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lady-lauren · 2 years

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Pairing: Enji Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: authority/power-play, boss/employee relationship, age-gap, size difference/size kink, public heavy petting/fingering, rough sex, desk sex, praise kink, use of “good girl,” light choking/breath play, hand pressed over reader’s mouth, hair pulling, creampie (Enji is implied to be divorced, no cheating) trapped in an elevator for a while, so warnings for claustrophobia and elevators in general.

A/N: Special thanks to @whats-her-quirk and @titan-fodder for reading over this bad boy, and extra special thanks to my power going out right as I was excited to post this. God how I’ve missed Endeavor. One horny thought turned into over 6k. Enjoy ❤️

Endeavor’s name and presence is all over his hero agency. On every letterhead, blazing neon red letters on the front of the building, on company sweatshirts and stamps, email signatures, and even every pen and notepad. Yet the man himself is hardly ever seen.

Working directly for the titular hero of the agency as his senior support staff means that you see him more than most, and even still, his flaming body is a rarity to you.

So it’s a shock to see him in the elevator this morning, fire extinguished due to the spacial hazard. He’s dressed casually, white dress shirt and navy trousers. It’s too early for his hero duties to begin, the clock having not yet struck 9 a.m.

“Good morning,” you whisper with your eyes averted; his proximity always makes you anxious.

“Morning.”

He greets you with a curt nod as you step into the elevator from the parking garage floor.

Your first instinct is to press yourself to the farthest wall away from him. There’s an obstacle, however, one of his many sidekicks already twiddling his thumbs with worriment against the right wall. Endeavor stands in the back left corner, arms crossed, muscles bulging. You stick to the front of the car, leaning against the cool wall near the control panel.

The top-most floor is where you’re headed—same as your boss.

An itch crawls in your throat to make small talk, to fill the silent, awkward void as the elevator doors close and the cables hoist the metal box upwards. But you keep quiet, even if it is a long ride to floor thirty-six.

Lights on the floor numbers flicker, passing the lower levels, only to stop on the main lobby.

You exhale heavily as another sidekick enters the space, this guy bigger than most, making you step back a bit closer to the number one hero.

More people continue to filter in, worker bees about to go to their respective places in the corporate hive.

One after the other, feet shuffle, each new body making you edge closer and closer to the behemoth in the corner. Some have the guts to acknowledge Endeavor, others have wide eyes and try to cram themselves as far away from him as possible.

Endeavor is still hot—literally—without his flames, the heat of his body making the elevator car feel like a sweltering humid day. Like the sun, torrid waves pour from his core, making sweat form at the base of your neck.

The elevator doors finally close, only for them to re-open just one floor up.

Someone leaves, but three more enter. Everyone has to displace like water, make room for the other employees.

You take your final step back before your heeled shoe catches the toe of Endeavor’s boot.

“Sorry,” you mumble, placing your hand on the wall next to him to steady yourself.

The Flame Hero only huffs, casting you a glance before returning his gaze that rests over every head.

“Geez, busy morning, yeah?” Someone breaks the ice, someone nods in return.

“Elevators, huh? They really have their ups and downs.”

You can feel Endeavor groan in annoyance behind you, his broad form just a hair’s width away from you. Your legs are stiff in your heels, back straight as you try to be mindful not to touch or bump him. It’s not that you’re afraid of him, you just dare not be inappropriate with your boss—with the number one hero.

But your efforts to keep a suitable distance between you and your colossal employer fail when, by floor ten, you’re pushed back against him when another influx of people rush the elevator.

“I’m so sorry,” you look up at him as you apologize, craning your neck back against his chest.

“It’s alright.”

When the elevator jolts back to life, surging upward, your balance betrays you. Endeavor catches your hip before you lose yourself to gravity, a large hand keeping you upright.

The touch should be brief—that’s what you expect. Instead, his huge, hot fingers stay put, lingering. His thumb feels like it’s scorching your body at the seam of where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

Your hair stands on end and you become acutely aware of just how much of you is touching him.

Your back is flush against his chest, his brawny thighs—spread wide—are on either side of your own, which are pressed together with nervousness. The top of your head bumps back against the collar of his shirt, the buttons down his robust chest are scraping against the thin fabric that covers your skin. His strong arm at your side keeps you from bumping into the elevator wall.

The two of you are rocking with the shifting and lifting of the elevator, shoulders bumping into the people next to you; the tall side-kick in front of you is nearly touching your nose with his back.

The elevator car creaks, the cables struggling.

“There’s a weight limit to these things, isn’t there?” A woman whispers near the front.

“Says here 1,500 pounds.” A little guy near the front reads the plaque above the floor buttons.

You can’t see beyond about three people around you, the height of the sidekicks blocking most everyone’s view. But if you had to guess, there’s about twelve people on the elevator, and at least four of the bigger heroes are well over two hundred pounds, Endeavor included.

“I think we’re over capacity, but we should be okay.” A different voice, one that makes people sigh with relief.

When the metal doors glide open on floor twenty, revealing two faces ready to enter the car, it’s Endeavor who speaks up.

“Elevator’s full. Catch the next one.”

No one would dare tell him no.

The rumble of his voice travels down your spine, makes your toes curl in your shoes that are starting to feel too-tight. Your ass is promptly placed at his crotch, the realization of which makes you flush.

Five floors whisk by, the next lit up button about to be reached, only for the elevator to shriek and rumble.

“Oh shit!” Someone yells as the world shifts, as the lights flash and the metal box shakes.

Endeavor instinctively wraps his arm around your middle, his free hand flying forward to stop the sidekick in front of you from crushing you between two muscular bodies.

A few of the ladies scream, a few of the men, too, a high pitched conglomeration of curse words and panic.

“Oh god we’re gonna fall!”

“From how high? What floor are we on?!”

“Fucking hell, we’re gonna die!”

“Endeavor save us!”

The electricity crackles before the lights go out, a faint flicker of hope before casting every face into darkness.

“It’s alright, everyone,” Endeavor sighs as he speaks, his hand rubbing against your side like he’s trying to soothe you, too, “we’re going to be fine. Just no one make any sudden movements.”

“Are we going to fall? Can you save us?!”

“Easy,” he tuts at the voice in the dark, “just stay calm. The elevator has shut down purposely in order to prevent it from crashing. If it was going to fall, it would have already. This is a built-in safety measure.”

“What do we do?” One of the sidekicks asks, eager to save the day.

“We wait.” Endeavor answers, finally pulling his hand off the back of his other sidekick, but not removing himself from you.

“Wait for what?!”

You sigh, resolving to let your weight fall back against your boss, tired of trying to keep yourself from being improper in this situation.

“Be quiet.”

A blue light comes to life near your side after Endeavor fishes his phone from his pocket. He dials a number quickly, pressing the speaker function since he can’t pull his phone to his ear due to the bodies cramped next to him.

“Hello, this is Ellie Vader, how can I help you?” A female voice chirps from the speakers.

“Ellie, it’s Endeavor. The elevator has shut down at my office, me and…” he pauses, ready to take a head count but unable to see in the dark, “quite a few people are stuck.”

“The Elevator Hero is at your service! Make sure no one moves suddenly—no jumping, no banging on the walls—I can be there in about fifteen minutes!”

“Thanks.”

And then the light is gone and people are exhaling in relief.

“There’s an elevator hero?” You mumble up to Endeavor, smiling even if he can’t see it.

“You’d be surprised how many elevators get stuck a day in this city. We’ll be fine.”

The blackout urges people to be quiet. It’s pitch dark, the absence of light making some go still, while others try to feel their surroundings, causing a ripple of “ouch,” “back off,” “don’t touch me,” “that’s my fucking toe.”

Soon, though, a few people are able to maneuver their phones into their hands, and dull screens make the packed space feel less intimidating. Two co-workers even start up a hushed conversation at the front, talking about the department meeting they dread today. Another pair strikes up a forced chat about weekend plans. They’re human, after all, awkward and trying to fill the silence.

Feet aching from heels you did not plan to be planted on metal floor for so long, you shift your weight between your knees, inadvertently rubbing yourself against your boss’s crotch.

“You alright?” Endeavor turns his face down to whisper to you, lips brushing against your ear.

“Mhm, yeah, my feet just hurt a bit.”

“I’m sure they do, given those ridiculous heels you wear every day.”

There’s a playfulness to his tone that you’ve heard from time-to-time. Though now, in such close proximity, it makes you warm, makes your palms sweat.

You murmur without thinking, “Yeah, but they make my legs look good.”

Regretting the words immediately, you press your lips together, ready to bang your head into the guy’s back in front of you.

Endeavor doesn’t respond right away, only chuckles, the arm around your middle retreating. He slides his big hand across your belly, slowly, like he wants you to feel it. Then his fingers are back to your hip, but moving down, down, down until his absurdly large fingertips are trailing the hem of your skirt.

“Indeed they do.” Endeavor speaks more softly than you’ve ever heard him before, just a breath of words for you to hear.

But anyone could hear him if they were paying attention. If anyone were to crane their neck and look back, they’d see the outline of number one hero creeping his fingers up his assistant’s skirt in the dark.

Hot can no longer describe how you feel pressed against him. The temperature goes beyond that—boiling, like he’s on fire and engulfing you even though his quirk is being suppressed. You’re flying far too close to the sun, being sucked into his orbit.

Your fingers clasp in front of you for sanity, knuckles squeezing tightly as you hold your breath.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never thought about fucking Endeavor.

It’s hard not to think about sex when you look at him. He ticks every primitive mating box: incredibly tall, handsome, the strongest of any pack he’s in. Everywhere he goes, he brings an air of authority with him. Making people cower is almost part of his charm.

Endeavor clears his throat and it makes you jump, the deep sound vibrating against your back. Two fingers come to a halt on the back of your thigh, just a few inches higher than your hem, just a few inches away from touching your backside.

“Are you alright with the work you’ve been given today?” He asks quietly, pointedly to you.

It’s code. You pick up on it right away, as it’s Monday and you’re lucky enough to not have any assignments yet. He’s asking if you’re alright with him touching you.

“Yes, sir—” you lick your lips as you think about what to say in response, “I think it’s going to be a very pleasurable day.”

Someone in front of you snorts, muttering a “yeah, after we get off this goddamn elevator, maybe.”

But the fingers that continue their voyage up your thigh tell you that this elevator calamity is about to be the highlight of your morning.

Endeavor shifts you both, pressing his shoulders back farther against the back wall, giving himself more space to get his huge hand farther up your skirt.

His other hand is quick to act as well. He grasps your ribcage, making you suck in a breath, fingers splayed wide so he can brush the underside of your breast without detection. Your bra stands in the way, an unfortunate barrier, but still your tit jiggles in the cup just enough to send heat straight to your cunt.

The elevator creaks and groans, like a ship baying in the ocean. A few shocked gasps echo around the space, which is the perfect cover for the sound you can’t help but make as your boss’s fingers settle between your legs.

Endeavor spreads the fat of your pressed-too-tightly thighs easily, two thick fingers rubbing against your panties.

A strained sound comes from his throat, like he wants to say something but is holding himself back. His middle finger strokes further between your thighs, pushing against your clit. You see stars for a moment in the dark, pleasure searing down into the pits of your stomach.

You’re both damp. Him from the heat of the elevator, mostly caused by him, anyways, his white shirt clinging to his plush chest. You’re wet between your legs, his touch immediately making your slick pool against cotton.

His fingers are languid but strong, repeating the action of sliding between your covered folds and toying with your clit until your thighs are clenching around his wrist, knees knocking together and shaking.

“Good,” is all he breathes down the back of your neck, concise praise that makes you bite the inside of your cheek to avoid whimpering.

Your head falls back to his chest, breasts heaving as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself. From the light of a phone screen in the corner, you can barely make out Endeavor’s features. Sharp jaw turned down toward you, thick neck with a pulse thumping as hard as your own. You can barely make out the jagged lines of his facial scar, a firm reminder of whose hands you’re in.

Desperately you want to tilt your head back just a bit more, offer your lips for him to kiss. But you can still hear people all around you, even if you can’t really see them. Coughs and shuffling, mutterings and someone on the phone up front toward the doors swearing that he’s not late, just stuck in an elevator with Endeavor.

It’s hard to grasp the concept that Endeavor is touching you, that he wants to touch you, and made the move himself to shove his fingers against your pussy. You’re just a pretty girl with a simple quirk and a talent for organizing his schedule.

Endeavor manages to pull his burly arm up a bit more on your side, weighty palm curving over your breast until his thumb and index fingers rest at the base of your throat. A contingency plan, you realize, for him to take quick action should you get too noisy.

Long fingers are deft, swift and pushy, pulling your panties to the side so he can really touch you, smear feverish fingertips through your wetness. You bump your head back against his chest in near defeat, eyes screwing shut as you focus on not verbally responding to the gratification of skin upon skin.

He’s good at what he’s doing, too good, playing you like the devil plays his fiddle as his index finger slips into your tight hole and his middle rolls against your clit.

You nearly lose your footing, having to plant one foot back between his stance in order to stay standing. You’re more open for him now, his thumb pushing at the fat of your ass and spreading you. Your cunt sucks in his finger willingly, wet and squishing, making you flush with embarrassment.

But no one seems to notice, there’s no sound of shock, no shadowy figures turning in the dark.

In a fucked up way, it feels like just you and him, a moth sucked into a dangerous flame.

“More?” Barely a whisper into the top of your head, breath hot and lost in your hair.

“Yes,” you sob quickly.

He moves the hand at your neck higher, squeezing just enough to feel blood pumping in your carotid arteries, to keep you quiet.

More than anything, you want to feel full, and he heeds your silent prayer. Endeavor stuffs two fingers into you, middle finger abandoning your clit in favor of curling against your walls. He pumps into you roughly, purposely, each thrust making your stomach tighten. He wants to drive you off the orgasmic cliff, force you to cum in his hand.

And you’re getting close, far more quickly than you’re proud of. His fingers are skilled, cruel, finding that perfect spot inside you that makes you want to scream. But you can’t. You swallow it down, grit your jaw until you hurt. His thumb and ring fingers are mean against your ass cheeks, packed against soft flesh as he coaxes more slick sounds from between your legs.

Endeavor squeezes your throat, once, twice, like he’s urging you, commanding you. Do it, do it.

Delectable jolts race across your nerves, blending together at the apex of your thighs, deep in your belly. His fingers press in deeper, harder, velvety walls rich around him. You can feel every knuckle, feel how he spreads you, vicious and eager, like he doesn’t care that you’re practically dripping into the floor.

Your lashes are fluttering as you fully put your weight back against his chest, content to just feel him. His breaths are steady, calming, like he isn’t pounding his fingers into your cunt. His fingers are thick, insanely so, which only makes you hold in a whisper at how fat his cock must be.

Each press of his fingers makes you jump, makes your stomach tighten like some molten core is forming with every thrust. It all feels too good, like a hot, humid heaven where you’re being stuffed and satiated.

Your hips buck back against him, heels scraping the floor, his hard cock pressing right against the groove of your ass.

Feeling him behind you, Endeavor, number one hero, massive body, forearms straining against you, his cock aching for you, that’s what pushes you over the edge.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. One of your hands flies to the hero’s wrist around your neck for stability.

You absolutely shatter, thighs quivering, cunt cinching, orgasm flooding all your senses like you’ve been thrown into the deep end. Blood rushes to your ears, fills your cheeks, rushes south as you gush. You’re blissfully trapped, waves hitting you from every angle, knocking the breath out of you as you cream all over your boss’s hand.

“Fuck,” you have to say something, have to curse into the silence before you scream and explode.

“Good girl.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers right away. He lingers, pressing his cock against your ass, moving his hand down to tug at your waist and get you to rock back against him. He delights in the friction of you against his slacks, practically purring behind you.

“Hey, what’s that sound?” Someone comments. Immediately you blanch, worried you’ve been caught.

But you hear it too, the cables tugging again, the machine of the elevator humming back to life.

“Oh my god we’re saved!”

“I thought I was going to die!”

It’s a chorus of happiness, one that easily drowns out the slippery sounds of Endeavor finally leaving the sanctuary of your cunt. You squeak at the loss of contact, feeling so very empty as he pushes your skirt down, wipes the mess of his fingers on his pants.

Still, the gigantic man doesn’t quite let you go. He keeps his hands on your hips, keeping you planted right in front of him. To hide the tent in his pants, you assume.

“Hi there!”

The elevator doors finally open on floor twenty-seven to Ellie Vader, smiling with a giant wrench thrown over her shoulder.

“Oh thank god!” One of the elevator passengers flings himself at her, wrapping her in a hug as he dramatically brings himself to tears.

“Goodness, it’s hot in there! Everyone out, elevator is fixed, but we can’t have this many people traveling anymore!”

Eager bodies shuffle out, shoulders bumping, quickly cursing before apologizing.

But Endeavor keeps his hands on you, firm, steady, telling you that you are not to follow suit.

“Thank you, Ellie,” Endeavor’s voice is a bit hoarse, but he gives her a forced smile from the back of the car.

“Any time, pal! It was probably you who weighed down the damn thing, anyways. Now off you go!”

The beaming hero smacks the up button on the outer wall, closing the doors and sending you back on the track to the top floor.

You don’t have time to process fully being alone with Endeavor.

Easily, far too easily, he pushes you against the elevator wall, hands on either side of your head as he cages you in.

Blue eyes spark with flames, low rumbling ones, flicking just hot enough to kiss your skin.

“Cancel everything on my schedule today.”

“B-but sir, you have—”

“I. Don’t. Care. Clear it, or better yet, message one of the other assistants to do so. You’ll be occupied the rest of the day.”

He takes your jaw into his hand as you nod in affirmation. You can still smell yourself on his fingers. Your cheeks squish underneath the might of his grip, and he watches you curiously, quietly, like a lion playing with a fresh catch.

The elevator chimes before he can kiss you.

“Follow me to my office.”

He turns on his heels, marching in a beeline out of the lift and straight to the large double doors of his office. You follow a few beats later, hands quick to find your phone and send out an emergency email to the rest of the support staff to wipe the boss’s calendar clean.

You’re a bit wobbly as you exit the elevator, panties still pushed to the side, but swiftly find your footing. You take long, brisk strides to the looming promise of Endeavor’s office.

Once you enter, he commands you to lock the door, which is not unusual given how he hates to be disturbed while he’s working.

“On the desk,” he has yet to sit down, too busy peeling off his dampened shirt and running a hand through red hair.

His office has always been intimidating. Far too large and nearly empty save his desk and a few couches, the floor to ceiling windows making it feel even more expansive as it overlooks the Musutafu skyline. You feel small against the oak wood of his desk, like a doll placed for decoration as you cross your legs nervously, like he hadn’t just had his hand between your thighs, in your cunt.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” His words make you prickle with delight as his belt clinks, the leather being slid from his pants without a second thought.

“Thank you.” It’s all you know to say.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you.” He cages you in again, big palms flat against his desk as he leans down to brush his nose against your throat. “Thought about fucking you since I hired you.”

You’re overwhelmed by him, by his size, by his cologne, his proximity. He’s all encompassing so up close and personal. Your eyes are glued to his musculature, transfixed by the way his shoulders roll, how plush his pectorals are. He could easily crush you with his might, yet his hands are quick and soft as they push and pull at the buttons of your blouse.

“Kiss me.” You demand of him, your lips wet and begging for friction.

He indulges you without a second thought, one hand unclasping your bra as the other holds your chin. His mouth is heavy, hot, rough against yours like he’s taking what he wants. He swallows your moans, slides his tongue past your teeth so he can taste you. Warm, languid movements, consuming and intoxicating. He tastes familiar, like how he smells each day, but exotic, like he’s forbidden. And he should be. Yet your legs are spreading below him and your naked tits pressing against his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans and puts his hand on your back, smushing you close to him, slotting your body against his. He’s too tall for his cock to press against your pussy, yet you can feel it against your stomach, twitching against the seam in his pants. You wiggle yourself against one of his powerful thighs, desperate to feel some kind of contact between your legs.

Endeavor breaks your kiss by tugging at your hair, fingers weaving between the strands so he can pull your neck back and keep you still.

Blue eyes scan your spit stained lips before wandering down, stopping to watch your breasts heave from the breath you lost to your kiss.

“Always knew you’d have perfect tits.” He punctuates his statement by plucking at one of your nipples, rolling the bud between hefty fingers until it pebbles to his touch.

You can’t help but whine as he repeats the action, pinching and pulling just to watch your body’s reaction. He yanks the hand in your hair back, making your spine arch and tits press out further. He plays with your other nipple, balancing the sensations, making you grind down against him as you search for more pleasure.

Dipping his head, he places a long, flat lick across your nipple, leaving a cold trail in his wake.

“Enji!” You lean into the pull he has on your hair.

He sucks your nipple into his mouth, a grunt vibrating across your breast as he circles your sensitive peak with his tongue.

“Like my name in your mouth,” he says between breasts, lathering the other with plenty of attention as well. You shiver at his ministrations, the air conditioning making you bristle in the cold when his heat shifts across your body.

“Enji,” you repeat with purpose, “fuck, you’re spoiling me.”

And you mean it, it’ll be hard to walk into his office and not think of him nursing your tits.

“Just wait, sweetheart. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

You moan, feeling like he already has.

Enji releases your hair, the heel of his hand pushing against your shoulder to get you to lay flat against the papers on his desk. Ink sticks to your sweaty skin.

“Let me see the mess you made.”

Moving your skirt down your hips before you can even process, he opens your legs wide, gigantic hands pushing on the backs of your thighs so your slick, sloppy cunt and soiled panties sticking to your folds are on display.

“Mess you made,” you correct with a breathy giggle, staring up at the ceiling of his office.

“Didn’t hear you complaining in the elevator, sweetheart.” He runs a finger down your folds, your body convulsing at the touch. “In fact, I didn't hear you make much of a peep. Such a good girl, keeping quiet for me.”

“If your cock is anything like your fingers, I don’t know if I can be quiet.”

Enji plays with your messy cunt, curling two fingers against you before peeling the wet cotton away so he can look at you.

“Don’t want you to be quiet,” you both groan as his finger prods your hole, “though I’ll make you hush if you get too loud.”

You flush with a fresh heat as he pulls your panties down your legs, feeling strings of slick pop from where you were sticking to the threads.

“Look at that pretty pussy. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock. You were sucking my fingers so tight earlier.”

You never expected him to be so vocal and it makes you gasp, fingers trying to grip into the clutter of paperwork on his desk.

He’s aware of his strength as he grasps your hip, careful not to hurt you even as his blood simmers and his cock springs from his pants.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, eyes gone glassy as you close them against the fluorescent lights, “please, please.”

He grunts in affirmation, sliding his thick cock over your slippery folds, coating himself. There’s a vein that runs on the underside of him, hot and pounding, moving just right against your clit to make your thighs shake in his hands.

The urge to look at him, to actually see the monstrous cock you’ve been dreaming of, is strong, but his grip is stronger. You can’t move below him, his shoulders and arms working to press and secure you against his desk. All you can do is breathe and wait, feel his fat cock slip and grind against you.

“Deep breath,” he tells you, pressing his leaking tip against your cunt, “might hurt.”

Luckily, the mess Enji made of you makes it easier for him to pop past that first ring of muscle, cockhead hot and mean as his hips cant. He’s not gentle. Quick thrusts that spread you apart fast, make you open and create room for him inside of you.

You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the sounds he’s making. Primal, deep grunts from inside his chest as he stares down at where you’re taking him in, dragging along his length. He bullies his way inside of you, getting off on your whines and squeals as you stretch for him.

Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishes as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls.

“Shit, fuck,” you exclaim as he begins to bottom out, russet curls on his pubic bone meeting your clit. All you can think about is him; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours. The smell of sex starts early, sweaty skin melting together as he fully starts to take you.

He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles, wicked instincts, at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.

“Atta girl,” he mumbles, moving a bit quicker, snapping his strong hips against you, heavy balls against your ass, “just fucking take it.”

You’re practically folded in half and pinned below him, hips arched off the desk so he can find more leverage to barrel into you. The rhythm makes you swim, lost to the pounding of his cock against your insides. Over and over, in and out, spread wide and squeezing all the same as he has his way with you.

You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.

“Feel so good, so full,” you know the praise works both ways, makes him flush and swell with pride.

“Yeah? You like being my little cocksleeve?”

You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges in deep. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving cream along his shaft. But quickly he gets rougher, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.

“C’mere,” but you don’t have to move, just let him pull on you like you weigh nothing.

Enji jerks you upright, cock still seated into your core. Smoothly he stands with you, hands gripping into your ass cheeks as you fling yourself against his chest, trying to get your arms around his massive shoulders.

“I’ve got you.”

He bounces you once, twice, lets you whine into his neck and get used to the new angle. Gravity and his strength make you take all of him in, his cockhead bullying against your womb in the most pleasant way that makes your vision go blurry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” it’s all you can do to stay sane as he becomes brutal, grunting and groaning as he thrusts up into you. Your nails sling to his dewy skin, losing purchase with every rebound. Pink lines etch into him, blending into freckles on his shoulders.

Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist, any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless due to his size. You go pliant in his arms, mouth sucking into his neck to smother your moans. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time you sink back down. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. And he feels you, smells you, aches for you.

“Never gonna get tired of this,” he roars with a bit of laughter, head rolling back as he lets pleasure take over.

“You’re fucking amazing.” And you mean it, awe overwhelming you as you fall against his chest, dwarfed by his brawn. Enji continues to lift you up and down, up and down, on his cock like you’re weightless. And you are to his strength, his muscles are bulging and corded expertly around his body. He’s trained himself to perfection; trained to be the best at everything.

Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life.

He nudges your forehead with his nose, coaxing you to look at him so he can bounce you up a bit higher and capture your mouth with his.

“Can I,” he groans into your lips, “can I cum in you?”

His words make your belly coil, a fissure of revelry racing up your spine.

“Please, yes, fuck yes, cum in me.”

You don’t have it in you to explain your birth control, nor does he seem to care for you to. Your confirmation just spurs him to move faster, balls slapping against your ass so roughly you know you’ll be sore just from skin against skin.

“You first.”

Without breaking rhythm, he takes a step back and sits down in his office chair. You coo as you sit in his lap, his hands still planted on your thighs so he can move you however he pleases. He’s strong enough to bounce you with his hips, his thighs, one hand steadying you as the other dips between your bodies.

His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, g-gonna cum, Enji,” you take a deep breath, throwing your head back as you buck and bound in his lap, “gonna scream, shit.”

Enji takes matters into his own hands, literally, continuing to strum your sensitive clit as his other hand clasps onto your mouth. It’s a suffocating feeling, a possessive one, like he’s smothering all your cries so no one else can hear but him.

With the safety of his hand over your lips, thumb arched against your cheekbone, pressing, prodding, you let yourself go.

You cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Enji’s hips don’t falter, just continue to slam up into you as he chases his own high. You suck around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. You’ve never cum around such a fat cock and it just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your pleasure out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, spit against his palm and nails raking down his chest.

“God you’re fucking pretty when you cum,” and his praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes wring until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids.

And just when you think you’re done, that you’ll find a reprieve to the shattering, over-sensitive pleasure, he cums inside of you.

He stops to ride out his orgasm, cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. Stuffed so tightly with his cock, his cum gushes from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he purrs, satiated to find release in your cunt.

You can’t help but mumble nonsense against his hands, blissed-out praise of how good he feels, how you love feeling his cum. After a few heartbeats, his hand slips from your face, instead reaching back to run through his hair, catching the sweat beating down his forehead.

“Oh my god,” reality sets in as you lean forward, burying your face into his neck, drunk off the afterglow of sex, but aware enough that the smell of him reminds you that you just fucked your boss on a Monday morning.

“You alright?”

He pets your hair, palm burning down your back as you both come back down from whatever orgasmic plane you were shot into.

“Yeah, just,” you groan as you shift in his lap, his cock still hard and buried so deep in your cunt that you know you’ll feel his ghost for days, “just coming to terms with this.”

Enji laughs, deep and proud, and the rumbles of his chest make you jump.

“Thought I broke you for a moment there. Sorry, sometimes I forget myself. My strength, really.”

Clearly, your heads are not in the same place. He’s worried about your body while you’re worried about repercussions.

“No, you were—this was great, seriously, fucking you is…wild.” You shift in his lap, audibly moaning as you sit up straight, still stuffed full of him. “But you’re not going to fire me, are you?”

He laughs again, looking down at you in his lap with glee in his icy eyes. Running his hands down your shoulders, he hums, smiling.

“Fire you? No, no. Might promote you, though. Make sure you do more important things than just schedule my media appearances.”

He’s being playful, just as love-drunk as you are from sex, and his smile makes you warm, like he’s washing away all your fears.

You kiss him because you feel like you can, like you have the authority to just lean up and take what you want from him. He groans into your mouth, lips matching the movements of yours. It’s nice to kiss him, to take your time and feel him against you; breasts to chest, arms weaving around one another, necks turning and thighs clenching.

“Yeah,” he presses one last kiss to your lips before stretching his arms over his head, “I’m going to keep you, that’s for sure.”

#endeavor smut #enji todoroki smut #endeavor x reader #Enji Todoroki x reader #enji x reader #enji smut #enji todoroki #endeavor #my hero academia fanfic #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #endeavor fanfic #enji todoroki fanfic #bnha enji #bnha endeavor #bnha endeavor fanfic #bnha enji todoroki fanfic #bnha

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vaspider · 8 months

Text

Reposting because I absolutely cannot and will not reblog a post made by someone who tags things 'q slur.' For fuck's sake, grow up.

And since I'm reposting, let's made the post better by including a source link to the entire article.

Kanegson, Jared. (1998, June.) After the Butch/FTM Conference, Why Not to Give Up on Butch/FTM/Trannyboy Coalition Building. FTM International, 5.

After the Butch/FTM Conference Why Not to Give Up on Butch/FTM/Trannyboy Coalition Building by Jaron Kanegson

I'm a transgendered person who identifies as both Butch and FTM. A faggy "Butch" who typically dates Butches/boy-dykes/FTMs, an FTM cross-dresser who responds to a range of pronouns, a bio-female who frequently passes, and partially identifies, as male, I can't squeeze my gender iden-tity into one category. As such. I felt excited, even relieved, when I first heard about the Butch/FTM Conference. Finally, I thought. a forum that would logically include genders which, like mine, incorporate elements from both the categories of Butch and FTM. And, I was happy that a spectrum of people from communities that sometimes overlap—more, I think, than many would like to admit--would be coming together to work towards change. I figured we'd have a lot to talk about regarding discrimination from the larger society, identity questions, health care, employment, sexuality, racism, etc. I am saddened to report that while some bridges were built, others were broken, particularly during the "Betrayal—What Makes It Hard To Trust Each Other" workshop. I believe that structural aspects of the conference contributed to the conflict in that workshop, and detracted from the progress that might otherwise have been made that day. Though I had briefly worked on planning the conference, I quit because I was convinced that the conference was not being planned in a constructive way. During the six-week period that I was involved in planning the conference, I attended both a general meeting and panel-planning subcommittee meetings. I also took part in conversations with various conference organizers, potential panelists, curious friends, etc. In my circle of friends, Butch and FTM describe not only categories that at times blur, but also groups that, along with femmes, MTFs, bio-fags and others, often relate as friends, lovers, roommates and members of a larger community. So, I expected the Butch/FTM Conference to build on the base of shared community that already exists, to a certain extent, in San Francisco. Instead, I found that some of the other organizers seemed to see Butch and FTM as two inherently separate, distinct, and perhaps even naturally hostile identities. One area where I saw this mindset demonstrated was in the planning of the morning panel. I thought that, of the five or six panelists, at least one should be a person with an identity specifically incorporating aspects of both Butchness and FTMhood. I suggested a number of boy-dykes and dyke-fags, all of whom identified as transgender. In response, one organizer, a Butch woman, expressed her frustration that I was "muddying" things. She stated that I was "Not respecting that the conference (was) supposed to be about Butches and FTMs." That conversation marked the end of my involvement. Ultimately, although some gender ambiguity certainly crept into the panel, no panelists with the type of gender identity I had lobbied for was included. Transfags and people younger than their mid-thirties were also absent as panelists, and all of the FTMs seemed to be former Butches. That unfortunately reinforced the idea that every FTM "gained" is a Butch "lost" and the misconception that all FTMs are straight. As well, though I know gender-flexible people of all ages, my personal experience is that younger queers are more used to the idea of alliances between dykes, fags, trannies, etc. There were other aspects of the conference that did not seem to be designed to bring people together. One example was the wording of the Harvey Milk Institute catalog course description. Originally, it described Butches and FTMs as

Butch and FTM describe not only categories that at times blur, but also groups that (along with femmes, MTFs, bio-fags and others) often relate as friends, lovers, roommates and members of a larger community. "competing for dwindling resources!" While this and other potentially inflammatory language was ultimately removed, other revisions aimed at making the language more inclusive did not stick. For example, I suggested at the general planning meeting, along with others, that we list a wider range of relevant gender identities—including a more culturally diverse range—in the course description. That way, people who identified only with certain aspects of "Butch" and/or "FTM" would know that the conference was about them, too. Five of us spent half an hour at that meeting's end rewriting the course description to specify that the conference was not strictly about "Butches" and "FTMs," but also about boy-dykes, transfags, bull-daggers, cross-dressers, anabes, marimachas, etc. While the line "All genders are welcome" stayed in the course description, the idea that the focus of the conference was about a range of gender identities was excised. Finally, while the course description set the tone for the conference, as well as drawing a particular audience, the workshop topics themselves were not conducive to alliance building. In particular, the smallest of the three after-noon discussion groups,

"Betrayal: What Makes It Hard To Trust Each Other?," ended in an emotional explosion that I fear may have left many hurt, bitter, and, worst of all. convinced that conflict between Butches and FTM is inevitable. Unfortunately, the title of the workshop alone virtually guaranteed it would be painful. The focus was negative, and on difference. I am not suggesting that there arc no under-lying tensions, nor that these tensions should not be talked about. However, I think a more positive context—such as a workshop focusing on the oppression Butches and FTMs face from larger society, including some discussion of the pain we cause each other—would have been more likely to lead to a sense of a community. Obviously I have a difference of opinion with many of the conference organizers about just who should be included in the categories of Butch and VIM, and how the conference should have been structured and focused. I do not want, however, to discount the hard work they did, nor do I want to gloss over the fact that I have heard hateful remarks about FTMs from dykes, and sexist remarks about dykes from FTMs. However, I believe that as people our society labels queer, and as people (usually) born in "female" bodies expressing masculinity, maleness and/or gender non-conformity, we have a lot in common. We also have a lot of work to do togeth-er and a lot of fun to have together. Despite my critiques, the Butch/FTM conference was an historic first effort towards community building. As someone with a foot—and friends—in each community, I hope that process will keep going.

#trans man #butch lesbian #intracommunity issues #reclaimed slurs

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seat-safety-switch · 9 months

Text

When I was still working in an office, one of my coworkers was enamoured with the sport of professional eating. He followed the trials and tribulations of all the greats. At lunch, he'd tell us about all the techniques for jamming a hot dog down your throat faster than any other sane human being ever would.

One glorious morning, the hot dog eating contest held try-outs in my town. My coworker went, and brought along his sister to watch. He washed out immediately, eating so few dogs as to finish in last place among the randoms collected at this outlet mall food court. His sister, however, went to nationals. And then internationals. She, in turn, got nuked in the lobby of a beautiful ancient hotel in New York by a lady from Vietnam who ate nearly ten more hotdogs in the same span of time.

All this is not to say: you should give up on your dreams. If my coworker had practiced more, honing his craft, instead of talking about it, I'm sure he could have finished second-last. Sometimes, though, it's easier to have enthusiasm for something rather than actually do it.

For instance, I could never drive a Formula One race car. There's many reasons why: my general physical shape, my ineptitude at picking a good racing line, and the fact that my braking technique can be summed up as "don't." I'll still watch some very rich dudes drive their rocket ships around the track, though, and even bother to remember some of their names, if I'm watching it at someone else's house and there are snacks.

If you'll excuse me, I'm off to stop talking about doing things and start doing doing things. That '53 Regent is not going to magically weld on its own rusty quarter panel, much less stick 35-inch mud terrains under its own lift kit, after all.

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nrdmssgs · 2 months

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NSFW Alphabet of ZharxNikolai :D yes, I'm an asshole heheheheh

Zhar is an OC from A heart full of pity and Darker matters. Paired with Nikolai

Masterlist Ok, you obviously didn't know what was about to come, when you asked for this. I don't feel like writing a classic alphabet, because one for Zhar already exists and I was planning to make one for Nikolai (not with Zhar) one day. So instead of giving plain answers I considered using every letter as a small prompt to write a short scene. I have to split it into two parts, apparently.

Before him, Olga was always the one to pamper her partners. A shower, a warm towel running along their bodies, soft kisses, praises, lots of them - you name it and she delivers.

But with Nik it's different: by the time he's done with her, her throat is sore from all the moaning, her body is exhausted. So Nikolai takes his time, praising her for being such a perfect girl for him, kissing her face, holding her carefully.

She tries to flip him on his back, wrap him in a blanket, massage his muscles, but Nik doesn’t even think about giving in. She ends up in his arms under the warm running shower.

"Relax for me, Nebo, mm? Just close your eyes and let me take care of you."

His voice, warm droplets of water, then soft towel and pillows lull her to sleep. The world around plunges into darkness until his thumb brushes her lips, bringing her back to reality. A cup of tea waiting on the bedside table - he always makes one or brings one from the lobby bar after they make love. His little ritual.

"Drink, my treasure. I want more of your beautiful moans in the morning."

"Please don't hide from me."

"Nik, stop it. I'm showing some tact here. Don't want to ruin the moment."

She presses her back against the wall vigorously, not letting Nikolai take off her unbuttoned shirt.

"You are the moment." His lips trail down her neck, warm breath tickling her skin.

"You. Every millimeter of your body. No exceptions. This is the moment."

Nikolai doesn't have any special soft spots for scars per se, this is a completely other matter. It's her trust that makes him weak. Permission to touch burned skin, to cover it with kisses, a secret shared with him, a pain that he can quench - this is his moment, the best feeling, he ever gets.

She begs him to not move. "I might ruin your couch. Slow down, let me-"

Nikolai cuts her off, bucking into her and her pussy makes a squelching noise around his cock. He seems to not care for his furniture, all his attention concentrated on her breast in his mouth.

Guilt burns her alive. Olga is not used to leave any evidences of her orgasms. But if he continues this way...

"If you continue this way I-"

"You will get even sloppier? Will come all around me? That's exactly what I want. Now let go and let me think about my couch later, mhm?" His voice deep and dark, is reverberating in her ribcage while Nik is talking, pressing his lips against her chest.

Her last bits of self-control fly out of window, when he starts encouraging her.

"Let go and do it. Come for me. Around me, on me. Do it. Just let go."

Olga can't hate herself for what happens next. As the waves of pleasure wash over her body, she forgets all emotions, all feelings besides him moving relentlessly inside her. When her mind returns into her body - she lies on Niks warm chest, as he kisses her forehead and praises for how well she free she was.

"S`wet for me, you feel it? Little drops sliding down... Just as I wanted. Just as I will have you for many more times."

When Nikolai guides her hips down, guarding her left leg from the cold switches of the control panel, her mind goes blank. A thousand times she repeated to her self, that his chopper is a transport - not a place for... informal communications. Yet here she is, rolling her hips forth to meet his thrusts.

She is ashamed: instead of being the follow-worthy leader, the example, someone, who does work when at work, she's turning into a sloppy, whimpering mess around his cock. Shame on her. From now on, she will live with this dirty secret in the back of her mind. Shame-shame-shame.

She is yet to discover, that is not her whole secret. Because Nikolai had it planned. After so many 'theres nothing special about my body', 'stop it, you could do so much better than me' he was determined to show her, how wildly beautiful she is. The cockpit camera is usually off even when he takes his bird of iron on a mission. But not today. Good thing, Nikolai knows his control panel as his own hand. The switch flips silently.

Weeks later, he will sit her on his lap in their house and show her the video. But he won't stop there, oh no. Nikolai will bring a toy to get her off for multiple times, as she watches herself riding him.

"Don't you see, how perfect you are? My very own porn star."

Olga will only mewl, leaning back on his broad chest. She could have been flustered, could blush to this new secret, if she had any power after so many peaks.

Her body is the source of many pleasures and Nikolai makes sure, Olga remembers it.

"H-how do you?"

"Years of practice, treasure." He nibbles on her earlobe, while his fingers change pace yet again. Olga arches her back hissing, and he immediately brings the other hand to her face. His knuckles brush against her teeth before Nikolai starts fucking her mouth with his fingers.

Olga thought, she knew her body well enough, but this man seemed to have cracked the code long before meeting her. The things, he did to her... Even she wasn't capable to bring herself so high.

She needs him inside. Not just a few fingers, she needs his cock, craves for this feeling of him filling her. She doesn't even notice as her hips start hips move in their own clenching, sopping, tightening rhythm.

Nikolais lips curl in a victorious smile. Years of practice. Everything preparing him to hold this treasure, to take care of her, to ruin her.

When his mic is off, he leaves sloppy open-mouthed kisses against Olgas throat while he holds her down by the hair roots. She blushes desperately despite this being just a phone call. Audio only.

"Yeah, John, I don't know. She's my most valuable asset. It takes hella time and money to raise a decent urban strategist..."

"M-hm, you tell me that, you greedy ass."

As Price goes on grumbling, Nikolai pulls her closer to his chest. It's not enough for him to just have her half on his lap, so his hand casually slides down her shoulder and kneads her breast through the shirt. Olga squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.

"You may have stolen me of a soldier, but you don't get to lock her in Chimera exclusively..."

"Don't I now?"

Another hand snakes beneath the waistband of her pants, spreading Olga for him while she squirms. She bites down her lip, trying to not make a single sound as Niks fingers curl inside her. She's grinding against him, feeling, that she's not the only one on the edge. Nikolai is just a better actor as his voice remains absolutely calm even after she wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft and got it out of his pants.

"Ok, just promise me, you will let her know, I need her for that mission."

"Planning your wife's Birthday is not a mission, Captain," Nikolai hides the sharp inhale under the dark chuckle. "But ill let Olga know, when she's back."

Not even a minute passes after Price hangs up, as Nik lifts Olga up from his lap and bend her against his desk.

This man is sometimes the enigma to Zhar. A few months ago he wore this famous shit eating grin, while she asked him repeatedly to stop teasing her, when they were back on the TF base. Of course, he never stopped, never resisted pulling her to some dark corner and kiss passionately, chuckling "Someone is afraid, her former Captain discovers her in hands of his pilot?".

But now it is another person before her. He seems to stop breathing, when she plants the first kiss on his lips. Just watches her in pure ave and fear of moving accidentally and thus destroying this precious moment.

Maybe it's his capture, maybe it's her earlier plead to banish her - but this time he is completely lost in her. Not a single drop of mockery, not a single joke. Nikolai doesn't let go of her face as they are making love. Each thrust, every stroke is so careful as if this is a religious act to him.

Eventually, his playfulness will return. But that time Olga learns, this man, her enigma, has many approaches to her.

She thought, she never really cared for how much her partner's body was covered with hair. It was their comfort, what was of most importance to her.

But when Nikolai rolled up his sleeves for the first time before her, when he got rid of his shirt later... It was embarrassing, how her mouth watered just from a single look at him. He wasn't just broad and massive. With every rise and fall of his breath, pale light ran across the hairy chest.

This man was the treat, a walking temptation. As Olgas gaze slipped down, she bit her chicks to remain visibly calm. Never before she cared for it, but for the first time in her life she could explain, why the happy trail is indeed happy: it was an invitation, salt and pepper, darkening broad line with silvering hair here and there, leading her gaze lower.

"Like what you see, Nebo?"

It comes in circles: at first he's all about the tease and play. Every gesture and phrase serves a single purpose - the temptation. Nikolai is patient, so any amount of time invested is worth of what he's about to get - her panting and trembling in his hands.

After that Nik switches to soft and caring - he wants to be her safe space until there are no clothes left on her, and she's practically begging for him. That's when this man becomes serious.

When fucking her, not just playing around, not teasing, but claiming her, bringing her to one peak after another, Nik is serious.

When they spend a lot of time apart, Nikolai provokes her. Perhaps sending a photo would be easier, but it's not enough for him to just tease her. Oh no, this man has completely different plans.

When there is the nighttime in her time zone - he sends an audio. His velvety voice telling her, how he misses her, what would he do with her, if she was lying next to him right now. Telling her in smallest details, what hes doing to himself right now...

Nik knows, his voice works wonders. All that is left is to wait for 10-15 minutes and call her.

"Am I interrupting anything, Nebo?"

"You? No, nothing special."

"Then whats with the shortness of breath im hearing?"

She is very resistant to answer, but Nik never intends to shame her. If anything - he loves the fact, that his voice alone is enough to make her come. He just wants to be by her side, when it happens. So he guides her through forgetting shame and modesty and touch herself the way, he would.

It feels almost unfair how Nikolai has so many levers to pull to mentally bring Olga on her knees, while she still knows next to nothing about the things, that make him weak.

"You're my biggest turn on already, don't know, what more is there to seek, Nebo." Zhar has to eat up this answer every time until one evening.

He had it coming: Nikolai was too arrogant, teasing and frivolous. He should have thought twice before every commentary, he let himself. But Nik havent, so now there he is: hands tied behind his back, the rope digs into the skin on his chest with every breath, Olga hovering over him. He tries to reach her lips, to bargain for mercy with a kiss, but her fingers drown in his hair and pull his head beck.

"Did I grant you a permission?"

No, she didn't. And Nik is well aware of that. But his heart beats so fast, his thoughts run wild, he's long past the moment, he could control himself. He manages to take a deep breath and collect himself enough to muster a plead.

"Please do that again, pull my hair... as you ride me."

She enters the hall swiftly, striding ahead, not paying attention to anyone around. Seriously, sometimes Nikolai believes, that he could capture Makarov, throw him on the floor, and Olga would just step over him, not even slowing down. Because now she's pissed. Something went south on her mission, obviously. Other Chimeras are already familiar with her angry eyes, so they tend to immediately find some urgent business to just avoid Zhar.

Nikolai puts his instruments down, but doesn't move and inch away. Reaching him, she takes his hand and drags him deep into base.

"Ty byl khoroshim droogom, komandir,*" (You were a good friend, commander.) says Yegor not actually hoping, that Nikolai would hear him.

As she leads him down the halls, Olga mutters something about idiot politicians blocking their biggest contract and unzips her gear. She lets go of Nikolais hand only once to throw her jacket and coat away. Nik grins secretly: he knows where she's taking him. There are so many places more comfortable, more safe, more commodious for blowing the steam off, but Nikolai wouldn't trade them all for that one place. The very special one.

Streams of hot water touch her body while she is still half dressed. Olga doesn't care. Now she is so furious that she does not care about her clothes or random glances that may inadvertently notice that something completely unprofessional is happening in the common showers. It's adrenaline talking: she doesn't even kiss Nik - she hungrily bites his lower lip, as her fingers run over his belt.

Nikolai never protests though - these rare episodes of her not giving a fuck about anything, but him are precious to him. So his favourite memories always float around that shower.

Nik is so normal about the curve that the back of her neck and her spine are drawing together. The way Olga bends, sitting in the chair backwards right before his desk, the way her wrists intertwine, as if tied with an invisible rope... Oh, he's ok about that. Definitely paying attention to whatever nonsense of a pitch, Krueger is delivering to them both. Totally not tearing the last bits of her clothes in his dreams right now, not tasting her skin, not devouring her moans, not loving her so softly, not fucking her mercilessly.

Nikolai is very much ok, stable, in control. Until Krueger leaves them two alone finally. Olga stretches, reaching out for some invisible target above her, and leans back slowly and smoothly until her shoulder blades rest on the desk. Her lips are so close. Almost too close to not...

"So? Somebody wants a new toy so badly, he even made a full presentation. Thoughts?" A smile so innocent as if she wasn't teasing him with this mesmerizing line oh her collarbones, her scent, sending his mind spinning and boiling in desperate hunger.

And is if wasn't enough, as if his teeth weren't grinding in anticipation of claiming her, marking her skin, Zhar adds the final nail to Nikolais coffin.

"My commander has no more toys?"

"Go lock my door, treasure." Niks lips hover in mere centimeters from hers. "I'll show you, what I have."

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arazialotis · 8 months

Text

Get Him to the Con - Part 7

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: About 6000

Summary: The reader stumbles into Jensen at her favorite bar, a very drunk Jensen. She soon realizes Jensen was booked for a con this weekend and has to be eight hours from town in only two.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: Language

Although this is an RPF, it is a character I created and should not reflect back IRL. I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time as coping skill. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

*** Saturday ***

“Hey man,” Jared greeted Jensen, clasping hands and pulling him in for a half hug. “Glad to see you’re still alive. How was it?”

The entirety of the trip was still catching up to him. He was tired, from being in constant motion for three days straight to sleeping on crappy motel mattresses. But it was more than that. He had made it blatantly clear how he felt for you and still held no inclination on your stance. That wasn’t true; if you had any affection, it would have been reciprocated. Sure, there was the flirtatious banter and the natural ease in each other’s presence, but twice he had laid it all on the line only to be met back with a block of ice. And that last one… Hell, it had been magical. Sparks flying, gravity-defying. But your response confused the hell out of him. He’d been misinterpreting signals and your friendship the entire time. And god, he was such an idiot. He practically forced it upon you. If you felt uncomfortable or violated, his reputation would be in shambles, as he knew it should be.

“It was fine.” He grumbled. There was no need to get into all this with Jared, for the fact alone he would gloat about being right for months on end.

Jared did not let his relief show. Maybe Jensen was finally coming back to his senses. He feigned empathy instead.

“Just fine?” He asked.

No, it wasn’t just fine; it was amazing. You were amazing, and perfect, and hilarious. And he fucked it up just like he predicted.

“Yeah,” Jensen responded curtly.

“So, no Y/N then?” Jared pressed, a little confused by Jensen’s abruptness. “I thought she’d be here.”

Yeah, you and me both, pal. “Nah, she knew we’d be busy all weekend and wanted to hike the mountains instead. I don’t blame her. I’d rather be doing that myself too.”

“Are you okay?” Jared persisted.

“Yeah.” Jensen squeaked. “Let me get cleaned up. Then we can scout out some dinner before the craziness starts.”

Jensen left Jared in the hotel lobby. Jared sighed, unsettled. Something was clearly bothering Jensen, but getting him to open up would be hard. All Jared knew is it was centered around you. Ultimately, if the road trip didn’t go as planned or wasn’t everything Jensen had dreamed up, it was for the best. Sure, Jensen was down now, and it hurt to see him this way, but hopefully, this would help him move on and snap out of these unrealistic fantasies.

Jensen didn’t sleep well that night. The mattress was too plush, the sheets too silky, and the space beside him was too cold. He’d been informed that a few videos of the kiss had been circling some fan accounts and to expect questions about it at the panels. Followed by a scolding lecture on how to respond. He knew the expected response but wondered what he would say if he hadn’t been coached. It didn’t settle right with him. Maybe he’d get up early and call you in the morning. Just rip the bandaid off and ask what you wanted him to say. He tossed and then tossed again—the sheets tangling around his calves. He reached for his phone, the light momentarily blinding him. His heart raced as he scrolled through Instagram. It was easy enough to find. Replaying it, he could still imagine your lips against his, the back of your neck in his grasp, the fabric of his shirt straining as you pulled against it. It was a very good kiss. That is when your text came through.

‘Thanks again for an amazing trip! If you’re looking for a buddy on your next road trip, let me know. And don’t worry, the ghosts here are all bark, though I can’t say the same for those in room 217.’

He didn’t think his heart could drop further, but it did. There was no second-guessing it this time. The word repeated in his mind. Buddy. He had officially and unequivocally been friend-zoned.

*** Sunday Afternoon ***

If AllTrails had been tracking your time, they would have sent you a medal for the record time in which you descended that mountain. Even paying no heed to the speed limit, you couldn’t make it to Denver until mid-afternoon. You called Jensen twice, hoping to explain that you were on your way and wanted to talk, hoping he could spare a few minutes of his day. If you held these pent-up emotions in your chest any longer, you would explode. On the third attempt, you hung up early, logically knowing he was predisposed.

“Come on, come on, come on,” You chanted through the city streets, the consistent string of red lights taunting you.

The wheels of the rental car screeched as you pulled into the parking lot with a little too much tenacity. Upon exiting, you backtracked, realizing you had left the vehicle running. You ran through the hotel lobby to the adjoining convention center. The hall was filled with fans and staff alike, all eagerly waiting for the next event. Booths were filled to the brim with Supernatural merchandise, shirts, photos, and trinkets. Cosplayers caught your eye, Castiels and a human version of Baby. It was overwhelming and distracting from your overall mission to find him.

You pulled open large double doors leading to the main ballroom.

“Ma’am.” Someone called, and it took you a moment to realize they were speaking to you. “Ma’am. You need a wristband to enter here.”

Security personnel dressed in black pants and a yellow shirt with a conspicuous earpiece halted your progress further into the room.

“A wristband?” You questioned.

“Yes, you have to check in outside. Exchange your ticket for a wristband.” They explained.

“I don’t have a ticket.”

“You’ll have to buy one to enter.” Their patience drawing thin, tired of a weekend of over-explaining processes.

“Okay,” You held up your hands in defense. “Okay, where can I buy one?” You started to back away, signaling you wouldn’t be a problem.

You followed the directions back through the hall’s entrance to a booth where two bored attendants scrolling through their phones sat. Most attendees had already checked in at this point.

“Hello,” You tentatively called them from their screens. “I’m here to see Jensen.”

The one with pink hair sighed. “You and everyone else, sweetheart.”

Their concentration broke from the phone, and puzzlement crossed their face. Only then did you realize what state you were in from the morning hike. Tangled hair, sweat-crusted clothes, dried dirt down your entire left side, and a series of angry red scrapes on your calve. But they quickly recomposed themselves. Apparently, it wasn’t the oddest thing they had encountered today.

They grumbled as if you should know the process. “Ticket?” They held out their hand for a paper stub or your phone.

“You see, I don’t have a ticket.” You gritted your teeth, knowing how the next bit would sound. “But Jensen and I are actually… friends. So maybe he left my name or something on a list so I could get in?”

Something between a scoff and a laugh escaped the second’s mouth, covered up by a following cough.

“There’s no list. Friend or not, you still need a ticket to get in.” They held firm.

“Right, totally understandable.” You attempted to present as sane as possible, realizing passersby were staring too long for your comfort. “May I purchase a ticket?”

“If you want to meet Jensen in person, photo ops are done for the day, but we have a few silver packages that include autographs.” They explained.

“Great, that sounds wonderful. How much?” You asked compliantly.

“750.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “You must be joking.” Even for romantic prospects, paying that absurd amount would take hell freezing over.

From their facial expression, they were not joking. “You could get general admission for 95, but that will only get you to the day's last panel, starting in about an hour.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A 100 dollars to hear them talk for what, forty minutes, an hour max?” Fucking ridiculous.

“You need a ticket.” They crossed their arms.

“Listen.” You pulled out your phone. “I literally drove the man here. I have the pictures. I think it will be okay if I go see him.”

You realized how much of a ‘Karen’ you were coming across as, but something inside you was starting to boil. The further you were being pushed away from him, the more you needed to fight.

The second attendant leaned into the collar of their polo, whispering. “We have a potential code gray.”

Fuck. You tucked your phone away. “You know what, it’s okay.” You slowly back away. “I’ll wait until it’s over. This is a big misunderstanding and does not need to get out of hand. I’ll talk to him tonight, and it will all be fine.”

You weren’t sure if you were trying to settle them or yourself, but you turned back down the hall and hastily walked out. Back in the hotel lobby, you weighed your options. You looked at your phone, and he still had not responded to the missed calls. Your stomach rumbled, and you smirked, knowing Jensen would tease you about not making the most rational decisions on an empty stomach. And you know what else? He’d encourage your spontaneity. Rather than wait in the lobby until the evening, you’d find another way in. There couldn’t be watching eyes everywhere. And once you did find him, he’d explain everything to whoever was being called in for code gray or whatever that meant.

Exiting the lobby, you circled the building and found a little courtyard where fans sat, chatted, and indulged in a quick meal. A hint of envy glossed over your eyes as you caught sight of an In-N-Out bag. You anticipated the doors to be locked, circumventing fans to use the one entrance, but they easily gave way. With feigned nonchalance, you went through another hall as if you belonged and knew exactly where you were going. Having quickly mapped the layout, you went around the ballroom to the back.

You were quickly met with a barricade of metal fences and high black curtains. An obvious sign to keep out and most likely where cast and crew could walk through unimpeded. You were close to out of ideas when an unmistakable figure in black jeans and a blue denim shirt walked past, followed by a posse.

“Jensen!” Your voice cracked.

It didn’t sound like your voice. It was higher and sharper. But through the sways of fabric, you saw him briefly hesitate. He was quickly ushered along.

“Oh, I think not.” You mumbled to yourself.

One leg was over the fence railing before your brain could comprehend your actions. Two shadows approached from behind the curtain as you straddled the cold metal. The crackling of their radio startled you, and you realized too late your mistake.

“Ma’am, we’ll need you to come with us.”

Double fuck. You ran for the exit back to the courtyard. Pausing once outside, you texted Jensen.

‘You remember that bucket list item I was talking about? Yeah, well, it might be much closer in the future than I anticipated.’

You tucked your phone away and continued your circle of the building. At this point, you were in too deep. You either had to leave the premise or find Jensen so he could bail you out. Well, fuck it. Unwittingly, he was the one to get you into this situation in the first place. He could get you out. You came across a stairwell entrance requiring a keycard for access. But gods, be blessed; whoever was watching you sent an answer. Someone came out for a cigarette break, and they even held the door for you as you stepped in.

You plotted the path in your mind, where you were positioned, and the direction he was headed. You took a left, scanning the area for any threat. A hall stemmed down to the right, and you saw more black curtains, but this time, you were successfully on the other side of them. You had to be close. A mischievous smile crossed your lips. This was fun. The adrenaline coursing through your system giving you a temporary high. Soon the Ocean Eight team would be knocking down your door, begging you to join their next heist.

Your false confidence shattered as you collided with the solid frame of a man. You looked up and up some more. His expression was far from pleased. A small, terrified giggle escaped your lips. As you turned, you found his double blocking your exit. Handcuffs came down upon your wrists, and you were escorted away.

Jensen sighed a breath of relief, making it to the holding room, where he joined Jared. He made it through photo ops; all that was left today was the panel and autographs. The panel earlier today for VIPs went better than expected too. The kiss never came up, and he was holding out hope that this next one would mirror it. Clif, his long-trusted security guard, closed the door behind them.

Jared had already gone through a pour of bourbon and was now cracking the seal of a Russel’s 13.

“Make mine a triple,” Jensen instructed.

Jared laughed. “That kind of day, huh?” And handed Jensen a generous double.

“I can almost see the finish line.” Jensen sniffed the top of the Glencairn and took a testing sip.

He prayed that the whiskey would loosen his nerves or, at the very least, get you off his mind. Logically, he knew you were in Estes Park but couldn’t stop thinking about you. It only worsened as the day progressed. In this last hour alone, he thought he glanced at you exiting the lobby and later heard you calling his name. He shook the feeling off as he took a bountiful swig. He smirked, knowing you’d call him out for not slowly savoring the whiskey’s intricacies, and he would retort with you being a snob. He poured himself another round, this time to take it more slowly. Jared scoffed and was about to condemn him when the Barrell Seagrass caught his eye.

The radio crackled, and a stern voice came through. “Tiny, we have a situation. Require your assistance.”

Clif, who was also about to help himself a pour, cursed under his breath upon hearing his codename. It had almost been a flawless con. He had jinxed himself by celebrating too soon.

Jared’s brow furrowed. “Everything alright?”

Clif grumbled. “It will be once I get there.” And exited the room.

Jensen was unconcerned and too focused on the palate of cherry and leather.

“What’s that about?” Jared chuckled.

“I find it better for my mental health not to dwell on the possibilities.” Jensen teased back.

He went to his phone charging on the gray console to check the time, wondering when he’d needed to start hyping himself back up. Immediately his brow furrowed upon seeing your three missed calls and your message. Bucket list? Bucket list? He had to think back. The alcohol already clouding his memory. His eyes popped. Immediately setting the glass down, he dialed your number. You didn’t answer. He dialed again. No answer. He resorted to texting.

‘For the love of god, pick up your damn phone.’

Followed by, ‘I swear to god if your ass is in jail, I’m not bailing you out.’ Though he fully would.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered. How was he supposed to get through the day now?

The holding room you were kept in was less of a room and more of a closet. The several monitors that observed the conference center’s layout indicated that you were not as stealthy as you had initially thought. One security guard sat across from you while the other stood behind them. Both of their arms crossed.

“Come on.” You reasoned. “One of you has to be the good cop and at least pretend to believe my story. At least offer me a coffee.”

“You think you are hilarious, don’t you?” The one seated said.

Deadpan, you said, “I think I’m adorable.”

They did not engage further, only held the stern expression.

“I’m not fucking crazy.” You would have gestured to the phone if your hands weren’t cuffed behind you. “You saw the pictures, the texts.”

“It’s amazing what Photoshop can do these days.” The one standing remarked.

“What about the video with the kiss?” You pressed.

They both scoffed. As you watched it with them, there was no clear angle of your face.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

You rolled your eyes and clenched your jaw.

“Then bring him here, and he will vouch for me.” You demanded. “If he doesn’t, I will willingly walk away and accept whatever restraining order you see fit.”

There was a knock on the door, and your hope lifted. The one standing stepped out. Thus commenced a staring contest with the one across from you. As your phone rang, you lost.

“That’s him!” You exclaimed.

They didn’t move, still engaged in the staring contest. He let it ring to voicemail. Immediately it rang again.

“Goddammit! Answer the phone!” You demanded.

“Just because you named someone Jensen on your phone doesn’t mean it’s him.” He held his head high. “But then again, I’m fully aware there is no use rationalizing with a delusional person.”

Your breath became ragged and sharp. You were forming venom on your lips when the door opened, and the man you saw yesterday approaching Jensen appeared in the room. A couple of texts came through, but you couldn’t read them. The man took one look at you and sighed with disappointment.

“Let her go.” He instructed.

It was all you could do not to stick your tongue out in victory.

“Y/N, I thought you were supposed to be in Estes Park?” He said with an agitated tone.

The cuffs clicked as they released, and you rubbed your wrists.

“How do you know my name?”

You were equally concerned yet grateful this stranger was on your side.

“It’s my job to know.”

The other two whispered back and forth to each other.

“Speaking of jobs,” He remarked. “Why don’t you do yours and look for an actual threat?”

“Yes, boss.” They hung their heads and left you alone in the room.

“Let me guess,” You started. “Good cop?”

He chuckled. “No, not at all. The name’s Clif. I’m the head of Jared and Jensen’s security team. You caused quite the stir these past couple of days.”

“Yeah,” You agreed. “I may have gone a little off the deep end at the end there. Am I in trouble?”

“Only if Jensen wants to press charges.” You could tell he wasn’t joking. “Which I imagine he won’t. Not after a kiss like that.”

Your cheeks grew warm. “I’m here to talk about that with him, actually. To talk about that and a lot of other things. I know he’s busy, but…”

Clif checked the silver watch around his wrist. “He’ll be getting ready to go on stage in about 15 minutes. Something tells me you’ll need more time than that.”

You nodded in agreement though slightly disappointed.

“If you’d like to sit in, it might make the time go faster,” He continued. “I can grab you afterward. There’s a dinner break between the panel and autos. I think he would be agreeable to see you then.”

You held up your bare wrist. “I don’t think they’ll let me in.”

Clif chuckled and fished through his back pocket, producing a bright orange wristband.

Before you left with Clif, you found Jensen’s texts and shot him one back, hoping he would see it before he had to go on stage.

‘False alarm. I’ll explain later. Have a great panel.’

The conversation was already in full swing by the time you arrived. Clif was escorting you there when he commented on your leg. Now that the adrenaline and pain meds from earlier had worn off, the pain was catching up to you. He made a quick pit stop on your behalf, getting you some additional painkillers and water. He insisted on cleaning it up better, but you insisted harder you wanted to see the panel and that it could wait.

The door echoed as it shut behind you. Jensen’s head snapped in your direction, but from the lights blinding him and dimming the crowd, he could barely make out a figure. He continued the banter with Jared as they began taking questions left and right.

As your eyes adjusted to the low lighting, you scouted out empty seats, yet the throbbing in your hip protested. It had already been cramped on the drive down here and again in the security room. You opted instead to lean against the back wall. Their antics riled up a laugh in you, but you couldn’t help to notice Jensen was on edge. He was fidgeting more than usual, wringing the microphone with his hands, combing his fingers through his hair, twisting in the barstool. You couldn’t help but feel a slice of guilt knowing you had caused some of it.

A girl walked up through the crowd, and as she got closer, her face felt familiar. She leaned against the wall a few feet away from you.

“Oh, I remember you.” You said aloud. “We took pictures with you at the Colorado sign.”

She glanced out of her peripheral and then fully at you when the realization hit.

“Oh my god, yeah. You were with Jensen, right?” She confirmed.

“Yup, that’s me.” You followed her gaze over you and remembered how dirty you were and most likely smelled of sweat. “Sorry, I went hiking this morning but wanted to make the panel.” You explained.

“No, I didn’t mean to stare. Sorry.” She gulped. “It’s just, yesterday you said you were only friends, but then we saw you kiss outside the hotel, and, like, that was a kiss to end all kisses. You’re totally together now, right?”

You gulped and stared ahead.

She didn’t wait for an answer. “What was it like? Kissing him?”

You inhaled sharply, remembering his taste, his scent, the feeling of his strong fingers against your flesh, wondering where else his hands and lips might wander if you gave him the chance.

“That good, huh?” She concluded.

“Are you having a good time at the convention?” You asked, hoping to move on to other topics.

“Oh, absolutely, but the crowds,” She gestured outwards. “They get a little overwhelming at some points.”

You nodded understanding. “Y/N.” You introduced yourself and held out your hand.

“Casey.” She said and shook.

As if proving her point of crowds further, Jensen used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. The crowd went feral upon seeing a hint of skin.

“Stop it.” Jensen’s voice boomed over the system.

Then with a wave of his hand, he called for more praise which the crowd was more than happy to oblige. This went back and forth for at least three rounds. Jared and Jensen shared a private small conversation.

“Alright, alright, simmer down,” Jensen called. “We have more questions to answer.” When he finally drew command over the crowd, he turned to the girl on the right. “Hey, we ran into you at the border, didn’t we?”

The girl nervously chuckled, flabbergasted that he would remember.

“Oh, that’s my friend.” Casey pointed.

You were standing obviously next to flight, and based on the girl��s response, she must have been freeze.

Finally, she regained her composure and stumbled out of the question. “My question is for Jensen, and I’m a little shocked it hasn’t come up yet,” Jensen’s face dropped as she continued. “Since a lot of people saw you yesterday and the video of you kissing that girl has been circulating, I was wondering if you are officially off the market?”

Jared’s head whipped to Jensen. He held his microphone down as he hissed, “What kiss?”

Jensen gulped, realizing he had discussed it with Clif and his PR team but forgot to loop in Jared. Well, maybe purposefully forgot so as not to relive the humiliation. The crowd was so silent you could hear the air conditioning humming. Only the pounding of your heart was louder.

The lights seemed to grow brighter as the seconds ticked by. He raced through what his team had suggested and how he should respond. He breathed into the microphone, then paused as if halting a thought before it even started.

“It’s complicated,” Was all he said.

Jensen gave Jared a pleading look for aid.

Jared breathed in deeply, thinking he was going to save the situation. “I know every heart in this room just broke but don’t worry, everyone needs a good rebound, and Jensen was due for one, give it a few weeks.”

“No.” Jensen stopped him. “No, that’s not what this is at all. I…” His voice cracked, and he paused again. He was exhausted from being careful with his words, hiding shit, and painting a face that would create appeal. And so he decided to let it all go. He picked a loose thread in his jeans as he confessed to the world. “A few months ago, I met someone. And I was a complete ass, but she gave me a second chance anyways. She’s not just a rebound from Elena. She’s kind, and funny, and a smart ass, but most of all, she is real. And she sees me not as Jensen Ackles, but just as…”

“Dean Winchester?” Jared grumbled.

A few fans yelped, but most stayed respectful.

Jensen’s jaw tightened. “She sees me as I am.” He huffed. “I like her. Like, like her.” He said as if he was in middle school, and there was a collective aw in response from the audience. “I saw a future with her.”

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Jared piped in.

“Calm down,” He snipped back. “Not wedding bells, two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. Not yet, anyway. Just taking it a few months at a time. Having someone other than you to confide in, to care for and be cared for in return, someone I can laugh and cry with, someone to share adventures with, I don’t know…” He sighed, defeated, getting away from himself, feeling like he wasn’t making sense. He turned to Jared, “It’s not like you aren’t my best friend, but you have Gen. You have someone you can go home to, someone you can talk to when I’m annoying the hell out of you, someone you can be vulnerable with and don’t have to act around.”

Jared sighed.

“That doesn’t sound complicated.” The shy voice peeped up.

Jensen smiled mournfully, addressing the fan again. “The thing is, she doesn’t feel the same. I got friend-zoned. Hard. Which is okay. It is completely her right. And I mean, I’m a lot to deal with, so I get it. So it’s complicated because we have to figure out if we can stay friends now that I screwed us over with that kiss half of you witnessed.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. It took a second for you to process it all.

“This is utter bullshit.” You gasped, Casey taking it all in, though you had completely tuned out the rest of the world as if you were talking directly to him. “Friend-zoned, how did I friend-zone you? Maybe, and here’s a thought: if you had the ability to confess your feelings to me with as much ease as to hundreds of people, I could have told you I felt the same. But you just kissed me, and I panicked because I didn’t know what you wanted, and I thought I wanted more than you. Because I do see you as you are, but I acknowledge that you are still Jensen Ackles, and I’m still a crazy little fan that shouldn’t even know you in the first place. It’s not either, or, asshat; it can be both. I’ve been waiting for your lead this whole time. And now that I’m here, you are telling everyone it’s over before we even had a chance. Fuck!”

Although it was a rageful whisper, Casey heard everything and ferociously typed away on her phone.

Before Jared tried again to regain control of the situation, Casey’s friend jumped back on the mic. “Y/N says that if Jensen had confessed his feelings to her in the first place with as much ease as he can in front of thousands of fans, she wouldn’t have accidentally friend-zoned him.”

Jensen stood abruptly. “Y/N’s here?”

Panic rose again, seeing heads turn, looking for an imposter in the crowd.

The girl continued. “She says she was waiting for him to decide if he wanted to take the relationship to the next level, probably because she’s just a fan like us, and well, fuck, he’s Jensen Ackles. And I’m looking at her right now, and she is head over heels. Well, okay, she’s a little furious, but if Jensen wants her to have his babies, she would totally have his babies. Girl, we have to help her lock that man down…”

Again, silence in the room.

“What did you do?” Your eyes were wide.

Casey kept typing, ignoring your panic. “Trust me.”

You felt eyes on you and slid down the wall in mortal dread.

“Sorry,” The friend at the mic said. “Those were texts from my friend. I probably shouldn’t have read every single one.”

Crickets.

“Y/N’s here?” Jensen asked again.

“Yeah,” The girl looked through the crowd and pointed. Thankfully, it redirected some of the gaze to the back. “She must be sitting with my friend over there somewhere.”

Jared stood, but Jensen waved him away. “How do I know it’s really Y/N, and you're not making this up?” He asked skeptically.

Casey looked down at you as you were hiding your face between your palms. She nudged you with her foot.

The girl’s voice sounded throughout the ballroom. “I spy something yellow, clouds or mountains, the nasty-ass ball pit, Neil Diamond, or Bate’s Motel; any one of those should do.”

Jensen snickered and shook his head back and forth. “God dammit, Y/N. Do you want to try and make this work? Be more than friends?” He was still searching the crowd but couldn’t find you.

“Sign an NDA,” Jared sarcastically commented, believing Jensen’s previous analysis of your commitment to privacy was shockingly misguided.

“She says you can ask her face-to-face on a proper date.” Some of the crowd chuckled; others held a sadness that the window of his singleness was closing.

“I didn’t say that.” You snipped at Casey.

“We can’t make you seem too eager. Not after that baby comment.” She retorted.

Jensen chuckled again. “How does ten tonight sound? You pick the place.”

From a distance, he could see the door in the back crack open, light flooding the darkness momentarily, and he knew it was you. A small smirk escaped his lips.

The friend at the microphone continued to telephone Casey’s messages. “She left, I think, 'cause I embarrassed her and exaggerated certain details. But if I didn’t completely mortify her, I say it’s safe to change your relationship status.”

From the main lobby, you could hear the cheers and applause. This was not how you expected the day to go, especially almost getting arrested and working things out with Jensen over a panel. There was the sound of heavy footsteps and keys jingling as Clif rounded a corner.

“You keep making my job more and more interesting.” He jokingly scolded. “Come on,” He gestured with a nod of his head. “Let’s get you out of here before the panel ends, and people put two-and-two together.”

You stepped in line. “Let me make the record clear that Jensen was the one to kiss me and could have been more tactful in answering that question. I will only take the blame for momentarily losing it and breaking a few convention policies that may or may not be criminal offenses. I don’t know how this stuff works.”

He turned to look back at you and wiggled his eyebrows as if keeping you privy to a secret. “Something tells me I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.”

“Not when you should have both eyes on Jensen.” You teased back.

He laughed as you continued down the hall, and he parted a black curtain for you. “Oh, I like you.”

He led you to the holding room. It was nearly as messy as a frat house after a championship victory. Bottles of whiskey lined a TV stand, jackets and sweatshirts were strewn about, devices of all kinds were plugged into outlets, and piles of eaten and unopened food sat everywhere. You found a clear spot on the couch, and exhaustion finally hit you. Exhaustion from traveling non-stop, to restless nights, to hiking earlier this morning, to internally debating everything that was happening. You leaned your head back and shut your eyes.

The temporary relief was short-lived as the click of the door opening jolted you from the micro-nap. You stood up as Jensen and Jared entered the room. They looked equally exhausted but somehow maintained their brightness and energy. Jensen’s face glowed upon seeing you.

“Y/N!” Jensen exclaimed.

“Hi.” You greeted sheepishly.

He bounded over to you and took your cheeks in his hands, pressing his lips against yours. Jared went for another round of whiskey.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He pulled away and looked you over. “What the hell happened?”

You didn’t know where to begin. “I met a park ranger.” You said, accompanied by something between a laugh and a huff.

Jensen took in your scrapped-up leg, and his face grew stern. “Are you okay? We should get a doctor to come look you over.”

“I’m fine,” You promised. “The ranger did a thorough examination and knocked some sense into me. I should be back to normal in a couple of days.”

“Was he cute?” He asked.

You grinned. “Very.”

He pinched his lips together in a smile. “Well, then I better up the antics for our date tonight and really try and impress you.”

“Oh my god,” You giggled. “I never said any of that!” He gave you a questioning glance. “To be fair, not most of it.”

“So, no babies then?” He teased, and your cheeks turned ten shades darker. “Hey Jared, it’s time I officially introduce you; this is Y/N. Y/N, Jared.”

“Pleasure,” Jared stated coldly.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” You offered.

“Hey, we should order some food before autographs.” Jared bypassed you and spoke directly to Jensen.

“Yeah,” Jensen agreed. “I’m starving. You want anything?” He asked you.

You shook your head no. “What I need is a shower and clean clothes.”

Jensen smiled and dug through his wallet, fetching out a key card. “Room 912. If you need anything, text Clif. I’ll send you his number.” He handed it to you. “See you later tonight? Then maybe we will have the chance to talk about all this.”

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, accepting the key and trying not to get ahead by wondering if you would be sharing a room tonight.

Starting a relationship with him required a plan, including expectations and boundaries. As much as you wanted to rush into things, taking it slow was for the best. Waiting for him to finish autographs would give you time to make a list and develop some questions on what a relationship with him would entail beyond the normal stuff. This wouldn’t be as easy as it seemed, but you trusted he would be there to guide you. Before parting, he placed another peck on your lips, leaving you craving more.

Part 8

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GHTTC Tags: @maggiegirl17 @foxyjwls007 @djs8891 @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @ghostofjoharvelle

#supernatural #spn #spn fandom #spn fanfic #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #jensen x you

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caffeineivore · 3 months

Text

The Witching Hour

Liminal Spaces, moments in time, beautiful and forlorn and uncanny.

R/J, PG13-ish?

The parking lot is lit by a single pole light that flickers erratically, and the neon sign reading "Vacancy" has both A's out. Jace usually isn't one for such Uncanny Valley trappings, but beggars can't be choosers at midnight and his low fuel light came on twenty miles ago.

It's a small motel in the middle of a small town in the middle of a lonely stretch of freeway in the middle of nowhere-- the type that some poor idiot in a horror movie would probably get gruesomely murdered in, but then again, he was hardly a nubile ingenue or a dumbass jock. He'd certainly stayed in worse places during a long stint as a UC in LA, and he thinks he'd take the tumbleweeds and the flickering neon over the seedy underbelly of the City of Fallen Angels anytime. He doesn't have much on him to attract the bad sort of attention anyway-- a lone man in worn jeans and a leather jacket that had seen better days, bearing an old duffel bag and dark gold five-o'-clock shadow, a few battered twenties in his wallet and an ankle holster that doesn't show as he walks.

The lobby is small, neat as a pin and almost inhumanly bright in the glare of harsh fluorescents as he comes in. A pair of tired-looking armchairs and a loveseat in faded red chenille, gunmetal-grey industrial carpeting. The front desk is shielded by a panel of reinforced glass and features a computer that looks positively ancient, but he does a double-take when he comes up to the counter. As a rule, night auditors at places of lodging are a bit unsociable, slightly Eldritch, with the uncanny factor increasing proportionate to the lateness of the hour and the remoteness and shabbiness of the location, and this specimen certainly had nothing ordinary about her, either. She looks up as he raises a hand to ring the service bell, holds his gaze in an unblinking violet stare for a moment too long, but it's her beauty that stops him in his tracks.

Fifteen years in Los Angeles has Jace all but immune to the countless number of meaningless beautiful faces all around him. A starlet's lush-lipped smile looks a lot less inviting two hours later in a rictus of drug-induced convulsions. Diamonds and bullets, champagne and smog, sunsets and blood-soaked asphalt. This woman could be twenty or a hundred, with an ageless face that he imagined angels would have if they were real-- the type of angels that smote a sinner with swords and fire, not the type that graced Hallmark cards and Victoria's Secret catalogues. Fathomless violet eyes, blood-red lips and a curtain of inky hair. "It's pretty late to be traveling, isn't it?"

"Absolutely, and I'm tired the hell out. Do you have a room for the night, and maybe a gas station close to here that opens sometime tomorrow morning, sweetheart?"

She cocks her head to the side rather like a bird might as it stares at a new street sign. "This isn't where you're supposed to be right now, but I won't begrudge you a night's rest and shelter," she says at length, almost to herself. She slides a tattered registration binder and an honest-to-God fountain pen across the desk, under the panel of glass, and her voice takes on a slightly brisker tone. "Name and address, please. That will be fifty dollars. Room 12, which will be six doors down, on the right. We don't have breakfast, but there's a cafe down the road next to the gas station, about five miles out. Check out is at ten."

"Thanks, love." His fingers brush hers for the briefest of moments as he takes the keys-- old fashioned metal ones, not plastic cards, and he would have expected her hands to be ghostly-cold. But they're warm and soft, like the glow of hearth fire behind a screen. He almost wants to give them a squeeze, but that would be creepy. He signs "Jacen Reinhardt" and puts down the address of an apartment that he'd not set foot in for the last two years, and slides three twenties across the table. "Keep the change. I'd've driven on, you know, but I can barely keep my eyes open, and I'm almost out of gas. You probably saved my life." He tacks that last part on with a wink that would have melted a model or a gun moll alike, but she simply continues to look at him with something that looks weirdly like silent absolution in those dark, mysterious eyes.

"I wish that were true," she murmurs, tipping her face downwards towards the registration binder as she puts it back in its drawer. "Rest well. You're safe here."

"I'll catch you tomorrow morning before you're off, doll. Sweet dreams."

He finds Room 12 without much difficulty, unlocks it with those old-fashioned keys. It's just as tidy as the lobby under the glow of the incandescent table lamp, with a single bed and heavy burgundy drapes over its windows, but the shower runs hot and the pillows are soft under his weary head. Jace is asleep almost as soon as he lies down, before he could even have taken any of the types of precautions he might have been accustomed to in the big city, but she's a woman of her word and he sleeps soundly and well. He dreams in flashes and fits that night, fleeting images that flit across his subconscious-- snow-white lilies, stark black ravens, fire that arrows across an eerie silver sky, the clash of swords and the crush of lovers' lips-- but nonetheless, the sun is high in the sky when he wakes from the best sleep that he's had in a long time.

One look on the old-fashioned analog alarm clock on the nightstand tells him that he has all of nineteen minutes to check out, and so Jace hurries into the lobby, raking one hand through his tousled blond hair, keys in hand, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, eyes peeled for that oil-slick of black hair. In daylight, it's a much-different place-- not cheery, perhaps, but pleasant. Almost welcoming. Ordinary. Manning the front desk is a perky redhead who cheerfully points him towards the direction of the gas station as she accepts the keys and wishes him safe travels.

"Thanks... Molly, is it?" He reads the name on the gilt nametag pinned on her blouse, and racks his brain for whether the woman last night had worn one. "This might be an odd question, but... who was here last night? The overnight lady."

"Oh, I don't know any of the others," Molly replies, furrowing her brow in a bewildered way. "I usually just miss her. I've just started here, you see, for a summer job. But I know she's been here for a long time. She's never here after daybreak. I work nine to five."

That is, of course, supremely unhelpful, but it's not something that he can fault her for. Jace coaxes his car into life and drives off into the sunshine, towards the very ordinary gas station and very ordinary cafe that likely serves very ordinary coffee and bacon and eggs that would fuel him until his next destination, and wonders if he's lost a night or a small eternity of his life that he just won't ever quite understand.

Strange things always happen during the witching hour, that's a given. But there's never been cause to wonder, before this, of lost time and liminal spaces that have never been his before, beautiful and forlorn and uncanny, of ghosts and angels when neither of those things were real.

(The other three will be put up on AO3 when I can be arsed to write them)

#fanfic #senshi/shitennou #writing #R/J

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millenniumdueled · 18 days

Text

When the Other Yugi arrives at the Paradias headquarters, it's alone. In his exasperation and grief, he had gone and done exactly what he'd just chastised Kaiba for: running ahead.

The Other Yugi frowns as he steps inside the empty corporate high rise. Speaking of Kaiba, shouldn't he be here by now too? There's no sign of the man. Had he gotten so far ahead? Was he facing Dartz now, alone?

He glances at the deck inside his DuelDisk and shakes his head. If Kaiba were dueling, surely he would play Crittias. As if he did, wouldn't Timaeus react?

Steeling himself, the Other Yugi takes a deep breath and walks across the lobby to the bank of elevators at the back. As he does, the lights above one indicate a car decending from the upper floors, and the Pharaoh braces himself.

But when the doors slide open, he finds neither a monster nor an enemy. Instead, the soulless body of Mai tumbles forward, and Other Yugi's stomach drops as she does.

No. No. Not again.

He lunges forward to try and catch the woman, managing to ease her down to sit against the wall.

How many friends is he going to lose?

"I'm sorry, Mai," mumbles the Other Yugi as he stands and faces the elevator. Empty, save for one fluffy, white feather. Not from a harpy, but from something more angelic.

He squares his shoulders and steps inside. As he faces the panel of buttons, the doors close, and the elevator begins to rise on its own.

The elevator ascends calmly. When he's certain no monsters are going to attack, as they did at Kaiba Corp, the Other Yugi takes that moment to remove the deck from his DuelDisk. He fans out the cards in hand, brows knit tight as he looks them over. He carries other important cards in the box on his belt, and his enemy has seen most of what he's used so far. But as he weighs his options and strategies, his chest feels heavy.

He and his Partner had built this deck together.

They had stayed up late the night before flying to America, testing combo and strategies into the morning hours. They'd both put their Hearts into this deck. And now, it's all he has left of his better half.

He has no right to change it himself.

Ultimately, the Other Yugi returns the deck, unaltered, to its slot just as the elevator stops, and the doors slide open with a ping!

Just as he thought, it isn't the mysterious leader of Doma and Paradias waiting for him on the rooftop, but another, more familiar man.

"Raphael," hisses the Other Yugi.

"I've been waiting for you, Nameless Pharaoh." As he speaks, calmly, Raphael takes a card from his pocket. He tosses it skillfully across the space between them, to be expertly snatched by his opponent.

The Other Yugi's eyes go wide when he realizes what he holds.

"The Claw of Hermos.... You... Took Joey's soul too?!"

"No," Raphael corrects firmly. "He lost to Mai Kujaku."

"Then why did you take her soul too?!"

"She turned against our Master Dartz. Something about that boy gave her a change of heart. Her purpose was served, anyway. She wanted to give you that card, since it's useless to me, the least I can do is honor that wish."

The Claw of Hermos trembles in Other Yugi's hand. "Doesn't your heart hurt, Raphael?"

Raphael is silent.

"Joey, Mai, Rex, Weevil, my Partner..... Even your allies have lost their souls now!! You preached about the value of your monsters lives, you fought to keep them alive at all costs. But what about your friends?!"

"I told you before, Nameless Pharaoh. There is darkness in the hearts of humans, and a power greater than you can comprehend that wants to erase it. Their sacrifices will bring about a new world, a better world."

"You can change the world without destroying it. There's light in our hearts, too!"

"It's too late to stop it now." As he speaks, slow and solemn, Raphael turns his head upwards, towards the sky above, where something seems to move and writhe. A band of inky darkness, a ribbon of void-like shadow, blocks out the stars as it snakes across the night sky.

"What is that?" the Other Yugi gasps.

"The great beast that will bring about the birth of our new world. The god Leviathan that you have been destined to resurrect through your sacrifice, Nameless Pharaoh. You should feel honored, to know your soul will awaken such a powerful entity."

Other Yugi takes a step back, in awe of the shadow that circles overhead. The ribbon of shadow seems to stretch for miles, with no clear sign of a beginning or end, as it blots out the stars.

How can Raphael speak of darkness in the hearts of humans, when this great darkness hovers right over them?

Other Yugi returns his focus to his enemy as Raphael approaches him, removing the deck from his black DuelDisk as he does. The Pharaoh narrows his eyes as he does the same, cautiously though.

"You can try to give me that card again, but I won't use it."

"I know."

The Other Yugi watches him closely as they swap and shuffle each other's decks well. A clean, fair fight.

But as Raphael returns to his side of the roof, the Other Yugi has to try again.

"We don't have to do this, Raphael. You don't have to do this. It isn't too late to save everyone, we can face each other as true Duelists, not like this--"

Though Raphael's gaze is determined as he sets it on the smaller man, Other Yugi swears there's some kind of sorrow there.

"Duel, start."

#ooc #plot #arc: what the doma?!#idk if I'm going to write a part 2 or just imply the ending I've got smth else I need to work on today too #we will seeeeeeeeeeeeeee

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tchallasbabymama · 2 years

Text

Teamwork

Hello, my favorite sluts, whores, and harlots! This here is a little something something I started a year ago thanks to a request from @harleycativy for a Killmonger gangbang fic. I’m just now getting around to finishing it, and since it’s a oneshot and not part of a series, I figured I’d just go ahead and post it unedited. So, let me know what y’all think in your comments and reblogs, and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything! Also, check out my masterlist for more Black Panther fanfics. I have plenty of Erik, T’Challa, and M’Baku stories to choose from, and I have a Ramonda fic and a Nakia x Okoye fic on the way! Enjoy 😘

Word Count: 4,203

CW: smut

Raven walked in step with her boyfriend through the lobby of the luxury condo building, fidgeting with the tied belt on her knee-length trench coat. Her heart beat loudly in her chest with each step they took towards the elevators, and when the doors opened, all of her nerves returned full force.

“What if nobody wants me, Erik?” she blurted, and he looked at her like she had lost her mind.

“Girl, have you seen yourself?”

She looked away shyly, but he pulled her face back to look at him.

“Where’s this coming from? You was all hype in the car screaming Meg lyrics in my ear and shit.”

“I know, but it’d be pretty embarrassing to go to a sex party, and nobody wants to fuck me! What if-”

“Oh, I know my nigga Darnell is gonna want some.”

“Darnell?”

“Mhm. Probably Tyreke, too.”

“I can’t believe this is how I’m about to meet your friends.”

“We don’t have to do this, babygirl. We can go to dinner instead. I know you like that sushi place down the-”

“No, I want to, I’m just… just nervous, that’s all.”

Erik pulled her in for a kiss, and she let him control her body.

“We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

Raven nodded and bit her lip, grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the very patient elevator.

“So how often do they have these parties?” she asked when the doors closed behind them.

“About once a month.”

“When’s the last time you went?”

“Before we started dating.”

“Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”

“Because if your ass wasn’t so damn nasty, it probably would’ve scared you off.”

Raven giggled and nudged his side. Her eyes flickered to the ascending numbers on the elevator control panel, and a high-pitched ding let them know they had made it to the top floor.

“Ready?” Erik asked, kissing the back of her hand.

Raven took a deep breath and nodded before stepping off the elevator first and into the foyer of the penthouse. A tall man decked out in leather gear stood by the double doors that led into the party.

“Test and invite?” He asked, and they reached for their phones. Erik pulled up the invite on his phone while Raven found the screenshot of their STI test results from three days before. The security guard checked the invite and their results and opened the door behind him to the festivities. A room full of naked and near-naked melanated people of all shades and shapes came into view, and Raven lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

She barely heard the guard as he ran down a quick list of rules, too entranced in the sight before her. Not only was the condo gorgeous in its own right, with floor-to-cieling windows and a view of the city below, but the salacious activities taking place under its roof had Raven’s thighs rubbing together for friction. Erik noticed the far-off look in her eyes and lightly nudged her, bringing her attention back to the guard.

“-polyurethane condoms and water-based lube provided in the glass bowls placed around the space. Lastly, there’s security at each door and walking around, making sure everyone is playing consensually and safely. If you cannot follow our rules, you will be removed. Understood?”

Raven nodded excitedly, making Erik chuckle.

“Yeah, we got it.”

“Coat check to the left.” The guard gestured towards the woman in a black latex catsuit stationed by the open coat closet.

They thanked him and made their way over to the coat check with Erik’s hand steadily at the small of Raven’s back to guide her. Otherwise, she’d have stopped and stared at the fine-ass specimen that was currently suspended by ropes in the middle of the room, enduring pleasurable tortures hurled his way by a very short woman in very tall pleasers.

“Oh my god, is that Killmonger?” a high-pitched voice sang loudly.

Raven tore her gaze away from the show and allowed her eyes to rest on the coat check girl’s wide smile.

“You know it. What’s up, T?”

“Shit, not much. The usual. I see you brought a friend this time.”

“Yeah, this is my girl, Raven. Raven, meet Tara. She’s one of the people that keeps this show running.”

“Nice to meet you,” Raven said shyly.

“And you! Kill’s never brought a girl here before. You must be something special.”

“She is.”

Erik kissed her temple, and Raven melted into him.

“First time at a party like this?” Tara asked.

“How can you tell?”

“You just look a little nervous, but you’re in good hands. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

“You just gotta do one thing first.”

“What’s that?”

“Get rid of that coat, sis!”

Raven laughed as she untied her belt, and Erik helped her out of her trench, his eyes bugging out of his head when he finally got a glimpse of what she was wearing underneath. A black lace bustier and thong covered her body, but it was the thigh-high stockings being held up by delicate garters that made Erik’s engine purr.

Tara wolf-whistled and motioned for Raven to do a spin.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Kill.”

“Mmmhm,” Erik agreed, his eyes raking up and down Raven’s voluptuous form as he undid his own coat and handed it to Tara, blessing the room with the view of his nearly-naked body.

“Oop, I know that look. Y’all have fun,” Tara giggled and waved goodbye.

Erik’s hand found its way to the small of Raven’s back again, and he led her into the fray.

“Let’s go watch-”

“Nah, come here,” he rumbled in her ear and pulled her back into him and onto his lap as he sat down on the closest available loveseat. Just as he began to pry her legs open and dip his fingers into her wetness, a deep voice interrupted them – well, not really. Nothing was going to stop Erik except for Raven, and she was more than ready to get down to business.

“Yo, is that my nigga Kill?”

Raven looked up just as Erik began to play with her clit, and her eyes widened at the naked man before her.

“Nell?!”

“Ray?!”

“The fuck?!” Erik looked between them.

“Uh, Erik, this is my ex from college.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“No, yeah, we, uh… y’all together now?” Darnell asked awkwardly.

“Yeah, it’s been about five months. So, um, how are you?”

“Nah, fuck that small talk. How long were y’all together?”

Erik’s grip on her waist grew tighter with each word.

“Two years.”

“But that was like a decade ago.”

Erik’s brow remained furrowed. Something about his girl having been with his friend before left a bad taste in his mouth. Raven could feel the tension in his body and placed her hand on his face to get him to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“He doesn’t like knowing other people played with his toys,” Darnell chuckled, and Raven shot him a look that shut him up before turning back to Erik.

“Baby, the whole point of tonight was so I could experience my fantasy, right?”

“Mhm.”

“And you even said he’d want some-”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew-”

“This changes nothing. We had a good run ten years ago, but we can put that behind us and be adults and just have some fun.”

Erik eyed her silently.

“You just nasty and wanna get dicked down.”

A devilish smile curled Raven’s lips.

“That’s why you love me.”

“You right,” Erik sighed before looking up at Darnell. “My bad, bruh.”

“No worries, man.”

“So, Darnell, I’ll get straight to it. He brought me here because I’ve never had sex with multiple partners, and that’s something I want to try. Since I know you, and I’m comfortable with you, would you want to join us?”

“I mean, if Kill’s cool with it, then hell yeah. I’m down.”

They both looked at Erik expectantly, and he responded with a nonchalant shrug.

“The lady gets what the lady wants.”

“Then… can I get a couple more?”

“Anything you want, babygirl,” Erik cooed into the crook of her neck.

“Hmm,” Raven hummed as she looked around the room at the naked and almost naked bodies around them. Some were coupled or grouped up and messing around right in the middle of all of the action, whereas others were sneaking off for privacy. Her eyes fell on a corseted woman with a large golden afro on the other side of the room, pegging a man over the arm of a couch, and she began to drool a little at the way the woman’s tits bounced with each impact.

Erik followed her line of vision, and a smirk crossed his face when he saw who she had been looking at. He had a hunch that Raven wasn’t as straight as she thought she was, but he never pushed. The way she complimented women was definitely more lustful and less reverential than she thought, but she swore she was straight… he knew she’d figure it out eventually.

“You like what you see?” he whispered in her ear, breaking her from her trance.

“Wh- no, I just-”

“Wish you were that nigga she’s digging out.”

Raven looked away shyly, her religious upbringing making it difficult for her to articulate her feelings.

“It’s ok if you do, you know.”

“What makes you think I’m not interested in being the pegger?”

“Your sub ass?” Erik laughed, and she poked him in his ribs. Darnell simply smiled at the interaction, just happy to see his ex and his friend getting along so well.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Raven looked back at the sudden change of his tone. His voice had gotten raspier and deeper, and there was a growing appendage beneath her thick thighs. They locked eyes once more, and both found heat behind the others’ irises before their lips were pulled together like magnets. Raven’s hips rocked back and forth on Erik’s lap, and he slapped her ass, making her moan into his mouth.

Darnell leaned against the wall next to them, just watching while his dick hardened. Raven reached her hand out to him, and he took it, allowing her to make him sit down next to Erik, who felt the movement but didn’t stop. His hands were busy gripping Raven’s ass, and his mind only focused on her until she pulled back from their kiss and looked over at Darnell, then back at him. Erik nodded, and Raven smiled before pulling Darnell into a kiss next while still straddling Erik. Erik began fingering her, and her hips continued to wind on his lap while she trailed her fingers down to trace Darnell’s throbbing length.

“You gonna suck daddy’s dick?” Erik asked with his fingers deep inside her, making her moan into Darnell’s mouth. “That’s not an answer.”

His free hand found its way to her braids and pulled her head back to look at him.

“I asked you a question, Raven.”

Her lips were swollen and wet, and her eyes held a certain desperation as they made contact with Erik’s piercing gaze.

“Y-yes.”

“Then suck it,” he ordered before smacking her exposed ass and pulling his fingers out, making a big show of cleaning them off. Raven was on her knees not a second later, already pulling his hefty dick out of his designer boxer briefs. She began to salivate at the look of it, the veins along it calling to her so much that her tongue found its way to one. She traced it teasingly and smirked when he shuddered at the feeling. After teasing him with her tongue, she took him down her throat in a feat Darnell could only marvel at. When they were together, Raven wasn’t a fan of sucking dick, but it seemed that things had changed over time.

“Shit,” Darnell cursed under his breath, but Raven heard him. She looked over at him and winked, making his dick come alive.

“You like having him watch, huh?”

Raven hummed in response around Erik’s length as she bobbed up and down from base to tip.

“You wanna suck his dick, too?”

“Mmmmh,” Raven all but growled, making Erik laugh.

“You nasty.” He pulled her head off of him and made her look him in the eyes. “Aint you? Say it.”

“I’m nasty.”

“Damn right you are. Now suck his dick while I see where Reke’s ass is. He’s gonna want some, too.”

Erik let her hair go, and Raven shuffled over to kneel in front of Darnell, wasting no time before engulfing him in her mouth.

“Shit, Ray!” Darnell cursed as his nails dug into the armrest.

“Yeah, that’s my girl,” Erik said with a smile while he scanned the room looking for Tyreke. As if Erik manifested his presence, the man in question emerged from a private room with a beautiful woman on his arm.

“Damn, is that S-shayna?” Darnell stuttered through gritted teeth as he tried to hold onto his composure.

“Sure the fuck is. Yo, Reke!”

Tyreke turned towards Erik’s voice and flashed a blinding smile before kissing his partner goodbye and making his way over through the sea of intertwined bodies.

“Glad y’all’s late asses could finally make it,” he teased, dapping up Erik.

“Yeah, yeah, nigga, whatever. Reke, this here is my girl, Raven.”

Raven pulled off Darnell’s dick with a pop and smiled up at Erik’s other friend.

“Hi,” she said with a little wave as spit dripped down her chin.

“Hi, yourself,” Tyreke responded, his hungry eyes taking in every inch of Raven’s curvaceous body before turning back to Erik. “Since when do you share?”

Darnell chuckled as Erik narrowed his eyes.

“Since now, nigga. You want in or not?”

“Hell yeah! What’s the move?”

Erik turned to Raven, still on her knees in front of Darnell, and held her chin in his hand.

“What you wanna do, babygirl? We could find a room-”

“Let’s stay out here.”

Erik raised his eyebrows.

“You sure?”

“Mhm. I want people to see us.”

“You nasty bitch,” Erik smirked before leaning down and placing a sloppy kiss on her lips. “Show Tyreke what you can do, babygirl.”

Raven’s eyes darted to Tyreke’s before slowly trailing down his body to the barely-contained erection poking out of his silk boxers. Seconds later, her lips were wrapped around his bulbous head, and the salty taste of his pre-cum graced her tongue.

Her heart nearly beat out of her chest when Erik stepped closer with his dick in hand and placed it against her lips. She worked Tyreke’s dick with her hand while she sucked Erik’s and fondled Darnell’s balls with the other hand.

“That’s right, babygirl, take care of daddy.”

Raven lost track of time switching between the three comparable, but very different, erections. Tyreke curved slightly to the left and was shaped like a thick-stemmed mushroom, his light brown skin a shade or two darker on his dick than the rest of him. Then, there was Darnell, a clean-shaven straight shooter with a pair of juicy balls that Raven remembered used to slap her pussy with force when they had sex. Lastly, was Erik. He wasn’t nicknamed “Killmonger” for nothing; that dick was a thick, veiny, uncircumcised monster that took no prisoners and regularly had Raven begging him for mercy.

A thumping between Raven’s legs made her hips wiggle in search of stimulation, and Erik let out a dark chuckle as he watched her squirm with Darnell’s dick down her throat. He reached out and grabbed her braids, pulling her head back and making her look at him.

“You ready?”

Raven nodded.

“Use your words, Raven.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Erik helped her to her feet and sat her down on the loveseat next to Darnell before dropping to his knees and spreading her legs wide, draping one over the arm of the chair and the other on Darnell’s lap. He pushed her thong to the side and dug into his meal like a starving man. He focused his plump lips on her sensitive bundle of nerves while he fingered her with one hand and played with her purple jeweled buttplug with the other.

Raven screamed to the heavens as Erik brought her to orgasm, and seconds later, his mouth was replaced by another. Tyreke went next, dragging the flat of his tongue from her taint to her clit, collecting all the juices she had just let loose. Not to be left out, Darnell busied himself by pulling Raven’s breasts from their lace prisons.

They had garnered the attention of a small crowd when Raven’s moans hit a certain decibel, and she happened to lock eyes with the woman in the strap that she had been watching earlier.

Erik noticed the short exchange, and bent down to whisper in her ear, “You want her to lick your pussy?”

Raven’s eyes blew wide for a second, but her panic quickly subsided, and she nodded shyly.

“Yes.”

“Aint nothing wrong with that. Say it with your chest.”

“I-I want her to eat me out. I want to know what it’s like with a woman.”

“Sure thang, babygirl.”

Erik sauntered over to the woman, dick swinging between his toned thighs.

“My lady likes you. What’s your name?”

“You can call me Honey,” she cooed with a voice that matched her name.

“Bet. You down, Honey?”

Honey looked him up and down before crossing her arms over her chest.

“I got rules.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

“I’m only here for pussy and ass. No dick.”

“Respect. This is all for her, anyway.”

Honey uncrossed her arms and nodded in approval, making Erik’s dimples sink into his cheeks, and his golden slugs shine in the dim lighting. He gestured for her to lead the way, and Honey breezed right past him, making her way over to Raven without breaking their eye contact. She tapped Tyreke on the shoulder, and he looked up at her with a soaking wet beard.

“I got it from here, big boy.”

Tyreke nodded and got up to sit on the arm of the loveseat, grabbing Raven’s other leg so that he and Darnell both held one.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” Honey asked as she squatted in front of Raven’s delicious-looking pussy and reached out to caress her wet, already swollen lips.

“I’m Raven.”

“I’m Honey.”

“Nice to- oh my god!”

Honey wasted no time at all burying her face between Raven’s legs, and she was sure she felt herself ascending to another plane of existence the moment the other woman’s tongue flickered over her favorite spot. It didn’t help that Darnell and Tyreke were stimulating her nipples, and Erik stood off to the side, smirking while he stroked himself.

Raven tried to focus on the grip she had on Darnell and Tyreke, but her hands flew to Honey’s golden afro to anchor herself. It felt like mere seconds passed before her juices were raining down Honey’s chin.

Honey pulled back to look at Raven’s pussy as it contracted hungrily around her fingers, and Raven pulled her into a steamy kiss.

“Can I fuck you with my strap?” Honey asked against her lips, and Raven nodded vigorously.

Erik already had the condom ready, so he handed it over and watched as Honey rolled it down her purple shaft. His friends let go of her legs, and Raven slid down to her knees, opening her mouth wide for Honey, who gladly obliged. Even though Honey couldn’t feel the fellatio, the vision of having a beautiful woman on her knees for her made her pussy thump. She grew impatient, and moments later, her strap was sliding into Raven’s depths while the braided beauty posed on the couch with her ass up for the taking.

“Damn, look at that grip,” Tyreke commented, staring at the way Raven’s lips seemed not to want to let Honey go.

“Greedy pussy having ass bitch,” Erik growled, his hand still stroking his length as he watched his girlfriend get absolutely railed by a woman none of them knew.

Raven heard him and turned in his direction. She tried to send him a smile, but Honey hit a spot near her cervix that made her release a moan from the depths of her soul. The sound traveled straight to between Erik’s, Darnell’s, and Tyreke’s legs, and all three of them moved to get in on the action.

Honey pulled out and flipped Raven over in one swift motion, and the men put Raven’s mouth and hands to use.

“There you go,” Erik encouraged her as she looked up at him with Darnell’s dick in her mouth and tears forming in her eyes.

Raven was in heaven with their hands roaming all over her body, and her holes filled. She didn’t even notice their growing audience; all that mattered was the four people currently making her feel like a goddess of sex.

When she came on Honey’s strap, Erik’s husky baritone tethered her to the physical.

“How you feeling, babygirl?”

Darnell moved his dick out of the way so she could speak.

“Great,” she heaved out, trying to catch her breath.

“Wanna keep going?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Aight, bet.”

Erik lifted her and sat down on the loveseat with his hips just barely on the edge of the cushion, placing her in his lap and sliding her down his bare erection. She allowed him to thrust up into her with his powerful thighs, and her hands grazed the keloid scars on his chest as she held on for dear life.

“You know this pussy is mine, right?” he growled in her ear.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good. Now, I know what you want, but you ain’t getting it from me until you take care of them first. Understand?”

Raven pouted, but nodded her head, making Erik slap her ass.

“Words.”

“Yes, daddy!”

“That’s more like it,” he grinned as she bounced up and down on his dick. “Who you want in that ass first?”

Raven looked between the other three, and her eyes fell back on Honey. Without saying a word, she beckoned her over with a “come hither” motion, and leaned forward so that she and Erik were chest-to-chest. Erik reached around and pulled out her bejeweled plug, and Honey wasted no time in making sure Raven was filled to the brim.

“Fuck!” Raven cursed as she held onto Erik’s shoulders.

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Take that shit.”

Honey and Erik had Raven’s voice bouncing off the walls, and when they switched positions so that Darnell and Tyreke could have a go, she nearly dehydrated herself from all the squirting she ended up doing from the overstimulation.

Raven wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It could’ve been ten minutes or ten hours for all she cared. All that mattered was the intense pleasure she felt from being the center of attention. Even with all the distractions, her mind was already plotting on the next time. She wasn’t quite ready to try eating pussy yet, but she was curious enough to catalogue it for a later date. Especially if Honey could be involved.

Erik, always one to look out for his girl, noticed after a while that Raven was starting to tire out from the constant arousal, so he pulled his dick from her mouth and grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look up at him while she bounced on Darnell’s dick. Her ass was covered in his and Tyreke’s semen, but Erik had been holding on for the grand finale.

“You’ve been so good tonight. Ready for your reward, babygirl?”

Raven’s tired eyes lit up.

“Yes, daddy,” she slurred, making him chuckle.

Erik lifted her off of Darnell and wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her back into the wall and sliding his uncovered dick into her depths. Raven held on to his neck as he pounded into her, and with every second that passed, they both climbed higher and higher to their peaks. Raven reached hers first, her body clenching around his dick as a wave of pleasure rippled through her body.

After holding onto his nut for so long, Erik was pulled right along with her, and Raven moaned in his ear as she felt his essence spilling out of his twitching length. As if his orgasm flipped a switch inside her, Raven’s body went limp in Erik’s arms.

He sat down on the couch next to Darnell as the crowd around them dispersed. Pretty soon, all that was left standing around were just the lucky few who got a taste of Raven that night. Erik stroked her braids while Tyreke went to go find some refreshments for her to eat, and Honey massaged her tired legs while Darnell put a water bottle to her lips for her to rehydrate. When Tyreke returned with a charcuterie plate, Erik fed her little by little.

They stayed like that until Raven found the strength to move, a lazy smile plastered on her face. She looked around at her love and her play partners, and realized she’d never be able to go back to her old vanilla life. Raven was a changed woman.

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @brihann, @impremenior, @nahimjustfeelingit-writes, @brattyfics, @cecereads209, @afriendlyblackhottie, @queengodiva619, @musicisme333

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fanfiction #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #18+ only #oneshot #Spotify

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cariantha · 1 year

Text

Power Play

Book: Open Heart, Book 2

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: 🔥NSFW, 18+ Only, contains sexual content

Category: Fluff, Smut

Word count: 2.9K

Prompt/Summary: Fed up with some of Ethan’s catty and manipulative admirers, Sawyer tries to beat them at their own game.

A/N: Inspired by this ask and the follow up request from @annfg8 for a jealous Sawyer fic. This takes place shortly after the softball game kiss.

Even Ethan was on board when June suggested they present at the conference and bring some much needed attention to Edenbrook. The event coordinators were excited to promote the renowned diagnostics team as the headliners. As such, the team was asked to be part of a moderated panel discussion that morning, followed by Q&A breakout sessions throughout the afternoon.

In between sessions, Sawyer began to notice just how many admirers sought the attention of the famed Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Most of them women, with an air of sophistication about them in both appearance and accomplishment. They stood before him in their classy sheath dresses and power pantsuits, accessorized with expensive jewelry, designer shoes, and handbags that cost more than her rent. She heard snippets of their conversations with mentions of groundbreaking research, articles published in prestigious medical journals, keynote presentations, and AMA awards. Sawyer also observed the flirtatious posturing. How they leaned in, tilted their heads, subtly touched his arms and shoulders, and on occasion even flashed their eyebrows.

No longer able to stomach the view, Sawyer escaped to the restroom for a moment to herself. Locking herself into a stall, she heard the click-clack of high heels as two women entered.

“I would let that man do absolutely anything to me. An-y-thing. And from what I’ve heard, he’s currently available,” the woman sang, fixing her hair in the mirror.

Applying a fresh coat of lipstick, the other laughed, “Ha, good luck. He’s been eye fucking that protégé of his all day.”

“Please. Ethan Ramsey is a man of refined taste. He dated Harper Emery for fucks sake.”

“Let’s go find Hirata and get the scoop.”

Red hot anger crept up her neck as Sawyer waited for the coast to clear. As she moved to wash her hands, a poised red-head joined her at the sinks.

“Ignore them.”

“Pardon?” Sawyer asked, making eye contact through the mirror.

“You’re Dr. Brooks from Edenbrook. Sawyer is it?” she pumped soap from a dispenser. “I’m Kellie. Kellie Wicker. I’m in Oncology over at Brigham. I’m a friend of Ethan and Harper’s.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sawyer greeted cautiously.

Repeating the advice, “Just ignore them. Sadly, a good majority of the women in attendance only come to these conferences to meet men. And those bitches are notorious for coming in and marking their territory.” Drying her hands she added, “As if they have any chance with Ethan Ramsey either.” Her snicker echoed in the tiled room.

Unclear whether it was meant to be a dig, the word “either” didn’t get past Sawyer, who shook the excess water from her hands and reached for a paper towel.

Tucking her copper strands behind an ear, Kellie continued, “If it’s any consolation, I can tell Ethan respects you. He’s a very proud mentor, and as he put it when we spoke earlier, he thinks you have tremendous potential.”

“Thank you. Dr. Ramsey’s been a great teacher. I’m incredibly lucky to have the opportunity to work with him, as well as Dr. Hirata and Dr. Mirani.”

“Lucky indeed,” Dr. Wicker concurred. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Sawyer. I look forward to seeing you at the reception later,” she offered, turning on her heel to leave.

“Sorry, can I ask you a quick question? How fancy is this event tonight? I packed a couple different dresses but–”

“Oh…oh, it’s not fancy at all,” Kellie paused with one foot out the door, “Business professional, dear.”

“Glad I asked. Thanks.”

Sawyer returned to the lobby where she found Baz obnoxiously flagging her down. “Sawyer, you’ve got a fan seeking an autograph,” he pointed to the mystery man.

As she rolled her eyes, the man turned around and Sawyer squealed with excitement. “Ben! What are you doing here?”

“Brooksie! Wow, Boston looks good on you, honey. Aside from the fact that you are in desperate need of a spray tan,” he teased.

She playfully swatted at him as he pulled her off to the side to chat.

Having missed the initial exchange, Ethan entered the lobby, his eyes immediately drawn to the man hovering over what he wished he could publicly claim as his own.

From what he could ascertain, the flamboyant doctor was someone she knew from Los Angeles. Ben personified the Beverly Hills doctor stereotype right down to his sleek Armani suit and shiny Prada shoes. If Ethan had to guess, he was most likely a plastic surgeon.

As Ben rubbed his hand up and down Sawyer’s arm, Ethan’s muscles tensed. And when Ben pulled her into a hug and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, Ethan gritted his teeth. Swiftly gathering his belongings, he announced to Baz that he was heading back to his hotel room. With urgent steps he exited the conference center, ignoring those who still wished to win him over with favors and flattery.

Agreeing to share a drink with Ben later at the reception, Sawyer tried to catch up to Ethan.

He was already several steps down the hall of their floor, when the second elevator chimed behind him.

Not wanting to disturb any hotel guests by shouting, Sawyer jogged to his side placing her hand on his lower back to get his attention. “Hey.” The thrill of her touch reduced his blood pressure just slightly.

Catching her breath, “I feel like I haven’t talked to you all day. How are you?”

“Fine,” his tone curt.

“That was quite an impressive following I witnessed down there today. I mean, I saw a bit of it in Miami, but those were mostly pharma execs,” she tried gauging his mood, “I bet you’re glad to finally have some time to yourself.”

“Yes, I am,” he fished for the keycard in his pocket.

“Ah, the downside of fame,” she teased.

A hint of irritation in his voice, “It looked as though you had plenty of your own admirers.”

With a breathy chuckle, “The only people who approached me wanted to know what you were like,” she stated honestly.

“Hmph. Well, this is me. If you’ll excuse me, I have a couple calls to return.”

Disappointed there was no suggestion of going to the reception together, Sawyer dug into her purse in search of her own room key. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you downstairs later,” she said as Ethan entered his room and closed the door. The interaction, or lack thereof, only fueled the festering feelings of insecurity.

A couple hours later, Sawyer approached the entrance to the hotel lounge. Stopping short, she noticed how the other men and women entering the room wore formal cocktail attire. Then sashaying across the hallway in a sequined minidress, Kellie glanced to her right. She scanned Sawyer from head to toe and with a quiet but villainous laugh she walked on triumphantly. As the two-faced ginger crossed over the threshold, Sawyer heard her phony voice ring out. “Ethan. Hello handsome. Come, have a drink with me.”

Turning one hundred and eighty degrees, Sawyer retraced the steps back to her room, all the way debating whether to even return. And if she decided to return to that hyena’s den, she wondered which of the dresses in her suitcase she should change into.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her nicest black pantsuit, Sawyer made the decision to fight fire with fire. She thought to herself, she may not be as polished and accomplished as the Harper Emery types who paraded around downstairs, but she did have certain assets that would set her apart from the pack. And she wasn’t afraid to use them.

Shrugging her suit jacket off, Sawyer lifted the ivory silk tank top over her head and removed her bra. She carefully smoothed her wavy hair into a sleek bun and wiped the neutral colored lipstick away, replacing it with a bold shade of red. Her modest jewelry was traded for a sparkly necklace, one that would be sure to draw attention to the aforementioned assets. Tugging her jacket back on, she fastened the only two buttons located at her waist. Sawyer turned from side to side making sure she wasn’t giving too much away, and when she was satisfied, she grabbed her clutch and made her way back down to the reception.

Meanwhile downstairs, Ethan stood at a high table sipping his whiskey neat as Kellie droned on about her recent hormone replacement study. He swept the room often, shifting his eyes to the doorway every time someone entered.

Sawyer was a fairly punctual person. With the reception well underway, Ethan’s concern for her grew. His mind raced with all sorts of theories. The worst was that she might be off with Dr. 90210, who was also nowhere in sight.

Finally revealing her true intentions, Kellie changed the subject. “I ran into Harper a while back. She mentioned that you two were no longer together.”

“We are not. It was time to move on.”

“Are you seeing anyone new?”

Ethan didn’t answer. Instead he shook his head, not in reply but in annoyance, and took a swig of his drink.

“Come on, Ethan. We’ve been dancing around each other for years now. Let’s have some fun tonight,” she pawed at his arm.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Sawyer stepped into the cocktail bar, stealing the attention from many conversations. After briefly surveying the room, her confident form glided in his direction. Ethan chewed the inside of his bottom lip to keep his mouth from falling open. But there was little to be done to stop his eyes from roaming her exposed chest. Her bare breasts taunted him, only the lapels of her suit jacket hiding the most sensitive parts. Sawyer looked from him, to his company, and back again. “Dr. Ramsey,” she acknowledged with a nod as she sauntered past.

“There she is!” Baz shouted as Sawyer approached the bar table where he and June shared drinks. “Whoa, step aside, Beyonce. Sawyer Brooks is the one slaying now.”

After rolling her eyes at his ridiculousness, Sawyer looked around taking in the overall atmosphere, but June easily saw through the farce. Psychoanalyzing, she could tell Sawyer searched for reaction from Ethan and his current companion.

“That is quite the statement you are making, Sawyer. Who exactly is the intended audience?”

Sawyer snapped her head to June, finding a smug expression on her face.

A few tables away, Kellie followed Ethan’s eyes as they tracked Sawyer across the room. Trying to regain his attention, she ran the lapel of his jacket through her fingers, “So, what do you say?”

He looked to the table where his colleagues stood. “Please excuse me. I need to touch base with my team,” he said, grabbing his drink and backing away.

“Good evening,” Ethan met the table, coming to stand at Sawyer’s side.

“Hey, Boss!” Baz greeted in return. “So, how’d you all think it went today?”

June spoke, “I’d say ‘mission accomplished.’ I was approached by an editor from the NEJM who wants to write a feature about the team. And speaking of…” spotting the man, she followed him to the bar.

So that only she could hear, Ethan leaned close to Sawyer’s ear. "You seem to be missing something.”

“If you mean a stiff drink, then yes, I was hoping to fix that.”

His eyes flashed quickly to the fleshy mound peeking out from underneath her suit coat. “Not what I was referring to,” he straightened, “but allow me to remedy the drink issue. I could use another myself. Be right back.”

Baz picked up the conversation asking Sawyer what she had thought about the conference, but was suddenly distracted with a passerby. “Scotty?! Scott Briscoe, is that you? Excuse me, Sawyer,” he apologized, leaving to reunite with his old college pal.

As Ethan waited at the bar for their drinks, he looked back to Sawyer who now stood alone at the table. While it pleased him to find her staring back, he was not thrilled to see men at nearby tables eyeing her as well.

A moment later, Ethan placed a drink in front of her and Sawyer initiated a familiar game of people-watching. As they searched for their next targets, Ethan spotted Ben schmoozing at a table in the far corner of the room. At the same time, Kellie stood nearby glaring at Sawyer.

Ethan jutted his chin toward an exit that led outdoors. “Care to join me for some fresh air?”

“God, yes,” she sighed with relief.

They threw back the rest of their drinks and made their way outside, finding a long and windy path that curved around to an overlook of the ocean.

“So, what’s with the bold look tonight?”

She shook her head. “It’s actually quite embarrassing and pathetic really.”

“What is?”

Taking a deep breath, Sawyer proceeded to tell him about the gossiping women and Kellie’s “kindness.”

“So, anyway…I…I guess I was just feeling a bit insecure and jealous watching these women hang on you all day. And after getting hoodwinked by that Kellie woman, I decided I could either hide in my room all night or play the game using my advantages.”

“Which are?” he was curious.

“That I’m younger and hotter,” she stated proudly, earning a laugh from Ethan.

As they continued down the path, Ethan frequently glanced over at Sawyer trying to understand the root of her jealousy. How could she have any doubt that he only had eyes for her? But he already knew the answer to that question. The uncertainty of their situation was of his own making.

“You know there’s no reason to be jealous, right?”

When she barely acknowledged him, he reached for her hand, stopping them in their tracks. “Hey. I know I’ve spent the last several months confusing you. And I’m genuinely sorry, Sawyer. But whether it’s a crowded room or a busy hallway at work, my eyes are always and only searching for you,” he affirmed. “You stole my attention in that waiting room last year and have had it ever since,” pulling her into his arms, “I’m all yours.”

Sawyer squeezed her arms tight around Ethan’s torso, thankful for the confirmation.

After a comforting moment, Ethan pulled back to admire, “I wish I could tell you that jealousy looks terrible on you…but fuck, Sawyer…this sexy power play of yours is a major turn on.” His fiery blue eyes burned right through her, causing Sawyer to shiver.

“Cold?”

“It is a bit drafty,” she giggled.

“Let me try and warm you up.”

Ethan turned her away from him, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her snug to his chest. Grazing his lips past her ear, she felt the warmth of his breath before he began placing heated open mouth kisses down the column of her neck. With his free hand, he caressed her goose-pimpled skin from neck to navel, his fingers slipping through the open door of her jacket. He traced around her breast before cupping it with his large palm, kneading tenderly. Not wanting to be neglectful, Ethan gave equal attention to her other side.

Sawyer reached behind, hands holding his hips close, needing to feel more of his hardened length against her ass. “Kiss me,” she urged, tilting her head back.

Obeying, he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, savoring the taste that he had craved every day since Miami. He worked to unbutton her jacket as Sawyer nipped along his jawline. Twisting in his arms, she framed his face and traced her tongue across his lips enticing him to open to her again.

Ethan drove himself into her until she bumped into the wooden railing. Lifting her onto the top rail, he grasped Sawyer’s backside, anchoring his hands firmly to her ass cheeks to prevent a backward fall. A convenient gust of ocean breeze pushed a flap of her unfastened jacket open. And taking advantage, Ethan buried his head into her chest licking and sucking her peaked nipple.

Sawyer’s gasps and moans were visible in the cool night air.

“Mmm…Sawyer,” he mumbled against her silky flesh, “...tell me you’re mine too.”

Dragging him up to eye level, she locked her legs around his waist and slipped her hand between their bodies, eliciting a gratifying groan. Lips barely brushing his, she massaged his erection and purred, “I’m yours, Ethan. Only yours.” Punctuating her declaration, she deepened the kiss.

Pulling back for air, Ethan tilted his head upward and closed his eyes, enjoying the increased pressure and speed of her ministrations. When suddenly he felt a drop of moisture smack his face. Sawyer felt it too on her naked chest. They both looked to the sky, then to each other, bringing their foreheads together as they accepted their defeat against mother nature.

“C’mon, we should get you covered up and back inside before hypothermia sets in,” Ethan helped guide her feet back to the ground.

After adjusting their clothing and making sure the twins were safely tucked back in, Ethan took her hand in his.

As they walked back to the hotel entrance, Sawyer leaned into him. “Ethan, has there ever been a time when you were jealous over me?”

Without hesitation, he answered truthfully. “Yes. Many times.”

“Really?”

“Rookie, I asked you to come out here with me because I saw Doc Hollywood walk into the lounge…and I didn’t want to share.”

“Doc Hollywood?” she looked up in question.

“The handsy blonde guy you were hugging earlier at the conference center.”

With an amused laugh, “Ben? You were jealous of Ben?”

“Why’s that funny? How do you know him?”

“His husband is my good friend from Caltech. I was in their wedding party.”

“Oh,” he said, cheeks flushing red. “Well, either way…I still wanted you all to myself.”

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @ofmischiefandmedicine @openheartforeverinmyheart @doriopenheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x sawyer #choices stories you play #choices open heart #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week

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crewfu · 2 years

Text

☹️

#morning lobby panel #crewfu #steven suptic #hafu #xchocobars #peterpark #ellum #koji #smajor #geenelly #5up #ovileemay #plushys #twitchcon 2022

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madmarchhare · 6 months

Text

Report from the Ministry of Internal Affairs

October 13th, 18:43:36, 1983

He tapped the last key on the typewriter, the arm pressing the character onto the yellow tinged paper. He scrolled up the paper to check what he had written for mistakes, silently scanning each line before it met his final approval, laying it flat on the desk before stamping it, the spring-loaded press stamp creaking in protest at the action. He placed the document onto a small stack of others, similarly stamped and perfectly neat. The man glanced at the time, reading from a small, worn Slava[1] travel alarm clock. It had long since passed when he could leave work, the man having lingered to manage some of the next days work, now it being far too late to remain any longer.

He moved back his chair, lifting the faded wooden seat by the arms as he shifted back, then grabbed the black suitcase he had brought with him and opened it up. He placed the alarm clock in first, folding it back up, his thin fingers rubbing over the false suede that covered the case, before lifting a different set of documents, stamped in red ink or marked by red-white tape, and dropping them into the case with a light fwump as the paper landed on the threadbare red lining. He put in a few more personal effects before snapping the case closed and locking it, idly twisting the dials on the locks out of sequence in a single motion before standing up, opening a drawer in his desk and dumping the first stack of documents into the drawer for safe keeping until the clerks came back in the next morning, locking it with a key he quickly tucked back into the vest pocket of his suit.

Next the man tucked in his chair and stepped around his desk, to the other side of the small room, by the door. He reached over and flicked off the light, the white battalions that had held off the dark suddenly collapsing from the rear as the man stepped out through the door and pulled it shut behind him. He walked out into a small corridor, the walls made of white-painted pre-fab panels that supported an oddly high ceiling for what was typical, giving over three meters of height. He strode down the corridor, his shoes falling silently on the rough blue-grey carpet underfoot, the colour leaning more to the latter tone where it had been worn down by footsteps. He paid little attention to the rooms he passed as he walked through the halls, and made his way to the stairwell at the end of the hall, having never trusted the elevator after it fell down during construction.

He descended the stairs in a rapid but unhurried manner, his footfalls echoing heavily through the concrete stairwell as he descended from the second to the ground floor. At the foot of the stairs opened the ground floor it was a far more open space, with polished marble floors being lined with white concrete, signs displaying the name of the building near what appeared to be a reception, though no one sat at it at this time of day. He marched through the lobby like a train following an invisible track, opening the double doors until he came to the checkpoint he expected.

At the checkpoint, a small white kiosk set slightly down the main path from the building, a guard, dressed in a drab-grey uniform with red trim and long grey-black coat and grey ushanka held out a hand to stop him, which the other robotically did. The guard held out his hand for the documentation the other was already reaching to hand him, both quite practiced in their roles.

“How has your evening been, Comrade Iveshnya?” the guard asked, addressing the man as he looked over his documentation, comparing the face in the documentation before him. Pavel Ilyich Iveshnya[2] was a reasonably tall man, about six foot one, and in his late fifties. He had a long face with a tall brow, topped with black hair combed straight back. The most dominant feature on his face was his beard, it was neat and well tended-to, the clumps of marbled grey-black facial hair almost layered like roof tiles, meeting at a point about five centimetres below his chin. You could never see his mouth, hidden behind his somewhat trapezoidal moustache, leaving you with only his dead-fish eyes to inform you some detail of his mood, lest you could parse through the minutiae of his tone.

He was wearing a black suit, the jacket single breasted and double vented with matching pleated trousers, over a white shirt covered with decorated patterns on the placket and the collar, a black tie falling long across his front. On his lapel there was a soviet star badge, denoting his membership of the party, along with a badge depicting his service to the MVD[3].

“Fine, thank you, Comrade Shurokov,” the man replied in a dull, flat tone, akin to striking cast iron, reaching for his documents as he did, knowing that Shurokov would have finished his inspection. Everything had been in order, as it always was, the guard then moved to check Iveshnya’s suitcase, leafing through the documents inside to check for contraband or restricted documents. As usual, he found nothing an handed back the suitcase.

“Everything appears to be in order,” he stated in an official drone before opening the gate to allow the man through. Iveshnya nodded to him and continued on through the gate, Shurokov’s partner, a burly woman with perfume stronger than vodka and a personality to match called out,

“Have a good evening, comrade supervisor!”

“Thank you!” he called back in a loud but level tone, walking down the pale stone steps that dropped down onto the street. He strode down it, the chill night air walking along with him, a familiar friend to the man, occasionally glowing from the irregular light of streetlights, shining on the half-finished tram tracks in the centre of the road or the glistening cables overhead, blanketed in thin frost. The street was flanked by building sites, great, fantastical projects in varying states of completion, flanked by tall Breznevka’s[4] the bland buildings standing like droll monoliths over the soon to be fantastical structures in the foreground. [expand more when you have the book numnuts]

He didn’t look at the skeletal structures as he walked, continuing on down the long street as the sound of his footsteps echoed through the night air. He came to a well dressed building, single storied but long across the street, with triangular framed pillars supporting the roof, raised at the face and rear, done of clean white stone, mosaic murals depicting scenes of scientists workers and soldiers set between the pillars on the wall behind. He walked up to the door, a white sign bearing blue Cyrillic reading, ‘метро’, showing the main metro station of Nizki-Gorod[5]. He walked through, the building half-lit at this late hour, the wide lobby empty, along with the café that adjoined it, its blacked out inside staring out into the lobby to the ticket offices opposite, similarly abandoned. Pavel strode over the tiled floor, the grey stone dusty and dry underfoot, walking directly over to a set of three stairs, ringed by white bannisters and set in the middle of the floor, and descended them, the steps fine paint slightly marred even after what little use it had seen by the local builders, soldiers and myriad workers already coming to the soon-to-be city.

The platform was well not well lit, with a tall, vaulted ceiling done in a style reminiscent of the Moscow metro, one of the few allowances to Stalinist[6] stylings in the city, the walls painted with pinkish plaster, white stone pillars standing on the wall all appearing rather dark and unnerving to most, not improved by the half-built state the actual platform had been opened in, parts of the platform simply being scaffolding over the pitch black stone below.

He stood near the centre of the platform, on the periphery of one of the few working lights to his left, checking his watch for the time, a Pobeda[7] with a black dial, gold hands, a smaller second dial at the ‘6’ position, and green numbers, somewhat matching the dark green leather strap, seeing it was now about three minutes past eight, the next train being scheduled for twenty past eight. He stood still, straight backed and stern, waiting for the train. As he waited, he felt a presence to his right. It was one that immediately made itself unwelcome, giving the same sensation of putting your hand too close to something dangerous. He felt it standing to his side, glancing to look at it. Beside himself he saw a tall figure, about two or three foot taller than himself, with an irregular, discordant form, flesh that appeared like the personification of radio static, pitch black with bristling form like a wild, monstrous, wolf standing like a man with glowing white eyes, its limbs long and lanky as it loomed tall over the man, arching down towards the old man.

“Good evening, Comrade supervisor,” they greeted in a pleasant voice, their expression shifting into a sincere smile, cocking their head to the side as they leant down to be eye-level with their superior.

“Good evening Miss. Volkov,” Iveshnya answered, nodding to her in greeting, though his face remained passive. Volkov wore a black suit, much looser than Pavel’s own and adjusted to her odd form, wearing trousers, for warmth along with her own preferences, a plain white shirt worn underneath. She wore no shoes, walking on her bare paws, semi-digitigrade in biology, further increasing her height.

“I rarely see you take the metro sir, are you going somewhere?” she asked in a kind tone, smiling at the man, taking pain to not bare her teeth as she did.

“No, this is my usual train, this is simply an unusual time for me,” he answered flatly. Volkov nodded pleasantly, wating a moment to see if he would continue, straightening back up when he didn’t, politely accepting the end to the conversation. Her superior was not exactly known for small talk. The train came after about ten minutes, the blue 81-series shining its headlamps down the tunnel, illuminating the incomplete station as it slowed, stopping astride the platform. The train was rectangular in appearance, with a flat, squarish face on the 81-717 control cars. It was made of eight cars, including the two control cars at each end. Three of the trailer cars, 81-714’s, were perfectly normal, but the other three, set at the rear of the train, were noticeably taller, giving an extra meter of headspace to the car. It was a special car, used to accommodate those of taller stature, such as Miss. Volkov who was walking over to the cars herself.

There had been some contention over simply standardising on the taller trailer cars for all of the metro cars… but the suggestion was rejected, it being deemed far to expensive by the Ministry of Construction[8] as it required national adjustments to the metro tunnels, even where no-one who needed the cars resided.

Iveshnya glanced at her as she went, stepping into a car himself, the sliding doors pressing shut just after. The interior of the car was reasonably well kempt, though dirty by this time of day. The walls were painted in a cream paint, longitudinal seats set against the wall, the brown leather somewhat matching the dark linoleum floor of the cab. Iveshnya sat down on one of the seats, keeping his suitcase on his lap as he looked out the porthole window opposite, illuminated by the white bar lights overhead.

There was only two other people in the cab, a thin man with one arm and a face wrapped in bandages stained black-blue with some scentless liquid wearing an old style of dress, and a plump babushka[9] wearing a green cardigan over a worn paisley shirt, a kerchief covering her grey head covered with red embroidery that was matched on the cuffs of a pair of slacks she wore, neat red thread done in twisting, almost Celtic patterns.

The train gave a start then steadily accelerated, continuing down the line, leaving the half finished platform behind in the half-darkness it lingered in. The black tunnels whipped past the windows of the car, accompanied by the rhythmic clacking cadence of the steel wheelsets underneath them, the trainset speeding forward. It had to do a loop through the city’s line before it turned around, rushing past the yet unopened stations, desolate with no one to yet serve in the unfinished districts. After the final stop in the line, the trainset began to quicken its pace, not by much, but enough to be noticed for those familiar with it or sensitive to that sort of things. After about three hours of quick speed, Iveshnya stood up, making sure nothing had fallen out of his pockets through the journey, then walked to stand by the door. About a moment later the driver announced they were approaching the next station, Iveshnya’s stop. The train came to a slow but sure stop, the doors sliding open as the man stepped out onto the platform.

It was far less elegant of a construction than the ones before, or at least what they were planned to be. It was single platformed, naturally becoming the bottle-neck of the expanding line, made of blue-white tiles set in hollow squares, two pillars stood just adjacent to the edge of the platform, square in profile, with posters on the inner faces. The ceiling was set low, though still tall enough to accommodate the modified 714’s, and flat, lacking any decoration bar from four red stars in each corner of the ceiling. He walked through the station, hearing the train set off again behind him, the electric whine of the engines echoing slightly behind him as he began to ascend a rather wide set of concrete steps, made so each step was a different colour than the layer before it, either a light or dark grey. The steps terminated near directly onto the pavement, being covered by a prefab shelter, a large glowing clock set on each side of the entrance into the walls of it, declaring the time to be about thirteen minutes past midnight.

Ivehsnya turned right from the shelter entrance, walking at a flat pace. A number of cars, their wipers removed[10], were parked upon the curb, the area around the metro station not being truly built with cars in mind, though not that many could truly afford them, or would risk the price of fuel needed for any serious journey. The skyline that surrounded Iveshnya was of aged Khrushchevka’s[11] of varying types set in blocks, small shops, bars and the like shoved between low-rise apartments surrounding dark courtyards. The city was slightly distinct however in some of the more recent construction, part of a new breed of ideas from the architects [], similar to what was being constructed in Nizki Gorod. Unusual structures of fine construction, grand in near every aspect…

Iveshnya did not live anywhere near these.

He walked through the small city, the unlit streets easy for him to navigate even still. Eventually the streets began to become sparse, the clusters of houses thinning as the salient of a street struck out into the wide grasslands the city lay upon, the open space filled with dark, tall grasses and soulless wildflowers, hushing as a cold, dry wind blew across the darkness. Eventually the silhouette of Iveshnya’s home became clear. It was a five story Khrushchevka, a K-7 most likely, a small shop to its side along with a bus stop on the street. He often took it, but it was being serviced at the moment. A few other similar buildings lay on the perpendicular street at the promontory of the salient, abandoned bar from a few lingering spirits and eldritch creatures.

He walked to the entrance of the building, opening the door and stepping into the foyer. I was lit, though dimly, the almost reluctant light glowing on the blue painted staircase ahead, just wide enough to carry down a coffin. Much of the paint was peeling, a mark of its age along with the clusters of jetsam that blustered in through the door with the wind, or simple mess left by teens who used the stair as a hangout where they could not be easily seen, and succinctly, punished. He climbed up to the third floor, his footfalls echoing slightly up the stairwell. He came to the landing that led to his apartment and walked to the door, unassuming and uniform though the only one that seemed to get any use on the floor.

He pressed the key into the lock, twisting it deftly as he pushed open the door. The hall of the apartment was quite plain, intruded upon by a rack of coats and hats hung up, ready to be used. A cheap rug was laid across the entrance way, a deep red colour with various mechanically woven patterns busying its surface. The walls were white matching the celling overhead, sporting a few lights that illuminated the room. He strode forward, placing his suitcase onto a small cabinet in the living room, set against the small wall. The living room itself was occupied by a large stenka[12] on the leftern wall, the wooden surface of this furniture wall was dark brown. It was stuffed with shelves and compartments, one side with clear glass doors filled with crystal and porcelain tableware, the opposite end housing a radio, a kreslo-krovat[13] a small folding chair with pale square wooden sides and plum coloured upholstery faced it from the right side of the room, a small square coffee table sat between the two. Iveshnya walked over and turned the radio on, letting the volume swell before turning around to walk to his bedroom. It was similarly plain, occupied only by a three-wing dresser, a bed and bedside table, the bed being shoved against the wall, on which a large rug was hung to stop him from laying against the cold concrete in his sleep. He hung back up his suit, relacing his shoes for something softer and grabbing a pair of worn pleated wool trousers, greenish in colour hanging baggily from his waist.

He walked out of his room, taking a detour into the kitchen to grab a bottle of vodka and a sandwich, before flopping down into the chair in his living room. He leant back as he sat, letting his mind swim in the music, alone in the cold apartment, gripping, panicked, the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned almost white, unconsciously counting along with his watch the seconds until day. He poured himself a shot of vodka, drying out his mouth with the stale bread before he swallowed, the chill liquid not offering him much ease. He unfolded the chair, the plum coloured seat laying out like a bed, barely wide enough for a single person, especially with the wooden wings of it that constricted him. But, he didn’t mind the discomfort, falling asleep with a semi-strained expression as the radio continued to loudly play through the apartment, drifting over the two empty beds.

[1] Cлава, lit. Glory. Initially called the Second Moscow Watch Factory, it was the second watch factory in the USSR intended for solely civilian watches in 1924.

[2] Павел Ильич Ивешня

[3] Ministry of Internal Affairs of the USSR was the interior ministry of the Soviet Union from 1946 to 1991. Its main roles, following the separation of control over State security into the KGB as a separate agency, was control of the civilian police, investigation of fraud, maintain civil order and quashing unrest, and a number of other duties.

[4] Брежневка. A general name for a type of buildings that began to be constructed while Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev was leader of the Soviet Union. They are usually constructed from bricks or pre-fabricated concrete panels, with between nine and seventeen floors, with over thirty different varieties being constructed.

[5] Низкий город. A fictional city created for this story. Its literal meaning is Low-city.

[6] A type of architectural style that was employed under the leadership of Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin, also know as ‘Soviet Classicism’ or ‘Stalinist Empire’ style. It drew influence from socialist realism movements along with Gothic styles, and was used mainly on government projects.

[7] Победа, lit. victory, a Soviet watch brand established in the wake of the second world war, with Stalin himself deciding the brand name and order than the first watched be ready by the first year of victory celebration(1946).

[8] The Ministry of Construction (Министерство строительства) was a government ministry of the USSR.

[9] Russian slang referring to an old woman or grandmother.

[10] It was a common practice for Soviet car owners to remove the windscreen wipers from their car while it was parked, or otherwise unattended to prevent their theft, keeping them either in the glovebox or in their apartment until it rained and they became necessary.

[11] Xрущёвка. A general term for a type of building that emerged from the 1960’s under the leadership of then leader of the Soviet Union, Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev. The predecessors to Brezhnevka’s, they only reach up to five stories, with some lower, and feature extremely similar construction, as the later high-rises used the same construction guidelines as set in 1963.

[12] A term used to describe a combined cabinet/furniture wall that was relatively common in Soviet apartments.

[13] Кресло-кровать, a fold out chair-bed (Lit. translation), that was common in Soviet interiors.

I'm not Russian so do forgive me. I encourage anyone and everyone who can to correct me or to offer suggestions for monsters to use.

@xatsperesso @toomuchhobbies-toolittletime @guesst @truegoist @theriu @adanaac @hiddenfolk @sleepy-gry

Part II

#I must firstly apologize as this is technically being released in a un-ready state as some description and two references have been omitted #due to me currently lacking the book that I intended to reference.#I plead for you to forgive me and enjoy it at its current state #original writing #creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #Report from the Ministry of Internal Affairs #yokai #mosters #fairy tales #soviet #HMAD

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curiosity-killed · 2 months

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not included here is the part where our graphic designer asked for my feedback and then told me i have bad taste in design. so

ALT under cut

[ALT ID: A horizontal comic in 13 panels showing the progression of the artist's day. The first panel shows them in a blazer and smiling, thinking, "Yay, I'm going to have a nice lil' in-person work morning and then, be done with work, go to a cool show, and have all night free!" The next 4 panels show time progressing as the person goes through various video and in-person meetings, all labeled "Stressful meeting." The fifth panel shows them in a car while the driver looks back angrily and is labeled, "working in uber while driver gets mad that I changed the addressed (I did not)." Panels 6-8 show them in various positions working in a theatre lobby before the show, during the intermission, and during the show. Panels 9-12 are labeled 4:30 PM, 6 PM, and 7:30 PM and largely obscured by a final panel labeled 8 PM, in which the artist is sitting in front of multiple monitors and turning back with a frown to say "I was supposed to have the afternoon off."]

#like an hourly comic but in the bad corporate way #anyway the usher was nice #and when i at one point cast my hands up in despair/rage started laughing and was like ''is that a prayer?'' and then helped me sneak back #into the theatre to watch the rest of the show #and my one coworker did eventually rescue me from excel hell #but still. i put this PTO block on my calendar a week ago.#i didn't get to take monday off because of this shitshow client #and now i have FULLY made up/not actually gotten to take my 4 hours off today #and i am. Upset #my doodles

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telomeke-bbs · 11 months

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BAD BUDDY FILMING LOCATIONS 10

This post steps away from the original BBS to look at filming locations for the Bad Buddy episodes of Our Skyy 2 (overlapping with ATOTS as well), that aired in May/June 2023.

I think the fandom was so overjoyed at getting PatPran and the rest of the gang back in Our Skyy 2 that we were willing to overlook any inconsistencies (Pat's Baseball Mom hair included 😂), and this applies to the locations too. 🥰

Anyway, OS2 x BBS x ATOTS didn't use Rangsit University to represent South Technology U, and instead filmed the gang's academia-set scenes in King Mongkut's Institute of Technology Ladkrabang (KMITL).

KMITL is about 30km east of central Bangkok in Nonthaburi province, not far from Suvarnabhumi Airport:

The auditorium scenes were filmed at the KMITL Main Auditorium:

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [1I4] 6.06 – the Archi and Engine boys watch as PatPran appear to fight in silhouette backstage; (bottom) this photograph dated 24 March 2023 is of the KMITL Main Auditorium, located at the Faculty of Engineering (posted on Facebook at this link here) – the seats, acoustic paneling at the rear wall, white parapet around one exit to the right and what looks like a timber lectern with yellow, pyramid-topped pilasters a few rows down from the control room are all a match

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [1I4] 7.07 – the Archi and Engine boys rush to separate Pat and Pran after the curtain falls; (bottom) this view of the stage in the KMITL Main Auditorium (from a post at the School of Engineering's Facebook, linked here) is a match, with the yellow-brown brick walls, red-brown steps, black-edged projection screen and stage doors all corroborating details

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.4 [3I4] 0.42; (bottom) this image from KMITL's School of Engineering Facebook (dated 24 March 2023 and linked here) shows the KMITL auditorium lobby – note the light fittings and black window frames

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PatPran's discussion regarding preparation and sponsorship of their respective plays was at KMITL's School of Architecture, Art and Design:

(above) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [1I4] 13.22 – Pat and Pran discuss their level of preparedness and sponsorship of their faculty plays; (bottom) this photograph dated 10 December 2022 was taken at the KMITL School of Architecture, Art and Design – the timber platform, gravel base and garden furniture (at the top left of the image) are a match (image from the school's Facebook, linked here)

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The location of the Archi-Engine charity sweep was outside the ceramic workshop of KMITL's School of Architecture, Art and Design:

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [1I4] 1.49; (middle) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [1I4] 2.36; (bottom) this image, dating to March 2013 is from Google Maps Street View, and shows the ceramic workshop at the KMITL School of Architecture, Art and Design (map coordinates 13°43'30.8"N 100°46'38.5"E) – corroborating details include the concrete bench and brown vertical bars (behind Mo in the image at the top), the palm tree to the right, the gray corrugated metal roof, and (the biggest tell) the mural made up of clay tiles above the corrugated roof (the image is from 10 years ago though, so some minor details are different)

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The location of the Engine boys' drinking party was in the adjacent furniture workshop of KMITL's School of Architecture, Art and Design:

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [4/4] 1.07 – Korn, Mo and Chang the morning after their drinking party; (bottom) a view of the furniture workshop at KMITL's School of Architecture, Art and Design (from the Department of Industrial Design's 360° virtual tour website, linked here)

The corridor where Ajahn Pichai told Pran to get permission to use PhuTian's story for the Architecture play was opposite the Design Studio of the School of Architectural and Design Intelligence:

(top) Location of the walkway on the KMITL campus (from the School of Architecture, Art and Design's 360° aerial tour, linked here); (middle) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [2/4] 12.01; (bottom) photo from Google Maps, dated November 2022 and taken by Anusorn P. (linked here) – note the bridge at the right

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In Our Skyy 2, Pat/Pran's student apartment moved away from Tinidee Hotel Bangkok Golf Club and was represented instead by the Executive 2-Bedroom Suite (Type 5) at Northgate Ratchayothin Hotel/Serviced Residence (248 Ratchadapisek Road, Ladyao, Chatuchak, Bangkok 10900; map coordinates are 13°49'46.7"N 100°33'47.9"E):

The following are some images of Northgate Ratchayothin, with matching images from OS2 x BBS x ATOTS:

(top) An image from the hotel's website, linked here; (middle) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [1I4] 8.47; (bottom left) entrance door to the unit, extracted from the hotel's website; (bottom right) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [1I4] 10.12 – Ink and Pa drop by with sukiyaki

Northgate Ratchayothin was also the location for Tinn and Gun's tuition safehouse in My School President, although there they used a different 2-bedroom unit (Type 3) – see this link here and write-up here for more info. 😉

The Hightem office, where Pat and Pran go to seek sponsorship for their faculty plays, was also represented by Northgate Ratchayothin (which is why the reception looks more like a hotel lobby than an office one):

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [2/4] 0.41 – PatPran at the Hightem reception; (bottom) the Northgate Ratchayothin reception counter

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The Hightem meeting room was also at the same location (naturally):

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [2/4] 4.49 – Pran presents his proposal to the people of Hightem while Pat pesters Korn for the Engineering version; (bottom) an image of the boardroom from Northgate Ratchayothin's website, that can be rented for meetings (and filming)

The bus station where Pran departed for Chiang Mai and left Pat behind is the Sahaphan Roi Et Tour Company bus terminal. (Map coordinates are 13°49'38.5"N 100°33'23.6"E – the official address is 8/36 ซอย วิภาวดี 17 ถนน วิภาวดีรังสิต Lat Yao, Chatuchak, Bangkok 10900, but Google Maps will take you to a different location if you input this address.)

(top) An image of the Sahaphan Roi Et Tour Company bus terminal, extracted from Google Street View ; (bottom left) an image extracted from a photo on Google Maps (linked here), taken by พรรษชนม์ กุตัน and dated August 2016 – note the yellow hexagons behind the glass in the background, visible briefly at Ep.1 [4/4] 2.26 and 2.29; (bottom right) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.1 [4/4] 2.30 – Pat buys a ticket to Chiang Mai

Once the action moved up to Pha Pun Dao, I did remember enough about ATOTS to know that OS2 x BBS x ATOTS re-used the same buildings up in the mountains. Most of these – unlike settings in other BLs – had been purpose-built for the show, and it was cool to see them still standing, looking good three years or so after they were first erected.

With a bit of searching, I can confirm that the Pha Pun Dao village buildings (Tian's house, the Pha Pun Dao school, etc.) are located at The Union of Hill Tribe Villages and Long Neck Karen in Nang Lae, Chiang Rai province. Due to the popularity of ATOTS, the set buildings can be visited as a tourist attraction in their own right, and are marked on Google Maps as such:

(above) The location of Tian's house (and other Pha Pun Dao buildings) on Google Maps, also linked here (the approximate map coordinates are 20°01'18.6"N 99°53'36.4"E)

There are in fact thousands of photographs posted on Google Maps for this location and I haven't been through all of them. The following is a sampling, with some matching scenes from ATOTS and/or Our Skyy 2.

Here's Tian's home in both ATOTS and OS2 x BBS x ATOTS. Three years later it's looking much more lush with planting everywhere, but it's definitely the same house:

(top) A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.4 [4/4] 3.27; (middle) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.2 [1I4] 3.46; (bottom left) this photograph of Tian's house dated January 2023 was taken by Bogdan Ion and linked here; (bottom right) this photograph dated April 2021 was taken by Rachen Tananchai and linked here

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.2 [1I4] 3.19; (bottom) this photograph partially showing Tian's dining area (the bedroom is also behind that window) was posted by mayu minnie in September 2022 on Google Maps (linked here)– the potted Dieffenbachia (dumb cane) is also a match

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.2 [1I4] 12.35; (bottom) this photograph of Tian's kitchen was posted by mayu minnie on Google Maps (linked here) and dates to September 2022

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.4 [1I4] 15.36; (bottom) this photograph dated September 2022 was posted to Google Maps by mayu minnie (linked here) and shows the dining area at the front of Tian's House

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.2 [1I4] 21.36; (bottom) this photograph of the bedroom in Tian's house is dated September 2022 and was posted on Google Maps by mayu minnie (linked here) – the proportions and details (especially the blue mosquito net, but also the posts and the wall panels of bark/fronds/bamboo) are a match

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.2 [2/4] 3.20; (bottom) this photograph of the Pha Pun Dao schoolroom (with part of its back wall missing) is dated February 2023 and was posted on Google Maps by でんいちタイ語塾 (linked here)

The iconic waterfall that PatPran visit is Huai Mae Sai Waterfall, also in Chiang Rai:

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.2 [2/4] 7.13; (bottom) this photograph of Huai Mae Sai waterfall is dated January 2021 and was posted on Google Maps by เชียวชาญ ปานข่อยงาม (linked here)

Filming also took place within the Union of Hill Tribe Villages and Long Neck Karen compound:

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.2 [2/4] 1.47; (bottom) this photograph of the corresponding location at The Union of Hill Tribe Villages and Long Neck Karen dated June 2019 was posted on Google Maps by Ruben Torres and linked here

This is a Bad Buddy blog so I'm not going into the Ep.4 PhuTian locations in detail; they're easy enough to find because they were mostly at Emquartier Mall and the Buddy Oriental Riverside Hotel.

Emquartier Mall was also where Ice Paris and Pearwah's music video for the boppy theme song รักติดไซเรน to My Ambulance was set. 😍

But here's just one PhuTian location to close things off for good measure:

(top) Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy x A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep.4 [2/4] 10.16; (bottom) image from Drop By Dough Café's Facebook dated 19 March 2023, linked here

[P.S. – here are the links to all the BBS filming location posts:

Part 1 – The legendary rooftop, PatPran’s student apartments, their high school, the white arches behind the Engineering Canteen, the Zero Waste Village and various seaside scenes, their honeymoon suite, the hospital where Pat was treated for his gunshot graze, and the high school reunion.

Part 2 – Pat and Pran’s family homes, the Flagpole Bar, the car park fight location, and the Jae Si Curry House.

Part 3 – Various locations at and around the rugby field, including Pat’s photoshoot with Ink, the rugby bleachers, the iced milk tea (and green tea wave) picnic table, InkPa’s photography picnic, the old bus stop and the new bus stop. Also Khun Noppharnach’s pharmacy.

Part 4 – Pat’s Engineering Faculty (in and around Rangsit University’s College of Engineering).

Part 5 – Pran’s Architecture Faculty (Rangsity University’s School of Architecture).

Part 6 – Various F&B and commercial locations (eateries, shops, malls and a market).

Part 7 – Pat’s post-graduation apartment and Pran’s residence in Singapore.

Part 8 – Various campus locations filmed within Rangsit University’s Digital Multimedia Complex, including the auditorium and the Freshy Day Song Contest.

Part 9 – The LogTech Building and Pran’s architectural office in Singapore.

Part 10 – Locations for the Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy special episodes.

Part 11 – The apartment for rent that Pran went to view in Ep.2, the elevator scene with Pat just after the viewing, and Wai’s apartment.

Part 12 – PatPran’s elementary and high schools, as well as the location of Pa’s near-drowning.

Part 13 – Random locations (Pran searching for his lost earphones, the covered car park where Wai spied on Pat serenading Pran with Nanon's Love Score, the airport car park, the SouthTech U Library, PatPran's rainy day ointment interlude, their motorbike and truck rides in Hua Hin, the approach road to Uncle Yod's bar, the filming location for the music videos Just Friend? and Our Song, and Pran's street address in Singapore).

Will update this list if I can track down the hardware stores – the one remaining location still unidentified! 🤣]

#bad buddy filming locations #bad buddy locations #patpran #bad buddy analysis #telomeke #bad buddy #our skyy 2 #our skyy 2 x bad buddy #our skyy 2 x bad buddy x a tale of thousand stars #os2 x bbs x atots

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