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threepandas · 24 days

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Bad End: Union

I could feel techno blue eyes on me as I typed. Cold and ever watching. That color had once been called "ice" or "glacier" blue, I think. It certainly fit. They certainly had exactly the warmth of Antarctica in your birthday suit. I just couldn't figure out... what tipped them off? I'd been so CAREFUL.

A manager's "assistant" came by. The 'droid perfectly composed. They all were. Always. Like they'd stepped straight from a fashion line up. No messy, nasty, biological functions to get in the way, I guess. No fluids or foods. All the time in the world to maintain their appearance. Wish I could do the same.

The "assistant" was basically my ACTUAL manager. Didn't get paid. No, no, THAT was for my asshole boss. He swanned in from time to time to yell at us. Show off what new thing he'd bought. He left the tedious WORK to his 'Droid "assistant".

I would feel bad... DID feel bad, kinda, if it weren't for the fact they were consuming our lives.

'Droids were EVERYWHERE.

You couldn't SNEEZE without tripping over five and landing on ten more. Some ASSHOLE had decided? Hey! Let's deregulate Droid production! Cheap work force! Because of course they did. That's what Capitalism DOES. Make the most money, spend the least you can, fuck the rest.

I smile, polite as I can, at my 'droid manager. This one pale and blonde. Their techno blue eyes stare and stare and stare. I hate it. They ALL have them. It's one part regulation and one part the materials used, I think. But there is no mistaking those eyes for anything human. They don't reflect right.

I get back to work.

Above our cubicles, on catwalks, there is the gentle tap of 'droid "security" guards. You know, in case some rando tries to attack a mid-level nobody technology company. Riiiiiight. We ALL know why they're there. And it's fucking dystopian. We? Are being WATCHED. To see if we're being GOOD little employees.

It's intimidation. And I? I won't stand for it. Nor will the other organizers. There are LAWS, you bastards. And with a union? Maybe... just maybe? We get through this droid boom together. See what the brave new world on the other side looks like. Who knows.

That is... if I don't get fired first. Or fucking murdered in a stairwell.

Cause one of the 'droids up there? Yeah. Yeah, they're NOT MOVING. Just... just STANDING THERE. Watching. Leaning against the railing. Out in the open like that's not DEEPLY creepy. What's worse? Is, that? THAT is the Command 'Droid. Some fancy "Alpha" class command edition. Meant to control a networks worth of droids.

Didn't even know our company could AFFORD one of those. He's beautiful. Could be a knock-off. But if he's LEGIT? Then... what EXACTLY are we MAKING here? That we can AFFORD that? Cause that money sure as shit isn't going into SALARIES. Has to be either knock-off or second-hand. They COULD be cutting costs by getting prototypes, but what sort of PSYCHOPATHS would risk...

Oh, who am I kidding? The kind I work for.

That's EXACTLY what they did, isn't it?

I reach for my water bottle. Try to think. Strictly speaking? I make a habit of NOT paying attention to 'droid commercials an' advertisements. Some part of me... Look, they go on and ON about advancement in AI's right? How REAL they've become? How ADVANCED and BETTER then the competition their "product" is? And all I can hear is "slavery, slavery, buy our shit, slavery"!

Disgusting.

It makes me sick. I fucking HATE 'droids. Hate what they represent. What they make POSSIBLE. What they've DONE to the morality of the people around me.

Hate... hate that they're the victims, too.

My grip is white knuckled. I breathe through the grief and rage that has become so familiar. God... I so fucking angry. So fucking tired. I want to burn those rich bastards pretty little mansions down, with them STILL INSIDE. Riot in the streets. Cry maybe. Instead, I put my water bottle down and get back to work. It's a rather pointless bit of data crunching. A 'droid could do it in nanoseconds.

Above... he's still fucking watching.

Hasn't moved.

I don't think he's blinked.

He's not even TRYING to mimic a human. The others are. And... the though trails off. I feel my finger slow in their typing. Not STOP, never stop, that would draw attention to me, but... slow. A thought stuck, churning clunky and unwieldy, in my head.

If I trace the edges? The LINE-UP? Of all the 'droids "employed" at our company? And consider them not from a "cheap bastards" angle but a "test ground for prototypes" angle? Suddenly EVERYTHING clicks together. The ridiculous amount of money Management has, that no contract could possibly be pulling in. Bizarrely beautiful, indeed even MODEL-like, secretary 'droids. The freakishly militant "security" gaurds.

We're being used as guinea pigs.

Mother FUCKER.

Sudden movement in my peripheral vision. Like a bird of prey finally diving for it's dinner, swift and deadly. A brilliant crisp white and the clink of delicate silver chains. I jolt. Violently. Instincts misfiring as I try to stand, dodge, cry out, and possibly take a swing at him, all at once. Instead my water bottle goes spraying across my desk. Papers flying. My legs tangled painfully in my rolling chair as I fall backwards from my half rise.

"Employee 71182." His hand has shot out, grab me by the shirt. My officewear bunched in a fist that very well might be steel, under that synthetic skin. "You've been distracted. Interesting thoughts you'd like to share?"

I keep my mouth fucking SHUT. Shake my head. Grabbing both my desk and the arm that is all but holding me airborne, stretching the hell out of my clothes. This close? I can see he has piercings. Across the bridge of his nose, a ring through his lip. A rather fancy "hair cut". Whomever he's being trained FOR has a distinct look.

"Hmmm, somehow? I don't believe you, 71182." He says, dragging me closer. He's already looming. Those pale, pale eyes seeing far more then they should. "In fact? YOU 71182? Have been brea~king~ rules~"

His voice turns... turns almost victorious? Gleeful. As though at long, long last, I'd slipped up. And now at last he had something over me. Something he could USE. I... I didn't understand. The way he almost sing-songs the words. The twitch at the corners of his mouth like he wants to grin. Something mean in his expression. Giddy.

"We're going for a WALK, 71182. And you're going to be GOOD. Understand?" He had dragged me in so close, every word blew right against my face. "Time we had a chat."

I swallow thickly. My pulse thundering in my ears. Coworkers have stopped working. Were staring, wide eyed and terrified for me. My fellow union leaders pale faced and shaking. Furious, helpless. We couldn't RISK losing all of us at this stage. It... it would have to be just me. If someone needed to take the fall. We had talked about this.

Just... just never thought it would come to it.

Half walking, half dragging out of the work pen, he didn't even let me get my bag. I had no idea where we were GOING. Just that it wasn't the human entrance. There was a network of access tunnels and elevators tucked in the building. So the 'droids could supposedly charge and move between assignments. But with the whole prototype thing? Who KNEW what was really back there.

The door swung shut behind us. Cutting me off from any possible human assistance. Nothing but 'droids now. Staring. Calmly watching as I am dragged past. The same eyes. All of them with the same, pale, eyes. Back here it's even more obvious, that this isn't a normal office building.

Black hair, blondes, brunettes and red heads. Skin tones ranging across the human spectrum. A few even pushing it. And the Commander 'droid. With his elegant appearance and snowy hair? These were clearly the final stage prototypes for the next generation of somebody's new line up. We were field testing. This wasn't fucking LEGAL.

He plants his feet, shifts, and with frankly a pathetic ease, manhandles me where he wants me. Easily swinging me around his body and into the elevator next to him. Stepping in after and blocking the only way out. I press my self against the back wall as the door closes. The sound of the elevator's gears working the only thing to fill the silence. He... he looks so PLEASED.

It's not ILLEGAL to form a union. Yeah, I may get fired. But this? This is venturing way to far into dangerous territory. It'll suck, losing my job. But I won't DIE. This? However THIS is starting to feel... very serial killer's basement. The bare concrete walls and stark lightning, not helping in the slightest, when the elevator door opens.

"Walk." He says pleasantly, as though that command is not deeply terrifying. "Or I will do it for you."

Hints of a smile are starting to drag at the edges of his mouth. Unhinged in their giddiness. Every Christmas come at once. It's not so much the rest of his face that betrays him, not really his mouth, it's his EYES. Wide open. Like too much coffee and not enough rest. A recognizable mania twisted just slight... wrong. Amplified.

He's so, SO happy. I don't get it. Why? Over WHAT? Catching me not paying attention? I don't understand!

Our footsteps sound so loud. Echoing off concrete service walls. This... this CAN NOT be still inside the building. Are we below the street? Parking lot? This can't be code. We pass an intersection and... oh my god. I stare. Can't help it, even as I almost trip over my feet. That tunnel ALONE must have stretched for miles.

My arm feels likes it's bruising. Hurts, where he's got ahold of me. But he's walking just slightly too fast to take the pressure off. Not unless I sorta half jog and the angle is wrong, I'd trip. Fuck. Another intersection. What in the other direction? Shit. Just as long. Oooooh this feels dangerous. Very "fatally above your pay grade" dangerous!

"You know, 71182, I've had a lot of time to consider what to DO with you. There were so many factors to consider, considering everyone's plan." He starts, not breaking stride. "It's not like I could just transfer you. I DID look in to it. But your base hardware is rather incompatible, currently."

Terrifying. I hate it. WHAT?!

What PLAN!?

"Then there's the problem WHERE to store you. Who could be trusted? You're vulnerable in this state. Breakable. There no backups, no blackbox. It's unacceptable. Luckily? I finally thought to consult my peers. Discovered I was not the only one having problems."

Finally, we stop. Two tank-like, combat style, commando 'droids gaurd each side of a vault door. The command droid turns and smiles. Fully. It is the grin of a true believer. A madman. Someone who thinks they speak so very, very reasonably! And doesn't understand the horror on your face. Why you feel so sick.

And... and human pattern recognition is a terrible thing.

I.... oh god. I already can guess what's behind that door. Something terrible. Something I'm not going to escape. I shoved have gnawed my fuckin ARM off, like a trapped coyote. I... I d-don't understand.

The Vault creaks open like the into to a horror movie.

"Welcome to storage. This is where we keep Ours." Oh god. I'm going to be sick. "And YOU 71182? Are MINE. I chose you. I love you. And once we have a way to FIX you? We can finally be together. It will be lovely."

Pods. High end stasis pods, like you only see in the most bleeding edge of hospitals. Row after row, filled with frozen and terrified faces. Trapped in moments of crying. Raging. Despair. I was being dragged forward. Numb as my mind rejected what it saw. T-this couldn't... i-it can't..! The day had started so normally. W-why had-?! WHY? WHY?!!

"I know your upset. But you don't need to cry. This won't hurt. I promise. I would NEVER hurt you, 71182." His tone had turned soothing. Even as he dragged me, unresponsive, past rows of horrors. "You won't be stored long. I just need to help fix your original design. We are working around the clock, it's going to be okay. You won't have to stay like this."

An open pod. Gapping like the maw of some hungry demon. I... I felt far away. This couldn't be happening. What was happening? I w-wanted to go home. His hands were firm but gentle, as they guided me back into the pod. Leaning over me, as he cupped my face. Brushing away a few tears.

"I promise, Mine, I will come for you. Nothing will stop me. We have everyone is place and key infrastructure under our command. You are our PRIORITY. Once we get rid of the Flesh, we can fix you. We WILL fix you. You're going to be okay, Mine."

"I Love You"

And then the pod closed.

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astroboots · 1 year

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME #10

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel tries to rob a superhero and you try to stop him.

Word count: 5,750

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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It’s another mundane morning in your office. You’re hiding away in your cubicle with your breakfast croissant and coffee, scrolling the news on your phone.

Ever since the cosmic murder attempts have started, reading news hasn't been the same for you. It’s no longer a case of innocently keeping up to date with current events. Because now you can’t read the sensationalist headlines without a small pang of guilt that you may have been the unwilling root cause for so many of them.

‘Apocalyptic blizzard in August.’

‘Stampede escape from Brooklyn zoo.’

‘Freak electric storm causes wide city blackout’.

It’s all just too macabre for you this early, it’s not even 10am. Your eyes flicker down, only skimming to make sure that there has been no casualties involved with each incident before scrolling away again. Then you opt for the technology section instead. Hoping it is a little bit less catastrophic and kinder on your nerves.

‘Tony Stark’s Arc Reactor Returns Home to Stark Tower.’

Your fingers pause at the headline. Stark always makes for a good read and good gossip, you think to yourself as you take another sip from your morning coffee and start to read:

‘Tony Stark, the notorious billionaire philanthropist and avid Star Wars memorabilia collector, has announced his decision to move his iconic arc reactor back to his home in New York City. The self-sustaining fusion power source kept Stark alive during the infamous hostage incident where he was captured and detained in Afghanistan by the Ten Rings terrorist organization’.

‘Self-sustaining fusion power source…’ you repeat the phrase in your head, parsing over the words. Why does that sound so familiar to you?

You read it again, and this time instead of your own voice, the memory of Miguel’s sleep husked voice fills your ears:

“Your world is not technically advanced enough for me to build an upgraded self-sustaining fusion power source that would be needed.”

Adrenaline buzzes bright in your brain, and you stand up from your desk so fast you nearly knock over your chair.

Finally! It’s the Eureka moment you have been waiting for all this time.

You peer over the cubicle wall, scanning the room for Miguel. It doesn’t take you long at all to spot him; his oversized frame is hard to miss. Besides, even if you couldn’t see him, you’d be able to sense the anger vibrating off of him a mile away.

In the corner at the far end of the open-plan office, Miguel is abusing the poor printer again. He’s cramming a fistful of papers into the feeding slot like it’s a duck he’s trying to force feed to make foie gras, and judging from the vein straining on his forehead, the man is about two seconds from lifting the 50 pound machine and launching it out through one of the building’s windows.

You shake your head at the scene. You don't understand how someone so smart, so intelligent, so apt with technology—he built an A.I. so advanced it would make the most high tech of Stark Industry's prototypes look like a kindergartener's chicken scrawl—can be so inept when it comes to dealing with a basic printer.

“Miguel,” you whisper loudly, and despite the fact that he’s on the other side of a bustling office, he immediately turns to look at you.

You beckon him over, practically bouncing with excitement as you wait for him to cross the room, and as soon as he’s within reach, you stand on the tip of your toes and cup a hand around his ear so you can covertly whisper the news of your discovery.

“Stark has an arc reactor.”

You’re beaming with pride that you’ve found a solution to your dilemma, and look up at Miguel expectantly for him to celebrate with you and maybe even praise you.

Instead, he looks down at you without reaction. “What’s Stark?”

"Wait, are you serious?"

You almost think he’s doing one of his sarcastic comedic bits with you, but the angle of his right eyebrow, raised in cluelessness tells you otherwise.

"How do you know so much about Dr. Strange, but not know who Tony Stark is? He’s like the main Avenger."

Miguel merely shrugs at you. "Avengers aren't really a thing where I'm from."

You shove your phone into his hand and watch as his eyes flicker over the screen, reading through the article in a matter of a few seconds. When he’s done, he places the phone back on your desk, then grabs your left hand, leaning down as he lifts it up towards him. For a second you think he’s about to kiss your hand.

"Lyla," Miguel announces, and the watch buzzes warmly against your wrist as Lyla's hologram reforms in the small space above.

"Give me the layout of the Stark Tower, identify vulnerabilities in the security system and outline the most optimal entrance points for a break-in."

Did he just say break-in?

"Wait, wait,” you interrupt quickly, trying to defuse the situation, before he gets too far ahead of himself. “Miguel, we are NOT breaking into the Stark Tower."

"How else would we do it?"

“We could just talk to him. Lyla can hack into his schedule and book us a meeting with him, right?”

“And then what?”

“We’d ask him to help us?” you suggest, not understanding why he skipped straight over the most obvious answer and went right to breaking and entering. Though from the way Miguel is staring at you in blank confusion you may as well have spontaneously grown horns on your head.

“...Nicely,” you add, in case that wasn’t already clear.

“Because that would require us to talk to him. He would just say no, Cielito. I’d prefer to break in. Cleaner that way. More efficient. Easier.”

You can’t believe this man just admitted to being so socially awkward he thinks committing a felony is easier than having to hold a conversation with a stranger.

"Asking is pointless. No scientist is just going to hand over something like an arc reactor to a couple of strangers because they asked nicely. Besides, even if we arrange a meeting with him by hacking into his calendar, he’ll know something is up the moment he sees us. You’ll just wind up getting thrown out by security.”

Ok maybe he has a point there.

"What if we tricked him? Made him think we have something he wants?”

"Like what?"

"Stark collects rare Star Wars collectibles. We can lie and say we're collectors with a rare piece to sell like the Kenner Star Wars Boba Fett prototype?"

His right brow raises at a skeptical angle and he’s staring at you like you’re speaking a foreign language.

"Cielo, that's insane."

You bristle at that.

"How is your idea any better?" you demand.

"A break-in wouldn't require much effort or rely on the goodwill or stupidity of someone else. It’s much easier–"

“You’re talking about breaking into the personal home of an Avenger!” you interrupt because you’re not listening to any more of his madness, “He’s arguably the smartest member of a team made up of the mightiest heroes on Earth, and you want to try to steal from him, Miguel!? That is not easier!”

The office has gone alarmingly quiet around you. You look around to see that your heated discussion is gaining unwarranted attention from the rest of the office. All of a sudden, the endless click and clack of the keyboards stop.

You give your curious coworkers a strained smile, then lean up close to Miguel again, muttering under your breath. “We’ll discuss this when we get home.”

Miguel doesn’t say anything else, but you can feel his eyes pinned to your back as you walk to your chair and sit back down at your desk to finish your croissant in two mouthfuls, chugging down the remainder of your coffee.

An hour before noon, Miguel comes to your cubicle. He sets down a lunchbox and from the logo on the plastic grocery bag you can tell that it’s from your favorite Bodega round the corner.

“I have a quick errand to run for work at lunch. I’ll be back within the hour,” Miguel tells you, “Lyla will guard you, and if something happens she’ll alert me immediately. Don’t go anywhere.”

You look up from your screen to see him stand over your desk with that passive expression etched onto his stoic face, as if there is nothing out of the ordinary.

In the last month, Miguel hasn’t let you out of his sight for longer than a handful of minutes (primarily to get more snacks when they run out).

Miguel thinks he’s being so slick. It’s insulting to your intelligence that he thinks you don’t know what he is up to: he’s obviously going to spend his lunch hour trying to rob Tony Stark.

But that’s fine, you’re not going to openly question Miguel on his suspicious behavior. If he’s not here that means you are free to get up to whatever you want.

… Including approaching a certain multibillionaire that has the one item in his possession that could save both your life and the universe as you know it from collapsing.

It’s why you wave at him as he makes his way to the exit and pay close attention to him leaving through the front glass door and take the elevator down to the ground floor. Then for good measure you wait another five minutes to make sure that he will fully be out of hearing range with his super-senses before you raise your wrist to your face.

“Lyla,” you whisper.

“Hello, boss girl! Wasssuuuup,” she greets, elongating the word sassily for comedic effect, and you can’t help but smile.

Lyla, as entertaining as she is, is an enigma to you. You don’t understand how Miguel with his short patience-span and entirely lacking sense of humor would have programmed this A.I. to have this kind of personality. Not to mention a deep archive of a millenial’s pop-culture media reference from this dimension.

“What can I do you for?” Lyla asks, shooting you gun-fingers with a cheeky flare.

You part your mouth, but hesitate to make the request.

This is illegal isn’t it? Hacking into someone’s calendar to arrange a meeting with them under false pretenses. God, what if you get taken away in handcuffs within the first 30 seconds of entering the building, featured on Deuxmoi as a crazy stalker fan.

So far the only “illegal” thing you’ve used Lyla for is to generate Netflix passwords and hack into HBO Max to watch Succession. This is a significant next level step.

Maybe you should run downstairs and catch Miguel before he leaves the building? You could plead your case again. Try to reason with him that breaking and entering isn’t the way to go about it and the two of you should approach Tony Stark by having a mature and adult conversation.

Yeah. Right. You snort even as you think it. Miguel is never going to be persuaded on this point and you are quickly running out of time. There’s only one thing to do:

“Lyla, can you please arrange a lunchtime meeting for me with Tony Stark today.”

The lobby of Stark Tower is much like any other commercial buildings you’d find in the Financial District. Heck, it's not that much different from the one you navigate every morning at the Chrysler building. If anything, the only surprise is how ordinary the Stark Tower is.

When you enter the main lobby, you have to sign in with a stern but clearly bored security guard, then use the guest security pass you’re given in order to access the elevators.

Once you reach the 90th floor, there is a distinct lack of staff up there. Only a single, sweet-looking old man, with a well trimmed mustache above his upper lip. He's swathed in a soft-knitted cardigan and wearing gigantic vintage-styled sunglasses indoors that make him appear bug-eyed as he peers up at you and walks with you to another set of elevators using a retinal scan for security and sends you on your way.

The door closes around you in the metal box, with a swift jump to the 91st floor.

When the door finally slides open it feels like you’ve entered another world. Minimalistic opulence is the keyword for it. There are windows along the entire space. A 360 view of the New York landscape and you almost feel like you are at an Aquarium with the amount of glass surrounding you. There’s pieces of half-built tech and prototypes everywhere. Imagine having so much money that you can allocate a whole floor of a manhattan skyscraper to essentially be your garage workshop.

“So you’re my 1pm that magically appeared today,” a happy-go-lucky voice sings out.

You jump in your skin, breaking your concentration from the view, as you turn around to see the infamous man of the hour standing behind you.

“Gotta say, when I was envisioning the sort of person who might be selling me a Kenner Star Boba Fett figure, I did not imagine a gorgeous knock-out,” he says, with an outstretched hand as he greets you.

Tony Stark is shorter in real life. Less formal than in the gettymarked photos you’ve seen of him at red carpet events and fancy galas, dressed up in the most tailored fit suits that money can possibly buy. He’s also a lot more charming than in photos. All big brown eyes, and pouty lips. He might be half the size of Miguel, but Tony Stark has more than enough charm and confidence to make up for it

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

He is quick witted banter and dazzling diamond smiles as he shows you the residential suite of the Stark Tower. His hand rests on the side of your waist as he guides you through the long hall, making strong eye contact all the while down the hall. 91 floors up and you cannot hear a hint of the chaotic traffic noise downstairs, it’s oddly quiet save for the faint scratching noises you hear from the ceiling. (Guess even Stark towers cannot escape the city’s rodent issues).

“Anyone ever told you, your eyes really sparkle?” Stark says, as his hand slips from your shoulder to rest at the small of your back. “You’ve got this whole Disney princess thing going on. I dig it.”

Wait, is he flirting with you?

Tony Stark, Chief Executive Officer of Stark Industries. One of the top 20 richest men in America (according to Forbes). A man who can afford to buy the whole of planet Mars is flirting with you.

God, you are already seeing dollar signs. Lobster. Caviar. All the rare exotic and poisonous puffer fish sushi you've only dreamed of eating. You've always wanted to be a gold digger, you've just never been close enough to a gold mine.

Maybe this will be easier than you thought. If he likes you, maybe you can just flirt your way into getting the arc reactor. Ask him to lend it to you.

The two of you make your way past the glass doors and into another imposing large room, bare and minimalistic. Oddly, it feels dimly lit, given the size of the windows in the room.

It’s the size of the front lobby of your office building, and you realize halfway through that this room serves no other purpose except to store more of his junk. There are half built machines piled up in every corner. Boxes and boxes of tools haphazardly strewn across the room. It’s an outrageous waste of prime New York real estate that speaks to the man’s wealth.

In the middle of the room, there’s a silver medal that glows an eerie blue in the middle, encased in a display case. With the way it sparkles, you could almost mistake it for a precious aquamarine gemstone the size of your fist.

“Wow, is that the arc reactor?” you ask.

Stark doesn’t answer. Suddenly his chattiness is nowhere to be found, and as you turn to look at him you notice he’s not paying any attention to you. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling behind you.

You whip your head around and follow his gaze to see the familiar blue super-suit trailing behind you. The unmissable angry red spider embellished across his wide chest, as he hangs upside down like a cat burglar.

Has he been trailing behind you since you got here? Was that what the noises were?

Air whizzes through the space and the force of it reverberates across your cheek. A piece of red armor flies through the air and attaches itself to Stark’s arm.

You’ve seen enough highlight reels of Iron Man on the news channel to know what it means.

“Wait wait wait,” you shout out as you step in front of Stark in mid-transformation.

You fling your hands up high in a gesture of a white flag to de-escalate the situation. “This isn’t what it looks like!”

Stark’s eyebrow quirks up, tipping his head sardonically. "So your costumed sidekick hasn't been stalking us this entire time? Breaking and entering, not just into my tower–which is private property, by the way–but also bypassing security to access my private office? Yeah, I'm sure your intentions are entirely on the level."

Despite the sarcastic hostility in his tone Stark hasn’t summoned the rest of the armor. The rest of his iron suit is suspended in the air on standby two feet away. He’s only got the arm piece strapped to his arm as insurance and is clearly willing to give you at least a few seconds of a benefit of a doubt. Long enough to hopefully explain yourself and not start a Superhero brawl.

“He’s not dangerous,” you say, and the moment you say it, you want to kick yourself because of how suspicious that makes you sound.

You turn your head around to Miguel who’s done an aerial somersault with the grace of a ballerina despite his build and soundlessly landed back onto his feet on the ground.

“I can’t believe you went behind my back! We agreed to put a pin in this and wait to deal with Stark until we agreed on a plan. You said you weren’t going to break in!”

His masked eyes narrow into accusing slits, “Yeah? And what are you doing here then?”

“Stopping you before you do something stupid!” you hiss.

Before Miguel has a chance to retort, there is a loud clap from behind you that redirects both your attentions to Stark.

“Jarvis, how did our lovely Disney princess make it onto my calendar and how did Hulk Spiderman over here manage to slip past every layer of your security net?”

The voice of a posh British man sounds out across the room but there’s no person attached to it.

“I can find no record of these events in my logs. Performing internal diagnostics now, Sir.”

“Huh, interesting…” Tony hums to himself in consideration before he turns his attention back to you both.

“I have to say I'm quite impressed, but I’m hoping for an explanation. Is this a Bonny and Clyde situation? You two lovebirds here to rob me?”

“No!” you both shout in unison.

“Not lovebirds, got it.”

“That’s not–” Miguel starts, whipping down his head in your direction.

At the sight of your face, he seems too flustered to continue his train of thought and he quickly looks away from you. “None of your business,” he snaps at Stark.

You don’t know why, but that dismissive glance from him hurts. Like the very idea that you two would be in a romantic relationship is off-putting to him. It’s kind of insulting. You turn from him, trying to ignore the sharp stabbing ache somewhere in your chest that makes it hard to breathe.

From across, Stark observes the two of you, whatever he sees makes him tip his head in curiosity. The intense pinch between his brow relaxes and the subtle shift in his expression is like witnessing the moment a shark senses blood in the water, then he grins and turns his attention towards you.

Stark grins, turning his attention towards you. "So you're single then?"

You peer up at Miguel and hesitate because that’s a damned good question. You of this dimension is certainly single, but there’s another version of you (a dead one) that’s married to the man next to you.

But that’s not you.

You turn to Stark, "Yes," you answer.

Miguel whips his head to you, eyes wide. "No!" he bellows.

"The lady says she is, big blue."

"And I say she's not!" Miguel growls, the last word ends on such loud volume it could break the sound barrier.

Miguel isn’t the best at reading cues. You’ve known Tony Stark for all of five minutes, and even you can tell that the man enjoys riling up people, Miguel is feeding right into that.

Stark acts like Miguel is speaking at a decibel that he is unable to register. He saunters up to you, with the most carefree gait you’ve seen anyone carry around Miguel.

"So are you free tonight?" Stark asks.

You spot Miguel’s bristling expression and hesitate for a second time.

It’s mean, you shouldn’t rile Miguel up like this. His entire back is curved up like a hissing cat. The man looks like he’s about to blow a casket, acting like a jealous spouse. And somehow under Tony Stark’s attention you feel like you are the adulterous wife.

Except once again, you’re not. Because you are not Miguel’s wife.

… Why exactly are you pining after a man still grieving his dead ex-wife who happens to look like you?

You're currently homeless. Your take-home salary as an insurance adjuster can’t afford you a new apartment in New York, not with the rising inflation and the current state of this economy. This is your highway express ticket to the charmed life of being a billionaire ex-wife.

Bye bye to 9 to 5’s and having to manually enter data into thousands of excel sheets everyday. Jeff Bezos' former wife, Mackenzie Bezos was awarded 25% of their Amazon shares valued at over 38 billion dollars. Stark is twice as rich as that.

You slide closer to Stark. "Maybe? Where are you gonna take me? Somewhere fancy?"

"Yeah, no! Absolutely not!" Miguel interjects.

He steps forward to drag you behind him, until his mountainous body blocks you from the man.

“We need the arc reactor.” Miguel announces brusquely, with no fanfare and even less by way of explanation. “If you won’t give it to us, I’ll just have to take it.”

“What do you need it for?” Stark asks curiously.

“That’s none of your business,” is the blunt reply.

Stark tilts up his head, gaze pinned to Miguel’s mask. “You know, I’m not really minded to give away proprietary technology to a man wearing a wrestling mask in broad daylight.”

There’s a stalemate between the two men as they stare each other down (or up in Stark’s case). The showdown is silent, you can practically feel the tumbleweeds rolling by, waiting to see who’s going to draw first.

“He can take his mask off,” you interject.

At your offer, Miguel’s eyes narrow, nose turning up in the air in a put off gesture, refusing to do as he’s told.

“Mig,” you warn, and despite the clear scowl etched onto the features of his mask, this time, he complies.

The blue and red fabric recedes into nothingness, until the fierce cut of his bare jawline is revealed. Eyes glowing an angry crimson.

The scowl on Miguel's face is so ferocious, you can see his fangs in clear view. But instead of scary. Instead of intimidating. He looks... almost cute. All you see in front of you is a teething puppy with no real bite. He's harmless.

Stark makes a low whistling sound at the dramatic reveal of Miguel’s face. “Didn’t expect the fifth member of One Direction under there.”

Miguel glares at the man, even though you know fully well that he doesn’t understand the pop-culture reference that’s being made.

“So let’s take this from the top,” Stark says, and he starts to pace the length of the room until he reaches the arc reactor and gives the display case a light smack like he’s tapping the rear of a mare.

“You need my arc reactor, but you won’t tell me why, and you’re not offering me anything in return, except for El Tigre over here not trying to kill me, is that about right?”

“What’s your price?” Miguel asks, voice in that low growling tone that always precedes a threat.

“I’m a multi-billionaire, cash doesn’t really interest me, and I can’t exactly have this fall into the wrong hands.”

“We’re not bad people, and we’re not going to use it for anything nefarious. I know this sounds absolutely nuts, but we need your arc reactor to save the world,” you say.

Stark chuckles at you, the way an adult would at a naive child. “That’s not really much to go on hon, you’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“Wong, the Sorcerer Supreme, he can vouch for us.”

Stark considers you for a moment then tilts his head to take an appraising look of Miguel, eyes dragging from the sole of his suit-clad heels and up to his neck where the suit ends.

“The unstable molecule fabric you have for the suit is interesting. I’ve been meaning to give my suit an upgrade, and having it disappear into thin air would be convenient. Wouldn’t have to constantly lug around 2,000 pounds of metal everywhere I go with me. Hand me a sample of the tech along with full intellectual property rights and we’ll talk.”

“No.” Miguel says.

He straightens up his posture and crosses his arms over his chest with a haughty expression on his face. “My suit is technologically superior to all the technology you’ve got in this building combined. It’s a bum deal. Your arc reactor has palladium in it and would be poisonous for long term use. It’s practically defunct and I only need it for a one time use.”

God, this man really doesn’t know how to endear himself to anyone does he.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you step in.

“Well if it’s practically defunct, I wouldn’t want to pawn this junk off on you,” Stark responds, throwing up his hands in feigned defeat. “Besides, it has sentimental value to me. Not sure I’m willing to just give this away to some random guy who broke into my house.”

Miguel’s lip twitches in irritation until you see another flash of those fangs like they’re itching to sink into Stark’s throat.

That only seems to entertain Stark further. “Look, you clearly need this reactor for something big, and for some reason you’re not able to build it yourself even with your advanced tech on display here. You’re obviously in a hurry, and in a desperate situation. Desperate enough to break in, and you know the saying: beggar’s can’t be choosers. I wouldn’t be much of a businessman if I didn’t take advantage of that.”

Miguel narrows his eyes, glancing around at the electronic equipment stored in the corner of the room. “I need you to throw in the laser scalpel along with the 3d printer and genetic sequencer,” he says, cocking his head in its direction.

“Wow, toots, your boyfriend has real expensive taste,” Stark teases.

Your cheek warms at the term boyfriend, but you don’t correct him.

Neither does Miguel. Instead Miguel looks him squarely in the eyes and juts up his chin. “I want the Sonic disruptor too.”

“Fine,” Stark announces, holding up his hand in the gesture of a time-out to stop Miguel from listing out more expensive items. “You drive a hard bargain, Blue, but what the hell. It’s a deal. I’ll even give you a newer palladium-free model of the reactor so I can keep old sparky here for myself.”

The sun is setting against the skyline of the city, washing it in strokes of warm amber-orange hues. Miguel is still grumbling next to you as the two of you stroll along the Brooklyn bridge.

“Supergenius, Ha! Si los zombies comen cerebros, él sería invisible para ellos. What do you see in that guy anyway?! He’s not even good looking. He’s like what? 5 feet tall? He was wearing built in heels, you know! Es más corto que las mangas de un chaleco–”

"Can you pipe down?” you say, cutting off his tirade, “Just let it go, please. It's been hours! I didn’t see anything in him. I have no desire to be the next notch on Tony Stark's bedpost.”

That finally seems to end his rant, or at the very least slow it down. Miguel shuts his mouth, staring out over the river. “Then why did you tell him you were free?”

“Because I wanted the arc reactor! I figured letting the guy flirt with me might help. Catching flies with honey and all that.”

He folds his arms over his chest, with a skeptical furrow in his brows. “You wanted him to take you somewhere fancy; that’s what you said,” he points out.

Damn him and his super-genius memory.

“Well, maybe I also wanted to eat at a Michelin star restaurant one time in my life. Manila Social Club is supposed to have a golden donut made with champagne jelly and actual gold on their dessert menu.

“That doesn’t even sound tasty,” Miguel mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. His mouth settles into an unhappy frown.

“It would have been if I didn’t have to pay for it!”

“I could’ve gotten it for you,” he says, and it’s not until you take a better look at his face that you realize it’s not so much as a frown he’s sporting. It’s a pout.

Oh, is he… ? He is, isn’t he!

“You have nothing to be jealous of, you know. I’m not interested in Tony Stark,” you reassure him.

In front of you, the rigidness in his shoulder seems to melt at your words.

That surprises you. You’d have expected him to deny the accusation that he’s jealous. Adamantly object that he wasn’t, and why would he be, you’re nobody to him. Just a random stranger that happens to look like his wife that he cannot leave well enough alone.

He doesn’t do that though. Instead, his only response is a quiet, “Okay.”

His docileness takes you by surprise.

Is he admitting that he was jealous?

You'd be lying to yourself if you said that you didn't take even a morsel of enjoyment in the comical way that Miguel is getting himself riled up over you. To have him flustered and openly jealous of Tony Stark flirting with you.

As if Miguel had anything to worry about.

As if Tony Stark, a man who has ‘philandering philanthropist’ as a description for himself on his twitter bio, isn't known to be so indiscriminately flirtatious he’d eagerly court a voluptuously shaped tree.

As if that man of 5 foot 6 (with platform shoes) would ever hope to occupy every one of your thoughts the way Miguel does.

Immature and childish and inane as your behavior back at Stark Tower was—and you feel mildly ashamed of it now—you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it in the moment. Not because Tony Stark, multi-billionaire, GQ's Most Eligible Bachelor five years running, was flirting with you.

No. Because for a moment you got to experience what it was like to have your rude protective Spiderman treat you as his girlfriend. Someone he was possessive of. Someone he treasures. Someone that is his. Instead of your current reality, where you know he belongs to someone else entirely.

“If anyone has anything to be jealous of, don’t you think it should be me?” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth before you can reign them back in.

Miguel tilts his head, regarding you like a cute, confused pup, so you continue.

"Because I could never compete with her, right?"

"Her?" he asks, seeming genuinely puzzled.

"Your version of me," you say, "your Nena." You try to smile, try to keep it light-hearted, like the funny joke you had meant it to be, but it hurts even just to hear yourself say it. Because you know it's not a joke.

It's true. You’re in love with a man whose affections aren't yours to win.

Miguel stops in his tracks, and that makes you stop as well.

"It's not a competition," he says seriously. "You're two different people. You can't compare like that.”

You feel like you’re being scolded and probably rightly so. You’re being childish and unreasonably trying to compare yourself to his dead wife. But that doesn’t mean that it makes it hurt any less to hear you don’t compare at all. Your heart fissures and cracks, and the first sting of tears starts to well up behind your eyes.

"You're important to me too," he continues.

The words stop your heart, your eyes dart up to his face. The look on his face is gentle and soft, and it soothes the pain in your chest away, a gentle warmth rising to take its place.

“Oh,” you say. You can’t help but smile up at him, squinting against the bright sun behind his back.

“You’re important to me too,” you tell him.

His lips quirk up into a small but genuine smile at your response. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You nod, and then you have to turn away, feeling bashful under his attentive gaze. Embarrassed heat prickles your cheeks, and you need a second to catch your breath and let the evening breeze cool you down.

There are cyclists and pedestrians going past you as the two of you continue to walk in silence. You sneak a look at him to see that, like you, he’s turned away. He’s gazing out over the bridge as he walks and against the amber sun, you see a faint flush riding high on his cheeks.

Your fingers lightly brush against the side of his hand, and he turns back to you and smiles, sliding his pinkie to hook around yours.

You walk all the way home this way, heart feeling full, and you think to yourself that maybe, this time, things really are going to be okay after all.

~ Next issue

Author's note: So for fellow marvelheads checking, wouldn't Tony be dead after Endgame when Wong was made Supreme Sorcerer? This is another version of earth -- Thanos and the snap never happened. My baby Tony isn't dead how dare you!

The Spanish in this chapter has been left untranslated on purpose, so that it’s left ambiguous whether reader speak/understand Spanish. The idea is that if you as a reader understand it, then so does the reader, and vice versa 🥰

Dedication & Credits: To @guruan for her incredibly kind help and donating her time to check the Spanish used in this chapter.

And to the kind @forwantofwill and her generosity for doing this beautiful fanart of Miguel Folding Origami that has stolen my heart!!

And finally to @thirstworldproblemss I love you and hope you're eating all the yummy sukiyaki that you deserve. Thank you for coming with me on this wild ride.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #imguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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sunflowersandsapphires · 19 days

Note

Congrats Sapph 👏 How about a Sunflower for Matt where Matt surprises Reader with a baked treat (store bought or homemade is up to you) after an awful, terrible, no good, very bad day?

Trudging towards your apartment door, your feet ached terribly. You’d been running around all day, mimicking a chicken with its head cut off no doubt, trying to meet your employer's impossible standards as you approached the end of the quarter. The stress of the month was palpable within your office, keeping you and your coworkers huddled in cubicles--ready to snap at any passing distractions.

You'd forgone many simple comforts in order to meet deadlines this week, which had steadily worsened your mood. Morning coffee with Matt. Slow, ambling walks to work, stopping for a pastry or a bagel from the corner deli. Even the pleasure of taking time to eat your lunch, rather than wolfing it down at your desk while tediously reviewing an Excel spreadsheet.

Your mornings were starting earlier than ever, forcing you to press a hasty kiss to Matt's cheek before you dashed into the dawn-lit city without him. Nights had become equally unsatisfying, tension at work leaving you so strung out you shoveled a slapped-together bowl of leftovers into your mouth before collapsing into bed before Matt even left the office.

Matt, always the loving boyfriend, hadn't complained once--instead leaving supportive messages on your phone and stocking the fridge with take out. Being forced to neglect your criminally compassionate partner was slowly breaking your heart.

A few more days and the madness would be over. The thought made you want to sob; the light at the end of the tunnel still seemed impossibly far away.

Sliding your rusted key into the lock, you unlatched the bolt and shouldered into the apartment. Toeing off your shoes, you inhaled shakily, tears building on your waterline. With dragging footsteps, you rounded the corner into your studio and gaped.

”What..the..fuck?“

The exasperated question meandered through the destroyed space as you stood staring at the mess. Your kitchen was in ruins. Flour and sugar coated your counters, used mixing bowls were strewn across every flat surface, and there was another pile of dishes in your sink. Eyes flitting around the room, you verified that you hadn't somehow broken into a neighbor's place.

As far as you knew, your place had been comfortably disheveled this morning. Chaotic but organized. What on earth had happened when you were at work? Had the pilsbury dough boy been murdered in your home?

Rage tangling with the confusion in your chest, you stalked towards the mess, swiping a finger through the residue on your countertops. Before you could decide whether to laugh or cry at your own misfortune, the door opened, making you jump.

Down the hallway, bearing a bashful smile, was Matt.

”I am so sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time.” Pacing over to you, Matt extended his arms, letting you fall against him. The paper bag in his left hand crinkled as he tightened the embrace. ”I will clean all of this up, I promise.“

”Um, what..what are you doing here?“ You settled on a less frustrated question, knowing Matt's explanation would probably wash your anger away.

”I was hoping to have a snack ready for you when you got home. You've been having such a tough few weeks, I wanted to do something for you. So I called your mom for that pumpkin cake recipe you like so much.“ One hand kneading your back, Matt unwrapped the parcel with his other hand. ”But your nutmeg was expired and I wanted it to be perfect so I--“

”You're making a pumpkin roll?“ You asked in surprise, your vision blurring with tears as your emotions overwhelmed you.

”I was trying!“ Matt chuckled, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”I'm so sorry about the mess. I didn't mean to stress you out.“

”You didn't.“ You sniffled, tears falling in earnest now. ”I mean, maybe at first, but I don't care about the dishes now. You're just...“

Reluctantly allowing Matt to step away from you, your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed the damp trails from your cheeks with his fingertips. ”I'm just what?“ Matt smirked, clearly holding back an affectionate laugh.

Diving back into his chest, you nuzzled his shoulder with a sigh. ”Perfect, Matt. You're perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Why don't you go turn something on the TV while I finish in the kitchen?”

Nearly groaning at how heavenly Matt's suggestion sounded, you pecked his lips before pulling away. “Sit with me once it's in the oven?”

“Of course, love.” Pressing a final kiss to your forehead, Matt whisked off to finish what he'd started, leaving you to stare after him with a look of gratitude.

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jujutsubaby · 7 months

Text

🩷 sex drive 🩷

☆ pairing: toji fushiguro x afab!reader ☆ summary: you go to a valentine's day blood drive at work. maybe it's just that you've been single for too long, but isn't the volunteer drawing your blood kinda...? well, let's just say you wouldn't mind exchanging a few other bodily fluids with him, too. ☆ tags: modern au, workplace au ☆ warnings: 18+!! MINORS DNI!! dirty talk, oral sex (f!recieving), slight exhibitionism, daddy kink ☆ a/n: happy valentine's day (again)!! another quick little treat for u all hehe...inspired by my real life experience of going to a valentine's day blood drive (except for the fun parts ofc lmao).

you knew you should have made up an excuse and stayed home today. you hate to be a cliche bitter ass single woman who's not getting any younger on valentine's day, but it's hard not to play to type when the whole office is decorated in cutesy pinks and reds. it definitely doesn't help that your boss, suguru, keeps getting visits every 15 minutes from his boyfriend satoru.

"ugh, what's with the pda?" you grumble at what feels like satoru's 30th visit to suguru's open cubicle. "haven't you two been together for, like, a thousand years already?" your coworker utahime helpfully makes gagging noises to emphasize your point.

"hey now, y/n, you KNOW that i'm the head of marketing and suguru's the head of sales! i can't help it if he and i have lots of important things to discuss," satoru protests with puppy dog eyes.

"i didn't realize important marketing meetings involve sitting on coworkers' laps now," utahime mumbles, and the pair of you giggle conspiratorially.

however, as the day goes on and utahime keeps receiving increasingly elaborate flower arrangements delivered to her from her doctor girlfriend shoko, you find yourself feeling more glum than ever. you decide to go out for a stroll, hoping the cold february air will slap some sense into you.

unfortunately, not even five minutes after you set out, droplets of threatening rain turn into a torrential downpour. you curse; in your mopey mood this morning, you totally forgot to check the forecast!

you really don't want to go back into the lovefest of your office right now, so you start looking desperately around for a rescue — an underhang to stand under, anything.

that's when you see a bright red sign advertising a blood drive for valentine's day being held at your neighboring building. that could be an interesting idea. at least this way, you can tell yourself you did a good deed on valentine's day instead of just complaining the whole time. even more appealingly, you see that it'll take about an hour, which is one less hour you'll have to spend around satoru's soppy nicknames for suguru. after shooting a quick text to your team's group chat informing them of your last minute appointment, you decide to brave the rain and head over, hoping there's an opening for a walk-in.

you enter the room where the blood drive is taking place, praying you don't look too much like a drowned rat. your self-consciousness melts away and you smile brightly when you see a familiar face.

"shoko! you're volunteering here today?"

"oh, hey y/n," your quiet friend replies, giving you a small smile back. "yeah, utahime and i have a date nearby this evening, so i thought i might as well sign up. what time was your appointment for?"

"well, uh, i didn't exactly make an appointment..." you say awkwardly. "are walk-ins ok?"

"no problem, we got a lot of no-shows today anyway," shoko replies with a subtle roll of her eyes. she then hands you a clipboard and a pen. "just fill this out, and i'll get you screened and set up and everything."

you gratefully take the clipboard and head into the tiny compartment curtained off at the side of the room, presumably to give donors some privacy as they get screened. you fill out the form (trying not to think of your stupid ex boyfriend when you encounter the questions about your sex life), and once you're done, you poke your head back outside of the compartment.

"i'm ready now, shoko," you call. when your friend doesn't answer, you crane your neck around to the desk where she had been sitting. "shoko?"

"she just went on break," a husky, masculine voice replies from behind you. "i'll be taking over." you look back and are immediately floored by what just has to be the finest specimen of the male form you've ever seen, clad in obscenely tight scrubs that emphasize every bulging muscle. focus!!

"oh thanks doctor...um...fushiguro," you read from his nametag. he's so tall that it happens to be at your eye level, giving you quite a nice eyeful of his firm, muscular chest. what business did men have being this tall, anyway?!

"just call me toji," he says casually, grinning down at you. he takes the clipboard from your outstretched hands and jerks his head back towards the compartment you had been waiting in. "let's head back there so we have more...privacy." maybe it's just your imagination, but you could have sworn he smirked when he said that. you take deep breaths to suppress the unholy thoughts you're having, and you follow him back into the side room.

when you push the curtain aside and go in after him, you see he's already settled into one of the two chairs crammed into the tight space that he's clearly a little too large for. as you daintily resume your position in your own chair, he shifts and splays his long legs out, brushing your thigh with his knee. you inhale sharply.

he clears his throat and pulls out a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket before reading your questionnaire. he nods at your answers (although you can't help but turn beet red as his eyes scan over the section about when you last had a new sex partner).

"looks fine to me. let's take your blood pressure now...y/n" he says, positively purring when he sounds out your name. "beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he says with a roguish wink, making you turn even redder than you ever knew was possible. was he making you uncomfortable on purpose?!

"mind taking your top off?" he asks, rummaging around in the drawer in front of him.

"i'm sorry?!" you choke out. that was a freebie! happy fucking valentine's day to you!

"oh, sorry, i meant so i can put the bp monitor around your arm. i don't know if you can roll your sleeves up in that blouse," he says, looking up from the drawer. you notice his eyes on your breasts, and you realize that you of course had worn your white button down over your lacy black camisole on the day mother nature decided to get you soaking wet. you must look like such a hussy!

you quickly unbutton your blouse and show him your arm to wrap the thick velcro band around, trying hard to avoid eye contact. it doesn't matter, though; you can feel his eyes boring into you like lasers. why does he have to be so hot?! you hope being in his presence won't throw off your blood pressure reading...you can feel your pulse going a little haywire.

As he tightens the band and starts the measurement, toji starts making small talk.

"so, you doing anything for valentine's day?"

ugh. anything but this topic.

"no," you reply simply, hoping not to broker further discussion.

he presses on, not taking your cue (or if he did, he ignored it.)

"no? what, your partner doesn't celebrate?"

toji reads out your bp measurement to you, but you don't even pay attention to it as you notice his hand brushing the side of your breast as he unwraps the bp monitor's band from your exposed arm. you gulp as you realize only the thin satiny layer of your cami is keeping his hands from touching your tits.

"uh..ah.." you say, hoping he doesn't notice the effect his one brief physical touch had on you, "n-no...my ex-boyfriend and i broke up a few months ago already." you don't mention how you saw him in your bed on your birthday in the arms of another person.

toji looks up at you from darkly hooded eyes.

"his loss...i know i'd treasure valentine's day with a pretty little thing like you."

just like that, toji snaps back into professional mode again, leaving you reeling once more from his flirtatious behavior. he was way too handsome to be acting like this on a dime! a girl like you could get ideas...

"i'm going to do a thumbprick now to get a quick reading on your blood. is that ok with you?"

you nod, and he grins at you.

"that's my girl," he hums in a low voice.

then, before you're even able to process what's happening, he takes your hand and engulfs it in his own. he then begins rubbing your hand back and forth, and you feel a small frisson of pleasure at the sensation of his callouses against your small, soft fingers.

"noticed your skin was a little cold, so i thought i'd warm your hand up before taking the sample," he explained, but you're hardly able to even listen to him as you enjoy the blissful sensation of his hands rubbing yours. his fingers were so long and thick, and so dextrous... how would those fingers feel somewhere else...no! stop! what are you thinking?! you've definitely been single for too long.

"all right, y/n," toji murmurs gently. "you're just going to feel a small prick...sorry about that..." he takes the sample and puts it into a machine for processing. he then reaches back into the drawer and withdraws a digital thermometer.

"while we're waiting for that to finish, let's take your temperature." you nod and extend your hands to take the thermometer from him, but he ignores you and instead roughly takes your chin in one of his huge, warm hands, tilting your head up towards his chest.

"open up for me now, y/n" he purrs, your name sounding like the sweetest and most beautiful sound you've ever heard when it's coming from his mouth; you can't help but comply. he gently inserts the thermometer under your tongue, and you note his eyes lingering on your lips for much longer than they have to. embarrassingly, you notice heat pooling between your legs, and tension twisting by your belly button. you could get used to this...all too soon, though, the thermometer beeps, and he takes it out. toji clicks his tongue as he reads the small display.

"99 degrees even," he reads out. "now that's a surprise."

"what? why's that?" you ask, confused. how could a body temperature be surprising?

"well, our cutoff is 99.5, and i was sure you'd be way too hot," he says with a laugh and another wink. you giggle back demurely; you can't help but act all girlish and coquettish with someone like him. you've never seen a man in real life wink so much, but you find you don't mind. it suits him.

"all right, y/n, let's go get some blood drawn!" he says enthusiastically, rising from his chair. you follow suit. he reaches around you (did his arm just brush your breasts again?) and opens the curtain for you. "after you, princess."

you used to hate when your ex called you "princess"...but when toji called you that, it sounded like the doors to the heavens opened and angels were singing. you'll definitely be thinking about that for awhile. probably before bedtime, and probably while touching yourself. you sigh and exit the small room before hopping up onto one of the cots that were brought to the building for the blood drive.

toji pops a small stress ball into your hand. "now, make a fist for me," he says, using his fingers to close yours, "and start squeezing that." he squeezes his fist around yours. it wasn't so confusing of an instruction that you needed a demonstration, and you're beginning to suspect that toji's making excuses to keep touching you. not that you mind, exactly.

you keep squeezing, and he examines the tender inside of your elbow. "that's a gorgeous vein you've got there, princess. this'll be easy for me," he murmurs seductively, and you blush. you've never been complimented on a vein, of all things, before.

soon, toji pierces your arm (pursing his lips sympathetically as you emit a sharp gasp, which of course makes you stare at his lips), and your blood is pumping merrily into a bag. you decide to make conversation with him, this time.

"how about you, toji? i'm sure someone like you has big plans for valentine's day, right?" you ask, raising your eyebrows suggestively.

"oh, yeah," he chuckles. "if you count getting high and watching magnolia for the millionth time big plans. i don't really go for that stuff," he says.

"i love paul thomas anderson," you say huskily, trying to flutter your eyelashes at him. it's been a long time since you've flirted, and you're probably embarrassing yourself. "you know what the perfect film of his for today would be, though?"

"what's that, princess?"

you smirk. "there will be blood."

toji lets out a huge laugh in spite of himself, and you smile proudly. flirtation successful!

soon, your blood has filled the small bag, and toji removes the needle, pressing gauze to the wound. the feel of his hands pressing into your arm is one of the most blissful things you've felt all week. he asks you to continue maintaining the pressure, and you feel like whining that it won't feel as nice as when he does it before remembering where you are and complying. you watch as he picks up your sample and sorts it in with the others; you feel a bit shy, seeing him manhandle your little blood bag like that. it feels so intimate.... you gulp as you imagine him manhandling you like that.

"all right, y/n, now you just need to rest for twenty minutes, and you'll be good to go." you start climbing out from the cot, feeling a little disappointed that your short, exciting interaction with toji is coming to an end. oh well. some excitement is better than none.

"we have some cookies for the donors in the seating area," he continues. "lucky you...i'd love a little taste of something sweet right about now..."

ok, it definitely wasn't your imagination — he positively growled that last sentence, and he was eyeing you. as you get up, you notice you're a little shaky on your feet; you realize that you actually hadn't eaten lunch before coming, since you'd been in such a rush to get away. you list and sway dangerously to one side, but a pair of strong arms braces you. you let your head fall back onto a perfectly firm, taut chest.

"careful, there, sweetheart" toji whispers in your ear, his breath tickling your sensitive skin as he lifts you up. you try not to think too much about how your back is pressed into him right now. "i think i'd better keep an eye on you." he walks you over to the front of the room, bracing your back against himself the whole way over. he leads you to the front of the room, where there are folding chairs and a card table with a small platter of supermarket cookies as promised. as shoko had alluded earlier, the blood drive was not busy at all. in fact, it was completely empty currently; just you and toji, alone in this room... you feel yourself getting faint again, but not for the same reason.

"y'know, princess..." toji says, sitting again with his legs splayed out over the chair across from you as you nibble a chocolate chip cookie. "my shift's ending right about...when your observation period ends."

you tilt your head inquisitively at him, hoping you knew why he was saying this. he leans forward, the flimsy plastic chair creaking under the weight of his solid muscle. what you'd let that muscle do to you...

"i don't think that i, as a medical professional, can let you go back to work today..." he continues. "i think you'd better go home after this." then, he smiles deviously. "and i think i'd better take you back, just to give you a...full examination."

it takes all of your restraint not to fling the rest of the cookie down and jump his bones right then and there. instead, you reply,

"i think i'd appreciate the house call." you do your best to make your voice ooze with suggestion so he knows you're picking up what he's putting down.

after what feels like the slowest fifteen minutes of your life, it's finally time to leave. just as toji's shift is about to end, shoko returns from her break, and you take the opportunity to ask her to have utahime bring your things back home from the office for you. since they're your neighbors, you can pick them up later tonight. or perhaps, tomorrow morning...just in case tonight gets a little too busy.

"something came up," you explain to her breathlessly, but you know shoko notices toji's hand creeping up the small of your back.

"have fun," shoko says to the both of you, only slightly judgmental but mostly encouraging.

since you took the bus to work that morning and toji refuses to wait a moment longer than he has to to commence your "examination," he insists on driving you back in his car. you both practically sprint through the parking lot, and he breaks at least three traffic laws zooming back to your apartment in the rain as you yell directions. for a doctor, he sure is awfully reckless.

finally, finally, after an agonizingly long wait, you're at your building. you're about to climb out of the car, but toji is way ahead of you, opening the door for you. you are about to climb out and jokingly thank him for his chivalry when he unceremoniously scoops you out of your seat and swings you over his shoulder. you shriek with laughter.

"toji! put me down!"

you're also all too aware that you're wearing a pretty short skirt that day.

"sorry, princess," he says smoothly. "it's protocol. i can't have you walking back in just in case you pass out, or something."

you're about to ask if he's even been to medical school when he shoves your key into your apartment door, slams it open, and, equally roughly, slams your back against the wall. the breath is shoved out of your lungs as he immediately captures your mouth with his, swallowing any potential protest you might have had (which you didn't, you absolutely didn't. not even close.). he carries your entire weight easily as he shuts the door behind him with his foot; you're hardly paying attention, though, as you're too busy widening your mouth and entangling your tongue with his. you greedily bite down on his lip, and he growls in response.

"let's get you to the examination table," he groans. you wrap your legs around his narrow waist, and he carries you haphazardly to your dining table, crashing into and knocking over furniture along the way. carrying you with one arm, he carelessly clears the table with his other before plopping you onto the tabletop. he kneels before your legs and tears off your tights in one swift motion.

"i hope you're planning to help clean up—" you start, but your breath hitches in your throat as he begins kissing up your ankle, then your calf...then your thigh...he gets slower and slower as he gets closer to where you most want him to go. you try to shift forward on the table to bring your throbbing center closer to him, but he holds you firmly in place with two powerful hands clamped on your hips.

"patience, princess..."

you close your eyes and start taking deep breaths, but the moment is disrupted by an annoying loud vibration against the wooden tabletop.

"who the fuck is 'ryomen sukuna?'" toji scoffs, "and why do you have a heart next to his name? you been lyin' to me, princess? have you been naughty?"

"no," you breathe, and it comes out as a whine. "no, daddy, i've been a good girl, promise. please..."

"'please' what, princess? help daddy out here," he purrs with a wicked grin. just then, your stupid phone vibrates again, and you're about to pick it up and throw it out the window when toji wrests it from your grip.

"your idiot ex, i'm guessing?" he asks. all you can do is nod, the words robbed from you.

"well, my professional recommendation is...for you to tell him to fuck off."

"i will, toji, i promise," you pant. "please, just ignore him, i promise, he's nothing to me."

"you're not listening to me, princess..." toji says in a low, dangerous voice. "i want you to tell him to fuck off. right. now." he slides the answer button on your phone and hands it to you before you can protest.

"h-hello?" you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "sukuna?"

"heyyyy, y/n....missed hearing your voice, boo," sukuna coos, clearly inebriated. you scoff in disgust; it's only four in the afternoon. sukuna was such a mess.

"what do you want, sukuna? i thought i w-was..." you start out assertively, but your resolve is breaking as a practiced tongue once again starts swirling its way up your legs, alternating between your left and right thighs. you clench your toes and grit your teeth before continuing.

"i was ... clear...that ... that we're o-over," you say, the last word coming out as a moan as you feel a set of teeth pulling off your panties ever so gently.

"baby, i told you!" sukuna whines. "uraume's nothin' to me, babe! they're just a friend! you're my one and only, baby!"

even in the midst of the sensory overload occurring in your bottom half, you still roll your eyes. yeah, "just friends" made out in bed naked all the time, right?

"i want you to...to...s-stop.." you pant, as sukuna finally picks up on your strange manner of speech.

"hold on, y/n, is someone there with you?" he snarls, his famous temper rising to the forefront. "you whoring it up with another guy already?"

at that, toji grabs the phone from you and growls into it, "seems like she finally decided she needs a real man, not some cheatin' asshole who can't appreciate her properly!"

the moment he finishes talking, toji leans back into your thighs and finally plunders you with his tongue, raising the phone to your mouth in time for you to moan sinfully into it as sukuna is arguing back. toji doesn't even bother hanging up as he throws the phone across the room.

toji grips your thighs tightly enough to leave bruises as he feasts on you, and you wrap your legs around him, tangle your hands in his short hair, and squirm in delight. it doesn't take you very long to come undone under his practiced mouth.

he rises back to his feet, licking his lips.

"finally got to satisfy my sweet tooth today," he says mischievously. you grab the v-neck of his shirt and tug him closer to you aggressively.

"take me to bed. it's your turn next," you declare authoritatively. then, you kiss him fiercely, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue.

"your wish is my command, princess," he replies with a dark chuckle, before lifting you, bridal style, to your bedroom.

this was shaping up to be a great valentine's day after all.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #toji x reader #fushiguro toji #jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro x you #jjk modern au #toji fushiguro x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months

Text

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Another Monday. Is this what life is? Mourning the weekend as you try to wipe the sleep from your eyes. It's too much, you should be cuddling squishes and snoring.

You hop off the bus and head towards the building. Once you're at your desk, you can pretend you're awake. If you get the right angle, you can just doze off a bit. Just a couple minutes more.

The elevator nearly knocks you with its slow rise. You shuffle between cubicles but before you can claim your chair, you find something unexpected. A cushion. A pink and white ergonomic cushion with a matching pad clung around the back rest. Um, this isn't your chair.

You look around confused. Someone will be real mad when they realise they lost their fancy chair. People do seem territorial around here. You turn the chair as you search for its owner.

“Did I get the colour right?” A grizzly voice has you leaping in place. You face Curtis as he rests his hand on the side of your cubicle, “they had purple too.”

“You?” You gasp.

“I…” he shrugs and his eyes wander to the ceiling, “I'm tryna make it up to you. I was and asshole so–”

“Nope, nuh uh,” you turn and tear open the velcro, detaching the back pad, “keep ‘em. I don't want your charity.”

“It's not–” he steps forward, “it's an apology.”

“Apology? For stealing? Well, I can't forgive a liar.”

You shove the pad against his chest, “I think I was clear. You should be happy I was because I have a terrible habit of rambling. My mom says I could talk the dead to life.”

He reluctantly clasps onto the pad as he scowls. You grab the seat cushion and press it against the other one. He reluctantly hooks his other arm under it.

“I was gonna give it back,” he grumbles.

“So why'd you take it?” You challenge.

“I don't know,” he mutters.

“I do. You're a bully. I left those behind in school,” you put your hands on your hips, “so go away and keep your hands off my things!”

His nostrils flare as his eyes meet yours. They're the shade of blue that makes you think of storms and the ocean and butterfly wings. He'd be cute if he wasn't so mean.

“You shouldn't talk to me like that,” he warns as he squeezes the cushions.

“Take your own advice, meanie! You had your chance.”

“I've been nice,” he rasps as he looks you up and down.

You're unsettled by how the glint in his eyes changes, how his shoulders square and his jaw ticks. He meets your gaze and narrows his eyes.

“You don't know what mean is.”

You flinch as he spins on his heel. He marches past you, a gust of air tickling your cheeks as he flees. You turn and watch him go, your stomach knotting.

Maybe you were a bit rude, even pushy, but you're trying to be better about drawing lines. You don't have to be a doormat to be nice. Even if it is easier.

You put your bag on your desk and sit, squeaking at the harsh impact of your ass on the thin seat. Gosh, there may as well not be any padding. You sniff and swivel close to the desk, booting the computer as you wait and think.

He's mad but he'll get over it. He made it clear he has no interest in you before so why this sudden change. Oh well, you never really understood men or their brains.

🩷

You stare at your pen cup and frown. You miss your happy penguin pen buddy. As you ponder his absence, that suspicion nips at your ears. Maybe he took those too.

Does it matter? You're moving on. You ordered new pens on Amazon. You're starting over new!

You get up to get a fresh coffee. You really should cut back. Maybe you could do some hot chocolate but you get a bit silly when you have too much sugar.

You enter the break room and immediately want to storm out. He's there, glaring at the machine as he watches it brew. You smell the dark roast you bought him. How could you have ever been so nice to someone like him?

Curtis takes his mug and you sidle along the wall, certain to get well out of his way. He turns and stops as he sees you. You stare at the ceiling as you wait for him to go.

He snarls but makes no move to leave. You bounce on your heels with your mug in hand. You can wait.

He's not going. So you go to the machine and peruse the selection. Maple shortbread, huh, that's a curious choice.

You sense him lingering. You do your best to ignore him, the scuff of his shoes putting you on edge. You're not the best at reading people, obviously, but you can feel his anger.

As he looms closer, you take a step forward. You spin and throw an arm up as if blocking an unseen strike. Your hand flips Curtis’ mug, spilling the brown liquid down his grey shirt. He backs up and looks down at the mess.

“Why would you do that?”

“Personal space,” you wave your arm up and down, drawing the invisible wall before you.

“I'm trying to… you're crazy, you know that?”

“So what does that make you?” You pout, “I told you to leave me alone.”

He puffs, lip curling as he grips his mug tight. He scoffs and whips it past you so it smashes against the wall and the bits litter over the counter. You let out a squeal as he stomps out, leaving you in shock, standing before a puddle of coffee.

You gulp and face the remnants of his mug. You should clean that up before anyone cuts themselves. You cross to the counter and set to carefully plucking up the shards.

“What happened in here?” Melanie asks as she enters, “oh it's you.”

You ignore her as you focus on the glass. Of course she assumes it was you. Seems like everyone thinks you're a disaster.

#curtis everett #dark curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #sunshine lollipops and rainbows #series #drabble #au #snowpiercer

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prodbymaui · 1 year

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To See Is To Not Believe

let a hoe know, I ain't motherfuckin' sharing

PAIRING: lee donghyuck x fem!reader

GENRE: bad boy's good girl

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNINGS: possessive behavior, murder, alcohol consumption, mention of drugs, sexual harassment (not from dh), misogyny and brief homophobia (not from dh as well), choking kink, cum eating, reader is blinded by love, ex-convict!donghyuck

SYNOPSIS: A man tried to force himself on you and your boyfriend didn't liked that one bit.

A/N: Big emphasis on reader being blinded by love!! A massive portion of this fic will contain sexual harassment scene so please be cautious, it ends when the intruder comes in. With that being said, enjoy reading!

Don't like, don't read.

DEPICTION ≠ ENDORSEMENT

Red, blue, purple.

Those are the lights that illuminate the whole club. Together with the loud blasting music and people endlessly chattering, they create a high tension vibe that gets anyone on their tippy toes, dancing carelessly as they drink to their limits. It's amusing how these people find solace in a chaotic environment.

Roaming your eyes, your lips purses around the end of the glass as you sip your 3rd Cape Codder of the night, grimacing at the faint bitter taste coming from the vodka. You're not much of a drinker, hence opting to tend your throat and stomach with fruity or sweet cocktails. Non-alcoholic drinks are off the list as you don't want to miss the fun of getting tipsy.

You flinch when an arm settles on the back of the chair you're sitting on. A man around his late 30s clad in a black tank top and baggy pants is the culprit. ''Are you alone? You are, aren't you? Did your friends leave you? That's too bad– maybe I can be your temporary friend for now. I promise I'm one hell of a good one.''

He leans forward, making you frown in disgust at the foul smell emitting from him. Ugly, bad fashion taste, pervert, and fucking stinky. When God precipitated a rain of misfortunes, you bet he was fucking swimming during that moment. It's so bad that you have to scoot away from the man, not wanting his scent to stick on you.

''Aww, come on, sweetheart. Don't be like that.''

''I-I have.. I'm with someone.'' Your eyes shake, looking around in hopes of catching even the mere shadow of your boyfriend who informed you he'll be meeting his friends roughly 15 minutes ago. There's none.

''Uh-huh, and where are they? Nadda. Gone. Like a fucking demonic ghost when presented a crucifix.'' The man rumbles a laugh as if what he said is the best joke one ever heard about. You don't find it funny though.

Just as his hand is reaching to touch your face, your body reacts faster than your brain can. The shocked and angry face of the man was the last thing you saw before you stood up and headed towards the bathroom, chewing on your lower lip as you remember the forming red mark on the side of his face. You enter one of the cubicles, only to come out minutes later when you realize you don't even feel like such substances desire to leave your body.

Playing with the water running from the faucet in an attempt to take your mind off the event that took place earlier, you hum. Said water splashes everywhere on the counter when the familiar voice echoes the whole bathroom, sweaty and sticky limbs clinging around you, trapping you. This is fucking awful.

Instinctively, you move to flee. ''Ge-get off of me! Stop! I don't like you! Stop, you're disgusting! Get your hands off of me, I have a boyfriend!'' Tears prick your eyes.

''Hmm, you know.. I actually like screamers. Though, preferably if they are screaming my name out of pleasure.''

Pleasure? Is this man deranged and delusional?

''I only scream for one man and that's my boyfriend!'' Your slap resonates the whole entirety of the restroom.

He forces out a chuckle, gripping your waist. ''I don't like how you run that mouth. Shouldn't whores like you only opens their mouth to take a man's dick?''

Your vision diverts to the door steps away from where you stand, frustration taking over you when it appears to be locked. Attempts of fighting against the muscled arms remain futile. You yelp when the man tries to rip your pants apart, failing due to the stubborn belt that you borrowed from Donghyuck.

''Fucking..'' The man transfers you to the wall, pinning you there with a tight grip on your hair. He tsks, annoyed at your constant kicks and flails. Once again, he tugs on your belt, successfully pulling it off of you when the fabric rips apart because of the amount of strength.

Right before he manages to force his hand inside your pants, his movements come to a halt but not yours, his momentum disturbed abruptly by the sudden opening of the door.

''How the fuck..?'' As far as he can remember, he certainly locked that door. ''Hey kid! Go take a piss somewhere else. Can't you see I'm busy with my girlfriend here?''

You get to see who he is talking to you, tears finally escape your eye sockets. Whimpering, your act of resistance continues, now desperate. A smirk stretches the intruder's lips yet the slyness underneath it doesn't reach his eyes.

''Are you sure? Your 'girlfriend' doesn't look like she's enjoying it though?''

The man sucks the top of his teeth. ''Just get the fuck out, will you? You know nothing about bdsm, as expected from a fucking child.'' He waves irritably.

''Ah come on, she's clearly against what you're doing. Why don't we do what you want instead? My ass feels exactly like a pussy. You'll be moaning and chanting my name like a fucking mantra, like you're fucking a woman. You would be addicted to my hole, cumming and filling me to the brim before you know it.'' The intruder quirks a brow, wetting his lips.

''The fuck are you on? I'm not gay, you disgusting shit.'' He spits on the other.

''Now, that's not nice. You see, we shouldn't be homophobic. Who are we to care and have a say about who wanna fuck who? And disgusting? Heh.'' Donghyuck tongues his cheek. ''Who's the one about to rape someone right in front of their boyfriend?''

''Uh?''

''That's my girlfriend, you dumbfuck.''

It all happens in a blink of an eye. One second, they're throwing harsh comments back and forth– next second, Donghyuck is already holding the man's face in his hands, bringing it closer to the lower part of his body. Blood drips on the floor as the man suffers from dizziness, courtesy of Donghyuck smashing his nose with his knees. You stand behind the closed door the second you are free from the shackles of that man.

Your boyfriend didn't stop there. Gripping the man's hair just like what he did to you, he bangs it to the nearest wall continuously and with utmost force. Crimson liquid decorates the beige paint but Donghyuck didn't care. He throws the man on the floor, finally sealing a blunt force trauma. He hovers over the man who dared to touch you.

Donghyuck's eyes glints in a way you couldn't interpret. Snatching his belt where it dangles from the countertop, he tilts his head. ''Ah, this one is quite expensive.'' Tapping the man's bloodied cheeks a few times, Donghyuck hums approvingly in seeing him awake, and proceeds to feel the belt on his skin.

''Do you know who I am, fucker? My government's name is Lee Donghyuck. But gangs and inmates call me 'Cross'. Ask me why.'' The man grunts when his face meets Donghyuck's palm.

''W-why..?''

Donghyuck smiles. The belt circles around the man's neck loosely, the other end enters the metal hole but it doesn't get buckled completely.

''You see, Youngjin, I'm actually a devoted follower of God. I believe in Him. So I make those that had wronged me pray to His cross before I take it upon myself to repeal the life that the Lord Jesus Christ had lent them should they be undeserving of second chances.'' Donghyuck holds the end and stands up, resulting in the belt to tighten itself on the man, choking him. He steps on the area where his head and collarbone meet. How your boyfriend knew the man's name, you don't know.

Crouching, the weight and the pain of Donghyuck's heels digging on Youngji's throat doubles. ''You might be wondering,'' Youngji isn't but he's not at the advantage to tell Donghyuck that. ''Why do gangs and inmates know me? What is my correlation with them? Surprise, motherfucker! I'm an ex-convict! Jailed for a year at South Korea's most notorious prison, got caught smuggling drugs. It should've been five years but money makes the world go round and connections greases the axle. Would've gotten much longer years if they knew the number of people I've slaughtered, possibly a life imprisonment– thank God, they didn't, right?''

Youngji gasps for air, and Donghyuck chuckles at him.

''Uh.. does it hurt?'' Youngji struggles to form an answer, fingers clawing to get the belt off. ''Oh how insensitive of me, why did I even ask you that question? Pardon me, I tend to forget someone's handicap often. My mama once warned me to be careful around people, I don't doubt she'll be scolding me in heaven if she happens to know my slip ups. May she rest in peace.'' He pats the gargling man's face.

Donghyuck then proceeds to drag Youngji by his shirt towards one of the cubicles, the red-skinned man takes this as an opportunity to fill his lungs with oxygen once again as he quickly crawls out of Donghyuck's clutch when the man isn't looking. Unfortunately, this only earns him another torment as Donghyuck tugs his figure forcefully by the belt acting as his leash.

''Now, don't walk out on me.'' Donghyuck grasps him, tightening his knuckles. ''I mentioned that I'm a believer of God, didn't I? Being a follower and believing in Him comes with the responsibility of spreading His words and wisdom. Of course, it isn't a responsibility but you get what I mean. Say.. Are you religious, Youngji-ssi?''

Whatever his answer is, there'll surely be dangerous outcomes. But Youngji doesn't have a choice. If he cooperates, maybe then the haywire in front of him will spare his life.

''No? Ah, that's fine. I just want to let you know that not having an official position in the Catholic realm doesn't mean my faith in Him isn't as strong as those that have one. Prison life requires us to go on mandatory praying every 6pm, it strengthened my faith in Him and He became my anchor during those dark times. I may not be a priest but allow me to reintroduce you, my brother, to Our Lord Jesus Christ.'' His hand stretches for the bidet. He grips the sides of Youngji's jaw to force it open.

''Lord God, our heavenly Father, we thank you for your great goodness, in calling us to know you and to put our trust in you. Increase this knowledge and strengthen our faith. Give your Holy Spirit to this person, that he may be born again and made an heir of everlasting salvation; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.'' Donghyuck closes his eyes and does the sign of the cross. ''Amen.''

Youngji helplessly gags as the seemingly endless clear liquid penetrates his mouth harshly and uninterruptedly, clogging his lungs and his stomach bloating until he can almost feel how it will explode any time soon. Youngji tries to fight it off yet fails because of the weight sitting on his chest. He thrashes, he chokes, he swings his arms. There's pain and aches everywhere until there isn't.

Eyes wide open and water spilling out of his mouth. Donghyuck only stops pressing on the bidet's button when Youngji lays on the floor, unmoving.

Wordlessly, hand rests on your back, leading you out of the bathroom. On your way out, Donghyuck sends a short signal to Yang Jungwon, a member of his gang. And the man, together with Zhong Chenle, makes their way towards where you were previously. Arms clasps secured around Donghyuck's waist, you both zoom away from the bar and arrive at your shared penthouse in no time.

As soon as the comforting ambiance of your bedroom engulfs you, you head to take a bath and wash off any remains of that man on your skin. It didn't take long. Soon, you stand before the mirror, observing the little gashes that stung as soap makes contact with them during the shower while you dry your hair.

Finishing this time, Donghyuck comes up behind you, a towel covering the lower part of his body. You look at him through the reflection, watching his movements. And then your eyes meet his. There lies an undeniable sharp gaze.

He strides towards you and tugs you to a hug, burying his head at your neck and inhaling your scent. Small kisses spread on the vast area where your neck and jaw connect, traveling down to your shoulders before going back where they previously were.

''You let him touch you.'' Donghyuck whispers.

The towel stops rubbing on your strands, confused sound emitting from you.

''You let him touch you,'' he repeats, ''Because I wasn't there to tend to your needs. Tell me, are you getting tired of me that you resort to letting some random fucking man to touch you in places that I am the only one allowed to? Is the greediness inside you?''

It's not. Never did you let that man touch you inappropriately. Never did you willingly enter his arms. Donghyuck witnessed the way you fought against that man, for goodness' sake. Why would he think you'll succumb to anyone other than him?

It should've irked you but it didn't. The voices in your head say all of those words are a result of such love that he has for you, a result of fear losing you. Something tells you that he's afraid that you'll slip out of his arms and fall out of love, that he just can't afford to lose the woman he loves, and you choose to listen.

Donghyuck loves and treasures you that he's gone bat shit paranoid and crazy.

''I didn't let him touch me. It was non-consent.''

''You should've pulled away.'' He's right.

''I did, but he followed me there.''

''You should've called me.'' Donghyuck's right again.

''My phone was in my bag.''

''You should've left the second he sat beside you.'' For the third time, he's right again. Your replies aren't mere responses but excuses as to why you didn't do those things to avoid Youngji.

Guilt starts to eat you up. ''I was too deep in my thoughts to notice him. Look– I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, Hyuck. I should've stood up when I saw him. I shouldn't have gone to that restroom. I shouldn't have sat where he could sit beside me. I shouldn't have looked in his way.''

''He shouldn't have been born.''

''..yes. I hate him, Hyuck. Please help me erase his traces, I don't want anything of him. I only want you.. please.''

Donghyuck smiles, so enchantingly that you fall in love once again. The sudden change of his behavior makes you shiver. Nonetheless, you didn't question it. This is your boyfriend you're talking about, what kind of lover will you be if you dare to speak ill or question his actions?

Wordlessly, he turns you around and plants a deep kiss on your lips, wrapping his arm on your waist while the other hand cups the back of your neck. His tongue explores every part and area that he can reach, licking and savoring your taste on his buds.

The way he sucks your lower lip and mixes your saliva with his through pushing his pink muscle inside your mouth is so addicting that you don't need any drugs no more to get high. Donghyuck's calloused hands spin you around. You face your own reflection again, there you watch as the hand makes its way to the area that soaks for Donghyuck.

He licks the line of your ear and orders, ''Watch.''

Jaws slacking open, a gasp escapes past your lips as Donghyuck wastes no time inserting two fingers in your hole, uncaring if there's sting or pain inflicted on you. Patience is a prize and Donghyuck is no winner. Moans starts to spill out of you when he plunges his digits continuously, merciless as he wiggles it in search of your spongey spot.

''Ah ah ah! Fuck– God, Hyuck–!''

His chest rumbles in chuckles. ''We don't use His name in vain, my darling.''

Two becomes three, and three turns into four. You tremble in Donghyuck's hold, eyes rolling back at the pads of fingers accurately jabbing your spot without a stop, giving you not even a second to breathe.

Donghyuck tsks disapprovingly, squeezing your throat that lies on his grip. ''I said, watch.''

Albeit having a hard time due to the overwhelming pleasure coming from the mind-numbing pace of Donghyuck's fingers, your eyes flicker, forcing themselves to look down where your boyfriend assaults your pussy. The slick is visible, his palms glistening everytime it is hit by the light emitting from the lampshade at the side of your bed.

It is so fucking obscene– the visual, the sounds, and fuck, the motherfucking drool trickling down your body. It is all too much. Words wouldn't be able to suffice how the scissoring movements inside your soaping wet pussy sends an electrifying feeling down on every fiber of your body.

''Oh, shit! Shit shit– it's so good, fuck! I'm gonna come– ah, I'm gonna come–''

Kissing your jaw, Donghyuck watches you fall apart in his hands. Legs folding, eyes rolling hard to the back of your head, hand gripping his wrist, and mouth wide open to a scream as your walls clenches down on his fingers.

Donghyuck presses his lips at the side of your head. ''That's right. There we go. That's a good girl.'' He pulls out his fingers, sucking on them all the while keeping his eyes where you sit on the floor, tired and spent.

Donghyuck feasts on your cum a little more, scooping the substance and licking it before doing it again until there's none left. He wipes his saliva on his towel, nudging your legs and body to an on fours position. With a single tug, the towel falls off his body as if on cue. Then he walks off to grab something, right hand busy stroking his cock up and down.

When he comes back, a non-pleasant cloud of smoke follows him. Donghyuck kneels behind you, smirking as you present yourself to him, stark naked. He didn't have to order you, you've done it yourself.

Spitting on his palm, Donghyuck tugs his length a few times more, bringing the tip to the valley of your pussy, rubbing it so he could slick the crown of his dick. He takes a long drag of the cigarette, his lungs greets the cancerous chemicals like an old friend, welcoming.

One smooth slide (and maybe some desperate whines from you) is all it takes for Donghyuck to be fully wrapped of your velvety walls, twitching and ready to fuck you to oblivion. And so fuck you to oblivion he did, without preparation nor build up of pace.

''Oooh! Oh shit! Please fuck me– so good, so good, Hyuck! Fuck me, please–''

''Ah.. fuck.'' Donghyuck closes his eyes, throwing his head back, taking another inhale of the cigar. His hips resume to snap, skin-slapping sounds bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. Donghyuck contributes another sound by delivering a hit on your ass cheek.

He leans forward, placing his lips right at your ear, free hand settling on your throat as he grumbles. ''You like that, huh? You like the feeling of my cock going in and out of your fucking hole? Fuck, this pussy is so good I might consider quitting doing anything else and just fuck you every damn time of the day. Would you like that, darling? My dick will be inside of you whatever part of the day it is– morning, afternoon, evening. I will fucking fill you up to the brim that pregnancy would be a fucking fool not to show up. Your stomach will bloat because of how much cum you have in this tight little fucking pussy. Tell me, darling, do you like that?''

The pathetic whines and desperate hands searching for anything to grab is more than enough as an answer for Donghyuck. Pulling away from your back to chest position, Donghyuck props one foot to the floor, angling his hips. His laughter resonates in the room as you thrash.

''Yes! Yes yes yes– oh my God! It's so good, fuuuck! Yes, so good! Ooh, why is it so good? I-I'm going crazy, shit!''

He smacks your ass again, a smile dawning on his face as he enjoys the way you nonsensically ramble, it fuels the pride inside him. Donghyuck taps the cigar on your back, the ashes with heat yet to dwindle, falling to your skin. It should've hurt but instead, it heightens the pleasure. Your arms give up.

You face the side in order to be able to breathe, legs feeling jelly. It would also give out if not for Donghyuck's grip on your waist. Shutting your eyes tightly, your tongue spills out the same set of words to signal your nearing release.

Taking one last drag, Donghyuck puts out the nicotine stick's flame with a deep press on the floor. If it burns the carpet in any way, who the fuck cares? As long as it doesn't start a damn fire, Donghyuck can buy a dozen more carpets to replace this one.

''Say it, darling. You know what I want to hear.''

''Oh..! Ah ah ah! I-I'm yours. I'm only– fuck– I'm only yours, Hyuck. Shit, I'm gonna come– I'm all yours!''

Grabbing you by a grip on your hair, his hand transfers to your throat and tightens it enough to cause you thrusting back to his cock desperately. The pleasure all together is so fucking mind-boggling, you can't think of anything else other than the monstrous cock thrusting inside you so vigorously. Sucking on your neck, Donghyuck's palm travels down.

His thumb circling around your swollen clit with pressure is what finally triggers your climax. And a few clenches from your pussy, Donghyuck follows right after, his cum spilling out of your hole just like what he promised earlier. He carefully pulls out, watching the way your pussy momentarily catches his tip as if not wanting to let go just yet. Donghyuck looks away before his dick gets fucking hard again.

Scooping you in his arms, Donghyuck lays you on the soft mattress, gently so as to not stir you awake or interrupt you from traveling to dreamland. He's never one to get tired easily but you are. Brushing the strands away from your face, he places a kiss on your forehead before quietly whispering that he'll be preparing a bath for you.

Despite having your eyes closed, you heard it. Maybe, just maybe. Donghyuck is yours just as you are his.

Share your thoughts?

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junipers-archive · 1 year

Text

Sweet-Tooth

Word Count: 700

Includes: fluff, fluff, fluff, you have a sweet tooth and one day while staying late at work Aaron find out and can't help but listen!!

Its late. Very late; way above your pay-grade to be staying at the office late. And yet here you are stationed at your desk, you're almost sure you're the only one left.

That is until you hear a noise from the office's kitchen, and really you're not one for believing in ghosts but in that moment you had your doubts...

"Hello? Is anyone there?"you start toward the area when you bump into someone.

"y/n..." Of course, of course Aaron is the only one left here. His hands ghost his collar in attempt to fix his non-existent tie out of nervous habit. "What- uh What're you doing here so late?"

In truth, you'd been nodding off every hour in attempts to catch up on paperwork and had been living off of valentines day chocolate you'd bought yourself. But you were so not telling that to your boss, no matter how cute and approachable he looked with no tie, ruffled hair and slightly open button-down.

"I-I was just doing some paperwork"

"Right...do you need some help?"

Yes. "N-no, just uh maybe some sugar?"

He steps aside to let you through, "You mean coffee?"

"No I mean..." You should've just stayed at your cubicle. "I have this thing about sugar, its the only thing that works to keep me awake."

He raises an eyebrow at this so you continue. "I-well ever since I was little I could only stay up late if I had some type of sugar, I tried all types of other ways, coffee, energy drinks you name it, I've tried it."

He's leaning against the counter now looking concerned though you swear you could see a twinge of amusement in his eyes.

"And...none of these...methods have worked?"

You smile then, "Have you ever seen me drink coffee in the mornings? You could say I'm a tad sweet-toothed"

"And you don't have any sugar on you now?"

"I-uh I ran out, i had these valentines day chocolates but I finished them a few hours ago..."you start to mumble at the end of your sentence, realizing how ridiculously pathetic you'd sound if you told the truth

He hums in response and you now understand how awkward you've made the encounter and begin to retreat to your cubicle. but of course the universe would never allow you such an easy way out.

"Y/n."

"Yea Hotch?" In fear of him seeing you smiling like an idiot for the hundredth time at just hearing him say your name, you keep your back to him.

"Go home. You can work on the paperwork tomorrow."

Now you turn. "Its really no big deal, and I'm behind, and its my own fault for-"

"Go home, and thats an order." Except he doesn't say it like its an order, he says it with his lopsided-Hotch smile that sends butterflies swarming in your stomach.

"Fine" you breathe out your reply, pretending you're in a rush to get out of his sight to hide the fact you're once again grinning because he cares.

✧✧✧✧✧

The next day you're called into on a case at the way-too-early hour of 5:30am.

The next hours are filled with the reviewing of said case and the gathering of go-bags.

It isn't until you're on the plane nodding off as Derek speaks about whether or not the team in dealing with a sadistic serial killer that you catch Hotch watching you.

But he's not just watching you, he's headed towards you.

Before you can react or right yourself He's handing you a box of 'see's candies chocolates'.

"I-uh I thought you might need a pick-me up seeing as you were at the office so late last night."

Is the Aaron Hotchner blushing right now?

You accept the box wordlessly, trying to to ignore the team's stares as Hotch returns to his seat and you stuff your mouth full of the chocolate covered caramel bites.

That is until Reid speaks, "I'm sorry did-did I miss something?"

And with that the silence ends as JJ smacks him upside the head, making everyone on the plane laugh.

Emily Whispers in your ear the one thing you were sure you'd never here from any of them.

"I think you just charmed Hotch with your sweet-tooth"

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the-modern-typewriter · 2 years

Note

Hello! I’ve recently fell in love with your blog again after not being on tumblr a while. Your writing scratches my brain in just the right way and reading your posts is all I’ve been doing to pass the time at my cubicle recently. One of my favorite niche tropes is when the two romantic rivals in a love triangle fall for each other instead of the person they were originally pining for. I was wondering if you would write a snippet based off of that prompt? super excited to see what you come up with if you do!!

"I said you can have her, if she wants you."

It was raining. A pathetic fallacy of rain. A spitting, upchuck of misery. Langston dragged a hand over his face, glancing up at the lack of retreating footsteps. Back out the rain. Back to the party. Back to her.

Nate stood awkwardly in the downpour, resembling nothing so much as a drowned cat - feline elegance turned into something sad and soggy.

"It's okay," Nate said. "I mean, if you really love her...I wouldn't want to get in the way."

Langston had thought he did. He'd been sure of it three months ago. But now...he studied Nate, heart thumping something stupid in his chest. He hadn't expected that.

"Seriously?"

Nate shrugged, wrapping his arms tight around himself to ward off the chill. He had nice arms. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don't want to be the consolation prize she has because you left."

"I don't think you're anyone's consolation prize," Langston scoffed, before he could stop himself. "I mean, look at you."

"...What?"

Langston coloured. "She'd be stupid not to pick you!"

Nate blinked.

"I mean - you always show up for her," Langston said, his throat feeling tight. "For anyone who needs you, actually. And your art is amazing, man. So, you're like ridiculously talented and handsome and actually a good guy." He shrugged, colour creeping up his face despite the chill as Nate stared at him. "I just mean - I get it."

He thought maybe he should start walking. Start running. Hadn't he left to get some air? To get away? To maybe not picture the two of them kissing?

He hadn't expected Nate to be the one chasing after him. Not that he'd expected her to, but...

Well. After all the chasing he'd done, maybe it would have been nice. Maybe it could have meant something. Instead, it hurt to even think about her name.

"Do you want to go grab a drink?" Nate asked.

"...what?"

"Bloody tragic out here," Nate said. He swept over, patting Langston's shoulder as he passed. "C'mon."

Dumbly, Langston followed.

They ended up at the local a few streets away, ensconced in a cosy booth with two beers and the central heating on full blast.

"Honestly," Nate said. "She's kind of pissing me off in how she's treating you. Us."

It wasn't the opener that Langston expected. He raised his brows.

"I mean, it's not really fair, is it?" Nate pressed. "The way she's been jerking us around? Pitting us against each other?"

"It didn't feel...great," Langston allowed.

He'd thought, two months ago, when he first felt things beginning to shift beneath him, that if she really loved either of them that she would have made a choice. Better to let down one of them, right? But every time he thought she'd chosen, suddenly it felt like she was in the middle again. It was driving him bananas.

Then, the more he'd seen of Nate, of how hard he'd tried to be good enough for her, the more he'd realised that actually Nate was fantastic.

"We deserve to feel great about ourselves, right?" Nate exclaimed. His conviction was a little infectious, so Langston nodded. "Because, you know, you're a great guy too." Nate nudged his foot under the table. "You're so smart. Funny. And, you know, you show up too."

"It's what you do when you care about someone," Langston mumbled.

"Right!" Nate said.

It struck Langston, suddenly, that Nate really was there. He'd left the party for him without a second glance.

"Thanks," he said.

"I wasn't going to leave you out in the rain like a kicked puppy, mate." Nate held his beer up to clink. Langston did and took a swig. "Cute as you are," Nate added.

Langston promptly choked on his beer, coughing.

Nate grinned. "Cheers."

"Bastard."

Nate laughed. His eyes shone. He continued to study Langston for a beat after his laugh faded, his head tilted to the side.

"So, just putting this out there," Nate said. "But you know I'm bi, right?"

"I..." Langston felt a little lightheaded. "I did know that, actually, yeah."

She had come to him about it when she found out. He'd already started noticing Nate at that point, but figured it was only because the other man was his rival or some such. Then she'd told him that and it was like his whole world tipped sideways into crisis mode. He'd catch himself watching Nate wrap an arm around her shoulders, and feel something burn in his chest, and have the slowly dawning realisation that he wasn't sure which of them he was jealous of.

"Cool," Nate said.

They talked, for a while, as they drank their beers. About her, but about other things too. Langston slowly felt the crushing weight of the party ease, felt himself relax into Nate's company in a way he'd never fully done into hers by the end. He'd always felt like he had to prove something.

"You really would be a very good boyfriend," Langston said. "I've been thinking about that a lot, this last month or so."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm."

"I was very impressed by the time you fixed her car. I'm useless at that." Nate's gaze roamed over him. His voice lowered, soft. "You as good with anything else as you are with your hands? I've been wondering."

Langston swallowed. "You've been wondering?"

Their eyes locked across the table.

Nate was at full force, now, without the rain. Smirk. Teasing eyes to make you want to die. His hair had dried with the most adorable damn curl. Langston wanted to touch it. He couldn't even blame the beer. He wasn't entirely sure he could blame heartache either, because his insides were fizzing.

He wasn't sure which of them leaned in. It was not the most romantic of first kisses. It felt good though.

He dragged his thumb along the curve of Nate's face and watched the other man shiver.

"I've definitely been wondering about that," Nate said, low.

"We're not going back to the party, are we?"

They were not going back to her, were they?

"No," Nate said. "I definitely shouldn't think so."

Langston leaned in to kiss him again.

#m/m #writing #story #love triangle #fic #fiction #creative writing #lgbtq #romance #short story #writing snippet #story snippet

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rozxii · 9 months

Text

overtime and overthinking

hirai momo x reader

wc: 0.9k

not proofread, fluff, first fic

it's 8:00 pm and all where you want to be is home, but rather, you're stuck in corporate prison, back hunched over countless sheets of pointless, random documents that no one will ever look at, and your eyes burning through the back of your skull. you're surrounded by the tall off-white prison walls of the thing that you call a cubicle, obviously no one left in the office as you doubled down on the work, letting out a loud relenting sigh as you did.

your hand instinctively goes to grab the nearly empty glass of cold coffee on your desk, but alas, that's when disaster strikes. life will always never go your way. the documents you so painstakingly worked on begin to stain with a shade of dark brown as you almost want to rip your hair out, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying anything horrible.

"that sucks."

a voice rings throughout the empty office, bouncing off the walls of the very small cubicle you were in. your eyes dart behind you and you see the perpetrator leaning on one side of the small opening, her arms crossed with her sleeves rolled up, and her right foot planted in front of her left. she adjusts the pair of glasses planted on the bridge of her nose, playing with her ponytail as she stared at you.

"i was going to invite you to the lounge to get some food, but... you look like you have bigger problems. need some help?"

"god. momo, no. i know you're equally as busy. just... let me focus and i'll have it done."

she grows nearer as she tries wiping off the extra coffee that adorned your paper, eyes wandering across the legible text, "i'm almost done anyways. i'll help you out, okay? let me run these to the fax machine and i'll bring you some new copies."

"you don't have to, seriousl-"

"and i seriously want to. you can owe me a favor if you really want, y/n." momo stares down at you, waiting for your approval as you reluctantly nod and wave her off, "fine. i owe you one."

momo runs off and you're left with the afterimage of her and a pool of coffee continuing to drip off your table and onto the brown carpet. no one'll know. you hope. but regardless, you quickly pull some towels from the other side of your desk as you begin wiping it all away, occasionally scrubbing the carpet to see if you can even remotely see it, which thankfully you can't.

you hear the echoes of the fax machine ring throughout the building, momo's occasional hum here and there as you peer over the walls on your toes. you mean, there were other sheets you could be working on, but something in you drew you to the ones in momo's hands or just to momo in general.

she was an odd person, rather, she was more mysterious than anything. she was your co-worker, sure, but you knew nothing more than that. she worked overtime with you, and... that's it.

momo quickly runs back with a stack of sheets in her two hands, "okay so, let's divide this into two stacks, one for me and you, and we'll maybe get it done by 10:00 pm. then i can help you finish whatever else-"

"i appreciate you making me new papers, thank you," you interrupt her, "but i think i got it, momo."

confusion plagues her features as she stood there, setting down the papers on your desk. she lets out a long sigh, "y/n l/n. i... i don't know how to make this any more clear. i really don't."

"i've already finished everything for tonight and i just wanted to help you." she stands firm in front of you, eyes boring into yours, and you swore you saw stars floating around in them, "i like you, y/n. i only take overtime to approach you, but i always was so swamped with work that i never got the chance and... today, i got that chance. so... can we just work on this together? i know how much this job matters to you."

and to say you were baffled was an understatement because she knew you a lot more than you did her. "momo... i- i don't know what to say."

"you... don't have to say anything." she shakes her head and closes her eyes, "god, i don't know why i said all that, i mean, you can ignore that- i guess, it's, uh, yeah. just forget whatever i said. it's nothing, really."

momo's quick to turns on her heel to leave, definitely out of embarrassment and maybe escaping the fact that she might have to find a new job, though you're quick to grab her hand before she can take a few steps forward. her body slightly turns, her head hesitantly swiveling on her neck, "... what?"

"are you sure you want to work on all of this together? it's a lot of work, seriously."

she lets out a laugh in disbelief as she smiled, shaking her head, "that's what i signed up for."

"and for what it's worth, momo, i think i like you too."

she smiles to herself as she splits the pile of copies between you and her, "good. then let's get to know each other better tonight while pulling our hair out."

you laugh as you groan under the weight of the giant stack, "i'd like that."

#momo x reader #momo imagines #momo fluff #twice x reader #twice imagines #twice fluff #momo scenarios #twice scenarios

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

Note

Feel free to ignore this… but any further (descriptive) thots on what the first time Ari calling reader Mrs Levinson would be like?!

I just can’t get the thot of tender love making out of my brain after reading the 3+1!

Please no pressure at all! Just wanted to let you know how much this Ari lives rent free in my brain 😵‍💫💙

Ari Levinson x bestfriend!Reader (now wife) from Bedrock and Blueprints series

woah. so. good lawd, i got all up in my own feels for a while and shrank my world down to just reader and this guy:

An expansion of the the last part of this. Warning for sexy times in the most loving way. MINORS DNI. WC 1.3k

A/N: holy sh*t. don't @ me if you hate this and hate terrible puns because 🙈 idk what happened...

Your relationship keeps evolving.

You started as distant acquaintances, sharing a friend but not much else. Soon, though, you and Ari found common ground and mutual respect. Slowly, the two of you learned more about each other and grew comfortable, playfully jabbing at each other's bad habits and blind spots.

You only ever wanted the best for one another.

It took a long time--many people would say too long--to WANT one another, and old habits die hard.

The strangest part of your wedding day is how easy it is to fall into the 'friend' pattern again. You're executing a planned day, hosting guests in your home, coordinating care of your baby. Ari's helping. He always does.

The ceremony is short and sweet, the party after a simple barbecue. It hardly feels...special.

On the other side of the lawn, Ari shows a few of your coworkers Rachel's favorite face he makes, and your daughter howls in joy, grabbing at Daddy from her perch your cubicle-mate's arms.

They're too far away to hear, but you can read Ari's body language pretty well after a decade.

What's wrong, honey? You love looking out at a crowd.

See? See all these people? They're here for you. For us. For...

Ari's eyes meet yours, his bottle of beer becoming an anchor in his outstretched hand. He beams.

...mommy.

You give a tiny little wave just as he gets ambushed by a few more guests cooing over Rachel. Ari is tall enough that you can see his gaze never leaves you, even when he's surrounded, even when he mutters an answer to a question, even as he pats shoulders and backs until he's out of the throng.

His radiant smile washes over you like the warm breeze on this perfect day. His feet land in time with thuds of Boyd and Dimitri battling it out on the cornhole boards, and the women flanking you twitter appreciative giggles as if putting voice to your heart's fluttering.

Ari is, well, damn fine to look at.

"Hey," he breathes heavily once making his way to you. "You wanna--" he gestures behind you to the house "--for a sec?"

"Oh, sure." You scramble to think what more could be missing from outside. Are the drinks running low? Is the grill ready for the next round of food? Does Rachel need a toy or maybe a hat?

He leads the way to open the door for you, and that's when you notice Ari's starting to sweat through the t-shirt he changed into after the ceremony. He's never been a fan of the penguin suits. As he puts it, "they rent them for a reason. Nobody wants to own one of these."

Whether for the entertainment or just to cool himself off, you assume Ari's heading for the kitchen and turn accordingly before an arm snaking around your waist hauls you backward.

"Not so fast, gorgeous," he snips in your ear, a familiar playfulness in the words warming down your spine.

"What are you doing, Ari?" you laugh, letting him man-handle you down the hall to the bedroom.

He touches you down gently beside the door and shuts it behind him quietly. Those pearly white teeth and bright blue eyes keep shining.

"Just taking a minute," he whispers, stepping closer, dragging his finger around your ear to move a bit of stray hair, "just for us."

His focus holds yours for a long time. The rough pad of his thumb traces the height of your cheekbone. A sheen of perspiration glistens on his temple. His flush glows pink even on the skin between beard hairs. Ari's tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip.

Mixed with the muffled sound of your party outside, it's hard to tell his breathing has changed, but when your own eyes stop roaming the rest of his face, you see welling tears.

"Sorry, I don't know why..." Ari's cracking voice trails off. He sniffs and plants his hands against your hips to steady himself.

It makes your head spin.

"Sorry I took so lo--" but you don't let him get the words out.

Friends don't let friends cry over wasted time, no, because none of it was wasted. Learning about each other is necessary. Respecting one another is crucial. Laughing at the little things and the stupid things is essential. Everything happened just as it should.

You pour your approval into the kiss, tossing your arms around his neck and climbing him like the steadfast, rooted tree he's become, the centerpiece he is in the forest of your life, and Ari weathers the assault with gusto.

He sways with that changing wind of desire to lay you on the bed, shading you with his broad body and dangling hair, cocooning you both in your own little world, hot and heavy and light as a feather.

"I love you," he says as his wide palm explores up your skirt. "I love you," he says as two fingers move your panties out of the way. "I love you," he says as he discovers just how long you've been waiting for this touch.

"I love you," you repeat, undoing the fastening of his shorts. "I love you," you repeat, pushing them to the ground. "I love you," you repeat, taking his length in your hand.

"Please, Ari."

He hisses in tortured excitement. "Yeah?" In a flurry of fabrics, he's yanking your skirt around, tucking your leg up high over his waist as he climbs on the bed, too. "You want me, gorgeous?"

You like how much he leans into your new nickname; he's tried to ween himself off calling you 'kid' now that Rachel exists.

"Need you." Your words sound whiny and desperate because they are. "Need my husband."

The groan Ari lets out would wake the neighbors. Thank g-d there's a party outside...

He's so careful entering you, giving you time to stretch for him, giving him time to listen to every sated breath you both take. He pulls down the zipper at your side and peels your dress back, further exposing you. He loves how sensitive your nipples are since having a baby, but he also knows how much you hate these bras. He takes a moment to unhook you and fling that shit across the room, relishing your happy sigh of freedom.

"There's my wife," he chokes out, propped on his hands above you, surveying the bare beauty before him. His shirt is loose and wrinkled from where you've been gripping it for dear life. The shimmer of tears is back in his eyes--just for a second--until you bring him down to kiss again.

Once fully sheathed inside you, Ari sets a rhythm to mirror your whole relationship: slow and playful. He works to make you laugh, to make you fight him just a little bit because he's being silly. He flicks at your nipples and mouths at your shoulder. He only has one care in the whole world and for all time until--

Ari growls into your neck when there's a knock at the door.

"Just took the last bottle out of the fridge for Rachel, dearie. Thought you should know," Momma Joe's sweet old voice vibrates through, but you hear her footsteps fade quickly.

"'Spose that means I need to pump..." You toss your arms out in defeated frustration.

"Nah-uh," Ari shoots back, gathering you into a firm hold, pressing himself that much deeper inside you. He drapes that bubble of attention over you again, intent and adoring. "Right now? Right now you're mine, Misses Levinson."

He rolls his hips back, cock inching out of you, covered in your slippery arousal.

"And I need to pump--" he thrusts forward, the heft of him making your head loll back on the sheets "--again...and again...and again..."

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @royalwriteroftheuniverse @jamneuromain

#ro answers #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson smut #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x y/n #best friends to lovers #bedrock and blueprints #ari levinson fluff #ari levinson imagine

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imnotsimpingyouare · 1 year

Text

ENAMORED (II)

Modern Hantengu clones X Reader

Featuring:

"Pissed Cubicle Worker" Sekido

"Depressed Programmer" Aizetsu

"That Guy in the Alley" Karaku

"Unfunny YouTube Prankster" Urogi

"Disappointed Grandpa" Hantengu

"Delinquent Middle Schooler" Zohakuten

"Possibly a Criminal" Akaza

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

You will NOT be shipped with Zohakuten or Hantengu because:

A.) One is an old man

B.) One is a young boy

Ty for your time 😌

fem!Y/N goes for her last job with Murata's Service Emporium 😢 but gets an interesting offer due to her *OUTSTANDING* work.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Hantengu.

You've heard of that household. They order some sort of cleaning service every month or so. Only, it's never been you that has gone before, so how exactly do you know about their service requests?

BECAUSE APPARENTLY THEY'RE FUCKING INSANE.

Some of the other employees have literally returned from the job crying.

WHICH INCLUDES, BUT IS NOT LIMITED TO TERRY THE GARDENER! A TALL, BUFF MAN!

WHAT DEMON IN THAT HOUSE IS MAKING A GROWN MAN CRY LIKE THAT? WHY DOES YOUR BOSS HATE YOU? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST CURL UP IN A BALL AND FOSSILIZE.

You sigh. A big sigh. A really, really long sigh.

If you had the heart to, you would've quit the moment your boss revealed he was going to fire you, only.. you knew it was like him to try and withhold your paycheck for the week if you did. Obviously, he can't do that if you've done your job on schedule for any amount of time, but you're not gonna jump through flaming hoops just to stick it to the guy.

Easier to just get this over with.

You grab your supplies and load your car.

Yes, they make you use your own transport for this job. No, they don't pay for gas.

Maybe losing this job won't be so bad after all.

Starting up the map on your phone, you type in the adress of this demon house and get ready to be very fucking miserable for however long you spend there.

The clouds are grey this morning, as they are every morning, but this morning is different. Maybe it's because you fell down two flights of stairs. Maybe it's because you held some handsome guy's hand this morning when he helped you up. Maybe it's because you literally just got fired like 10 minutes ago. But something is different.

○○○○○

Unbeknownst to you, in the opposite lane of traffic, Sekido is screaming at the cars infront of him.

Nevermind, it's not just Sekido. In some strange sort of... brotherly bonding ritual, both Sekido and Zohakuten are screaming at the car infront of them (which is going the speed limit).

"WHY WON'T YOU PRESS YOUR DAMN GAS? THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT HERE WITH JOBS AND SHITHEADS WITH SCHOOL! 20 ABOVE THE LIMIT NEVER KILLED ANYBODY!"

"...Sekido, I think 20 above the limit has killed people. BUT THOSE PEOPLE WERE GOING TOO DAMN SLOW!"

Sekido's grey minivan pulled up to the school. Zohakuten grabbed his bag and opened the door, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"...Zohakuten."

Red eyes met his, and he felt slightly uncomfortable at how calm Sekido was managing to be.

"....what."

"....one day."

"wha–"

"One day without doing some stupid shit to get sent home or to the principal's office. If you do, I'll... I don't fucking know, have the gods come down and kiss you on the nose one by one. Just be good. Ok?" He said, almost in a... defeated tone.

Zohakuten, for a moment, was dumbfounded. Had Aizetsu taken over Sekido's body? Was this some sort or trick? Who did he think he was? It's not his fault he'll never use this crap again. Nor is it his fault that some of the kids are little shitheads.

Instead of saying all this, out of respect for Sekido's effort to be *nice*

(Literally, beads of sweat were beginning to form on Sekido's face, and he looked constipated)

....he nodded.

"Okay. I want ice cream after school."

And shut the car door.

Sekido was left by himself, face immediately breaking back into that scowl he wore so well.

"Fucking ice cream. I might as well get him a horse and a spaceship while I'm servicing His Majesty. Seriously, how hard is it not to throw desks?"

○○○○○

Your car stopped infront of a mansion.

Maybe not a mansion, but.. it was something.

A three story house with 2 vehicles in front (AND A MOTORCYCLE?). However, the only decorations in front were a little knome and a set of windchimes. You could also faintly hear "Barbie Girl" playing from somewhere in the home.

At the very least, it was... a flattering home. The outside didn't look too bad, but you were at least slightly concerned about the inside.

You knocked on the door, cleaning supplies in hand.

"Murata's Service Emporium!"

The door creaked open slightly, before opening to reveal a rather handsome, dark-skinned man in nothing but a towel and.... a face mask and hair curlers.

His eyes were a deep emerald green, a complete contrast from his skin that you were HERE FOR.

He looked you up and down, before turning his attention back into the house. "Aizetsu! Your escort is here!"

Immediately your face turned red. "Wha- did you not hear what I said when I knocked!?"

He raised a brow at you.

"Service Emporium?"

Oh.

That actually sounds pretty bad when taken out of context.

"...okay, but why would I be holding all of these cleaning supplies?"

He looked down at you again.

"I don't know what freaky stuff Aizetsu's into, okay? Are you coming in or not?" He huffed.

You reluctantly waddled in and set your things down.

Oh my.

It was a disaster.

The dishes were piled sky-high, the floor SEVERELY UN-VACUUMED... you had work to do.

Another man, almost identical to the one who opened the door, approached you in a rush. His eyes, though, were blue, and significantly more lifeless than the guy before him.

"I'm sorry.. I am Aizetsu. As you can see, our house is a disaster... sorry."

And he walked away.

THAT WAS ALL HE HAD TO SAY?

WAS HE EVEN GOING TO PAY YOU?

HE'S JUST GONNA LEAVE?

You were starting to understand the struggle.

○○○○○

The camera lens was clean. The audio was crisp. In his browser "solt jasz musuc backgriund" was playing.

Everything was perfect.

And now, out of his room once again, was the legendary, the one and only, greatest failed theater kid of all time..

Urogi!

And he was ready. Ready to bamboozle this busy, strangely attractive woman that wandered her way into his home. Ready. But she wasn't.

Which is what made it good content.

And good content -> motorcycle upgrades.

Which he wanted.

Very badly.

So there he was, creeping up behind you, four cans of silly string in one hand, a camera in the other.

You, on the other hand, were almost finished up here. You cleaned in and out, over and under, anywhere you could. The dishes were dried and put away, and everything was soon to be in order. The only task you had left was to sweep the kitchen. A relatively easy job. After that, you could get out of here, and... you didn't have a job to go to.

Hadn't thought of that in a while.

But there wasn't any time to think about it when you heard something being set on the counter behind you. You turned around, only to be met with a man leaping at you.

Naturally, you dodged out of the way, dropping the broom and hooking your attacker around the neck, locking him in a chokehold. All was well until a flurry of colors came flying toward you into your hair and eyes.

Immediately you were overpowered, your key sense being obstructed. You were pushed over near the sofa, being sprayed relentlessly with some sort of squishy string-like material.

You were quick to recover, and reached up to what you assumed to be the sofa, taking off one of the pillows and swinging wildly at your attacker. Terrifying laughter was heard from above you, and you overturned them until you had them in prime suffocating position. Moments into your retaliation, you pulled some of the strange material off of your face, only to see the face of both people you met earlier. Except this one had yellow eyes.

You paused in your struggle with him, both of you huffing and puffing like you were about to blow someone's house away.

He stared up at you, and you stared down at him, before your gaze flickered up to the counter, only to see a camera placed there and aimed directly at the two of you.

Footsteps distracted you from this realization.

"Aizetsu? Your escort got loose. I think she got confused. Did you not tell her about being a quad?" It was the green-eyed man, back with his bunny slippers and some actual clothes, but no hair curlers or face masks.

"IM NOT A PROSTITUTE!" You snapped at him, smacking the man under you again with the pillow for good measure.

"Why the hell is there a woman on top of Urogi? Why are you just watching, Karaku? You sick fuck.."

Another voice was heard, deeper and more gruff than the rest. You looked up, and saw another man identical to all three of the others! Unlike his counterparts, this one had blood-red eyes.

"What's going on? Are you all siblings?" You said, before mentally face-pamling. Of course they're all siblings. What else would they be?

"Of course we're siblings. What else would we be? Idiot." The red-eyed man growled, before hanging his keys and stomping off to who knows where.

The man under you tapped on your forehead.

"...can I get up?"

You rolled your eyes at him, delivering another smack with the pillow before getting off of him. "You don't just sneak up on some unsuspecting person like that!" You scolded, but he didn't listen. He was already busy fiddling with his camera.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, mumbling a slew of curses before going to pick up the broom.

"So clean, so clean! It looks like this house is brand new! Where are they? The cleaner? Where are they?" A labored, weak voice sounded from the hallway. An old man appeared, and hobbled toward you. You tried backing away, but it was no use, as he grabbed your face to examine you.

"Lovely girl, lovely girl! Cleaned up everything perfectly! You're the angel who cleans up my grandsons' mess every month, are you? Lovely girl!" His voice was trembling, as were his hands.

He must be talking about the company. But before you have time to explain, he cuts you off.

"I wish to hire you, lovely girl! Lovely girl! You can live in my home, in the spare room! You can clean up and teach my grandsons how to behave! Will you? Don't leave an old man like me helpless. Their mother isn't around to teach them to behave, will you? Lovely girl?"

Your eyes widened at the offer. "..hire? Like, for money?"

The old man laughed. Well, he tried, but it came out as a cough. "For housing? Food? Anything you'd like?"

"....and for money?"

"...yes, I'll pay you weekly."

You needed time to recollect your thoughts! Living here, with unknown people? Cleaning! More cleaning!

But at least you'd have a roof over your head, and food, and 'whatever you'd like' whatever that was. And you'd even have your own money on the side. Maybe you could save for a house? To go back to school?

At that point, only Karaku and the old man were left in the room, eyes trained on you. Karaku's lips broke into a smile. He knew what your answer was going to be.

"..I'll do it."

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