witnessed the biggest scandal of the year.

Eijiro groaned, burying his face against your hair. "Oh, come on."

Mina grinned like she’d just won the lottery. "This is the best day of my life."

You sighed, resigning yourself to your fate. You knew this would happen eventually.

And honestly?

It was worth it.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima

186 notes · View notes

viasdiary · 5 months ago

Note

actual freaky req😓 i cant stop thinking ab luigi being a camp counselor. i was wondering if u can make a smutty long fic ab u being a counselor too or smn on the camp wtv and having a crush on him and he has to like walk u to ur cabin one night and it gets freaky and u guys like gotta be quiet.?!? idk i feel like i need it #ovulation😭

i lowkey freestyled so this is hardly porn with plot, it's just like pure smut 😭 this request was great though i loved writing it

☆ worth the wait (luigi mangione x reader)

☆ warnings: rough sex, overstim, teasing

☆ word count: 2.9k

you weren’t sure when it had started. maybe it was when he first smiled at you during the camp orientation, that wide grin that somehow made you feel like the only person in the room. or maybe it was the way his eyes would occasionally flicker toward you, like he couldn’t quite help himself. his attention always seemed just a little more intense, a little more personal than what you had grown used to.

he was beautiful. you’d felt that way since the first time you’d laid eyes on him. his soft dark curls, the two freckles delicately placed on each side of his perfect smile, his strong nose bridge, his sharp jawline - you’d been studying every single detail about him this past summer, and sometimes if you looked close enough, you’d see him studying you too.

he wasn’t overt about it — luigi wasn’t the type to make his interest obvious. but you saw right through him. you felt the way his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary when your paths crossed. little things, like the way his eyes moved slowly over your face before dropping lower, tracking the way your shirt clung to your body, damp from the heat.

it was torturous, seeing him, being near him, but never having him. you’d stare at his strong arms, his broad shoulders, wondering what holding him would feel like. your attraction bordered obsession, and as the camp came to an end, you wondered if you’d ever have him — or even be able to tell him how you felt.

you glance over at him, standing near the door of the main cabin, hands in his pockets, chatting with a couple of other campers. he has that same relaxed look on his face.

"hey, lu" you say when you reach him, barely loud enough to be heard over the clatter of voices in the background.

he turns, that easy smile spreading across his face.

"hey," he replies, voice low. "what’s up?"

you shrug, trying to stop the smile that’s tugging at the corners of your lips.

"nothing. just thought i should let you know i’m about to turn in for the night."

his brow furrows for a moment, like he’s weighing your words. his eyes flicker over your face, then back to the group of campers, but he doesn’t look away. something shifts between you, a quiet understanding. he pushes off from the doorframe, moving closer.

"it’s kinda early," he says, his voice dropping lower. "you sure?" he asks.

you meet his eyes, the tension hanging heavy between you.

"yeah, but i… i could use a little company before i do." you hint, a slight chuckle escaping your mouth.

his smile widens just a little, eyes darkening as he looks you over.

"company, huh?" his gaze flickers briefly down to the ground and then back up to meet your eyes. "and what kind of company do you have in mind?"

you can’t help the small shiver that runs down your spine. you give him another look—a silent invitation. you take a slow step toward him, until you’re standing just a little too close, so close you can feel the heat of his body, smell the faint trace of his cologne. your heart beats faster, and when you glance up at him, you can see the way his breath catches. he doesn’t move away.

“i think you know,” you say softly. "just... come with me." the words come out quieter this time. you can feel your pulse racing, but you don’t back down. not now.

he’s quiet for a moment, studying your face like he’s trying to make sure this isn’t just some game. he’s so close now, the tension between you both so thick you can barely breathe. then, finally, he nods, his lips curving into something far more knowing.

"well, alright," he says grinning. "lead the way."

you don’t waste another second. you turn, walking quickly toward the small cabin where you’ve been staying, his footsteps following closely behind you.

when you reach the door, you pause, hand on the knob. you push the door open, stepping over the threshold, and taking a seat on the bed. luigi trails behind you, closing the door and taking a seat next to you. you turn to face him, your chest tight with anticipation. his brown eyes are locked on yours, following every movement you make, and for a moment, neither of you says a word.

"so," you start, your voice trembling a little as you try to make yourself steady. "i’ve been thinking about this for a while."

he seems so amused at how flustered you are. he moves a bit closer, his hand reaching for your arm.

"yeah?" his lips brush lightly against your ear as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine. "and what exactly have you been thinkin’ about?"

you can’t hold it in anymore. you need him—need the weight of his body, the feel of him close to you. you lean forward into his space, your body practically magnetized to his. his chest is warm under your palm, his body so solid, so real. your breath catches in your throat as you look at him.

“i’ve wanted this… you… for so long.” you whisper the words, and they hang in the air as you look at him.

A slight grin spreads across luigi’s face, his gaze softening as he leans in closer.

"should've told me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "i've been wanting you too. been thinking about it every single day."

"show me," you breathe, barely audible.

that's all it takes. luigi closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. you respond eagerly, your fingers tangling in his soft curls, your body pressing against his.

the kiss is everything you've imagined and more - passionate, desperate, filled with months of pent-up longing.

Luigi's hands roam your body. he breaks the kiss, his lips moving to your neck as he gently pushes you back onto the bed. you gasp as he finds a sensitive spot, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"god, you're so cute," he murmurs against your skin, his voice husky with desire. "i've wanted to do this for so long."

you pull him back up for another searing kiss, reveling in the weight of his body on top of yours. your hands slip under his shirt, exploring the taut muscles of his back. luigi groans into your mouth, grinding his hips against yours.

“fuck, we could’ve been doing this all summer.” he says, breaking the kiss.

you can't help but smile against his lips at that thought. "well," you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, "we'll just have to make up for lost time."

he chuckles softly as he captures your lips once more. his hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. you gasp at the contact, feeling him pressing against you.

"this okay?" he murmurs, his lips trailing along your jawline.

"more than okay," you breathe , arching into his touch. "please, luigi. i need you."

he doesn't need to be told twice. with deft fingers, he begins unbuttoning your shirt, his lips following the path of newly exposed skin. you shiver under his ministrations, your own hands fumbling with the hem of his, lifting it and running your hands across his body, feeling his abs and the broad expanse of his chest.

“like what you see?” he asks, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“shut up,” you say, giggling.

you can't stop the quiet moan that escapes your lips as his bare skin presses against yours. he kisses you again, his hands making quick work of your jeans. your hands slide down his chest, pausing briefly at the waistband of his shorts, before slipping them down and taking his thick cock in your hand. he groans as you stroke him, his hips rocking into your hand.

"you're driving me fuckin’ crazy," he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip.

"that's the point," you reply, a breathless laugh escaping you.

“you’re so good at this,”

“just for you, lu” you say, chuckling softly

"you look so fuckin' beautiful right now" he says, his voice low and husky.

he helps you out of your pants, his hands tracing the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts. your body melts under his touch, heat pooling between your thighs. you've never wanted anyone more than this.

he presses his fingers into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, spreading them apart as his lips move down to your collarbone.

your breath catches as his fingers tease the edge of your panties, slipping underneath and brushing against your clit. he chuckles against your skin as he feels how wet you are.

"mmm, someone's eager," he says, his voice laced with amusement.

you bite back a whimper as he rubs slow circles against your clit his other hand cups your breast, his thumb teasing the peak of your nipple. you arch into his touch, desperate for more.

“looks like you’re just as worked up as i am,” you reply, grinning.

“you’re so tight around my fingers,” he says softly

"luigi, please," you moan, your hands gripping his shoulders. "i need you."

"patience, sweetheart." he says, moving down your body and placing his face between your thighs.

you can't help but groan in anticipation. he's so close, his breath hot against your skin. you can't wait any longer. you wrap your legs around his head, pulling him closer.

he doesn't hesitate. his tongue traces the length of your slit, circling your clit before plunging into you. you gasp as he licks and sucks at you, pleasure washing over your body. you writhe under his touch, his fingers moving just right as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"how's that feel?" he asks, pulling away slightly to look up at you.

"so fuckin' good," you groan, your fingers threading through his hair. "don't stop."

he continues, his tongue moving faster and harder, bringing you closer and closer to release. your thighs clench around his head, your hands grasping at his shoulders as the pressure builds. you can't hold on any longer. you come undone, your body shuddering with pleasure.

he holds you close, murmuring praise and reassurance as you come down from your high.

"you did so good for me," he says, kissing his way back up your body.

you lean in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. you reach for his cock again, stroking him slowly. he groans into your mouth, his hips rocking against your hand.

"fuck, sweetheart," he mutters, his hands gripping your waist.

"let me return the favor," you whisper, rolling him onto his back.

you run your hands along his bare thighs before taking him in your mouth, licking and sucking his length. he groans, his hands fisting in the sheets. you can't get enough of him, his taste, the way he feels against your tongue. you want to give him everything he's given you, bring him the same pleasure he's brought you.

"pretty girl," he murmurs, his eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

you continue working his length, taking him deeper, until he hits the back of your throat. he moans, his hands moving to your hair.

"jesus, you're amazing," he groans, his hips bucking slightly. "just like that."

you move faster, feeling his control start to slip. his grip tightens on your hair, his hips thrusting harder. you can tell he's close, and you double down, working him with your mouth and hand until he's shuddering, spilling into your mouth.

you swallow, looking up at him through your lashes. he's panting, his eyes dark as he gazes down at you.

"y'know how many times i've thought about you goin' down on me like that?” he asks, breathlessly chuckling.

you smile, licking your lips. "as many times as i've thought about it, probably."

he pulls you back up to his mouth, kissing you deeply. you lose yourself in the feeling of his lips, his tongue, the way his hands roam your body. he rolls you over, his weight pressing you into the mattress. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

his cock hardens against you, pressing against your inner thigh. you gasp, breaking the kiss

"you have no idea how much i've fuckin' wanted this" you say softly.

he kisses down your neck, his lips trailing across your collarbone. his hand slides between your legs, his fingers brushing against your dripping entrance.

“oh, i think i’ve got a pretty good idea,” he teases, his eyes fixed on the mess you’re making on his fingers.

"you’re so wet for me," he whispers, pushing a finger into you.

"i've been thinking about this since the moment i met you," you moan, arching against him.

"tell me how much you've wanted me," he says, adding another finger.

"so much, luigi," you gasp, his fingers moving faster.

"you've got me now." he says, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your clit.

the pleasure builds quickly, the sensation of his fingers inside you coupled with the friction of his thumb is enough to send you over the edge. you finish with a soft moan, your body trembling as he works you through it.

he's relentless, his fingers continuing their ministrations even as you come down from your orgasm. he presses his lips to yours, his tongue parting your lips, his breath hot on your skin.

"i wanna feel you," you moan, desperate for more.

"tell me how bad."

"bad," you pant, gripping his arm.

"hm? how bad, sweetheart?" he teases, a grin spreading across his face.

"so fucking bad," you groan, feeling him push into you.

he fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way. you cry out, the feeling almost too much to bear. he starts to move, slowly at first, then faster, his hips snapping against yours. you match his pace, your nails digging into his skin as he fucks you hard.

"that's it, baby, just like that," he groans, his hands gripping your hips.

your thighs shake as he pounds into you, pleasure building with every thrust. you cling to him, your fingers tangling in his curls, holding him close. he buries his face in your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

“you’re being so rough,” you whine.

“i know, sweetheart, i know” he coos

“you fuckin’ wanted this though, you gotta take it,” he says, smiling against your skin

“it’s too much,” you gasp.

“i’m trying my best to be gentle, baby,” he says, chuckling softly.

his pace is relentless as his hips slam against yours, your grip on his shoulders driving him insane as he fucks deep into you.

“i can’t take it, lu” you cry.

“you asked for this. shut the fuck up and take it,” he grunts. clearly he’s abandoned any intentions of being gentle with you.

"you're so fuckin’ tight around me, sweetheart" he whispers softly, grabbing your hand to hold it, interlocking his fingers with yours.

"you feel even better than i'd imagined" he says, his voice rough and low. you moan in response, unable to form words as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

"that's it," he groans, his hips bucking into yours. "cum for me."

you don't last long after that. you cry out, the sound muffled by his shoulder as you shudder, your orgasm hitting hard and fast. luigi's not far behind, his thrusts becoming erratic before he collapses on top of you.

he presses his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

you smile, tracing patterns on his back as he catches his breath. he looks down at you, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"was that worth the wait?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

you laugh, leaning up for a kiss.

"we've still got all night, sweetheart," he murmurs, kissing you deeply.

#luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione fanfic #real person fiction #free luigi

302 notes · View notes

thealtoduck · 1 year ago

Text

Secret Saviour

Damian Wayne x Male Reader

Warnings: None…

Part 1: Being the son of Roulette and meeting Damian Wayne…

Summary: When Bruce goes missing Damian finds an unexpected help in Y/n Sinclair…

(A/n: I changed the title from the poll)

——

Ever since the two of you studied together you and Damian had grown fond of each others company. Despite that Damian would never admit this fact, he insisted to his family that he was simply investigating you to see if you were somehow involved with your mother’s criminal activities.

He hadn’t actually found anything suspicious connecting you to Roulette yet which pleased him. Because according to him it means ”he dosen’t have to contact the GCPD… yet”. But Damian would have to put his ”investigation” on halt for a bit.

One dark night during patrol Bruce had suddenly disappeared without a trace, no comms could reach him and they had no way to track him except for the Batmobile’s last location, which hadn’t revealed the slightest hint. His allies looked for him for days trying to find even the smallest clue that would at least let them know he was alive but nothing.

Just when they felt like there was no where else to look they got a call from the watchtower. They answered and Martian Manhunter appeared on the screen of the Batcomputer.

”Hey J’onn, good news I hope” Dick greeted. ”The watchtower recieved an urgent message about Batman’s current whereabouts from an unknown source” J’onn said and another voice started playing from the speakers, one which Damian recognized…

”Is this the watchtower?” A voice came over a weak signal making the sound crackle lightly. Despite the bad audio quality Damian knew that voice immediately it was Y/n’s voice. ”I know Batman has disappeared and I think I know where he is, have someone meet me on the 4th floor of parking garage next to the Royal Hotel, on Wednesday at midnight and I’ll tell you what i know”.

The message then ended and J’onn said ”I’ll let you decide how to deal with the informant, make sure to be careful, contact the League if you need any further help, good luck”. Then he hung up and disappeared from the main screen.

”Do we go meet the informant? It could be a trap to get us too” Duke questioned. ”We don’t have anything else to go off, this could be our only lead, we have to go” Tim stated. ”How about two of us go meet the informant, while the others keep watch in the surrounding area and Oracle monitors, incase it’s a trap” Dick said drawing up a plan.

The others muttered and nodded in agreement of the plan. ”I wanna meet the informant” Damian then voulenteered on impulse making the others turn to him suprised by his eagerness. But Damian needed to make sure it was you, even if you might be luring him in to a trap.

”Alright” Dick said and walked them through the plan ”Me and Damian meet the informant on the 4th floor. Jason, you keep an eye from above the top of the Royal Hotel. Cass and Steph, i want one of you on the 5th floor and one on the 3rd floor, incase we need back up. Duke and Tim, you’ll watch from the building across the street, everyone clear?”.

The each member of the team uttered a quick ”Yes” in understanding. As Damian went to bed he knew needed to keep an eye on you tommorow.

——

The next day when Damian attended school he was on the watch for you. Once he found you, you greeted Damian as you usually did but as you got to class he noticed you seemed off. You were usually the more talkative out of the two of you but today you seemed distracted, almost nervous today.

When you got to lunch time and you and Damian sat down together he questioned ”Are you okay? You’re being quiet”. ”Oh… no I’m fine I just got a lot to do, so just a bit stressed you know” you answered vaguely.

The fact that Damian had pointed it out, made you seem more focused and yourself, he assumed it was to not seem suspicious and make him ask more questions. Once the school day ended you were quick in saying goodbye to him before you got in to a car as your chauffeur took you home.

——

Later that night Nightwing and Robin grappled to the 4th floor of parking garage and started looking around. There were some cars parked there that they kept a watchful eye on in case any goons were hiding inside. Soon the two spotted a figure dressed in all black.

The figure was looking down to the streets below the garage. The two approached slowly ready to grab their weapons in case of an ambush. As they stopped behing the stranger he turned around.

Damian had been right there you were hidden in a black hoodie. Not something you’d usually wear but Damian understood it was for stealth purposes. And even then he thought black suited you well.

Dick however was caught slightly off guard a kid was the one who had made an emergency call to the Watchtower…

”Thanks for meeting me” you said, your voice cautious as you looked around to see no one would hear you. ”So, what do you know?” Nightwing asked.

”I think that Batman was taken by the criminal, Roulette, ever heard of her?” you started. ”Yeah, she’s the one who runs those illegal cansinos, what makes you think she’s behind this?” Dick asked.

”I… have sources who work closely with her” you said Robin and Nightwing noticing the slight hesitation in your voice. ”They say she’s advertising a special event with her superhero cage fights that started around the same time Batman went missing” you explained.

”Any idea where she might have taken him?” Robin spoke up, his voice throwing you off for a moment, Robin sounded kinda like Damian. You got back on track and answered ”My guess would be her casino in Las Vegas, it’s her biggest one, she holds all her major events there and I think she’d make having captured Batman, a big event”.

You held out a flash drive in your hand and said ”This contains the layout of the Vegas casino”. Nightwing picked it up and said ”Thank you, you’ve been very helpful to us”.

”It’s the least I could do after all you’ve all done for the city” you told him with a small smile. ”I have to leave now” you told them. ”Good luck” you said walking off, you felt someone grab your shoulder.

Making you turn around being met with Robin. ”You shouldn’t walk home alone, It’s dangerous this late at night, someone should escort you” he stated. You smiled at him. ”Don’t worry I’m a tough boy, who can take care of himself, thanks for the offer though” you stated, a teasing tone to your voice and you once more turned around and strolled off.

——

Dick and Damian then started their drive home in the Batmobile. ”I wonder what sources he had, hope he’s not mixed up in that crowd, he seemed pretty young” Dick said with a worried tone.

”That was Y/n Sinclair, he probably got the info straight from Roulette herself” Damian revealed. ”Oh! That was your boyfriend? The one you’re ”investigating”? He seemed nice, I like him, Good pick” Dick stated.

”He’s NOT my boyfriend!” Damian said annoyed.

”You just offered to walk him home” Dick accused. Damian glared at his brother and said ”Just to make sure he stays out of trouble”.

”…Right” Dick said not believing a single word Damian said.

#damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x male!reader #robin x male reader #robin x male!reader #batfam x male reader #batfamily x male reader #batboys x male reader #dc x male reader #dc comics x male reader #justice league x male reader #batfam x male!reader #batfamily x male!reader #x male reader

572 notes · View notes

cl0udy3 · 3 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

ellie williams x f1 obsessed!reader fluff ; bonus smut at the end wc: 5206 a/n: yall already know i needed to write for new favorite wife i love her

When you were younger, before you were trusted to carry a gun on patrol, Tommy would let you tag along with him. It was mostly for fun—an excuse to get you out of Jackson for a while, to stretch your legs, to let you see a little more of the world without throwing you straight into danger.

He never really expected you to be much help. You were too small to fight off and expected, too inexperienced to make real calls. So, instead of treating it like work, Tommy let you wander.

“Go on,” he’d say with a lazy wave of his hand whenever you entered an abandoned town. “Ain’t nothin’ much for you to do ‘sides keeping me company.”

That’s how it all started.

You weren’t looking for anything in particular that day- just nosing around an old strip mall, poking at whatever had been left behind. The storefronts were mostly empty, their shelves looted long ago, but one tiny shop had remained surprisingly untouched. A bookstore.

You stepped inside, the scent of old paper and dust thick in the air. Most of the good stuff had probably been taken already, but as you traced your fingers along the forgotten spines, something caught your eye.

A magazine.

At first, it didn’t seem all that special. Just a glossy cover with a bright red car on the front, sleek and low to the ground. The only thing you really noticed was the emblem—a small black horse rearing up on its hind legs against a yellow shield.

Scuderia Ferrari: F1 2013

You hadn’t cared much about cars back then. Hell, you had barely even thought about them. They were just hunks of metal rotting on the side of the road, things people used to drive before the world went to shit. But there was something about this magazine that made you pause.

Maybe it was the color. That striking, unmistakable Ferrari red.

Or maybe it was just curiosity.

Either way, you slipped it into your backpack, figuring it’d give you something to read when you got bored.

That night, back in Jackson, you finally cracked open the magazine.

It started off simple. You skimmed through the pages, mostly looking at the pictures. The cars were gorgeous—not like the rusted-out trucks you were used to seeing on patrol, but smooth, refined machines built for speed. They look fast. Even standing still, they had an energy to them, like they were barely contained, ready to burst forward at any second.

And then, somewhere along the way, the words started to hook you.

You read about aerodynamics, about how every inch of the car was designed to cut through the air like a knife. About the front and rear wings, how they created downforce to keep the car pinned to the track at ridiculous speeds. About the tires—soft, medium, hard compounds—how they degraded over time, forcing teams to make strategic pit stops.

You learned about the drivers—Fernando Alonso and Felipe Massa, the two men piloting the Ferrari that season. About how Alonso was a two-time world champion, a relentless competitor always looking for an edge. About Massa, the loyal number two, still carrying scars of his 209 crash in Hungary.

You learned about the rivalries—Ferrari versus Red Bull, Alonso versus Vettel. You read about the DRS zones, the ERS systems, the KERS boost that gaze drivers an extra surge of power down the straights.

And suddenly, you weren’t just reading.

You were obsessing.

Something in you clicked.

You flipped through the pages again, this time paying attention to every little detail. You read into the margins, absorbing everything—engine specifications, weight distribution, tire degradation rates. You memorized track layouts, imagined what it must have felt like to take a corner at 200 miles per hour, the g-forces pressing down on your body.

It was like unlocking a part of yourself you never even knew existed.

And from that moment on, you weren’t just interested. You were hooked.

---

When Ellie first arrived in Jackson, she wasn’t expecting much.

Sure, Joel had told her it was safe, that she’d have food, a bed, a place to belong—but she wasn’t convinced. The world had taught her not to trust in good things.

Then she met you.

And suddenly, she had a lot to process.

The first time she saw you, you were sitting on a fence, kicking your feet idly against the wood, nose buried deep in a magazine. You weren’t on patrol, weren’t doing chores—just sitting there, completely lost in whatever you were reading.

Tommy was the one who introduced you.

“This here’s Ellie,” he said, nodding toward the girl beside him. “Figured you two oughta meet.”

You looked up, eyes flicking over Ellie for maybe half a second before immediately returning to your magazine.

“Hey,” you said absently.

Ellie blinked. Okay, cool. Guess I don’t exist.

Tommy gave you a look. “Could at least pretend to be friendly, kid.”

That made you glance up again, finally really looking at Ellie. And for the first time, she saw it.

The spark of excitement. The kind of energy that meant you were about to go off about something.

Ellie had no idea what she was in for.

“Oh, you’re new here, huh?” you asked, suddenly snapping your magazine shut. “Do you know anything about Formula 1?”

Ellie hesitated. “....Like. The number?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “No, no, no—Formula 1. The sport. The fastest racing series in the world. The absolute pinnacle of motorsport. The only thing keeping me sane in this hellscape.”

Ellie blinked. “Oh. Uh. No.”

Big mistake.

Huge.

Before she could even register what was happening, you launched into a full-on rant, your entire body coming alive with energy.

“Okay, okay, so listen—back before everything went to shit, people used to race cars. Not like, dumb little street races, but actual, high-tech, scientifically engineered machines designed to go insanely fast. I’m talking like—200 miles per hour, insane.”

Ellie barely had time to nod before you continued.

“They had these things called DRS zones, which basically let them open a flap in the rear wing to reduce drag and go even faster. And pit stops—oh my god, Ellie, you would not believe how fast those things were. Like, two seconds. They’d change all four tires in less time than it takes for me to process my own emotions.

Ellie stared.

Tommy sighed. “And now you’ve done it.”

But you were unstoppable.

“There were teams—Ferrari, Mercedes, Red Bull–and drivers, absolute legends, Ellie. Micheal Schumacher? Genuine. Sebastian Vettel? DOMINANT. And don’t even get me started on Fernando Alonso, that man was driving the wheels off his car even when it was absolute piece of shit—”

Ellie had never seen anyone talk so fast.

Or with so much passion.

She had no clue what the hell you were going on about, but you were practically vibrating with energy, and for some reason, she didn’t want you to stop.

Maybe it was because she had never seen anyone talk about something they loved like this before. Maybe it was because you weren’t treating her like some broken survivor, just another kid who had seen too much too soon.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was because Ellie Williams was already, unknowingly, screwed.

After that, you and Ellie became friends.

And by “friends,” that meant Ellie spent approximately 90% of her time listening to you ramble about F1.

At first, she just humored you. But then it became a daily thing. And then it became… kinda cute?

Not that she’d ever admit it.

She’d be helping Maria stack supplies, and you’d come running up like:

“Ellie, you are NOT gonna believe what I just found—”

“Lemme guess. Another car magazine?”

“YES! But this one has a breakdown of the entire 2013 Red BUll aerodynamics package—Ellie, they literally perfected the blown diffuser, and don’t even get me started ont he rear suspension geometry—”

And Ellie?

Ellie just… sat there.

And listened.

And watched you, really watched you—how your face lit up, how your hands moved when you explained something technical, how your eyes practically glowed whenever you talked about your favorite cars.

---

The more you read about F1, the more you wanted to talk about it.

It wasn’t enough to just memorize the track layouts or understand the difference between turbo-hydrated and naturally aspirated engines. You wanted to hear about it—to know what it was really like when the world still had race weekends, packed grandstands, and the deafening roar of a V8 engine at full throttle.

And there were only two people in Jackson old enough to have really experienced it.

Joel and Tommy.

The first time you brought it up, it was casual—just an offhand question while you sat on Tommy’s porch, flipping through a fading 2013 race program. He had been cleaning one of his rifles, but at the mention of F1, he paused, a slow smirk creeping onto his face.

“Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” he mused, setting the gun down.

You perked up. “Wait—you know about it?”

Tommy chuckled. “Hell yeah, I do. Used to watch it with Joel back before the world went to hell. Wasn’t, y’know, obsessed like you are, but I knew enough.”

Your heart pounded. “Did you ever go to a race?”

Tommy grinned, leaning back in his chair. “You actually. Austin.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor. “You went to COTA?!”

Tommy barked out a laugh. “Shit, kid, relax before you pass out. Yeah, me and Joel went. Must’ve been… what, 2012? Maybe 2013? First time the U.S. had a real Grand Prix in years. We figured—what the hell, might as well see what all the fuss was about.”

You leaned in, eyes wide. “What was it like?”

Tommy sighed, his expression softening. “Man… it was somethin’ else. Big ass crowd, people everywhere, all decked out in their team colors. Whole place smelled like barbecue and gasoline. And the sound—” He whistled, shaking his head. “---that first time those engines fired up? Felt it right in my fuckin’ chest. Loudest damn thing I ever heard.”

You could barely contain yourself. “Who won? Do you remember?” “Some German kid. Vettel, I think?”

You gasped. “Sebastian Vettel! Oh my god, Tommy, you saw him win?! That was the year he took his fourth championship!”

Tommy chuckled at your excitement. “Yeah, yeah, I remember now. Red Bull car, purple thing with the big ol’ charging bull on the side. He ran away with it—nobody could catch him.”

You grinned like a maniac. “Did you see Alonso?”

Tommy thought for a moment. “Yeah, he was there. Ferrari, right? I remember their fans goin’ crazy every time one of those red cars passed by. Never seen a fanbase like that—felt like a damn cult.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s the Tifosi for you.”

At that moment, Joel stepped in, his boots thudding on the old tile floor. He glanced between you and Tommy, raising an eyebrow. “What’s all the excitement about?”

Tommy smirked. “Kid’s askin’ about F1.”

Joel let out a short chuckle, settling onto the porch railing. “Ah, hell. That takes me back.”

You turned to him eagerly. “You also watched?”

Joel shrugged. “Here and there. Tommy was more into it than I was.”

Tommy scoffed. “Bullshit. You were yellin’ at the TV just as much as me.”

Joel smirked but didn’t deny it.

“You should’ve heard it, kid,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Nothin’ like it. That sound—felt like the whole damn air was vibratin’.”

Joel, surprisingly, looked a little wistful. “Back then, they still had the V8s. Those things screamed down the straights.”

You exhaled through your nose. “I would kill to hear a real F1 car.”

Tommy grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Y’know, kid, if the world hadn’t gone to shit, I bet you’d be one of those engineers in the pit lane, tellin’ the drivers how to shave a tenth off their lap times.”

Joel nodded. “Or one of those commentators who never shuts up about tire strategy.”

You gasped, putting a hand over your heart. “Excuse you, Joel, tire strategy is very important.”

A small silence settled in. Joel sipped his coffee, Tommy went back to cleaning his rifle, and you had moved to the living room to sit on something more comfortable.

You were still flipping through the magazine when you felt a presence behind you. You glanced up to see Ellie standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together like she was trying to solve some impossible equation.

“So… you seriously just read about cars all day?” she asked, tilting her head.

You rolled your eyes, shutting the magazine with a dramatic thud. “Not just cars. F1. There’s a difference.”

“Right. A very important difference.” Ellie nodded like she totally understood, but the slight smirk on her lips gave her away.

You ignored it, flipping the magazine open again. “This isn’t just some random sport, Ellie. It’s like—like the most technical, high-speed, absolutely insane thing humans have ever come up with. The engineering is insane. The speed. The strategy. The—”

“Yeah, okay, I got it,” Ellie interrupted, laughing under her breath. But she didn’t leave. She just stood there, watching as you traced your fingers over a grainy old photo of a bright red Ferrari.

“D’you actually like this stuff, or are you just hoarding magazines for the hell of it?” she teased.

You turned to her, completely serious. “Ellie. I would trade a kidney to drive one of these.”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah? I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need a transplant.”

A few days later, you and Ellie were out on patrol together, the snowy trees of Jackson blurring past as your horses trotted along the trail.

You were, as usual, talking about cars.

“...and it’s crazy because in the 2013 season, Red Bull had that blown diffuser setup, which basically meant—”

Ellie cut you off with a lazy grin. “Okay, okay, hold on. If you had to put me in one of these fancy F1 cars, you think I’d be any good?”

You scoffed. “Ellie, you ride your horse like an old man with a bad hip.”

Ellie gasped in mock offense. “Wow. Rude.”

You grinned. “You’d probably stall the car five times before even leaving the pit lane.”

Ellie shot you a look. Then, with an air of forced nonchalance, she muttered, “Yeah? Well, maybe you should, y’know… teach me sometime.”

Silence.

You blinked. Did… Ellie just flirt with you?

Ellie immediately cleared her throat, shifting in her saddle like she suddenly wanted to throw herself off the horse. “I—I mean, not that you have to, just, uh—”

You squinted at her. “Are you okay?”

Ellie groaned. “Never mind. Forget it.”

There was a long pause.

Then, Ellie tried again.

“You know,” she started, clearly forcing the words out, “If, uh, if you really think I’d be bad at driving, maybe you should, uhm… hold my hands on the wheel or something. While I learn.”

Your brows furrowed.”Ellie… you do realize we don’t have an F1 car, right?”

Ellie’s entire soul left her body.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

You just kept looking at her, confused. “You’d need a simulator first, honestly. There’ no way you could handle the G-forces right away—”

Ellie sighed loudly. “Yeah, okay, got it. I suck.”

Somewhere, back in Jackson, Dina probably felt a disturbance in the force.

Later that day, Ellie tried again.

You were sitting on the front steps of your house when Ellie approached, hands shoved in her pockets. She rocked back on her heels.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat, “I was thinking about, uh, aerodynamics.”

You looked up. “Oh?”

Ellie nodded. “Yeah. And like… if you had a really fast card. And, uh, you wanted to go faster. You’d want to, um…” She scratched the back of her neck. “Get rid of some drag, right?”

You smiled. “Exactly! Less drag, more speed.”

Ellie pointed at you. “Right! Right. So… you should totally, um… drag me to dinner sometime.”

Silence.

Ellie blinked. “Wait. That made no sense.”

You blinked.

Ellie immediately turned and left. “Forget I said anything.”

---

You were lounging on the couch in Tommy’s place, flipping through the same battered F1 magazine for the hundredth time. You’d heard the door open and stay open, followed by the sound of snow boots. You thought it was Tommy, until something landed in your lap with a soft thud.

You blinked down at it—another magazine, just as worn, the edges curling with age. The cover was barely legible, but your eyes caught the unmistakable silhouette of a Formula 1 car.

“Figured you’d want that,” Ellie muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. She wasn’t even looking at you, just rocking on her heels like she hadn’t just gifted you the best thing ever.

Your heart did something weird.

“Where the hell did you find this?” you breathed, already flipping through the pages with greedy fingers.

“Patrol,” Ellie said simply. “Saw it in some old shop and, y’know… figured you’d like it or whatever.”

“Ellie.” You turned to her, dead serious. “If the world hadn’t ended, I would marry you on the spot.”

Ellie choked. “Uh—what?”

“Nothing.” You smirked, holding the magazine to your chest like it was the most valuable thing in the world. “Just saying, you keep bringing me stuff like this, and I might start thinking you’re in love with me or something.”

Ellie scoffed, cheeks a little pink. “Shut up.”

Jesse, who had been watching from across the room, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Ellie, you really out here romancing her with scraps of old paper, huh?”

“Dude, shut up,” Ellie groaned, chucking a pillow at him. But even as she rolled her eyes, she didn’t deny it.

---

Ellie’s pathetic attempts at flirting had gone on for weeks. Dina had witnessed all of them. So had Jesse. And quite frankly, both of them were done.

So, naturally, an intervention was in order.

It started at the Tipsy Bison one evening. You, Ellie, Dina, and Jesse were at your usual table, the dim glow of lanterns flickering against the old wooden walls.

You were, as usual, rambling about F1.

“Listen, the reason Senna was so damn good in the rain was because of his throttle control. You can literally see it in onboard footage—he’d feathering the pedal like an artist—”

Ellie was watching you with that look again. That soft, fascinated look that Dina had had enough of.

Dina dramatically set down her drink. “Okay. I can’t do this anymore.”

You pause mid-ramble. “Huh?”

Jesse leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “She means you two.”

Ellie stiffened. “What about us?”

Dina gestured wildly between you. “This. This thing you guys have been doing. Ellie, you flirt like a drunk deer on ice, and you—” she turned to you, exasperated. “You’re so obsessed with F1 that you can’t see that your biggest fangirl is literally sitting right next to you.”

Ellie choked on her drink. “I—what—no, I—”

Jesse sighed. “Look, we’ve seen it for months. Ellie brings you random car magazines like she’d a goddamn raccoon hoarding trash. She pretends to care about tire strategies just to impress you. And you—” he pointed at you—”literally melt on the floor every time she talks, but you just keep info-dumping instead of making a move.”

You stared at him. “First of all, rude.”

Ellie, looking like she wanted to sink into the floor, muttered. “Second of all, not true.”

Dina rolled her eyes. “Oh, really?” Then, Ellie, what was that absolute disaster of a line you used last week?”

Jesse smirked. “Ohhh, yeah. The ‘drag me to dinner’ one?”

Ellie groaned, shoving her face into her hands. “Kill me.”

You, blinking in realization, turned to Ellie. “Wait, that was flirting?”

Ellie lifted her head, incredulous. “Yes?!”

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Dina groaned, throwing her hands up dramatically.

Jesse nodded, arms crossed. “Yeah. This has been, what, months of you two making heart eyes at each other? I’m over it.”

“What—?” Ellie sputtered, looking between them like they had just accused her of murder. “I don’t—I mean, I—shut up.”

You furrowed your brows. “Wait, what’s happening?”

“This.” Dina shoved Ellie forward—hard.

Ellie barely caught herself before crashing into you, hands instinctively gripping your arms to steady herself. Your breath hitched at the sudden closeness, her face inches from yours.

“Uh—shit, okay—hi,” Ellie stammered, her hands twitching where they held you.

Your brain short-circuited. “Hi?”

Jesse sighed. “Oh my God.”

Ellie, still very much trapped in your space, licked her lips nervously. “So, uh. This is—this is dumb, but, like, I—I think I—” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. “Fuck it.”

And then, before you could even process what was happening, she kissed you.

It wasn’t smooth or practiced—it was Ellie, which meant it was a little clumsy, a little desperate, but it was her, and your heart basically exploded.

When she finally pulled back, looking ridiculously embarrassed, she cleared her throat. “So. Uh. Yeah.”

“Wow,” you breathed, still kind of stunned. “That was… terrible.”

Ellie’s face burned. “What?!”

“I mean, not the kiss,” you laughed, resting a hand on her chest to calm her down. “Just—God, you really suck at this.”

Ellie groaned, burying her face in your shoulder. “I know.”

Dina grinned. “And yet, somehow, it worked.”

Jesse patted Ellie’s back. “Proud of you, dude.”

Ellie groaned louder.

---

Ellie was getting worse.

Before, she'd get you little "gifts" and try to be subtle about it. Magazines she claimed she just “found lying around,” posters she swore she “didn’t even mean to grab,” and the occasional keychain or sticker she totally didn’t spend twenty minutes digging through an abandoned gas station for.

But now?

Now that you were dating? She had no shame.

The first time you really noticed was when she returned from patrol one evening, a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Okay,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Close your eyes.”

You, sitting on the couch, raised a brow. “Ellie, what—”

“Just do it.”

With a suspicious look, you obeyed. You felt her shove something into your hands—something leathery, rough—before whispering, “Okay. Open.”

You blinked your eyes open and looked down.

It was a jacket. A Ferrari jacket.

Black, with red and yellow accents, the Scuderia Ferrari logo stitched on the chest. It was faded, a little worn, but the moment you recognized it, your heart stopped.

You gasped. “Ellie.”

She shoved her hands in her pockets, rocking back on her heels. “Cool, right?”

You ran your fingers over the embroidered prancing horse. “Where the fuck did you find this?”

Ellie grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Abandoned mall, buried under some old merch. Thought of you and, y’know, risked my life for it or whatever.”

You look up at her, wide-eyed. “Ellie.”

“What?” she asked, smirking.

“You’re so in love with me.”

Ellie groaned, immediately regretting all her life choices. “Shut up.”

You just smiled, slipping the jacket on. It was a little big, but warm. Cozy. Perfect. You tugged the sleeves over your hands, already knowing you’d never take it off.

Ellie eyes you, chewing her lip. “Oh? You into this, Williams?”

Ellie’s face burned. “Don’t do this.”

You got even closer. “I bet if I called you my little pit crew, you’d—”

Ellie grabbed your face and kissed you, effectively shutting you up.

Yeah.

You were definitely keeping the jacket.

BONUS

The garage was quiet except for the occasional drip of water from a rusted pipe and the clinking of your tools. The old truck in front of you was a mess, but you were determined to fix it up, even if it meant spending hours crouched over the engine, fingers covered in grease. It was comforting, getting lost in something that actually made sense—gears, pistons, combustion, all of it had a function, a reason. Unlike the world outside.

You were just about to start pulling apart the carburetor when you heard the door creak open. You didn’t think much of it, assuming it was Tommy coming to check in.

“Uhh… hey.”

Ellie.

“Fuck!” Your head slammed into the hood of the car, sending a sharp jolt through your skull. You hissed, stumbling back, only to feel hands steady you from behind.

“Shit, you good?” Ellie winced, holding back a laugh.

You rubbed your forehead, turning to glare at her. “Jesus, Ellie—announce yourself next time! You can’t just sneak up on people working under a car!”

She smirked, rocking back on her heels. “Damn. Didn’t realize F1 mechanics were so jumpy.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the engine. “What do you want?”

Ellie leaned against the side of the car, watching you with that stupid little half-smile. “Just curious,” she drawled. “What’re you working on?”

“Trying to fix the starter motor,” you muttered, still focused on your hands. “If I can get this thing running, I might actually be able to—”

You sucked in a sharp breath as Ellie suddenly pressed up behind you, warm and solid. One hand casually braced against the hood above your head, the other slipping along the workbench beside you.

“Starter motor, huh?” Her voice was lower now, close to your ear. “That’s the thing that, uh… makes the car go?”

Your fingers fumbled. “Y-Yeah. It, uh—it converts electrical energy into mechanical motion—”

“Huh.” Ellie’s fingers trailed along your waist, featherlight. “And what’s this part?”

You swallowed hard. “The, uh—the alternator.”

“Mmm. And what does that do?”

She was teasing you. You knew it. But she wasn’t stopping—her hand slowly slipped lower, resting just above your hip, her fingers barely gripping the waistband of your jeans.

Your brain scrambled to function. “It, uh… it keeps the battery charged—”

Ellie hummed. “Damn, look at you. So smart.” Her fingers dipped just slightly under the fabric. “Keep going.”

You gripped the edge of the hood, knuckles white. “Ellie—”

“No, no, keep talking, babe,” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like hearing you explain shit.”

“Ellie,” you tried again, voice tight. “I—this isn’t—”

“This isn’t what?” she murmured, lips grazing your jaw as her fingers played with the hem of your jeans. “Not helping?”

“Not helping,” you breathed, grip tightening on the car.

Ellie chuckled, her free hand coming up to your waist, toying with the fabric of your shirt. “Aw, c’mon. Thought you loved talking about this stuff.”

You shuddered as her fingers brushed against bare skin. “I do—”

“Then keep going.” She shifted just slightly, pressing herself against your back. You could feel the warmth of her, the steady rise and fall of her breathing. “Tell me what this part does.”

You looked down, barely registering the piece of the engine she was pointing at. Your brain was static.

“Ellie—”

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Her hand dipped lower, fingers ghosting over the waistband of your underwear. “I’m waiting.”

Your breath hitched, hands flexing uselessly at your sides. “I—I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” She kissed the side of your neck, smirking against your skin as she felt you tense up. “Think?”

You whined, barely nodding.

“Shame.” Her hand finally slipped into your jeans, fingers pressing just where you needed her. You gasped, head dropping forward as your knees nearly gave out.

“Ellie—fuck—”

“Language,” she teased, her pace agonizingly slow. “That how they talk in the pit lanes?”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t actively fighting for your life. “I—please—”

“Mmm, that’s not an answer,” she murmured, pressing a little firmer. “Try again.”

You let out the most humiliating noise of your life. Ellie loved it.

“God,” she breathed, her own voice a little uneven now. “You’re so easy—”

“Ellie—”

She finally gave in, sliding two fingers in, pumping them in and out slowly. The only thing you could do was clutch onto the hood of the car for dear life as she worked you open.

“That’s it, baby,” she muttered, kissing along your shoulder. “Hold on for me.”

You were gone.

Ellie kept going, kept pushing you closer, whispering filth into your ear.

"Bet you wish I let you off easy, huh?" she murmured, her fingers only speeding up as your thighs shook against her. "But you just had to be a little know-it-all—had to show off. Look at you now."

You whined, gripping the car so hard your knuckles turned white.

"C’mon," she teased, lips grazing your ear. "Tell me about the—fuck, listen to those little noises—tell me about the transmission again."

You tried—you really tried—but all that came out was a wrecked, gasping moan. Ellie laughed, breath hot against your neck.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Her free hand snaked up under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach. "Y’know," she muttered, her pace quickening, "I was gonna stop if you couldn’t keep talking, but—fuck—you sound so pretty like this."

Your entire body shuddered.

"So desperate. So fucking dumb for me, huh?"

You whimpered, nodding frantically.

"God, you love this," she breathed, grinding against you now. "Love when I make it so fucking hard for you to think. You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna let me hear how bad you need me?"

You nodded frantically, gasping as Ellie’s fingers curled just right inside you, the heel of her palm pressing down in a way that had your stomach tensing, twisting.

"Words," she murmured, teasing, taunting, as if she wasn’t completely ruining you.

You tried—God, you tried—but all that came out was a wrecked whimper, your mouth falling open on a sound you’d never made before.

Ellie groaned, her lips brushing your ear. "Fuck, you sound so pretty."

She was everywhere—one hand gripping your waist, holding you up as your legs threatened to give out, the other working relentlessly between your thighs. The car’s hood dug into your palms, keeping you upright as she drove you closer and closer, pushing you right to the edge.

"C’mon, baby," she murmured, kissing along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. "Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on my fingers."

That did it—her voice, her touch, the pressure, the heat. Your body tensed, a sharp, choked sound escaping your lips as everything inside you snapped.

You came hard, your thighs clamping around her hand, your breath stuttering as white-hot pleasure surged through you. Ellie didn’t stop—she worked you through it, grinding against you, whispering the filthiest praise into your ear.

"That’s it, baby—fuck, that’s it—look at you, so perfect—so fucking good for me—"

Your head dropped back against her shoulder, breath coming in shaky gasps as she slowed her movements, coaxing every last bit of pleasure out of you until you were nothing but a trembling mess in her arms.

For a moment, the only sound in the garage was your ragged breathing, the distant creak of the wooden beams above, the hum of a world that didn’t matter anymore—because all you could feel was her.

Ellie pressed a soft kiss to your temple, her hands finally stilling against your spent body. Then, with the smuggest fucking voice you’d ever heard, she murmured—

"So… about that alternator?"

You slapped her arm.

also i tried being aesthetic with that lil header some people do but i think i failed miserably

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #f1 and ellie #f1 #f1 fic #this counts as f1 right??#wtv #tlou #the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #the last of us part 2

158 notes · View notes

bikingdon · 3 months ago

Note

you absolutely dont have to write this if it doesnt strike you, but i would love to see even a ficlet of eddie somehow coming to the conclusion that buck and ravi hooked up while eddie was in texas and eddie trying Too Hard to be cool about it. bonus points if eddie thinks ravi caught feelings for buck (why Wouldnt ravi catch feelings for buck??? i mean it’s buck. -eddie inner monologue) and regardless of if the hookup actually happened or not (cant decide which is funnier so dealers choice) obviously no feelings were caught and its all. very funny in the end.

i'm not entirely sure this is what you were going for??? but i hope you enjoy it all the same!!

“So, did you manage to stay out of trouble while I was gone?”

Buck laughs, a hearty thing that Eddie feels all the way down to his toes. “For the most part, I guess.” He takes a swig of his beer, letting out a slow breath. “I’m sure Ravi’s sick of me by now, though.”

Eddie pauses, beer bottle half way to his mouth as his eyes flick towards Buck, unsure as to why it feels like there’s a stone sitting in his stomach. “Ravi? He still on B-Shift?”

Buck hums, a noncommittal thing as his eyes are trained on the TV. “He ended up subbing in your spot while you were gone. We spent a lot of time together. He loved to pretend he hated it, but I think he enjoyed the company really.”

Something about the entire thing hits Eddie in the wrong way. Company. Like Eddie wasn’t lonely in Texas. Like he wasn’t actively sending Buck invites to Words with Friends everyday between trips. Like he wasn’t screaming see me in every way possible without saying it.

He fights to keep his voice even, bottle lowering to rest on his thigh. “Sounds like you two had a blast.”

“We sure did.” Buck laughs, thumb picking absent-mindedly at the label on the beer bottle in a way that Eddie’s always been secretly fond of. “There was many a night we’d leave shift together, grab an IPA and put the world to rights. Sometimes, oh man, Bobby would have us up together on station watch, and we’d get no calls during the night, and y’know what it’s like when all the chores are done.” His head tips back towards the ceiling as he grins almost to himself, a private thing that Eddie somehow thinks he shouldn’t be seeing. “I got to know him real well.”

Eddie’s eye twitches a little. He’s not jealous. He’s not. He has absolutely no reason to be. That would be stupid, given the fact that him and Buck are just friends and that he’s straight and that this thing between him and Buck has always been messy and complicated, and he was states away.

But Eddie, he’s never really claimed to be the most rational person ever.

He must’ve been silent for a bit too long, because Buck finally looks at him, his brows creasing together a little. “What is it?”

“Nothing!” Eddie assures quickly, standing from the couch. “Want another one?” He asks, nodding his head towards the bottle.

Buck’s brow furrows more as his eyes examine Eddie’s face like he’s looking for something. He’s just staring, seeing Eddie in the way he always does when suddenly he seems to find what he’s looking for, his mouth dropping open a little. “Eddie? Are you–”

“Same again?” Eddie interrupts, turning to leave when a hand closes around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He’d know that touch anywhere, wants to know it everywhere. Has felt it when he’s dying and has felt it when he’s more alive than he’s ever been.

Buck’s thumb brushes over his pulse point and Eddie lets out a shaky breath. It’s quiet for a few seconds, the TV humming quietly in the background before Buck says quietly, “Nothing ever happened, y’know?”

Eddie scrambles for a response, his mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes are locked on the point where him and Buck connect before he finally feels brave enough to look him in the eye. “Hm?”

“Between me and Ravi.” Buck continues casually, like he’s discussing the weather, thumb tracing the skin of Eddie’s wrist. “He’s a good looking guy, but…” Buck’s brow furrows slightly, tongue poking out to wet his lips, suddenly more serious than he’s been all night. “I was waiting for someone.”

“...Who?”

Buck laughs again, a quiet thing as he tugs on Eddie’s wrist gently, like he knows something Eddie doesn't yet. “Who d’you think? I’ll give you one guess.”

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #rebecca writes #this is the first time i've written buddie in a WHILE so if it's bad or ooc no one look at me

151 notes · View notes

felibrary · 7 months ago

Text

"i love you, i'm sorry"

pairing: aventurine x reader (gender neutral)

synopsis: aventurine doesn’t know how to handle people being affectionate to him. so eventually, just as everyone leaves him, he’s become the one who leaves the person he cherishes the most—you—before you’re able to leave him first. so then, why is he now in front of your home, asking for another chance?

wordcount: 1.2k | content & warnings: unestablished relationship, situationship 101, aven has commitment issues (surprise), angst if you squint, hurt/comfort , mentions of aven's past (kind of) ; ficlet

tags: @eccentric-planet HERE IT ISSSS!!! (after waiting for like a week or so oops)

author's note: i wrote like half of this during biology, history and french class LMFAO

in his world, love leaves behind traces.

be it dejection that gnaws at him, and wraps his heart in sorrow or your lips that press against him, finding home in his scarred skin. all of the little things that shaped him into being—they all track back to you.

gradually, over time, with every gesture of affection exchanged, he fell. his once sleepless nights were cured by lying beside you, and eventually, he peacefully dozed off. that is until morning arrived, the sun greeting him as her rays seeped through the curtains, which made him rise.

alas, bathing in bliss only lasted for so long. the love that streamed through his veins and was pumped into his heart, was daring to spill; aventurine knew that confessing his love to you would come with its consequences. there were rules he set up for himself, but after all, he is no more than a pathological sinner—an individual long forsaken by the gods that reign this world—a helpless soul.

despite harboring feelings for you, he kept those blooming emotions to himself; confined in the depths of his heart.

so as much as he loved you, it hurt just as much to let you go; leave you behind with no words that offered an explanation for his leaving.

aventurine’s foundation was built upon being alone—disappearing without leaving a trace has always been in his nature. having to leave and being left behind was nothing new. he was a natural.

eventually, the traces you left behind, etched into his very being, washed away.

kakavasha was a lonely child. the word company has always felt foreign on his tongue, at least when he had to say it aloud in a language other than his own.

presumably, that’s why he felt strangely weak in your hold. how you always persistently, almost desperately, buried your nails into his skin and held him tight—not wanting to let go as if you knew that he’d leave one day; silently slip from your grasp.

it was to be expected that you wouldn’t reach out anymore—he made you leave.

(it’s for the better he thinks. after all, if you would’ve marched further into his heart you would’ve seen what was hidden in the depths of it—someone with no strong ambitions, and there’d be no point of return. aventurine wouldn’t make a good lover, he’s both too selfish and selfless no in between.)

there hasn’t ever been a verbal confirmation that the two of you were in a relationship. everyone around him, including you just assumed that the two of you were together

but he can’t blame them. all the spare items in his apartment, ranging from a mere toothbrush to items like skincare or using the same candles as you, that’d help you feel more at home. arriving at work together and subtly flirting in the elevator when others were around or kissing in the copy room, weren’t casual things that friends did.

aventurine thought it was easier that way, simply because the thought of putting labels on your relationship felt strange. to him, it felt like a heavy shackle bound to his feet, preventing him from being free.

so why is he now standing at your front door, waiting like a prisoner on death row for their judgment to come?

there’s a faint squeak as you open the door and aventurine shoves his left hand into the pocket of his coat, fiddling with the flower-shop bill.

before aventurine knows it; and can fully comprehend the solemnity of the situation, you stand in front of him, as beautiful as ever.

“hi,” aventurine breathes out, and only now does he realize how much he’s missed seeing you. instead of answering your gaze drifts over his figure and his surroundings.

he feels hot under your watchful gaze, his body suddenly heating up, and clothes sickly sticking to his skin. “so? what’s your business?” your eyes land on the bouquet of lilies and gardenias he's gripping tightly, slightly wrinkling the wrapping paper by doing so.

countless thoughts are running through his head. may i come in? can we talk? i wanted to apologi—

“i love you, i’m sorry.”

his voice croaks and suddenly he feels small. the gut-wrenching feeling of fear that stirred in his stomach whenever you were around made him vulnerable and submissive. it made him bolder—more reckless with his way of words. they twisted and twirled on his tongue, and ultimately something else slipped out. (the truth)

the dismissive sound you make crawls into aventurine’s ears like a parasite creeping on his skin, causing him pain. “you say that after playing a game of push-and-pull with me? aventurine do you hear yourself?” you huff laughingly. “don’t do this to me. i can’t go through this once again,” you express with bitterness in your voice. “you’ll just hurt the both of us.” your tone is meek, but aventurine can hear the strain in your voice and he feels his stomach drop.

he exhales and musters the courage to say something. “i know that this is sudden, moreover, i know that i’ve been beyond horrible to you,” aventurine admits, and he swallows. “i want to apologize. my first apology is that i never apologized sooner.” he diverts his gaze to the ground, head facing the floor like a prisoner being escorted.

he’s sure that at this point the stems of the flowers he’s bought for you are already kinked from clutching them so hard in his hand. “so, may i come in? i’ll tell you everything. i promise.” aventurine doesn’t dare to look up, at least not yet.

“calling me, whenever you needed me like i’m a pet who listens to every command, whispering sweet nothings into my ear as if you were coaxing me into believing something that was untruthful from the very beginning, and—” frustratedly, you ball your hands into fists. “listen. everything i told you was honest. yes i wasn’t ready for a relationship but that doesn't mean that i didn’t love you.” aventurine forces himself to look up, but immediately regrets it upon seeing your hurt face.

nevertheless, he continues. “i’m still hung up on the past. the thought of being with someone and promising myself to stay with them and committing my time, my life, and my very being scares me. it doesn’t excuse my behavior and actions, no, but i hope that this helps you understand me better.”

“i'm sorry that i didn't confide you in this any sooner. I was scared that you too would leave me. so i thought that if i’d leave first, it wouldn’t hurt as much. but i was wrong, my heart fucking aches when i’m not with you.” he cringes at how fake this sounds. but he’s more bothered about the fact that his heart isn’t only twinging when not with you, but it also might jump out of his ribcage, right here, right now.

you bite down on your bottom lip and contemplate. it's faint and if aventurine hadn’t paid attention, he’d have missed it. the way you mutter dumbass under your breath.” forget it,” you sigh as if reaching your breaking point. “just come in.”

this time, you fully open the door to him and he feels a wave of relief washing over him. “you’ve always been a mystery to me kakavasha.” you whisper, and aventurine’s lips form into a small smile as he trails and follows behind you, into your home.

a mystery, you say?

aventurine makes a promise to himself as he places the flowers into the glass vase you provided him. this time he’d be completely honest with you. about everything and anything.

so here it is — his heart laid bare.

end note: who am i kidding. if he came back to me pleading id also take him back.

also tagging @azullumi because at this point it'd be weird not to do this. i just want to thank you azul. thank you for being an amazing friend. thinking back, i used to have much worse communication skills. avoiding the ones around me or never voicing my problems aloud. but you giving me advice has genuinely inspired and impacted me so much. simply because i wanted to be so much like you cause i looked up to you so much and i still do. and recently those efforts of trying to better my social skills have paid off (kind of). I've become better and more mindful when it comes to people addressing their problems they have with me and thus trying to reflect and change my behavior. but I'm also able to talk about the things that bother me better now, simply because i took your advice. azul you understand me like no other. you take the words out of my mouth and are able to form such beautiful sentences i could never even think of. honestly your way with words is what enamors me the most about you.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons #aventurine x gn reader #hsr x gn reader

331 notes · View notes

quin-ns · 1 year ago

Text

The blue (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Series summary: JJ has a secret, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto it. He discovers his breaking point when his best friend starts to show interest in you, his step sister, who he’s already fallen hard for

Series tags: step brother!jj, dual pov, jealousy, one sided john b x reader, drinking, inappropriate relationship, public sex, oral sex (f receiving)

A/N: first series I’ve finished and I could not be more excited to share! please read the tags and if the subject matter is uncomfortable to you, you do not have to read. this one is a wild ride guys, I can’t wait for you to see what I have in store 🫶

Series masterlist + OBX masterlist

JJ didn’t really understand how this happened, but it did. When he tried to trace it all back, there wasn’t really one big moment. Just a bunch of small individual moments that amounted to… this. This feeling. This thing that kept him up at night that he couldn’t seem to get rid of.

He’d never been in love before, so it took JJ awhile to realize that’s what he felt for you.

Or maybe it was the denial. The moral part of his brain telling him it wasn’t normal. Your mom was married to his dad, so according to everyone else’s rules that made you his sister—even if he didn’t think about you in that context anymore.

He used to, when you both were younger. But that was before your mom got arrested. A large part of why JJ was so happy when you came into his life was because his dad eased up on him, finding some semblance of happiness with your mom.

But she wasn’t exactly perfect. To be with his dad, JJ always wondered what was wrong. As it would turn out, she had serious issues. Although, what they got her for was being a tax cheat. It added up how they could’ve met after that.

It was getting to be around… what, a little over a year since that happened? JJ couldn’t really keep track of the months and you never liked to talk about it.

As much as JJ loved his father, he knew he wasn’t a good guy. It didn’t matter if he wanted him to be. So it surprised him when his dad still let you stay with them. You’d been around since you were both about thirteen, so even if his dad didn’t think of himself as responsible for you (or even JJ), he at least cared enough to not throw you to the street.

That was about the same JJ got from him. Recognizing that is what brought you closer to him.

Sure, you’d been sort of close growing up, but not really. You mostly spent time with your mom and your own friends. Then, when everything went down, you lost your mom and your friends followed not long after. He saw the puffiness in your eyes when you’d come home and go to your room for the whole night. No one to hang out with after school and nowhere to go on a Saturday night. They had ditched you, apparently deciding that mocking you was more important than being there for you. It made his stomach hurt to see you in such a state. You didn’t smile for days.

So JJ, being the good step brother that he was, stepped in. He took you under his wing and brought your smile back.

You fit in well with his friends, easily becoming a part of the group. They liked having you around. JJ felt like he got to know you in a way he hadn’t ever before.

It was selfish, but you made being at home easier. You kept him company when he stayed up too late and made sure to wake him up in the morning so he wouldn’t be late to work whatever odd job he had at the time.

Whenever his dad hit him, which started again not long after your mom was locked up, you were there to take care of him.

You were so sweet with him. Your eyes always full of care and touches gentle as you cleaned his cuts or iced his bruises. It made it hurt less.

After one night when his dad hit him extra hard, leaving a cut from one of his rings on JJ’s face, you came to his aid as you frequently did. His dad stormed out after. It was just the two of you as you cleaned his face. You had him sit on the couch and stood over him, one hand holding his face while the other held a cloth to make sure the cut was clean.

As JJ stared up at you, your frustrated words about his father falling on deaf ears, one jarring thought crossed his mind.

You should kiss her.

He’d immediately stood up, snapping himself out of whatever daze he was in, and went to his room. You’d tried to talk to him, but he brushed you off and said he was tired. When he asked to be left alone, which was rare, you did.

He didn’t sleep most of the night. Instead he stared up at his ceiling wondering where that thought had even come from. He’d never had it before. From that moment on, JJ started to become much more aware of everything you did—everything you did for him.

Of course his friends loved him and cared about him, and he did the same for them, but with you something about it just felt different. You were by his side nearly every moment of the day. You saw things they didn’t. You were there when they couldn’t be.

You became everything to JJ. There was no other way to put it.

That was a couple months ago. Since then his confusing feelings had morphed into something far more.

JJ was deeply, madly in love with you. It was not something a guy should be with his step sister, but he was. He didn’t really deal with it, just shoved it down and tried to ignore it. It was hard, especially when he was around you every single day, but JJ had done his best.

JJ would catch himself staring at you more than he’d admit, but no one seemed to notice. No one would suspect what he was thinking anyway. He made excuses to touch you, like a hand on your back when moving past you to get something or draping his arm over your shoulder and leaning on you jokingly. The latter made you laugh, and he’d join you, but he’d still feel a loss when you playfully nudged him away and told him you weren’t an armrest.

Sometimes, when he didn’t care how pathetic it was, he’d let himself drink too much just so he could lean on you when you’d help him inside. When he pulled that stunt, he’d often get lucky and you’d even stay by his side to make sure he went to sleep comfortably. And of course whenever his dad struck, fists full of misplaced rage, you were there easing the pain.

JJ resolved to take what he could get and told himself he’d eventually he’d move on.

At least he hoped that’s how it would go. Maybe he’d get lucky and—

“Hello?” You waved a hand in front of JJ’s face. “I’m talking to you.”

JJ blinked. He looked at you, zoning back in. In an instant he remembered what was going on. You and him, along with his three best friends, were all on the beach. The others were in the water, while you had been sunbathing on shore and JJ… well, he’d just been sitting by you, wanting to be in your proximity (and sometimes steal glances when he couldn’t help himself).

But now you were on your feet, leaning down as you dropped your hand. JJ’s eyes fell from your face to your chest. He swallowed when he caught a glimpse down your bikini top.

His eyes flicked back to your face. Was that too obvious? He hoped not.

“Sorry, what?”

You gave him a confused look, but laughed and straightened up.

“Do you wanna get in?”

He knew you meant the water. In the distance he saw his friends waving for the two of you to join them.

JJ shook his head. The action felt as if it were in slow motion. Kind of like when he was high, but much less carefree.

“Um, maybe in a bit.”

If he got too distracted he’d probably drown in the ocean. That is if the guilt of keeping his secret from you didn’t do it first.

You shrugged, not able to read him the way you usually could.

“If you’re scared, there might be some floaties somewhere,” you teased as you turned your back, heading for the water.

JJ couldn’t formulate a comeback, too focused on the swing on your hips as you walked away from him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed again, questioning his own self what was wrong with him. He’s never experienced such a desperate feeling before. What were you doing to him?

When he opened his eyes, you were in the water, and he had no answers.

He tried to focus on the sand, the water, the sky. Basically anything but you. He even tried to look at Kiara just to see if it would work, but his eyes always drifted back to you. The ache in his chest grew with each passing minute.

JJ didn’t think much of it when he saw Kiara suddenly haul herself up onto Pope’s shoulders, but he felt like he got kicked in the stomach when you climbed onto John B’s.

John B’s arms locked around your legs, the two of you laughing loudly as you steadied yourself. JJ could hear it from shore. You weren’t that far out. JJ knew he was focusing far more than necessary because he saw the way your hands brushed John B’s hair out of his face as he tilted his head back to look up at you.

Even from where he was, JJ could see how you smiled down at John B. It was innocent and friendly, and it made him incredibly jealous.

You and Kiara started to go at it, trying to knock the other into the water.

JJ didn’t think anyone noticed when he stood and walked down to the edge of the sand.

“You’re going down!” Kiara shouted, her hands interlocked with and pushing against yours as you both refused to budge.

You laughed loudly. It was like music.

It took one exchanged look from you and John B to formulate a plan. It was the kind of silent communication that JJ thought you reserved for him.

You let Kiara lean a lot of weight on you, and that’s where your advantage was. In an instant you relaxed your grip and John B stepped to the side. The other girl, and Pope beneath her, wobbled. It was over in a second. The two shouted right before they crashed down into the water.

“Ha!” you exclaimed, raising your hands in the air while John B whooped and hollered in celebration.

Kiara and Pope emerged, both rolling their eyes. It was their turn to share a look. As JJ waded into the water he figured out their plan.

With the two of them jumping at John B, it was easy to knock him off his feet. JJ’s eyes went a little wide when you fell into the water with a crash.

“Did you see that?” Kiara yelled with a grin when she spotted JJ.

“Kinda hard to miss,” he responded, looking around the water. It had been a few seconds and you had yet to reappear.

“They’re just messing with us,” Pope commented on your and John B’s absence, but his words started to sound less sure by the end.

Another long beat of silence passed. The waves grew still.

“This isn’t funny anymore!” Kie shouted.

JJ felt a twinge of panic, awful scenarios flashing through his head. It didn’t matter how unlikely they were.

Suddenly, water erupted. John B arose with a splash, you clinging to his back. He roared dramatically while shoving water towards Kie and Pope. They screamed as the waves hit them, trying and failing to shield themselves.

“Revenge!” you yelled in a maniacal manner, chin on John B’s shoulder.

“Truce! Truce!” Kie and Pope both yelled, spitting out saltwater.

John B paused, and JJ noticed how close his face was to yours when he turned his head.

“Should we forgive them?” John B deferred to you.

You hummed thoughtfully. “I think they learned their lesson,” you decided. Your gaze, which had been focused on John B, shifted past him. “Hey, look who made it!”

JJ realized you were talking to him. He forced a smile, smothering the jealousy he felt at seeing you and John B in the position you were in. It seemed weirdly close for you two. You and John B weren’t usually touchy-feely-piggyback-ride friends.

John B seemed to pick up on JJ’s shift in demeanor, because his smile was a little more contained as he said, “Hey, man.”

JJ figured his friend didn’t get that he was jealous, which was for the best. Everyone knew JJ was protective over you. John B probably thought JJ was questioning his intentions as your brother. Why would it be anything else?

“Nice victory,” JJ replied, having nothing better to say. He didn’t even grit his teeth, so he counted that as a win for himself.

Tension eased as you all decided to just chat and relax in the water until the sun set.

Although, JJ kept an eye on John B, noticing how his friend kept an eye on you.

When it got dark you all began to head back to the shore. JJ found himself at your side as he usually did. Your steps fell in line with his as you looked up.

“You feeling okay?” you asked lightly. You must’ve sensed his attitude shift, even if it was subtle. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”

JJ couldn’t help the urge to smile at how well you knew him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, not wanting to concern you. He liked when you worried about him, but this was the one time when he didn’t want you pressing for him to open up. “Are you?”

JJ reached to ruffle your damp hair. You swatted his hand away before he could do any real damage.

“Very funny,” you grumbled. Your expression shifted to a smile, then softened. There was something careful about it. “If something was up, you’d tell me, right?”

JJ swallowed, trying to avoid the way your eyes searched his. He had to look forward before he could answer.

“Yeah, of course,” he assured.

JJ didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but he remembered everyone sitting around the living room.

Wait, no. That wasn’t right.

The porch. Everyone has been sitting on the porch, drinking and laughing together. He recalled cramming himself into a chair next to you. He’d played it off like a joke. Everyone had laughed, and he got to be close to you, so it worked out.

He also remembered following Kiara and Pope inside, expecting you to be behind him.

Everything clicked.

You and John B had elected to stay outside. JJ had been sitting on the couch, watching through the window, trying to make out what you were saying through the small opening where the window was cracked for the nighttime breeze.

He must’ve dozed off while waiting for you. That didn’t sound like him—he would’ve been focused on watching you, making sure you made it in. Maybe he had been worn out or you stayed up way too late, or both.

JJ blinked a few times. He was just concerned for your safety, like always. Fenced in porches with lights and his best friend keeping you company could be dangerous…

Yeah, he didn’t even buy that.

It was easier back when JJ believed his own lies and self justifications.

Sitting up, JJ peered out the window. It was the early hours of the morning, right around when it was still dark but you could just tell the sun was about to begin rising. His heart sped up when he found you missing from your chair. You weren’t in any of the other chairs in his view, either.

JJ stood up, feeling more awake than ever. He went right for the door and didn’t care about waking anyone inside up.

“Jeez, man,” John B said suddenly, sounding surprised as he looked at him. JJ had just barged out onto the porch out of nowhere, after all. “You good?”

JJ took a second to observe his friend. He was half-sitting and half-laying back on the couch against the wall. It made sense because he’d been sitting there before. From inside, JJ couldn’t see him, but he didn’t even think about John B’s whereabouts until he stepped out.

Maybe he was a bad friend for that.

He didn’t feel that guilty, though, because he saw where you were. You were curled up on the couch on your side, your head on John B’s thigh. JJ could see how steadily you were breathing, your eyes shut.

JJ looked back at his friend, ready to lash out, but the word ‘irrational’ popped up in his mind and resisted. The scene in front of him didn’t give him anything to be mad about.

Jealous, maybe, but not mad. But he couldn’t act on that feeling either. If he acted jealous, that would invite too many questions that JJ didn’t have a good answer for.

“Fine just…” He ran a hand through his hair and then shook his head. “You guys good?”

John B furrowed his brows a little, but chuckled.

“Yeah, we’re fine. We were just talking and she started to fall asleep and I just let her. She seemed tired and it wasn’t a big deal so...”

“What were you guys talking about?”

“I don’t know, stuff?”

JJ leaned back in the doorway. “Like what, though?”

John B tilted his head a little, shaking it ever so slightly.

“Just… life and stuff. Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” JJ replied, giving the appropriate answer. He looked down at you, noticing you hadn’t stirred. You looked comfortable, and that was very conflicting. All of this was. It made his head hurt. “Has she been asleep long?”

John B met JJ’s eyes when he looked back up from you.

“You sure you’re okay?” John B asked, sounding almost concerned. Or at least confused. Maybe both.

But the answer was no. No he wasn’t.

“Yeah, man,” JJ answered with a shrug. “She probably won’t wake up if you wanna get up and go get some sleep.”

John B looked down at you, then at JJ.

He slowly started to move, being extra careful with your head, making sure to put a cushion beneath you before standing up straight.

John B gave a light, awkward smile to JJ as he neared him. He brushed past to go through the door, turning to face JJ.

“You coming?”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna sleep out here,” JJ answered, fighting the urge to look at you. He gave a shrug instead and said, “It’s nice out and I can’t get comfortable on the couch anyway. You can have it—plus I think Kie’s in your bed, so…”

“Right…” John B agreed slowly, glancing at you on the couch again. “You know nothing happened, right?” He looked back at JJ. “We were just talking.”

JJ wasn’t expecting something so direct. “It’s cool man, I know,” he found himself replying. “We’re good.”

John B nodded, albeit slowly. He entered the dark house and JJ shut the door behind him. As a courtesy.

He then turned, spotted the comfiest chair, and resolved to sleep in that for the night. You had stretched out on the couch and looked too peaceful to disturb, even if he did want to take John B’s place from before.

It worked out perfectly. It gave him a clear view of you as he decided to let himself go back to sleep.

As his eyes closed, he wondered if John B would peek through the window just as he had.

If he did, he’d see the content smile on JJ’s face as he drifted off to sleep. For yet another night, JJ got you all to himself. He didn’t want it any other way. He wasn’t sure what he would do.

#stepbrother!jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x you #step bro!jj maybank #the blue #obx #outer banks #quin-ns writing

414 notes · View notes

pinkroseblooms · 1 year ago

Text

Boy Toy

Sugar baby!Toji Fushiguro x Sugar mama!f!Reader

Summary: You try to break things off with Toji; needless to say, he does not take it well. wc: 5.1 Warnings and tags: this story contains smut, dirty talk, cursing, rough sex, begging, emotional manipulation, toxic behavior/relationships, some soft!dom/bratty!sub elements, a clingyyandere!toji, possessive behavior, obsessive love, some angst, some fluff, all twisted af.

a/n: I see a lot of Sugar daddy!Toji content and wanted to switch things up a bit with some emotional feels. I also ended up listening to Rick Montgomery's "Boy Toy" on repeat and got ideas. Personally I headcanon that if Toji ever did somehow develop genuine love for another person it wouldn't necessarily help him chill out this time around, he'd just become more unhinged.

His things are in a pile, close to the solid red oak door; they’ve been packed away in brand new luggage carriers and on top is the duffle bag Toji had initially used to carry his stuff in for overnight stays.

If it were anyone else, Toji would have expected the various articles of clothing and personal items that had steadily accumulated inside your spacious home to be thrown out carelessly like trash on your equally spacious lawn. That or burning in the firepit.

If it was anyone else but you, it’s what Toji would have expected, but you weren’t petty that way; even now as you stand before him, arms crossed, gaze almost blank, you radiate a certain measure of dignity. It’s one of those things Toji’s come to admire about you over the past year. It’s effortless, that magnetizing charm you exude; he liked it right away.

“You can keep the bags, sell them if you want.” Your lips form a small but rueful smile. “I sent you a check; call it a severance fee.”

“I thought I didn’t work for you anymore.”

Toji hasn’t considered you a client in months, though really, a mark was more accurate. You were disgustingly wealthy with a cute face and that was all he needed to pounce on the offer to be your bodyguard and occasional companion to the odd social events. Even cleaned up and polished, Toji was able to keep others away in droves, exactly what you were aiming for; you found social obligations tedious and his handsome yet intimidating presence kept everyone around you from lingering too long and insisting on taking up too much of your time and attention. Toji spent the first three or so months in your company essentially as an employee and he was satisfied with the arrangement. It would have been so easy and simple, it should have been, had you not burrowed your way into his head, like a bullet piercing bone.

Dammit he never should have fucked you. Toji had every intention of keeping things professional. He should have kept his distance, he certainly shouldn’t have let his fingers trace your skin after zipping up your dress, and damn you by the way for looking over your shoulder at him with those pretty doe eyes and not telling him off when the second you caught Toji leaning in, almost like he wasn’t realizing he was doing it, to get a whiff of your scent mixed with the perfume he had said was his favorite.

“You don’t have to keep the charade up anymore; it’s insulting at this point. I won’t force you to stay here.”

“You’re dumping me.”

“No. That would mean we were actually dating. Toji…Fushiguro-san, I made a mistake.” You’re almost talking to yourself as you look over Toji’s tensed shoulders to the entrance of your home. “I was fooling myself, thinking you could open your heart to me. But, I knew what I signed up for. So, no, I won’t leave you without any job security until you find your next meal ticket.”

“You’re not-”

“I heard you. Please, it’s not like you to back track on your words, so don’t start on my account.”

Toji was bragging over the phone, giving a verbal middle finger to an asshole of a former employer who demanded Toji’s services for a hit. You overheard him refer to you as a “piggy bank” with a pretty face, among other things. Shortly after ending the call, Toji left to work out (he couldn’t get too lazy, got to keep in shape to protect his favorite girl) and grab some food (on your card) only to return to this. You didn't even give Toji a chance to greet you with the usual flurry of kisses and a bear hug before telling him point blank he was leaving and now.

Even as Toji struggles to wrap his mind around your abrupt change in demeanor, with that practiced look of almost serene impassivity, you look so good to him, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and tiny bike shorts. You always dress down at home, in comfy, baggy things. Toji supposes you packed away all the sweatshirts you’ve collected from him with everything else of his.

“You won’t even let me apologize?” Toji stands stiffly in the foyer, next to the bags; behind him is the front door, still open, as if waiting for him to step outside. “It was all shit talking. I didn’t mean how it sounded.”

“That doesn’t make it better and it’s not just that. You’ve been hot and cold lately. Admit it: you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge me as anything but an obligation.” You exhale slowly, rubbing your temple. “I’ve tried to be understanding; you lost your wife and I realized it would be hard. I knew that, I knew there was a chance that no matter how close we became, I was never going to be enough for you.”

You put up a good front, but Toji can recognize the faint tremble in your voice, see how your jaw locks slightly, as though you’re holding back curses. He’s hurt you.

“Baby, c’mere?” Toji opens his arms with a pleading half smile. “You’ve been stressed lately, that’s all. You’ve been working hard and I haven’t been showing my appreciation properly, is that it?”

“Oh spare me. Listen, I won’t swear revenge or sick henchmen on your trail.” You go on, calm as can be, not budging an inch. “The check won’t bounce and all your things are there; if I missed anything, I’ll send it to you. You’re free to go.”

Toji stares at you in disbelief, arms dropping to his sides. You could have just as easily said "you're dismissed" with that cutting tone of yours.

“Are you fucking serious?”

When you fail to respond, he suddenly turns from you, but not to storm off. Instead, Toji slams the front door closed so hard, it’s a wonder the whole structure didn’t come crashing down. You don’t so much as flinch when Toji strides up to get in your face.

“I want my stuff out of these bags.” he snarls. "Now."

“There’s no need to make a scene. It’s not like you’ll be without a benefactor for long; I bet you could find another meal ticket just walking down my driveway. The whole neighborhood is full of lonely rich women, you can have your pick.”

“You’re not a meal ticket. You know that, you know I didn’t mean it dammit!”

“Enough.” You raise a hand up, your voice clipped. “Fushiguro-san, you have your things, plenty of money, and my own promise to leave you in peace. What more could you possibly want? What exactly is it that you’re holding out for? You don’t expect me to fund you indefinitely, I’m sure.”

"Why are you acting like this? Like you don't even give a shit?"

Toji’s hands clenched into fists; he’s radiating power and murderous intent, but you don’t look swayed or even scared. You know he wouldn’t strike you. Just the idea sickens him; no, it’s not you he’s actually angry with.

“I’m a fucking idiot who wanted to show off, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Fine. Now we’re gonna talk this out like adults, I’ll put this shit back-"

“No, you will not. I want it gone. I want you gone. Don’t you understand?” You tell him firmly, eyes finally averting to the pile of bags. Toji’s puffed chest deflates at the sadness that finally touches your inflection. “I’m disappointed enough as it is; can’t you do this one thing for my sake? Why are you insisting on dragging this out?”

“I want to put it all back.” Toji blurts out stubbornly, so loud his voice echoes in the high ceilings. “You can’t do this to me, I want to stay.”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “What exactly am I ‘doing to you’?”

“Come on, this is so silly, kicking me out over a misunderstanding.” Toji lowers his voice, a smile coming to his lips as he attempts to charm you once again, hands coming up to gently grasp your shoulders. “You’re breakin’ my heart here. You said it yourself, it’s a been over a year, you know me-”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” Toji steps forward, a strained grin on his lips. “You do. You know me and you know you’re my best girl.”

“Out of all the others?”

“Best and only; I haven’t been with anyone else in months.” Toji rubs his hands over your arms but you only give him a look of derision. “I’m not lying; tell you the truth, ever since we went out to the beach, it’s only been you. Remember that trip?” he grins softly, nuzzles your temple; he knows you want to lean into him, you’re just being stubborn. How adorable. He loves when you get grumpy and need his help relaxing. “I showed you how to make a fire and we fell asleep outside on the hammock. That night was something else...you’ve been the only one ever since. Baby, I swear, there haven't been any other women.”

Toji inches closer, hands shaking slightly where they grip your shoulders; his love bites are still visible, some more faint than others; his arms ache to hold you. You’re so close, so what’s with this wall you’re putting up?

"I want to believe that."

"It's the truth."

Toji isn’t sure how or when it began, but before he knew it, you were calling just to talk and ask how he was doing, if he needed anything. You requested he join you not just for meetings as extra muscle or posing as a date, but on walks and meals, having conversations about the weather to debates about the nature of man to whether toast was better with jelly or jam. You’d take Toji out randomly on shopping trips and end up buying him pretty much anything that caught his eye. Anything Toji wanted, he got, and along with it you increasingly showered him with praise and affection.

When the sex began Toji thought he got you out of his system the first time, only to end up not just repeating these trysts, but staying longer and longer after he fucked your brains out. It was borderline embarrassing, how quickly Toji found himself lulled in by your pillowtalk as you encouraged him to sleep in, promising you’d have breakfast ready for him in the morning. Sometimes, Toji would come over when you weren’t even home with the spare keys you gifted him and promptly burrow himself in your bed until you were due home. The whole room smelled sweet and it was so cozy being wrapped in the down blankets. Toji's eyelids would get heavier as he wallowed in your scented sheets ike a pig rolling in mud until the combined aromas of your perfumes, lotions, and natural scent clung to his nostrils, soothing and oddly familiar; within minutes Toji would be out like a light. After some of the best rest he had ever gotten, Toji would wake up to you stroking his head, petting him like a dog, and asking him what he would like for dinner.

Eventually, inevitably, came the point of no return. During that beach trip Toji told you about his past; he didn’t go into too much detail, mainly that he had loved someone and he was pretty sure lightning only struck once. You didn’t get jealous or angry; you simply kissed his knuckles and put your hand over his, not saying much of anything while Toji spoke. That night on the beach you held his hand and allowed him to reminisce at his own pace into the early hours of the morning, until he was too exhausted to do anything else but hold you and the two of you stayed that way until noon.

That peaceful, almost unreal night, Toji realized you actually gave a shit about him and he didn’t know what to do with that. Regardless, you made it clear you didn’t expect to own his heart and soul. You only promised to take care of him.

“I was being stubborn, you know how I get sometimes. You’re my one and only, baby, can’t we just forget about it?”

“I want you to leave.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

“No!”

Toji’s hands cup your cheeks and he winces at the disgust in your eyes; why are you looking at him like that?

“Okay, okay, let me make it up.” Toji’s voice is sweet as pie; he leans in, practically purring in your ear. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you how sorry I am.”

“Get. Off. I knew you were shameless, but this is...”

You might as well have slapped him across the face; Toji’s smile falls as you glare like he’s some repulsive insect, a leech, like the thought of him touching you is making your skin crawl.

Toji’s hands retract from your face, expression blank. “You’re really serious.”

“Don’t give me that kicked puppy look. As if you don’t have women on speed dial to call up. Why don’t you make up with one of your other meal tickets? I’m sure they’ll have forgiven you by now for however you wronged them-”

“I told you there isn’t anyone else. Don’t do this.” Toji mutters, head hanging; his chest throbs, he can feel sweat trickle down his temple. “Don’t make me go.”

It’s doubtful you could forcibly remove Toji from your presence, but that’s beside the point. It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“No, I’m really sorry.” Toji falls to his knees. “Don’t make me go.”

“Hey, wait, what are you…?”

Toji wraps his arms around your thighs, face pressed into your waist; you stiffen but he hangs on tighter, fingers digging into your hips almost painfully.

“Please, don’t make me. I wanna go upstairs, back to our bed. Listen, I,” Toji pries himself away from you just enough so he can look at you with glassy eyes. He’s panicking now, babbling and frantic as you try to pry off his arms. “Stop that! Baby, I got all messed up about getting too attached and I-I didn’t mean anything I said, you gotta believe me.”

“Toji, let go!”

A cold sweat makes Toji’s already tight shirt stick to his tensed back muscles; he feels like he’s being choked. How could you do this to him? All he wants is to stay with you, whether it’s as a bodyguard, a hired companion, a fuck toy, hell, he’ll settle for being your pet if that’s what it takes to get you to take him back.

"You promised you'd take care of me." he mutters, ignoring your vain attempts at freeing yourself from his unyielding hold. "I don't...want it to be anyone else."

Toji won’t let you go. You’ve made him lazy and spoiled with your pampering; he doesn’t have to work if he doesn’t want to, never has to worry about money or food or rent, and he never has to wake up alone anymore. Whether Toji’s angry, tired, bored, or as of late, happy, you’re the first person he thinks of. You give him everything and now you’re trying to cut him off.

"You let me go right now!" You slap at his shoulders, try to pull back his head from where it's pressed into your midsection. "Are you even listening?!"

With a distressed moan, Toji nuzzles your tummy, kisses the skin peeking out from your sweatshirt riding up under his forearms; his rough hands relax their grasp a fraction to caress your hips.

“Let me stay. I won’t answer calls from my old bosses, I’ll quit betting. If I look at another woman, gouge my eyes out. All you have to do is tell me how to fix things.” Toji smiles at you, one he knows makes women weak in the knees. “Don’t be mad at me anymore. I’ll make it up, I swear. I’ll do anything you want.” he promises between kisses and nips to your skin. “Why are we wasting time arguing? You know, I can make you feel so good. My poor baby, spending all day working so damn hard; you deserve better. I'll help take the edge off...you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I can help, just-”

“Toji, stop-”

“Just let me dammit!”

Toji feels you freeze up; you’re looking back at him with wide eyes. His stomach drops like a rock.

“Sorry…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

No. Now you look scared, maybe a bit concerned; is that for him? Toji can feel some warmth creeping into his chest in spite of everything; you’re so good to him. You went to so much trouble for him and he has no idea why.

You can’t do this. You can’t treat him like a thing to be cherished and then take it all away. Toji just wants things to go back to how they were that morning, with you feeding him berries and syrup drenched pieces of fluffy pancakes, giving him teasing kisses in between each bite, asking what his plans were for the day as he lounges in your lap, wondering what he did to deserve to be so content and full and happy. You made him so happy.

“Shit.” Toji sniffs; he can feel them coming but can’t stop the tears leaking from his eyes. “Shit.” he curses again, bowing his head until it’s resting against your tummy again. “You can’t…you can’t leave me. I won’t let you. I won’t let you abandon me. I can’t-”

“Toji, calm down.” Your voice softens considerably. “Look, do you understand why I’m upset with you?”

“I know, I know I fucked up okay?” Toji croaks, still clinging to your legs. “So what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh? I already said I would do anything you want, so just tell me!”

“Sh, come on, breathe. I need you to calm down, alright?” You bend at the waist slightly, to card your fingers through his damp hair. “Okay, I believe you. I do. I believe you, Toji.”

“Are you gonna kick me out still?”

“No, I won’t for the time being. We can sit down and talk about-whoa!”

Toji wastes no time; he has you lifted off the ground in his arms. You quickly wrap your arms around his shoulders as he makes a beeline for the stairs.

“Slow down!” You glance backward in disbelief at how easily he bounds up the carpet steps. “How are you so strong? Don’t drop me, okay?”

But Toji doesn’t answer; he practically bolts, finally reaching the next level, races down the hallway until he’s at the door to your-the bedroom he and you share. Toji’s heavy boot easily kicks the door open, somehow without breaking it off the hinges; in record time you’re on the bed, but shockingly, Toji doesn’t start stripping you down.

“Toji?” You ask tentatively; he seems fairly out of it and you can’t help feel worried. “Toji, what are you doing?”

“Baby, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed, huh?”

Toji kicks off his boots, gently sits you down in the middle of the mattress among the fluffy pillows and the cheap plush bunny he won for you at a crane machine. Nearly hyperventilating, Toji climbs into bed after you, snatches the sheets and comforter to wrap around the two of you in a soft cocoon. Toji grabs you, cradling you in close as he tries to even out his breathing; for a fleeting second you wonder if this is what stuffed animals felt, if they could become sentient, when children held them tight for comfort. Your attention is brought back by the man rubbing his face into your hair insistently, as if he could tell your mind had briefly wandered.

“Hey, are you-?”

“Don’t make me go.” Toji cuts you off hoarsely. “You love me, right?”

“I do.”

“Say it.”

“I do love you.” You confess sincerely, words muffled slightly due to your face being squished into his chest; his heart is beating a mile and minute. “I was hurt, alright? I want to be good to you, Toji. You have to let me though; you’re not the type to dance around an issue. I just want you to be honest with me and yourself.”

“Yes, yes, I want that. You’re so good to me, baby, thank you.” Toji wraps his legs around yours; if there was a way for you to mold into him he’d make it happen. “Can I move my stuff back in?”

“I…” You hesitate. “Maybe we’re moving too fast.”

“What? No we aren’t. If anything, we're not moving fast enough. Are you still thinking of leaving?” Toji grabs your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him; his eyes look crazed. “You’re not right? You just fucking said you loved me-!”

“Hey, hey.” You put your hands over his gently. “If you really meant what you said before, you have to listen and be good. Can you do that for me?”

Toji nods quickly. You smile for him, finally, and it's a sight for sore eyes. How do you always look so pretty? Toji’s chest throbs and he hugs you, making your ear press against his heart; you can hear it, right? It almost stopped dead when you were glowering at him, Toji still can't believe he was so close to losing this. It's not going to happen again.

“I wanna touch you.”

Toji separates from you as abruptly as he had squeezed you to him; he hovers above you, tugging on the band of your shorts, your panties. He groans pitifully when you still look unsure. Toji hikes your legs up until your ass is pressed to his chest and he’s face to face with your pussy, still covered up. That won’t do: wordlessly, he rips the seams of your shorts apart and pulls your panties to the side. Gently spreading your pussy lips with his fingers, Toji makes sure to look you in the eyes while he lets a long trail of spit trickle from his tongue to your exposed clit.

“See?” he licks a long strip over your slit, salivating at the taste. “I’m drooling for it, just like a dog….heh, I can be your dog. Is that what you want? I’ll fetch and roll over and beg.” he traces his tongue around your swollen clit. “All you gotta do is ask.”

You can barely form words, forget making requests, as Toji slobbers, licking and sucking until you’re dripping wet. Your hands grip the pillows and your head rolls back and forth; you can hardly speak and you’re more squealing than moaning when Toji starts using his fingers to fuck your soaked pussy.

“I’m loyal too. You’re not ever getting rid of me.”

Toji pulls back, kisses and nips the inside of your thigh as he watches his fingers disappear inside you over and over again. He’s smiling down at you, dumbly, in a daze as you let out soft cries with every pump of his wrist, every time his thumb rubs a touch too hard on your clit. He’s the only one who gets to see you like this, composure gone, face flushed, eyes wide, hardly able to do more than moan and whine at his touches. Toji’s smile turns devilish; he purposefully pulls his fingers out and shoves them back in to draw out the squelch sounds from how wet he’s made you. He slowly drags his fingers out all the way and you inhale sharply from the sensation.

“It’s my turn to spoil you.”

Toji lowers your hips down on the sheets and quickly shrugs off his sweatpants and underwear; his cock bobs when it’s released and you’re a bit shocked at how hard he is despite not touching himself.

“Let me fuck you.” Toji rocks his hips, cock over the inside of your thigh. “You still want me, right?”

And if you think he’s going to stop at one round, if you think for a second one time is going to be enough and you somehow still plan to have him out on his ass, maybe you don’t know him. Toji’s fingers dig into your ass; he’s rutting now, throbbing and dripping precum all over you and the bedspread. It brings a twisted grin to his face, like he’s marking his territory. After all, this is where he belongs. If you won’t be persuaded by his touch and words alone, Toji has other ways, he just doesn't want to resort to making you afraid of him.

Because he meant exactly what he said: you're not getting rid of him. If you try to, Toji will just come back. If you run, he'll chase, if you hide, he'll come looking. You've made him into this.

“’M being good, yeah?” Toji lowers his head to your chest to slobber over your nipples next, barely able to speak with his lips sucking and his tongue flicking over them. “I can keep making you feel good, just let me fuck you, let me put in in, let me wreck you-”

“Toji, I want to ride your cock tonight.” You play with his hair and kiss his jaw. “Can I?”

Toji doesn’t hesitate; he throws himself back to lie on your pillows, getting even harder as your scent hits him. He licks his lips in anticipation as you straddle him, stroking him once before lining the tip up with your pussy. Toji’s eyes roll in the back of his head as you slowly sink down, clenching tight; he has to grab at the sheets and force himself to be still, has to keep telling himself this is for you, he’s going to go at your pace and show you how good he can be, obedient and careful. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and he loves it-

“It almost hurts. You're so hard.” You gasp when you’re fully seated on his cock. “Oh, Toji…are you going to cum soon?”

“Nah, don’t worry about that baby.” Toji grins up at you, face flushed and hands shaking as they cling to the pillowcase. “So good…it feels so fucking good when I’m all the way inside. Go on, use my cock to cum, ride me until your pussy can’t take it.”

You tilt your hips so the tip of Toji’s cock rubs against that spot that makes you see stars and your clit gets rubbed against him with every thrust. At first you have your hands over his chest, but when Toji tries to slide his hands up to grab at your tits, you stop him.

“Huh?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me.” You pant out, gently but firmly holding Toji’’s hands above his head. “Tha-that’s your punishment.”

Toji’s brow furrows; he’s practically pouting. He knows he said "anything", but he wants to touch you so badly. Your tits look good enough to eat, nipples slick and begging to be played with, and your skin feels like silk on his fingers. Toji watches, biting the inside of his cheek, tasting blood when you start bouncing, thighs taut and face contorted in pleasure as you get closer and closer to making a mess on his lap.

“Baby,” Toji groans. “Come on, let me, you’re close right? It’ll feel better.”

“I can cum like this.” You say playfully as you tap his pursed lips with one finger. “You said you'd be good.”

“Just wanna touch you....” Toji’s hands twitch but he doesn’t shake off your grip; he raises his hips and you let out a whine. “Please?"

You stop moving and Toji grits his teeth, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Hey…why did you stop?”

“Sorry,” You smile in genuine delight. “You’re really adorable, you know that?”

“Fuck, keep goin’,” Toji nibbles the tip of your finger before you pull it away. “Come on, keep making my dick wet,”

“So cute.” You cup his face and press a long, loving kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Toji, I really do.”

Toji can’t stop himself; he yanks you down, traps you in his arms and thrusts up.

“Ah!”

“Sorry, ‘m sorry baby. I gotta,” Toji slurs. “Ah fuck it.”

You shriek as Toji flips you over; he has your legs spread and lowers his face down to suck and kiss and bite at your breasts, slamming his cock as deep inside your pussy as he can go. He briefly touches your hair, patting your head as you scream and writhe, smiling down at you so warmly even as his cock splits you open.

“Can’t help it. Need it, need this so fucking bad.”

Toji latches onto your neck, sucking so hard you think he might tear the skin; you cry out and your nails accidentally scratch long, red lines down his back and shoulders. You’re clawing and sobbing, completely overwhelmed underneath him. He’s fucking you like an animal with no regard for pacing or rhythm, holding you down and open for him to slam his cock inside your swollen little pussy. Toji straightens up to grind himself into you just the way he knows you like best, gently rubbing away at your clit, smirking at the way you gush around his cock. You’re so pretty like this, flushed and messy for him.

“Tell me again. Tell me you love me and I’ll make you cum so hard your legs shake.”

“Love you,” You gasp, arms wrapping around Toji’s bulging neck, drawing him in closer; you press kisses over his cheeks, nose, chin. “I love you, I-ah!”

Toji is done being patient; he keeps his thumb pressed down on your clit, rubbing it harshly as he grinds his cock right into that spot, deep and hard; you’re never going to forget how his cock feels. Toji kisses you none too gently, lips prying your mouth open as he shoves his tongue down your throat; he really doesn’t even mean to be rough this time. The desire to devour you is overtaking him.

He’s so close. Your pussy’s soaking, his head’s spinning; just before Toji’s about to cum, you muster up enough energy to hold him back tightly and pet his hair, moaning softly into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. Toji wanted to last longer, but it’s too much. Abruptly, he breaks the kiss and his mouth goes to your jugular; Toji swears he can feel your pulse under his teeth.

“Cum inside me.” You plead, whimpering into his ear. “I want it…want you, Toji, no one else.”

“Shit.” Toji presses his forehead to yours, hiking up your thighs; the bed is creaking and shaking with the force of his thrusts. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

Toji goes rigid and still as he cums, cock suddenly painfully sensitive; when you smile tiredly and kiss the palm of his hand, actual tears well up in the corners of his eyes. It’s all too much. He didn’t know he could even still feel like this, feel much of anything anymore. You shudder from his hot cum gushing inside you, but Toji doesn’t pull out just yet and you don’t seem in a hurry to move him anyway.

“I think you broke my dick.”

“...pardon me?”

“Pretty sure your pussy drained me dry…fuck.” Toji chuckles tiredly, very slowly pulling himself out, smiling in satisfaction as his cum seeps out of you and onto the sheets. “Did you like that?”

“I loved it.” You tell him softly, just beginning to catch your own breath as Toji uses his shirt to gently wipe you clean between your legs. “Toji?”

“Yeah?” Toji tosses his shirt somewhere and lays over you. “You want me to get you something? I bet you’re real tired after that.”

You pause; you look very serious all of a sudden, all business once more. “Toji, we really should talk about ‘us’. I don’t think we can just return to what we were.”

“What? But you said you loved me.” Toji raises his head to glare at you. “You’re not seeing other men, so put that idea out of your fucking head.”

“That is not what I meant!”

“Okay…what is it then?”

“I was going to say, are you sure this is what you want?” You ask carefully, looking into his eyes. “Is this really what you want?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Toji can’t believe you even have to ask; he frowns and clicks his tongue impatiently. “Fair warning, I’ll find you if you try to leave before I wake up.”

“I don’t doubt it, you’re an excellent tracker.”

“I mean it.” Toji mumbles into the crook of your neck, his heavy arm over your stomach. “You run, I’m hunting you down.”

“I wasn’t planning on making a grand escape; I was thinking something more along the lines of breakfast in bed.” You suggest and smile at the way Toji’s visibly perks up. “Oh, have you had dinner yet?”

“No, I came straight here from the gym.” he lies, eager to have you fuss over him. "I'm really hungry..."

“I’ll order in something; what do you want?”

“Anything, just get lots of it.” Toji squeezes you. “But don’t go yet though. Wanna stay like this a little longer.”

“Whatever you want.”

In minutes, Toji is snoring and curled up in your sheets like a tuckered out puppy; his leg even kicks randomly. When he wakes up to the smell of warm food and your nails gently scratching his scalp, Toji yawns with a groggy smile and opens his mouth for you to feed him, licking crumbs off your fingers greedily. You really do spoil him.

931 notes · View notes

saintship · 1 month ago

Text

Handyman

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, a bit of spice, metallica ;), swearing, Dog!!

Other: POC friendly, most applicable for afab reader

༻✦༺

Daryl hearing you screech his name in excitement used to send a shot of adrenaline up his spine, years of looking over his shoulder making him jump to the worst. But now, things were about as perfect as they could get. He didn’t need much more than you, Dog, and the home you shared.

“What’re you yellin’ about?” Daryl mutters as he walks into the living room, still drying his damp hair from the shower. He’d never admit you were the reason he felt safe enough to use hot water and real soap every once and a while.

“Thought you drowned trying to do the dishes.”

You roll your eyes at his remark.

“Look..”

You showed him what had caused your excitement, a Metallica vinyl in the bin you’d picked up on a run. Most of the vinyls were scratched or warped from the heat, but this one looked usable. He takes it in his hands skeptically, turning it over.

“You sure s’not busted?”

“Have some optimism.”

You take it gently, placing it on the turntable. The needle slowly lowers, the sound of The Four Horseman crackling to life.

“We are old as shit..” You murmur, reminiscing on the memories of playing the same album in your childhood bedroom.

Daryl rarely laughs, but he does pull that stupid half smile that makes your head spin as he rubs Dog’s ears.

“You ain’t old, sweetheart.”

“I’m going to get to those dishes..” You stand, caught in the doorway by Daryl’s lean arm.

“What’s your rush?” He murmurs, the riffs emanating from the turntable seeming like the perfect background noise to his lips on your neck.

“The kitchen is disgusting..” You try to remind him, but his other arm circles your waist, securing you to his chest.

“This ain’t the four seasons, don’t gotta clean all the time..” His thumb traces the elastic of your bra, and you gently separate yourself.

“Okay, okay.. five minutes, and then.. Daryl.”

He’d walked behind you, rubbing your neck gently.

“Hm?”

“Stop..” You murmured half-heartedly.

He gives you a squeeze before relenting, stepping back to pull on his vest.

“Alright.. i’ll be outside..”

The thought of him working on his motorcycle nearly makes you turn your back on your responsibilities, but you start on the dishes, the faint music from the living room and Dog keeping you company.

Just as you’re nearly done, you drop your washcloth, and Dog bends down to sniff and lick it.

“No!” You scold softly, kneeling to quickly shield him from ingesting more of the soap. “Dog, place.”

As he trots obediently to his blanket in the living room, you hear a noise from inside the cabinet you’re kneeling beside. Suspecting some kind of vermin, you retrieve a knife and kneel again, listening. You couldn’t make out what it was, but it didn’t sound small.

Taking a sharp breath, you quickly open the cabinet door, only to be sprayed in the face by the sink water escaping from a loose valve. A small noise of surprise leaves you as you shield your face, water soaking through your clothes.

“Daryl!”

You hear the door open seconds later, followed by his voice.

“You’re gonna wear my name out, girl-"

He stops in his tracks as he sees the predicament you’re in, water spraying you relentlessly, Dog having abandoned his blanket to come lick the water from your face incessantly.

Daryl laughed—he really laughed, supporting himself on the wall.

“How the hell-"

“Daryl!” You exclaim, though his amusement made you fight a laugh yourself.

“Idiot..” He shakes his head, still grinning as he leans down and tightens the valve. “You are soaked..”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” You huff, still fighting off Dog’s excited licking.

Daryl takes his towel from earlier off the counter, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Guess you needed a shower too..”

“Alright, Dixon..” You throw the towel, taking the sink faucet and aiming it at him.

“Hey! The hell’s the matter with you!” He tries to dodge the water, crouching behind the counter.

“I think you missed a spot in the shower!”

The song on the vinyl was now Dyer’s Eve as you laughed at the sight of your boyfriend feebly blocking your onslaught of water. He darts up beside you, wrestling you for the faucet, at which you squeal and object, only to be sprayed again.

“No!” You laugh uncontrollably, water absolutely everywhere, the cabinets, the floors, on Dog, and the both of you. You stop his attacks the only way you can think of, walking right up to him and kissing him deeply.

He turns off the faucet, his body nearly limp with surprise. He takes your face in his hands, one traveling through your now wet hair before you separate for breath.

“Made a mess. You’re stupid..” He mutters, and to anyone else, it would be mean. But you know his ‘Daryl-speak’ well enough to know that he might as well have told you he’d die for you.

“So’re you..” You kiss him again, and he allows himself to be pressed against the counter, his hands on your sides. A few of the dishes clatter to the side as he flips your positions, placing you on the countertop. Your skin feels warm despite the water covering both of you as he eases off your damp shorts.

“This okay?”

“Yes..”

You tug at his shirt.

“Only if you want to..” You murmur.

He pants for a moment before pulling off the shirt with a small grunt, his scars now visible. Your lips meet his again, hoping to comfort him. He absorbs your soft moans into his own lips when his hands rub at your inner thighs, low noises crawling from his chest at the feeling of you.

“Shit..” He mutters, unabashedly dropping to his knees, his face level with your hips.

“You want it, sweetheart?”

༻✦༺

103 notes · View notes

spitdrunken · 1 year ago

Text

Vox x Reader Relationship Headcanons

This post contains SPOILERS in the sense that it is based off of the version of Vox as presented in episode 2. None of the actual plot points featured within are discussed. notes: background vox x valentino / polyamory (reader only dates vox), extremely unhealthy relationships, stalking, manipulation, hypnosis, power imbalance. kidnapping + physical abuse mention (neither done by vox)

To catch the eye of a demon as powerful as Vox is not an ideal situation. While he could be considered more levelheaded than your average demon, and certainly is when compared to his associates, he still has things that rile him up like no other. No, he doesn’t have a whole string of sexual partners to use and abuse like Valentino does, but that makes the weight of his gaze all the more crushing when it does fall upon someone.

Once you’ve got his interest, it’s practically impossible to slip away from him. He’s got vantage points all across the Pride Ring, being able to slip in and out of its many scattered screens with ease. While the usual tracking Vox Media subjects its customers to is already an invasion of privacy, yours would be on a whole other level.

With how inescapable his company is amongst Sinner demons, it’s more than likely you’ve at least got some kind of device he’d be able to peer into. As soon as your phone is being plugged into a port, he’d be skimming through your messages and search history. Though your face-to-face meetings might have been minimal or non-existent at this point, he would already know far more about you than most of your friends. …You should really clear out your search history more often. But, hey, he’s not unhappy about it! There’s no traces of his presence as soon as he’s done.

Vox cares a great deal about his reputation and image. Not only because he’s the very face of a high-earning brand, but it is also simply the kind of person he is. Whereas someone like Valentino might have gone right ahead and shot any possible partner in the head, Vox is much more careful than that. What would people think, if he simply went around and started electrocuting a bunch of unknowns to death? No, that’s just not his way of doing things whatsoever.

Even besides that, there’s also much more satisfaction in it, to him, to convince you to leave them and join him, of your own accord. Vox has always been the brain behind all operations, the meticulous and thoughtful one, the one who got investors on board and appeared in interviews. In other words, he’s become quite good with words, and can easily come off as charming whenever he so wishes. That is exactly the way he will present himself to you, at least at first: a demon unlike other demons, practically a gentleman.

You wouldn’t have known him from his early days, the time where he still made mistakes, and nobody knew his name. When he invites you over for dinner (through an email that you’re convinced is fake spam, the first couple of times you receive it), he wants to appear nothing but infallible and powerful to you. You, who is only familiar with him through screens, as a flawless news presenter, gameshow host, and much more. A smile would never leave his screen, and he is constantly courteous.

He’s got a couple of expensive gifts at the ready as well, ones that hail from his own company. Perhaps it’s the newest iteration in his own line of phones, or a brand-new kind of security system. He’ll wave off any kind of dismissal of his gift, telling to just take it, you don’t even know how many of those he has lying around! Trust him. (In fact, they are modified to grant him even more easy access into your life. A constant stream of information directed at him, with Vox never even having to enter your device anymore.)

In a place like the Pride Ring in Hell, existence is demeaning at best, and utterly miserable at worst, for the average demon. Vox is more than aware of this and, at first, doesn’t even try his absolute best to sweep you off your feet. The power and the safety net someone such as himself would provide would be more than enough for most people. For the average demon, time spent by his side would be a vast improvement, and no one can deny that.

And, in this case, he is most likely interested in someone with far less power than him: you. Whether actively aware of it or not, and if he was, he’d never admit it, a part of Vox desires to be with someone from whom affection comes more easily. And that is… Not Valentino. Not that he’d ever separate from him, mind you, you’d simply be the antithesis to him. If you aren’t, he’ll make you something closer to that.

One of the largest drawbacks that immediately becomes noticeable, is the political target spending time around Vox makes you. Whether he purposefully makes the two of you appear in Hell’s largest tabloid, or only goes someplace where the two of you are sure to be spotted, you’ll surely become a demon worthy of kidnapping after this. It is exactly this, and the fear that comes along with it, that Vox would weaponize against you.

Wouldn’t it be much better, and safer, to stay in one of the company’s buildings? You’re bound to get kidnapped anywhere else, you know. He’s just looking out for you! Really though, he’d never let something like that happened to you. Not only because such an occurence would cause his reputation to take a great hit, but also because he cares! The praises he heaps on top of you are never outright lies, though some are perhaps exaggerated. He wouldn’t spend so much time on a demon he wasn’t genuinely interested in.

Vox, to the vast majority of people, would come on too strong, and too fast. The kind of attention that comes from someone who hasn’t been denied anything in a long time. At the same time, underneath his collected demeanor, seen in his stalking and meticulous collection of information, there is something that could be seen as a glimmer of desperation.

One might stop and think that, if he truly were as capable and faultless as he makes himself out to be, why would he go through all of this trouble? Wouldn’t simply being himself, or something rather close to it, be enough? This is truly where the heart of the issue, his deeply-hidden insecurity, shines through. Besides just the way the thought of being rejected by you upsets him, as well as he tries to hide it, he can’t simply back out, now that he’s spent so much time around you. He’d never live it down.

If, for some reason, ‘diplomacy’ and his usual wooing doesn’t work… He’s an Overlord for a reason. He still has plenty of tricks left up his sleeve. He can manipulate any digital image he wants, including video, without ever touching editing software. Vox can show you the people closest to you saying outright brutal things about you, with their exact mannerisms and voice. All data gathered through the various devices of his he owns, then capable of creating replicas. In a limited way, he can bend reality to his will.

If even that doesn’t work, he has his powers of hypnosis as a last resort. In this case, he doesn’t like having to use them, would have preferred the satisfaction over getting you to fawn over him all on your own… But it’s just so much easier to plant a little trigger inside your brain. For him to snap his fingers, and have you become more agreeable. Your thoughts growing that tiniest bit hazier, your head the slightest bit heavier.

All you have to do is look into his eyes, and take a deep breath… That’s better, isn’t it? What were you even getting so upset about before, huh? (And again, hypnosis is a last resort here. He’s spent so many years dealing with Valentino’s temper tantrums that he’s an expert at diffusing any kind of argument, and nothing surprises anymore.)

Vox wouldn’t be likely to physically hurt you at all. He sees himself as being capable of more self-control than that, even when in the throes of jealousy. Really, the one you should be most afraid of during this entire ordeal is Valentino. While their relationship is by no means monogamous, and it never will be, he’s still used to being the center of attention. He uses violence and unpredictability to have Vox, largely, at his every beck and call. While Vox isn’t used to having denied things, Valentino’s is many times worse about it.

Initially, he ignores you. Designating you as some kind of fling, not even worthy of being one of his whores, soon ready to be forgotten. Vox doesn’t do those kinds of things all that often but, hey, anything’s bound to happen with an eternity of time to kill, right? It’s only when you become a more permanent fixture in their life that he really becomes more of a threat.

He’ll let his temper cut loose, specifically during times where the two of you are spending time together, causing mayhem around the company. If Vox’s attention is entirely unwanted, this may even be a welcome reprieve for you. Still, Valentino being jealous of you should be about the last thing you want. Frankly, it makes you liable to get shot on a bad day, or because of a poorly worded comment.

…Perhaps it would be better to stay close to Vox, then.

#hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox hazbin hotel x reader #yandere #hazbin hotel #cha.vox #cw.stalking #cw.hypnosis

1K notes · View notes