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midnight-shadow-cafe · 6 months ago

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Engines and Affections

Pairing: Poly 141 x Assistant!reader

AU: Mechanic 141

Warning: fluff, the boys are a bit touchy

Authors note: I hope yall enjoy, it’s not poly until about half way through. I had to change a lot of this because it was similar to someone’s post that they posted so this is the newer one

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The air at Price’s Auto Garage buzzed with the sound of engines and tools, the usual symphony of work that set the place alive each day. Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost moved around the garage with quiet confidence, focused on their tasks. They were the best at what they did, hands skilled and practiced, but the front desk? It was a mess. Calls went unanswered, invoices piled up, and the schedule was a puzzle no one had time to piece together. Price finally decided they needed help at the front.

The moment you walked in for the interview, they noticed.

You stood in the doorway, posture relaxed, radiating a confident smile as you scanned the space. Even though garages weren't exactly familiar territory, you weren’t about to let that show. Price gave you a welcoming nod, gesturing you inside, while Soap looked you over with a smirk, already leaning against a toolbox. Gaz offered a warm smile, while Ghost stood off to the side, arms crossed, as unreadable as ever.

Price glanced through your resume with a quick nod, but it was clear they’d made up their minds as soon as you walked in. A few questions later, and the job was yours.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the midst of the garage’s organized chaos. The phone rang constantly, schedules made only partial sense, and sometimes, the invoices looked like a language of their own. You tried your best to keep up, but this was a whole new world.

“Ah, I think… these are for you?” You handed Price a stack of papers one morning, hesitating when his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Love, these are last week’s invoices.” Price held back a chuckle, his eyes kind even as he gently corrected you. “I’ll show you how we sort ’em out, alright?”

His large hands guided yours through the stacks, showing you the little tricks they used to keep things organized. He took his time, explaining everything patiently, his voice low and calm as he brushed your shoulder every now and then. By the end of it, you had a better grasp—sort of.

Soap, however, took a different approach. Every few hours, he’d call you over, pulling you away from your desk to check out whatever project he was working on.

“Oi, lass, come look at this,” he called out one afternoon, grinning as he waved you over to the car he was working on.

You tried to seem interested, leaning in as he explained the engine in detail, even though the terms were lost on you. Your confidence started slipping as he talked about pistons, valves, and all kinds of parts you’d never heard of, but you nodded along, pretending to understand.

“See this part here?” He pointed, smirking as you leaned in closer, glancing from him to the engine.

“Oh, yeah! The… thing,” you managed, biting back a laugh when he rolled his eyes, grinning even wider.

“You’ve no idea what I’m on about, do ya?” He chuckled, nudging you playfully with his elbow. “Don’t worry, lass, I’ll teach ya everything I know. Might just take a bit.”

Despite your confusion, his excitement was infectious, and you found yourself laughing along, even if you still didn’t understand a word.

Gaz was the one who always made sure you felt comfortable, sensing when you were a bit overwhelmed. Every morning, he’d bring you a coffee, setting it on your desk with a small smile.

“To keep you sharp,” he said with a wink, and you’d thank him, feeling a little less lost in the unfamiliar world of auto repairs.

One afternoon, as you struggled with the printer again, Gaz appeared by your side. He’d noticed your mounting frustration and stepped in without a word, reaching over to press a few buttons with expert ease.

“Here, let me show you.” His hand rested on yours as he guided you through the steps, his voice soft and patient. You felt his presence close beside you, his attention entirely on helping you, and your nerves calmed as you finally figured out the tricky machine.

“You’re getting it,” he said with an approving nod, his fingers brushing yours for a moment longer before he stepped back, a quiet sense of pride in his smile.

Ghost, meanwhile, kept his distance—until you made a mistake too big for him to ignore. One evening, you’d accidentally given the wrong keys to a customer, causing a brief mix-up in the garage. Ghost’s expression was steely as he came over to you, clearly unimpressed.

“These keys belong to the truck in the back,” he said, his tone gruff but calm as he held them out to you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just—” You stammered, caught off guard by the intensity in his gaze.

He took a slow breath, running a hand over his face before meeting your eyes again. “Just double-check before you hand ’em out next time, alright?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed, but Ghost’s expression softened almost imperceptibly when he noticed your nervousness. Later, he quietly came over, placing the keys in their correct spots while you watched, making sure you’d gotten it right.

“Just remember,” he said, his voice low, “no rush. Take your time.” And with a small nod, he returned to his work, his rare show of patience lingering with you.

---

One rainy evening, as you prepared to leave, you stood by the door, staring at the downpour. You’d forgotten your jacket, and with the way the rain was coming down, you’d be soaked in minutes.

Ghost was passing by, his eyes flicking between you and the rain outside. He let out a sigh, already pulling out his keys. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”

Surprised, you followed him to his truck, slipping into the passenger seat as he climbed in. The ride was quiet but comfortable, the steady rhythm of the rain filling the silence. His presence was somehow reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing, even sneaking a few glances at him as he drove.

“Thanks for this,” you murmured as he pulled up to your place, his gaze still fixed forward.

He gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just get yourself a jacket next time.” But the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and you knew he didn’t mind.

After that night, you’d started to find your rhythm in the garage. The guys were quick to help when you needed it, and slowly, you felt like part of the team. The way they each looked out for you in their own way brought you a quiet sense of belonging that you hadn’t expected, making the unfamiliar chaos of the garage feel like somewhere you could finally call home.

——

Over the next few months, the garage became more than just a workplace—it became a second home. The guys were always there, whether to lend a hand, share a laugh, or tease you about some new mistake. You noticed how each of them had their own way of making sure you were taken care of. And somewhere along the way, your small, shared moments with each of them started to feel… different.

Price became more attentive, stopping by your desk to chat with you about your day, his warm gaze lingering a moment too long. Soap’s teasing got softer, almost affectionate, his laughs filled with genuine happiness when he saw you smile. Gaz made a habit of bringing you coffee every morning, but now he’d stay a little longer, brushing your hand as he passed the cup, his gaze lingering on your lips. Even Ghost, usually distant, had become gentler, staying around the garage a little longer just to make sure you got home safe.

The four men started to notice each other’s shifts in behavior too. What was once harmless camaraderie and teamwork started to feel like an unspoken rivalry, each of them vying for more of your attention. Eventually, it reached a tipping point, and one late night at the garage, they decided to address it head-on.

“Alright, lads,” Price began, crossing his arms as he looked at the others. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Soap scoffed, trying to brush it off. “You mean the way you get all soft whenever she’s around?” he said, though there was no real bite to his tone.

Gaz chuckled, running a hand over the back of his neck. “We all know it’s not just Price. Let’s be honest with ourselves here.”

Ghost, silent as ever, watched the others, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Guess we’ve all got feelings for her. Question is, what’re we gonna do about it?”

They sat in silence for a moment, each processing the quiet admission that their feelings ran deeper than simple friendship. Price broke the silence, his voice firm yet understanding.

“We’re not just co-workers; we’re a team,” he said. “So, if we’re all on the same page about her, then maybe it’s time we tell her.”

A few days later, the four of them gathered the courage to bring up the subject with you. It was the end of a long workday, and you were about to head home when Price called you over, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

As you walked into the main garage, the four of them stood there, exchanging glances as if silently confirming that this was the right moment. You felt your heart race, sensing that whatever was about to happen was important.

Price cleared his throat, his usual steady demeanor softening as he looked at you. “We, uh… have something we need to talk to you about. All of us.”

Confused, you looked between them, giving a small nod. “Okay, I’m listening.”

They each took turns explaining, their words stumbling a little at first but then gaining confidence as they shared their feelings. Price told you how much he admired your kindness and resilience, how you made the garage feel like home. Soap shared how much he loved making you laugh, how your presence was the highlight of his day. Gaz spoke of his protective instincts, how he felt compelled to make you happy. Even Ghost, usually guarded, admitted in his own quiet way that he’d come to care about you deeply.

It was overwhelming but touching, hearing each of them express feelings that you hadn’t dared to think might be mutual. Finally, Price looked at you, his eyes searching yours with a question that didn’t need words.

“Would you be open to… to something with all of us?” he asked gently.

It took a moment for you to process what they were asking, but as you looked at each of them, you realized that the idea didn’t scare you—in fact, it felt right.

“I… I would be,” you admitted, smiling as their tense expressions melted into ones of relief and happiness.

From that point on, your relationships with them grew deeper and more intimate. You shared quiet mornings with Gaz, who’d bring you coffee and pull you close, his arm around you as you eased into the day together. Soap’s playful teasing turned more flirtatious, his laughter warm as he’d brush your hair back, stealing little kisses when no one was looking. Price had a way of grounding you, his strong arms always there to wrap around you at the end of a long day, pressing soft, lingering kisses to your forehead that made you feel safe. And Ghost, though still reserved, became more open, offering a gentle touch here and there, his presence comforting in a way that words couldn’t quite describe.

One evening, after closing up shop, you found yourself nestled between them on the worn leather couch in the break room. Gaz leaned close, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back, while Soap’s arm draped across your shoulders, pulling you close as he whispered jokes in your ear, his voice warm and soft. Price sat at your side, his hand resting on your knee, thumb drawing small circles as he met your gaze with a soft smile, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding.

And Ghost, ever the silent observer, brushed a gentle hand over your shoulder, his fingers lingering at your neck. You felt their affection surrounding you, each of them bringing their own unique warmth and comfort, and you knew that this—this closeness, this shared connection—was something rare, something to be cherished.

Over time, your moments together grew more intimate. The nights you spent with them were full of whispered words and gentle touches, each one of them showing their love in their own way. Soap’s playful nature softened, his teasing replaced with gentle affection as he held you close, his laughter quiet as he stroked your hair. Gaz would pull you into his lap, his hands warm against your back as he kissed you deeply, his eyes filled with warmth as he traced his thumb over your cheek. Price, always steady, would hold you close, his presence reassuring as he kissed you with a softness that made you feel cherished, his voice low as he murmured words of love.

And Ghost, though still quieter than the others, would sit beside you, his fingers brushing over yours, his touch reverent as he watched you with a gaze that spoke volumes. When he held you, it was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he couldn’t believe you were there with him.

In these shared moments, you found a kind of love and connection that you’d never known. Together, you formed a bond stronger than any you’d ever imagined, a family bound by love and trust. And in their arms, surrounded by their warmth, you knew you’d found a home, one where you were loved wholly and completely by each of them.

Hope you enjoyed! Please follow, like and Reblog💜 -Midnight’s Cafe

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a-d-nox · 3 months ago

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how can you glow up: your 10h - your public persona

here's the next hypothesis of how you can glow up using your venus persona. take a close look at your 10h!

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

10h aries (1°, 13°, 25°), 10h mars, and/or 10h ruler aspecting mars

define career goals

take initiative: initiate new projects, push forward in your career, and take bold steps toward achieving your professional goals.

action-oriented success: you’ll find that you can make progress quickly in your career when you’re proactive. use this momentum to advance in your field, whether through promotions, new opportunities, or recognition.

ambitious and goal-driven: you're determined to climb the career ladder. set clear goals, take calculated risks, and push yourself toward success.

build a reputation

project confidence: present yourself confidently in professional settings. whether it’s presenting ideas, networking, and/or taking charge in meetings, you’ll naturally draw attention.

leadership: mars gives you the courage to step into roles of authority and make decisions that others will follow. you can be a natural leader and motivate others with your energy.

embrace competition: you thrive in competitive environments and are motivated to prove your abilities. use this to your advantage in your career.

balance ambition

action toward legacy: you have the stamina and passion to work toward building something that lasts.

decisive moves: you’re likely to make bold, yet calculated decisions. trust your instincts and act decisively.

10h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°), 10h mercury, and/or 10h ruler aspecting mercury

define career goals

embrace variety: gemini thrives in roles that allow you to wear multiple hats. consider careers in media, education, marketing, writing, public relations, or technology - fields where communication and adaptability are key.

stay flexible: your career path doesn’t have to be linear. give yourself permission to explore different fields, projects, and/or interests. it's never too late learn new things... that being said...

lifelong learning: invest in expanding your knowledge and skill set. take courses, read, and stay curious about emerging trends in your field.

build a reputation

showcase your intelligence: this energy shines when you’re seen as knowledgeable and quick-witted. share insights, teach others, or present new ideas in your industry.

refine communication skills: whether it’s public speaking, writing, or networking, invest in becoming a proficient communicator.

embrace social media: use platforms to share your thoughts, connect with others, or even build a personal brand. a podcast, blog, or youtube channel could work especially well for you.

balance ambition

prioritize focus: curiosity can sometimes lead to scattered energy. use time management tools like task lists or productivity apps to stay organized.

practice mindfulness: with a mind always racing with ideas, grounding techniques like meditation or journaling can help you avoid burnout.

embrace breaks: allow yourself to step away and recharge when needed - you thrive on change, so even brief shifts in environment can boost your energy.

10h cancer (4°, 16°, 28°), 10h moon, and/or 10h ruler aspecting moon

define career goals

follow your emotional compass: think of roles where you can nurture, protect, and/or support others (ex: caregiving, teaching, counseling, creative fields, or advocacy).

create a safe space: aim for a work environment where you feel emotionally secure and valued.

build a reputation

lead with love: show your nurturing side in your professional relationships. be known for your reliability, emotional intelligence, and willingness to support others.

authenticity matters: lean into your vulnerability and emotional depth as strengths.

be approachable: this energy makes you relatable and warm. cultivate trust by being a good listener and showing understanding.

balance ambition

avoid over-nurturing: don’t let yourself become overly focused on caring for others at the expense of your own goals. set boundaries and prioritize your ambitions.

emotional resilience: this energy can be sensitive to public criticism. build inner confidence by focusing on your strengths and maintaining perspective.

work-life balance: your emotional health directly affects your productivity. create routines that allow for rest, family time, and self-care.

10h aquarius (12°, 24°), 10h uranus, and/or 10h ruler aspecting uranus

define career goals

innovate and rebel: you might find fulfillment in careers that are unconventional or ahead of their your. this could mean embracing technology, alternative industries, or positions that challenge the status quo.

pioneering spirit: you may be drawn to pioneering projects or cutting-edge fields where innovation is key. don’t be afraid to pursue new technologies, digital spaces, or progressive causes in your career.

reinvent yourself professionally: embrace reinvention and the possibility of sudden changes in your professional life.

build a reputation

align with your unique self: your public image and career should reflect your true, individual nature. don’t conform to societal expectations if they don’t align with your true desires.

challenge conventional norms: trust this impulse, as it can lead to innovative achievements and greater personal satisfaction.

create a unique professional identity: you may stand out from the crowd, and that’s a strength. cultivate a professional identity that is distinctly yours, and don’t be afraid to express your individuality through your work or public image.

balance ambition

career shifts: your career path may be marked by sudden changes, disruptions, or unexpected opportunities. while this may feel unsettling at times, these shifts often lead to growth and progress. learn to embrace the unexpected.

flexibility is key: rigidity is not your friend. be open to change, and stay flexible with your professional goals. opportunities might appear suddenly, so adaptability is crucial.

breakthrough moments: you may experience moments of sudden insight or a flash of inspiration that leads to breakthroughs in your career. trust your intuition and be ready to act when these moments arise.

10h nn and/or 10h ruler aspecting nn

define career goals

embrace your public role: build a meaningful career or life purpose that contributes to society. this may feel uncomfortable at first, but growth happens outside your comfort zone.

take responsibility: own your actions and decisions. success with this placement comes from being reliable, consistent, and committed to your goals.

have big ambitions: you’re meant to focus on long-term goals and create a legacy. dream big and work toward achievements that will stand the test of time.

build a reputation

get comfortable being seen: step out of the shadows - start sharing your voice and talents with the world.

develop a professional image: polish your public presence by curating your personal brand, whether that’s through social media, professional profiles, and/or networking.

own your achievements: never downplaying your successes - learn to celebrate them and share them confidently.

balance ambition

master time management: 10h requires discipline and structure to achieve your goals. use tools like planners, calendars, or apps to stay on track.

consistency is key: show up for your goals every day - over time, your efforts will compound into success.

learn from mentors: seek guidance from people who’ve already achieved what you’re aiming for. their insights can help you stay focused.

10h part of fortune and/or 10h ruler aspecting part of fortune

define career goals

find a career that brings joy: your greatest happiness comes from pursuing meaningful career goals or becoming recognized for your work.

define your mission: reflect on what kind of career feels truly aligned with your values and passions. you’re happiest when your work is purposeful and impactful.

be ambitious: the 10h rewards you for aiming high and committing to goals that will leave a lasting impression.

build a reputation

public recognition: your sense of fulfillment comes from being respected and acknowledged for your contributions. cultivate a professional image that reflects your authenticity, dedication, and skill.

leave a legacy: think long-term - how do you want to be remembered? focus on building something meaningful that reflects your talents and effort.

balance ambition

step into leadership: this placement often points to natural leadership abilities. don’t shy away from roles where you take charge, make decisions, or guide others.

be a role model: others may naturally look up to you for inspiration. lead with integrity, and you’ll find success comes easily.

learn from mentors: surround yourself with accomplished individuals who can guide you toward your goals and help you refine your ambitions.

10h ruler in the 5h

define career goals

infuse creativity into your career: with this placement, you thrive in fields that allow for artistic or creative expression, such as art, music, writing, fashion, theater, and/or design. even in non-creative industries, you’ll want to find ways to bring originality and fun into your work.

pursue your passion: you’ll feel most fulfilled in a career that aligns with your personal interests or hobbies. think about what lights you up and explore ways to turn that into a profession.

entertainment and performance: you may have natural talents in areas like acting, performing, and/or public speaking. if these fields interest you, don’t hesitate to put yourself out there.

build a reputation

leadership through fun: you’re well-suited to leadership roles where you can inspire others with your enthusiasm.

encourage creativity in others: you may excel as a mentor, teacher, or leader in fields like education, creative coaching, and/or team-building where you can bring out the best in others.

stand out publicly: your career may involve being in the spotlight or receiving recognition for your individuality and creativity.

balance ambition

work that doesn’t feel like work: you’re driven to create a professional life that feels enjoyable and fulfilling. you’re not someone who thrives in overly rigid or monotonous work environments.

create a balance between fun and productivity: while it’s important to find joy in your career, be mindful not to lose focus on long-term goals. blend fun with discipline for sustained success.

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button!

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#astrology #astro community #astro placements #astro chart #astrology tumblr #astro notes #astrology readings #astrology blog #astrology chart #astro #astroblr #astro observations #venus persona chart #persona chart #10h

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motherismotheringggg · 4 months ago

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nicholas chavez fic where he’s with plus size reader and he likes to see her jiggle during sex👁️👁️

made to worship 🥀

summary: this and one another anon request — LOVED THIS!!!

type: plus sized female reader x nicholas chavez

tags: established relationship, body worshipping, oral (m! and f! receiving), p in v sex, swallowing

author’s note: it’s the way i wanted to start writing for more specific readers/reader traits and the literal say i had this idea i got this request — INSANITY!!! but im so happy with this and i hope yall like it!!!

word count: 4909

taglist: @emluvsuxo , @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @godzillawillsaveus , @purple-1995 , @ilovecheetahchrome , @nicholaschavezslut69

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The evening sky outside your high-rise apartment glowed with hues of pink and orange, the city skyline twinkling like scattered jewels. Inside, your space was bathed in the warm, ambient glow of your carefully curated mood lighting.

Fairy lights danced along the edges of your large windows, their soft light complementing the flicker of vanilla-scented candles scattered across the room. The atmosphere felt magical, almost like you were preparing for a scene in one of Nicholas’s movies—but tonight, the star was you.

Your "HOTTIES GETTING READY 🍸💗" playlist blasted through your Alexa speaker, Sabrina Carpenter’s upbeat lyrics urging you to sway your hips as you moved. The giddy excitement bubbling in your chest spilled into every movement: the way you twirled in front of the mirror, the occasional shimmy as you reached for another makeup brush, and the soft giggles that escaped your lips whenever you caught your reflection.

Your vanity table, a beloved thrift find, was adorned with an explosion of beauty products. Palettes, brushes, and compacts were arranged like tools in an artist’s studio, each chosen carefully to create the masterpiece that was you tonight.

Seated at the vanity, you leaned in close to the mirror, your curls bouncing lightly with the motion. You added the finishing touches to your makeup: a delicate shimmer highlighting your cheekbones, a precise wing of eyeliner that drew attention to your sparkling eyes, and a deep crimson lipstick that Nicholas had once declared "dangerous." The way the shade made your full lips pop was undeniable, and you smiled, pleased with the effect.

Your curves were hugged by a black dress that flowed over your body like a second skin. Stopping at the mid-thigh, it was a classic little black dress with a timeless silhouette and a sweetheart neckline that drew eyes directly to your décolletage and cleavage.

The fabric accentuated the softness of your figure—the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your chest. The dress had been an indulgence, a piece you’d bought after seeing how it made you feel: sexy, confident, powerful. As you smoothed your hands down its sleek lines, you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the full-length mirror.

You had always loved your body. It had taken years to cultivate the confidence you now carried with pride, but tonight, you felt it in every fiber of your being. You were beautiful. And Nicholas, your boyfriend of almost a year, never let you forget it.

He’d been away for three months, filming a secret project in Europe. While the distance had been hard, you’d kept in touch with texts, calls, and plenty of late-night FaceTimes. But nothing compared to the real thing—to having him home, finally able to hold you in his arms. Tonight was your first date since his return, and though you’d suggested he rest after landing, Nicholas had been insistent.

You smiled to yourself as you remembered his words: “Sleep can wait. I need to see you.”

You really did think it was a good idea for Nicholas to get some rest after his flight. He had spent weeks on set, pouring himself into his role and managing the grueling hours of filming. But deep down, you knew rest wasn’t an option—not when it came to you. Nicholas could never resist you, and truthfully, you loved it. After all, you hadn’t exactly made it easy for him to keep his distance while he was away.

From the moment he boarded his flight for Europe, you had made it your mission to remind him exactly what was waiting for him back home. It started innocently enough: a few sultry selfies in his favorite lingerie, each one showing off how the lace hugged your curves just right. But it didn’t take long for you to turn up the heat.

Fresh out of the shower, droplets clinging to your skin, you’d let the steam fog the mirror just enough to add a teasing edge. Then came the quick videos: the camera lingering on your soft, full figure as you massaged your breasts or gave a playful slap to your ass, letting him see exactly what he was missing. You knew what Nicholas loved most—the way you filled his hands completely, yet still left more for him to hold. And you loved reminding him of it.

But one night, it all escalated. A little wine-drunk and missing him more than usual, you’d drawn yourself a bubble bath. The warm water and frothy bubbles felt indulgent, and with your phone propped securely on the edge of the tub, you put on a show just for Nicholas. You let the camera capture the way the water caressed your curves, your body glistening under the soft glow of candlelight. You posed and shifted, the bubbles teasingly obscuring parts of you before you’d lift a leg or arch your back, leaving just enough for his imagination to run wild.

His response had been immediate.

nickypoo 💘

You’re killing me, baby. How am I supposed to survive three more weeks of this?

you:

just giving you something to look forward to <3

He hadn’t stopped there, though. After a few more minutes of teasing, he sent another message that made you burst out laughing:

nickypoo 💘

I’m about to tell them there’s an emergency back home. They don’t need to know the emergency is how bad i NEED you.

You’d teased him relentlessly for it during your next FaceTime call, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be wanted like that. Knowing Nicholas adored every part of you, from the playful curve of your smile to the plush softness of your body, made the separation a little easier to bear.

And now, after all those weeks apart, he was finally on his way.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed through your apartment, followed by the familiar creak of the door opening. “Baby, I’m just finishing up in the bedroom!” you called out, checking your reflection one last time in the mirror. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

Nicholas didn’t respond right away, but you heard the soft thud of his bag hitting the floor and the shuffle of his footsteps as he made his way inside. There was a pause, followed by the unmistakable sigh of relief he always seemed to release when he was at your apartment.

When you finally stepped out of your bedroom, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He was standing near the couch, looking relaxed yet strikingly handsome in a fitted black sweater and dark jeans. His brown eyes lit up the second they landed on you, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking you in like you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

“Damn,” he finally managed, his voice low and reverent.

Before you could reply, Nicholas closed the distance between you in three long strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to merge you into himself. His hands roamed instinctively to your waist, fingers pressing into the plushness of your curves like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His voice was muffled, but you could hear the raw emotion behind it.

Your arms came up around his back, holding him just as tightly. His body was warm and solid against yours, and the familiar scent of his cologne—a mix of cedarwood and something earthy—wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

After a long moment, Nicholas pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still holding your waist. His gaze was intense, his brown eyes darting over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a light, playful kiss. It was deep, almost desperate, like he’d been starving for you and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, yet there was a tenderness to it—a gentleness that reminded you just how much he cared.

You broke the kiss with a soft laugh, brushing your fingers over your lips. “Okay, as much as I love this,” you teased, “I just spent way too much time on my makeup to let you ruin it before we even leave.”

Nicholas groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care about the makeup,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and thick with desire. His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing them in a way that made you feel worshipped. “You’re so damn beautiful, it hurts.”

The way he said it, with absolute conviction, made your cheeks warm. “You’re not playing fair,” you said, trying to maintain your composure, though the fluttering in your chest betrayed you.

His lips curved into a grin, one of his dimples making an appearance as he leaned back to look at you. “I haven’t even started yet.”

As if to prove his point, one of his hands slid up your thigh, the warmth of his palm searing through the fabric of your dress. His touch was deliberate, teasing, and the look in his eyes told you exactly where his mind was heading.

You caught his wrist before he could go any further, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t get all dressed up just for you to ruin it now,” you said, your tone playful but firm.

Nicholas let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back with a dramatic sigh. His hair fell into soft waves around his face, and when he finally looked at you again, his grin had only grown wider. “Fine,” he relented, though the glint in his eye told you he wasn’t giving up so easily.

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then trailed your lips along his jawline, stopping just below his ear. “If you can wait until after dinner,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing, “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

His eyebrows shot up, and his lips parted slightly as a sly grin spread across his face. “Oh, you’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement and a touch of awe.

You turned toward the door to grab your shoes and jacket, but before you could take two steps, a loud smack echoed through the room as Nicholas’s hand came down on your ass. The contact was firm, leaving a faint sting that made you yelp in surprise.

“Nicholas!” you exclaimed, spinning around to glare at him, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your annoyance.

He bit his bottom lip, clearly pleased with himself. “Sorry,” he said, though his grin was anything but apologetic. “I couldn’t help it.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile as you grabbed your shoes. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, slipping them on.

Nicholas raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Okay, okay—I’ll relax,” he said, though his eyes lingered on you in a way that told you he was far from done admiring you.

As you reached for your jacket, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. The sight of him, so completely enamored and entirely yours, made your heart swell. It had been three long months, but in this moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

————

When you walked down to the car, the sight waiting for you made your heart skip. Parked by the curb was Nicholas’s beloved cherry-red 1967 Mustang, gleaming under the soft glow of the streetlights. Sitting in the passenger seat was the biggest bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen—an explosion of rich red roses, delicate baby’s breath, and fragrant lilies. You couldn’t hold back your joy, practically leaping into his arms before peppering his face with kisses. Nicholas laughed, a low, happy sound that vibrated against your chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

The drive to the gallery was filled with light conversation and your playlist humming in the background, his hand firmly resting on your thigh, fingers occasionally giving it a little squeeze. At the gallery walk, Nicholas’s attention stayed on you more than the art.

As you strolled through the exhibits, his touch was constant—never intrusive, just reassuring. His hand rested gently on your lower back as you navigated the crowded rooms, steering you effortlessly through clusters of art enthusiasts. When you stopped to read a placard, he’d step behind you, his hands settling on your hips, his chest lightly brushing your back.

Whenever your eyes met, he’d steal a kiss—a quick peck if someone was nearby, but when the moment allowed, he’d dip down to claim something deeper, making you momentarily forget the world around you.

At dinner, he was utterly captivated. Candlelight danced in his warm, brown eyes as he hung on to your every word. You laughed about some silly drama your friends were having, vented about the weird maintenance issues in your building, and recounted the wild dreams you’d had while he was away. Through it all, his gaze never wavered. He was enthralled—not just by your words but by the way your lips moved, the sparkle in your eyes, and the sound of your laughter.

Surprisingly, the drive home was calm, though his hand remained a grounding presence on your leg. Even in the elevator, where you half-expected him to lose control, he was restrained—his eyes on you, dark with promise, but his body relaxed.

But the second you stepped through your apartment door, all bets were off.

————

You barely had a moment to close the door before Nicholas’s lips found yours, urgent and consuming. His hands tugged at your coat as if the barrier was offensive, and when he finally had it off, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips moved with a desperate hunger, yet there was still that softness to them, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to devour you or savor every second.

His fingers trailed up your sides, gripping at your curves in a way that made you shiver. “I told you I could wait,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and gravelly with a smile. Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, his hands firmly grasping the plushness of your thighs, carrying you deeper into the apartment as if he couldn’t wait a second longer to have you all to himself.

Nicholas carried you effortlessly to the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours. The kisses varied—some deep and consuming, others soft and teasing, but all filled with an undeniable need. When he finally set you down, it was in front of your full-length mirror, the glow from your bedroom’s soft lighting casting a golden hue over the scene.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, your chest rising and falling with each breath, lips already swollen from his kisses. Behind you, Nicholas stood tall, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.

“You were breathtaking tonight,” he murmured against your skin, his voice deep and low, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He kissed the curve where your shoulder met your neck, then trailed his lips upward until they found that spot just below your ear that always made you melt. “And you know it,” he added, his tone playful but dripping with sincerity.

His hands slid from your hips to your waist, squeezing gently as he pressed closer to you. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his steady breath brushing against your ear. “Do you know why I put you here?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Why?” you managed, your voice breathy and light.

“Because I want you to watch,” he said, his lips curling into a sly grin as he began to trail kisses down the curve of your neck again. “I want you to see how beautiful you are, how much I adore every inch of you.” His kisses grew slower, deeper, as he slid his hands down to your hips again.

Nicholas’s kisses grew hungrier as his hands slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders. His lips trailed over the newly exposed skin, his breath warm against your collarbone, making your pulse race. With a soft sigh, the fabric slipped further down, and Nicholas took his time kissing every inch of skin revealed to him until the dress pooled at your feet.

For a moment, he pulled back to take you in, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your curves, lingering on the black lingerie you’d chosen. His hands spanned your waist, his touch firm yet reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, his hands splaying over the softness of your stomach, your thighs. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this. How much I’ve missed you.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but before you could respond, he kissed you again—deep and deliberate, like he was pouring every ounce of emotion into the connection. His hands skimmed up your sides, over the swell of your breasts, and back down again, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured between kisses, his lips moving to your neck. “So warm. Do you know how obsessed I am with you? With this body?” His hands caressed your waist again, his grip tightening like he couldn’t help himself. “You drive me crazy. I swear, I’ll never get enough of you.”

“Nicholas…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling under his touch.

He smiled against your skin, a slow, knowing grin as he gently guided you toward the dresser. “Lean here,” he said softly, helping you rest against the cool wood. Behind you, the mirror reflected everything—the way your chest rose and fell, the flush creeping across your skin, and Nicholas towering over you, his presence magnetic.

He caught your gaze in the mirror as he placed his hands on either side of you, caging you in. “I want you to watch,” he said, his voice low and commanding but filled with adoration. “I want you to see why I worship you.”

Your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, kissing you deeply once more. His hands slid over your body with a confidence that made your knees weak, each touch deliberate, almost reverent. He kissed down your neck, over your collarbone, and then lower, his lips trailing along the tops of your breasts.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Nicholas dropped to his knees, his hands anchoring on your hips as his lips continued their descent. His fingers grazed your thighs, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pressed kisses to your stomach, lingering there, his lips soft but insistent.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured against your skin, his brown eyes lifting to meet yours. The intensity in his gaze sent a fresh wave of warmth pooling in your belly. His hands slipped to the waistband of your panties, and with an effortless tug, he slid them down your legs.

He helped you step out of them, his hands strong but tender as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. The position left you exposed, vulnerable, but the way he held you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—put you completely at ease.

Nicholas pressed a series of kisses to the inside of your thighs, his lips slow and deliberate, as though savoring every second. His fingers gripped your thighs firmly, grounding himself in your softness.

“Look at yourself,” he said, his voice rough but gentle, his breath warm against your skin. “Look at how beautiful you are when I’m making you feel good.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting your reflection in the mirror. The sight of yourself—flushed and trembling, your chest rising and falling with anticipation—made your pulse quicken. But it was the way Nicholas looked at you, his gaze filled with a mix of reverence and hunger, that made your heart ache in the best way.

He leaned in, his tongue gliding over your sensitive flesh, and you gasped, your hands gripping the dresser for support. His movements were precise, deliberate, as though he was learning every reaction, every sound you made.

Your head fell back briefly as the pleasure built, but Nicholas’s voice brought you back. “No, baby,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again in the mirror. “I want you to see this. I want you to see how gorgeous you are when you fall apart for me.”

His lips returned to you, his tongue and mouth working in perfect harmony as his hands anchored you in place. Every stroke, every kiss felt like an act of devotion, as though he was pouring every ounce of his love for you into his touch.

Every swipe of Nicholas’s tongue against your aching core sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His touch was maddeningly tender yet intentional, each flick and stroke designed to unravel you completely. Your knees faltered under the onslaught of sensation, but Nicholas was always there—his grip tightening, his strong arms grounding you. You felt the flex of his biceps as he held you steady, his strength wrapping around you like a promise that he wouldn’t let you fall.

Your gaze flicked to the mirror, and the sight made your breath hitch. You were a mess —your chest rising and falling with desperate heaves, your skin flushed with heat. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, a vain attempt to stifle the moans and whimpers spilling from you.

“I love it when you moan like that, baby,” Nicholas murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice a low rumble that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. His lips were wet with your arousal, his eyes dark and hooded as they bore into yours. “Tell me how bad you need me, baby.”

Your voice trembled as you replied, barely able to form the words between your gasps. “So bad, Nicholas. I need you—I’m gonna cum.”

The admission spurred him on. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he returned his mouth to you with renewed fervor. The rhythm of his tongue became more relentless, his movements perfectly in sync with your rising tension.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as the pressure inside you reached its peak. “Nicholas—” you gasped, your voice breaking as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you. Your body tensed, trembling against him as you cried out, the pleasure consuming you completely.

Nicholas didn’t stop, his grip firm as he held you steady, coaxing every last shudder from your body. When you finally came down, your breaths ragged and your legs weak, he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before rising to his feet.

Before you could fully catch your breath, Nicholas turned you around with ease, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so heated it stole what little air you’d regained. His hands worked quickly, unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants and boxers down in one fluid motion.

He guided you to lean forward, your hands bracing against the dresser as he positioned himself behind you. His hands gripped your hips, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your softness as he aligned himself with your entrance.

The first slow, deliberate thrust stole your breath entirely. Nicholas let out a low, guttural moan as he entered you, his hands steadying your hips as he adjusted to your tightness. “Fuck baby, I missed this pussy,” he rasped, his voice rough and shaky. “You’re so tight baby ... You feel so good.”

His hips began to move, the slow rhythm building gradually, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your overstimulated body. Nicholas’s hands roamed over your hips and thighs, grounding himself in the feel of you.

His eyes were locked on the way your body moved with his, the way your plush curves rippled with every thrust. The sight seemed to undo him. He groaned low in his throat, his hand drawing back before landing a sharp slap against your ass.

The sensation made you cry out, the sharp sting blending with the pleasure coursing through you. Nicholas’s grip tightened, and he let out a grunt at your reaction. “You like that, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

“Yes,” you managed to moan, your voice shaky but insistent. “Do it again.”

A wicked smile curved his lips as he complied, his hand landing another firm slap against your skin. The sound echoed in the room, followed by your moan, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again—and again, the rhythm of his thrusts growing more erratic with each deliciously sharp impact.

“You’re so good for me,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless.

Nicholas’s thrusts grew faster, each stroke deeper than the last. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing into your soft skin as he lost himself in the rhythm of your bodies. Each time his hand came down on your ass, the sharp sting sent a new wave of arousal through both of you, his groans mingling with your breathless cries.

His voice, a perfect mix of raspy and grumbly, edged with desperate whines, drove you wild. The sound was so raw, so unfiltered—it made you ache to give him the same overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

You began to pick up on his rhythm, matching his movements with your own. Arching your back further, you started to throw your hips into him, meeting his thrusts with equal force. The shift in control made Nicholas let out a loud, guttural moan, his hands faltering for a moment as you took the lead.

“I love when you fuck me back like this,” he groaned, his hands slipping from your hips as he let “Baby, you’re so good.”

The praise spurred you on, your movements growing faster, more deliberate. You felt his resolve weakening, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you took control. Each roll of your hips sent him deeper into bliss, and the sound of your bodies colliding filled the room—a symphony of moans, skin meeting skin, and the creak of the dresser beneath your weight.

Nicholas was completely yours now, his body trembling as you worked him. “You’re such a good girl,” he gasped between his moans, his voice thick with adoration. “So perfect for me. Just like that—don’t stop.”

But when he couldn’t take it any longer, his hands returned to your hips, gripping you with renewed urgency. He thrust into you harder, faster, his strokes relentless as he chased his release.

“I’m gonna cum baby doll,” he rasped, his voice breaking with the force of his pleasure.

The moment the words left his mouth, you turned your head slightly, your voice breathy but sure. “I want you to finish in my mouth.”

Nicholas groaned, his movements faltering for a split second before he regained his rhythm, thrusting into you a little longer before pulling out with a sharp gasp.

He guided you down to your knees, standing over you as he stroked himself, his hand moving in frantic, desperate motions. His brown eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and adoration as you tilted your head back, lips parted, waiting for him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, his voice trembling with need.

Moments later, his release spilled into your mouth, warm and overwhelming. You took him in fully, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip as he shuddered above you. His head tipped back, his chest heaving as he let out a low, broken moan, his entire body trembling with the force of his climax.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice weak as his hands gripped the edge of the dresser for balance.

You didn’t stop there, teasing him with gentle flicks of your tongue, savoring the taste of him as his knees nearly buckled. His back hunched as he let out a weak chuckle, his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“Baby, please,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Your lips curved into a satisfied smile as you pulled away, placing a soft kiss on his hip before sitting back on your heels. Nicholas reached down, pulling you back up into his arms, his forehead pressing to yours as he caught his breath.

But then, his lips brushed against your ear, and you felt the familiar heat of his words. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “I still need to have you… all of you.”

His hands slid down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps before giving your ass a playful slap. “Get on the bed,” he said with a mischievous grin, his brown eyes gleaming. “I want to see that gorgeous face of yours when I make you cum again.”

#lavender baby #nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #nicholas chavez x female reader #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez fanfiction

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enemiestolovershoe · 4 months ago

Note

jealous matt!bsf x reader please 🤭

From Batter to Better

Matt Sturniolo x bsf!reader

Summary: While baking with the triplets, Y/N’s text sparks Matt’s jealousy, leading to heartfelt confessions

Words: 3,1k

Warnings: Jealousy, quick argument, kissing, use of yn, not proofread

As you approached the front door, you barely had time to knock before the door swung open, revealing a grinning Nick.

"Finally! You’re here," Nick exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug.

"Did I keep you waiting that long?" you teased, hugging him back.

"Only our entire lives," Chris chimed in dramatically, appearing behind Nick. He gave you a quick hug and then stepped aside to let you in.

"Hey, Matt’s in the kitchen trying to act like he doesn’t care that you’re here," Nick added with a smirk.

You laughed, shaking your head as you stepped inside. "Classic Matt."

As if on cue, Matt emerged from the kitchen, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Hey," he said, his voice soft but his eyes bright as they met yours.

"Hey, Matt," you replied, walking over to give him a hug. He held on just a second longer than the others had, but it wasn’t unusual. Matt had always been a little more reserved, a little more subtle.

"So, what’s this top-secret plan you guys have dragged me here for?" you asked as the four of you gathered in the living room.

Chris clapped his hands together, practically bouncing in excitement. "Okay, so here’s the deal. We’re filming a baking contest today. Each of us is going to bake something different, and then we’ll judge whose creation is the best!"

Your eyebrows shot up in amusement. "And you thought I would be the perfect person for this? Have you guys forgotten how terrible I am at baking?"

"That’s exactly why we invited you," Nick said with a laugh. "It’s all part of the chaos."

"Besides," Chris added, "if you don’t win, at least you’ll make Matt feel better about himself."

Matt rolled his eyes but didn’t bother hiding his smirk. "Very funny, Chris."

You grinned, nudging Matt lightly. "Don’t worry, Matt. I’m sure you’ll do better than me. Or maybe not. Who knows?"

He gave you a lopsided smile. "Guess we’ll find out."

The four of you moved to the kitchen, where an array of ingredients and baking tools had been laid out. As you looked over the supplies, Chris leaned over your shoulder.

"So, any idea what you’re making?" he asked.

"Not a clue," you admitted. "What about you?"

"Cookies," Chris said confidently. "Simple and foolproof. Unlike Nick’s plan to make a soufflé."

Nick shot Chris a glare. "I can pull off a soufflé, thank you very much."

"And what about you, Matt?" you asked, turning to him.

"I’m making a cake," he said, his voice steady but his eyes flickering toward you. "Something classic."

You smiled. "Sounds like a safe bet."

Matt shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. "We’ll see."

As the four of you started to gather your ingredients, Matt subtly moved closer to you, watching as you fumbled with a bag of flour.

"Need help?" he asked, his tone casual but his gaze lingering on you.

"I think I’ve got it," you said, though you appreciated the offer.

He nodded, but he didn’t step away, staying close as if to make sure you really didn’t need help. Chris, meanwhile, noticed and smirked knowingly but said nothing—for now.

The chatter in the kitchen was light and playful as you all prepared for the challenge. Every so often, you caught Matt watching you, his expression soft but unreadable. It wasn’t unusual for him to be attentive, but today there was something different—something almost protective—in the way he stayed near you.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed how your heart skipped a beat every time he did.

The kitchen was alive with activity as the four of you started your baking projects. Nick was focused on his soufflé, brows furrowed in intense concentration. Chris had already managed to spill flour on himself while preparing cookie dough, laughing it off like it was all part of his plan. You had settled on brownies—an easy choice, or so you thought—and Matt was diligently mixing cake batter, stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Nick, why are you acting like you’re auditioning for MasterChef?” Chris teased as he shaped his cookies.

“Because I take baking seriously,” Nick replied, not even looking up. “Unlike you, who’s probably just going to eat half the dough before it even gets in the oven.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Chris shot back, popping a chunk of raw cookie dough into his mouth.

You laughed as you tried to mix your brownie batter, though it wasn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped. “Okay, how do you stop flour from going everywhere? I feel like I’m in the middle of a snowstorm here.”

Matt, who was working at the counter next to you, smirked. “You could try mixing slower. Or, you know, not being you.”

You gasped dramatically, swiping a bit of flour onto your fingers and flicking it at him. “Rude!”

He chuckled, brushing the flour off his shirt. “I’m just saying, maybe baking isn’t your calling.”

“I’ll have you know my brownies are going to be amazing,” you retorted, though your batter was still lumpy.

Chris looked over and snorted. “Amazing? That batter looks like it’s seen some things.”

“Hey!” you protested, laughing despite yourself. “I don’t see you winning any awards over there, Mr. Flour Explosion.”

Nick shook his head. “This is why I invited you. You bring the chaos we need for good content.”

“Happy to help,” you said with a mock bow.

As the contest progressed, the kitchen grew even messier. Chris’s cookies were in the oven, and Nick’s soufflé looked surprisingly impressive as it rose. Matt’s cake batter was poured neatly into its pan, and you finally managed to get your brownies into the oven after a series of mishaps.

“Alright, ten minutes left,” Nick announced. “How’s everyone feeling?”

“Confident,” Chris said smugly, though one of his cookies had mysteriously disappeared.

“Stressed,” you admitted. “I think my brownies are plotting against me.”

Matt glanced at you, his lips twitching into a smile. “I think you’re doing fine. For a beginner.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you said dryly, rolling your eyes.

He leaned slightly closer, his voice lower. “I’m just saying, if you need help tasting them later, I’m your guy.”

Your cheeks warmed at the playful tone in his voice, but before you could respond, Chris interrupted.

“Matt, stop flirting and focus on your cake. You’re not slick.”

“Yeah,” Nick added, grinning. “At least wait until after you lose to make a move.”

Matt shot them a glare, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’m not flirting. I’m just being supportive.”

“Sure you are,” Chris said with a wink.

The timer eventually went off, and you all gathered around the finished products to taste-test. Nick’s soufflé was surprisingly decent, though it deflated slightly when he cut into it. Chris’s cookies were classic, though he had clearly eaten more than a few. Matt’s cake was perfectly moist and flavorful, much to his brothers’ chagrin, and your brownies—while a little uneven—were rich and fudgy.

“Alright, verdict time,” Nick said, crossing his arms. “Who’s the winner?”

“Me, obviously,” Chris declared, holding up one of his cookies.

“No way,” Nick argued. “My soufflé was elegant and sophisticated.”

Matt looked at you, his smile soft. “I think it’s between us.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the counter. You picked it up absentmindedly, but the name on the screen made you pause. It was a text from the guy you had gone on a date with a few weeks ago.

Hey, had a great time last time. Are you free for another date this week?

You frowned slightly, not really feeling it, but before you could type out a polite "no," Matt leaned over your shoulder.

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone casual but his jaw tightening when he saw the message.

You quickly locked your phone, but it was too late. His expression darkened, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something sharp and tense.

Nick and Chris were too busy arguing about their desserts to notice, but Matt’s gaze didn’t leave your phone.

“Didn’t realize you were still talking to him,” he said quietly, his voice laced with an edge you hadn’t heard before.

The atmosphere in the kitchen shifted as Matt walked away, leaving you standing there with a mixture of confusion and frustration. You hadn't even had the chance to explain the text before he had wandered off, his emotions clearly written all over his face.

“Matt,” you called sternly, your voice cutting through the chatter. Nick and Chris calling after him as well.

He didn’t stop or turn around, instead muttering, “Ask Y/N,” over his shoulder before heading toward his room. “I’m in my room.”

Matt’s retreat down the hallway left a heavy silence in the kitchen. You stared after him, confusion and frustration swirling inside you. His clipped tone and sudden departure stung, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something important.

“Uh… what was that about?” Chris asked, breaking the tension.

Nick, who was leaning against the counter, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, Y/N, you wanna fill us in? He said to ask you.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “He saw a text on my phone. From a guy I went on a date with.”

Chris let out a low whistle, his eyes wide with mock drama. “Ohhh. And he just happened to storm off right after? Interesting.”

Nick’s expression was more serious. “What did the text say?”

You hesitated. “He asked if I wanted to go out again.”

“And Matt saw it?” Nick pressed.

“Yeah,” you admitted, exhaling deeply. “But I wasn’t even going to say yes. I don’t even like the guy like that.”

Chris leaned on the counter, a smirk playing on his lips. “Then why do I feel like Matt does?”

You glared at him. “This isn’t funny, Chris.”

Nick crossed his arms, his gaze thoughtful. “He’s jealous. That much is obvious.”

“Jealous?” you repeated, your stomach twisting.

Chris rolled his eyes dramatically. “Y/N, you’re, like, his favorite person. Of course he’s jealous. He’s been weirdly possessive all day.”

You frowned, trying to make sense of it all. “But why wouldn’t he just talk to me instead of storming off?”

“Because it’s Matt,” Nick said simply. “He shuts down when it’s something personal.”

“Exactly,” Chris added, grinning. “Classic brooding behavior. Very on-brand.”

You ignored his joke, already moving toward the hallway. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good luck,” Nick called after you. “You’re probably the only one who can get through to him.”

The walk to Matt’s room felt longer than it was. You paused outside his door, your heart thudding. You knocked softly.

“Matt?” you called.

There was no response.

You knocked again, a little firmer this time. “Matt, it’s me. Can I come in?”

A long silence followed before you finally heard his voice, muffled and strained. “It’s open.”

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. Matt was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. His shoulders were tense, his whole posture radiating frustration and something deeper—something heavier.

“Matt,” you said, your voice gentle as you closed the door behind you. “What’s going on? Why did you walk off like that?”

He didn’t look up. “It’s nothing. You should go back to the others.”

“No,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “Not until you talk to me.”

He let out a humorless laugh, his voice tinged with bitterness. “What’s there to talk about, Y/N? I saw the text. You’ve got someone else to spend your time with.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? Matt, it’s not like that—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, finally lifting his head to look at you. His eyes were red, his expression pained. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You can date whoever you want.”

You froze, your heart breaking at the sight of him like this. “Matt…”

“I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, his voice cracking. “I hate it, okay? I hate thinking about you with someone else. It drives me insane, and I don’t know how to deal with it.”

You moved closer, sitting down beside him. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “Because what’s the point? You deserve to be with someone who makes you happy, and I—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice firm but soft. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “Then what do you want me to say, Y/N? That I’m in love with you? Because I am. I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I didn’t know how to tell you. And then I saw that text, and it felt like everything I’ve been holding onto just slipped away.”

Your breath caught, your heart racing at his words. He quickly looked down, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget it.”

“No,” you said firmly, reaching out to touch his arm. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

He stilled under your touch, his gaze hesitantly meeting yours.

“Matt,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m in love with you too. I have been for a while, but I was scared to say anything. I didn’t want to lose you.”

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to process your words. “You… you mean that?”

You nodded, a small, tearful smile breaking through. “Yes, Matt. I mean it.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand reaching up to cup your face gently. “I thought I was too late.”

“You’re not too late,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “You’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

The tension between you dissolved, replaced by a warmth that felt like coming home.

Matt stared at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his hand still cupping your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, gentle and hesitant, as though he was afraid you might disappear.

“You really mean that?” he asked, his voice quiet but full of emotion.

You smiled, nodding as tears pricked at your eyes. “Yes, Matt. I mean it. I’ve been in love with you for a while. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to ruin what we have.”

He let out a soft, shaky laugh, his eyes glistening. “You’re serious? After all this time, I thought… I thought I was just the guy you came to when you needed someone to vent to or—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, reaching up to take his hand in yours. “You’re so much more than that to me, Matt. You’ve always been more.”

Matt’s lips parted, and for a moment, it looked like he might say something, but instead, he just gazed at you with a mix of wonder and disbelief. Slowly, his free hand came up to rest on your other cheek, framing your face.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But I was scared too. I thought maybe you’d laugh or tell me it was just me misreading everything.”

“Matt,” you said softly, your hands moving to rest on his wrists. “You didn’t misread anything. It’s always been you.”

His breath hitched, and before either of you could second-guess the moment, he leaned in. The space between you disappeared, and his lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, like he’d been waiting forever to do this.

Your heart soared as you kissed him back, your hands sliding up to grip his forearms. The kiss deepened, your emotions spilling over into every movement. His lips were warm, soft, and everything you’d imagined and more.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested against each other, both of you breathless but smiling. Matt let out a soft laugh, his hands still on your face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, his voice low and full of affection.

You laughed too, your cheeks warm. “I think I have some idea.”

Before either of you could say anything else, the door suddenly burst open, slamming against the wall.

“FINALLY!” Chris shouted, his voice echoing in the room.

Nick was right behind him, clapping loudly. “About damn time!”

You and Matt both jumped, turning to face them in shock.

“Chris!” Matt snapped, his cheeks flushing a deep red. “What the hell?”

“What?” Chris said, grinning ear to ear. “You’ve been in here forever. We figured something dramatic was happening, but *this*—” He gestured between the two of you. “This is way better than I expected.”

Nick leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Seriously, we’ve been waiting for you two to figure this out for *years.*”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh my god, you guys.”

Matt looked like he wanted to crawl under the bed, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Can you not?”

“Nope,” Chris said, crossing his arms. “This is a moment, and we’re celebrating it. You’re welcome, by the way, for leaving you alone long enough to get there.”

Nick grinned. “So… do we tell Mom and Dad? Or should we wait for the engagement?”

“Nick, I swear—” Matt started, standing up, but Nick and Chris both bolted out of the room, laughing.

You and Matt exchanged a look, both of you exasperated but also unable to stop smiling.

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” he asked, gesturing toward the open door.

You laughed, reaching out to take his hand. “I think I can handle it.”

He squeezed your hand, his expression softening as he looked at you. “I’m really glad you’re here, you know that?”

“Me too,” you said, your smile widening. “Even if your brothers are a little much.”

“A little?” Matt teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re being generous.”

You laughed again, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

☆.𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆

Taglist: @sophand4n4

#matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #matt x y/n #matt x you #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt x reader #sturniolo triplets #fanfiction #new writer boost #new writers on tumblr #support new writer #sturniolo x reader #fluff

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stellarbit · 1 year ago

Text

Caught on Camera

3.7k words - NSFW

Tech's loses a screw in his bed and finds your earring instead. He looks back through some camera footage to see how it may have gotten there. Turns out you had gotten more than comfortable in his cot.

Piggyback's a tiny bit off of an earlier fic. Just barely though. Enjoyyy

***

Tech marched to his cot, flipping a few parts around in his hands as he went. They needed tweaking, possibly a complete overhaul, but regardless, he was set on documenting his repairs. He’d installed a motion sensor, barely detectable, microcamera in the upper corner of his cot for such occasions. While he rarely needed to review his procedures, he found satisfaction in adding to his archive.

Shoving aside chords and spare parts, Tech swung his feet up, unfazed by the clutter that surrounded him. His brothers often questioned how he managed to sleep amidst the chaos of tools and bolts scattered around him. To them, it was a horror, but to Tech, it was a carefully organized system . He found the idea of having to get up for common parts more horrific.

As Tech delicately removed a small screw, the piece slipped from his grasp, bouncing off his fingers, and, by the sounds of it, into the corner behind him. . With unwavering focus on the device before him, Tech maneuvered his fingers into the tight space, determined to retrieve the errant screw. The first thing he felt was definitely not the screw.

Examining the object in his hand, Tech raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Hold on," he muttered to himself, turning the item over in his palm. Upon closer inspection, it became evident that it wasn't a stray screw at all, but rather a piece of jewelry—a stud earring, to be precise. Intrigued, Tech glanced around his immediate surroundings, searching for any other anomalies, but found nothing amiss.

Glancing at the cot hanging on the opposite wall of the Marauder he had no doubt the earring was yours. The question lay in how it found its way into his cot. Closing his fist around the stud and setting aside his projects, Tech left his cot to grab his datapad. Once in hand, he settled back into his usual spot, plugging into the dataport next to his cot, and began sifting through the camera footage.

While Tech seldom needed to review the recordings, he was meticulous in his examination. As the footage played, he focused intently, scouring for any unexpected visitors in his personal space.

It didn’t take long for him to find the clip. More than 30 rotations ago, you appeared on screen, settling onto the edge of his cot, looked towards the exit, and pulled yourself fully up into the bunk. Mimicking your actions, Tech leaned out to survey the area for any potential interruptions before returning his attention to the footage, his curiosity piqued.

As Tech continued to watch the footage, he observed your relaxed demeanor as you settled into his space, making yourself at home. Your hands explored the surroundings, tracing the sketches adorning the wall and the edges of his bed before coming to rest on your stomach. Tech glanced at the pillow beside him, surprised he hadn’t picked up on your scent.

In the video, you leaned back, seemingly preparing to relax, prompting Tech's curiosity to peak. He watched intently as you closed your eyes briefly, a fleeting moment of apparent calm. However, your fingers soon began to fidget, and your eyes opened again, scanning over his drawings. Tech observed with a mixture of fascination and perplexity as you pulled your shirt from your pants, revealing the skin below your navel.

Tech didn’t have time to consider what you were doing before your hands got to work on your pants. Adjusting his goggles and bringing the datapad closer to his face, he watched intently as you deftly worked on your pants, effortlessly opening them just enough for your hand to slip inside. Even through the fabric, the movements of your fingers were unmistakable

Tech reared back slightly, his mind racing with thoughts. He paused the video, freezing the image of you lost in your own touch, unaware of the camera recording your actions. His thumb wandered along your silhouette, he’d witnessed you sleeping and caught you off guard on occasion but this felt very different.

Although you were technically intruding upon his personal space, Tech reasoned that you likely believed you were not being watched. Holding his breath, he hesitated for a moment before pressing play, eager to see how the situation would unfold.

Tech's eyes widened as a mixture of disbelief and arousal washing over him. Your actions were intimate in a way he hasn’t expected. His hand instinctively moved to adjust his goggles, his focus unwavering on the datapad screen as you continued.

Your hand dove farther into your pants while your free hand slid up your body and onto your chest. The hand on your chest mirrored a moment he couldn't forget—the moment he had separated you and Crosshair by means of a hand Crosshair’s shoulder and another your chest.

He heard you hushedly moan, “Tech.” The way you said his name sent a shiver down Tech's spine, his heart rate quickening in response.

He hesitated for a brief moment, torn between shutting off the video and continuing to watch. It wasn't until he felt the undeniable strain against his own pants that Tech finally forced himself to pause the recording. His mind raced as he pieced together the timeline of this event, recalling the mission with the 501st that had stirred up unresolved feelings and tension between you and the Bad Batch.

Tech watched you in his cot and a small smile came to him. Evidently it was his touch that had the most impact. With a thoughtful expression, he uncurled his hand, the stud earring still nestled within his palm. Casting a glance at the concealed microcamera, Tech knew he had to handle this situation delicately.

As he pondered his next move, Tech considered the whereabouts of his teammates. Echo and Hunter were engaged in a meeting with a Jedi general, Crosshair and Wrecker were occupied restocking supplies, and you had taken on the task of handling rations. You made it clear you were only handling the rations this time.

Glancing at the time displayed on his datapad, Tech calculated that you would soon be returning. With a sense of anticipation, he tapped the corner of his datapad, preparing himself for your imminent arrival.

He pinched the earring between his thumb and forefinger to place it on your pillow. Unplugging from the dataport, Tech went to stand in the Marauder’s doorway. Leaning against the frame, he appeared engrossed in his datapad, though his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of your impending return.

As he scrolled through the datapad, Tech played out various scenarios in his mind, preparing himself for the interaction to come. He wanted to handle the situation with finesse, ensuring that neither of you felt uncomfortable or embarrassed.

Soon enough, he spotted you approaching, a hovercart laden with rations in tow. Your smile was warm as you greeted him, not at all surprised to find him waiting. You chuckled lightly as you shook your head, teasing him by saying, "Guess I shouldn't be surprised you're already done with your tinkering," you remarked, your tone affectionate.

Tech remained focused on his datapad initially, not looking up as you approached. "I've told you, it's not 'tinkering,'" he reiterated, his tone matter-of-fact. With a casual push off the doorframe, he straightened up. "Besides, there's another matter that has arisen, and I require your assistance with it."

You leaned casually on the handles of the hovercart, feigning nonchalance. "My help? Must be pretty desperate," you teased, eliciting a bored, almost annoyed look from Tech. Chuckling at his reaction, you urged him to lead the way, pushing the cart toward the ship. "Fine, fine. Let's get whatever it is over with."

Following Tech inside, you watched curiously as he handed you his datapad. He retrieved a long cord from beneath his cot and plugged it into the device and the dataport beside his cot. Pointing towards your cot opposite his, he instructed, "You may sit there."

You followed Tech's suggestion and settled into your cot as he maneuvered into his bunk, opening a panel beside the dataport. "I need to calibrate a camera I installed in my bunk.”

The word 'camera' caught you off guard, and you struggled to maintain your composure, your surprise barely contained to a single raised eyebrow. "Since when do you have a camera in your bunk?" you asked, trying to sound casual despite the rush flooding your mind. Inside, you felt a sense of panic at the implications of what might be hidden in the camera's memory. Your heart raced as a live feed of Tech working on the datapad panel appeared on the screen, confirming your suspicions.

"For playback purposes when I make repairs," Tech said with a shrug of a shoulder. "It can prove useful for reference purposes. However, I've never found the need for it," he added with a smirk of triumph.

Internally, a wave of relief hit you. It seemed that Tech had never bothered to review the footage, which eased your earlier concerns. "So, you just have a constant recording going?" you asked, trying to sound bored.

Tech shook his head, scoffing at the suggestion. "That would be unnecessary," he replied. "The camera is motion-activated. Recording only initiates when someone moves in front of it. Even I would find it tedious to scour a constant feed for a single event.”

You nodded, your attention fixed on the screen as you watched Tech's movements. The camera panned smoothly, capturing every adjustment he made. "I'm not sure what I am looking for, but the view looks fine," you said.

“Sarad.” The mention of the Mando’an nickname caught you off guard and put you on high alert.

“Hmm?" you responded, feigning nonchalance as you hummed out a reply. Onscreen, Tech closed the wall panel and settled back into his cot, positioning himself to face the camera directly. His gaze locked onto the lens, and even through the video feed, you felt the weight of his stare, a subtle kind of eye contact.

"I believe I found something of yours, it is on your pillow" Tech said, pointing towards you as he addressed you directly. Your gaze followed his gesture, and sure enough, there it was—a tiny stud earring perched on your pillow. You brightened at the sight, recognizing your lost jewelry.

Ditching the datapad, you plucked the earring and returned it to its rightful place in your ear. You beamed at Tech, who was now looking directly at you. “Tech, thank you! I thought it was lost for good.” Already forgetting the previous circumstances, you asked, “How in the stars did you find it?”

Tech's gaze softened as he watched you reclaim your earring, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I stumbled upon it recently during my ‘tinkering’ as you say."

Your beaming dimmed with a bit of confusion as he continued, "It was nestled in an unexpected place—in my cot, of all locations." He paused, allowing the implication of his words to sink in.

A short, nervous laugh bubbled out of you. "In your cot? How did it end up there?" you asked in a bad play confusion. You suddenly knew exactly how you came to lose it.

Tech's eyes narrowed as he soaked in your reactions. He was committing this interaction to memory. Never having experienced exchanges like the ones you two shared, and with nothing to relate it to, he found himself struggling to predict the next outcome.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Actually," he began, his tone betraying amusement, “I do have an idea of how it ended up in my cot." Pausing for a moment to gauge your reaction, he continued, "You see, while reviewing the camera footage for the earring’s orgins, I happened to come across a rather fascinating incident."

"It seems that during a moment of relaxation, you may have inadvertently misplaced your earring," he explained, choosing his words carefully. His eyes dipped for a blink as he practically purred, "It was quite captivating, really.”

Tech noticed the hastening of your breaths and the familiar red blotches blossoming up your neck. The corner of his lips twitched in rhythm with his fingers.

Despite the temptation, he knew it wasn't the time for such impulses. He resisted the urge to reach out and feel the warm flush of your skin. He found himself wondering how you would react, but he pushed aside those thoughts.

You sat there wide eyed with an anxiety induced smile stuck in place. No words came to mind, all you could imagine was what kind of expression Tech had while he watched you.

“How much did you see?”

“May I ask you something?” He completely ignored your question, too engrossed in dissecting the situation for it to register. You squeaked out a yes and he asked, “What you did in my cot…” He leaned forward, hands on his knees, “Do you do that in the others’ cots?”

He’d asked you something similar in the past. About whether you reacted to his brothers the way you did him. If he knew of the ache between your legs his intense watch was causing, well that would be his answer.

Your breaths became heavier and your tongue still felt like lead when you said, “You don’t like that idea. Do you?”

Tech considered the concept for a moment. “That is irrelevant to my question.”

You sensed his hesitation, but you needed a definitive answer before proceeding with your plans. "Amuse me," you urged, pushing him gently for a response.

As Tech's gaze momentarily flickered away, a serious expression crossed his features. “I have no say in where you choose to… relax.” After a brief pause to compose himself, he adjusted his goggles and met your gaze again. “But no. Hearing you’ve done so in other cots is not something I would enjoy.”

“Are you angry with me for what I did?”

Tech's response was immediate and straightforward. "No," he replied, his puzzlement evident in his tone.

“May I show you something?” You were on your feet and in front of him before the question was finished.

In response to your abrupt question, Tech found himself slightly taken aback. "I-I suppose so,"Tech watched as you undid your pants, mirroring the actions he had witnessed in the recording. However, this time, instead of proceeding as before, your hands settled beside you.

He stared at the little spot of abdomen peeking out. Keeping his head still, Tech raised his eyes to meet yours, a question evident in his expression.

There was a moment of silent understanding between you, mutual acknowledgment of the question hanging in the air. Tech's analytical mind raced, seeking to decipher the meaning behind your actions, yet he remained composed, awaiting your response with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue.

“Take off a glove, Tech.”

He didn’t break eye contact as he lifted his right hand and pulled at each finger until the glove was off. Bracing a hand on the bunk above him, you leaned down to reach for his hand. An inch away, you stopped. Tech was so careful with you. Getting clear consent and understanding before even touching you. You wanted to afford him the same thing.

Your stomach fluttered as you confessed, “It happened only once outside of my own bed.” He swallowed upon hearing that, fueling you to continue. “The thought of you, Tech, makes my body react in a way it doesn’t for others.”

Obliviousness was not a characteristic of Tech’s. Certain social cues were lost on him, but he was the most intelligent man you’d ever met. He could read between the lines and he was. Tech’s hand closed the small gap to lay palm side up in your hand.

“I require a better understanding of what you mean.” Without speaking you guided his hand to the cusp of your pants, his fingers barely touching the patch of exposed abdomen.

The surprise on his face only encouraged your rising fever. “If you want a better understanding,” You leaned into his touch, “You’ll have to get one for yourself.”

In the thralls of discovery, a ravenous look consumes Tech and that was the expression spiraling over him in that moment.. He put his left hand on your hip, pulling you slightly lower while, at the same time, angling his hand between your pants and your body and right between your legs. His touch took your breath away.

His middle finger smoothed over your skin and hit the wetness dripping out of you. He pressed another finger over your slick entrance and pulled a soft noise from you.

“This is unexpected.” Tech’s face was vibrantly proud. It was that cocky self confidence that made you weak kneed in the first place. “I rather like it.” He applied more pressure and his fingers began to dip inside of you.

Your knees bent at the touch, your body begging for more. It worked to the point of getting his fingers farther inside. Tech responded by curling the two fingers into you and pulling you forward. The grip you had on the bunk above was the only thing keeping you from collapsing to the ground. When his fingers started to move, that life line nearly snapped.

“I didn’t watch your recording very long.” Tech admitted while his free hand moved to grip your ass. He gently squeezed your ass and said, “This is something I wanted to observe first hand.”

“You wanted this?” Your question came out in a whine, you could barely think of anything other than the fact Tech was fingering you.

Tech buried his fingers deeper, “Oh, most definitely.” At this point, his hand was about the only thing keeping you on your feet. The angle of his palm made it so he was constantly brushing against your clit, making it hard to stay standing. He felt your knees wobble and he tugged your forward again, fingers still working inside of you.

You fell into him, hands on his shoulders and a shin over his thigh. The sounds you were making for him, only for him as he was constantly reminding himself, were working him into a frenzy as well. He wanted more, he needed to know what other faces you would make for him. What sounds he could pull from you as he played with you.

With each careful movement of his fingers, Tech observed the subtle shifts in your expression, the moments when your eyes fluttered closed or your breath caught in your throat. He adjusted his touch accordingly, seeking to provide you with the perfect balance of pressure and release.

You had long since lost yourself in the sensation of his touch, your gaze drifting away as you surrendered to the pleasure coursing through your body. It had been years since you had felt this kind of intimacy. It was with a member of the 501st and it had never felt as intense as this moment with Tech.

Tech studied you far more than you realized. Learning how you worked and what you liked was intoxicating him. This was no different. He had no relevant experience with such intimacies, but he was priding himself on learning your body. You’d never have guessed this was his first time with the way his fingers strung you along.

His middle finger curled into a soft spot on your wall, sending a jolt through you. You leaned farther into him, panting into his ear. “Tech, you can’t keep doing that.”

Tech barely let off the pressure. Instead he rolled his finger into the spot over and over, coaxing you to tighten around him and collapse. You were straddling him at this point and, with his free hand anchoring you in place with a firm grip on your ass, release was rushing towards you. “I’ve barely done anything yet.” The timbre in his voice sent a shudder through you.

You pulled back and held his face in your hands. “Tech,” his name came out in a whine. “I don’t want the first time you see me like this to be on your fingers.” Your mouth hung open in a soft moan.

Tech’s gloved hand flew to your face to hook a thumb into your mouth. He drew your face closer to his, his voice dropping to a low, almost teasing tone. "Too bad," he murmured, his words laced with playful defiance.

He gripped you with whole hand, his palm working into your clit while his fingers kept up their pace. The combination made you see stars as heat burst through you. Pleasure shot from your core to every nerve in your body. You arched into him and you rode out your climax on his hand. His hand moved over your mouth, his thumb now wet with your saliva.

You pushed his hand off your mouth, it fell to your back, and you caught his lips in a kiss. It quickly became a hungry dance between you. The pressure of the kiss was almost bruising, but neither of you cared about air at the moment. As you licked and nipped at his lips, Tech quickly followed your rhythm until you pulled his tongue into yours for a gentle suck. He groaned at the sensation and couldn’t stop the thought of what else might find its way into your mouth.

Gradually, Tech slowed his fingers and the kiss faded into soft exchanges. Tech was withdrawing his hand when the kiss finally broke completely and you both were left panting.

Tech’s gloved hand casually cradled the small of your back as he shifted your weight onto his left leg. He brought the fingers, still slick with you, to his mouth to suck on the tips. He smirked at your blatant surprise, gave his hand a wipe on his cot, and set it on your thigh.

“With your permission, I’d like to refer back to this particular recording in the future.”

It took a moment to shake off the haze of pleasure and remember the camera. You shifted your focus to the lens, then leaned in, your voice barely above a whisper. “Only if you touch me like that again.” Satisfied with your playful tease, you attempted to lean back, but Tech's firm grip held your head in place. His lips brushed against your ear.

In a quiet, firm voice he promised. “That was only the beginning.”

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #bad batch #tbb tech #tech #the bad batch tech #clone trooper tech #tech bad batch #tech tbb #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader #the bad batch tech x reader #tech x you #tbb tech x you #bad batch tech x reader #Why am i feral for this man #stay tuned #x reader

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livefastdrivefaster · 1 year ago

Text

My Other Half | CL16

Pairing: Charles x Reader

Summary: When Charles accidentally scares you, leading to him anxiously taking care of you. Complete fluff.

Word count: 900 words

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

An old Porsche was sitting in your garage. You managed to get it at a great deal, mainly because the car was close to falling apart. Almost every part needed replacing or some kind of work, and you were beginning to question if you should’ve just built a car from scratch at this point. But you weren’t opposed to the idea of a project, and you had been dreaming of owning this very car since you were young, so Charles stepped in to give you the best birthday present ever.

Because of how old the car was, the suspension was completely worn out. You decided to buy the necessary replacement parts and change it out yourself. You had worked on many cars before, so you weren’t afraid of the challenge, you just really needed to get this one right because the parts were astoundingly expensive. You were underneath the car, connecting the suspension parts to the undercarriage when Charles came home to your shared apartment.

Not finding you in the main apartment, he knew you were likely downstairs working on the Porsche. Your boyfriend always told you there were too many things about you that he loved to count, but he especially adored your passion for your arguably unique hobbies, but how amazing you were at it all too. You always blasted music through your headphones while working, so you didn’t hear Charles come down into the garage to see you. Seeing your legs peeking out from under the car, Charles smiled to himself, lowering himself to the floor to surprise you.

At the same time, you realised you had mistakenly grabbed the wrong size wrench for the bolt you were trying to loosen, and turned your head to look for the right tool lying somewhere near you.

You weren’t expecting to find a face an arm's length away from you. You screamed and instinctively shot up, hitting your head hard on the metal framework above you. Recognising the face as Charles, your body relaxed and you lowered yourself back to the ground, placing your hand over the part of your head that made contact with the car.

“Ah! Y/N, are you okay?” Charles called out, reaching his arm out to you.

You could only groan in pain as the initial shock of the hit wore off. Charles slides his body underneath the car to lie next to you, petting your head sympathetically.

“Can you move? Can I get you ice? How much does it hurt?” Charles blurted out his questions at a rapid-fire pace, and you could tell his voice was close to breaking from worry.

“I’m okay.” You say, giving him a weak smile before rolling out from beneath the car. He follows your movements, moving quickly in his desperation to get back to being next to you.

You sit together for a moment in silence, backs against the evil, pain-inducing Porsche. You hear Charles mumbling about ice before he jumps up from beside you.

“I’ll get ice, my love.” He says, darting off upstairs.

“You don’t have to, Charles, it really isn’t that bad!” You call after him.

It was. But you didn’t want to send Charles over the edge into a nervous breakdown. You hear some commotion from the kitchen, and the almost certain thud of Charles falling down a few stairs before your boyfriend appears next to you. He crouches down next to you, steadying himself with an arm placed beside your head, and gently places the cool ice on your forehead. You flinch from the harshness of the temperature, and Charles immediately withdraws from you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’ll only sting for a moment, I promise.” He says quietly, slowly placing the ice back on your pain. You wince a little still, but forget about it all when he leans into you. The remnants of the cologne he applied this morning, mixed with the sweet smell of his post-gym skin filled your senses. You wish you could bottle his scent, and keep it in a locket around your neck forever. It was addicting, just as yours was to him.

“Mon preux chevalier (my valiant knight).” You sighed. He smiled at you shyly, before dropping his arm beside your head to cusp your face.

“I am no knight, I did this to you.” He says, concerned eyes darting between yours, rubbing circles into your cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah, sneaking up on me was pretty stupid, huh?” You say, half-suppressing a cheeky smile.

“Oh,” he says slowly, catching onto your joke, “not my fault you get all jumpy around me, hm? Almost like you have a crush on me, yeah?”

“Just a little one.” You say, giggling lightly.

His cool complexion breaks at this, unable to stop the soft laugh bursting up his chest, born from the heart you warmed with your mere presence. The moment is brief, but encompassing. Despite the years you had spent with Charles, every day felt like the first night of a young couple’s honeymoon. Giddy and loving.

“Does it hurt still?”

“Not at all.”

He tentatively removed the ice from your head, his green eyes glimmering in the golden light of the dying day. Slowly, ever so slowly, he encompassed your body in his own, leaning down to place the most gentle of kisses on your hairline.

“Ma moitié”

(My other half)

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #ferrari f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles x reader #leclerc #leclerc x reader #cl16 imagine #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc imagine

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jennifer-jeong · 9 months ago

Note

haiii!! could I put in a request for boothill x an alcoholic engineer reader who’s personality takes a complete 180 when drunk? Like when sober they’re really quiet and a total introvert but when drunk they’re basically a party animal/super hype(the reason why they drink so much is because it helps them forget about their life problems like taxes and student loan debt, if I had to compare the reader’s personality to a character I’d say hiroi kikuri from bocchi the rock) but they’re like crazy smart when it comes to machines and stuff and even fixes up boothill from time to time

headcanons or a small fic is fine^^

HII I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I’ve just been out of the groove of writing for a bit but your request is so cute and I wanted to take a shot at it. Thank you for your request and I hope you like it!

Fluff + Suggestive | Boothill x GN!Reader A Few Drinks

CONTENT Fluff, suggestive, him flirting with you, you flirting with him, getting handsy, alcohol consumption, pet name usage, no reader pronouns used, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

WORD COUNT: 1227

It was a regular Friday afternoon in your personal workshop situated in your home on a planet not far off from Penacony and easily accessible via space anchors. The planet was mostly made up of plains, your house sat near a pond and was surrounded by grass and your tiny gardens that you filled with flowers and succulents. You were an excellent engineer working both for corporations as well as taking on smaller private contracts/projects occasionally. You were currently working on a specific cyborg’s finger joint, putting the finishing touches on the cybernetics before he came to have it attached to his robotic body.

You heard a familiar clicking of boots against the sidewalk to your open workshop door before an equally familiar greeting from the cyborg cowboy.

“Heya sweetheart, how ya been? Hows my dumb fudging finger treatin ya?” he chirped, his voice slightly grainy and robotic due to a lack of organic vocal chords.

You swivel around in your chair, giving him a small smile. “Your pinky was pretty messed up but I managed,” you replied quietly, a little anxious talking to the -handsome- man you knew killed people on the daily.

“Ah, ya always fix me up fine and dandy, I knew you’d be able to help,” he said as he walked towards your workbench.

You gave him a small chuckle at the praise and turned around to grab the fixed finger. “Thanks… now just have a seat on the-” you were cut off by turning slightly and being met with his face awfully close to yours. He had leaned over your shoulder to take a closer look at your work, his hands held behind his back.

Your eyes widened as you froze for a moment, unintentionally staring at him before looking away. He was looking at your work but when you turned away he took the opportunity to scan over your flustered self, grinning slightly at how cute you were.

You always treated him so sweetly, disregarding what he did for work because you knew about his past. How could he not find you adorable?

He pulled away to walk towards the table that doubled as an operating table when he or your other clients needed bigger fixes.

“Here?” he says knowingly.

You nod quickly before grabbing a few tools and setting up to attach the part back to his synthetic nervous system.

It was a painful few minutes of him watching you intently as you worked. He was sitting up, leaning back on his right hand, legs spread as he got comfy. His left hand was propped up into a sleeve to keep it still as you worked on it. You tried hard to not look up at him despite knowing he was staring down at you the entire time, probably with that teasing grin he always wore around you.

Once you were done and he finished paying you (with a generous tip no less), he suddenly wondered what you’d be doing since the work week just ended.

“So, whadda ya doin after closin’ up shop today? Ya ever go out for Friday happy hour?”

You whipped your head around to him at the mention of drinking before looking down at the ground, hoping you didn’t seem too eager to talk about alcohol.

“Y-yeah, I go every weekend,” you replied.

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “really? Ya didn’t really strike me as the drinkin’ type darlin’.”

You swallowed at his use of pet name.

“Yeah… it helps me get my mind off work and shit,” you shared with him, figuring it was fine to tell him about it since you already started to get to know each other pretty well during his visits. It was hard to explain, but you trusted him.

“Huh… Well, let’s fudgin’ go then!” He says, jumping off the table. “Lemme know when ya ready darlin”.”

“W-whoa there darlin’” Boothill says for the nth time after you two got to a vintage looking club in the city. You were stumbling a bit as he tried to prevent you from knocking anything over or getting yourself hurt. You kept bumping into him, grabbing onto his arms or his chest to stabilize yourself.

It was your turn to fluster the man.

After all the times he’d made you shy and bashful, him feeling your hands all over him in this context and not during some sort of repair procedure was really setting off his sensors.

You giggled in your drunken state and dragged him by his hand to the crowded dance floor. The current song was just ending and you heard the first few beats of one of your favorite songs. The crowd clearly also liked the song as you all started getting hyped. You started jumping and dancing in front of him as you held his shoulders. You even grabbed the attention of some nearby girls as they encouraged you and you did the same to them.

Boothill’s expression slowly morphed from curious shock to an endearing smirk as he laughed at your total 180 shift in personality as soon as you had a few drinks. His hands found your hips as you continued to dance all over him while he moved with the rhythm.

It was also in this moment that he realized exactly what you were wearing too, it was a pretty, skin tight top and ripped shorts, completely different from the baggy overalls and t-shirt you usually wore in the workshop.

He felt his body’s cooling system kick in a bit harder.

You noticed his eyes on you as you always did, but this time, with alcohol in your system, you decided to do something about it.

You pushed him into a nearby bar stool, forcing him to sit down and lean against the bar counter. You stood between his legs, hands on his chest as you leaned towards his face.

“Thanks for coming out with me Bootie~” you said with your eyes lidded, batting your eyelashes at him. His breath hitched at the sudden nickname usage that you’ve call him by before.

“I’ve been stressed about shit recently but this is fun” you giggle, “we should do it more often,” you add, looking him up and down, something he doesn’t miss.

He relaxes slightly, hands finding their place on your waist again as his signature grin comes out. You could tell he was still pretty flustered though, he was into it, but still a bit shy.

“You’re always looking at me like that, Bootie,” you say as you trace a finger on the underside of his jaw, making him look at you. “I don’t say it when I’m not drunk… but I hope y’know I don’t mind it,” you say with a smile and lidded eyes. Your finger trails off the bottom of his chin as he ever so slightly chases your touch.

You giggle again at his reactions to you, feeling a bit giddy knowing that he was as into you as you were into him.

You push off him to run back to the dance floor, calling out to him with the nickname you just gave him.

The cowboy adjusts his hat before blinking a few times, smiling, and exhaling the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He follows you back to the dance floor as he thinks “I’m fudged.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

#boothill x reader #boothill fluff #boothill smut #honkai x reader #honkai fluff #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #star rail x reader #star rail fluff #j's silly ramblings

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hauntedestheart · 2 months ago

Text

Security Footage - Artifacts (Pt. 1)

One of Trevor & Andy’s misadventures, a more detailed account of the sort described in Security Measures - Artifacts

Another story that starts with a party- but at least this time, Trevor was the host.

The young man had plenty of cause to dislike parties. He was an introvert. Being short meant he got pushed around in crowds. Party playlists usually contained terrible songs. Nobody ever invited him to them growing up.

However the main reason he hated them was because ever since Andy had come back into his life, it felt like the only times he ever wound up at a party was when he was chasing down some unhinged body snatcher. Being exposed to the absolute dregs of the party ecosystem had really put a dampener on his college experience and caused him to swear off of soirees- which was a testament to what a good mood he was in when he invited some of his friends over to his new off-campus apartment for "a little get together."

Recently he and Andy had experienced a run-in with an individual in possession of a ring that allowed him to switch bodies by grabbing someone's hand… no points for guessing who his first target was when he arrived in their city.

The ring somehow travelled with the snatcher so in a bit of a twist on the usual formula, the guy had actually switched out of Andy's body by the time they located it, leaving another random person inside, and the couple spent several days working their way through a daisy chain of body swaps until they (and the angry mob of victims) finally cornered the troublemaker and forced him to fix everything.

And not only did everyone get their bodies back, Trevor got the ring as well.

In his mind, the ring was a major breakthrough. It was the first concrete item he'd found that would actually be able to help Andy with his condition- maybe it couldn't stop snatchers outright, but it gave them a tool to fight back with when they did strike. The end of their body swapping woes was something to celebrate, and with the ring safely tucked away in his nightstand drawer in case of an emergency, Trevor felt comfortable letting loose a little bit.

Just a little bit though, and to be on the safe side, the guest list was just a handful of close friends, and the activities were limited to card games, Mario Kart, and Just Dance. There were still drugs and alcohol though- it wouldn't be a college party without them.

The lanky white guy on the couch with the bowl of chips between his legs was RJ, a friendly stoner type who had lived next to Trevor back in the dorm days and had managed to graduate from "randomly assigned neighbor" to "friend" before they moved out. Their friendship was like a weed, in the sense that it stayed healthy even with little attention, and in the sense that they smoked a lot of weed together.

The chubby Asian guy sitting in a plastic folding chair in the corner, glaring at his phone, was Han. When Trevor had dared to venture out to a welcome event thrown by the school's (small) LGBTQ+ society in the first weeks of college, Han had been the only other gay guy in the freshman class to show up, and the two had remained in touch out of a sense of loyalty ever since.

The pretty black girl lying on the carpet was Monica, a year above Trevor but one of his closest friends. A journalism major, she'd interviewed him for a project about victims of bullying and was so charmed by him that she decided to take him under her wing- and when she found out he could match her attitude, she liked him even more. Curled up next to her was her boyfriend Alexander, a lean and laid back white boy on the track team who had to work hard to keep up with his girlfriend.

The party had been going on for an hour or so and they were playing Just Dance (switching over from Mario Kart after RJ kept thrashing everyone) so the group was treated to the rare sight of Trevor dancing- or rather, attempting to dance. There wasn't much rhythm in his skinny little body, but he gamely wiggled from side to side to the music in an attempt to prove that his hips did not, in fact, lie, and Andy was so in love with Trevor that he managed to find the awkward gyrations endearing.

"Oh yeah, shake it for me baby," he teased, ostensibly as a joke, but the way his eyes were glued to Trevor's little booty as it swung around in the air said otherwise.

Trevor finished the song with a respectable score, a sigh of relief, and thunderous applause from Andy that would have been a standing ovation if Andy wasn't worried about everyone noticing his fat semi. Down boy, he told himself. Not while his friends are here.

Trevor was red faced and embarrassed, but he smiled at his boyfriend then tossed him the controller (Andy caught it with one hand) before disappearing down the hallway towards his room. Andy lazily scrolled through options and chatting with RJ about what to pick next, but the game was forgotten when Trevor emerged a minute later holding a bong.

"Attention everyone," he announced. "We're entering into phase two."

"Sick!" RJ shouted out, bouncing up and down in place on the couch cushion with excitement and nearly crashing into poor Andy.

"That's my cue," Monica said, pressing a kiss to Alexander's cheek before hoisting herself up to her feet and heading over to the kitchen for her purse. Alexander scooted over to be closer to the coffee table, striking a relaxed pose as he watched Trevor and Andy get everything set up.

"Han, are you feeling up for some smoke?" Trevor asked, frowning when he noticed how morose his friend was. Han wasn't always the cheeriest but this was a new level of gloom, even for him- still, he grunted and dragged his folding chair over to the table that Andy had begun clearing cards off of.

Trevor set the bong down on the table, and RJ's eyes lit up when he got a closer look at it. "No shit, is that the same one you had when we were in the dorms?"

"Nostalgic, right?" Trevor shook it from side to side and the clear water inside sloshed around.

"This bong is special to you two?" Andy asked, eyeing it curiously- he'd seen Trevor used the worn (but clean) glass tube many times, but its history had never come up.

"Nope," Trevor snorted. While he did have fond memories of lying on the floor of his dorm room talking about life with RJ when they were younger and dumber, the truth was… "RJ's just impressed I still have it because he breaks all of his after a month."

"That's not-" RJ's knee knocked the bong off the table and it was only saved from shattering by Andy's quick reflexes; the athletic young man caught it inches from the floor and gently returned it to its proper place. Trevor waved his hands vaguely at RJ, as if to say, see?, and RJ lifted his own hands. "Hey, IN MY DEFENSE… I am a little drunk right now. Looking forwards to being crossfaded though."

"Nice catch man," Alexander complimented Andy- though he and Trevor were acquainted through Monica, this was his first time meeting Andy, and he'd already developed a bit of a man-crush on the big guy. "You play sports?"

"Nah, used to play some basketball in high school though," Andy shrugged. "I do a game of pick up every now and then for fun though."

"Well, you're shredded," Alexander said, eyeing Andy's arms enviously.

"What, you mean this?" Andy flexed, bouncing his grapefruit sized bicep up and down a few times, and he gave a cocky grin. "I work out every now and then."

RJ whistled appreciatively, leaning over and pressing a finger into the peak of Andy's bicep as hard as he could. "That's sick bro."

"I gotta say, it's nice to have a man around the house," Trevor joked, slipping into the empty spot on the couch next to Andy.

"Yup," Andy yanked his boyfriend close and pressed a kiss onto his head. "And I've got the best one in the world right here."

Everyone in the room groaned and looked away as Andy showered Trevor with kisses, which Trevor was powerless to stop no matter how hard he shoved Andy away so instead he just surrendered to the onslaught and accepted the love. He pulled his face out of from the spot it was nestled into Andy's chest (truthfully, he could have stayed a bit longer) and peeked up at Andy; the two gazed into each others eyes and smiled at each other like they had a secret… which, of course, they did.

Not everyone was so impressed by the saccharine display though, and Monica broke the moment by loudly clearing her throat. Trevor and Andy separated (slightly) and Monica shook the bag of marijuana in her hands like she was ringing a bell as she called the meeting to order.

"Okay, well, now that we're done with the PDA," she said, a sour look flashing on her face for a moment as she side-eyed Andy, and she loaded up the bowl while she spoke. "Since I bought the weed, I get to decide who takes the first hit, and I think it should be Trevor since he so graciously invited us all over to his new place like I've been begging him to do for weeks now, and I think he deserves a little treat for it."

"Thank you Monica, for both the weed, and the attitude," Trevor snickered, and Monica smiled at him as she passed him the bong. Trevor picked up his lighter and clicked it on, staring at the flame for a moment, then he lifted it into the air for an impromptu toast. "To things going well for once."

Everyone (except for Han, who was still moping) cheered as Trevor lit the weed and the water began heating up, and a minute later, Trevor was exhaling a plume of skunk scented smoke. Greedily, RJ tried to snatch the bong from him, but Trevor batted his hand away ("Let someone else have some before you hog it all") and handed it across the table to Alexander. Alexander accepted the bong with a smile, but instead of taking a hit, he offered it to Monica.

"Ladies first?" he said, doing a half-decent smolder that made him look rather suave, and she gasped with mock delight.

"Why thank you babe!" she exclaimed, giving him a quick peck on the lips as she grabbed the bong from him. She toyed with the stem suggestively for a moment and eyed the other boys seated across from her. "At least someone here knows how to treat a woman right."

"Ma'am, you're surrounded by homos," Trevor deadpanned.

"Exactly," Monica took a deliberate, luxurious pull from the bong, then slowly exhaled the smoke like a queen. "So you should be worshipping me."

"We got Han, Trevor, bisexual king Andy," RJ counted them up on his fingers, scrunching his forehead with exertion as he did simple math, and he pondered the three digits he had extended before lifting up his head and smirking at Alexander. "The straight boys are getting outnumbered dude."

Alexander winced and scratched his beard. "Uh, actually I'm also bisexual…"

"Nooooooooo!" RJ cried out, horrified by the betrayal. "You can't leave me alone with them! I can't be a minority!"

"Hey, you're all minorities," Trevor began, locking eyes with Monica, and the two of them finished the joke in unison. "You're in the Glee Club."

"See?" RJ's hands flailed as he watched the two of them cackle. "How am I supposed to know what that means?"

Alexander, too normal to know what to make of any of that, busied himself by taking his turn with the bong, fading into the background for a moment as Monica, Trevor, and RJ bantered back and forth. He slowly released smoke from his nostrils as Monica and Trevor made more jokes he didn't understand, and Andy caught his eye through the smoke and gestured at the three friends with a good natured (but long suffering) smile. Solidarity between boyfriends, he seemed to be saying.

Alexander offered Andy the bong, but to his surprise, the big guy politely waved it away. "Nah, I'm not into that stuff."

"Okay well if he's giving up his turn, I'm taking it," RJ said, snapping into attention the second weed was up for grabs. He snatched the bong out of Alexander's hands before anyone could protest and he leaned in to take a hit, pausing an inch away from the bong to tease Andy before going in. "I swear, you must be the one guy on the planet that those anti-drug programs worked on."

Alexander eyed Andy curiously. "Dude, you don't smoke?"

"I try to stay sober," Andy shrugged, a bit uncomfortable- the truth was, he used to partake in substances, but after a few months as a body snatcher magnet, the idea of taking anything mind altering sounded awful to him. "I just don't like anything that makes me feel like I'm not in control."

"Really?" Monica raised her eyebrow and pinched her lips tight- something she did when she smelled bullshit. "Because I seem to recall you going pretty wild at a bar downtown a few weeks back."

The pointed undertones of her comment were not lost on anyone, and the mood in the room instantly became a lot tenser. Andy's shoulders fell, and Trevor winced- Monica had made it clear to him many times that she had a lot of issues with Andy, but he'd thought that she would behave herself at a party and not take the chance to bring it up to the poor guy's face. And apparently he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

"Monica, honey, don't," Alexander grabbed his girlfriend gently by the shoulder and murmured in her ear, glancing over awkwardly at Andy and Trevor. "You promised."

"What? I'm just saying," Monica brushed him off and waved her hands in the air like she was presenting invisible evidence. She glanced around the room, waiting for someone to challenge her. "The man says he doesn't drink or do drugs, meanwhile half of my girlfriends have stories about him getting plastered and grinding up on them. Am I wrong?"

She wasn't wrong- she was just missing a few crucial details.

"I… wasn't myself then," Andy answered diplomatically, and Monica hummed.

"Seems to happen to you a lot," Monica said with a disapproving glare. "A little bit too much for a guy with a really nice boyfriend."

Andy couldn't meet Monica's eyes and instead looked glumly at the coffee table, a boulder of guilt pressing down on his back. The couple had decided early on that it would be safest to keep Andy's "condition" a secret- if word got out, it could put him at even more risk than he already was -but the downside of this was that the boys had no explanation for why "Andy" would periodically ditch Trevor to go on wild sprees… or for why Trevor kept taking him back afterwards.

As far as anyone was concerned, Andy was just an incurable playboy who relapsed often, and Trevor was the sorry sap who was letting himself be treated like shit.

As usual, when Andy wasn't able to defend himself, Trevor stepped in. Resting one hand on the small of his boyfriend's back for support, Trevor put on his most stern voice. "Monica, we've talked about this. I know it seems weird but Andy and I are happy, and I really don't like it when you talk badly about him."

"I'm just looking out for you Trevor," Monica placed a hand on the table and leaned in, her voice softening to what Trevor liked to call her "mom voice," and Trevor bit his lip. "You're young and you're innocent-"

RJ pause his toke to interrupt her. "Uh, you're like a year older than us."

"Exactly, babies," Monica said without missing a beat. "And mama here has seen tons of guys like this who think that just because they're hot shit that they can toy around with guys and girls, and it never works out. You can't trust a player, and I think you deserve someone who's going to be there for you."

Her eyes snapped suddenly to Andy's with such intensity that everyone else flinched, and she glared at him like a lioness. Andy was a foot taller than her and twice as broad, but that didn't seem to phase her in the slightest. "Which is why I want you to know that, I see you, I am watching you, and if you keep playing around with my sweet boy then I'm gonna have to end you."

"Monica! Too far!" Alexander put his hand on her chest and gently reigned her back in; she allowed him, but kept her eyes on Andy. Monica's beleaguered boyfriend rushed to apologize. "Dude, I'm so sorry-"

"No, don't apologize," Andy said, to everyone's surprise. Despite the daggers Monica was shooting his way, he seemed calm, and he looked her dead in the eyes. "She's just looking out for him because she loves him, I get that. I love him too." One of his hands drifted down to Trevor's, and the two laced their fingers together. Andy focused on the warmth of their connection, and smiled sadly. "And I really wish that I could be a better man for him."

Monica stared at their interlocked hands for a second, eyes narrowing, then she leaned back. Apparently appeased for the moment, she pulled the bong away from RJ and began to reload it in a gesture of goodwill. Trevor let out a sigh of relief and slumped into Andy's shoulder.

"Hey, Han, is your date coming?" Trevor said, eager to change the subject, and all eyes shifted towards the silent young man. "He was invited too."

"Oh yeah!" Monica jumped in, sounding much more cheerful now that she was no longer in attack mode. "Rex, right? I saw his picture on the LGBT+ Society's page, he's cute! When's he getting here?"

Everyone stared at Han expectantly, and his eyes flicked from face to face. Clearly a bit uncomfortable, he shuffled in his seat and clutched his phone so tight that knuckles whitened, and then he scowled.

"Rex actually dumped me because he was, quote, 'kinda bored with me,'" Han said bitterly. "So no, don't think he's coming."

Silence settled over the room, punctuated only by a few coughs from RJ, who had inhaled too fast.

"That sucks dude," the stoner wheezed out, then he extended the bong towards Han. "You can have the next hit, sounds like you need it."

Han grabbed the bong and took the biggest, angriest hit anyone in the room had ever seen, and then jumped to his feet and stormed out of the room. Trevor rose to follow but Monica put her hand on his arm and stopped him- the guy definitely needed a moment to cool off before he was ready for any sort of human interaction.

"Okay I'm officially banishing this negative energy," RJ declared, exhaling another puff of smoke that no one realized he'd been holding in. "Let's smoke until we all forget everything that just happened."

Murmurs of agreement from the other partygoers, and Monica fished another baggie out of her purse.

In truth, Han didn't want to be a party pooper, but it was difficult for him to be around happy people when he was feeling so miserable. Han had always been unlucky in love, something he bitterly attributed to being an Asian who didn't fit into the neat stereotypes of "soft and submissive twink" or "dominant bro" that all the guys expected. People didn't want plain, chubby dudes like him. They wanted big hunks like Andy, or pretty little twinks like Trevor. And who was he to blame them? He wanted the same things.

He'd thought he'd found a kindred spirit in Trevor when they'd met freshmen year, but just when he'd finally worked up the courage to ask the other boy out, Andy had materialized out of thin air and snatched him away. Stupid, impossibly handsome Andy who was bigger and better than Han would ever be or could ever hope to compete with. In a desperate bid for companionship, Han had thrown himself into a string of failed relationships, but no matter how low he lowered his standards, things never worked out for him.

Han threw open the first door that he found which was, ironically enough, Trevor's bedroom. It figured that the only time he would ever end up in Trevor's bed was when he was plopping himself down on it to stew in his bitterness. The young man buried his head in his hands and sighed, then a glint of light out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Momentarily distracted from his doom spiral, Han glanced over at Trevor's nightstand and saw a ring sitting on top of it.

That's strange, he thought. Trevor doesn't wear jewelry.

Curious, he scooped it up for a closer look. A thick band of smooth, shiny gold with intricate patterns carved into the interior and a few clear gems dotting the outside at strategic points, and Han found himself mesmerized by the way the stones caught the light and twinkled. It was a beautiful ring but not Trevor's style- perhaps it was a gift from Andy, a sign their relationship was getting more serious.

The thought made jealousy bubble up from his belly and his head swam- the weed must be hitting him harder than he'd thought. The metal of the ring felt tingled against his skin and for some reason, he put it on, to feel for a moment what it would be like to have what he wanted in his grasp. Then the door flew open and when Han looked up, he saw Trevor's boyfriend standing there, with a stupid smile on his stupidly handsome face, with his stupidly big muscles, and his-

"Oh hey dude I…" Andy blinked, whatever thought was in his head disappearing into a puff of smoke. "I completely forgot what I came in here for."

The ring glimmered on his finger.

Do it.

Han reached out.

---

"Is it too much to ask for one normal night?" Andy yelled at the universe, grunting as he threw his body into door. "Or at least that I switch into somebody with some muscles?"

It had all happened so fast. One second he was sitting on the couch with Trevor, then it seemed like he blinked and he was alone in Trevor's room with his weird friend Han, and then Han had the ring, and then… he was trapped. In Han's body, and in Trevor's room, because Han (who had been thrilled with his new digs) had jammed a chair or something on the other side of the door and now Andy couldn't get it open. He could have busted down the door in a second if he were himself, but unfortunately, all of his hard earned muscles had been commandeered by a creep, so he had to make do with what he had.

Which isn't much, he though to himself, glaring down at Han's weak body with distaste.

Andy was an open-minded guy who did his best not to judge other people- he was blessed, he knew that! Not everybody had the time and genetics to build the kind of body that he had. But it was hard to be body positive when stuck with a body that wasn't his own, and once again, he was short and fat. Before puberty hit him like a sledgehammer and transformed him into an Adonis, Andy had been a chubby kid, so being in Han's body made him feel like he was twelve again. Small and powerless.

Andy channeled his frustration into another charge at the door and succeeded at nudging it open another inch, although the force of the blow made his borrowed shoulder throb. Nasty bruises were already forming, but hey- not his body.

He needed to get out of there now. Andy would freely admit that he was the jealous type and he'd never liked the way that Han looked at his boyfriend- Trevor was like the sun, who could blame the guy for developing a crush? But Trevor was his, and now that Han was him, there was no telling what he would do. The thought of that creep using his body to take advantage of his sweet little guy… using his muscles to sweep the twink off his feet… working Trevor open and fucking him with the massive cock he'd stolen while the real Andy was stuck with a little nub…

The rush of anger gave Andy the push he needed tackle the door at full strength, finally knocking the chair out of the way and sending him stumbling into the hallway. Light, music, and voices filtered down the dark hallway, and Andy scrambled to his feet- only to go crashing right back to the floor when he failed to vault over the fallen chair. (Han's body couldn't make the jump.) Cursing in pain, he half-crawled/half-stumbled down the hallway to the living room and burst in in a panic.

"Trevor, listen, Han found the ring and-"

He blinked as he registered the scene that laid before him- utter chaos.

RJ was running around the room at top speed, ducking and weaving around the furniture as he tried to escape Alexander, who was in hot pursuit behind him and gaining ground fast. They nearly plowed into Andy's own body, which Andy was standing dumbstruck in the middle of the room, both hands buried in the front of his jeans as whoever was in it fondled his with a dazed expression of shock. Poor Monica was pacing back and forth, babbling to herself as she grabbed her own breasts, while Trevor was standing dumbly by the entrance to the hallway, munching on a bag of chips.

Andy grabbed him by the shoulder. "Trevor?"

"Huh?" Trevor droned, looking at Andy with dumb, bloodshot eyes. He snickered at something funny in his head and slumped over onto Andy's shoulder. "Han, dude, I'm so high right now. I hallucinated I was the Hulk for a minute there, like, I was ripped. Everyone's gone crazy, lol."

Okay so not Trevor, Andy thought to himself. This must be the real RJ, which meant the one being chased by Alexander's body must be someone else- the golden ring glinting off of his finger confirmed it. But who was it? Was Trevor still trying to get the ring from Han? Or had Trevor already gotten it, and was now trying to keep it away from him? His questions were answered when "Alexander" caught up to "RJ" and managed to grab him by the waist.

"You can't stop me!" RJ's body taunted, struggling against his captor. It was clear that RJ's body was no match for Alexander's track and field trained muscles, but when Han stretched RJ's long arm out as far as it could go, he managed to grab onto Andy's body. With a flash, he was free, and he finished his sentence with Andy's voice. "With this ring, I can be anyone!"

He made a break for the door, but Trevor (the real Trevor, using Alexander's body) tossed RJ's body aside and dove for Han's legs, managing to send them both crashing to the ground. The two tussled for a moment, and while Andy's body clearly had the upper hand in terms of strength, Han was uncoordinated and caught off-guard, so he elected to retreat by hopping over to Monica's body as it passed by.

This turned out to be a mistake as he could barely walk in her shoes, and he wasn't able to hobble far before Trevor was upon him- but Han managed to catch Trevor unaware and switched the two of them, leaving him as the track and field star and Trevor in heels. Trevor had the presence of mind to take one of the heels off and throw it at Han's back, and Han gave a yelp and tripped into Trevor's body, sending chips flying everywhere. Meanwhile, whoever had been swapped from Monica's body into Andy's was grabbing his crotch again, but the expression on his face was one of relief rather than confusion.

"Oh thank god," Alexander groaned, thrilled to be anatomically male again, then his eyes widened when he realized the scale of the anatomy he held. "Oh my god!"

He gaped down at Andy's cock, then seemed to register Andy's pecs were also obstructing his view, and he reached up to cup them in his hands. A grin split his face as he began flexing, doing stereotypical macho-man poses as he geeked out over the incredible musculature he now possessed. Before he could get too comfortable, he was sent crashing back to Earth when RJ's body crashed into him and grabbed him by the hand, zapping him out of his dream body. He squeezed one of his skinny new arms and sighed.

A lot happened in the next few seconds as the partygoers tussled on the floor. RJ's body had Trevor's body the arm, while Monica's body was pounding her fists into Alexander's body, while Alexander's body was trying to hobble away while Trevor's body was curled around its legs, Andy's body was trapped on the floor being stepped on by all of them, and the real Andy's head was spinning as he tried to keep up with who was who.

"Trev?" he asked. "Where are you?"

Monica's body turned to glare at him, and Andy would recognize that look on any face.

"I told you, nothing good ever happens at parties!" Trevor huffed.

After they'd gotten the ring back, fixed all of the switches, and then gaslit their friends into thinking that they'd smoked some bad weed and had a very vivid group hallucination, Trevor decided that he'd better keep the ring in a harder to find place from then on.

Part Two

#male body swap #Series: Security

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aerynwrites · 1 year ago

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Whittle Mistakes

Halsin x GN!Reader

A/N: Based off this Request. Hope you all enjoy this little fluffy piece!

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: small injury, magic healing, mostly pure fluff

The afternoon is a mild one today, the usual heat giving way to a pleasantly cool breeze as you listen intently to Halsin’s instructions.

You managed to convince the druid to show you how to whittle, a feat that actually took very little convincing in truth. Once you found out about his hobby, you’d been wanting to ask him to teach you. Not only because you are genuinely interested, but because you knew it’d give you an excuse to spend time with him away from the others.

He’s been increasingly patient with you, bringing all of the supplies you both would need in order to take on this task. He even had small blocks of wood already prepared, and was now walking you slowly through the steps of what to do.

He’d already shown you how to draw a rough shape of what you want to create on the sides of the wood with a small piece of charcoal, and now he was showing you the actual techniques of whittling.

He holds the wood in one hand, and his knife in the other, large hands holding the tool steady as he slowly carved small slivers of wood away.

“The key is to not cut away too much wood at once,” he says, as you lean over to watch from your seat next to him. “You can always cut more away, but you cannot put it back. Better to go slow.”

You nod as you continue to watch him. You’re both sitting in a small clearing in the woods, Halsin having one leg propped up to support the arm holding the knife while the other lays comfortably out in front of him as he works. You sit right beside him, cross legged as you support the block of wood on one of your legs.

“Okay,” you say, nodding. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

Halsin smiles. “Precisely. Now,” he gestures to your block, “go ahead and start, let me know if you have any questions and I will also try to keep an eye on you if you need assistance. But there’s no better teacher than instinct, so just do what you think is best.”

You nod as he turns back to his work, but don’t kiss the way his eyes flick back over to you as you pick up your knife. From everything he’s told you so far, it can’t be too hard, once you get to the intricate parts of the project it will be, but right now you’re just trying to get a general shape.

What could go wrong?

You start slowly, pressing the knife’s sharp edge against the wood and pulling it towards you slowly as you dutifully work to shave off more and more of the wood. Halsin is of course whittling a duck; but you’ve opted to try and carve a bear, wanting to give it to Halsin at the end.

Silence falls over the clearing as you both work, only occasionally making small talk or commenting on one another’s work. It’s comfortable like this, a nice reprieve from everything happening around you all.

You and Halsin have grown close over the past several weeks, and to say you were surprised when he expressed interest in you was an understatement. But you’d happily accepted, and as time went on, it feels like you both have known one another for years, falling into such a comfortable partnership that it never made you think twice.

Even now, despite the silence, you’re content just being close to him and sharing something that he cares about. You’re happy to just be in his presence even if there’s no words passing between you.

Soon, more defined shapes start to appear from your respective wood blocks, Halsin’s looking much more identifiable than yours. Taking a moment to look at your misshapen attempt at a bear, you realize its malformity is because of its head. You don’t seem to carve enough wood away to create a defined difference between the head and body.

But as you try to do so, you find your knife slipping against the awkward angle. So, in an attempt to achieve your goal, you turn the wood in your lap, and move to run the knife away from your body, hoping the downward angle will help.

You just start to push the knife when you see Halsin reach for you.

“Be careful, my heart-“

His warning comes too late. Your knife slips from the woodblock, and with the pressure of you pushing down, you’re unable to react fast enough to stop the sharp blade from slicing into your leg where the wood rests.

You cry out in surprise more than pain, but as the blood wells up from the shallow cut, the sharp sting makes itself known.

Halsin is up and crouching in front of you before you can even blink, taking the knife and wood from you. The blade cut through the thin cotton of your pants, allowing you to see the wound clearly. It’s nothing serious and doesn’t seem too deep, but Halsin brows are creased with worry nonetheless.

He reaches out for you, placing gentle hands on your thigh just around the wound, inspecting it quickly.

“Halsin,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop his own. “I’m fine, it’s just a little cut. Nothing some bandages won’t fix.”

Your words fall on deaf ears, because before you can stop him, bright golden light glows beneath his palms and you watch as the wound closes up in the blink of an eye, the pain ebbing away until it’s gone completely.

Halsin looks up at you then, eyes soft and you can’t help but let out a quiet huff.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly as Halsin shifts closer, one hand coming to rest behind you as a smile tugs at his lips.

“I could not very well leave you injured, what kind of partner would I be then?”

You roll your eyes, but reach up to cup his cheek affectionately. “You’re such a mother hen, sometimes.”

A small chuckle escapes him before his lips capture your own in a chast kiss. One your return happily before he pulls away.

“I should have warned you not to carve away from yourself,” he says softly, moving back so he’s sitting in front of you once more, reaching for your now lumpy piece of wood.

“It’s alrigh,” you assure him, taking your project from his hands as you pick up your knife once more. “I should have known that wouldn’t end well,” you admit, staring down at your sad excuse for a bear. “I was trying to make this look more like a bear but…I think it’s a lost cause.”

Smiling Halsin shakes his head. “Do not give up, my heart. You can achieve whatever you set your mind to, even something as simple as whittling.”

You laugh, and start to continue your work. “We’ll see about that.”

The smile on his lips doesn’t leave as he takes up his position beside you once more, and this time, you shift to lean into his side as you work, smiling when you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“And I love you more,” he replies.

Then, the comfortable silence falls over you once more. The only sound being the gentle scraping of knives in wood as you both continue your work.

#Halsin x reader #bg3 x reader #halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 halsin #bg3

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eelnoise · 11 months ago

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stop and go (nsfw!)

!!usopp!! x fem!reader cw: sloppy blowjobs, implied freeuse/prior consent an: so a planned series of drabbles have seemed to mostly turn into full fics, so i guess i'm gonna post all of them separately over the next few days. also i love usopp sm btw wc: 1500ish tagging: @kaizokuniichan @throwmethroughawindow @missmugiwara @nina-ya @risenwrites masterlist | kofi

“You’re serious?” Usopp breathes out as he watches you get to your knees and prod away at the buttons on his pants, “You’re gonna do this right now?”

Giggling, you tilt your head to meet his gaze, heart skipping a beat at the sight of his flustered expression that even his goggles cannot hide. Loose strands of the sniper’s curly hair frame his face, and though you can’t see his eyes, you can feel them sharply upon you. A piece of metal that once had every intention of being fashioned onto the side of his slingshot now sits idly between a calloused finger and thumb, his focus on the project quickly fading as he watches you closely.

“Would you rather I stop?” You ask, leaning your cheek on his thigh with a sharp grin. The twitch of his cock growing hard beneath your palm is telling enough, though you're keen on teasing him into an answer.

“What if someone comes in?” He asks, lifting the goggles away from his eyes to rest at the top of his head. “What if they overhe-”, Usopp's words are cut off by a breathy exhale as you trace along the outline of his length in a way that could make even the most iron-willed men crumble.

“I thought that nothing could get past you, Captain Usopp.” You coo up at him, milking the sweetness of each word.

A nervous laugh escapes Usopp's lips, his eyes locked onto yours, the rosy tint to his cheeks now unmistakable. He swallows hard, the metal slipping from his grip and clanking noisily against the tools spread out on his workbench.

“I... I guess, I guess not,” he manages to stutter, closing his eyes for a brief moment before reaching out to run his fingers through your hair. The concerned twist of his expression eases into a smirk, and the sniper leans back somewhat in his seat. “I mean - that's right!” he muses, and though his tone is smug, there is a glimmer of excitement veiled behind it – and he pulls the words out slowly and with a gentle lilt, making your heart flutter and electrifying your veins. “And, y'know… I could stand to relax a little.”

“So let me help you,” you reply, a playful nip at his inner thigh earning a sharp intake of breath from him. Your fingers lace through his belt loops, tugging at the leather before deftly unfastening the clasp and sliding the strap out of the way.

Usopp fidgets in his seat, the metal creaking beneath him as he shifts to accommodate the way your face now rests mere inches from his crotch. The anticipation is palpable, a heady mix of apprehension and excitement heavily lacing the air between the two of you.

“...Mhm,” Usopp hums, the low hum causing a shiver to run down your spine. His hands grip the arms of his chair, knuckles turning white as he leans back, giving you room to work.

Your fingers hook beneath the waistband of his trousers, taking a moment to slide them down his hips, revealing his stiff cock, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. Usopp's breath hitches when your breath wafts against him the room swirling around you as you're fully enveloped in the task at hand. Your eyes lock onto it, and without a word, you lick the tip, savoring the salty taste before you take him into your mouth.

Your tongue traces up and down the underside of his length, lips sucking and leaving trails of saliva to run down his shaft and into the soft tuft of curls at its base. So genuine and so sweet, Usopp's soft exhales and sighs begin to fog your brain, making you clench both your toes and pussy in hedonistic pleasure.

When you suddenly release him from your wet mouth, he looks at you with a furrowed brow in confusion. He goes to speak, but you silence him with a raise of your finger. "You were busy, right?" You query, nodding to the abandoned project on the table above you. "Don't let me stop you, keep working on it." You smirk at him, placing messy, open-mouthed kisses to his inner thighs.

Usopp’s eyes widen at your request, but he nods regardless, his expression one of disbelief and arousal. "Right… Keep going," he manages, fingers threading through your hair before releasing his grasp while you resume your ministrations.

The sniper's focus is split, his mind grappling with the dizzying sensation of your tongue lapping at him while his hands fumble with the metal and tools, occasionally cursing at himself for dropping a screw or misaligning a piece. You can feel the tremor in his hips as you slip him back into your mouth, the feel of his cock against your tongue and the sound of his labored breathing around you fueling your own lust.

You hum in note of his lack of focus and pull yourself away from him just long enough to speak. "Tell me what you're working on," you mutter against the tip of his cock, "Something for your slingshot?"

Usopp's breath catches as he watches you, the way you kiss and lick your way back down his shaft leaving him dazed, "Yeah..." he replies, "It's... where I want to keep a new kind of ammunition that I’m w-working with. It'll sprout vines and grow, entangling my enemies and pulling them to me."

"Mhm," You murmur in reply, the sound vibrating around your mouth enough to make him whine. Usopp's entire body twitches, the tip of his cock throbbing as you suck on it, expertly taking him deeper with each bob of your head.

"Sounds really cool," you purr, lips sliding up and down his shaft with a wet slurping sound. You can feel the veins throbbing beneath his skin from the intensity of your actions. “You’ll have to show me how it works.”

"Y-you know I will," Usopp breathes, the trembling in his hips growing more pronounced. The scent of his lust is intoxicating, the taste of him on your tongue sending a jolt down your spine. You're driving him wild, and there's no denying it.

The sound of your tongue swirling around the pulsing head has him biting down on his bottom lip. His fingers twitch, the tools and metalwork forgotten as he watches you, a helpless look on his face that only serves to spur you on further. His hands find your head to guide your movements, and though he means to be gentle, it's hard to keep from rutting his hips down your throat.

He moans your name, voice absolutely sick with lust, "I'm..." He can't finish, the shudder that rips through him a clear indication of his impending release.

Eyes half-closed, he grips your head tighter, urging you on as you work your magic. His mind is a blur of sensations, the taste of your mouth and the feel of your tongue enough to tip him over the edge. Usopp's release is just as powerful as you had hoped, the taste of his cum a heady mix of salt and musk. You hum around the base of his cock, the vibrations making him twitch as you swallow his essence.

Usopp's breathing slows, his eyes closing as the release fades. The strength finally leaves his fingers as they fall away from your hair. He leans back, breath stuttering as he comes down from his high. "Fuck..." he breathes, the admission almost a whisper, "That... was crazy. You're crazy."

You smile, the taste of him still lingering in your mouth, "Glad you enjoyed it," you reply, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. You tug his pants back up, the sniper's cock sliding out of your mouth, leaving you with a wet, satisfied smirk. "Why don't I help you with the rest of your work?"

Usopp chuckles, his eyes roaming your body as you stand, the scent of sex and sweat between you heavy in the air. "You... you really don't mind?"

"Looks like you could use it." You suggest, rubbing your thumb sweetly over his thigh, an almost imperceptible grin playing on your lips. "I'm here for you, yeah?"

A small smile tugs at his lips, and he nods, reaching for your hand. "Then let's get to work," he whispers, pulling you to your feet. The sniper's hand finds yours and he squeezes it gently before leading you to stand aside him at the workbench.

The air between the two of you is charged, a current of electricity flowing from one to the other as fingers brush and hands touch. The sniper works with more focus now that you're at his side, your presence a grounding force alongside his own creativity.

Usopp hums in concentration, the back-and-forth between the two of you smooth and seamless. The sound of your voices mingling with the clank of metal and the soft snaps of mechanisms working in tandem create a symphony fitting for the creation of his new ammunition

The hours pass, Usopp's focus intensifies, and the object in front of you begins to take shape. The sniper's eyes gleam with pride and determination, and his lips curl into a pleased smile when he’s able to make the vines grow at will with a simple flick of his wrist.

"See?" Usopp grins, eyes sparkling, "Told ya I was getting there."

#usopp x reader #one piece smut #x reader #op x reader #usopp x you #dont come for me #one piece x reader #one piece x reader smut

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st4rlvr · 5 months ago

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Forced together || KSM

There was nothing more infuriating than Kim Seungmin’s voice.

It was the way he always had something to say, dripping with sarcasm, every word calculated to get under my skin. He didn’t even have to try hard. All it took was that little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he knew exactly how much I despised him, and it fueled him even more.

And unfortunately, he was everywhere.

In class, he was the one who always had the answer to the teacher’s question before anyone else could. During group projects, he was the one who refused to compromise, arguing with me until I wanted to scream. And now, to make matters worse, he was assigned as my partner for the dreaded school charity event.

“How unlucky can I get?” I muttered as I stared at the assignment sheet taped to the classroom wall.

“You mean lucky,” Seungmin’s voice chimed in behind me. “You get to work with me. I’m practically the backbone of this event.”

I turned to glare at him, my jaw tightening. “More like the thorn in its side.”

His smirk widened. “Nice one, Y/N. Did you rehearse that in the mirror this morning?”

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that starting a public argument wasn’t worth it. “Just stay out of my way,” I snapped, brushing past him.

“Not likely,” he called after me, his tone light and teasing.

Forced proximity, as it turned out, really was a writer’s favorite tool. For the next few weeks, Seungmin and I were glued at the hip, planning decorations, organizing volunteers, and managing donations. Every little interaction felt like a battle.

“Those posters are awful,” Seungmin said, leaning over my shoulder as I sketched out a design.

I turned to glare at him, clutching my marker like a weapon. “They’re fine.”

“They’re boring.”

“They’re professional.”

“They’re basic.”

“They’re effective,” I countered, gritting my teeth.

He leaned back, crossing his arms as he studied my work. “Fine. If you want the charity to look like it was organized by an accounting firm, go ahead.”

I wanted to throw the marker at him. Instead, I handed it to him. “If you’re so great, why don’t you show me your brilliant ideas?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow but took the marker, crouching down to the poster. His hand moved quickly, sketching out bold, dynamic lines. I hated to admit it, but the design was… good.

“See?” he said smugly, stepping back. “I told you. Artistic genius.”

“More like annoying perfectionist,” I muttered, but I left the design as it was.

Despite how much we fought, we occasionally found ourselves in sync. One day, as we set up the donation booth, Seungmin handed me a stack of flyers without me asking. Another day, I caught him fixing the garland I’d hung when it started to sag.

It was a rhythm neither of us acknowledged out loud, but I could feel it. The banter turned into something less heated, almost playful.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said one afternoon as we stuffed envelopes.

“What?” I replied warily, glancing at him.

He smirked, holding up one of the letters. “You spelled ‘donation’ wrong. Twice.”

I snatched the envelope out of his hand, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I did not.”

“You did,” he insisted, laughing. “Don’t worry. I fixed it. You’re welcome.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

It wasn’t until the night of the event that everything changed.

The gymnasium was packed with people, the decorations twinkling under the soft lights. I stood by the punch table, surveying the crowd and feeling an odd sense of pride. Everything had come together perfectly.

“You’re staring like you just won an award,” Seungmin’s voice came from beside me.

I turned to him, startled. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be off bragging to someone about how great this all looks.”

He shrugged, his expression unusually serious. “Maybe I just wanted to see how you were holding up.”

I blinked at him, caught off guard. “I’m… fine. Why?”

“You’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks,” he said, his gaze steady. “You should take a break.”

The sincerity in his voice threw me completely off balance. “Are you… being nice to me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said with a small smirk, but there was something softer in his eyes.

Before I could respond, someone called his name, and he walked away, leaving me standing there, my heart inexplicably pounding.

The next day, Seungmin was back to his usual self—teasing, sarcastic, and insufferable. But I couldn’t shake the memory of the way he’d looked at me during the event, the way his voice had softened just slightly.

It wasn’t until we were packing up the leftover supplies that I finally confronted him.

“Why do you do it?” I asked, crossing my arms as I stood in front of him.

“Do what?” he replied, not looking up from the box he was taping shut.

“Push my buttons. Constantly.”

He paused, his hands stilling. Then he straightened, meeting my gaze. “Maybe because I like seeing how much fight you’ve got in you.”

I stared at him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

Seungmin stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “You’re not like everyone else. You don’t just roll over and let people tell you what to do. You challenge me. And, as much as I hate to admit it…” He hesitated, his voice dropping slightly. “I kind of like it.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Are you… complimenting me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible, Kim Seungmin.”

“And yet, here you are,” he replied, his tone light but his gaze steady.

I didn’t have an answer to that.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as insufferable as I thought.

And so, the lines between love and hate blurred, leaving us in a place neither of us could quite define. But one thing was certain: life was a lot less boring with Seungmin around.

#skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids #3racha #changbin #skz seungmin #seungmin #skz minho #skz hyunjin #skz chan #skz fluff #skz smut #skz felix #skz changbin #skz scenarios #skz #skz stay #skz code #skz fanfic

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redislazy · 6 months ago

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Deadly Attachments, Chapter 01

Chapter 02 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI

> ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

Author's Note: i've been wanting to write a multi-chapter Ghost x female!reader fic for a while now, and i'm excited to finally share it! i've already written a lot of chapters in advance, though they still need tons of proofreading; English is NOT my native language, so i rely heavily on tools like Autocrit, Grammarly, and ProWriting Aid to help me with grammar and flow + my bf, who's a native speaker, has been super helpful with this project. <3 a quick heads-up: there are likely some military inaccuracies;; sorry in advance! comments and feedback are hugely appreciated; they help me know if i'm on the right track! (10/29/24) edit: i made a playlist on both Spotify and Youtube!! it’s not exactly tailored to the story’s vibe, but more like the songs that kept me in the zone while writing. have fun!

You stare at the dingy wall of the interrogation room, your body weary from being bound to the chair for hours. You've always been pretty damn good at your job, but somehow, you finally met someone that matched your skills, managing to catch you. You—a mercenary who's been in the industry for ten years, and never once have you been in a bind like this. You let out a loud groan, your frustrations growing the more they make you wait in the room. Typical for the SAS to waste people's time like this.

The door swings open and in walks a tall figure clad in tactical gear, a skull balaclava covering his face. His cold blue eyes peer through the holes in the mask, scrutinizing you. The sound of boots echoing against the concrete floor is the only thing that fills the tense silence. He takes his time to observe you, noticing the signs of weariness and frustration etched on your face. He takes a seat across the table, his movements deliberate and controlled, making sure you know who's in charge here. He leans forward, arms crossed, and studies you.

"Alright," he says, his British accent sharp and authoritative, "let's cut to the chase. We know you've been working with those Russian bastards. What we want to know is why?" His voice is stern and unwavering, making it clear he won't tolerate any lies or evasion. He takes a moment to analyze your body language and reactions, trying to read you like an open book.

His hatred towards you isn't personal, at least not yet. But you represent everything he despises in this world—mercenaries who sell themselves to do dirty work without considering the consequences of their actions. He hates the fact that he has to deal with your kind in the first place. But he also knows that sometimes, information is more valuable than a bullet, especially when it comes to taking down the enemy. So, he'll play this game of cat and mouse for now.

You take a deep breath, stopping yourself from popping up a vein at his question. "I've been telling you this whole time! I'm not one of Kozlov's men. I'm a merc, okay? I was hired by a PMC." You let out an angry huff.

Once a decorated intelligence officer within Russia’s GRU, Viktor Kozlov became disillusioned with what he saw as the corruption and moral decay of powerful nations. After a covert operation went wrong and exposed him to the brutal lengths governments would go to maintain control, he vanished, presumed dead. In reality, Viktor spent years gathering resources, supporters, and arms to launch his own crusade against the "imperialist and morally corrupt" systems of the world. Now, he leads The New Dawn, a terrorist network dedicated to dismantling global powers through calculated attacks designed to destabilize entire regions.

The masked man raises an eyebrow at your response, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He taps his fingers lightly on the table, the rhythm a silent countdown before he speaks again. "A PMC, you say? And yet, here you are, in the middle of our operation against Kozlov," he retorts, his voice still cold and calculating. In his mind, he's already running through various scenarios and possibilities, trying to piece together your story and find any holes in it. He leans forward once more, the dim light reflecting off his skull balaclava, creating an intimidating visage. "Who hired you? And what were your orders?"

You scoff at his question. "You think I'd just tell you who I work for? I may not look like it, but I have a decent work ethic."

Ghost chuckles darkly at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Work ethic, huh? You do know we have our ways of making people talk, right?" His tone turns icy, making it clear he's not one to be trifled with. "Look, we're not playing games here. If you're truly not one of Kozlov's men, then you'll tell us who sent you. If you don't, I can't guarantee your safety. We both know how things can go south pretty quickly in our line of work." He pauses, letting his words sink in before adding, "And if you are lying, well, then it's just a matter of time before we find out anyway. So, what's it going to be?" His voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

You take a moment to study the expression in his eyes, the only part of his face that is exposed. It's almost impossible to tell what he's thinking.

You sigh, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to prolong this game with the SAS any further. You've already been compromised. Hard. Is it truly worth it to hide details of your mission at this point? He's right; even if you don't talk, they'll find out eventually.

"Fine," you finally relent. "Aegis Black Ops. That’s who I work for. They’re a black-budget PMC; no official ties, just results. We take the jobs no one else can—stealing intel, sabotage, high-risk extractions. Founded by an ex-CIA agent, they run ops in total secrecy. Kozlov's been on our radar for a while now, and Aegis has a personal score to settle. We’ve hit his operations before, and my task was to steal data while he and his men are preoccupied fighting you SAS lot," you answer firmly, with no hint of any deceit in your tone.

Ghost listens intently to your explanation, his expression unchanging behind the balaclava. It's not uncommon for private military contractors to have their own agendas, but it doesn't mean he has to trust them blindly. After a moment of contemplation, he finally speaks up, "So, why didn't you just come clean from the start? We could've saved ourselves a lot of trouble." There's a hint of annoyance in his voice, but it's quickly replaced by curiosity. "What kind of data were you after? And what's so special about Kozlov that Aegis wants him out of the picture?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers together, studying you carefully.

You cross your arms, meeting his gaze steadily. “I didn’t ‘come clean’ because I know exactly how this works,” you say, keeping your voice cool. “You and the SAS might claim the high ground, but governments? They’ll weaponize any intel they can get their hands on. I’m not here to hand over data that’ll just end up as another piece on some political chessboard.”

You let out a low breath, fighting the urge to laugh at the irony. “As for Kozlov, he’s a threat, sure. But to Aegis, he’s also an opportunity—an unstable element that could bring a lot of secrets to the surface if we get to him first. I’m not here to play nice or pretend I’m on some noble crusade. I just know where my loyalty lies—and it’s not with any government.”

He maintains eye contact with you, a flicker of amusement crossing his mind. He nods slowly, acknowledging your position. "Understood." His tone is terse, showing no sign of taking offense at your blatant lack of trust.

He pushes himself off the chair, his military boots echoing in the cold concrete interrogation room. He paces around, his shadow looming over the data on the table. "We both want Kozlov gone," he finally says, stopping to look down at you. "That's enough common ground for now. But I'll need proof that you can deliver." He pauses, allowing his words to hang in the air. "Any proposals?" Ghost asks, his accent clipped and authoritative.

"I propose you untie me off this chair and send me home. I'm not going to get involved with whatever you're planning from here on out. I failed my mission already because of you, and that's where my role ended." You glare at him, each word sharp with irk.

He raises an eyebrow at your defiance, his jaw clenching slightly. He reaches up, running his gloved fingers along the edge of his balaclava. "Well, now that's a problem, isn't it?" he replies coldly. "Because I can't exactly let you go back to your merry little band of thieves after all this."

His eyes narrow, assessing your reaction to his words. "Besides, if you're half as good as you claim to be, then I could use someone like you. And it'd be a shame to waste talent like yours because of some misplaced loyalty." He closes the gap between you in a few short strides. Leaning in close, he looks down at you with an air of challenge. "So, what's it going to be? Are you going to be a liability...or an asset?"

You smirk up at him, not budging an inch as he closes in. “Oh, please,” you say sharply, mimicking his demeanor. “Let’s get one thing straight—‘misplaced loyalty’ isn’t in my vocabulary. I know exactly who I’m loyal to, and let’s just say it isn’t anyone waving a government flag.”

You tilt your head, meeting his stare without flinching. “And as for being a ‘liability’ or an ‘asset’? Let’s not pretend you didn’t decide to let me live because of my expertise in the first place. Maybe you’re starting to realize you need someone like me a little more than you thought, hm?”

You shrug, all casual defiance. “So, what’s your choice, skull-face? Going to trust a so-called ‘liability’ to get the job done, or keep playing it safe with your merry band of rule-followers?”

He straightens up, his gaze never leaving yours. "Skull-face, huh?" he replies dryly. "You think that name bothers me?" He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're not the first to try to get under my skin." He steps back, his eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. He crosses his arms again, studying you closely.

You snort at his response. "Now, don't get me wrong, I simply just don't know what your name is. Until you introduce yourself to me properly, well, 'skull-face' it is." You give him an annoyed look, remembering how he just brought you in here with no pleasantries whatsoever.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "Fair enough," he concedes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He takes a deep breath, contemplating his next words. "Names aren't important in our line of work," he says finally. "But since you asked so nicely, you may call me...Ghost."

A loud, audible chuckle escapes your lips as he mentions his name. "Ghost? Really? You think that sounds cool or so—"

But then it hits you, and your laughter dies mid-sentence. The callsign is strikingly familiar, and suddenly, the pieces fall into place. You let out a heavy groan, frustration washing over you.

In this line of work, you hear a lot about the big players, whether they’re on the right side or the wrong side of the law. Whispers swirl around powerful individuals, and one name always stands out: Task Force 141. Rumor has it they’re a unit of some of the most skilled soldiers, and one particular figure has earned a notorious reputation. A man who wears a skull balaclava and goes by the callsign 'Ghost'. Stories of his exploits send shivers down the spine of those who hear them.

Now that you’ve connected the dots, your previous confidence evaporates. The realization that you’re in the custody of this man sends a chill down your spine. The idea of wriggling free from his grasp suddenly seems a lot more daunting.

"Ah, so you're that 'Ghost'," you manage to say, the cockiness in your voice significantly dimmed.

He watches as your demeanor shifts upon hearing his name, and a smug sense of satisfaction fills him. He nods slowly, letting you process the information. "You might want to reconsider your choices," he warns, his voice low and serious. "You're in, whether you like it or not." He cuts off your restraints, freeing you.

You stretch your arms, letting out a sigh of relief. You get up from the seat, and you walk towards him, stopping right in front of him. His towering figure does not intimidate you at all.

"Just this one time. After I'm done being your lapdog, I'm out of here. Give me your word," you say commandingly.

Ghost studies you for a moment, your boldness surprising him.

"Very well," he agrees, holding out his hand. "One job, then you're free to go. But know this," he adds, his gaze hardening, "if you try to pull anything, I will make sure your name becomes nothing more than a whisper in the wind." Ghost's voice holds an underlying threat, but there's also a hint of intrigue.

Now that you know who he is, you no longer find it in you to scoff at his threats. You just silently stare at him, not saying a word any further as you accept his hand.

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Ghost remains silent as he leads you through the dimly lit corridors of the base, his mind working overtime, processing the unexpected turn of events. He hates being cornered, but something about your tenacity intrigues him. Upon reaching your designated quarters, he opens the door and motions for you to enter.

"Get some rest," he orders gruffly. "We leave at first light." Once you're inside, he closes the door behind you.

Relieved that the room includes a bathroom, you quickly take a shower, dressing in one of the spare outfits provided once you're done. You lie in the darkness of the room, attempting to ignore the creaks and hums of the unfamiliar environment, your mind drifting back to the mission, replaying every detail.

The plan had been flawless—or at least, that’s what Aegis led you to believe. They sent you in, banking on the fact that the SAS and Kozlov’s men would be too focused on tearing each other apart to notice you slipping in through the chaos. You'd timed it perfectly, darting through darkened hallways, avoiding the sounds of gunfire echoing down the corridors as you closed in on the server room.

The data was right where the intel said it’d be, and for a moment, you actually thought you’d pull it off without a hitch. You were halfway through the upload, the light on your drive flashing as it sucked in everything Aegis needed, little by little. The noise outside was just enough to cover the hum of the servers, your fingers poised, watching the data percentage tick up.

Then you felt it—that prickle on the back of your neck. Before you could even look, a shadow moved behind you, and the next thing you knew, a hand was on you, dragging you backward. You’d spun around, aiming to get the drop on him, but you barely managed a step before Ghost countered, deflecting every strike you threw. It was like hitting stone—unyielding, relentless. For every blow you threw, he responded faster and stronger.

You’d landed a few hits—felt the contact, heard his grunt—but it didn’t faze him for a second. Within minutes, you were pinned, arms behind your back, his grip ironclad. He didn’t even say a word, just hauled you up and marched you out, tossing your drive onto the floor like a discarded toy.

And now, here you are, lying in this cold, uncomfortable bed, running the event over in your head, wondering where exactly you went wrong.

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The following morning, Ghost knocks sharply on your door. When you open it, he sizes you up, noting your disheveled appearance. "Get changed," he commands, tossing a duffel bag at your feet, likely containing a fresh set of tactical gear in your size. "Mission briefing in fifteen minutes."

At the briefing, with everyone assembled on time, Ghost stands in front of a map, tracing a route over marked points as he speaks in a low, direct voice. “Alright, listen up. We’ve got a solid lead on Kozlov’s next location—a small compound just outside Grozny. Intel says he’s regrouping there with a skeleton crew. This isn’t one of his main bases, so we’re catching him at his most vulnerable.”

He glances around the room, making sure everyone’s focused. “We’re hitting hard and fast. The objective’s simple: we move in, locate Kozlov, and secure him. The area’s got minimal cover, but we’ll use the terrain to our advantage—come in from the east, using the tree line for our approach. Once we’re in, expect close-quarters combat. Kozlov’s men are few, but they’ll be armed to the teeth. Any questions?”

He pauses, scanning each face, his gaze briefly resting on you—a silent reminder of what’s at stake. “If we do this right, we’ll have Kozlov in cuffs by morning.”

As the briefing continues, your mind wanders to what comes next, once you’re out of SAS custody. You know that once this is over, things with Aegis won’t exactly be...friendly. They don’t take lightly to mercenaries who fumble, let alone those who end up in SAS hands. You’ll have to move fast, probably disappear, setting up somewhere under Aegis’s radar. Burn what few bridges you have left and start fresh—they don’t offer second chances to those who ‘compromise’ a job. Now, with the SAS using you as leverage, you’re as good as a loose end in their eyes.

Your gaze shifts back to Ghost, but he doesn’t notice, focused on the mission. To him, you’re just a tool—a temporary means to an end. Fine by me, you think. You just need to get through this. Once you’re free of their watch, it’ll be time to disappear.

As Ghost wraps up the briefing, Captain Price gives him a light tap on the shoulder, acknowledging a solid plan, then dismisses everyone. But Ghost’s gaze locks on you, silently signaling for you to stay behind.

When the others leave, he walks closer, standing tall over you. "What's on your mind?" he asks, his voice low and gruff, betraying none of the suspicion in his eyes. He noticed after all.

He leans forward, his gloved hands resting on the table, his presence imposing. He expects an answer, and he’s not accepting anything less than the truth.

You shift under his gaze, catching the intensity in his eyes. He’s watching too closely, looking for any sign of hesitation.

Your gaze drops to his shoulder, and you keep your tone casual. “It’s nothing,” you say, your expression unreadable. “Just keeping tabs on the mission, same as everyone else.” You shrug, crossing your arms, leaning back as if his scrutiny doesn’t faze you.

But the tension hangs thick, and his eyes stay on you, probing for cracks. He’s expecting something more, but you hold steady, giving him nothing. Just another merc playing the part—for now.

Ghost narrows his eyes, clearly not fooled. "Don’t play games with me. I don’t have the time or patience," he says firmly, a hint of a growl in his voice. "I’ve seen your type before—always thinking they’re smarter than the rest. But I promise you, testing my limits isn’t in your best interest." He leans in, his skull balaclava inches from your face. "I know you’re plotting something. If it’s against us, you’ll regret it." He straightens, his expression hard. Then, turning to leave, he issues his last command.

“Be ready in ten. We’re moving out.” He exits, casting one final, critical glance over his shoulder, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

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The night is thick with tension as you and the team approach the compound, faint lights flickering through the trees. You stick to the shadows, keeping a step ahead, while Ghost’s voice crackles in your ear, the only reminder you’re not alone. “Stay in formation,” he says in a clipped tone. “Just because you’re tagging along doesn’t mean you get to run off and play hero.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring his tone as you press forward. The plan is simple: sweep through, locate Kozlov, and secure him before he slips away. Gunfire erupts as the task force breaches the compound with their backup unit, everyone moving in sync while you keep to the edges, taking down guards with quick, silent strikes. But as the chaos unfolds, you catch sight of something—a narrow back stairwell leading out of the main area.

You slip through, already guessing where Kozlov is likely headed. If I’m right, I can cut him off before he even knows what hit him. You move quickly, your steps silent on the metal stairs, reaching the next floor and rounding a corner—only to nearly collide with Kozlov himself.

The second he sees you, he bolts, diving into the shadows. You raise your weapon, prepared to take him down. Ghost’s voice buzzes through the comms. “Report. Fall back to the main corridor.”

But you don’t listen; your focus is locked on Kozlov. He darts down a hallway, and you’re right on his heels, firing off a few shots that barely miss.

Suddenly, a strong hand clamps down on your shoulder, yanking you back. You spin around to meet Ghost’s glare, his jaw clenched in frustration. “You just couldn’t follow simple orders, could you?” His voice is ice-cold, and the disdain in his eyes is unmistakable.

You shrug off his grip, anger sparking. “If you’d just let me, we’d have Kozlov by now. I know his methods; he was one step ahead of your ‘perfect’ plan.”

“My plan doesn’t involve risking the mission for a mercenary who’s only here because she got caught.” His tone is biting, but before you can fire back, a gunshot echoes from the corridor ahead.

Both of you turn, watching as Kozlov slips through a hidden exit, vanishing into the night. Ghost swears under his breath, casting a look at you that’s a mix of anger and frustration. There’s no time to argue, and you both know it—but as Kozlov escapes, it’s clear Ghost won’t be letting this go anytime soon.

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The tension lingers all the way back to base, thick and unyielding. You can practically feel Ghost’s anger radiating as you step into the debriefing room. He barely waits for the door to close before he rounds on you, voice low and cutting.

“You just couldn’t stick to the bloody plan, could you?” he growls, his gaze cold. “You had one job—follow orders. But instead, you nearly compromised the entire mission. Kozlov slipped because of you.”

You cross your arms, not backing down. “Compromised the mission? I was the only one thinking on my feet. Your ‘perfect plan’ left Kozlov with an escape route I could’ve closed if you’d trusted me.”

“Trusted you?” He barks out a harsh laugh. “You’re here because you got caught, not because we need you. This isn’t a team exercise where you get a say. You don’t belong here—you’re only here out of mercy, and yet you keep acting like you know better than the people who do.”

Your jaw tightens, heat rising. “Unlike you, I’m not here for loyalty points, Ghost. You kept me because I know Kozlov’s methods. But when I try to use that knowledge, you shut me down.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping dangerously. “You think this is some mercenary gig where you’re the only one with skin in the game? Kozlov got away because you decided to act like a lone wolf. End of story.”

Your fists clench as you hold your ground. “Kozlov got away because you’re too caught up in hierarchy to recognize a good call when you see one. Face it, you’d rather let him slip than admit a merc might have a better idea than your so-called Task Force.”

Ghost’s jaw clenches as he glares at you, the air crackling with tension.

“You’re out of line,” he mutters, his voice low and full of warning. “Next time you pull something like that, I won’t bother hauling you back. You’ll be out there on your own—with nothing but Aegis breathing down your neck. Understood?”

You meet his glare, forcing yourself to stay steady. So he knows what fate awaits you after all of this. Of course he does. He's sharp.

“...Clear,” you reply, your voice cold. But you both know neither of you is letting this go.

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The morning drags on, with the wait for fresh intel on Kozlov stretching endlessly. Ghost’s words from last night still echo in your mind—“You’re here because you got caught, not because we need you.” As if you needed the reminder.

Stuck at the base with nowhere to go, you head to the training field. They won’t let you leave the perimeter, not while you're under their watch, so you decide to make use of the open space. You start running laps, each step an outlet for the irritation simmering inside.

The cold air bites, grounding you in the steady rhythm of your breath and the burn in your muscles. At least here, you don’t need anyone’s permission. A few passing soldiers give you curious looks, probably wondering why an “asset” like you is still around. But you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the field.

As you round another lap, you catch sight of Ghost by the railing, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable gaze. You keep running, refusing to let his presence disrupt your focus. But it’s clear he’s not here just to watch. Eventually, you slow to a jog, then a walk, meeting his gaze with a silent, unspoken challenge.

“Working off last night’s steam?” he asks, tone sharp, as if testing you. There’s a hint of something else there—maybe curiosity, or that familiar Ghost-brand amusement.

You wipe sweat from your forehead, catching your breath. “Something like that. Figured I’d make use of the time since I’m not going anywhere.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as the type to sit around waiting for orders.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not much of a choice, is there? Last time I did things my way, you made it crystal clear why I’m here—to do your dirty work and get out. I’m not wasting energy pretending otherwise.”

His expression hardens slightly. “As long as you’re under our watch, you follow our lead. Whether you like it or not.”

You glance away, jaw tight, staring out at the field. “Trust me, I’m not here for team-building, Ghost. I’m here because it’s the quickest way out of your custody.”

A flicker of something—irritation, maybe—crosses his face, but he holds his gaze steady. “Then don’t make it harder than it needs to be. Kozlov’s all that matters right now.”

You don’t respond, just push past him and keep running. He doesn’t need to say anything else; you both know you’re not about to play the compliant asset. And as long as that’s clear, you’ll do what you have to—your way.

The intel finally comes through a few hours later, and the team assembles in the briefing room. The air is tense, thick with the urgency that always hangs before a mission. Captain Price stands at the front, a holographic map flickering beside him, casting an eerie glow over the room.

He gestures to a marked point on the map. “We’ve got eyes on Kozlov. He’s holed up in a safehouse just outside Nizhny Novgorod. Remote location, minimal personnel—keeping it small to avoid detection. But make no mistake, he’s got backup on call, so we need to be fast and hit hard.”

He pauses, letting it sink in before nodding to Ghost, who steps forward to take over. Ghost navigates through the map. “We’ll split into two teams. Bravo will handle perimeter control, keeping his reinforcements at bay. Alpha goes in through the main entry.” His eyes flick briefly to you, his tone unyielding. “That’s you. You’ll breach with me and clear a path. Once inside, we secure Kozlov. No deviation, no solo heroics. Understood?”

He doesn’t wait for responses, focusing back on the map. “Timing is critical. We’re on a tight window, so the moment we hit the ground, we move. Any questions?”

The room is silent, everyone aware of the stakes. Ghost’s gaze lingers on you a second longer, reinforcing his unspoken warning. This time, you nod curtly, already running through the plan in your head. The sooner this is over, the sooner you’re one step closer to freedom.

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The mission starts smoothly enough. Under cover of darkness, the teams approach Kozlov’s safehouse on foot, moving quickly and keeping low. Bravo team takes position around the perimeter, silently eliminating the sparse guards posted on the outskirts, while Ghost, you, and a few others on Alpha team make your way toward the main entrance.

As planned, you breach the door and slip inside. Ghost signals for you to split up, both of you sweeping the narrow hallways and checking each room. It’s quiet—too quiet, almost like Kozlov is baiting you. Your instincts buzz with a sense that something’s off, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

You clear the first floor quickly, then move up the creaky staircase to the second. Ghost leads the way, moving with controlled urgency. As he rounds a corner toward a reinforced door at the end of the hall, it happens—an explosion. A tripwire, hidden under a loose floorboard, detonates. The blast rips through the hall, sending Ghost flying backward. He slams into the wall, dust and smoke filling the air.

“Ghost!” you shout, ducking for cover, the ringing in your ears nearly deafening. Through the haze, you see him slumped against the wall, struggling to stay conscious, blood trickling down his forehead.

A flicker of movement catches your eye—one of Kozlov’s men, sneaking up behind Ghost with a knife. Your heart races, instincts taking over as you spring forward. Drawing your own blade, you lunge at the attacker, catching him off guard. You manage to twist the knife from his grip before he can strike. With a swift, decisive shove, you send him sprawling, finishing him off with one clean motion.

Breathing hard, you crouch beside Ghost, gripping his shoulder firmly. “You good to move?” you ask, your voice sharp but steady. His eyes clear just enough to focus on you, and he manages a slight nod, though he’s visibly shaken.

He takes a shaky breath, forcing out a half-growl. “Didn’t think… you’d bother.”

You roll your eyes, slipping an arm under his to help him up. “Yeah, well, we’re not done here. Let’s get you out alive first—then we can argue about it.”

With Ghost steadying himself, you both push forward, weaving through the remaining chaos to regroup with the others. The safehouse is cleared shortly after, but Kozlov is nowhere to be found—it was a decoy. Not the outcome you wanted, but you’re both alive.

And, at least for now, Ghost owes you one.

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Back at the base, the adrenaline from the mission has faded, leaving an unsettling quiet in its wake. You step outside, seeking a moment of calm in the cool night air. The stars flicker above, but they do little to soothe the turmoil in your mind. You can’t shake the image of Ghost slumped against the wall, blood trailing down his face.

Leaning against the cold metal of the building, you’re lost in thought when you hear footsteps approaching. You look up to see Ghost walking toward you, his gait slightly uneven, a fresh bandage wrapped around his head. His gaze is sharp, unwavering, all business.

“You should be resting,” you say, trying to keep any lingering irritation from your tone.

He shrugs, a faint, almost mocking smile visible beneath his mask. “Rest doesn’t come easy. Figured I’d check on you after today’s fiasco.”

“Fiasco?” You raise an eyebrow. “You nearly got yourself killed out there, and I had to save your ass.”

“True.” He crosses his arms, something resembling respect flickering in his eyes. “But you acted out of turn. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“And what was I supposed to do? Watch you get stabbed?” You shake your head. “I’m not just some disposable asset.”

“Right,” he says, his tone hardening. “You’re still a merc, and I’m not sure where you fit in all this. Just curious—what makes you tick?”

You narrow your eyes, thrown by his sudden interest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do you do this? You didn’t get into this line of work for the glory. What’s your story?” He leans against the wall, studying you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.

You hesitate, debating how much to let him in. “Does it matter? You don’t see me as anything but a pawn.”

“Maybe.” There’s an edge of sincerity in his voice that surprises you. “But you saved my life today. I’d like to know who I’m working with.”

You cross your arms, defensive but resigned. “Fine. I got into this for survival, for the money. Aegis found me on the fringes, and I’ve been making my way through the chaos ever since.”

He nods, taking in your words. “And what happens when Aegis finds out you’re working with us? Think they’ll just let you walk away?”

You shrug, a bitter laugh slipping out. “If I don’t find a way out soon, I’ll be in deep trouble. But I’m not worried about their opinion. Life’s unpredictable; this is just how things ended up.”

He studies you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze intense. “I know you saved me today, but don’t expect any favors.”

“Trust me, Ghost, I won’t be asking for any,” you reply, a mix of defiance and resolve settling in your voice.

The silence stretches, the night air heavy with unspoken words. You know you’ll have to carve your own path, but this unexpected exchange has shifted something between you. As you look back at the stars, you can’t help but wonder where this uneasy alliance might lead.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ -

Author's Note: my upload schedule will likely be on weekends since I work full-time (rip). some updates might even come a few days earlier if I finish proofreading faster. hopefully, the first chapter has grabbed your attention! if you have any questions, feel free to submit them on my ask box, it’s always open!

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mrk236547789 · 7 months ago

Note

Construction worker pushes his body to its limits while being due and ends up triggering his labor

The hammer's rhythmic clang echoed through the dusty air as Jack pounded nails into the wooden beams. The sun hovered lazily in the sky, casting a warm glow over the unfinished framework of the house they were building. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he paused to wipe it away with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of grime on his skin. He was 9 months pregnant, and today was no ordinary day on the construction site.

Jack had always been a tough cookie, pushing through pain and fatigue like it was a mere trifle. His fellow workers often marveled at his endurance, but today, the weight of his secret grew heavier with each swing of the hammer. The contractions had started early in the morning, subtle and infrequent at first, but now they were demanding his attention with an intensity that was hard to ignore. He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, willing his body to hold out just a little longer.

The foreman, Dave, a burly man with a thick mustache, called out to him from across the site. "Jack, you okay over there? You're looking a little...pained."

Jack grunted a non-committal response, his hand tightening around the hammer handle. "Just gotta keep this baby together," he said, tapping the beam with the tool as if to emphasize his point.

Inside his mind, the baby kicked in agreement, sending a jolt of pain through his abdomen. He leaned against the wooden frame, taking a moment to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. The baby's movements grew stronger, more insistent. Jack knew he couldn't hide his condition much longer, but the project was so close to finishing, and he didn't want to let the team down.

"Dave, I think we're going to need to call it a day," Jack finally called out, trying to keep his voice steady.

Dave squinted in his direction, the concern on his face growing as he took in Jack's clenched jaw and the slight hunch of his shoulders. "What's up, buddy?"

Jack took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around at the half-finished house. The team was counting on him to keep up the pace, but the contractions were coming closer together now, like a drumbeat that grew louder with each pulse. "It's time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The baby's coming."

A hush fell over the site as the workers turned to face him. The clanging of tools and murmur of conversations faded into silence, replaced by the sound of Jack's ragged breaths. Dave's eyes widened in shock before quickly narrowing in determination. "Alright, everyone, pack up and clear out," he bellowed, his voice booming across the construction yard. "Jack's going to have this baby right here if we don't get him to the hospital."

The crew dropped their tools and rushed to gather their things, a flurry of movement and whispers as they hurriedly dispersed. Some paused to pat Jack on the shoulder, offering words of encouragement before jumping into their trucks. Dave approached Jack, who was now leaning heavily against a post, his face contorted with each contraction. "Come on, pal," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's get you out of here."

With a grimace, Jack allowed Dave to help him to his feet, his legs wobbly. The foreman's strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, providing support as they shuffled towards the pickup parked nearby. Each step was a battle against the tightening in his stomach, a reminder of the urgency of the situation. The gravel crunched beneath their boots, and the dust swirled around them as they moved.

Once at the truck, Jack leaned over the open door, panting heavily. The interior smelled faintly of diesel and leather, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital environment he knew he needed to be in. "Thanks, Dave," he managed to say, his eyes never leaving the horizon as if focusing on something in the distance could help ease the pain.

Dave's grip tightened on his shoulder. "You've got this, Jack," he said firmly, trying to hide his own anxiety. "You're the toughest person I know."

Jack offered a wan smile, gripping the edge of the door for support as another contraction washed over him. "It's just like nailing down that last piece of roofing, right?" he joked through gritted teeth.

Dave chuckled nervously, trying to keep the mood light as he opened the passenger side door. "Yeah, just like that," he agreed, though they both knew it was nothing like that.

Jack eased himself into the seat, the leather cool against his overheated skin. He took another deep breath and nodded to Dave, who sprinted around to the driver's side and hopped in. The engine roared to life, and the pickup jolted into motion, sending a spray of gravel flying. The drive to the hospital was a blur of bumps and turns, the contractions coming in waves that grew more intense with each passing minute.

Jack's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, his knuckles white on the seatbelt. The world outside the window was a blur of color and light, the buildings and trees rushing by in a haze of anticipation and fear. The air in the cabin was thick with tension, punctuated only by the occasional grunt of pain from Jack and the rev of the engine as Dave floored it through a yellow light.

Dave's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror, checking for any sign of pursuit. "You holding up back there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah," Jack grunted, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "Just keep driving."

The pickup's suspension protested over each pothole, sending jolts through Jack's body that seemed to sync with the contractions. His breaths grew more ragged, and his knuckles whitened with each grip on the seatbelt. The pain was unbearable, but he had to keep it together—for the baby, for the job, and for his pride.

Dave's eyes remained glued to the road ahead, his foot heavy on the gas. He could see the hospital's towering structure in the distance, a beacon of relief in the urban sprawl. "We're almost there," he said, trying to reassure his friend. "You're doing great."

Jack nodded, his teeth clenched, his breath coming in short gasps. He could feel the pressure building, the baby's relentless demand to enter the world. The contractions grew so intense that they blurred the line between pain and exhaustion, each one a test of his endurance that seemed to stretch his body to its limits.

As the truck screeched to a halt in the hospital's emergency bay, Jack's water broke, a warm gush that soaked the seat beneath him. Time seemed to slow as the reality of the situation crashed down upon him. "It's happening," he murmured, his voice hoarse and strained.

Dave's eyes shot to the rearview mirror, his own fear mirroring Jack's. "Hold on, buddy," he said, his voice tight with urgency. "We're here." He leaped out of the truck and sprinted around to Jack's side, flinging open the door.

Together, they stumbled into the hospital's emergency room, the sliding glass doors parting like a curtain to reveal a sea of white coats and concerned faces. A nurse, her eyes widening at the sight of Jack, rushed over with a wheelchair. "Sir, you need to sit," she urged, her voice firm but gentle.

Jack grimaced as he lowered himself into the chair, the plastic cold against his sweat-soaked back. The nurse quickly assessed his condition, her hands deft and efficient. "You're in labor," she confirmed, her gaze flicking up to meet his. "We need to get you to the delivery room, right now."

Jack nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as another contraction hit him like a sledgehammer. The nurse pushed the chair with surprising speed, weaving through the maze of corridors. The walls were a blur of sterile white and green, punctuated by the occasional beep of medical equipment. Each bump and turn sent a fresh wave of pain through his body, and he gripped the chair's armrests until his knuckles turned white.

Dave trailed behind, his stride long and uneasy, his mind racing with the thought of his friend's unborn child. He'd never been in a situation like this before, and his hands felt useless at his sides. "You got this, Jack," he murmured, more to himself than to the man in the chair.

The delivery room was a stark contrast to the chaos of the construction site. The air was cool and sterile, the walls lined with monitors and medical equipment that beeped and hummed. The nurse transferred Jack to the hospital bed, her movements swift and practiced. She hooked him up to a fetal monitor, the rhythmic thump of the baby's heartbeat joining the symphony of noises in the room.

A doctor, her face masked but her eyes filled with empathy, appeared at Jack's side. She checked his vitals and the baby's progress with a calm efficiency that did little to ease the panic rising in his chest. Each contraction felt like it was ripping him apart, the pain a living, breathing entity that consumed his every thought.

The doctor spoke in a soothing tone, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You're doing great," she said, her gloved hand resting on his arm. "But we need to get you ready to push."

Jack nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he braced for the next contraction. His body was a battleground, torn between the need to keep working and the primal instinct to bring new life into the world. The doctor's words were a distant echo in his mind, the pain a crescendo that threatened to drown out everything else.

The nurse handed him an oxygen mask, and he took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. "Breathe, Jack," she instructed, her voice a gentle command. "You can do this."

Jack nodded again, focusing on the rhythm of his breaths. The room was a flurry of activity around him, but he was in his own world, a world where the only thing that mattered was the life he was about to bring into existence. Each contraction was a mountain he had to climb, a challenge he had to overcome.

The doctor looked at the monitor, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "Alright, Jack, it's time to start pushing," she said, her voice firm but reassuring. The nurse took his hand, her grip offering silent encouragement.

Jack took a deep breath and pushed, his face contorting with effort. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced, a white-hot pressure that seemed to fill his entire being. He could feel the baby moving, urging him on, and with each push, the doctor's voice grew more encouraging. The room was a blur of activity around him, but all he could focus on was the sensation of his body stretching and straining.

The doctor's voice grew more urgent. "Again, Jack, come on. We're almost there."

Jack gritted his teeth and pushed with every ounce of strength he had left. His muscles burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he didn't stop. The nurse squeezed his hand in a silent cheer, her eyes never leaving his. The pressure built and built until it felt like his entire body was going to split in two.

Then, a miracle. A sudden release, a gush of wet warmth, and the unmistakable sound of a newborn's cry filled the room. The doctor held up a tiny, wrinkled creature, covered in goo, squalling indignantly at the abrupt transition from the safety of the womb to the cold, bright world. The room erupted in a cacophony of shouts and laughter, but Jack heard only the sweet sound of his baby's first cries.

Tears streamed down his face as the nurse placed the baby in his arms. It was a girl, with a mop of dark hair and a fierce little scream. She looked up at him, her tiny eyes searching, and Jack felt something inside him crack wide open, a love so vast and fierce it took his breath away. "Hello, little one," he whispered, his voice hoarse from pain and exertion.

The doctor and nurses bustled around, attending to the baby and checking Jack's vitals. The chaos of the delivery room was a stark contrast to the quiet calm that had settled over him. He studied her every feature, marveling at the tiny fingers that curled around his thumb, the way she squirmed and wriggled against his chest. The pain was still there, a dull throb that pulsed in time with his heart, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming joy that filled him.

#mpreg #giving birth #mpreg birth #mpreg story #birth kink #pregnant man

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