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plutoccult · 3 months

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HAIKYUU X THE OFFICE AU — EPISODE SIX: SUGA’S GOT A SECRET

pairing: sugawara koushi x female reader

description: now that ukai knows of sugawara’s feelings for you, it’s only a matter of time before the big secret spreads throughout the office, leaving sugawara with plenty of damage control to do.

word count: 6.3k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: tumblr keeps playing games when it comes to this au showing up in tags, which may be because of “foul” language apparently, so i’m gonna “censor” this episode and see what happens. it will be uncensored on ao3 though. if you missed episode five, IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU READ IT. it’s INSANELY annoying how tumblr keeps messing with me, and that’s honestly why i (along with literally every writer on here) press about reblogs. likes don’t do anything, reblogs do. not to sound like a pain in the ass, but how can you expect your favorite authors to feel inclined to write if you’re not helping them get exposure? anyway… i feel really good about this episode creativity wise (as i reworked the original episode a TON), and think it might be one of the better episodes i’ve written along with next week’s valentine’s episode. i hope you enjoy!

tags: @toorubobatea @intorder @dragon-slayer5 @femme-lune @jeanboyjean @cowgirlikets @okkoiktoru @darthferbert @kazuchaos @bakagun1312 @beingbrokenfitsus @mumblepingu @daedaep69 @intheewrld @msbyomimi @sukxma @akari-fujikawa @milkteeboba @5sos-wdw @todorokiskitten

taglist form here

for the second time today, you returned to your desk with your teapot full of hot water. it was scorching against your hands, but you had to be careful with your steps in order to avoid any spills. you’ve been doing this practically everyday since the office christmas party, so none of your coworkers were phased by it anymore.

“hot, hot, hot.” you whisper to yourself.

you place the teapot down and let out a sigh of relief before sitting down in your chair. the crew watched as you pour the hot water into a mug and pulled out a dish full of sugar of creamer packets, ones you recently acquired so you could be more efficient with your tea. it wasn’t necessarily the excitement the documentary was hoping for, but they kept the cameras on you in anticipation for something with suga to hopefully come up. unfortunately, nothing spicy had occurred.

you stirred everything together before taking a sip, letting out an “ah, that’s the stuff.”

•••

“i’ve been loving the teapot suga got me for christmas.” you say with a grin. “it gives me an excuse to drink more tea rather than coffee at the office, and not the kind you spill, if you catch my drift.”

you give a wink to the camera, but there might as well be crickets as none of the documentary crew laughed at your joke.

“none of you found that funny?” you pout.

•••

out of nowhere, daichi huffed and puffed as he emerged from the break room. “ugh, who in god’s name spilled coffee in the break room and didn’t clean it up?”

not again, you think to yourself. there was always someone leaving a mess somewhere in the office. it was like working with a bunch of children most of the time. you could almost always point your finger on who was to blame, but it’s not like anyone would admit their wrongs, like tanaka, who was responsible for most messes in the office.

“wasn’t me.” he immediately objected. you almost wonder if he spoke up first on purpose so the suspicion would go to someone else.

“you know i don’t drink coffee.” tsukishima said, which was true. you would find him always drinking some sort of strawberry soda, which you tried once and swore it was the most disgusting drink you ever tasted.

“yeah, and y/n has just been drinking tea lately.” suga spoke up. he immediately regretted saying anything as tsukishima, yamaguchi, kiyoko, yachi, and tanaka all collectively eyed each other. his cover was slipping terribly, but suga couldn’t help but feel the need to defend your honor.

“well, whoever did it needs to clean it up because i’m not doing it.” daichi crossed his arms.

“you know no one is gonna fess up, daichi.” tsukishima rolled his eyes. “this happens every time.”

“and i’m not gonna be stuck with the mess again!” he whined. “it’s like how you all expect asahi to reach everything on the top shelf when we invested in stepladders for a reason. those things weren’t cheap.”

the camera panned over to asahi as everyone quickly turned their heads to look at him. “why… why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“well, some of our coworkers happen to be leprechauns, you know.” kageyama said, evoking gasps out of hinata and nishinoya.

“oh, that’s not—” you began to say before covering your mouth with your hand. it was best if you kept out of this one.

“kageyama, that’s offensive to short people!” hinata exclaimed with a pout. “after everything we’ve been through…”

“my point still stands.” kageyama shrugged.

before hinata and kageyama could break out into a fight for the umpteenth time—one where tanaka would definitely yell out “world star!” and pull out his phone to record—ukai came out of his office in order to investigate what his employees were arguing about rather than actually working.

“something the matter? what’s with all the chatter?” he asked, immediately recognizing his clever rhyme. “oh, i rhymed! that’s bars right there.”

“someone spilled coffee on the floor in the break room and left it there.” daichi explained to him. “as if this office needs any more mess, it’s a disaster around here. we need to do something about the cleanliness of our work environment.”

“hmm… let me think.” ukai stood there pondering for a minute, resembling the thinker. some of you wondered if he was posing that way just for the sake of striking a pose. it definitely wouldn’t be a surprise if he was.

“uh, hello? earth to ukai?” daichi waved his hand in front of ukai, thinking he was frozen.

“i’m thinking.” he muttered, trying to stay as still as possible, down to barely moving his mouth. yeah, he was posing just to pose. typical.

everyone continued to wait for ukai to suggest literally anything, but he stayed in his position for far too long. thankfully, yamaguchi decided to speak up, but he would quickly be shut down by ukai.

“why don’t we all just clean the whole office together—”

“let’s all just clean the whole office together!” ukai interrupted yamaguchi, taking all the credit. “yes!”

“i just said that…” yamaguchi frowned.

“it’s spring cleaning, baby!” ukai clasped his hands together.

“but it’s not even spring?” tanaka questioned. he should know better than to question his boss at this point.

“so? who cares?” ukai shrugged. “don’t make me assign you to cleaning the men’s room.”

“no, please! anything but that!” tanaka begged. ukai instantly found joy in this, giving the camera a sinister, yet also off-putting stare.

•••

“i’m such a genius. if you do your spring cleaning in the winter, then you won’t have to do anything in the spring!” ukai said, praising himself as if it were his idea. “only i could think of such big brained ideas.”

“yamaguchi suggested it before you spoke over him.” a crew member spoke up, having documented it on camera.

“who?” ukai furrowed his eyebrows. it was almost hilarious how he couldn’t remember who he was.

•••

while some were assigned to clean certain parts of the office, others were cleaning out their desks, which everyone was mandated to do today. it seemed like “spring” cleaning wasn’t such a bad idea after all as many found random miscellaneous items, having no idea when they were from. tanaka even discovered why his desk had such an odd odor, which was because of an expired donut. everyone gagged at the sight and smell of it as he chucked it in a trash can and ran off.

as you were cleaning out your drawers, yachi walked up to your desk with a bottle of carpet cleaner and a scrubbing brush.

“hey, y/n. here’s that carpet cleaner you asked for.” she said as she placed it down on your desk.

you look up from what you’re doing and see yachi right in front of you. you had been waiting for your chance to use it as there were limited resources to share. thankfully yachi agreed to give it to you after she was done with it.

“oh my god, thank you.” you let out a sigh of relief. “daichi would flip if he saw the coffee stains under my desk.”

“trust me, i know… we’re desk buddies.” yachi groaned. she wasn’t particularly fond of the seating arrangement around here. at least you had your own little space, one where suga could steal pining glances as much as he desired, which reminded her. “how’s wedding planning going, by the way? did you start yet?”

the initial excitement of finally setting a wedding date sent you into overdrive, your mind racing of all the things that needed to be done to prepare for a wedding. as much as you dreamed of this, you didn’t think you’d be stuck doing all of the planning alone. ryo hadn’t made a single contribution yet, and despite your families expecting you to walk down the aisle, some doubts couldn’t help but brew up in your head.

“oh, uh, i bought my veil recently.” you reply. you hadn’t even picked a dress yet, despite having a long way to go, but picking a veil just seemed easier for right now.

“aw, that’s so exciting!” yachi couldn’t help but feel bad that suga was overhearing this conversation, given his eyes were fixated on you as he waited for you to speak, which wasn’t that hard to notice. “how are you gonna do your hair then?”

“well, i was thinking about wearing it down. kind of like—” you take out your hair clip and let your hair down, fluffing it up a bit to show yachi. “—maybe something like this?”

suga felt his heart still for a moment as he intently watched you fiddle with your hair. he wished he’d seen you like this before as you always wore your hair up at work. why were you hiding such beauty? it pained him to think about ryo always being the one to see your hair untamed like this at home. even if you failed to realize it, you were drop dead gorgeous in suga’s eyes.

“wow, you look so beautiful. you’re gonna make people cry.” yachi said, already able to think of one person without hesitation.

as yachi spoke a little too loud, ukai—being the nosy boss he is—overheard your conversation and decided to butt in. with poor timing, at that. “woah, y/n. why don't you wear your hair like that all the time? it's so much hotter than what you usually do.”

you cringe and roll your eyes as you reach for your hair clip. suga let out a sigh, wanting the savor the sight for a little longer. maybe another time, he hoped.

“man, this must be torture for you.” ukai said as he walked past suga. suga’s eyes widen as he looked around to see if anyone overheard that, and thankfully no one did. everyone was too occupied with cleaning to bother, it seemed.

•••

“yeah, on the booze cruise i told ukai about some feelings i used to have for y/n.” suga explained, albeit poorly. “i was just… feeling nostalgic, i guess, and i decided to confide in the world's worst confidant.”

used to have? even the documentary crew could see right through such a pathetic lie.

•••

later that day, suga knocked on ukai’s office door. as expected, he wasn’t cleaning his office one bit. do as ukai says, not as ukai does, apparently. it wasn’t a shock, to be honest.

“hey, ukai.” suga said as he entered ukai’s office. ukai quickly turned down the volume on his computer—seemingly not doing any productive office work either—and looked up to see what suga wanted. “remember that thing i told you on the booze cruise about y/n?”

“boy, do i?” ukai asked. he had been reeling ever since the bombshell was revealed to him. it was more exciting than the lame reality tv he usually watched at home. “of course i do.”

“well, that was, uh, pretty personal, so if you can just…” suga paused. how could he make this sound the least offensive to his boss? “if you can make sure you don’t tell anyone else about it, that would be great.”

“what? oh yeah, my lips are sealed. like the bangles song.” ukai said.

suga furrowed his eyebrows. he didn’t feel confident in that answer. “that was the go-go’s.”

“just get back to cleaning.” ukai scoffed.

“you got it.” suga nodded. it seemed he just had to take ukai’s word for it, but some worry still lingered.

•••

“suga and i are great friends. we hang out a ton, mostly at work, but the fact that he poured his heart out to me about y/n during booze cruise says everything about our friendship.” ukai said. “and because of that, i intend on keeping that information a secret for as long as i possibly can.”

“are you implying that it will spill out eventually?”

“course not. i’m the best at keeping secrets.” ukai then started to sweat profusely. he cannot keep this secret for long. “is it hot in here all of the sudden?”

•••

while suga was cleaning his desk, ukai emerged from his office with what seemed like the sole purpose of bothering him. his careful tiptoeing towards suga was evident, even if he tried to be sneaky. “suga…”

“yeah, ukai?” he looked up, ruining ukai’s opportunity to potentially scare him.

“whatcha doin’?” ukai asked. “you like football?”

“uh, ya know, cleaning. like you asked me to.” suga deadpanned. “plus, i’m more of a volleyball guy.”

“oh, yeah, makes sense.” ukai said before getting to the real point of this conversation. “so, any news on you know who?”

suga initially wondered why ukai would be bothering him like this, especially in the middle of the day, but now it was painfully obvious. of course it would be about you, but here, right on the open floor? it’s like ukai was asking to publicly embarrass suga. the poor lad had been through enough embarrassment these past few months. the documentary has seemingly only made it worse.

“time and place, ukai.” suga shook his head in annoyance.

“i just want to know more about your love life, suga.” ukai pouted. of course, he had some valid concerns. suga was just crying to him about his dilemma not that long ago, after all, but still, why here and now?

“like i said; time and place.” suga insisted.

“but—”

before ukai could plead his case, tanaka interrupted this conversation, seemingly out of jealousy over ukai newfound closeness to suga. “woah, what’s going on here? you guys besties all of the sudden?”

“um, yeah, we’re besties, tanaka.” ukai replied. suga wanted and scream and say that he was wrong. they would never be besties, never. “we tell each other secrets and stuff.”

“secrets? what secrets?” tanaka raised an eyebrow with a smirk. he instantly thought of one secret only a select few knew of, and suga knew he’d be thinking of it. “i know secrets.”

suga had to get tanaka off his back somehow. the combo and him and ukai would be a total disaster when it came to his secret. “deep, dark secrets?”

“wha… what do you mean?” tanaka questioned. it was hilarious how he was falling for this.

“oh, you know…” suga paused for dramatic effect. “the kind of secrets that could send people to jail.”

“oh my god…” tanaka let out a gasp then ran off like a scaredy cat. maybe that award went to the wrong employee on awards night.

that actually impressed ukai quite a bit. he wouldn’t say it out loud as he always had to be the very best, but ukai was definitely impressed.

“welp, back to work.” suga shrugged. this desk definitely wouldn’t clean itself, and he wasn’t sure if he could trust anyone else to go through his things. maybe he could trust you. knowing you, you’d organize everything by what you thought was worth keeping and what wasn’t, then let him figure out if your guesses were right.

“hey, uh, wait.” ukai said, catching suga’s attention once more. “what are you doing for lunch? i could take you out. my treat.”

lunch? with ukai? suga wasn’t sure if he was all too fond out that idea. free food, sure, but having to deal with ukai alone at a restaurant seemed like a bad nightmare. you never know what could happen in such an event.

“ah, no, you don’t gotta do that.” suga said as he quickly tried to think of an excuse to get out of this. “i gotta… ya know… clean and stuff.”

“what about we set up a picnic in the break room?” ukai proposed. “order some pizza and talk about you know who.”

nope. nope, nope, nope. suga knew ukai was just itching to talk about you. the only feasible solution was to get as far away from the office as possible and go out for stupid lunch. the sacrifices suga had to make for the sake of keeping his secret, well, a secret.

“haha, um… you know what? yeah, let’s go out. that’s a good idea, man.” suga stood up from his chair. ukai jumped up and down, overjoyed, which brought more attention to them. suga figured going right now was the best bet, so he quickly grabbed his coat and briefcase in order to leave right away. “let’s go now, actually. what place you thinking of?”

“oh, i know just the place.”

•••

after an awkward drive, ukai and suga found parking in the city before walking over to a popular strip of restaurants. suga assumed being a boss had its perks as there was no way he could afford to eat like this all the time. thank god ukai was paying for this.

there seemed to be amazing places to eat around here, but suga found ukai leading him to the outside of what seemed like a… maid cafe?!

“ukai, what is this place?” suga asked, hoping and praying it wasn’t what he thought it was.

“it’s my favorite spot.” ukai said, noticing suga hesitate. “i go here all the time. come on.”

“if it’s what i think it is—”

“it’ll be fine!” he interrupted suga. “don’t be shy now.”

suga let out a sigh before he followed ukai inside. it was exactly what he thought it was. he was at a maid cafe.

“no… no, no, no.” suga shook his head. this couldn’t be happening to him right now.

suddenly, a pretty woman in a maid outfit walked up to them, greeting ukai first as he was a regular. “mr. ukai! come, come have a seat wherever you’d like.”

“sana!” ukai greeted her. it was even worse that he knew the employees by name.

“there’s no way…”

•••

“ukai took me to a maid cafe.” suga said through gritted teeth. he was being interviewed outside the cafe, other cameras filming what was going on inside as ukai was being pampered by the waitresses. suga was lucky to have a chance to rant. “he took me to a F*CKING maid cafe.”

“you know you’re—”

“god, i’m tired of you guys scolding us over language. you’re just gonna cut most of this sh*t out in post anyway.” he cut off the crew member. he wasn’t necessarily wrong, but the poor editors had a lot of work cut out for them with the way the employees of japan pulp and paper act. maybe they were better off documenting another branch…

•••

meanwhile at the office, tanaka walked up to your desk unannounced, digging his fingers into the bowl of jellybeans you always had out for everyone. you don’t even wanna know where his hands have been. now that you think about it, does he ever wash his hands? you wanted to gag.

“tanaka, can you not shove your hands in the bowl like that?” you ask with a disgusted look on your face.

“whatever. all the good flavored ones are gone.” tanaka rolled his eyes as he continued to dig into the bowl.

“it’s a communal bowl…” you sigh.

“am i not bestie material?” he asked you out of nowhere. “i thought me and ukai were besties.”

you weren’t sure why he was asking this all of the sudden, but if validating him meant he’d leave you alone, then you’ll do it. “yeah, you’re bestie material, tanaka…”

“would you ever consider me to be your best friend?” tanaka questioned.

now, tanaka was a terrible worker, but he wasn’t necessarily a bad friend. he would definitely do crazy things for the sake of his coworkers. you remember on your first day tanaka told you he kept ninja stars under his desk incase of intruders and he would defend you in an instant. sometimes he was a little dumb, but he had a good heart, shockingly enough.

“sure?” you shrug.

“excellent.” tanaka said before walking away all of the sudden.

while he wasn’t looking, you quickly grab the jellybean bowl and throw away its contents. you stare at the camera for a moment as they’ve captured what you’ve done before panning to ukai and suga returning from lunch. you instantly smile upon seeing suga’s face.

“hey.” you greet him.

“hey.” suga said as he hung his coat up.

ukai eyed the two of you before going into his office. you wondered what that was about, but you shook it off and went back to talking to suga. “so, how was lunch?”

“oh, you know, pretty productive.” suga then held up a printed picture from lunch, one with him, ukai, and a bunch of waitresses in maid outfits posing together. it was worth the money. “got a lot of work done.”

you blink for a moment as you soak in the picture in front of you. never would you have guessed that out of all places. still, it was hilarious.

“you’re the worst.” you say jokingly. “there’s no way.”

“ah, but there is.” suga replied. he blushed as you began to uncontrollably laugh. it was adorable. he found it to be one of his favorite sounds in the world.

you manage to control your laughter after a few deep breaths. no more joking around. “pretty sure you’ve got more cleaning to do.”

“yes, ma’am.” he jokingly saluted before going back to his desk.

suddenly, kiyoko stormed up to ukai’s office. you couldn’t remember the last time anyone ever saw her so angry like this. you even feared steam would come out of her ears, and since she was knocking on ukai’s door, you knew it wasn’t anything good.

“ukai, takeda and i need to talk to you.” she barged in.

ukai raised his hands defensively, acting as if he were getting arrested. “i didn’t do it, your honor!”

“what?”

“…what?”

kiyoko didn’t have time for nonsense. she was livid. “ugh, come on. you’ve got some explaining to do.”

before ukai could try to protest, kiyoko dragged him away from his desk and led him to takeda, the last person ukai wanted to talk to right now. it didn’t matter what the matter was, he hated talking to human resources.

“specs, what do you have the female specs dragging me here for?” ukai groaned as kiyoko forced him to have a seat.

“uh, a new charge appeared on the corporate credit card—” takeda began to say as calmly as possible.

“you spent a hundred bucks at a maid cafe! you didn’t even get approval for this!” kiyoko interrupted him, yelling over takeda. if there was any good cop, bad cop action happening, it was clear who fit which role.

“it was a business lunch!” ukai argued. “who said i needed approval?”

takeda let out a sigh. there was a reason ukai couldn’t be trusted with anyone’s money, even his own, for that matter. he felt like he had to treat him like a child, despite ukai being the one in charge.

“ukai, you just got your corporate credit card back.” takeda scolded him. “do you really want me to take it away again?”

“what am i, a five year old? this is ridiculous!” ukai exclaimed.

“corporate is gonna be so angry!” kiyoko argued with him.

“look, suga needed a relaxing lunch.” ukai explained. “he’s been depressed and it’s been affecting his productivity. how is that not work related?”

kiyoko froze. now she’s wondering if ukai knows what she knows. does he know what she knows? takeda didn’t seem to budge by ukai’s explanation.

“he seems fine to me.” takeda shrugged.

“you're not his friend, you don't know what i know.” ukai said. “he is in love with a girl he works with who's engaged, so just cut me some slack, okay?”

unbeknownst to them, nishinoya overheard the whole thing as he walked by. “are you talking about y/n?”

no way that just happened. ukai is at a loss for words, same with kiyoko. he messed up big time.

•••

“this is bad. so bad.” kiyoko said frantically to the camera. it was safe to say she was freaking out. “did suga tell ukai? or did he figure it out? god, suga! you’re such an idiot! i can’t stand this madness!”

•••

thanks to ukai’s big fat mouth, suga’s secret had spread throughout the entire office like the plague and he had yet to figure it out, but he would soon enough.

the first person nishinoya told was asahi, who didn’t really have much of an opinion on it as he was merely a temp. once word got to hinata, however, that was when the train really started rolling. suga had no chance to swear nishinoya to secrecy, so his secret was finally spilled to everyone. well, everyone except you… for now.

hinata rushed to kageyama’s desk. had he gone any faster, he would’ve crashed and knocked over all of kageyama’s things, even his computer. it certainly wouldn’t be fun having to pay for a new one.

“jesus, hinata!” kageyama jumped out of his chair. “what are you tryin’ to do to me?!”

“nothing, nothing!” hinata exclaimed. “guess what? suga has got it bad for y/n.”

woah. even kageyama couldn’t pass up hearing such juicy information. he was rather impressed in suga’s taste in women too. you were a rather attractive woman, after all. “what? really? not bad, suga. not bad…”

ukai walked by as hinata spilled all the beans to kageyama. as hinata noticed ukai’s presence, he just had to get his opinion on the matter. after all, it was ukai’s fault the secret was revealed to everyone.

“hey, ukai. do you think suga is gonna try to break up the wedding?” hinata asked.

ukai was put off by such an outlandish question. he felt so guilty about this, as shocking as it was. suga actually put his trust in him, and he blew it in less than a week. some boss he was.

“hinata, suga is my friend, so the only people that this crush really concerns is suga and y/n...” ukai said. “and also me.”

of course, ukai had to make some of this situation about him. no surprise about that.

as suga tried to get some cleaning done, he felt as if there were more cameras on him than usual. to test the theory, he got up to go to the bathroom. the crew dared to follow him, but suga stopped before entering. there was no way he could let them film him doing his business.

“did the production value go up or something?” he furrowed his eyebrows. “what’s going on?”

before the crew could respond, nishinoya appeared, asking suga the last question he thought he’d have to hear. “suga, why didn’t you tell me you had a crush on y/n?”

his heart dropped instantly. it’s happening.

•••

suga had to carry out this interview in the calmest way possible. he was livid, sure, but there also was a bit of relief. the burden of his secret was so hard to carry most days. but the only way he could make it out of this alive is if he played it off like he used to have a crush on you.

“well, the cat’s out of the bag. i used to have a crush on y/n and now i, uh…” suga hesitated. “don’t. how thrilling...”

the poorly fabricated lies continued.

•••

now that suga got that dreadful interview was over with, it was time for him to talk to you about the newfound elephant in the room. as he discovered everyone was talking about this crush behind your back, suga decided he was better off confronting you about it. besides, it was either you find out through suga himself or ukai.

suga found you alone, knowing this was the only time and place he could get through this conversation. he didn’t need anyone else hearing in on this.

“hey.” suga spoke up. you look up and see his face, your calming smile putting him at ease.

“hey.” you say. “did you find anything good in your desk?”

“oh yeah, i found a coupon for a free sandwich.” he said. there had to be a way to bring up his crush somehow. “it expired in august, but i did find my phone charger from two years ago.“

“wow, big day.” you reply. big day was quite the understatement.

“i don’t even have that phone anymore.” suga chuckled.

“even better.” you grin.

“yeah.” he blushed.

thinking that was the end of the conversation, you began to leave the room, but suga quickly stopped you. this was his only chance, he couldn’t let it slip away.

“hey, uh, listen…” suga said as you stop in your tracks. you look up to see what he has to say. shockingly, this was harder than he thought it would be. “um, i told ukai on the booze cruise—it’s so stupid—but uh, i told ukai that i had a crush on you when i first started here.”

you felt your heart skip a beat. he had a crush on you when he first started here? now your mind raced back to suga’s first day at japan pulp and paper. he seemed so nervous, so you were the one to welcome him with open arms as you had only been with the company for less than a year at that point. you knew what it was like to be the newbie, so you wanted suga to feel more at ease. you didn’t think anything more of your kindness back then.

“oh…” is all you manage to muster out. you can’t believe you were so blind to it all. now you felt silly for only just now developing a crush on him within the past couple months. it was wrong on so many levels now.

“well, i thought that, uh.” he stumbled with his words. “i figured you should hear it from me rather than, you know, ukai of all people…”

“right…” you nod. even you could agree with that. that would result in a much more awkward interaction with your boss.

“and seriously, it's totally not a big deal, okay?” suga insisted. “and when i found out you were engaged, i mean, you know…”

right, of course. that cursed ring on your finger. no wonder he didn’t see you that way anymore, right? at least that’s what you thought was the case.

“no, yeah, i get it. i mean, i kind of…” you pause. lie, just lie, you thought to yourself. “i thought that maybe you did when you first started.”

“oh, you did?” suga questioned. now he felt a little stupid.

“well, i mean, just cause we got along really quickly…” you shrug. it was the best excuse you could think of on the spot, really. you clicked with suga faster than you did with anyone else. maybe there was a reason to that, now that you think about it.

“oh, so you saw right through me, great.” he forced a laugh.

“yeah.” you giggle. you were thankful suga fell for your sham, him feeling the same. “so are you going to be like totally awkward around me now?”

“oh, yeah, yeah... hope that's okay.” suga replied with a hint of sarcasm.

“mhm.” you nod.

“and y/n?“

“yeah?”

“it was like three years ago, so i am totally over it.” suga said. even if he was far from over it, he had to lie for the sake of saving face. he didn’t want to give up since ukai told him not to, but suga couldn’t let you know the truth just yet. this was merely dipping his toes in the water.

“yeah, cool.” you say before finally leaving the room. suga figured he kept you for far too long, anyways.

“alright, cool…”

•••

“so… suga had a crush on me, huh? emphasis on had, i guess.” you shrug. “more reason to move on from my own silly crush, right?”

the crew share a collective look. you wonder what they’re all thinking. was there something you still didn’t know?

“right..?”

•••

suga was thankful his conversation with you went rather smoothly. all he had to anticipate now was ukai’s explanation for the mess that’s been made. who knows what ukai will manage to do, he was so predictable yet unpredictable at the same time.

ukai jumped when he heard suga knock, even worse when he saw his face. he knew exactly what this was about, so ukai had no choice but to motion for him to come in.

“hey.” suga said, closing the door behind him. no way could anyone else hear this right now. suga would lock the door and board it up if it had to.

“i know, i know, i know.” ukai sighed. “i messed up.”

it was actually a surprise to suga that he was owning up to his mistake. he figured he should go a little easy on ukai for the time being, depending on his future responses. “yeah, i was kinda wondering what happened with that…”

“i um… you know, expense reports.” ukai said, frantically trying to explain his way through this. “and then stupid specs! he’s such a goody two-shoes, disgusting. he got all on me about our lunch—”

“the one at the maid cafe.” suga interrupted him. the puzzle pieces were coming together.

“yes, the one at the maid cafe! said corporate was gonna be mad about it, and…” ukai began to tear up, not even trying to fight back his emotions. “i ended up spilling the beans! it was an accident, honest! god, i hope this doesn’t affect our friendship, suga!”

wow. and to think suga was just crying to him merely days ago. now the tables have turned. suga didn’t know whether this was sad or hilarious. would it be wrong to think it’s both? he sure thought of it to be both ways.

as much as suga wanted to totally flip out and scream his head off, he just… couldn’t. for one, he’d probably lose his job, but this situation was inevitable. secrets can’t stay secrets forever, no matter how much you want to hold them close. they always make their way out of your grasp somehow.

“hey, hey, hey. relax, man.” suga tried to calm ukai down. “it's… it’s not a big deal.”

ukai wiped away snot and tears, which was quite disgusting. “it’s not?”

“yeah, it’s fine.” suga let out a sigh. “it was bound to come out one way or another, i guess. everything’s gonna be alright, okay?”

“yeah… okay.” ukai nodded. he was thankful to not be on suga’s bad side, which he‘s never seen at its fullest potential. no one has, really. suga is far too patient for this disastrous company.

“good… good.” suga said. “see ya.”

man, ukai was such a violent crier.

as suga left ukai’s office, he eyed you for a moment, seeing you were walking over to where he just was. you would have no choice but to see ukai crying like a toddler, which no one should ever have to see in their entire life.

“good luck.” he quickly whispered to you as you walked past him, confusion written all over your face.

huh?

shrugging off suga’s random comment, you head into ukai’s office anyway, not even bothering to knock as the door was already open just a bit. nothing seemed out of the ordinary to you yet, as if ukai isn’t unordinary anyway.

“hey, here's your schedule for next week.” you set the paper down on ukai’s desk before noticing he’s wiping away tears. “woah, are you okay?”

“yeah, i'm fine.” ukai sniffled. “look, about you and suga—”

“oh no.” you shook your head. was that what he was crying over? woah, did suga make him cry? nice. “ukai, you don't have to—”

“no, i feel like it's my responsibility as your boss and also your friend.” he cut you off, but you didn’t see any need for this. you and suga cleared the air already, right? plus, ukai considering himself your friend was quite a stretch.

“no, really, it's okay.” you insist. “i know that suga had a crush on me when he first started or whatever. but that was a long time ago, so…”

“what? no. it wasn't that long ago. it was on the booze cruise.” ukai said.

what the heck could he possibly be talking about?

“suga had a crush on me on the booze cruise or he told you about it on the booze cruise?” you furrow your eyebrows.

ukai very quickly realized he messed up once again. he figured he was better off shutting up for once in his life. “ahh… yeah… i’m just gonna… shut my mouth. i’m clocking out.”

“oh… okay.” you say quietly as ukai stood up and walked out of his office so he could leave for the day. it was about five o’ clock, after all.

you follow ukai on his way out and see suga packing up, putting his coat on before grabbing his briefcase. he can detect your presence, even when leaning over for his briefcase as he could see your mary jane’s in his vision. black and shiny, just the way they always were. you never, ever left them scuffed.

“you need a minute?” he asked as you walked by.

“yeah, just need to get my coat on.” you reply.

suga waited for you to pack up before you walked out together, both heading towards the elevator. you and suga enter, just the two of you, stealing glances while the other wasn’t looking until your eyes inevitably meet. you can’t even deny how often he makes your heart race, it was almost a nuisance.

you didn’t know how long this song and dance would last, but you needed this feeling to go away before june. it simply can’t go on any longer.

61 notes · View notes

olichat-reads · 9 months

Text

Imagine | ProHero!Bakugou x Villain!Reader #2

a/n: I felt like writing some insight to what i meant when i say you and bakugou working together is somehow worse than you two going against each other. Because, yes, its that bad haha.

she/her reader

🌟

Imagine being tangled in wires and each other like cats in yarn, with you strapped to katsu's leg, trying to wiggle yourself free like a dying fish while reading the manual upside down for katsu who is frantically defusing a bomb with only his left hand because his right is stuck to your face.

"Why do we always end up like this?"

"20 years of friendship and i still have no fucking clue."

"Red wire or white?"

"Re- WAIT. WAIT. NO. WHITE."

"FUCK YOU. ARE TRYING TO GET US KILLED."

"BITCH YOU TRY READING FROM THIS ANGLE. NOW FLIP THE PAGE."

*sigh of god's most tortured soul*

"Y/n. I only have one hand free."

"Well good for you. I have none. Now. Flip- OW. OW KATSU MY HAIR. MY HAIRRR"

"STOP FUCKING SQUIRMING. I CAN'T REACH THE DAMN THING FROM HERE."

*3 minutes left on timer*

*incoherent screeching*

☆

Its usually why you rarely have anyone else on comms- because no one can stand you guys' stupid 😭.

"Red, are you hearing this psychopath??"

"Shitty hair, if you take her side I'm going to blast your ass into next thursday-"

"Don't threaten him into admitting you were right! You KNOW you're fucking NOT."

"YES, I FUCKING AM-"

"OH YEAH? LETS PUT IT OUT THERE THEN. SEE WHAT THE PUBLIC THINKS OF THE NUMBER ONE HERO DRINKING HIS COFFEE WITH HOT SAUCE-"

"ITS AN ACQUIRED TASTE-"

"ITS FUCKING DISGUSTING IS WHAT IT IS. RED TELL HIM-"

"..."

*red has left the call*

*pinky has come online*

"...HI GUYS PINKY HERE. Red had to um-"

"Pinky please tell this psycho that hot sauce in coffee is fUCKING-"

"Ohhhh its you two...... Yea, nope :D." *call disconnected*

"HAH."

"THAT WAS NOT A *YES* YOU FUCKING-"

But weirdly no one is ever too worried about you two fucking up on missions. You're both the best in the field. Feral, reckless and a little insane? Sure. But you get the job done.

A cross between lawful evil and chaotic evil.

"Can we just kill him?"

"No."

"...can i just kill him?"

"No."

"You've read the file! I'll be doing the world a favour by offing trash like him."

"This world has laws that you are binded to. And the law said fucking no."

"...please?"

"..."

"How am I supposed to live, laugh, love in this conditions?"

*big sigh*

"Fine. Mess him up. No killing. Death's too good for him."

":D!! I feel like I should be worried about the number one hero's morals but FUCK YEAH! VIOLENCE! >:D"

☆

You're also not against smacking the stupid out of your bestfriend, especially when he gets a little too reckless on the job. Injured or not. It never works but it makes you feel better at least.

"Please stop getting shot. It stresses me out."

"Oh well if you don't fucking like it- PUT THOSE HANDS AWAY I'M INJURED YOU HEARTLESS WENCH-"

☆

Its not just him tho. You're BOTH stupid. It goes both ways. ✨️ b a l a n c e ✨️

"Why are you like this."

"Idk, man. I think its the anxiety."

"The anx- BITCH YOU JUST JUMPED OUT A 12 STOREY BUILDING."

"DON'T YELL AT ME I LITERALLY JUST TOLD YOU I HAVE ANXIETY"

"'I haVe aNxiETy' she says, yeeting herself out the window because the elevator is 'sUS'."

"Small spaces makes me twitchy-"

"AND JUMPING OUT A FUCKING BUILDING DOESN'T??"

"( ; ω ; )"

"Fuck you."

"I deserve that."

"THE FUCK YOU DO-"

☆

I feel like as much as it seems like a bad idea for both parties involved, neither you can help that your work life bleeds into your regular life as well. And you both surprisingly manage it well around each other.

"Have you heard about that new hero??"

"You talking about that air brained newbie?"

"Oh my god, so he WAS dumb! I literally thought you guys were using him as bait!"

"We weren't. He's just fucking stupid."

"I almost felt bad knocking him out :("

"Nah, you're fine. In fact, you should've hit him harder. Maybe give him a concussion or hell a scar as a souvenir. Make sure the lesson fucking sticks."

"You are worryingly condoning of violence for the number one hero, Katsu."

"Bitch, have you met me?"

☆

Another thing that i thing could go awfully wrong is literally planning out your work plans together but you two are just??? So trusting of the other to never double cross you.

"Wait, what? Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because thats the nearest and fastest exit to the train station. I can cut down on 10 whole minutes and i need that time to catch the train."

"But its the riskiest, you fucking dumbass. Look, you have four other exits WHY would you pick the one you KNOW the heroes would target?"

"Because MATHS SAID-"

"You know what just let me do it-"

"Katsu no-"

☆

You give each gray hairs but you both of you were ready to risk your neck for the other.

"Having you as my bestfriend is like having an emotionally unstable daughter that never listens."

"...but?"

"There's no buts. You give me migraines."

":("

Yeah. You love each other.

🌟

a/n: hehe

#bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #oliwrites

119 notes · View notes

wreckmetoji · 20 days

Text

Pastries and Peaches

A fic in which your local priest convinces you to help with the Easter bake sale

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/M!Reader

content warning. amab reader, profanity, so much religion, smoking, oral sex, anal sex, daddy kink, creampie, fluff, soft wolfwood STILL makes me weak in the knees

this fic only exists because i was showed the most godawful peach hawaiian shirt at academy sports and my immediate thought was "wolfwood would absolutely wear that". happy easter!

minors DNI

A continuation of Angel Eyes, Cold Heart.

8.3k words

Easter bakesales; the heart of any good God-fearing suburban family. Only they can get you to feel too guilty to say no to their blue-eyed, blonde-haired cookie cutter children trying to sell you Betty Crocker instant brownies made half-assed by trophy stay-at-home wine moms.

You never bothered attending in previous years. You were always the volunteer (read: coerced) kitchen slave working behind the scenes, pumping out ridiculous amounts of chocolate toffee cookies and lemon lavender blondies– something most everyone insisted was far too much of an acquired taste to do well at a church bake sale, but always seemed to sell out first three consecutive years in a row. Eat it, Susan.

This would be your first year actually showing up to the function; Father Wolfwood having managed to convince you quite thoroughly when he had you folded under him begging for more a couple weeks prior. You couldn't find yourself staying mad about it, even if you did initially give him a huff and the cold shoulder over the fact he took advantage of your... somewhat submissive nature in such a vulnerable position. But to be honest; you probably would have done it even if he'd asked you without incentive. Which, in itself, was a bit of a head scratcher for you– after all, why would you willingly surround yourself with the people you so vehemently loathed on the average Sunday? Why would you want to see them both of your free weekend days?

Regardless of how or why, it brought you here; rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you yawned away the last vestiges of blissful unawake, slouched over in a creaky old dining chair. Waking up at six in the morning wasn't new to you working full-time, but somehow it was so much harder on weekends when you knew you could still be curled up under the blankets warmed by another body.

Taking a deep breath, you eased yourself to sit up properly, tired eyes looking across the wooden table and locking onto your beloved priest as he flipped through some papers attached to a clip board– no doubt the preparations list for set-up and who was bringing what and when.

In his tired state, softer around the edges, you always found yourself taking an extra long moment to soak in the strange sense of domesticity that settled around you like rays of golden sun peaking through parts in tree leaves and branches. The lazy grin he would give you upon seeing your usually much more disheveled morning state first thing, the soft kiss he would place to your temple without fail on his way to the coffee maker, paired with the gentle warm of a hand on your hip.

Small things like that made your heart squeeze whenever you managed to experience it. It wasn't often you could stay over with him, but after being there a day or two a week over the course of several months you'd managed to get a good idea of the routine.

"Oh, Jesús, a través del Inmaculado Corazón de María, te ofrezco mis oraciones, trabajo, alegrías, sufrimientos de este día, en unión al Santo Sacrificio de la Misa para el mundo–"

It was the longest standing relationship you've had– let alone the longest standing healthy relationship– and you often found yourself staring at him with perplexed intrigue when things were quiet and intimate between you, when you would simply exist in the same space together. More than a few times had he met your gaze mid contemplation, always tipping his head quizzically at your furrowed brows and pouted lower lip.

And yes, you found yourself even more befuddled by it in moments like these, sat at his shitty little two-seat dining table in the lofted living space of a church, clad in only your boxers and an oversized t-shirt that certainly wasn't your own. Befuddled by exactly what you found so endearing, what made this feel like two pieces of a puzzle locking together as Wolfwood murmured his morning prayers with his forehead in his hand, elbow propped up on the table.

The longest standing healthy relationship you've had also happened to be one kept secret from friends and family– and the entire general public, really. Sensibly. It was something that made you think every now and then, but you knew better than to look a gift in the mouth like that. Maybe not having other people constantly sticking their noses in your business allowed for a healthier personal dynamic, allowed you to look inwards for more introspection instead of having every other person giving you their shit opinion and clouding your judgement. Not like you were ever one to listen to advice you were given by your peers anyways.

"Hey, space cadet," His gruff morning voice catches your ears, not realizing you had temporarily gapped out in place observing the surprising softness that was Wolfwood. You blinked in return, shaking your head and inhaling deep.

"Sorry, still waking up. What did you say?"

"You okay to start setting up the tables outside while I get ready?" He asked, most likely a little slower this time.

Again, you were met with the glaringly obvious truth that despite you not being a motivated person, nor necessarily inclined to help out with anything that had to do with churches that contributed to your lifelong religious trauma; you would do anything for Wolfwood. You didn't even give it a second thought before shrugging, nodding your head while gazing at the disgustingly dark liquid in the mug before you. Wolfwood always said I don't have creamer, you don't need creamer, and you always tried to argue that you don't hate yourself quite enough to drink black coffee on a regular basis. He'd just laugh.

As if sensing the disdain simmering just under the surface, you heard Wolfwood snort, immediately followed by him standing from place and pacing over to the ancient fridge. You quirked a brow, watching him reach down to the lower section of the door, before stepping back over to the table.

The vanilla sweetened creamer thunked down in front of you normally wouldn't be such a big deal, not if you hadn't known the only reason he had it was for you specifically. That blanket of domesticity washed over you once again, heart squeezing and chest feeling tight. It wasn't like you to settle into something so comfortable and be fine with it, not run from the possibility of something steady or stable.

Perhaps that's why he didn't say anything or expect anything, simply sitting back down in his seat with one leg crossed over the other, arm slung over the back of the chair as he continued reading through his list.

"Y'know, the toffee one is better," You murmured teasingly as you cracked the seal and poured a generous amount into your mug. He only scoffed, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

The longest standing, healthiest, most comfortable relationship you've had... and it was with your local small town priest. If God was real, at least he had a sense of humor.

Everything went by much quicker once you'd managed to wake yourself up– blissfully sweetened coffee being a large contributor– so you found yourself slightly less grumpy as you pulled out plastic tables and chairs from the storage room and walked them all the way around the side of the building to set up near the gazebo.

Rolling your sleeves up to your elbows, you turn your wrist to check the time, noting the influx of newest edition mom vans pulling into the gravel church parking lot. Most likely the keener I'm better than you families– grandmas definitely not excluded. The anxiety began to rise in your chest as you glanced towards the church, no sign of Wolfwood in sight.

Setting up the chairs and tables for the bake sale, you didn't mind doing. Having to be the personal greeter, you did mind, since you knew from the bottom of your heart you'd get some kind of out of pocket, backhanded comments from the more... devout personalities.

Deciding to choose your battles this early in the morning wasn't exactly on your agenda, but it's not like you had a choice as a couple of old women your mother surrounded herself with walked up the concrete stairs, immediately greeting you with quizzical looks. You force a tight smile, give a slight wave as you pull the metal legs out on a table and set it down to stand.

"What are you doing here? Where's Father Wolfwood?"

"I'm doing good this morning, thanks for asking, Deborah," You reply, setting up a few chairs behind the table before evening the vinyl tablecloth over the top. It was tacky; a white base covered in peaches with verdant leaves behind them.

Upon glancing up, you could see your snide reply went completely over their heads, only receiving the blank lead-poisoning stare as they awaited expectantly for you to answer their initial questions. With a sigh, you straightened your back, hearing the adjoining cracks in return.

"He's just getting things ready inside, should be out in a bit," You decidedly answer only one of the two questions, considering the other would be much more incriminating and you weren't ready to deal with that amicably.

They nodded, pleased with the answer, before chatting amongst themselves and setting their containers of baked goods down on the tables you had already set up.

At some point the sun started to rise up a little too high, beat down a little too warm, and the growing crowd of nosey church-goers was doing nothing but grating your nerves down to the bone. Arguments of where things would look better, demanding more chairs to be set up, and of course since you were the designated helper assigned by the beloved priest himself, you were to comply with any requests or suggestions. It certainly didn't help when your mother showed up either, commenting on how you could have worn a more formal shirt, or that you were scuffing up your good Sunday shoes. It was ironic, considering you were finally here after years of her harrassing you to attend. You couldn't ever please the woman.

With clenched teeth, you pinch bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, heaving out a slow, even breath as another shrill voice joins the choir of opinions on what they think would be best, only to inevitably result in bickering and disagreements.

"Hey, looks good out here!" A voice you can only recognize as salvation calls out, and your eyes shoot open at the sliver of reprive Wolfwood's presence might give you–

But once your eyes catch the shirt he's wearing, you instantly run a blank.

It's ugly. Hideous, even; the pattern matching the tacky table cloths– a short sleeved button up no doubt meant to be a direct affront on any decent Hawaiian patterned shirt. Too many questions ran through your mind, wondering what in God's name possessed him to wear something so undeniably atrocious in the general public when he could have– no, should have– just worn a black shirt. As any priest should, one would assume.

Then again, Wolfwood wasn't ever one to fit in the mold.

It takes him a bit to make his way over to you, doing his due diligence of addressing the people that came more specifically to win brownie (ha) points with him than to assist in the actual bakesale in a helpful manner.

"Thanks for holdin' down the fort," He says to you, hand coming down to tug at one side of the table cloth you had just laid out to even the coverage.

"These table cloths are hideous. That shirt is hideous."

"Deborah said I look charming."

"Deborah is a fucking liar," You scoff in return, though can't help the amused smirk daring to curl at the corners of your lips as you take in the shirt more closely. It's unbuttoned maybe a bit too low to not be considered scandalous. Even your eyes managed to wander for a moment too long, taking in the barely visible curve of muscle underneath the loose fitting shirt, though it did hug his biceps nicely. "And she's been trying to hop on your dick for months now."

"Ohh, has she?" Wolfwood inquired, eyes wide and brows raised as if he was genuinely surprised by your statement, as if he genuinely hadn't been privy to the many subtle arm touches and playful invitations to join her for a private dinner.

You were going to laugh at his obliviousness, going to mock him, but before you could he was leaning in just a little bit closer, words whispered. "Care for a threesome?"

Asshole. Your nose scrunched, and that shit-eating, mocking grin on his face told you he wasn't as clueless as you had been made to believe.

Lifting an arm, your fingers curl inwards, holding back your usual playful slaps that were reserved for when it was just the two of you. If you'd had just a shred less self awareness you would have ended up throttling him directly in the shoulder, but both you and him knew you were pinned in a position where you were simply left to flounder, cheeks warm and brows furrowed.

"Fuck off, freak," You mutter to him, rolling your eyes and refocusing your attention on setting up clear plastic display cases for the baked goods.His laugh was boisterous, a sound that never failed to make your stomach twist in knots even now months later. The fact he had no fear in expressing how much he enjoyed your presence even to the public was always surprising, and it was something you wish you had the luxury of being able to return.

You didn't miss the subtle lean in, the bump of his shoulder against yours, before he was off to join with the masses in discussion of how everything would be set up, leaving you to your dirty work and heavy lifting.

Not too long after, everyone managed to get settled. You would have been a little more pissed off about the constant back and forth and carrying chairs from the church storage closet to outside when more and more people started showing up, but every time your frustration would bubble up and make your throat tight, you would catch eye of Wolfwood in that fucking disgusting shirt, and it would quickly fizzle away to be replaced with something else. Perhaps fondness wasn't quite the right word, because you're certain fondness wouldn't result in a grimace or a scrunched nose, but maybe something close to that.

Also, you couldn't deny that, as horrible as it was, you wanted nothing more than to tear it off of him. There was at least six hours left to this goddamn bake sale, so you quickly tucked that thought into the back of your mind.

Several hours passed, and since you were such a doting... church-goer, you had also taken the liberty of manning the cash box with your beloved priest. It's not that you would ever mind sitting next to Wolfwood for several hours on end, it was more the fact you were irate, and it was hot, and even though you were fanning yourself with your clipboard it didn't do a damn thing to protect you from the sun beating down directly on your pretty little head.

You were rocked back in your chair, head tossed back behind the back-rest, idly fanning yourself with the otherwise pointless clipboard. Most of the other patrons had taken refuge in the gazebo, seeming content to be shielded from the unforgiving April sun. The thought popped in your mind that nothing was stopping you from joining, but you'd far rather burn the shit out of your face and forearms sitting next to Wolfwood than sit in comfort with a gaggle of passive-aggressive church women.

Peeking an eye open, you peer up at Wolfwood through the corner of your eye only to find he was looking back at you with a self satisfied smirk. You'd like to say you've grown accustomed to his frequent stares and glances, but the attention still made you flush.

"Have I told you how gross that shirt is?" You grumble, trying to get the attention off of your quickly warming face.

"About six times today, yeah," Wolfwood mused in return.

"It makes you looks like a fishing dad."

"Guess I'm in luck, considering your type is older."

You clam up, jaw clenched tight at the observation. He wasn't wrong. He most certainly wasn't wrong. That didn't mean he needed to point it out so shamelessly.

Another scoff, and another muttered comment about ugly fucking shirt had him sitting upright in his chair, reaching for the cash box and idly counting the bills you have collected thus far.

"If you hate it so much, why don't you take it off me?"

Oh, now wasn't that a tempting offer. Surely Wolfwood had little to no idea that your sanity was holding on by a thread anyways, and his comment did nothing but egg you on further. All you did was hum, close your eyes, furrowed brows and tight-lipped scowl adorning your face as you continued to fan yourself.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) for you, your religious companion didn't have the luxury of a clipboard to fan himself. He seemed to be bearing the heat just fine, comparatively, though you did make note of the way he sighed, the free hand that reached up to pop another button on his shirt, the droplet of sweat dripping down his temple.

Jesus fucking Christ, for being a priest he certainly was sin incarnate.

"Put those away before Deborah sees," You grumble, eyes locked onto the peek of sculpted muscle and smattering of tasteful chest hair.

Wolfwood barked a laugh, placing stacked bills back in the cash box and flicking the lock closed. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of smokes. Unbecoming of a priest, but it wasn't exactly a sin. "Why, are you worried she's going to steal me? Whisk me away in her two-thousand 'n eight Grand Caravan?"

Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was because you used up a perfectly good Saturday to sit in said broiling heat just because you were head over heels for your local priest, but you didn't respond in your usual snarky tone. Your tone was even, sharp, no-nonsense and matter-of-fact as you spoke, "No. I don't want people getting an eyeful of what's mine."

Wolfwood choked on his inhale, coughing a few times on a pull that was a little too sharp, the statement catching him by surprise. Your gazes lock, and you can see the bewildered expression, the disbelief brimming behind wide eyes.

There had never been a discussion whether or not the two of you were exclusive, never a discussion on exactly what the two of you were doing. It never seemed like the right time, and the answer was more complicated than both of you cared to explore. There had been simple passive implications, each of you going out of your way to show you care in the small ways you could. This was neither simple nor passive, it was a statement.

Never once had he looked like a deer in the headlights, not in the time you've known him, and it only fuelled your disgruntled desire further.

He huffed an amused exhale, shaking his head and smirking after he got his bearings. "Maybe you should go sit under the gazebo, I think this heat is gettin' to you." A dismissive statement that didn't go unnoticed by you, considering you yourself were the master of dismissing his playful remarks and harmless teasing.

You didn't take his advice, staying right where you were despite your growing agitation the longer the day went on. The crowd began to disperse, thankfully deciding that they should help after sitting around all day being the textbook definition of useless.

Every emotion swirling inside of you came to a header as you were folding up the tables and chairs, preparing to lug them back inside to the storage closet so you can go home and take a long cold shower. A few of the chair clips didn't click, a table leg got stuck in the grass, and an insurmountable heap of other tiny inconveniences had you huffing in poorly concealed anger as you leaned over a table, fingertips ghosting over the clip on the other side but unable to reach it. A growl of frustration passed your throat, but before you could yell an obscenity, a body that was far too warm pressed in close behind you, reaching a longer tanned arm out and flicking the plastic latch for you.

"There ya go, short stuff."

Normally, you'd be muttering a quiet thanks, accepting the condescending help with relieved frustration– but you felt the sweat dripping down your back stick to your shirt when he came in close, could feel the heat of Wolfwood's damn near bare chest pressing into your back making it more unbearably hot, and the press of his pelvis into your hip had your mind finally breaking.

When he backed off, you were quick to stand, and judging by the reaction on the priest's face you were probably scowling up a storm. "Help me bring this shit to the storage closet. Now."

The demand was clipped, fingers tugging at the metal supports of a few chairs leaned up against the outer wall of the church and storming off towards the front entrance. You didn't hear Wolfwood following behind, but you were sure he was aware enough of your foul mood to follow through with what was requested of him.

Using a little more force than necessary, you pushed the front door open with your shoulder, stomped your way over to the storage closet, and dumped the handful of chairs onto the hardwood floor with a lack of grace. It was significantly cooler in here, at least, and you hadn't bothered turning the lights on in your rush.

The door opened up behind you, light peeking in before fading away again when it closed. "Hey, are you– where's the damn light switch," Wolfwood sighed, leaning the table he was carrying up against the door to the storage room in favor of palming at the wall, searching for the light.

The sound of Wolfwood's voice added to your irritation, his half voiced question, the fact that he's run this church for over a year and he didn't know where the fucking storage room light switch was–

You didn't think before you turned on your heel, reaching out to grab a fistful of the priest's shirt and giving him a tug. He audibly protested for the briefest of moments before you were pushing your lips up into his with bruising force. He took a half step back, but your grip on his shirt only wound tighter, tugging him back.

It didn't take him long to hum, for a hand to find your waist, for a slow, deliberate pressure pressed in on his end. The way he kissed was surprisingly sweet, tender, and that frustration that had been simmering in the pit of your gut all day finally boiled over. You didn't want sweet, you didn't want tender.

With a low growl of disapproval, you pushed forwards, foregoing any sweetness in favor of parting to clamp your teeth down on the exposed skin of his collarbone in a manner just shy of aggressive. Certainly, you weren't strong nor imposing enough to be able to walk the priest backwards as easily as you did, especially since he had an aversion to not being in control at any given time of intimacy. He was giving you this, allowing you to walk him back into the wall, which was significantly closer than either of you had initially thought. A winded noise came from the depths of his chest when broad shoulders collided with poorly insulated drywall, the resounding thump falling on deaf ears as Wolfwood reeled, elbow hitting the lightswitch.

"Ah– there it is," He breathed, umber brown eyes flitting down to meet your sharp gaze, to watch as your deft fingers impatiently tugged at whatever remaining buttons were still holding his ugly ass slutty fucking shirt together.

"Shit, Jesus," Wolfwood grunted, brows furrowed as he cupped your hands in his own, trying and failing to halt you in your tracks long enough for him to ask exactly what had gotten into you.

Truthfully, you didn't think you could give him a reasonable and coherent answer. Remnants of your epiphany from earlier that morning rang bells in the back of your mind, you were agitated by the heat, by the amount of bullshit and idiots you had dealt with today, and if you had to spend one more second looking at this stupid peach patterned shirt instead of tanned broad muscle you were going to have an aneurysm.

He seemed to get the idea that there was no stopping you as you persisted, slipping your hands out of his grip just to move back and continue working. For some reason, his teasing was more irritating, less endearing than it usually was.

"Y'know I was just teasin' you earlier about takin' this off of–"

"Please shut up."

Your brusque tone caught him off guard, you could tell, but you really couldn't find it in yourself to care when you already felt your erection straining against the tight of your slacks.

But, much as you should have expected, Wolfwood was quick to catch your wrists in a tight grip when you got to the final button, when the shirt fell open to reveal warm tanned skin and the dark trail of hair disappearing into his pants. It didn't matter how many times you got a look at him, you still felt tight in the chest, stomach still twisting in response. With your wrists bound, you couldn't do much past pushing up onto the balls of your feet, creasing your Sunday shoes to crush your lips against his again.

This time, it was more teeth and tongue than lips, and Wolfwood didn't seem to hesitate to give as good as he got. He gave you that, at the very least.

"What's the deal," Wolfwood muttered when he pulled back just out of reach, despite how much you tried to chase him. "Yer bein' a needy brat."

A knee pushed forwards, pressing between your legs and nudging up against your growing problem as if to emphasize his question, further prove his observation. The way you exhaled quick, the way you twitched and leaned forwards seemed to be enough to get you off the hook for now.

"Shit, angel– you're already hard?" His question was rhetorical, meant to mock. You knew this, but even the slightest bit of attention to your growing problem was enough to get you to fold.

Up until now, Wolfwood was never one to shy away from giving you what you needed; certainly not when you were the one to initiate– a rarity in itself. You only ever jumped him once when you were miserable and confused and drunk off your ass. So when you weren't met with the usual urgent touches, fingers digging into your pelvic bone as they shucked down your pants, you were confused. Frustrated. Agitated.

You knew better than anyone that Wolfwood was surprisingly perceptive, so the fact he was standing above you with an awfully smug smirk instead of doing anything set you off completely anew. You scowled up at him, pulled away and scoffed, before grabbing at a chair you had thrown on the floor. Unfolding it, you tossed it back to the floor, the legs rattling as it landed rightside up.

"If you're gonna be fucking useless at least take a seat to make it easier on me," You snapped. His smug expression didn't once falter, and he didn't once move. Asshole.

Lithe fingers reached out, curled around the buckle of his belt, and tugged with a little more force than necessary. Of course, you were of the understanding that Wolfwood wasn't exactly small, so either he stumbled forwards to mock you, or you genuinely caught him by surprise. Your hands dug into the relaxed muscle of his shoulders, pushing down, forcing him to sit on the chair you had so graciously set up for him.

"What's got you so–"

"I said please shut up," You cut in, taking your respective seat directly in his lap, close enough that your clothed erection was brushing up against his stomach and making you jolt.

You lean in, kisses messy and desperate, the stark contrast of your touch making him hum. One hand cupped the side of his neck, thumb brushing over the scratch of stubble on the cut of his jaw, gentle and reverent. The other was fisted in the back of his hair, angling his head back and making him groan into your greedy mouth.

He seemed to get the idea, though continued to do nothing to help. It appeared that was a common theme for him today, let you do all the work while he fucks around. What a piss-off.

With a low, frustrated growl, you inch back on his lap, hands abandoning their respectful positions to work at the buckle of his belt. His own shifted up, loosely landing on the dip of your waist, forearms resting heavy and warm on your thighs. A huffed exhale was breathed through your nose, tongue pushing into his mouth as you struggle for a moment too long. Finally getting it undone, you make an airy noise of satisfaction at feeling his hips raise. At least he wasn't being completely useless.

It took some effort, toes touching the ground and thighs burning as you held yourself up far enough to tug his pants and underwear down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. You sat yourself back in your respective seat, peeling away from the kiss to pull at your own pants. The kiss left you hazy, lips glossy with shared spit, barely parted as you tug at your own belt, undoing your pants and pulling your painfully hard erection free from its confines. You heave a sigh of relief, leaning into him for a moment of respite, a few long seconds of appeasement that helped your boiling anger bubble down to a slow simmer again.

A deep breath in, a shaky exhale out, your hand moved to encircle Wolfwood's cock, fist moving with gentle patience you hadn't harbored five minutes ago. He rewarded the good behavior, a hand leaving your hip to hook a finger under your chin, tip you down, lean his neck forwards and kiss you in the way he knew you loved. It was so easy for him to work you up, so easy for him to lay you open and bare, the way his mouth moved and his tongue curled against yours.

But it just wasn't enough.

Your hand moved quicker, squeezed a little tighter, and once he was hard enough to stand at attention you were scooting up his lap, whining an airy little noise into his open mouth when your hand clasped around the both of you. The simmer in your gut began to bubble again, the warmth of him pressing into you, how slowly he was working you open. You needed more.

"Fuck sake," You grumble when he parts from you to lay a couple slow kisses at the corner of your mouth, trailing to your jaw. Your attitude doesn't seem to go missed, his teeth gently catching on the skin making you suck a breath between your teeth. "Can't you go any faster?"

"You seem to be doin' fine on your own."

Motherfucker.

The sneer, the slight curl at the corner of his lips, his words all set you off again. Your jaw clenched so tight you could hear your molars grind, fingers squeezing tighter around the both of you.

"Fucking ridiculous," You end up huffing out, the anger in your gut churning and melting into arousal, cock twitching as you stood from your place. "I've been doing fucking everything today."

Dropping to your knees, palms laid flat on Wolfwood's inner thighs, you push them apart as you lean in. He raised a brow in intrigue, but was quick to gasp and lurch forwards when pretty pink lips wrapped around him and swallowed him down to the hilt in one single motion.

"Shit! " He choked, hands finding your hair as your throat clenched around him, nose buried in the thick wiry hair sat at the base. Your eyes watered, brows furrowed, and you felt yourself gag once, twice, before pulling off with a gasp.

A strand of spit kept you connected to his cock before dropping to the empty space between you, your lips just as glossy as his length with your gathered saliva.

"I set up your fucking tables for you–" You stand from your place, thumbs hooking in the waistline of your pants and boxers, pushing them to the floor after kicking off your shoes.

"– I sit in eighty degree weather for hours for you–" You clamber back to his lap, fingers encircling the base of his length as you line him up, spit slick tip prodding your tight ring of muscle.

"– I deal with passive-aggressive old women I hate all day for you–" Slowly, you begin to sink down; all the anger and frustration bubbling over and churning with arousal, creating a heady mixture that fogged your head and spread heat through your gut and chest.

"– and now you won't even put in even the slightest bit of minimal effort into fucking helping me here," You sigh out, sinking down to a sit in his lap, sheathing his cock completely in your tight warmth.

Tanned fingers dig into your thighs, cupping just below the swell of your ass as you lift yourself, then sink, then repeat, setting a pace that certainly got your point across. Your own fingers curl into the meat of his shoulders, dull nails sinking into the skin and carving crescent moons in your wake.

"It's too fucking hot out, and your ugly fucking shirt–"

Protests began to die on your tongue the faster you moved, the more your thighs burned, eyes sliding shut as your back arched and your body tensed and shook. It was good, the push, the pull, the fullness helping stoke the fire growing and growing. A part of you had expected the weight of his cock to tamp the fire down, quell the heat, but it only seemed to push you further towards the edge without actually giving you any relief.

Frustrated tears pricked at your eyes the longer you went and the faster you moved, muscles tensing and shaking as you struggled to keep the pace. Every time you felt yourself building up, closing in on the edge, your legs would give out, unintentionally edging yourself to absolute insanity. A pathetic little whimper fell from your lips, indignation and petulance pushing you nearly to tears.

Finally, you gave up, lips parted as you panted softly, breaths shuddered against warm tan skin. Your forehead fell to the space between his shoulder and neck, willing back the distressed sniffle as you sat in the deafening silence of the storage room.

A warm hand shifted up, palming up your thigh, hip, settling low and comforting on the small of your back under your partially unbuttoned shirt.

"Done with your tantrum, brat?" Wolfwood inquired, voice condescending, mocking, a stark contrast to his tender touch. You scoff, but don't have the energy do much else.

"Isn't a fucking tantrum."

"Right, 'n I'm Mother Mary."

You hated whenever he said that, but you couldn't find it in yourself to even be mad anymore. Just frustrated, just distressed, helpless and hopeless with Wolfwood buried balls deep inside of you.

"... yeah, 'm done," You eventually mutter, voice wobbly as you held back tears.

Strong fingers encircled your waist, lifting you a few inches before dropping you back down, testing the waters. You gasp, hands dig into his shoulders, and he does it again, then again. You're complacent, trembling in his grasp, breathless and desperate and needy.

All he gave you was a low hum, broad hands cupping underneath your upper thighs as he began to stand. "Good," Wolfwood said low, walking you over to the nearest surface– a stack of totes filled with craft supplies and miscellaneous fabrics. He set you down on top of them, hands pushing your thighs up, knees into your chest, hips bucking forwards.

"Looks like someone needs a fuckin' attitude adjustment," He mused, not missing the glassy haze in your eyes when he gave a few short thrusts, teasing you with just the tip.

"I don't need a– ah–! "

One hard smack of his hips up into yours silenced you, statements of denial tapering off into a depraved moan as you held onto him, toes curling at the sensation.

Had you been moderately more perceptive, less in your head, you would have seen that Wolfwood was just about at the end of his rope as well. After all, it wasn't just yourself you were edging. He was simply enjoying watching the show more than you hated putting it on.

His lips met yours, messy, teeth clacking together at the force, tongues pressed together. Spit dribbled down your chin, warm and wet and adding to every debauched slap of skin meeting skin, at the unforgiving pace he set to put you in your place.

Sweat trickled down his temple, the room growing hotter by the second. You felt a hand leave your thigh, urging you to part a few scant inches to watch what he was doing. Seeing his hand wrap around the edge of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, you were quick to reach out and clasp your fingers around his wrist.

"Don't– keep it on," You insisted, voice choppy, choked out and breathless between every hard thrust.

"You want me to keep it on? " Wolfwood couldn't help but chuckle low, obviously amused by the fact you were so insistent on looking at something you'd been endlessly bitching about all day.

However, he did nothing but appease you; hand back to your thigh and forcing your knees into your chest, folding you into the wall as the totes below you shook and rattled. You could feel every pull and drag, every ridge and vein as he fucked you with reckless abandon, bullying his cock into you as if it were a punishment. The coil in your gut began to wind tight again, the familiar feeling you've been so desperate for the entire goddamn day–

"Thought it made me look like a fishing dad, huh? Or do you like that? Want me to bend you over 'n call you kiddo? "

There was no build-up. It was fucking shameful how fast you were cumming from the pet name, shameful how much of a mess you were making as spurts of white hot seed splattered against your partially clothed chest, soaking into your button-up. Strangled cries fell from your throat, choked out, heady, and utterly sinful.

Wolfwood's hips stuttered to a halt, a stunned expression on his face at the reaction, at the unannounced premature climax shaking you to the core. It didn't take long for him to recover, hands clenching tighter against warm skin, eyes growing hazy and dark.

"Oh, Christ," He growled, giving you absolutely no respite as he set the pace even harder, pulling you in to meet every buck forward.

One hand moved, his touches becoming more urgent, more desperate, grabbing at the meat of your hip, your waist, before shooting up and cupping your jaw in a vice grip, fingers squeezing your cheeks. He angled you back, fucked you stupid, ignoring your cries of too much and slow down as he leaned into you, noses touching.

"That why you've been such a needy fuckin' brat all day, huh? Not gettin' what you need? Missin' daddy's dick?" He rasped, each word more punched out than the last. Filthy words had you keening, tensing in overwhelm, had him groaning in response. He was absolutely feral, an urgent heat he hasn't unleashed on you in months.

All you could do was whine, brain scrambled from the speed, the force, the orgasm still hazing your brain and clouding your thoughts. Every resounding slap just pushed you deeper, jaw slack as you moaned and whined for him, taking everything you were being given. Your thighs burned from the angle, from the earlier efforts you had put in, and you could feel yourself melting into his grip.

Each warm breath huffed against your lips had you reeling, eyes rolled back into your head as you whimpered and mewled; overstimulated, overwhelmed. Every time you tried to string together enough words to beg, to protest, try to say anything, he would fuck up into you harder. He left no room for you to do much other than take it, love it.

The handle of the storage door clicked, a choir of muffled voices chattering amongst themselves behind the thin wood no doubt trying to find where their beloved priest had run off to. It rattled, catching against the table leaning up against it, handle unable to push down completely. The voices sounded concerned, frustrated. You wanted to tense, wanted to get him to stop, but his thrusts were unabating, only pulling out and pushing in enough that his hips wouldn't smack against the swell of your ass. Though that was only half the issue when you yourself were making a considerable amount of noise.

When you managed to breathe a pathetic little Nick against his lips, he kissed you hard enough that it pushed your head back into the wall. He moaned, you whined, and you could feel his hips stutter. You had fucked him enough times to know he was close.

Tongues moved in tandem, his fingers digging into your cheeks, into your thigh, clenching and grasping you so hard you thought you might bruise. The voices faded, and you released a breathy moan you didn't know you had been holding into the kiss.

"Gonna cum." Wolfwood parted from your lips with a wet smack, tongue passing over the plush of your lower lip once before muttering, "You gonna be a good boy for me, kiddo? Gonna take it all? "

God, if you could cum again so quick you would have.

You nod quick, head feeling heavy, foggy. "Yeah, 'm gonna take it all, Nick–"

"Daddy." He corrected, causing your throat to grow tight, your stomach churning. You hadn't really discussed this particular kink with him, but you had certainly fucked into your own hand at the thought of nearly this exact scenario an embarrassing amount of times. It wasn't something you anticipated, the fact that he would be so into this.

Choking on your words, each thrust into you growing more urgent, quicker in succession, you moan. "Gonna take it all, daddy–"

His hand released your cheeks as he pressed another heated kiss against your lips, palm sliding down to your lower back to tug you into him, force you closer. The totes below rattled and shook in protest, but the tight, tender hold he had on you was more than secure.

Something you had learned over the months is that Wolfwood was mouthy in bed. He was vocal in the sense that he could talk you through an orgasm like no one better, whisper filthy things into your ear to get you to tumble over the edge faster than you could count; but past the occasional groan and grunt, he didn't make much noise. So when he was breathing into your open mouth, huffing out a depraved moan as his thrusts faltered, poured liquid white heat into you, it had your entire body tensing, committing the sound to memory. It was fucking hot.

Stammered thrusts slowed to a halt, his cock still hard enough to cut diamonds as he poured everything into you. His mouth moved sinfully good, tongue working you open again, leaving you desperate for more despite just draining him for all he was worth. Touches grew more gentle, less dire, calloused fingertips brushing reverent over your skin where bruises were surely going to form in the shape of his hands. Not that it would be the first time.

A few long moments passed of post-orgasmic bliss, kisses melting from messy to soft, before he was pulling back just to press his forehead against yours.

"Holy shit, kid," Wolfwood chuckled, breathless and exhausted. You weren't fairing much better.

"Yeah," Was all you could rasp in return, eyes glazed over with exhaustion. The day had been too long for you to want to stay conscious after being fucked into oblivion.

Wolfwood seemed to understand this, umber gaze falling to the cum stains on your shirt. He looked amused, exhaling a quick breath through his nose as he slowly, begrudgingly, pulled his now softening cock from your tight heat. You whine in protest at the immediate loss, at the drip down, milky white decorating the lid of the tote you were rested on.

"Mm. Can't let you go back out there lookin' like this," He murmured, peppering your cheek and temple with a few gentle pecks. A finger hooked below your chin, tilting you back so he could kiss you one more time, slow, sweet.

His free hand fished into his pants pocket, pulling out an absolute mess of a keyring and rested it in your open palm. "Here. Go take a shower. I'll handle cleanup."

Your legs wobbled when he helped you down to the ground, using the wall as additional support when Wolfwood walked away to fetch your pants and shoes. He brought them back, handing them off with care. Really, you only bothered to slide your underwear and pants on, deciding putting on your shoes was far too much work to simply walk through a corridor and into Wolfwood's living space.

"Hold up," He called out just as you reached the door, urging you to turn and glance over your shoulder. He already looked cleaned up, for the most part, shirt buttoned up, for the most part, and tucked into his pants. The only tell was his tousled hair, or the wrinkles in his shirt he hadn't bothered to smooth out.

Strong hands grabbed at the table wedged under the door handle, sliding it out of the way and lifting to lean it up against the adjacent wall. He pulled the door open, peering out and glancing around. The sight brought you deja vu, shooting you back to the first time, the situation that had landed you here in the first place. It looked no different, the glance around before a hand clasped around your wrist, giving you a slight pull to urge you out the door.

Caught in your head, you stumbled forward before a gentle, yet firm hand locked onto your hip.

"Hey," Wolfwood whispered low as he leaned down to kiss your temple, the husky timbre of his voice melting you. "You did great today. I appreciate you helping out so much."

It's not that you ever scoffed at his praise, but for some reason this one was a little deeper, a little more tender, and a lot more meaningful. Your chest grew tight, words lodged in your throat, but just like every time he expressed such genuineness towards you, he didn't expect you to say or do anything in return. The warm of his palm pressed a little more firmly into your lower back, guiding you out the door, encouraging your feet to shuffle you down the hall towards the massive wooden door of his living quarters.

You really only clued in to how well you've come to know both Wolfwood and his ways when you so seamlessly and quickly executed your clean-up. You knew exactly where he kept his towels, knew that he stored the special soap you used in the mirror cabinet because you refused to use his, knew exactly where you needed to pull the shower nozzle to get the perfect temperature. There was that domestic tenderness tugging at your heartstrings again, the familiarity of it all really only making itself prevalent in these moments. Never once did you think you were someone that could fall into a routine with someone, stick around long enough that you could grow so intimate like this.

The sound of the bathroom door opening startled you from your thoughts, blinking up at the ceiling as you sat at the bottom of the tub, staring at white subway tile. You didn't even question it when you heard the rattle of a belt buckle, heard clothes hit the tiled floor below, the peel back of the shower curtain. Didn't once think to question the nudge to your arm, urging you to scoot a little further towards the warm shower stream, allowing a space for him to slot in behind you, to sit with you, to pull you into a gentle embrace.

However, you did think to question the half-hard erection poking at your lower back when he tugged you into his chest, pressing a few small kisses to your shoulder. You huff an amused noise, tipping your head back to look up at him with an incredulous expression.

"I didn't even do anything. What's with this?" You inquire, half expecting some smartass response like you usually got. What you got instead was a neutral expression, soft gaze trailing along exposed skin before locking with your own.

"You don't have to do anything," He murmurs, low and intimate. "I just love you."

Breath caught in your throat, eyes locked. He gave you a beat or two to process it, before he was kissing you with such saccharine reverence you didn't know how you could possibly return it. But, like usual, he didn't expect you to say or do anything in return.

Love, huh?

Maybe you could get used to love if it was like this. If it was with him.

#trigun x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun smut #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader smut #i posted this on ao3 like a month ago woops

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laneysmusings · 3 months

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Hello hello! I've recently acquired the Mike Logan brainrot and I LOVE the fics you've written and I ADORE your tags about him!!

SO. I was wondering if you maybe, possibly, hopefully were willing to share any headcanons you have of him? 👉👈 If not then just delete this ask!

Thank you muchly!

it’s my birthday today, and it’s been a terrible one at that, but this ask literally made my face light up. I feel gifted by you — I would be HAPPY to provide headcanons of this gargantuan idiot, this hunk of massive Catholic guilt, my emotional support beleaguered detective

₊˚.༄ Mike Logan Headcanons

₊˚✦ he’s like, an adequate cook? Most likely good at breakfast in the morning and maybe some basic dishes, self sufficient so he doesn’t solely live off of takeout (but it’s like a quarter of his diet). I can’t say he can’t cook because it’s just not realistic. Boy’s gotta’ eat, y’know?

₊˚✦ Mike has trash coffee taste, takes it straight with maybe some cream or a sugar packet but refuses to try other things like blended drinks, will drink a cappuccino or an americano but hates being in a Starbucks

₊˚✦ UNLESS he gets spoilt and used to better coffee but then he’s doomed and cursed to the shit coffee at work and complains even more than usual. Which is a lot.

₊˚✦ I’ve got a feeling that, with being super progressive in his views, he definitely was one of those police officers in the beginning that everyone was shocked by. This little stinker, a raucous trouble maker, an OFFICER? PUHLEASE

₊˚✦ he’s so quick to fight for one (scrappy more like) he’s just got no fit outlet, so work became his outlet (terrible decision really) — but he’s got such hyperactivity and restlessness, probably born from some childhood PTSD and ADHD/ADD, that it just gnaws at him and lets him get too caught up in his emotions

₊˚✦ the boy needs therapy + AND NOT WITH LIZ

₊˚✦ cuddle bug but doesn’t look like it immediately — like sure he’s probably got some weird stuff with intimacy beyond sex (I can do a WHOLE other set of headcanons about this man’s issues with intimacy, both sexual and non sexual)

₊˚✦ but literally a cuddle bug, he will YANK his partner back into bed. he’s a lazy weekend guy and stands by it — it’s when he catches up on sleep and gets to take his time. He doesn’t shave on weekends either so he gets the perfect “I know I’m hot but I make it look effortless” stubble which is damning. Like fuck.

₊˚✦ I think when he works out he does cardio and maybe weight training but not all too much? Like above the minimum since he’s required to like, apprehend people, run chase and whatnot — but he’s not living at the gym if you catch my drift

₊˚✦ snores. he fucking snores look at that man and tell me he doesn’t snore.

₊˚✦ gets nightmares but doesn’t cope well with them — or have much if any good coping mechanisms honestly. Maybe later in life he’ll adapt some better ones, but everything he’d recommend to others, he wouldn’t do for himself.

₊˚✦ definitely not a “decorate his place for the holidays” person unless his partner is, then he’ll play along and get some fun out of it, but I doubt he’s got a box of decorations tucked away in some closet.

₊˚✦ speaking of closets — this man, oh I swear to god, has owned the same damn ties for like, 12+ years. What magic is in that fabric because I know he’s too cheap to buy good quality shirts and ties, maybe decent suits but still like department store, Macy’s suits. Joseph A. Bank maybe? I’m doubtful on Brooks Brothers, like there’s blood and probably brain matter on them all but fuck it, NYC dry cleaning. There’s also mustard stains, canonically, on them. He’s a slob, someone get this man a tide pen.

₊˚✦ lol all I can see now is him trying to iron his clothes in his apartment with the whole board and iron in like, a tank and boxers and mid-calf socks as he gets ready before work. Oh Dick Wolf you had so much promise with this man.

₊˚✦ he definitely has played and probably would play in the police recreational baseball league, it’s mentioned in an episode and he’s passionate about the Yankees. I’m torn between him actually sporting baseball gear or if it’s really casual with jeans and jerseys and baseball caps. (Pls pls pls PLEASE)

₊˚✦ ooh I’m not sure when he changed it but he used to wear a gold crucifix, fuck my life, but stopped wearing it later on and I’m wondering if it’s due to him taking a bigger step away from Catholicism? Like he’s absolutely a lapsed Catholic with terrible experiences in both home and church, it makes sense for him to be conflicted if not repelled from religion. I’d like to think out of habit he may still go to holiday midnight masses, and sometimes on his own for the quiet and the near-anonymity.

₊˚✦ I’m thinking that leather coat of his he wears around all the time, even in the snow like a fucking moron, may have been a gift or one of his bigger purchases for himself. Like something he saved up for or found and just, let himself have the little luxury. Coats like that are expensive and high quality, he wears the same damn one nearly every episode in both the original series and when he was on criminal intent.

₊˚✦ it may just be me projecting, but I feel like he’s got a record collection. Probably some old record player and some nice speakers, milk crates full of records that he has to bend over to sort through, groaning about his back all the while. Definitely a lot of jazz standards and the greats like Sinatra, as he mentions in the series at some point, Martin, Baker, Fitzgerald, Armstrong, Cooke, Davis, etc plus some classic rock, stuff like the typical dad rock™️ — doesn’t peg me as a frequent flyer for concerts but goes for really good shows, he’s a medium venue person not the intimate ones but not the giant stadiums either. He likes Billy Joel but isn’t vocal about it.

₊˚✦ he’s got clutter in his place, a little too cramped but it makes it homey, not decorative but at least lived in. Things are more out in the open than put away, he’s more visual and muscle memory based than having things stored away.

₊˚✦ lastly, a massive sweet tooth. A snacker, keeps things in the drawer of his desk to munch on between meals. He’s got more snacks than ingredients to cook with in his home kitchen and I stand by that. He looks like he would enjoy pretzels a lot, like a lot. And other salty snacks, but definitely an ice cream, eat out the tub kinda’ guy. I’m betting Raspberry, Chocolate, or Strawberry. Maybe a chocolate fudge if he’s feeling a little wild.

Note: I’d literally be more than happy to expand on any of these if not write even more headcanons

#law and order #mike logan #asked and answered #thank you lovely!!! literally made my night thank you so much #mike Logan headcanons #mike Logan law and order #L&O #michael logan

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bekah-reading · 1 year

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End of Year Book tag for 2022

Best Book You’ve Read this year?

Cold As Hell by Rhett C. Bruno

The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi

The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix

The Troop by Nick Cutter

Book You were excited about and thought you were going to love but didn’t?

Nothing But Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw

The Terror by Dan Simmons

Most surprising book (in a good or bad way) you’ve read this year?

Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy- it opened Western literature to me, and I’ve loved the ones I’ve picked up so far.

Books you’ve pushed the most people to read?

The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood, my friend is borrowing it right now.

Best series you’ve started this year? Sequel? Ender?

Start- Before the coffee gets cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

Sequel- Scarred by Emily McIntire

Ender- Only Human by Sylvain Neuvel

Favourite New Author?

John Gwynne, Ali Hazelwood, Emily McIntire, Alice Osman, and Nick Cutter.

Best Book from a genre you don’t typically read/was out of your comfort zone?

The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

Most action packed/thrilling/unputdownable book you’ve read this year?

The Troop by Nick Cutter

Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman

Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy

The book you’ve read this year that you are most likely to re-read?

In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado

If We Were. Villians by M.L. Rio

Favourite Cover of the Year?

Most Memorable Character?

Nick from Heartstopper

Micah from Little Heaven

Corban from Malice

The Judge from Blood Meridian

Most beautifully written book you’ve read this year?

In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado

Books you can’t believe you’ve waited to read?

If We Were Villians by M.L. Rio

Boy Parts by Eliza Clark

Only Human and Waking Gods by Sylvain Neuvel

Favourite Quote of the Year?

“Do you like it rough? I think I do. I think I must. Men are rough, aren’t they? Have I always had a taste for rough stuff, or did I acquire that?” Boy Parts by Eliza Clark.

Shortest Book?

Galatea by Madeline Miller

Longest Book?

It by Stephen King

Book that Shocked you the most?

Hooked by Emily McIntire, I was expecting a smut book but what shocked me the most of reading her Never After Series is that the plot is amazing.

OTP of this Year?

Nick and Charlie drop Heartstopper hands down

Favourite non-romantic relationship?

Corban and Gar from Malice.

Crowley and his angel from Cold as Hell.

Newest Fictional Crush?

Crowley from Cold as Hell.

King Midas from Gild.

Jensen, Micah, and Damien from Scream for Us.

Tristan from Scarred.

James from Hooked.

Hidden Gem of the Year?

Heartstopper by Alice Osman, it sorta seems like reading that series kickstarted the romance era of my reading.

How many books did you read this year?

122 books (yowza that’s a fuck ton)

#booklr #booktok #reading #2022 reading #2022 reading challenge #reading challenge #horrorbooks #2022 books #scifibooks #thrillerbooks #fantasy books #romance books #graphic novel #end of year book tag #end of 2022 book tag

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maribatshipper · 2 years

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Bad Batch Reader Insert incorrect quotes(From my Wattpad book).

Some background: Jade is Y/N’s little sister.

Jade: Hey, Y/N, are lobsters mermaids to scorpions?

Y/N: Jade, it's four in the morning!

***

Jade: *Picks up PJs, looks around*

Jade: How nice of you, good sir, but I prefer men that aren't so close-knit with my family. But I would love the warmth you bring me.

Y/N: *Snorts*

Jade: *Turns quickly, hiding PJs behind her back.* How long have you been standing there?

Omega: *Holding in laughter* Long enough.

***

Jade: *Drinking Coffee*

Omega: What's that?

Jade: My soul.

Omega: Can I have a taste?

Jade: Only if you have something to give me in exchange.

***

Y/N: You okay, Jay-Jay? You look like your sweating.

Jade: *wearing black leather* I don't sweat. I simmer.

***

Jade: What do you think of my outfit?

Cid: I prefer what's underneath it.

Y/N: CID!

Cid: No, I need your chair. Get your butt up.

***

Y/N: Target acquired

Random Star Wars Villain: *leaps toward her, roaring*

Y/N: TARGET ANGRY! TARGET ANGRY!

***

Y/N: *stares at ceiling*

Jade: Y/N? You alive?

Y/N: Nah, mon.

Jade: Oh. Guess I'm not making meatlovers then.

Y/N: Wait... Maybe I'm a little bit alive.

***

A Shi’ido: I've stolen your identity and I've been living as you for a week.

Y/N: ...

Shi’ido: *Starts crying*

Y/N: *Hugging her*, hey, it's okay-

Shi’ido: *Loud sobbing* How do you even get up in the morning?

Y/N: I dunno.

***

Jade: I never brag.

Echo: You once called your face proof of God's existance.

***

Echo:��Y/N sees the glass as half full, I see it as half empty; that's why we make a great team. Jade, on the other hand, just drinks right out of the bottle. Tech wonders why it has to be glass and Wrecker usually breaks the glass by putting his feet up on the table.

***

Y/N: Have a good day, Jade!

Jade: Don't tell me what to do!

***

Jade: I have everything under control.

Tech: Is that why everything's on fire?

***

Y/N: Jade, when was the last time I asked you for something?

Jade: Yesterday. You asked me to look into your ear to see if there was a bug in there.

Y/N: OK! When was the last time I asked you for something and IT WASN'T A MEDICAL EMERGENCY!?

Jade: Yesterday. You asked me to look into your ear to see if there was a bug in there.

***

Y/N: You're smiling. Did something good happen?

Jade: I can't smile just because I feel like it?

Omega: Fennec Shand tripped and fell on the way out the door today.

***

Wrecker: We should appreciate the little things in life.

Jade: *Hugs Y/N and Omega*

Y/N: I GET IT! I'M SHORT! STOP REMINDING ME!

***

Jade: *Walks into the room with watery eyes, sniffling.*

Hunter: Jade, what's wrong? Why are you crying?!

Jade: I'm not crying. My eyes are just watery from the smoke coming off of the fire I made in the kitchen again.

Y/N: Not again.

Cid: WHAT?!

***

Hunter: That's it! You're all grounded! Omega, no video games! Y/N, no flying, and Jade... Is there even anything you love?

Jade: Revenge.

Hunter: No vengeance for you!

Jade: I was going to say "I'll get you for this", but I guess that's off the table.

***

Y/N: What happens when life hands you lemons?

Jade: You kill them, crush them, then drink their souls.

Everyone: ...

Y/N: She's... not entirely wrong.

***

Y/N's evil clone: I'm the real Y/N! Shoot her!

Real Y/N: Shoot both of us!

Jade: *Aiming at the clone* The REAL N/N would never pass up an opportunity to die while taking out an enemy.

***

Palpatine: Do not test me, Y/N! You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

Y/N: I don't like you now! You're apprentice on the other hand can be liked.

***

Echo: Okay, for self defense reasons, I'm going to pretend to be a burglar and you guys have to act wisely.

Omega: Okay.

Jade: Got it.

Echo: If you want to live, give me all your money!

Omega: Bold of you to assume I have money.

Jade: Bold of you to assume I want to live.

Echo: ... Y/N! You’re sister needs to get a psychiatrist more than you do!

Y/N, poking her head in: More than WE do.

***

Star Wars Witch: So, I bought your soul last month and-

Jade: No returns!

Star Wars Witch: Please take it back, it's depressing!

***

Jade: My condolences.

Crosshair: Keep them.

***

Jade: In the ice planets, I like to dress in a cozy black jacket, shirt, and jeans. In the summer I wear the same thing because I look good in black and I'm willing to suffer.

***

Y/N: Omega, when people get too chummy with me, I like to call them by a name that isn't there's to let them know I don't care about them.

Omega: That's a genius move.

Jade’s love interest: *Walks in* What's a genius move?

Omega: Oh, nothing... Lester.

Y/N: *Proud smirks.*

***

Evil Y/N: In case you haven't noticed, you've fallen right into my trap!

Jade: You can't trap justice! It's an idea, a belief

Evil Y/N: But even the most heartfelt belief can be corroded over time!

Jade: Justice is a non-corrosive metal!

Evil Y/N: But metals can be melted by the heat of revenge!

Jade: Revenge is best served cold!

Evil Y/N: But it can easily be reheated in the microwave of evil!

Jade: Well, I think your warranty's about to expire!

Evil Y/N: Maybe I got an extended warranty!

Jade: Warranties are invalid if used beyond their intended purposes!

Omega: Ugh! Girls, girls! You're both pretty! Can I go home now?

Tech: What did I just witness?

***

Y/N: I can see into your brain, and let me tell you, it's disturbing as hell, Jade.

***

Wrecker: What do you call sabotage and vandalism?

Jade: A hobby.

The entire Batch: ...

Jade: That I do not engage in.

***

Hunter: Rules were made to be followed. Nothing was made to be broken.

Omega: Uh, Pinatas?

Jade: Glowsticks.

Echo: Karate boards.

Tech: Spaghetti, when you have a small pot.

Y/N: And rules!

***

Crosshair: You tricked me.

Jade: I deceived you, Cross. Tricked makes it sound like we have a playful relationship.

***

Hunter: Tomorrow is garbage day.

Y/N: I can't believe they have a whole day dedicated to me!

Wrecker: Don’t ever say something so sad again!

***

Y/N: Jade looks happy. It's a good thing for you that she does.

Possible Love interest for Jade: *Rolling eyes* Is this the part where you tell me that if I hurt her, you'll kill me?

Y/N: No. If you hurt Jade, she's quite capable of killing you herself.

#Bad Batch #Reader insert #Tech #Omega #Hunter #Echo #Wrecker #Crosshair #Cid

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returntosaturn271995 · 7 months

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Damn, I wish I was your lover

We haven't met yet seeing as I am currently very lover-less. Not in a sad way, I get hit on all the time. Okay, so maybe it's a little sad. I don't want anyone right now, but I think it's because I know somewhere in the world you exist.

If you are real. Out there. I won't have to do backflips in my mind for us to work: we'll just want to fuck right away but realize during the small talk that we share a thread of loneliness sewn into everything we do. Wanting each other will be as easy as breathing and I'll want you just as badly as my next inhale. How the fuck did we ever breathe before?

I want to be utterly distracted on an ordinary day and then look up and realize, "Oh, it's you." We'll have met before because I've had a million conversations in my head with you already. For a figment of my imagination, you're a very good listener.

There are days when I'm running when the only thing that keeps me going is that I'm growing into a better person so I can love you damn good the first time. I have a tendency to screw things up. I do it less often now, but something like a soulmate might be too tempting to self-sabotage. I'll build a palace with you and burn it down just so I can control the day you're taken from me.

I hope I don't get too drunk. I hope I'm not drunk at all the first time we make love. I want it to be sexy and simple. I want to lie in your arms and bring you coffee after you bring me water. I want to get along with your friends and put my head on your chest after a long day, listen to your heart as it beats because I can't believe you're made of the same things as every other human.

I want the love songs to make sense for years on end. I hope you think I'm funny and like my cooking. I hope you're sardonic and have a deep voice and big hands and dark hair and think Republicans are lame. I pray to god you hate House music as much as I do. I hope we love each other so good it makes up for some of the scars I have from being un-liked. That as long as we get each other, we enjoy being an acquired taste. Smoke a joint with me in our gym clothes and flick ash at the popular kids.

I know missing you now, having never met, will make meeting you the best thing that's ever happened to me in such a goddamn long time. I feel your absence now, even if this isn't the lifetime we meet. Maybe this is the dark timeline where I always wonder if certain kinds of love are as good as they say, and you marry someone with a snaggle tooth (what? She has the love of my life in this timeline, she doesn't also get nice teeth).

Maybe my soulmates this time around are friends and family. I don't die in your arms or watch you grow old (my face stays 30 in all my fantasies), but know that a part of me will be faithful to you anyway.

I believe you exist. I'm so cursedly romantic even if I'm not the person who gets romantic happiness. Actually, we tend to be the most romantic of all. Antony and Cleopatra never bickered over the air BnB.

So yes, maybe we won't meet this year, this decade, this lifetime.

I want you to know I'm happy here. In the world without you. It kind of sucks, but I'm never alone. I've missed you a lot though. A little bit of me persistently aches to go back somewhere I've never been. A home I lost the key to. I want you to know I like who I am more than I don't. That wasn't true for a very long time for reasons you understand so well that you laugh at jokes messy and dark like spilled ink.

I sometimes worry that being alone is the worst thing in the world, but of course it isn't. Losing your parents is. Having kids just because there's nothing good on TV is. Being cruel is: even if it's just the venom you bite into your own inner arm, pulling back and examining the puncture wounds as weeks scrape by and burn away.

Still, I keep a lamp on and a torch lit. I check the lighthouse for your ship on a vast and empty sea on starless nights. I drink water, go on runs, and read for long hours curled up until my legs ache and I crave red wine and your kiss.

I do standup comedy to faceless silhouettes. The stage lights reflect back from the bottom of half-empty glasses and the occasional piece of jewelry. Do people notice that while they watch me, while my voice fills a room full of people holding theirs, I gaze back and study with a desperation that borders on violence?

In the world where we don't meet: I still go to work and wear fun outfits and have sex and cook meals full of sweet cheeses and lemony, salty leaves. I listen to indie music and wear my hair long with nice perfume and decorate rooms with plants and lurid photos of times gone by.

I do all these things for me, but a very silly and small part does them for you. A part that hopes one day in the world, I'll turn a holy corner and when you see me I am beautiful and whole.

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justyouraveragecsmfan · 2 years

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purple hyacinths for a long-lost fantasy

Makima/reader

Warning : Spoilers, implied sex, mild gore

Genre : angst (no comfort)

The world had been nothing but an old record for Makima. It's cacophony reaching its end only to begin again. Until she fully acquired the Chainsaw Devil, that is. Was it because everything was going perfectly as planned in her little game of chess or maybe she was.. Bored. Bored enough to see she had sufficient time on her hands in midst of achieving her goal. Sufficient enough.. to entertain you.

You were, but another pawn like all the devil hunters there existed. Assigned in her Special Division 4 Squad, your reason for the job was the same as many other hundreds. Money, revenge, Indifference, passion ; you didn't have much to go about, honestly. Except your outrageously, inquisitive attitude (which could be predictable in itself)

"Miss Makima, do you think God exists?", you'd asked her ever so curiously at the night of the drinking party. Makima pretended to think it over before replying:

" I suppose yes, if Devils exist then there might be an opposite force too right? "

" We've got a pretty shitty one then", you laughed as you swirled around your drink, clearly drunk.

"...Or maybe.. ", you continued

"I guess having the Devils over here must be retribution for the humans huh? "

"That's quite the statement you've made there, being a Devil Hunter yourself"

"I don't know miss Makima... retribution or not, it sucks to see my friends die yknow "

Ah yes, you lost one of your squad partners on the latter mission. Before she could offer you a word or two of faux sympathy, you'd already passed out on the table, and that was all that happened, before Kobeni dropped your drunken self home.

You started appearing more around her after that. Quirking a joke or too, telling her all the weird stuff you used to do as a kid, like now, shuffling your weight between your two feet as you gushed about the story you recently completed last night.

Makima continued working on her documents while listening to you, her serene gaze unknowingly finding their way to your eyes before going down. You were, but a dog, a quite affectionate one at that, and she adored that.

Days went by, and the routine was the same, where you held conversations in the room after you reported back from your duty.

She began keeping in mind little things about you. The amused and teasing tone of your voice whenever you addressed her "Miss Makima". The way you couldn't keep your hands still while talking. What genre you liked, your music taste, you'd discussed everything with her during that one hour you both get with each other.

You were daring to enquire about her too, but she drew a line and you stopped.

Makima was bored and which is why she allowed herself to listen to you

The day when you asked to come over her house was a rather listless day for her too. You were felt rather hollow though, seeing your friend Himeno vanish before your eyes. So she let you in.

She observed your frame, now comparatively small as she handed you a coffee. Even during times of peril, your character was predictable, as you suddenly took her hand and whispered, "Hold me, Miss Makima ", with a strange urgency in your tone.

She was bored and you were willing, so she took you into her bedroom, where she had you over and over till your empty self was satisfied, till you couldn't give her anymore.

Another thing she found out that day was how much you've wanted to kiss her.

"What do you think is an ideal way to die? ", you asked her as she lay basking in the afterglow of the events.

Without waiting for her answer (not like she was giving you one) you replied

"I .... would like to die by the hands of the one I love, miss Makima "

She looked pointedly at your face, amber orbs searching for any sign of familiar emotion. For once she was unable to read you.

"Wouldn't that be a betrayal then? To have someone you love, end you? "

"It's better than dying by the hands of a devil, and I don't want to have a lonely death like that yknow ", you shrugged and snuggled closer to her and Makima took you in, feeling nothing but void.

The sunlight rained down in tiny speckles across the scarlet haired woman's face. She looked at her watch to make sure everything is in time.

Makima was close, so close. Denji had already been somewhat broken down after killing the Gun Devil. Today was the day she would kill his spirit for good too. After snuffing out an undesirable anomaly she'd been letting fester - you.

Which she did,now gazing down at your crumbled body, slowly bleeding out, as you coughed out blood.

"Did you think I wasn't aware of your correspondence with Kishibe?"

You let out a weak chuckle.

"I knew of course, but I'm more surprised you didn't kill me until now"

Makima hummed, as she pointed her finger straight at your head. You've taken enough of her time, and she was getting late.

"Good work till now. "

Your exhausted gaze reflected across her pupils as you smiled-

Bang !

Makima had a dream quite some time ago. One that she could never, in a million years fathom. Your laughter serenading across the comfy living room as she sat beside you on the couch, leaning into each other. You looked so carefree, so blissful, a look which you could never put on in the real world.

It ended up coming back to her, right on time. Just as she was ambushed by Denji and her body fell to the ground.

With her consciousness melting into the dark once and for all, Makima couldn't help but wonder. Not about Denji managing to overpower her, not about her losing the Chainsaw Devil, but about that beautiful expression of yours which looked more and more ethereal now that she was nearing her end.

She wondered what made you laugh in her dream.

She wondered if she made a mistake ending you.

She wondered why it ached so much seeing you dead by her own hands

She wondered-

Whether she had made a similar blissful expression in her dream with you?

There isn't much angst for makima here. She's a literal walking red flag there should be more so i tried making one

Also, Purple hyacinths symbolize regret towards something

Thanks for reading!

#csm #chainsaw man #csm x reader #chainsaw man makima #chainsaw man spoilers #chainsaw man/reader #makima/reader #makima x reader #this took so long i pretty much half-assed but #but hope y'all enjoy this #i wanted some makima angst #my fics ✨

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rcksmith · 3 years

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I want to do bad things with you — Five Hargreeves

Request: “6 from fluff and 4 and 8 from smut list for five hargreeves?”

Fluff Prompts:

6. “I’m going to marry you one day.”

Smut Prompts;

4. “Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.”

8. “I don’t care how good it feels you’d better not cum until I tell you to.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope it got close to what you wanted. ❤️ This is a heavy smut, I was in a bad mood, sorry jsnsjsnsjsn.

Guys, I really understand who doesn't feel comfortable reading or writing Five's smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.//

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: SMUT, SMUT, bad words and bad smuut.

— — — — —

Five Hargreeves were many adjectives. Genius, superhero, handsome, dangerous, sinic, arrogant, born leader, among other things. His energy was intense and mysterious, and looking him for too long was like facing the stormy sea: dangerous and risky, but extremely fascinating.

He carried many adjectives on his back, is truth, and domineering was one of them. His life was a constant line of stress, problems and exasperation, Five felt irritated most of the time, so relieving all that stress in sex was... it was fucking good.

Normally, his emotions were always on a tight leash, under iron control. Five was composed, controlled, taking everything rationally. Even in sex, when he vented all his anger, he was conscious. Until you show up.

You were a little, sweet, lyrical little thing and... fuck, you had an angel face that made Five clench his jaw as soon as he laid eyes on you. And then controlling yourself became a much more difficult task. You had a cunning, catlike look, but an face so pure that it hooked Five into the his soul.

He couldn't get involved with you, he repeated that every fucking day. Five could barely look in your direction without wanting to hold your angel face and kiss you with the fury of hell. Five wanted to fold you in front of him, slap your ass until you blush and hear you whimpering his name. He wanted to do all the dark things in his mind to break your doll energy.

Five Hargreeves was many things, but the irony of all was how they swayed when he fell in love with you. It was inevitable. Over the months, while trying to control his thoughts, he found himself admiring your intelligence and sense of humor. He started to notice how you loved sweet tea and had headaches when you had coffee, which is why he started to leave a migraine medicine in the kitchen if you needed to.

With the days, Five now hid his smile when you laughed at something stupid and admired how the world seemed sweeter when you were happy.

And that's when he kissed you. And his whole view changed. When he held your face between his hands and tasted your lips, Five felt like he was touching Egyptian crystal, and then the urge to protect you was born. He didn't want anything or anyone to hurt you, anyway. Five touched you so delicately and made sure that nothing bothered you.

So that's when you two slept together. Fuck, it was so fucking hard for him. Extraordinarily difficult because Five wanted to make you scream and fuck you so hard. It was difficult as hell because he wanted to hit your ass and thigh so hard that he could see the marks tomorrow. And... son of a bitch, even though you moaned and squirmed, you looked like a fucking angel. And the desire to desecrate something so pure became even bigger.

And that was why he avoided touching you during those hours. He kept his hands on the mattress, on the headboard, on the walls or on the pillows, avoided touching you as much as possible. Because Five knew... it was already too hard not to fuck you rough, hard and intense, if he touched you... it would be the end. He didn't even want to kiss you too much, or suck on your skin, because one thing would lead to another and... God, you fucked his mind!

It was after a few months that he realized he loved you. And your relationship will become even more serious.

"I love you so much.” You whispered on his lips one day, with the cold and rain falling outside, and you curled in him up like a pet.

Five nodded, him lips on you forehead, brushing them there as appreciated what that phrase did to him. You two had already said that a few months ago, but you loved to keep repeating it and Five appreciated how right the universe felt when you said that.

“I'm going to marry you one day.” He sighed through your hair, lowering lips to yours before receiving your ecstatic and passionate screams.

But the more love grew in you two, the more hunger, lust and sin grew within Five too. Was like a wild beast, hitting the bars of the cage, almost breaking what kept under control. And controlle herself started to be physically painful. So he tried to put out that blazing fire.

Seeing you naked has become excruciating torture. Five fidgeted uneasily whenever you changed in front of him, took off the towel after a shower. But the worst was when you two had sex. Fucking you, feeling you pulsing, squirming, totally submissive to his whims, made Five have to acquire phenomenal self-control. Although Five exhibited a cold, arrogant and confident personality, everything inside him became a boiling volcano when you appeared.

“Baby…” That was when Five heard you purring, you had just come out of the shower, a short white towel covering your body.

When Five looked at you, and saw you walking towards him, he pulse reached alarming levels. Normally, Five always managed to keep his impulses under control, even though it was an overwhelming endeavor. But not today.

Oh, he was far from being in control. Your doe eyes looked at him docilely and Five felt again the overwhelming appetite to take you so badly.

God, he needed to break you…

You didn't make it easy for Five either. Oblivious to the internal battle within him, you sat on his lap, supporting your legs on either side of his hips, with the towel rising to the top of your thighs and your bare skin sitting on his already pulsating member.

Five snarled softly, hands tightly squeezing the bed sheet, your body pulsing beneath his. He felt hot as if were in the Sahara desert.

“You are so tense.” Your voice was velvety, soft, and you brought your lips to his neck. And that was too much.

“Y/N..” Was a warning.

“Something wrong?” You pulled your face back enough to look at him.

Five shook his head, hands still clutching the sheets. You followed that gesture with your eyes, and started connecting the pieces second by second.

It was no longer today that your felt him controlling himself. Moments he didn't want to touch you at all while he fucked you, like you were a hot iron. Days when he forced a little more force into the way he kissed you and then completely backed down.

“I've been noticing a few things lately...” You commented, the left index finger playing with his uniform “I noticed that you have ... controlled yourself, as if you were holding something.”

And then you looked into his eyes, and what you saw in the green sockets was a lust so fervent that you felt yourself losing breath.

“Y/N...” the voice was still hoarse, a ring signaling his warning as well “I ... I won't be able to talk about this with you.”

“Why not?” You didn't know exactly what the problem was, how deep it went, but you knew something was going on. “I did something? Or are you more stressed? ”

“You did not do anything.” He assured you, and as he saw in your eyes that you would not let the matter pass, because you were determined as hell, Five sighed deeply. “It with me. It has nothing to do with you, I just... I like to do more... rough things. "

You were watching him closely, the direction of the conversation was pleasing to you... It wasn't today that you knew your own tastes, and something brutalized and stronger was exactly what you liked. But Five was always so controlled, so reserved, that you were still looking for an opening to bring it up.

Five must have noticed that your eyes took on a different glow, and he looked at you as if he suspected.

“Why that look?” His little corner smile made you smile too.

“ I didn't know you liked things like that.” Five raised an eyebrow at you, the little smile still on his face. “Is that why you have been controlling yourself?”

Five had to take a deep breath, hands going to your waist under the towel, in a soft, controlled touch. But his hands were stiff, you felt it.

“I do not want to hurt you.” He was succinct “I have more aggressive, brutal desires, and I don't want to take it out on you.”

Oh, you were really enjoying the conversation.

You let out a low chuckle, playing with your index finger on the lapel of his uniform.

“Like ... hit me and stuff?” Then you felt his grip tighten on your waist, his jaw tighten.

Five looked at you with a clear warning that you were walking in rough waters. That it was better for you to stop here. He could barely cope with his own thoughts about it, let alone hear you say those things with that fucking angelic voice of yours.

"What if I wanted to?” Now your eyes were bright with amusement and anticipation.

“You can't tell me these things” His grip got stronger, his eyes more fierce, the energy more irritable “Even more naked in my lap.”

Five might be covered in clothes, but he could feel your hot pussy under him, the soft skin of your thighs around his waist, your breasts a touch away... Damn, it was too much for him!

“I mean it.” You ran your fingers through his hair, resting your hands behind the back of his neck. “I like something hard too, if you are willing to try this on me, I would like us to do it. You are always so focused... I would love to see you more out of control. ”

Five kept his eyes on you, as if he were looking for some hesitation in you. But he found none. Just shared desire.

God help him.

“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.” He wanted to warn you, he wanted you to know it was a path of no return. Five could destroy you and him wanted you to know that.

“Yes.” You agreed “I want it so much.”

Suddenly, something in the air seemed to change. Everything became rarer, more caustic and crackling. Five's intensity had reached extremely high levels and he looked at you as if you were the prey on a night hunt. Five pulled harder on your towel, freeing your naked body. He gasped, his eyes fixed on you.

“Say red when you want me to stop.”

You were going to say something, but he didn't give you a chance. His hungry lips stuck to yours. It was a controlling kiss, drowning out you surprised moan. Five stood with you on his lap and threw you on your back on the mattress. You gasped, your naked body exposed on his bed, given over to all the profane fantasies he had in mind. Seeing you there, submissive, destroyed all the control he had.

Oh he was going to destroy you.

Five remained standing, pulled your legs over the edge of the bed and opened them aggressively. You let out a heavy breath, the core pulsing. God, seeing that made him rock hard.

Five leaned over your body, pressing his lips in you before moving to your breasts, sucking on aching nipple, squeezing the other in a heavy touch. His hands left you for a second before him straightened up and removed he blazer and sweater from the academy, his nimble hands pulled the tie knot fiercely, tearing the piece of silk from his neck.

“Be quiet for me, dear.” Five put your hands together, tying your fists with the tie and tying the tie to the headboard.

You bit your lip, your body fidgeting for him, the core throbbing. Five had barely touched you and you were already pulsing for him.

“You are so needy.”

Without warning, he was leaning over you, him lips on yours, his hands roaming your body in a rough touch, his mouth pinching your lips. And everything started to get heavy after that point. Five closed his mouth on your neck, leaving a trail of purple hickeys as he brought two fingers to your mouth.

You took them in, sucking without waiting for an order. But his fingers on your mouth seemed to have an even more exciting effect for you. You legs closed, wanting to seek any friction, but Five slapped your left thigh roughly, brutally separating them with his free hand.

“Did I tell you to close your legs?!” You whimpered, and he gave you another slap “Answer!”

“N-no...” You did your best to speak with his fingers in your mouth.

“No what?!” Another slap. Now you could feel the flesh throbbing. You pulled on your fists, trying to control yourself not to close your thighs again.

“N-didn't”

Now his free hand went to your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“It's ‘No, Daddy’!”

“No, Daddy!”

“Good Girl.”

Five withdrew his hand from your mouth, bringing it down and melting it into your pussy. You moaned louder, forcing the tie, shifting your hips. He didn't give you time to breathe before he buried his fingers in you, hitting your walls.

You screeched muffled by his lips on your, as his hand pushed against you frantically, slamming inside you at a brutal pace.

“F-fi...”

Another slap. Stronger, more aggressive.

“What did fucking you say?!”

“Daddy! I mean Daddy! I’m so sorry.”

He accelerated his hand even more, and you started frantically pulling on the tie, trying to get rid of or gain more of that ardor. You were starting to feel close to orgasms when Five pulled away, slapping your bare breast as he rose again. You whimpered in protest, your hips still making some movements in search of some ghost friction.

“Look at you, so desperate and I haven't even fucked you yet.” Five began to unbutton his white shirt, stripping off his clothes and leaving the belt beside you.

You excitement went to extremely high levels when you saw his cock jump out. Pulsating, molasses with pre-cum and dashed with thick veins. Your core throbbed, dripping your liquid while you whimpered.

Five smirked when he noticed where your attention was, and he leaned you, but now bringing the belt with him and placing it around your neck.

God, he was going to fuck you so hard.

Five gave a tug, testing the accuracy, and when you groaned needy, Five appeased his own excitement by sinking his bruised lips into yours.

He stood up again, pulling your legs closer to the edge as he brushed your pussy with the throbbing head of the stick, watching you squirm. It was torture for him too, but the sight of you struggling for contact was a fucking reward.

“Please d-Daddy!” You whimpered, rummaging in despair, wanting more of anything he give you.

“Please, what? ‘Please, daddy, fuck me hard’ or ‘please, daddy, use me’ ?”

You were begging, with tears in the corners of your eyes as he played with you, by sinking the head of the stick inside you. It was driving you crazy. Five held the base of him penis while he sank just another inch into you, then pulled and rubbed your clitoris.

“Fuck me h-hard, Daddy!”

Suddenly, Five entered you brutally to the bottom, leaving you speechless in a loud and silent groan. He pulled you by the belt, not giving you time to get used to the size, he established strong and aggressive blows.

“Do you want hard?! I will give you hard!”

Then Five untied the tie from the headboard, turned you brutally on you stomach and pulled your hips up. He pulled his hand back and unloaded it on your ass, and you screamed, staggering forward. Five pulled you by the hips, dissatisfied with your distance.

“Be good girl for me, dear." It was an order.

You obeyed, crying out loudly when Five pushed the stick inside you aggressively, pulling on your neck with the belt. He held you by the belt and the waist while he fucked you. Hard, fast, without any abandonment.

His hand hit the flesh of your ass from second to second, and you can't help but moan for it. He gave no respite, the sound of his bodies colliding flooded the room, perhaps the entire mansion.

Five has never felt so hardcore in life, so hungry, so lust. He wanted to break you, hurt you, squeeze your flesh so hard that you would be left with marks for months. He groaned, trying to concentrate on mistreating the walls of your pussy, pounding with brutality, harder and cruel.

“D-d-daddy!”

Tears streamed into your eyes as you dug your nails into the pillow hard, unable to contain the moans and the tremor in your thighs. Your belly vibrated, hummed with hyperstimulation, that was paradise and sin at the same time and you felt that you could fall apart at any moment.

Five pulled the belt tight, bringing you up and sticking your back to his chest. He put his free arm around your waist, bringing the thrusts in slow, hard rhythms, making you feel every inch of him.

You hands went to him arm around your waist, the new position reaching the most sensitive places, making your pussy throb. You bit your lip to try to control your moans, because you were afraid they would be too loud.

“Without trapping those sounds for me!” This time the slap came down on your left breast, followed by a deeper thrust, and you begged for excuses while looking for air “Let everyone hear who's making you feel so good! Who does this slutt belong.”

That pushed you further into the abyss. Five sucked on the skin on your neck, pouring out a strong hickey while you could only scream and whimper for him, unable to do anything else. . He entered you deeply, taking whatever inch you had and forcing you to take it deeper.

Five did not allow you to move an inch away, your hips clinging to his, held by his arm, him fucking you hard without you can moving your hips. He could feel you blinking on his dick, making your honey drip down your thighs. His hunger had given no respite, and when he looked at you, and he saw your angel face in an expression of pleasure, pain and dirty with tears, it further fueled Five's hunger.

"That, little slutt!"

You were close, pulsing on his dick, sweat running down your body, your broken moans. Five loved how you were a mess for him, your whole body scarred because of him. He never fell your owner as much as he does now. You begged for something you didn't know what it was, but Five did. And he would give it to you. But he felt your pussy squeeze him, swallowing him in a broken way.

“You can't come until I let you!”

“Da-daddy!” You moaned louder “Please! Please! I need... I need it! ”

“I don’t care how good it feels, you’d better not cum until I tell you to!”

Five came out of you, turning you brutally on the bed once again, removing the belt from your neck. He climbed on top of you, now sticking your body to his, placing his mouth on yours in a gasping kiss. The skin-to-skin sensation was maddening, you were both hot, sweating, and Five squeezed your thigh tightly before slapping it down again. Your wrists were still tied, and you could only press them against his broad chest.

Your thighs were shaking and Five was delighted by this, he traced hickeys all over your breasts, and sank into you again when he sucked on your left sore beak.

Five held you while he fucked you in that position. Strong, cruel and hard. His hands were glued to your flesh, marking your skin with purple from his digits, holding his own moans. And you watched him with your mouth open by the screams and the sight. He was beautiful like that. Wild, his skin all sweaty, his teeth closed on his lip to keep from groaning, his black hair stuck to his forehead.

It was too much torture, too much stimulation, and you were already letting the tears flow while you were begging for something.

“Come to me, my good girl.”

Five didn't have to say it twice. You came intensely, your pussy sucking all of his cock and receiving the hot, thick liquid of his as a reward. You threw your head back in abandonment, feeling him it sink into you deeper, making sure you got all his sperm.

“Such a good girl for me.” Five whispered as he gave you a reward kiss you.

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storiumemporium · 2 years

Text

Electric Sheep I

Viktor/fem!Reader, past!Jayvik

| Word Count - 2.7k | Angst, Hurt/Comfort(?) |

(HERE IT IS, part one of my Detroit: Become Human AU, this chapter is entirely Viktor but please, do enjoy!)

Viktor, a polymath and trailblazer of the modern age turned detached recluse hiding away within his concrete oasis, far outside the city. Following the unexpected diagnosis of an incurable lung ailment, Viktor is given a gift he never wanted, on his thirty-second birthday. You.

"In other news, prolific inventor and pioneer Viktor Cress turns thirty-two today! Born in Brno, Czechia, Viktor was spotted by the Odeira Corporation's Gifted Children program for the advancement of—"

Viktor...was tired.

The hologram in his kitchen displays himself, younger, brighter- he had a future, then. He's beside Talis in the photo FIN uses for the piece they run on him, waving out at a crowd. His suit was nice, he'd looked good, handsome. Viktor pulls in a mouthful of bitter coffee, he can barely taste it- or anything, anymore. He wonders if they were going to showcase his tragic downfall as well.

My God, Viktor. You sound like a bitter old man, get ahold of yourself.

But he supposes he is a bitter man, he just hasn't quite achieved old yet.

It has been years since his disgrace in the public eye, but Viktor still hasn't managed to fully wrap his head around it, it'd happened so fast- just a whirl of tragedies that sent him toppling down from the sun, each time he thought he'd finally stopped, the ground would shake loose and he'd roll that much farther.

Now he was...here.

"Scar tissue has formed within the lungs, alongside cysts and some signs of erosion in the lining, likely due to chemical exposure. Your care team has already been sent the treatment plan, if you'd like to go over it now."

Viktor is sitting, alone, in that cold and detached office as a doctor details all the ways his body was falling apart. Viktor's mind catching and stuttering on how the woman sounds almost bored telling him. Viktor is alone as she drones mechanically through- through pills and therapies and- bullshit that he couldn't be bothered to process in that moment. Realizing his body was escaping him like so much else in his life has.

Viktor is alone.

"What is my prognosis, Doctor?" His voice, raw, breaks ineloquently.

She stammered to a halt, then. "Excuse me..?"

"Am I going to die?" So crude, such an ugly way to drag something so important into the light.

"Oh..! No, no Mister Cress. Between recent advancements in medicine and with the stage of progression we've caught you in, there should be no serious impact to life expectancy."

He laughs, bitterly, loudly, full chested in a way that makes his willowy body shake. His crutch, rested against his neck, feels like a guillotine.

"And quality of life?"

She looks at him as if she's been caught in a lie.

He went along with their little plan of course, over the months he acquires enough pills to take each day that, in the throes of Viktor's self-destruction he uses as a substitute for breakfast. It's paired with lackluster in-home physical therapy and... reminders for his actual therapy that he hasn't attended in ages, doesn't intend to start now. And beside that he has... what? What else?

That's all Viktor is, anymore. A healthcare plan. Some downtrodden puppy for people to try and nurse back to health. He fucking hated it.

And of course he got the little messages, all those empty apologies from his old colleagues, his peers, giving him well wishes amongst mountains of flowers that he immediately tossed out, if not because they made his eyes water than the fact that he didn't want to deal with the cruel irony of being gifted something that would look pretty for a few weeks and then wilt before his very eyes. They never talk to him in person, of course, they never risk being seen physically with him- that would be an irrevocable black mark on their sterling reputations.

He hasn't even bothered to send a letter. Viktor hasn't heard a word from him in... maybe years.

He doesn't want to admit it, but it stings, every day as he sorts through voicemails and holograms and- on and on- nothing, no sign from Talis.

From Jayce.

How you could be so special to someone, spend so much of your life with them, share every part of yourself you had to give and then just-

It was beyond him, really. But he supposes that's why Jayce is plastered all over the sides of buildings and billboards, and Viktor is a decaying recluse in his concrete cage.

Traitorous bastard.

Still, it hurt. It hurts.

He remembers vividly when they met. Teachers' pet and troublemaker, they were. Viktor had been so young then that he had bought entirely into the belief that there should be no rules for advancement, all in the pursuit of betterment, so people could suffer less. Bridging gaps and paving new lanes.

Jayce had been too shy and too timid to speak things like that out into the world, brazenly in the face of ostracization, and as such had drawn to Viktor like a moth to a flame. Seeking Viktor's passion to spur his own courage, to make him willing to be reckless, less afraid of disappointment.

They had been revolutionaries together.

Their initial achievements had garnered attention of scouts within the academy, winning competitions and solving small but no less vexing scientific conundrums- but what had truly put them on the map was the invention of synthetic skin. Lifelike, seamless, and noninvasive. A single implant to take away insecurity and pain, to give back innocent men and women and children a sense of normalcy they deserved, Viktor had never felt so proud.

Then, Elijah Kamski stepped into their life.

Just as they came, the old memories go, leaving Viktor with a throbbing pain between the eyes, he wonders if it's the onset of yet another headache or if he was just that angry. Viktor rolls his shoulders, face pinching at the way his spine cracks in protest against the motion, the screen in front of him catches his eye, he sees himself- very young- creating a fully functioning motor with scrap metal. Yet another moment of pride, he'd been given a medal- and then the thing had been scrapped two days later.

Viktor waves his hand irritably at the screen, his voice cracks and chips like old drywall when he forces it into use for the first time in a week. "Screen off." It disappears without a noise, and leaves Viktor staring out at the rest of his barren, vacant house.

Pausing, contemplating, Viktor lowers his head farther and farther until he's pressing his forehead directly into the unrelenting cold of the marble island, rolling his head back and forth until he's sure a bruise will form. He supposes he should be eating, right now. That is what people do, right? They eat breakfast and get dressed and go do- things, anything.

Just because everything you've ever striven for has been taken from you didn't mean you have to stop living life! He limps toward his fridge, crutch left abandoned up against his seat as he rummages about within the contents. Recently stocked, sparkling fresh produce in a whole rainbow of colors stare out at him just begging to be used, but everything his shambled mind can piece together is either painfully bland or so time consuming he couldn't be bothered.

Instead, a childhood comfort sings out to him, and he finds himself trailing after the cabinets in search of chocolate and graham crackers. Because...because he is a grown adult goddammit and it was his birthday, he can have smores and sweetmilk for breakfast if it so pleases him. Healthy diet believed to have a 22% decrease in degradation of leg function be damned, life is too short- getting shorter for him- and it wasn't as if he has any plans of leaving his house.

It's a blessedly simple task that doesn't take him very long (God bless the inventor of the microwave), and a delightful disaster the moment he begins to eat. Graham cracker crumbs rain all down his pajamas and across the counter, and the chocolate and marshmallow has begun to spew out of the sides with each bite, running thickly down his hands and leaving stains and an annoying tackiness. It reminds him of his mother, and camping for the first time, and manages to drag a tiny smile to his exhausted face.

It was more of a snack than a meal, but Viktor was by no means a large man and his stomach has only shrunk with the onset of clinical depression he's been frigidly diagnosed with, the milk is a fatty addition to take up the space the smores have left behind. What was next...? Right. Clothes.

This one is...harder for him, somehow. He still hasn't quite puzzled that one out, that he can feed himself and force himself out of bed, but to so much as look at the contents of his closet simply paralyzes him. He's gone 'round in circles trying to come to a conclusion, a singular why.

Too many options.

An exhausting amount of effort.

Nowhere to go.

No reason to go.

But the truth is, he just doesn't know. All he knows is that- to stare too long at nice shirts and pants and polished shoes waiting on racks for him, makes him want to curl up on the floor and wither away. Makes his throat close up and that pestering sting of shame come back.

It's what he's doing right now, in this moment. Staring at the clothes bleakly, sagging against his crutch as he wrestles with the invisible something that makes him so exhausted. It's just clothes, it was just clothes. Just put them on.

Viktor drags a weary hand down his face and stares at the ground, at the parts of shiny, lacquered floor that haven't been covered in piles of clothes or papers that have been scribbled in by a madman- himself- and contemplates just...just going back to bed.

But no, he wants this, he has to try- if he does this, he tells himself, he doesn't have to immediately wear them, he can just go shower, use that shampoo he quite likes, let the warmth sink into his weary joints.

He grabs blindly at the clothes, concluding that putting clothes on was more important than whether or not they matched. They come off the hangars with a clatter, and Viktor is practically slamming the sliding door shut.

It could have been a worse combination he supposes, a dark, navy blue button up and cream colored pants. The silk is soft beneath his fingers, even as he bunches it tightly into his fist. It suits his eyes well. Or it used to, when he didn't look so beady and dismal.

Now, go shower.

One of the rare gifts he appreciates immensely, a walk in tub with a nice seat and a treaded floor- it was given to him by Jayce's friend, Mel, unexpectedly thoughtful for a woman that met him all of twice, she is to this day the only one he's ever written back to thank.

Figures that Jayce would end up marrying her, after all of this.

It's warm, cascading down his shoulders and back, blessedly loosening strung muscles and soothing frayed nerves, soaking through the grease in his hair. He closes his eyes and lets himself disappear into the steam, lulled by the hiss from his showerhead.

His soap is some- exotic nonsense as well, it's a dark burgundy color and smells like firewood, and something pleasant and earthy he can't name. He never was an aficionado for the finer things in life. It's as he's cleaning himself down with it that he assesses the state of his body. More weight has been lost, he can feel his ribs clearly now- and the small amount of muscle he used to have has completely given away, a casualty of his betraying all things healthy.

It doesn't matter, he thinks numbly, I'm fine as I am.

At least the shampoo smells nice. Traditionally it was for women, and it smells like peaches and cream, he'd mistakenly picked it up once while shopping ages ago and was utterly charmed by it, finding himself unable to buy anything else when he could have this.

Shampoo is abused, conditioner drenched, and he soaks himself within the water until it turns cold and he starts to shrivel up more than he already has. Getting out is a little difficult, his leg protesting the weight bearing down on it again after being in disuse for the last hour or so, he holds firmly to the grips all over the walls in the bathroom until he's positioned in front of the sink where his clothes lay.

He spares a passing thought to brushing his teeth, and decides that he's managed enough miracles for one evening.

Perhaps it was some cosmic intuition that had pushed him to dressing up, some string of irony or other inconceivable power.

Maybe he was just lucky.

Viktor is startled by the sound of his own doorbell chiming. It rings out softly over the sound system he'd had installed in the height of his enthusiasm, and with it come a wave of chills down his spine. People, he wasn't ready for that. It pauses him in the middle of his living room, staring owlishly at the hall that leads to his front door, the sudden existence of a human being outside his house is turned over and inspected closely within his mind, like it was some unusual mathematic anomaly and not a thing that just happens to happen from time to time.

It's only when the chime rings a second time he snaps into action, doing his best to irritably stomp his way across the threshold and do the pinewood door. "Coming!"

He's greeted by the sight of an acne prone young adult, possibly only eighteen- blond hair tucked into his cap and a clipboard clasped in chubby hands.

"You Viktor Cress?" Spoken with the enthusiasm of a dead fish.

"Yes, I am. How can I assist?"

The clipboard is pushed into his personal space, and Viktor takes it with a slight delay, looking at a form with the name he wanted to see least at the top.

Cyberlife.

"This was sent out for you today, along with a message. Please sign your name."

"I-I- do not want this. Please-"

The boy shrugs. "Sorry, no return point. It's one way."

He shivers and looks back down at the paper. Cruel, cruel cruel cruel.

He signs his name, it wavers more than he'd like.

The cylinders they are shipped in is more than familiar to him, and Viktor's face screws up in something like agony when he sees it carried into his home, his sanctuary. Placed awkwardly in a corner so it can loom over everything he does, something flickers for a moment, and then Jayce Talis is in his house.

He looks effortlessly handsome in this video, as he always does, always has. He's in an expensive suit with the tie and buttons undone, his perfect hair is a little mussed and in the background, on the desk he can see an empty champagne glass, pristinely disheveled in the way only politicians and actors could be. He's drunk, Viktor realizes.

"Hey... Hi Vik- Viktor. Happy birthday... I uh-" Jayce scratches at his stubble "listen... I heard about your lungs... I know that they're hopeful but-

There was a moment, y'know? A day or two before word reached me that- God, you could have been dying and this would have been how it ended." His laughter is hoarse through the video. "I want you to know, I wanted to send you a letter- no, I wanted to visit you, Vik... Mel convinced me it was a bad idea, and who knows, maybe she was right. But still... I should have said something. I'm sorry.

I hope you're doing okay, Viktor, I hope you're doing fucking fantastic without me after everything that's happened. But I know that- that your health isn't doing the best so, happy birthday again, buddy. I know how you feel about them but please, please just give her a chance, for me? She's specially tailored for you. Absolutely one of a kind."

Viktor has lost all ability to breathe, and after a moment, the hologram gently flickers out of existence. In it's place, the glass door slides down smoothly, silently.

And from it, with a clinical smile, you step into his life.

"Hello, Mister Cress. How may I be of service, today?"

#viktor #viktor x reader #arcane #viktor arcane #arcane x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #my fic #Viktor Fic #Viktor Angst #Viktor Hurt/Comfort #Angst Fic #Hurt/Comfort Fic #Electric Sheep

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tea-rae · 3 years

Text

Dancing is a Dangerous Game: Chapter 1

Authors Note: Combining my absolutely raging Teacher/Student kink and my love of Obi-Wan seemed like a no brainer. A million thanks to @wickedscribbles for the encouragement! Enjoy!

Summary: Your last semester at Coruscant University, you find yourself faced with a choice; risk losing your hard earned internship, or agree to assist your cheeky, insufferable, and extremely attractive Professor that you can't stand.

Pairing: Professor Obi-Wan x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: Sassy Obi-Wan, some light teasing, no smut yet sorry guys!

Word Count: 1.9K

Also on Ao3 here

“God, ‘Soka I don’t think I can do this”

“Oh don’t be a baby, it’s only 9am, I’ve been up since 6.” The voice of your childhood best friend and roommate Ahsoka, who is always up before the sun, chides you from the open bathroom door.

“No, not that. I can handle mornings, I just don't like them.” You look out the window at the blanket of snow covering the ground below your apartment building and hold your hot coffee cup closer. You sigh, “It’s just the-”

“-Philosophy class, I know. I figured as much.” Ahsoka finishes your thought for you as she walks out of the bathroom, her long hair freshly braided into its signature ropes down her back.

You groan as you finish the cup of coffee. “I’ve never failed a class before, what am I supposed to do!?”

“A D+ isn't failing-” Ahsoka starts.

“It might as well be!!” You almost yell in frustration as you set down your mug a little harder than intended and stalk off to your bedroom. The plush Porg that Ahsoka got you for your birthday several years ago sits on your bed as you bury your face in its soft belly.

Ahsoka’s voice follows you into your room and you feel her sit down on the bed next to you.

You lift your face from the large stuffed animal and say in a small voice, “What if they kick me out of my internship?” Your accomplishments have led you to secure a highly coveted internship at the Kamino Lab Co. a few towns over. K.L.C. is world renowned for their advancements in gene pool research and biochemistry and you were thrilled to be accepted.

“Listen Bee,” Her voice is more sympathetic this time and you smile inwardly when she uses your childhood nickname. “You just have to get through this one semester, and then we’re done! Free! Who cares if you don’t get a good grade in one stupid humanities class? Professor What’s-His-Bucket won’t stop you from doing your internship, and if he does so help me I will straight up fucking deck him.”

You sit up smiling, knowing that Ahsoka would 100% keep her promise if it came down to it. “But this isn’t just any Professor, Snips, it’s Professor Kenobi we’re talking about here.”

Professor O. W. Kenobi. Respected head of the Philosophy Department, and a notorious stickler. With an unforgiving grading system and a penchant for assigning essays over holiday weekends, he is certainly an acquired taste. However, longtime students of his adore him and insist that you’ll warm up to his dry humor and passionate lectures.

You can’t stand him.

At the beginning of your senior year at Coruscant University, your academic advisor, Padme Amidala, informed you that you were short two humanities credits needed to meet the requirement for Biology. You groaned and mentally chastised your younger self who always thought; “I'll just do it next year.”

“Padme there are no Humanities classes open, I'll have to take a summer class and miss my internship!”

“Hey now, don’t worry, you won’t miss your internship, I know how important it is to you. I’m sure I can squeeze you in somewhere. Professor Kenobi in the Philosophy Department is a good friend of mine, I’ll see what I can do.”

You were optimistic at first, after all how hard could Philosophy be? It was just thinking about other people thinking, you could make that shit up easily. You believe in things that are real, that have physical attributes and things you can see or observe. That’s why you liked Biology so much, everything had hard, factual evidence to back it up and you knew it was real because you could physically see different cells and organisms.

Philosophy turned out to be a lot harder than you thought. Professor Kenobi singled you out as a skeptic almost immediately and never relented in his analytical breakdown of your beliefs, much to the amusement of the rest of the class. You were so frustrated with him and the whole class that eventually you stopped going altogether. When finals came around it was so far off your radar that you nearly forgot about it until the night before, which resulted in an all night cram session with Ahsoka. You turned in a barely comprehensible essay about the “integral truth of good and evil” or whatever, promptly came home and slept for 12 hours straight. When you got your grade back you were shocked that you had a (barely) passing grade, so much so that you didn’t stop to think about how strange it was when you certainly should have failed.

Now it’s the first day of second semester and you are absolutely dreading showing your face in Professor Kenobi’s class again, especially after last semester’s disaster.

__________________________

Come lunchtime you’re ready to ditch the idea of heading to the class altogether.

Per your tradition, you meet Ahsoka at the local cafe for lunch. Your freshman year the two of you had gotten lost on the way to the dining hall on your first day and somehow wound up here. The owners, Owen and Baru took pity on you and gave you a free cup of coffee each and some directions. Nearly four years later you still go to lunch on your first day every semester. Owen waves to the two of you from behind the counter.

“Ah look who it is, I was wondering when you would show up. I’ll get your coffee ready.”

“Thanks Owen!” Ahsoka calls cheerfully, looking hungrily at the display case of baked goods. You follow her gaze to the fresh muffins and pastries and begin discussing what you’ll order.

A few minutes later Owen comes over with your steaming mugs of fresh coffee, which you gratefully accept. “On the house as usual ladies” he says with a clumsy wink. “I can’t believe this is the last time you take advantage of my hospitality, the two of you alone cost me tens of dollars a year!”

Ahsoka laughs, “oh don't worry you won’t get rid of us that easily! Besides, someone has to keep you in business!”

Owen sighs, and chuckles on his way back to the kitchen. “I’ll have your food ready soon.” he calls over his shoulder.

You and Ahsoka happily reminisce over coffee and pastries, your upcoming Philosophy class far from your mind.

Almost on cue your phone pings. An email. From Professor Kenobi.

You nearly throw your phone at Ahsoka. “What the fuck is this!!!!” you whisper-yell at her.

“Okay calm down, it’s probably just an email to the whole class, relax.” She puts a hand on your arm to ground you before you spiral.

“Yeah. Yeah okay you’re probably right. I’ll just open it to make sure.” You take a breath to recenter yourself and shake your head involuntarily. “Ugh this class is getting to me more than I thought.” You open the email and as soon as you read the first sentence your heart drops to your stomach. In disbelief you read the email aloud to Ahsoka.

Hello there,

Please see me after class today. I have an opportunity for you that may prove beneficial to us both. Glad to see you in my class again!

Prof. Kenobi

Ahsoka’s eyebrows threaten to disappear into her hairline as you finish the email.

Your good mood thoroughly shattered by the email from Professor Kenobi, the two of you spend the rest of lunch dissecting what he could possibly mean. Your philosophy class approaches faster than you want it to and before you know it you have to head out.

“Listen it’s gonna be fine, maybe he just wants to give you some tips for this semester. Either way, I’ll have a bottle of wine and some pizza with your name on it when you get home.”

“Thanks Snips.” You take a deep breath and give her a hug before shouldering your bag and making your way back to campus.

__________________________

By the time you reach the philosophy building you’ve thoroughly psyched yourself up to the point of mumbling comebacks to imaginary arguments with every person you see. Climbing the series of stairs to the building, you’re in the middle of telling someone off for asking about your sour expression,

“Yeah thanks for asking me to elaborate on my already shitty day asshole” you shoot a dirty look at the passerby who had the audacity to look in your general direction. Stewing in your bad mood, you don’t even notice the door opening in front of you.

“Oh, excuse me!” says a slightly accented voice from in front of you, but it was already too late. Your concentration broken after being pulled out of your head so abruptly, you trip over your own feet and go crashing to the ground. Your backpack cushions your fall to a degree but the concrete steps dig into your ribs and upper arm hard, nearly knocking the breath out of you.

“Motherfucker!” you gasp as you clutch your ribs, knowing you’ll have a nasty bruise come tomorrow.

“My, my such language. That won’t be tolerated in my class I’m afraid.” The bemused voice laughs to itself. “Although you were never shy about breaking my rules last semester.” A strong hand presents itself to you with a gentlemanly flourish. “I do feel as though I am partially to blame, do you need a hand?”

You feel heat rush to your face as you realize who you’ve just ran into. Swallowing your pride like a pincushion, you take the hand and come face to face with an extremely smug looking Professor Kenobi. “Sorry, I- um... Sorry, thanks.”

You duck your head and make your way through the door before he can make another sassy comeback. The bathroom seems like an appropriate refuge to compose yourself, and you rush to safety. God, you hate that he has this effect on you. You’ve always had a sharp tongue, throwing out insults and comebacks with ease, never letting anyone get under your skin. But then he seems to take your words right out of your mouth and leave you looking like a fool. It doesn’t help that he always looks immaculate. A freshly pressed button down with the sleeves rolled up, showing off freckly, pale forearms that you have no doubt are stronger than they look, combined with well tailored slacks that hug his ass almost indecently seem to turn your silver tongue into a ball of knots. Bright blue eyes that twinkle with mischief and a tantalizingly fluffy beard make it very difficult to form complete sentences.

You groan and lightly tap your head on the bathroom wall. Yes, Professor Kenobi is undeniably handsome, hot even. Luckily your vehement hatred of him overrides your attraction, but that doesn’t stop your hormones from wreaking havoc in your brain at the most inconvenient times. Like right now, how you’re thinking about how big his hand was, pulling you up with no effort at all and his calloused fingers brushing over yours for just a second too long. He could have easily pulled you in closer to him and-

“No, no, no! Stop it! I do not need this right now!” Standing in front of the mirror you shake your head and try to ignore the arousal that has been slowly pooling in the pit of your stomach ever since you ran into him on the stairs. “Ugh, it’s fine, I’m fine, everything is fine.” You say to your still furiously blushing expression in front of you, who doesn’t look convinced. Not wanting to be late, you shoulder your backpack and steel yourself for what’s to come.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan smut #college au #Dancing is a dangerous game

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Note

yoga!din thoughts:

they've been fucking around for awhile, but only in the studio. never beyond the studio doors, not even in the cramped, single-person bathroom across the hall. their relationship is purely physical—probably couldn't even consider it fwb. he likes her, is irritated by her, likes the smoothness of her pussy. she likes him, is fascinated by him, likes the rigidness of his cock. it doesn't go much further than that.

that all changes when they run into each other at the grocery store.

I-

christ on a cracker here we go. I’m ready to die now. Cause of death, yoga!Din oh NO-

This... I have no idea what any of this is, but Jess and I have been having a good ol’ time with it. I also want to give a shout out to Rachel for always being a rock in these unprecedented times and taking interest in this main man and I’ll probably be sending you similar messages for your masseuse au to torture you and im not even a little sorry about it

(warnings: SMUT, spanking, language, so pls minors, politely, go home thanks)

She always does this—why does she always do this?

She drifts down the aisles with the practiced effort of a trapeze artist, juggling the load of groceries bundled to her chest.

Get a cart. Just get a damn cart—a basket, something.

But no. She doesn’t. It happens every time: she goes in for one item—maybe two—and two turns to three and three turns to four, and suddenly they’ve multiplied like rabbits and she’s got half the store in her arms.

Trail mix from the bulk bins, almond milk, coffee grounds, bananas, spirulina powder, those delicious chickpea chips that were buy-one-get-one—how was she supposed to just walk past that—spinach, tofu, zucchini noodles, salmon fillets—

And she nearly drops it all when she spots him. Dark hair, dark eyes.

She stalls out, puttering to a halt. He’s reaching into the frozen meats section, rifling through the various cold cuts. She’d recognize the yawn of his back anywhere, the slope of that broad plane— his arms too, how his tricep cuts across the tawny gold. The shapes they can make.

The positions they can bend her into.

Maybe it’s best if she just turns around now, sneaks away, pretends like none of this ever happened—she could do that. That would be easy—the easier of the two options, to be sure, because the alternative sounds terrifying and messy, and maybe if she just backs up nice and slow—

Din wheels his cart forwards and glances up. Shit.

He’s not sure what he’s even looking at at first. His feet slow, and there’s a groove creased into his forehead, brow ticking down. She’s here— right here in front of him. How can she be here? How can she be anywhere but where he knows her best—knows her at all? Inside that room, woven limbs and sweaty skin on glossed wood floors. How can she be here—outside that sacred space—in his fucking grocery store?

They stare at each other. She breaks first.

“Hi,” she mumbles out, beguiling.

“Hey,” Din responds, gruffer than he means.

“Hi,” she says again, pressing her lips together to hide a smile.

A grin tugs at him too, but he tampers it; they let a silent, pregnant beat pass between them and then—

“What are you doing he-“ “Have you been here befo-“

They’re speaking over each other—nervous and out of step—and they share a huffed chuckle. They’ve never been this before. They’ve always been physical and brash and bold and they’ve never needed words—they’ve shown each other exactly what they meant and what they wanted through touch—and now, when they need them most, they’re at a loss.

“Just getting some supplies,” she answers him with a shrug, causing one of her many parcels to slip from the precarious tower she’s constructed, and Din, ever agile, catches it before it strays too far.

“My hero,” she quips dryly, gratefully, as he carefully places the package of tofu on top of the heap. He makes a face, wrinkling his nose. “Is that stuff any good?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” she smirks.

He’s closer to her now, less than an arm’s length away, and Din’s eyes flit to the fading mark at the swallow of her neck, peeking up from the collar of her shirt— the mark he left there just days prior, when she ground down on him, supple frame speared by his cock, rocking frantic and needy up and down on him, whimpering hushed noises into the empty studio. His hand splayed the width of her back, cradling her to him as she rode Din, stretching around him fucking perfectly.

“Fuck, this pussy takes me so well,” he seethed through a clenched jaw, her breasts rutting against his chest with each bounce of her hips. He growled. “You’re so - shit - you’re tight-”

Din gave her ass a sharp smack before pawing at it, grabbing a fistful of the flesh there and she moaned— she fucking moaned, depraved and oaky, and knocked her head back, lips falling open and eyes rolling shut. Din groaned at the sight—this woman, this fucking thorn in his goddamn side—sheathed around him, writhing as he fucked up into her—and she had the audacity to moan like that.

“You like that?” He slapped her ass again and she whimpered, clawing at him, tangling her fingers into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. He had to resist the urge to shudder—snapping his mouth tight around a whine.

Normally, she’d meet him with some sort of resistance. She was cheeky and smarmy and they both knew it—it’s a game they played—perfectly balanced, perfectly opposed. But she couldn’t help it—she was too far gone, too fucked out, and the words unspooled from her lips like yarn.

“Yes-yes—fuck, Din- please.”

That earned her another swift crack, the pillowed flesh prickling red from the sting of his palm, and it tore a guttural sound out of her, wrecking through her pretty throat. “God, you’re a filthy little thing. So f-fucking filthy for me-“

He ripped her orgasm out of her, his fingers snaked between their bodies, furiously working at her clit in tight, wet circles. It felt like a punch to his gut, as her pussy clamped down around him and gushed.

When he finally came, spilling into her slicked cunt, he had to bite down on her neck just to keep from fucking shouting.

He tears his gaze off the bruise, returning to her face—and it’s hardly any better. The corner of her mouth has turned up, just barely, the whisper of it wry and aching. That look—that infuriating, debilitating glint in her eyes—has settled and it makes his cock twitch against his jeans.

“Having a barbecue?” she asks, nodding to his cart, the beer and buns and patties there.

He clears his throat, “Something like that.”

Fenn insisted on it—’I’m not wasting the perfect weather. We’re all doing something, whether you like it or not’— He could only fight her on it for so long. Lesser men have tried and failed, and he knew it best to quit while he was ahead.

“Sounds fun. It’s supposed to be a beautiful weekend.”

“Yeah, so I hear.” Din has to fight the roll of his eyes.

The spell had been broken. They’d spirited themselves away—lying to each other and themselves—as if their tryst existed above consequence, above ramification—like they weren’t even real people. Just ideas, ideas they’d fuck and then suddenly and conveniently vanish—out of sight, out of mind; would disappear as the sun that set on them, blurring lines into the dark.

But he sees her here, clumsy willow arms and cotton tee and cut-off shorts and those beautiful fucking legs he loves wrapped around him so much, and she’s glowing despite the ugly fluorescent sheen cast up from the linoleum tile and—

It’s different. She’s different. Fuller. He knows her now—like this. And he can’t unknow her.

His throat bobs. Maybe he should ask her if she’s free. If she’s got plans. Maybe—

“I’ll see you on Wednesday then,” she says, something unreadable in her voice.

Din swallows. He nods. “Wednesday.”

Oh fuck, he likes her.

She tips her head to him, grinning something small, and shuffles off towards the register.

He watches her go, eyes following as she rounds a corner and slips away. She can feel them on her, his eyes, boring into her backside—all the way to her car, through the town, up to her driveway, into her kitchen where she cupboards her groceries—she feels him, the heavy heat of him, melting against her spine.

@djarinsbeskar @frannyzooey @pedros-mustache

#yoga!din #I am unwell #good bye #modern!din #din djarin smut #mando smut #I ain’t sorry #din djarin x female oc #mandalorian smut #thirsty thursday #amirite

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a-simple-imagine · 3 years

Text

A little bit of Devil In Her Angel Eyes

Synopsis: Your entire life changed when you met Sharon Carter in Mandripoor but one bad deal and everything comes crashing down.

Pairing: Sharon Carter x reader

Words: 3.2k

A/N - This is my first story after like a five month slump so please go easy on me. I hope its okay!! I also just reached 1.7k so thanks for that.

Warnings - swearing, mentions of blood and fighting, mentions of illegal activities.

You never lacked interest or empathy, but you'd always felt bored throughout your life. There was little excitement amongst the mundane everyday tasks. You didn't have some grand ambition to work towards; no dream job and no innate desire to settle down and have a family. You were navigating life with no direction. Never feeling like you belonged anywhere. You didn't necessarily see this as a problem but there were moments, late at night, that had you wishing for something more out of life. You just weren't quite sure what that was... until you met her.

A chance encounter in the vibrant neon lights of a dingy bar located in lowtown; a crime-ridden, impoverished district located in Mandripoor. It is the ultimate abyss of vice and degradation, where nothing was sacred and no act profane. A beautiful young woman, who so strongly contrasted her surrounding, sat at the bar sipping on a martini glass. Such a rare sight down here, it was like coming across a mythical creature. Unexpected, strange but oh so magical. One night with the woman was enough to set your senses ablaze. One night turned to two... then three... and so forth. She was the first person to ever made you feel alive; she made you feel like was worth living. It was a rollercoaster of a relationship and you never wanted to get off. And they looked to you with a look of pure admiration. She fed you sugar-coated words and tender smiles that had you on your hands and knees. You would do anything to experience the warmth of her smile or the vibrancy of her melodic laugh. And god was she the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on. An angel cast in the ethereal glow of the moon. Utterly smitten and unafraid to show it. She was softener than appearance may appear. Not always the best at expressing her feelings, you liked to think that it was evident in the little things she did. Like the cup of chamomile tea, she always offered you before bed. Or the way she always had to be touching you in some way before she could fall asleep beside you. It was clear in her overprotective nature. The way she was willing to break someone's arm just for looking at you funny. She was willing to go to war for you. The relationship worked because you were both getting high on affection; drowning in each other. However, there was a much darker side to one Miss Sharon Carter. A lot of late nights you were left wondering if she would return. She threw extravagant parties that seem innocent enough until she's sneaking off behind closed doors with shady characters. Was there ever a moment she wasn't looking over her shoulder? Rollercoasters go up and up only to fall from grace at high-velocity speeds. A smarter person may have turned and run but you never claimed to ever do what was best for yourself. You were in much too deep. Sharon Carter was a former hero turned double agent who is now one of the underworld leaders of the lawless island nation of Madripoor. Her main area of interest was selling superpowers to the highest bidder; seems there is quite the market for black market super-soldier serum. Sharon also dabbled in acquiring exquisite art pieces through less than honourable measures in order to sell. She wasn't above petty crimes and illegal substances. Quite the reputation did the woman you had found yourself utterly infatuated with. It actually made a lot of sense. And if you were being honest with yourself, you valued your relationship over any morals you may have possessed. In fact, you were actually impressed if not a little intimidated by her. The option to leave was always right there but instead, you found yourself helping her out wherever she saw fit. Why? Because there was no one you cared for more in this world than Sharon Carter.

Bright red lights had been flashing in warning since the beginning of the deal. You had been through a lot together and had watched as Sharon dealt with all kinds of messed up scenarios. You even had helped her commit atrocities but her success had begun to cloud her judgement. Blind to the inevitable. Every time you attempted to voice your concern, she brushed you aside with sweet whispers of reassurance followed by a quick peck on the cheek. Sharon could be so stubborn it was infuriating; she lived with the idea that she always knew best. That she was basically untouchable. A god. It was an attractive trait that had you weak in the knees but it also led to stupid decisions. Everything will be okay. All concern pushed to the side, you chose to believe her.

As the clock struck one, you waited patiently for your girlfriend to return. A pit deep in your stomach that kept you from even considering going to bed before she arrived home. A cold cup of tea sat on the kitchen table as you numbed your mind with the bright screen of an iPhone. The click of the front door made your ears perk up, a smile settling on your lips. Thank god she was finally home, you weren't sure you could handle it much longer. Calling out for her, you receive no response but footsteps echo through the house. Not just one though. Did she have company over? It wouldn't be the first time she turned up late with some associates on her tail. Normally you wouldn't mind but you would have at least appreciated the heads up.

"What-" Words come to an abrupt end as a gloved hand slaps over your mouth. Chair crashes to the floor, phone slams against the table as you're dragged out of your seat. Struggling against a tight grip, they drag you across the room where you notice two shadows lurking on the sidelines waiting to pounce. A punch to the stomach so beautifully engraved with your girlfriend's name has you pushing against the arms that thankfully let go; flinging you to the ground. A black toed boot slams into your stomach followed by a barrage of varying blows. As your vision begins to fade, you're reminded of the last question regarding her predicament. It had been over a very early breakfast staged before a rising sun.

"You're up early." Your girlfriend hums in your ear as arms snake around your shoulders; sleep evident in her voice.

"Couldn't sleep," A purple mug brought to your lips, you take a small sip. "I was thinking-

"How many times do we have to go over this?" Sharon interrupts. "Everything is going to be just fine- I have it handled."

You had heard that many times but it was less convincing every time it left her lips. It left a bad taste behind. As strong as she may have convinced everyone she was, this was turning into the story of Icarus and she was getting far too close to the sun.

"Do you?" Your question is quiet, unsure of how she'll take it. "because this is getting to be a little too much."

"You trust me right?" It always came down to trust. It was the end to this conversation almost every time; basically her personal way of getting you to shut up. You didn't dare express that you didn't have complete and utter faith in her.

"I do." You nod a little.

"Then trust me when I say it's all gonna work out," Voice but a whisper that tickled your ear before she plants a kiss against your shoulder. "I'm gonna make a fresh pot of coffee."

Perhaps it was naïve to think this would never happen but it had simply never occurred to you that they would target you. But of course, they would, you were a part of her life. Sharon was the big bad and who better to target than you. Someone not trained by SHIELD or the CIA. It was an easier message to send. When you finally stir awake, you find yourself staring into familiar dark brown eyes; their flicks of gold a comforting sign. You had never felt pain quite like this before in your entire life. Somehow it felt like your entire body was actively on fire while also being completely numb. You couldn't feel anything other than the pain coursing through your veins at this moment. But at least you were alive. And Sharon was okay.

"Thank god," She spoke softly.

"...h...ey." The words burn your throat as you stumble through such a simple word. Coughing a few times to try and help but it just aggravated your chest. "You're... okay."

"So are you," Sharon leans forward, her lips brushing against your forehead. "Do- Do you think you can walk?" There was urgency behind her tone and the blonde didn't even wait for an answer before she was trying to usher you to your feet. A loud groan slips through clenched teeth. It was a symphony of agony but the feeling was sharpest deep in your chest. Nausea sets in your stomach. a rich throbbing in your head made worse as you shook your head. Sharon took the hint and stopped. "...We can't stay here." You knew that. It wasn't safe here anymore. Everything just felt like too much though. Your body was in torment. You felt like dinner was about to make a reappearance at any moment. And your chest felt worse with every breathe you took. After a moment, the other tries again. Supporting you as she pulls you to your feet; the majority of the work was on her part. With an arm around her shoulders, the two of you moved very slowly towards a car.

"Where... are we... going?" You understood the need to leave but where would you even go? A strong chill rode the late night wind. It was nice out. peaceful. Slumped against the passenger seat, Sharon reached over to click in the seatbelt before shutting the door and getting in the other side. It was proving difficult to stay focused on anything. Your head felt heavy on your shoulders and a sort of cloudiness settled over you. A big sigh on her end. With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Sharon just stared ahead. Was she okay? Watching her for a moment, you lay your hand atop her thigh which seemingly brought her back to reality. Turning to you, she flashes a smile then starts the car. It sputters but comes to life. Nothing was shared as you move along quiet roads. It's always a little weird to see the roads so empty but that quickly changes as you cross over into lowtown. You kind of fade in and out but never entirely. It's rather like overwhelming drowsiness. The car comes to a stop outside an unfamiliar run-down building. A strange choice all things considered. However, it's not so bad once you step inside. The room floods with light revealing a relatively small space covered in an untouched layer of dust. An ugly brown coach sat next to a small old TV. A little dining table sat in the corner. Limping over the threshold, she lowers you to the cold laminated ground. With a little whine of help, you try to reach for her as she begins to walk away but it would take more strength than you have. A quiet exhale as your eyes flutter closed. "Try and stay awake," Her voice drags you back to reality in time to watch her disappear into another room. "Just for a little while." Left alone it takes everything in you not to fall back against the floor. On returning, Sharon takes up space right behind you. You assume she is checking you over as her hand graces the back of your head. Humming ever so softly to herself before slipping over your shoulders and pulling you flush against her. A low groan slips painfully from your throat. Finding a sense of comfort from being in her arms. Despite everything that happened, she still made you feel... unbelievable safe. The two of you just sit there together for a moment, feeling her chest rise and fall. It's hard to miss the blood now smudged across the floor. Things were really bad. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? A quick shower and then you can go to bed."

You would have preferred to just go to bed but still, you nod against her. You were much too out of it to be making any sort of decisions right now. A disapproving hum as she releases you from her grip. You weren't quite ready for the moment to end. Once again, Sharon helps you to your feet but it's easier this time now that you know exactly what to expect. It still hurt desperately, it was just no longer a surprise when it happened. Stumbling towards the shoebox of a bathroom, the blonde woman turns the nob and water erupts from the showerhead on the wall. Every few seconds she would ask if you're still okay as she very carefully removes your clothes. Brown eyes drifting over every inch of your body and back up; her brow furrowing. Meeting your eyes, she reaches over to place her fingertips against your torso. Applying a little pressure, you grunt loudly stepping away. "Did that hurt?"

"Mhmm,"

Her head tilts a little. "It looks like you have a broken rib but can't know for sure."

Standing before her, you notice a large slash across her left cheek; dried blood leading from the wound. She also had a busted lip and a gash on her eyebrow. Some kind of altercation had clearly taken place. Sharon removed her clothes and was quick to step under the heavy flow of water. Holding out her hand for you to take, she leads you under the water. The heat feels surprisingly nice against your skin. Your eyes meet and then your lips connect in a kiss. The faint taste of copper lingers on her lips but it's washed away with the blood, sweat, and tears of the day. It's forceful and passionate; dripping with emotions. She may have been the reason this happened but you were still grateful she was here right now. "This shouldn't have happened," Sharon whispers softly against your lips. "I... I should have been there." The woman pulls you closer like she had completely forgotten that you were attacked by three people earlier that day. Her skin is colder than expected strongly contrasting the steaming water.

"You didn't know." You mumble into her shoulder. Sharon doesn't answer. Merely lifts your head so you were facing each other and places a sympathetic hand upon your cheek. Savouring the tenderness of the moment is enough to bring your emotions bubbling to the surface. As much as the two of you lived the high life, it took its own toll. This life was hard. And despite never wanting it before, you sometimes wished you lived a much more mundane life but with Sharon beside you. Your brows furrow as your lip trembles. You place your hand over hers and a few tears start to fall. "...I'm scared." There were few moments you found yourself admitting to such a thing but you'd never been attacked before. Not like this. Not because of someone else.

"I know." She replies after a moment. "I am too. I'm really fucking sorry." Leaning in again, Sharon surprises you with another kiss. It's sloppier this time. Rougher. Like she's trying to prove how sorry she is. It becomes a peppering of kisses placed carelessly across your face. You smile a little, a soft little laugh that causes you to cough. "You know I love you right?" You nod a little against her and she backs up a little. Both hands against your cheeks, she meets your gaze. "I love you so much and I am going to fix this. I will protect you."

Oh how you would like to believe those words to be true but it was a promise she could not make. It was a promise she had made many times before and look what happened today? Sharon was in the wrong business to guarantee safety. But still, you wrap your arms around her, enveloping her in a cautious hug. Letting your head fall against her shoulder. You could not possibly be more in love with this woman if you tried. You knew she would do everything in her power to keep you safe. A few minutes pass as you simply let the waterfall over you and then you actually wash up and get out. Cast in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, you're sat in the middle of a double bed with Sharon sat directly across from you. This time you allow the woman to tend to your injuries properly, dapping the back of your head with a damp cloth. "Do you think we'll be okay?"

"I do." Sharon responds sharply. "don't you?"

She drops the cloth that was now stained with spots of red to the bed. You raise your shoulders in a little shrug. Sharon was a very capable woman but it was hard not to be a little worried about the whole thing. "I don't know... I don't... exactly feel great."

"You just need to rest."

"yeah maybe," A solemn sigh slips into the air. You sit in silence as Sharon finishes up contemplating what was to come. Had this just been an attempt to scare you? Would this happen again in the future? How was Sharon even going to fix this? When she goes to close the first aid box, you stop her. Taking the lead, it was your turn to look after her and tend to her wounds. You take some cotton wool and soak it in rubbing alcohol before gently dabbing at her wounds. She doesn't quite flinch but her body tenses upon first contact suggesting it stung just a little. "I'm really sorry this happened,"

"It's fine, you should see the other guy. Besides, you look worse than I do," An attempt at humour but it doesn't land dampening your girlfriend's spirit just a little.

"I'm sorry I made you worry." Dropping the wool, you trade it for some closure strips. "I'm sorry I'm so... useless. I was caught off guard."

"You're not useless," Sharon assures you as you place one strip after the other across the injury to her cheek. "You don't have anything to apologise for. This is my fault."

You want to argue but it's too much for right now wanting nothing more than to climb under the sheets and sleep for the next week at least. "Let's just go to bed." Collecting all the items scattered across the duvet, Sharon dispossesses of the blood-soaked clothe and cotton wool before placing the bright green box on the dresser. Lingering there for a moment, you can tell something off. "You'll stay with me, right?" Turning on her heel, Sharon slides under the covers beside you. You shared a bed often but she was never one to cuddle. Tonight though, she was closer than normal. Her hand rests gently on your waist and regardless of the pain, it doesn't take long for you to drift off to sleep.

#sharon carter x reader #sharon carter #the falcon and the winter soldier #Emily VanCamp

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licncourt · 2 years

Note

Can you elaborate on L+L’s “pretty fantastic night involving shibari and a vibrator that makes Lestat suddenly a very big fan of Louis reading books”? (resend, just in case)

I should've known someone was gonna call my bluff on that comment 😭😂

I was actually thinking about this art by vanitasmorgue when I said that because it's just so pretty! Sexy but tasteful.

Okay so admittedly, this was an offhand comment on my part so I had to think about it for a minute. There was no fully formulated idea there, but I've decided the scenario is this:

It is simply a fact of life that Louis reads erotica when no one is watching and I think he probably got especially into it on his journey of self exploration post-Lestat reunion. He's a classy lady, porn is vulgar and tasteless 💅

His eye for aesthetics is caught by a description of shibari in one of the books so he brings it up with Lestat. This part is actually easy because Lestat is down with pretty much anything that involves them having sex and Louis knows that perfectly well. He just saunters up on a Tuesday evening and slaps a how-to sheet and a few photo references on the coffee table and the conversation is essentially: "Thoughts?" "YEP!"

Anyway, Lestat is an actor, he knows that the first rule of improv is "yes, and-" which means he immediately has additional suggestions to make the most of this situation. I imagine Lestat has probably had a stash of sex toys (those bespoke Swedish ones obviously) for personal use pretty since he found out about them, but he's been waiting for his moment. And it's finally here! Strike while the iron (or skeptical vampire boyfriend) is hot and all that.

By this point in their relationship, Louis is pretty comfortable with sex in general and all the ways you can generally have it. He has favorite positions (lotus), foreplay preferences, opinions on music, the whole thing. Unfortunately, sex toys are his last mental block. He finally worked through the lube aversion ("we shouldn't use a product that makes sinning easier!"), but toys, especially vibrators, are a step too far.

Something about the gratuitous indulgence of it makes him twitchy. A separate object for the purpose of getting off?? And that's all it does??? Absolutely not, he's putting his dick in a hole (or the other way around) like God intended. Vibrators are the deep fried butter of sex.

Regardless, Lestat talks him into it this time. They find some very pretty dark red ropes for the task and make a night of it. They're both insufferable aesthetes so the visuals are both sexy and objectively pretty, plus their stupid supernatural brains get to do a complicated task for maximum vampire enrichment. It's also a very good trust exercise that they actually get a lot out of on an emotional level.

The bondage aspect is great too because Louis' a perpetual overthinker. It's nice to be put in a position where he's incapable of micromanaging and has to just enjoy something for once. Lestat likes how people who are physically restrained can't leave you and he's like 90% kidding when he says that.

And did you know that vibratory stimulation on the prostate intensifies the male orgasm by an average of 33%? Lestat knows. Now Louis does too.

All in all, it's a solid 11/10 evening and that's repeated several times in the future in various configurations.

(Four of those times were the same week they acquired a Hitachi magic wand.)

(An additional two occurred over the weekend that Louis found out about ball gags and wanted to enjoy the sweet sound of silence from under him. Lestat's lucky he looks so good in those blue ropes.)

#answered #loustat

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peterrparrkerr · 3 years

Text

Revoked consent - read on ao3

TW for rape/noncon

*-*

Peter's hands shake a little as he takes the offered glass from Tony. He gives a smile, hoping he doesn't look as nervous as he really is.

Its his first time being paid for sex, and he doesn't know why it's so daunting this time. Hes had sex before, he's fucked himself on a dildo on camera for money.

But this is the first time he's actually sold himself for it.

Tony had offered him an amount he couldn't refuse. Not only would he be able to pay three months of rent, but he'll be able to actually get groceries and still have enough money to live comfortably for a couple months after.

Tony had already deposited half of it into his account. Peter's throat had closed up when he'd seen it.

Tony sits down beside him on the couch with his own glass. Peter glances over at him, then down at the glass.

He had to act like he was old enough to drink. Tony didn't know he was only sixteen. He'd said he was twenty-three online. It was the only way he could get on the website.

"Drink," Tony commanded softly. Peter glances up at him before giving a small nod and brought the glass to his lips.

He could feel Tony watching him as he tipped the glass up. He held his breath -the scent of the alcohol making his nose burn- and swallowed quickly.

The burn and taste isn't something Peter's ever felt before. It feels like he's swallowed acid and the burning won't leave his tongue.

He chokes on a cough, trying desperately to act like its not as fowl as it really is. But the one cough opens up the gateway, and he's hacking out a lung, his eyes burning with tears.

"Not into the hard stuff, hmm?" Tony asked, sounding amused as he plucked the glass from Peter's hand.

He shakes his head, forcing himself to calm down. How fucking embarrassing.

"No, I'm sorry," he manages, wiping under his eyes.

"Dont be," Tony hummed, standing up and moving back to the bar. "Its an acquired taste."

Peter doesn't say anything. He watches as Tony reaches down behind the bar. Theres a distinct sound of a can being opened, the sizzle of something carbonated being poured into the glass, and then Tony was returning.

Peter's glass was fuller than before, darker and fizzy. "Try this."

Peter takes the glass, bringing it to his nose and sniffing it quietly. Its pepsi. He takes a tentative sip, all while Tony watches silently beside him, leaning back against the couch.

Peter takes a drink. The alcohol is hidden in the soda, the burn lost in the fizz, and he smiles gratefully at Tony.

"Thank you," he manages, nerves still closing around his throat in a vice-like grip.

He drinks more, feeling Tony's fingers brushing softly against the hairs at the back of his neck. It makes Peter shiver, his stomach rolling and threatening to bring up his lunch.

He's halfway through his drink when Tony sets his empty glass down on the coffee table.

He then takes Peter's glass and sets it down too.

"Come sit on my lap," he orders.

Peter's hands grow sweaty, and he awkwardly does as he's told, feeling like he's all limbs and no grace.

Tony's hands feel huge on his hips, fingers pressing into the softness of his ass while his thumbs hook over the front of his hip bones.

"You're tense," Tony hummed, squeezing Peter's hips. "Relax."

Peter gives a small nod, forcing himself to put his whole weight onto Tony's thighs. It makes the older man smile, and Peter fights back the urge to get up and run out of the penthouse.

"What- what would you like to do?" Peter asked, hiding his shaky hands by holding the back of the couch on either side of Tony's head.

"Hmm," Tony grins, his hands moving up and under Peter's shirt. They're warm against the bare skin of Peter's sides, and it makes him slightly nauseous.

"Why don't you let me be in control," he suggested. The idea made Peter's heart rate quicken, but he forced himself not to outwardly react.

Tony had paid him handsomely for this, and he was going to pay him more once this was over. This was just a job. Peter's had sex before. Hes had a job before. This was just- combining the two.

"All you have to do is follow my lead, okay, sweetheart?"

Peter swallows thickly before nodding. "Okay," he agrees. He can do that.

Tony smirks before lifting his hands higher, forcing Peter's shirt up and exposing his tummy to the cool air.

Peter lifts his arms, allowing Tony to pull the shirt completely off before returning them to the back of the couch.

"Kiss me."

Peter leans forward, kissing Tony hesitantly, softly. His goatee is scratchy, the shirt pricks of hair biting into Peter's soft skin.

He hates it. Hates how kissing Tony makes him feel. But he kisses him with everything he's got.

The man under him groans against his mouth and begins working Peter's fly open.

Peter pulls away, glancing down, opening his mouth to tell Tony he's changed his mind, when the man grabs him by the chin and forces their mouths together.

Peter forces himself to allow Tony to tug at his jeans and boxers. He even gets up to allow them to fall to his ankles.

He's mostly soft, and he wants nothing more than to hide himself away from Tony's eyes as he crawls back onto his lap.

Tears burn in his eyes, but Peter forces them away, leaning in and kissing Tony as the man's hands roam over his naked body.

His nakedness to Tony's suit is unnerving -the juxtaposition making Peter feel lesser than.

He tries to ignore it. Tries to ignore the hands kneading his bare ass, pulling him apart to expose more of him to the cold air of the penthouse.

Tony's tongue tastes like whiskey, and Peter pinches his eyes shut on the wave of nausea that curls in his gut.

"Up," Tony orders, shoving at Peter. He climbs up as quickly as he can, and struggles to breathe as Tony manhandles him onto the floor.

He's on his knees, bent over the cushions, his ass presented to Tony.

Peter struggles to level out his breathing. He pinches his eyes shut and lowers himself so his chest is pressed to the couch cushions, mostly to hide his face in his arms.

"Hmm," Tony hums approvingly, hands rubbing at Peter's ass. "You sure are a pretty little thing."

Thing.

Peter feels humiliated, on the verse of a panic attack. His knees hurt against the hard floor -he thinks it might be granite or even marble. Its cold. He doesn't think he can go through with this.

But Tony's already lubing his fingers and pressing two inside. Peter bites back a sob, reminding himself this is only for the money.

This is a job. He can do this. Its one time, and after this, he'll leave and never see Tony again.

He'll delete his cam page, he'll cut off any ties to Tony. Its just one time.

Tony continues to finger him open, but Peter can tell he's becoming impatient. He winces as three fingers are shoved in, the back and forth much too rough for prep work. Thankfully, Peter had done a lot of it himself.

Tony's fingers leave his hole and Peter can't help the momentary relief that floods his system.

Its chased away with cold water though, when he hears the zip of Tony's pants and the snick of the lid popping on the bottle of lube.

Peter's heart lodges itself deep in his throat, and its suddenly all too much.

He pushes himself up off the couch, half turning. "Wait, Tony, I can't do this-"

Tony's hand shoves against his back, right between his shoulder blades and pinning him to the couch. "Don't be nervous," he orders.

Peter feels the head of Tony's cock nudge at his entrance and he lets out a whine, frightened and desperate all at once.

"Wait, Tony, stop," Peter gasped, fighting to push himself up. Tony only leans more of his weight onto his back, and shoves his cock inside in one quick thrust.

Peter yelps at the stretch and burn, thighs shaking as his muscles work to keep Tony out.

"There you go, relax, sweetheart, you're doing so well," Tony grunts, feeding more of his cock in until its flush, hips to Peter's ass.

Tears burn at Peter's eyes as he struggles against the weight on his back.

Tony's fucking huge -bigger than he thought he'd be. He feels split open, ripped at the seams. Its so painful, and Peter has to bury his mouth into the cushions to muffle his whines and mewls of pain.

"Ton-Tony I can't-"

"Sure you can," Tony huffed, beginning to thrust in and out. Peter wails at the sharp snap of his hips.

He cries openly against the pillow, chest heaving, body shaking.

Each thrust punches out a breathy "ah, ah, ah," from Peter, his gut twisting with a mix of pleasure and disgust.

"Listen to you," Tony hummed, sounding almost desperate, hands holding Peter down. "Those noises. God, you're so tight, sweetheart. Taking my cock so well."

Peter chokes on a sob at those words, a string of babbled begging leaving his mouth, muffled by the leather couch cushions.

Tony must interpret the unintelligible babbling for something else, because he goes harder, thrusting faster, and Peter's back arcs, his head lifting off the couch on a shout.

"Please, please, please," Peter sobs, chest heaving. Tony pistons his hips, shoving Peter into the couch over and over in a disorienting pace.

Tony drives into him hard, burying himself as depe as he can go, and then pushing in further. Peter sobs against the pressure, being filled to the maximum.

And then Peter feels it. The unmistakable warm wetness that spreads inside him, coating his inner walls.

Peter whimpers as Tony punches his cock deep inside, pushing the cum deeper than Peter knew possible before pulling out.

Peter doesn't move, just tries to level his breathing. To collect himself before Tony seems his face.

"You going to cum for me, sweetheart?" Tony asks only seconds later. His hands are still pinning him down, but one now slids around Peter's front.

He doesn't get a chance to deny the man before a callused hand grips his cock and tugs painfully.

He yelps as his orgasm is yanked from him. Its not pleasurable in the slightest. It hurts so bad, Peter's eyes water again.

And Tony keeps milking him through it, wben when the last of it has dribbled to the floor. Peter reaches a hand down, whimpering and whining at the assault.

"Stop, stop!" He begs, stilling Tony's hand. "Please it hurts."

Tony stops, smoothing his hands over his belly and pressing a soft kiss to Peter's shoulder blades.

"Such a sensitive thing," he remarks. Peter buries his face in his arm. Tony gets to his feet then and steps away.

Peter reaches for his shirt on the couch and quickly pulls it over his head, hands still trembling.

He glances over to see Tony's back at the bar, filling a glass for himself.

Peter stands on shaky legs, stepping into his boxers and jeans and pulling them up before any of Tony's cum drips down his legs.

He tucks himself in and zips up before stepping into his shoes. His phone and wallet are still in his back pockets.

He glances up at Tony again, who's watching him over the rim of his glass. Peter doesn't know what to say, so he makes his way halting towards the door.

"The rest of your money will be deposited tonight," Tony said when Peter reached the door. Peter's gut twists, but he nods in thanks.

"I'd be more than happy to continue this partnership in the future," Tony hummed, just as Peter gripped the doorhandle that lead to the hallway. "Should you have need of extra money."

Peter doesn't acknowledge that. He slips out of the penthouse and into the hallway, making sure the door shuts behind him before rushing for the elevator, fresh tears blurring his vision.

#marvel #peter parker #tony stark #starker #ao3 #sfsummerbingo21 #my writing

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