#the printer probably hurts too

[musicinthebranchesoftheveins]

Printer is likely broken so I hand-wrote my zine (and it's a lot) but now I can't find scissors or the polaroid that inspired the zine in the first place 🙃

[lis-likes-fics]

Dramatic

Pairing: Spencer Reid x adhd!bau!Reader Word Count: 2.9k words Warnings: Social anxiety, character with ADHD, crying, emotional hurt/comfort... A/N: I embarrassed myself a little bit and that day will haunt me forever. Enjoy!

Spencer slows as he comes up on your desk. He furrows his brows and looks around, noting your absence with a confused look on his face. Closing his book in his hand, he shifts it under his arm and turns to Emily opposite your empty seat.

Before he can even finish his inhale, she's already speaking. “Last time I saw her, she had to go print something out.”

“When was that?”

Emily looks away from the bright light of her screen in favor of checking her watch. “About fifteen minutes ago?” She shrugs, “I assume she got caught up with something.”

She spins around in her chair in a rather dramatic manner, turning to face JJ in the desk behind her. “You seen my desk buddy anywhere?”

“Printer.” She doesn't even look up.

“That's what I said.”

JJ hums a little. “She probably just got distracted.” She looks over her shoulder at Spencer for the first time, though not for long. “I'd check the printer.”

With a spark of genius, Emily's brows lift as she turns back to her screen. “If she's not there, she could be with Garcia.”

JJ just points her finger over at Emily and hums, still lounging back in her chair as her focus glares at whatever she's filling out at her computer.

“Thanks, guys.” Spencer sets his book down on your desk, turning on his heel to find the printing room where you have supposedly been hanging out for the past fifteen minutes.

He doesn't know what would keep you that long. You're not social enough to have gotten caught up talking, and your distractions are so easy as to keep you from returning to your desk (especially not when Emily is there to keep you company).

Plus, you hate the printing room. The printers are practically always running, and there's this weird clacking noise from one of the machines that unnerves you every time you have the misfortune of having to listen to it.

As he expects, you're not there. There's one guy standing in front of one of the printers, beating his hand on the side to get it to work. Other than that, however, you're nowhere to be found and Spencer is starting to worry.

Realistically, he knows that he shouldn't. You're in a building surrounded by FBI agents, and you're smart enough to know exactly how to tip someone off if you're in trouble. You're so smart, you'd realize there was danger long before it actually hit (because you pay too much attention to little details and sometimes forget about the more obvious things in front of you). He's lucky enough that any UnSub striking the FBI is likely too intelligent not to be meticulous.

But anyway, it doesn't matter because you're not in danger, and maybe you're just with Penelope or using the bathroom or (not in the break room, he already checked) or even–

Shoot.

“Hi.”

Penelope’s door was open, so he let himself in with a gentle knock on the door. Derek is there. He's leaning against one of her desks as she works. They're talking about something Spencer suspects to be too suggestive for his interest.

“Oh!” Penelope turns around in her seat with so much enthusiasm. She almost seems amazed as she looks upon him. “Spencer Reid, coming to visit me. Hello! How are you, my little knick knack?”

Derek chuckles, gesturing for him to join the two with a charming smile.

“I'm good,” he says. He asks about you.

Penelope’s brows join together as she shakes her head. “Oh, I don't know,” she answers matter-of-factly. “I have not seen her. Why? Is she okay?” Her worry creates a crease at her brows that deepens with every second that her question is unanswered.

“You lost your girl, pretty boy?” Derek gently nudges Spencer's shoulder.

“Not lost, just…” he shrugs, “misplaced.”

He hums. “She hasn't come by, no. Last time I saw her was early in the break room with you.”

Spencer scratches the back of his neck. Sorting through his mind about all the places you could be. If you left the building, you would've told someone, so you're definitely still here. You don't have any meetings either, so he's genuinely confused as to where you could possibly be hiding.

“I was hoping I'd find her here.”

Penelope raises a suggestive hand. “Well, I can look on the cameras, if you want.” She wheels around in her chair. She's already tapping away on her keyboard with a loud clickity-clack. “I'm sure we can find her somewhere in here.”

“When did you last see her?” Derek asks.

“I saw her at her desk twenty one minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago, but Emily said she went to the printing room about fifteen minutes ago.”

Penelope mutters to herself as she types in her perimeters. “Okay. Printers, fifteen minutes. And…” She clicks her tongue. “There she is!”

Spencer feels a wave of relief at seeing you standing by one of the machines. You're popping your knuckles, staring dutifully at the printer like you're determined to grab them and go.

“Okay, waiting on papers. Let's fast forward a bit, and then…” Penelope’s as fast as the cameras as she watches you leave the room with your stack clutched to your chest. Your gaze is following your feet, which are taking you down the halls and in the wrong direction of your desk.

When you turn into a room, all of them are a little confused. Derek most of all. “My office?” He turns to Spencer with a furrowed brow. “What's she doin’ in my office?”

“Cameras don't show her leaving. She should still be in there right now.” Penelope adjusts her glasses on her nose, turning back around.

“That’s odd,” he mumbles. “Thank you, Garcia.”

Spencer's already locked into his task when he turns around without another word. Derek calls him, interrupting his alertness.

“Whatever you do,” he tilts his head like he's warning him, his eyes narrowed playfully as he smirks, “keep it PG in my office, okay?”

Spencer almost blushes at the notion. Penelope smacks him square in his chest, looking up like he's scolding Derek for his behavior. But he only raises his hands high in surrender. “Hey! Mama, I'm just jokin’,” he laughs, his face split into one of his charming smiles. “I'm playin’!”

Spencer purses his lips in that dorky way that you always say you love. He excuses himself in favor of finding you. The path to Derek's office is an easy and familiar path. He ends up opening the door not long after.

He doesn't see you.

Spencer's eyes sweep the office once more and find Derek's chair further away from his desk than it's meant to be—that is, if he pushed it in properly to begin with.

With a gentle sigh, he takes slow, quiet steps to round the large desk. He kneels when he gets to the other side, feeling the worry dissolve and take another shape all within the same second.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is so soft, this quiet little whisper that doesn't stir you too much.

You have your arms wrapped around your knees, your face buried away within them. You don't move, and you don't seem to be crying, so at least that isn't an issue. Your voice is muffled by your arms.

“Hi.” You don't look up. “How’d you find me?” you mutter, still not moving from your position.

“Penelope.”

You sigh, finally lifting your head. “Penny.” He almost laughs at the way you say it, like you're accusing her of a crime.

“Can I join you?” he asks gently.

You nod without a word. Spencer moves to sit across from you. He's so long, it takes quite a bit of maneuvering to fit himself into the small space. He's slouched over like some real life origami. His legs have no choice but to reach all the way over into your space and box you in with him. You don't mind much.

He lets you both sit in silence for a while. You seem to really need it. He doesn't decide to speak until you finally look at his face, your eyes flitting across it like you're trying to find something.

“What's wrong?”

You shake your head, looking away again. It breaks his heart to watch the way you huddle into yourself. “It's stupid.”

“It's not stupid,” he protests kindly. He reaches a hand out to cradle the back of your leg. His hand is warm, it feels good even through the fabric of your slacks. “Not if it's making you feel like this.”

You don't respond. Spencer's mouth twitches to the side. He taps your leg lightly. “What happened?”

You sigh, taking a moment before you lift your head to see him again. There's a tiny crease in his brows. His eyes are narrowed just a bit. He's genuinely concerned, and it makes you feel bad because the reason you're upset is so…trivial.

“We deal with death every day, and most of the time, I come out of it okay,” you say under your breath, shaking your head at yourself, “but this is what gets me.”

“What's ‘this’?” he presses gently.

You lick your bottom lip and speak slowly. “I went to print some papers, and this lady walked up and waved at me, so I waved back at her and…”

He thinks he knows where this is going. “Yeah?”

There’s an element of self-depreciation when you respond, and your words from earlier echo sadly in his head at the thought that you might be hearing it, too—it’s stupid. “Well, it turns out, she’s not even waving at me. She’s waving to this other lady standing next to me.” You shake your head, looking down as if to remember something. “And she kinda, like…gave me this look.”

“Was it a mean one?” He hopes not. He loves you too much for someone to be giving you mean looks. He wants you to feel safe and happy, and you don’t.

You shake your head. “No, she looked…maybe a little confused or even, like…apologetic, but it was a look.” He watches you bury your head again, hiding away in your embarrassment. “I should not be hiding because of a look.”

Spencer sets a reassuring hand on your knee. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed about something like that.”

When you lift your head again, he can see tears you’d tried so hard to keep back shining in your eyes. His heartstrings tug behind his ribcage. He thinks you’re gonna kill him one day. “I know!” you sniffle, refusing to let any of your tears spill. “I know, but I do, and it’s ridiculous.”

“But…” he says, like he isn’t finished, “it’s also perfectly okay to be embarrassed about something like that.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and looking to the side again. “Please.” A tear spills over, and you catch it quickly. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down hard. He’s worried you’ll draw blood. “I overreact or underreact to literally everything. When are my feelings ever reasonable?”

He would scoot closer if his body structure allowed it, but, alas, he is too long. “All the time. They never stop being reasonable,” he reassures. He sighs gently, wanting so badly to make sure you know how much he adores you. “Can I hold your hand?”

You look back at him, swallowing thickly as you slowly raise your hand for him to take. It means a lot, actually, that he wants to hold your hand. Too many germs. Your chest feels warm with your adoration of him. He gives you a smile, and you almost hide for a different reason.

Holding his eye contact is so hard sometimes. He has such pretty eyes, it’s a shame how hard it is to look at them when you get like this. You want to kiss him, to let him know.

Instead, you just squeeze his hand. “She probably already forgot it happened.” You chew on your bottom lip. “And I’ve been hiding under Derek’s desk for the past, like, ten minutes because I can’t forget about it.”

Spencer doesn’t want to tell you that it’s been twelve minutes and sixteen seconds. You hide your face once again more, dramatically this time. “This will haunt me forever.”

His lip quirks but he tries not to smile too much. “Hey.”

“I know. It’s childish.”

“That isn’t what I was going to say,” he smiles. He ducks his head in the hopes of catching your eyes, but he waits for you to look up first. “You know what I’m going to say?”

You do look at him. He’s so sweet, now you can’t look away. “What?”

He leans forward, feeling his back spine stretching as he does. His large hand sets against your cheek, and you lean into the warmth. He gives you a smile that you call charming, though he probably wouldn’t agree. “I love you.”

You can’t help it. The way he makes you feel is reminiscent of a teenager who just shared eye contact with her crush. He wipes your cheek gently with the pad of his thumb, clearing away any water left behind by the few tears that had escaped your clutches. “Stop,” you giggle, turning away.

He guides your face back. His grin is this huge, mushy thing on his face that squints his eyes until his lashes kiss. “Never,” he mutters affectionately. He loves to see you smile. “I love you. Especially when you care a little too much about an accidental wave.”

You catch him in his words, raising your brows accusingly. He’s helping your anxiety tremendously, and you probably won’t realize it until you’ve fully recovered. “So you agree that this is stupid?”

He laughs, shaking his head quickly. His voice, not as soft anymore, is filled to the brim with his happiness “That’s not what I said. I’m saying that I love you because you’re so amazing, and I want you to know it.” He traces the underside of your eyelashes, reluctantly slipping his hand off your cheek. “No matter how many times you wave at someone who isn’t actually waving at you.”

You’re still giggly. “Spencer.” You shift your legs, not without difficulty, to sit in a criss-cross position. Spencer mimics you (with even more difficulty than you). He has to bend down a little so he’ll fit.

“It’s the truth.”

“Well…” you try to dull your giggles to a simmering bubbly feeling in your chest, “I love you, too. Even when I think you’re crazy for loving me…” You think about that for a moment. “Especially when I think you’re crazy for loving me.”

Spencer holds your cheek again and pulls you in for a kiss. You savor this one, your noses brushing affectionately as you do. Spencer doesn’t kiss you at work.

“Will you come back to your desk with me?” he whispers, his lips brushing yours.

You nod gently. “Yeah.”

Spencer smiles, pecking your cheek. He lets go of you to untuck himself from under the desk. He has to stretch his body out before he offers his hand for you. You take it, hoisting yourself up to stand next to him. “Those are mine.” You gesture toward the papers on Derek’s desk as you brush off your pants.

He doesn’t wait for you, he just scoops them into his hands. “I’ve got them.”

“Thanks,” you grin. He sneaks one more kiss, this one to your temple.

You look up at him and hold your arms open, a quiet request. Spencer’s happy to answer your request, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that pulls you closer to him than you feel like you’ve ever been. He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes and sighing longingly.

When you pull away, you walk with him. His hand hangs down by his side, and you glance at it as you brush your pinky with his. He smiles, but he doesn’t look over at you.

It’s been hardly ten seconds since you left the office, and your phone is ringing. You furrow your brow, fishing it from your pocket and glancing down at the screen. You sigh gently, silently appreciating her because she means so much.

You put her on speaker. “Penny?”

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” she asks immediately, her voice full of worry. You glance at Spencer, who still doesn’t turn to you. He’s smiling, though, so you know that he knows you’re watching him.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” she asks. “I can go to you. I’ll bring the squishy that you like!”

Your voice fades into a laugh. “I’m okay, Pen, really.”

“Did my desk help?”

The way Derek’s voice sounds when he speaks up makes you flush a little. You keep your voice level, still looking up to stare at Spencer. You trust him not to let you run into anything as he suppresses his smile with the thin line of his lips. “Yes, Morgan, it was very nice.” You raise a brow. “Am I going to hear Prentiss next?”

He laughs. “Just li’l ole me.”

“And me. I’m still here.” Penelope makes you laugh.

“Goodbye, both of you.”

“Bye, honey bun.” “Bye!” You hang up on them.

Spencer’s warmth seeps into your side. You resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder because you’re supposed to be professional at work. Instead, you sigh and let your pinkies brush. “I love our friends.”

Spencer smiles. “Me, too.”

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic @princess76179 @hc-geralt-23 Dr. Reid taglist: @swwanlake Tag yourself here...

[fruittt-punchhh]

useless

Synopsis: you were called in for the night shift unexpectedly, and now have to spend the next - 5 hours - with the on-shift manager, Sukuna. based on this ask.

Characters: Sukuna x reader. Other jjk characters mentioned, but not a major point in the plot.

Content: Minors Do Not Interact! smut, afab! reader, fem! reader, manager! Sukuna (sorry, no four-armed, two-cocked royal monster for this one unfortunately), suggestiveness, cursing, mentions of female masturbation, public sex if you squint (outdoors), pet/affectionate names, age gap kiinda, big dick! Sukuna (duh), cunnilingus (m! receiving), probably other stuff i forgot.

Word count: 11.6k (holy SHIT)

Notes: it's time for a new arc on this page bitches. Toji is my one and only forever as you all know but everyone deserves to read ab sucking off their fave fictional character at your imaginary place of work :) @scorpiosugar

“Behind!” you hear someone yell from, well, behind you for the tenth time that hour. It was well past the restaurant’s usual rush hours, but customers were steadily pouring in through the large glass doors you could see through the crowd up front.

You had clocked in a few hours ago, you remind yourself, peering at the ticking clock overhead, silently willing the hour hand to reach ten o’clock already. Only three hours left, you cheer to yourself, trying to remind yourself how good your paycheck would look after picking up the extra shift. Someone had called out earlier, leaving the on shift manager to ring you much too early on your off day, all but begging for your assistance. Regrettably you agreed, knowing the extra money couldn’t hurt. It’s not like you had plans anyway, unfortunately.

Your usual on shift manager was Shoko, and while she ran a tight ship, being in the kitchen was fun with her. She made sure things were done properly, but she didn’t mind if you slacked off as long as your responsibilities were handled first. She even let you take smoke breaks, knowing damn well you didn’t smoke. She recognized your work ethic and wanted to keep you around as long as she could, even if that meant letting you dip out the back door for a fifteen minute breather every now and then.

“Y/n?!” You hear a booming voice to your left, snapping you out of whatever daze you were in.

“You gonna’ run the food or not?” Sukuna asks.

The dreaded Sukuna. You’ve barely worked with him before as he switched to nights almost right after you started, and you were on day shift. While you’ve never had any bad interactions with him, everyone at the restaurant said he was such a pain to work for, and you weren’t willing to find out just how much of a pain he could be today.

You were usually in the back of the restaurant, quickly prepping and cooking whatever stupid order came out of the noisy ticket printer along with the rest of the kitchen staff. However, due to the short staffing on this fine Friday, you were held responsible for not only prepping the meals, but running them to a certain section of tables the other wait staff couldn’t cover. It was only a few tables, but you hated going into the main part of the restaurant. You chose the back for its seclusiveness, and the staff back here were much more enjoyable to be around. Plus, you weren’t a stranger to wiping your hands on your shirt or apron, dirtying up your all black attire soon into every shift. Walking out into the semi-fancy restaurant with a towel tucked into your hip, sauce stains on your apron, and sweat beading at your forehead was not your preferred method of presenting yourself to the…lovely customers.

“S-Sorry, yeah,” you say back quickly, grabbing your tray and hoisting it on top of your shoulder for added support. You bump open the swinging doors with your hip, rushing to your table. You can’t believe you missed the signature ‘ding!’ that accompanied a completed tray. You swore you heard that ding in your sleep, haunting your peaceful moments at rest more than a few times a week. Must have missed it this time, though.

—

Finally. You heave a sigh you had been holding in for the last hour. You had most of your tables cleared or taken care of, and you had a moment in the kitchen to yourself to catch your breath. The night was finally dying down, and you only had a little over an hour left. Maybe you wouldn’t die a slow and painful death in the back of the restaurant tonight, and maybe you’d be able to go home to your cozy bed in due time (almost as if you did every night).

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you turn to look for Sukuna, desperate for a break. It takes a minute, but you run into him (almost literally) as he’s taking a step out of his cramped office.

“Shit, sorry -“

“My bad-“

You both mutter, tripping over the words as you both look for an apology for nearly toppling over one another. You chuckle as he reaches his hand behind his neck, grabbing it and sighing as he lets his arm rest there. You take careful attention to note how his forearms looked like they might split the two buttons neatly fastened at his wrists.

“Can I go on my smoke break now? Just need a few,” you ask, hoping he wouldn’t bust your balls about it.

“Uh, sure, I’ll meet you out there,” he says before he turns back into his office, leaving the door only slightly ajar.

Meet you out there? What was this, a soccer match? You have no time to waste in responding and immediately turn on your heels, shuffling through the crowd of servers, cooks, and busboys galore to the back door.

Sure, he could just need a smoke too. He’s been here far longer than you today and the heavy bags that decorate his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you - or anyone for that matter.

You leave the door propped open behind you with a random piece of wood sitting outside, not wanting to have to bang on the door again for someone to let you in after it automatically locks - a mistake you only let yourself make once twice. The cool air hits you immediately as you search for your trusty milk crate you fashioned as a stool. You try not to get on your phone during your break, only using it to set a timer or check your texts if you had to. You liked to take this time to detach from the busy building behind you, taking in concentrated, steady breaths.

You set the too-short timer on your phone, raising up your hip to slide it back into your rear pocket. On busy days like these, especially days where you were supposed to be off, watching reruns of whatever peaked your fancy on the couch, you felt the need for a cigarette. You used to smoke in your college days at parties or if someone offered, never wanting to cross the line of buying a pack for yourself. You wouldn’t even know what to ask for anyways.

But on days like these, it almost felt necessary. You continue your breathing, leaning your neck down to stretch the sore muscles as you place your face in your hands. You rub your eyes, thanking god you didn’t accidentally pop one out as you received the biggest scare you had in a while.

“Jesus Christ!” You blurt, totally forgetting that your manager was planning on accompanying you for your break. You hadn’t even heard the heavy metal door creek and strain as it opened, there was no flash of light from inside the building, nothing. Weird.

“You meditatin’ or something?” He asks, seeming the most unconcerned you had ever seen him. He reaches behind him, pulling out a shiny, new pack of cigarettes, still tightly wrapped in cellophane. He rips the plastic packaging with his teeth, and it almost looks like he’s flashing a smile at you.

He raises his eyebrows at you with an attitude, non verbally demanding an answer as he hits the pack bottom down on his palm with a loud thwap! thwap!

“No,” you answer plainly, “just on my break.” He pulls a fresh cigarette from the pack before bringing it up to his lips. He pats his pockets, frantically searching for something to accompany his cigarette.

“Got a lighter?” He says, muffled by the thin stick.

“Nope,” you offer, not bothering to throw in an apology like you usually would.

He huffs, turning swiftly back into the restaurant after he mutters a low, ‘useless’ that he assumes you didn’t hear. He yells from inside of the restaurant, asking some shiu? for a lighter.

He’s quickly stepping back outside, cupping the lighter in both hands before he shields the end of his cigarette. He flicks the start wheel, and you try your damndest not to admire how good he looks softly illuminated by the flame. He pulls in a heavy drag as you watch the tip of his cigarette turn to hot ash.

He huffs, blowing out a large cloud into the wind, “Watchu’ starin’ for?”

You hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Got nothin’ else to look at. Besides the dumpster, I guess,” you add, motioning to the container of literal hot garbage that was all too close to you two.

“Good to know I’m better to look at than piles of shit,” he says, not attempting to muffle the slight chuckle that escapes.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, reaching back into your pocket to check how much time you had left. 8 minutes.

He huffs again, but decides to keep his quip to himself for time’s sake.

“Why aren’t you smoking on your smoke break?” He asks, trying his hardest to appear like he doesn’t actually want to know.

“Dunno’. I don’t smoke that much,” you respond. But it just wasn’t good enough.

“I could snitch on you for that, ya’ know?” He threatens, waiting to see if you’d stand up for yourself or cower meekly like the rest of his subordinates when he applied even the slightest pressure.

You laugh, “Do it then. Shoko doesn’t care,” you tell him truthfully. She knew from the jump you didn’t smoke and still allowed it, stating that if anyone tried to bitch at you for it to blame it on her. Which you wholeheartedly did.

“Good for her,” he adds, not knowing whether to be offended or impressed by your brevity. “But right now, I’m your manager,” he says as he crouches down, wanting to look you eye to eye.

You ignore the flush you feel rise up your neck. You felt yourself fawning under his gaze, paying too much attention to the purse of his lips as he took yet another extended drag of his cigarette.

You had to keep your composure, even though he wasn’t the ugliest person you’d ever seen. You were used to standing up for yourself in the kitchen. Being a woman in a kitchen environment is not for the weak, and this fact you knew too well. You didn’t even feel like you were that attractive, but you couldn’t count on all fingers and toes how many hands you’ve had to swat back or advances you’ve had to decline from the creepy older men that worked beside you.

You didn’t want to spend the - you check - 6 minutes you had left on your break arguing with a manager you barely knew.

“Then gimme’ one or I’ll go back in,” you offer. You hated to ask, but a cigarette may help you chug through this last hour of your shift.

He smirks, pressing his hand on his knee to help himself stand. You’re hidden in his shadow now, only faintly lit by the dim street light nearby. He reaches in his pocket again, letting out a sigh as he meets your question with a proposition: “Close for me, then sure. You can even restart your fuckin’ timer for all I care.” He adds, becoming annoyed by how often you were checking your phone in front of him, as if you didn’t want to be outside with him or something.

He has to be kidding. It was Friday and the restaurant closed at 1, and with how busy it was, you’d be lucky to be out of there by 2:30.

“Close?!” You say with the upmost attitude you can muster. He was insane if he thought you were staying that long.

“Choose,” is all he says before he reaches one hand towards the doorknob, the other outstretched to you, a fresh cigarette in hand.

Fuck. You ran through the pros and cons in your mind. The money wouldn’t hurt, but you were so tired. Your feet were aching and your back was in knots. But again, the money. The sole reason you took this extra shift in the first place. The extra fifteen minutes plus a cigarette seemed enough to convince you in the needy state you were in. You were ready to accept your fate before Sukuna butts in with a… countdown?

“Three,” he spits, growing impatient.

You wanted to test that patience. Maybe it was the rumors you’d heard about big, bad Sukuna.

“Two.”

But maybe it was the way he looked towering over you, presenting you with options he had selfishly picked, not caring for a compromise. He was the manager after all.

“O-,”

“Gimme that,” you interrupt, reaching to grab the cigarette out of his cold hand. You hate that you noticed his hands, but the dim lighting outside provided you little room to work with in terms of hand eye coordination. Your fingertips brush his lightly, and you would have thought he was losing circulation if you didn’t know any better.

He leans back against the wall as he watches you restart your timer, purposefully ignoring the previous brush of your manicured hands against his.

You motion for him to hand you the lighter, to which he smirks, crossing his large arms across his chest.

“Nope,” he mimics your word from earlier, putting extra emphasis on the ‘p’ sound with a pop of his lips. He was doing anything to get under your skin.

“What do you mean nope?” You ask as you take the cigarette back out of your mouth.

“Say please and I’ll think about it,” he teases.

14 minutes.

You were too old for this shit.

You stand abruptly, turning back into the restaurant as you swing the door open with a huff. Sukuna squints behind you, the bright kitchen lights burning his sleep deprived eyes. You rush to his office, pilfering through drawer after drawer to find a lighter. You knew the desk well - it was shared by all the managers. You and Shoko had many conversations in this office after closing time, enjoying each others company as she complained about the weird customers you’d have throughout the night.

Bingo. A bright red lighter peeks out from underneath some old mail, a faint, small ‘s’ written on the side in black sharpie. How cute. Maybe his mom sewed his initials into his undies, too.

You’re already lighting the cigarette before the door closes behind you, pulling in a much needed puff as you sit down back on your crate, and you are far from the picture of grace. Hair messy, face sweaty, and you nearly tumble off the crate from the sheer force of sitting down with such an attitude.

Sukuna tries to avoid your gaze as you come back out, instead occupying himself with following the small beads of sweat that fall down your temple. The sweaty, curled hair by your ears. The sleepy, heavy eyes that cut him such a nasty look.

You pull in and sigh, thankful for the fifteen minute vice you’ve allowed yourself for the night.

“Hm - that’s mine,” he taunts, surprised you were so forward to go through his desk. He’d have to talk to you about that later.

You hold it up, showing him the little ‘s’ on the side with a sarcastic smile. You toss it to him without warning, laughing to yourself as he misses entirely, dropping it on the ground at his feet.

“Clumsy,” you mutter, and you swear his eyes widen slightly, followed by a barely noticeable pink hue across his nose.

No one ever spoke to him like this. His employees seemed so frightened by him, although he couldn’t say for sure why. He was stern, but he noticed most of his attempts at ‘bonding’ with his workers fell short. He felt himself fulfilling the role of the angry, harsh manager more often than he’d like to admit.

You grew uncomfortable with each moment - the silence was deafening as you tried to find something to say, but he beats you to it.

“Uh, I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier,” he professes, actively avoiding your gaze. Although you were busy looking at the dumpster as opposed to him, he wouldn’t know. He kept his eyes trained on his feet. He hated apologizing.

“What?” You ask simply. You knew what moment he was referring too, but you needed to milk this rare vulnerability he was showing.

“Jesus.. earlier. I raised my voice. The fuckin’ bell’s messed up and I guess you didn’t hear it.”

So you weren’t going insane! It made you feel better knowing it was (or wasn’t?) a figment of your imagination. But you felt a little bad for the guy. His macho attitude was long gone as he tokes his cigarette, still avoiding eye contact.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you offer, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m not,” he spits, meeting your gaze with his once more. You hate that it gives you goosebumps.

“Sounds like it, to me,” you say, trying to hold your smile.

“Just explaining. Not apologizing. Two different things.” He says harshly. He really did not appreciate you trying to take advantage of his half-apology.

You fail at finding something to say, letting the silence linger for too long again. You were desperate for his break to be over, but he seemed to be intent on staying with you the entire time.

6 minutes.

“Why’d you switch to nights?” You begin, needing to cut the tension with something. You were curious if he was maybe in school or had some responsibilities that kept him busy during the day.

Again, that small blush. The barely there crimson hues spreads further than last time, covering his cheeks and if you weren’t mistaken, his ears. With his hair, he was turning to a pastel strawberry before your very eyes.

He clears his throat, “You looked like trouble,” he admits.

You’re hit with a flood of confusion. Most importantly, the reason he switched was because of you? Secondly, why did he have to use that phrase? It was more demeaning than he knew, and quite frankly -

“For me,” he finishes.

“What?” You huff, growing frustrated with his choice of words.

“You looked like trouble for me,” he corrects himself.

What the hell does that even mean?

He notices the utter confusion painted on your pretty face. He throws his cigarette on the ground beneath him, smushing it out before he grabs the lighter from his feet.

Turning back into the restaurant, he answers your unsaid question.

“I tend to go after women that look like you,” is all he says before he’s back in the restaurant, making sure to close the door tightly behind him.

Go after? What was he, a fucking tiger?

You can’t lie and act like the compliment (?) didn’t make your ego swell a bit. But switching his entire schedule because he was, what, scared of you? Worried he might “come after” you? You needed to know more, simply to have gossip for when you work with Shoko next.

Your timer still reads 4 minutes left, but your craving for the cigarette has long since subsided. You snuff it out, wringing your hands together before rubbing them on your jeans, desperate to get the sickly smell off of your fingertips.

From inside the restaurant, you can sense an influx of tickets printing. You hear feet start to bustle about, pots and pans clanging together, and that same loud voice barking orders at his employees. You only had three minutes left, but you couldn’t get the last 20 out of your mind. You’d find a point to bring it up to him later, you were sure of it.

You stand with a grunt, stretching your arms over your head before you turn to face the door - that Sukuna had so graciously shut behind him. You bang on the door with a closed fist, a loud boom! boom! boom! echoing through the nearly vacant lot behind you.

After your eighth or so hit, the handle turns, and you’re met with tufts of pink hair before anything else. You scoff.

“Missed me that much, huh?” He teases, and you’re taken aback. All of the previous conversation you had with him could be taken totally innocently, all except for that last minute or so. But you wouldn’t be wrong in thinking he was outright flirting with you.

You roll your eyes, shoving past him as he chuckles. You weren’t going to be stuck here with him until the wee hours of the morning, so it’s best you get started on your closing tasks asap. You didn’t close all too often, and you didn’t want to get overwhelmed with the responsibilities of shutting down the restaurant for the night.

You get back to your station, quickly catching up with what entree is currently being prepped. You try to keep your hands and mind busy, well aware of Sukuna’s looming presence in the kitchen. Before your actual smoke break, you tried your best to avoid him, not wanting to become subject to his bitching if you weren’t on your A-game. Now, you felt like being on this supposed A-game was impossible. You were exhausted, your body ached, and you were somehow convinced to close despite the very loud voice in your head protesting that decision.

Now, you had to deal with Sukuna’s gaze peering into the back of your skull. It made you nervous and you hated that, hated that you allowed him even an inkling of control over how you felt. But you couldn’t lie to yourself and pretend it didn’t affect you. You had to remind yourself that this was your manager, at least for tonight, and you were his employee. His stare was probably nothing more than a desperate attempt at calling you out on a mistake.

Right?

Is all you can ask yourself when you turn towards the trash can, potato peels in your cupped hands, when you catch him staring. He was leaned against a wall behind you, notepad in hand with the end of his pen affixed between his teeth. His eyes were glued to your ass before he scans your full body, taking in all of you before his eyes meet yours. Both of your eyes widen, shocked at how openly he was ogling your body. You feel the familiar blush rise up your neck again, and you couldn’t mistake a similar one appearing on Sukuna’s face. It was a brighter pink under the fluorescence of the kitchen lights. He threads his hand through his hair before he rushes to Nobara, quick to reprimand her for overcooking a steak. As if he wasn’t just drinking in the image of you.

You had to find time to talk to him, and soon. While you weren’t incredibely angry that he seemed to be interested in you, you didn’t want to assume he was incorrectly.

Another ticket prints as you’re placing the rest of your current ticket on the tray in front of you, ringing the stupid bell extra hard to ensure the wait staff hear it. You grab the ticket before you let out an exaggerated heave - it was a dessert order. Almost all of the desserts at the restaurant were pre-frozen or in the walk in, and there was never any actual cooking involved for the most part. You wipe your hands on your apron, turning for the walk in.

You yank on the comically large handle, the freezing air covering you in chills. The particular order had a side of ice cream, so you walk through the cool part of the walk in to the freezer door, yanking again on another stupid handle. The air in the freezer was nothing compared to the cooler, and you could already see your fingers turning red underneath the LED bulb above the door. The walk in was a mess, and the freezer even more so. You squat near the door, pilfering through the many items adorning the shelves. It didn’t help that the ice cream container was in a large cardboard box, similar to nearly every item in the freezer.

You stand, ready to step to the next shelf in your quest for ice cream, until you feel a nudge on your back, followed by a brief ‘scuse me’ from a now familiar voice. For the second time that night, he scares you so badly you think you could faint.

“Why are you so fuckin’ quiet?” You hiss, to which he shoots you a confused look from over his shoulder. He was pulling in a cart from the make line, full of containers and sauce bottles. He walked in back first, leaving nothing to your imagination as his tight black button up hugged his… very muscular back. It’s not like you knew him well at all, but you didn’t know him to be an avid gym-goer.

“Gonna’ help me or you wanna’ keep eye fucking me?” He grunts, failing to notice how all of your breath was caught in your chest.

Eye fucking? I mean yeah, you were admiring him. But you hadn’t even thought about anything sexual. Up until now. You felt delirious being up so late, and it had been a while since you got laid. And he still wasn’t the ugliest person on the planet.

He shifts to the other side of the cart, grabbing the necessary items and putting them on their applicable shelf. You notice how he’s able to grab nearly everything single-handed, whereas it took you both hands and a hoist of your knee to get some of the heavier items up on the high shelves. His hands were large with clean, neat nails trimmed short underneath a layer of shiny black polish. His sleeves were bundled at the midway of his forearms, revealing two black banded tattoos that wrapped around each of his wrists. You wondered if those were the only ones.

He lifts a heavier box over his head, shoving it in a back corner of the top shelf. You can’t miss the slight untuck of his shirt, the hardened ‘v’ that appears from underneath, and the tufts of blonde hair, starting at his belly button, trailing down to his -

“Eye fuckin’ it is then, huh?” He laughs as he turns to face you, leaning on the cart with one arm. His other arm is busy lazily tucking his shirt back in, his large hand repeatedly dipping underneath his waistband to smooth his shirt over his pelvis. You swear the shirt is tucked in enough, and has been for the last few seconds as he continues tucking and smoothing the fabric. He notices your eyes dart to his hand and he decides to leave it in his waistband, a feeble attempt to warm his cold hands and keep your attention trained to his waist. You stumble over your words, not even bothering to find an explanation.

“What is going on here? Like.. what are you trying to do?” You ask.

“What?” He scoffs, refusing to believe you’d call him out on his long glances and repeated attempts to be near you.

You cross your arms, shivering, as you wait for him to respond with an answer.

He pauses.

“Can we talk about it not in the freezer?” He asks, crossing both arms over his large chest as he’s shivering now too.

“Where then?” You ask, surprised that he even knew what the ‘it’ was you were referring to.

“Meet me in the cooler when you’ve finished your tickets,” he adds before he’s grabbing the cart and pushing the freezer door open into the cooler to leave.

So it wasn’t just your imagination. You had no clue where this conversation could lead, but you were eager to see. Now, finishing your tickets was the priority, which brings you back to the ice cream. Oh. Sukuna had replaced it when he came in and you were too busy gawking to notice. You grab the container, rushing out of the walk in to be met with a loud yelp from Nobara, exclaiming that she thought you’d died in there. Seems you weren’t the only one getting scared tonight.

You only had four more tickets, and one was a drink order for the bar, thankfully. You rush to finish, needing the customers gone as soon as possible so you could start fully cleaning the back. You definitely weren’t rushing so you could talk to Sukuna. Definitely.

In your hurry, you spill sauce onto your workstation close to the edge, some of it spilling onto your apron. Instinctually, you scoot your hips back from the table quickly in an attempt to avoid further dirtying your clothes, to no avail. In your motion, you accidentally thrust your hips into something - no, someone, behind you. While bumping into someone in the kitchen is no rare occasion, you could tell by the huff of breath let out behind you that the hips you just pushed your ass on belonged to Sukuna.

Was he hard?

You felt embarrassed even thinking of a question like that, but it was for good reason. The half-second you had your hips aligned with his allowed you to feel some sort of.. length pushed against you. There was no mistaking it. You look back to him over your shoulder as he’s stepping away from you, and he rolls his eyes at you. Not in a good, ‘oh god her ass is heavenly’ type of way. In a, ‘you can do better than that’ type of way.

One more hour.

-

You finish your tickets, taking extra precautions not to make any more messes. You go to look for Sukuna, but he’s nowhere to be found. He’s not in the kitchen, and his office door is propped open to an empty seat. You ask a coworker if they’ve seen him, and they only answer with a shrug. You glance to the back door, and it’s closed shut. You head to the walk in anyways, assuming he’ll meet you there in due time.

Until the door is pushed into you. A large hand grabs your wrist, pulling you in. You’re yanked into the cold and backed into the door before you can even let out a gasp. Sukuna stands opposite you, eyes too hooded and low for you to discern how he may be feeling (not that you care).

“Talk,” he says, waiting for you to lead.

“I’m the one that asked you the question. Remember?” You ask, adding a sarcastic smile for good measure.

“You asked me two questions. Remember?” He asks, pitching his voice an octave or two to mimic you.

At this point, you didn’t remember what the hell you asked specifically. You were so drained from the day you could have asked him ten questions and you’d be none the wiser. You nod your head 'no'.

“You wanted to know ‘what’s going on here’ and ‘what I’m trying to do’. Two different questions, woman.”

The nickname makes you squirm internally. You felt desperate - too desperate even. You knew he had a few years on you, although you didn't know how many. You were in your mid-twenties and he couldn't have been more than thirty-five. But still, the difference was there. Even if you two shared a birth year, he was still in a position of power over you. Regardless of how often you two worked together, he was a manager, and you were a line cook. Every voice in your mind is begging you to leave, but your feet are glued to the cold metal floor.

“Yeah, s-sorry. What is going on?”

He notices your nervousness and he wishes it didn’t make him feel so fucking flustered. Last time he checked, he wasn’t a horny teenager anymore.

“Well, we’re unfortunately at our place of employment, on the clock. I’m your manager. You’re my employee,” he says, taking the smallest step towards you, ”and that about covers it. Unless you think there’s something else going on.”

There’s no way he’s trying to pull the fucking stupid card.

“I know there’s something else going on, Sukuna. I saw you staring,” you spit. You caught him swallowing after you said his name, which would have been cuter if you weren’t currently freezing to death.

“Just because I stare doesn’t mean something’s going on,” he says with a smirk, shamelessly letting his eyes trail your body again, lingering when his eyes meet your chest to commit to memory how your nipples cut through your shirt in the cold of the walk in.

You huff, raising your voice to emphasize your point, “Then why are you walking around with a fuckin’ hardon?”

You barely notice the muffled ‘I wasn’t’ before Sukuna’s eyes widen as you feel a weight leave your back. You could barely process someone was trying to come in the walk in by the time Sukuna is crowding your space, one hand flying to the bulky handle to keep the door closed, the other reaching to cover your mouth. His body is slightly pressed to yours and his scent is invading your every thought. He smells masculine - musky and woodsy, like he had been out in the rain. His hands were harsh on your face, pushing down onto you with more force than you thought necessary. His thumb cupped under your chin, long, thick fingers nearly touching your ear as they stretch across your now beet-red cheeks. His chest and arms flexed in front of you as he kept the door shut, and you had to shut your eyes for fear of being caught staring.

The almost-intruder gives up, releasing the handle as the both of you let out a breath. The white, smoke-like air leaving his mouth in the cool air of the walk in clouded your vision as he removes his hand from your mouth, but not the door. He couldn’t risk having someone else barge in and it gave him an excuse to have you against the wall in front of him, albeit not in the way he would have preferred.

You two lock eyes, almost panting from the intensity of what just happened. You both look at each other’s lips, with Sukuna’s eyes flicking between your lips and eyes more often than yours.

You lick your lips, feeling like you were under a spotlight with how intensely he’s meeting your gaze. He was about to speak before you interrupt him, suddenly remember his admission from earlier.

“You weren’t hard?” You ask, and he laughs. The first real laugh you’ve got out of him the entire night.

“No, no I wasn’t, hah. Why do you care?”

You felt stupid but there was no way he wasn’t hard. He must be lying because you couldn’t have imagined what you felt. There was no mistaking the size, the length, the heat. It had to be.

“Then what was it?” You ask, patiently waiting for him to find an excuse.

Until he hits you with a, “my dick,” that knocks the wind from your gut. The shit-eating grin that plasters his face sends a warmth to your groin you haven’t felt in a while.

“W-What do you mean?” You ask, and he pouts, mocking your sheepish attitude.

“I don’t understand what you’re so confused about, girl. You’re the one that rubbed your ass on my dick. Doesn’t mean it was hard,” he shrugs.

You remember how big he felt even through the layers of clothing, and it scared you. That was him soft? You were starting to wonder what you’d gotten yourself into. But you had no clue how to respond to that. You couldn’t just compliment him on his soft dick. Weird.

“Well, you still didn’t answer both questions.”

He huffs out a chuckle, remembering the previously avoided ‘what are you trying to do?’

He looks at you, lost in thought. He scans your face before he’s reaching his hand towards yours shoved in your pocket. He extends his palm, motioning for you to place your hand in his. You oblige, pulling your hand out of your pocket before he’s grabbing your wrist, completing enveloping it in his large palm.

He leans closer to you, placing his left cheek on yours as he speaks into your ear.

“I think you know what I’m trying to do, y/n.”

He grips your wrist tighter, leading it to his groin to present you with his now undeniably hard dick. You stifle a gasp, overwhelmed by the sensation of his breath on your ear, cold cheek against your burning one, hard length now sitting heavy in your palm, twitching under your light touch. Now you know why you thought he was hard earlier. He was a shower and a grower, and the sinful thoughts that filled your mind did nothing to stop you from sliding your hand down further, to see just how much of a grower he really was. You knew you should protest this firmly, tell him he’s wrong for lusting after his subordinate, and clock out to seal the deal. But the stifled ‘mmph’ you hear to your left after you squeeze around his tip, precum leaking through his pants, has you questioning why you’d even think to leave. The wetness you thought you had under control was becoming a problem as it slowly soaked through your panties.

He pulls away from your ear, flicking your hand away with a tsk before he’s closing in on you once more, grabbing your chin so you can look up at him properly.

“Since when are you so greedy, huh? So eager? Didn’t tell you to start strokin’ it, now did I? Or are you that much of an overachiever like I’ve heard? I had to beg you to close f’me so I doubt it’s that.” He trails off, bombarding you with questions that warm your face again and you’re sure you have a fever at this point.

You huff out a hushed ‘fuck you’ to which he laughs.

He raised his fist up and starts pounding on the closed walk in door. His force is so brutal, he has to grab the handle to keep it closed as he hammers away at the door.

“That a promise?” is all he asks before he’s shoving the both of you out of the walk in, tripping over each other’s feet as you shoot him a confused look.

He ignores you, yelling out a loud “helloooo?” to the kitchen staff that just witnessed you two stumble out of the cooler.

Nobara rushes up, worry painted on her face as she grabs your wrists, stabilizing you as you catch your balance.

“Sir?” She mutters, looking just as confused as you were.

“We were locked in there for like, ten fucking minutes. No one noticed me beating the damn door down?” He yells. Your face grows redder as you look at Nobara struggle for a response.

“I-It’s fine, really. The handle just got stuck and he was too weak to get it open. He's kinda' useless,” which earns a laugh from more than just Nobara. Sukuna cuts you a look, flaring his nostrils as he’s walking off with a pout to his office. How pathetic.

You dust off your clothes, relieved to see there’s no more tickets printing off. Most of the remaining staff had started on their closing tasks while you and Sukuna were busy fraternizing in the walk in. Although Sukuna left with an attitude, you still couldn’t ignore the pool in your underwear and the ever-present pulse you felt throb with each tick of the clock.

-

The restaurant has mostly died down by now, with only a few lingering patrons at the bar and a couple or two still left in the dining area. Clean dishes were piling up on the right side of the sink and you were only left with the bare minimum cookware at your station. You see Sukuna walk into the lobby of the restaurant, not so subtly urging the remaining customers to leave. Most of the patrons pack up their things, only leaving a few stragglers behind.

-

By now, all of the wait staff had clocked out and left long ago. The clock read a depressing ‘2:23’ as you wipe down your workstation with a damp towel, sweeping the crumbs and leftover trash into the floor. Sukuna is busy finishing off the tills, counting the last of the register’s change. The dishwasher is finally packing his things, heading to the front computer to clock out with a tired ‘see ya’.

You were busy sweeping around your station, leading all the way to the walk in.

“Move,” he says, grabbing the back of your pants by the belt loop and pulling him behind you. You quickly look around to see if anyone noticed his touch, sighing with relief as you realize you two were the only ones still on the clock. He had a piece of paper in one hand, reaching up with the other to remove the thumbtacks from the old schedule on the bulletin board in front of you two. You glance at the schedule and your neck nearly cracks with how hard you do a double-take. You expected your usual 8-4, maybe some 9-5 shifts on the days you usually worked. But this new schedule has you scheduled for nights only. Conveniently, nights that Sukuna is the manager. You peer at the schedule, looking for the large, bold-printed ‘OFF’, and you see that you’re off in two days. You look at the top of the schedule, nothing that Sukuna’s ‘OFF’ day is the same day, too.

Sukuna had already started to walk off as you processed this new schedule. You take a step towards him, grabbing his forearm in an attempt to pull him back to you. His walk is so confident and assured that he pulls you almost an entire step forward before he turns on his heels, suddenly mere inches from your space. His proximity has you at a loss for words, mouth agape as you search your mind for whatever it was you were about to say.

“Yes?” He asks, a slight tug at the corner of his mouth daring to turn into a smile.

“U-uh.. sorry, why did you schedule me for n-nights?” You mutter, spiteful at how the words seemed to die in your throat.

He takes a step back, releasing his arm from your gasp as he straightens his tie, giving you room to finally breathe.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that the employee that called out earlier has the flu.”

“But-“ you try to interject.

“She won’t be in the rest of the week, and how you’re looking at me right now tells me you’d like to be here with me again tomorrow,” is all he says before he’s returning to his office, crumbling up the old schedule as he’s closing the door behind him.

You clear your throat, trying to regather your dignity as you continue sweeping. You were frustrated with how much of an affect he has over you in the short amount of time, but your interactions throughout the day has left you craving more of his presence. His touch still lingers on your skin, reminding you just how often he had touched you during the shift.

You start to gather the trash in the dustpan, standing up to turn around to Sukuna leaving his office. Your breath hitches in your throat as he walks out in nothing but a black tank top, silver chain adorning his neck. You have full view of his numerous tattoos trailing down his arms, over his shoulders, even some that look like they might reach down his chest. He was walking to lock up the front as you finished sweeping and mopping. You grip the broom tighter, trying to ground yourself. Your body temperature was higher than usual and your hands were so sweaty. It felt all too hot in the restaurant, even hotter than it felt with the rest of the kitchen staff on the clock, ovens and fryers ablaze. You take a deep breath and lean the broom against the wall, heading for the back door. You needed some air and being in the same building as Sukuna made you feel like you had to fight for breath.

The cool air instantly calms your nerves as you walk to the side of the building, leaning down to put your hands on your knees. You take a deep breath, running your sweaty palms on your jeans. You had to get yourself together, you tell yourself over and over again. Regardless of how good he looked, how… intrigued he made you feel, you were stuck with him for the rest of the week. You couldn’t take a smoke break every time Sukuna cut his eyes at you or let his hands invade your personal space. While you couldn’t lie to yourself like you didn’t enjoy it, you’re still a grown woman that wouldn’t be caught dead melting under another man’s touch so easily. You preferred things the other way around, enjoying the power you felt when you -

SLAM!

A loud, resounding boom echoed through the parking lot as Sukuna crosses your peripheral, two full, black trash bags slung over his shoulder. He fails to notice you around the side of the building in the dim light before he reaches the dumpster, flinging both heavy bags into the can with ease.

He startles slightly as he sees you, fully expecting you to be inside the restaurant finishing your sweeping. You were too busy admiring him to process that the door had slammed. As in, shut. As in, no way to get back into the building unless Sukuna has the keys, shut. You both seem to realize your grim fate simultaneously, eyes widening as you scramble to find the answers you both needed. You take steps towards him as he’s rushing to you, frantically searching his pockets.

“Please tell me you have the keys-“

“Since when are you outside?”

“Do you not have the keys? How are we supposed-“

“You were supposed to be inside, y/n,” he interrupts yet again, turning out every pocket in search of the large loop of miscellaneous keys. His face is flushed as he peers down at you, obviously embarrassed he was so foolish to trust you’d be inside the restaurant and irresponsible enough to leave the back door without the keys in hand.

He sighs as do you, unsure of what step to take next. He starts pacing, hands running through his hair as he searches for a solution. You gasp quietly, searching your pockets and praising god your phone was still on you. You rescind that praise when you realize that was the only one of your belongings you had. No keys, wallet, purse, anything. In your panic, you rush to the back door, putting all of your body weight into twisting and pulling the handle. It’s locked without a shadow of a doubt, but Sukuna still shoves you to the side as he attempts to open the door. Although his strength seems incomprehensible, he still struggled to open the door. Every muscle in his arms, back, and chest were rippling and contorting as he fully leans back with force in an attempt to rip the door from its hinges. Nothing.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” You ask, dumbfounded at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

He huffs, leaning against the wall beside you as he puts his hand into his pocket, still silently hoping the keys would magically appear.

“What all did you have left in there?”

“Uh, just the sweeping and mopping. Did you finish the tills?” You ask, trying to assess the damage that the morning shift would be subject to.

“Yeah, yeah all my shit’s done, just had to do the fuckin’ trash. Shit.” He curses, rubbing his face in his hands.

You hadn’t realized just how close you two were now. There was still plenty of breathing room between the two of you, but as you both lean against the wall, his arm brushes yours and both of you linger at the contact, consciously continuing the skin on skin exposure.

Sukuna had plenty of plans that were so rudely interrupted by the stupid fucking door. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and how your hands felt on his length, how you looked up at him, hopeful that he would do something more to you. He had plans of ravishing you in the restaurant - partly to boost his ego, and partly to have you reminisce on the experience each time you walked into the building, with or without him. But all plans were effectively crushed as soon as that back door shut.

“Do you not make it a habit to keep the keys on you? Like, at all times?” You ask, confused as to why he would leave them sitting around anyway.

He turns to face you, rolling his eyes as he does so.

“No, I don’t keep the thirty-pound key ring on me at all times. You’re the one that came out here without letting me know!” He adds, throwing his hands in the air, trying to find anyone to blame except himself.

You scoff, surprised he was trying to turn this on you, “Well I needed some fucking air. You want me to tell you every time I go to the walk in or the bathroom, too?”

He laughs, offended, “You need to tell me when you leave the premises. The premises being the inside of the restaurant.”

You start to respond before he’s interrupting you per usual, closing in on your space as he places his right hand to the side of your head, leaning it on the wall to face you directly. You avert your gaze, embarrassed at how meek you felt when he looked at you in this way. But you knew he wanted you, at least in some way - that you knew for sure.

“Why did you need air? Closin’ too much for you, huh little baby? Can’t handle all that… responsibility?” He asks, making your knees almost buckle. Sure, girl was one thing, but baby?

But you still had to hold your ground.

“I am perfectly capable of closing, thank you. I needed a break from you,” you admit, not realizing how harsh it sounded until after you spoke it.

And he is appalled. With the way you were acting, you seemed like a break was the last thing you needed.

“A break? From me? What makes you think that, hm?” He asks as you still avoid his gaze, eyes glued to the way his chest moved in an even, up-down motion as he took steady breaths.

“W-Well, I -“

“Uh uh. Look at me when you speak, y/n,” he commands, taking just his pointer finger to draw your chin up to him, meeting your eyes with his.

“I-I dunno’, you just make me feel… weird? Not bad weird, just… different,” You admit, trying to say anything but ‘you make me wet’. Your response makes him chuckle.

He reaches his hand towards your forehead, prodding it with an exaggerated poke as he asks, “Do I make you feel weird here?”

You smile, furrowing your brows as you let out a simple ‘no’ with a shrug. He nods in understanding, motioning for you to follow him as he grabs your wrist. He pulls you around the side of the building, in an area much darker than previously. You look around as your back meets the wall, noting how the only visible cameras were pointing at the spot you two just occupied. Sukuna moves closer to you, leaving multiple points of contact between you two as you mentally count them all - how his knee is between your legs, how his hand that was on the wall before is now back, but much closer to your head, resting somewhat on your shoulder, how his other hand has now left your wrist, being replaced on your hipbone. His thumb presses in, harder than you think he realizes, and with how pent up you’ve been feeling it takes a great deal of strength not to ravish him on the spot.

He leaves his hand there for a brief moment before he takes the same thumb and slides it along your stomach, stopping when he reaches your navel. His thumb shifts only an inch downwards before he presses into the squish underneath your belly button multiple times, akin to a doctor feeling for abnormalities.

“If it’s not your head… is it here?” He asks with a particularly hard jab for emphasis.

“I make you feel weird in your tummy? Hm?” He finishes with a smirk, now soothing his pokes and prods with gentle circles traced with his thumb.

If you thought you were plenty wet earlier, you had no idea what this type of touch would do to you. He wasn’t even touching you anywhere important yet, leaving you stuck trying to suppress even a hint of a whine from escaping. Your clit was pulsing with your heartbeat which was at an all time high. It’s almost as if Sukuna realizes this as you do, chuckling as he moves his two fingers and thumb up to your neck, wrapping around it slightly as he searches for your pulse. Worry flashes across his face for but a moment before he’s laughing again, removing his hand before he reiterates his question with a simple ‘yes or no?’.

“A-A little, yeah,” you admit and your breath hitches at his response.

His voice was darker now, barely audible over the hum of the street light.

“Oh, I see,” he says as he dares to reach his hand lower, impossibly lower. You refuse to let your eyes trail, instead relying on the feeling of his single fingernail scraping through the outside of your clothes before he stops at your belt.

He catches you off guard, moving a mere inch away from your face as he cups your jaw, pulling you into a hot, open-mouthed kiss. You barely have time to react, kissing him with your eyes widened in shock. He pulls away too quickly, only allowing you to taste him for a short second before he continues his diagnostics.

‘S’not your head, not really your tummy,” dragging out the vowels in ‘really’ to make you wait another second longer.

His hand cups you through your pants, immediately rubbing small circles beneath your mound, stimulating your clit so roughly with the seam of your jeans you have to grab onto his arm for leverage.

“Must be your cunt causin’ all these problems,” he finishes as he meets your lips with his again, all tongue and teeth - which was a necessity for the both of you at this point. The tension that built slowly throughout the night had left you both eager for one another, and it was obvious with how frantic you were for him, whining as you throw your other arm over his shoulder to bring him even closer than he already was. You feel his now half-hard length push into your upper thigh before you reach your hand down to play with the hem of his pants. His abdomen clenches under your touch, rigid muscles flexing enough to be noticed through his tight shirt.

His hand that had found place in your hair tugs lightly as he pulls away from your lips, instead kissing along your cheek towards your ear.

“I thought this was all about her,” he whispers, pushing his two middle fingers harshly into your clit for emphasis, rubbing down firmly on your bundle of nerves as you threaten to fall apart.

“But now you wanna’ be greedy again? You already got to touch me once, y/n,” and you can hear the smile on his face as he says it, “If she’s the one makin’ you feel weird, maybe she’s the one that deserves my attention, yeah? Don’t you want me to make her feel better?” He says, swirling his tongue on the shell of your ear before biting your lobe, playfully pulling it until it snaps back into place. He knows your answer without hearing it, even before the furious nod of your head in agreeance.

He has you so pliant, so willing underneath him. You can’t resist bucking your hips into his hands when he fiddles with the buttons on your jeans, unzipping your pants ever so slowly before he has his mouth on your neck again, sucking and leaving marks that’d be sure to stay for days.

In the suspended unzipping, your mind wanders to the last time you’ve had sex with someone. It had been so many months, you weren’t sure if you remembered who it was. You cared less and less about how things looked down there, shaving every now and then when you got the urge. Which leads you to your current predicament.

“S-Sukuna, I.. I haven’t shaved. In like, a-a week or two,” you stutter quickly, trying to get the words out before he discovers on his own.

His fingers dip beneath your panties regardless, palm flattening against your lower stomach to reach down towards your heat. He lets out a grunt as he finally makes contact with your mound, stating a blunt, “good,” in response to your previous admission.

His long, deft fingers reach further to part your slit, his middle finger running through your folds to gather your slick as he works hard to keep his eyes from rolling into his skull.

“Knew I wouldn’t need any spit, ain’t that right?” He coos, not expecting anything but a gasp from you as his finger makes contact with your clit, finally.

And by god, how have you never been touched like this before?

His fingers rub you so skillfully, even better than you were able to. You were no stranger to masturbation, but the way his fingers felt on you now was unlike anything you’ve felt before. He circled your clit with planned, assured movements - if the smug look on his face wasn’t enough to show you just how confident he was in his ability to please you. His touch was perfect - no movement too under or overstimulating. He was so carefully bringing you closer to your peak with each intoxicating circle, steadily building his pace as he watched you fall victim to your pleasure with each passing moment. His lips are latched to your chest now, his other hand undoing just enough buttons so he can grab you properly without your pesky clothes in the way. He pulls your restrictive sports bra down with a harsh tug, freeing your tits for only a second before his mouth is latched to you, pulling and sucking at your nipples.

“Can’t believe - mmph, you’ve been.. hiding these from me,” he says, entranced at how the light hits your chest as it heaves up and down, your frantic breathing becoming more erratic and choppy, signaling your oncoming breaking point.

“K-Kuna, I’m -“ you try to warn him that you wouldn’t last much longer until your breath is ripped from your lungs.

“How cute,” he says, chastising the nickname you gave him. In one fluid motion, he takes his two middle fingers and slides them down and inside of you, replacing his thumb on your clit, quickly continuing the dizzying circles on your bud as he pumps into you - one thrust, then another, and you lose it entirely as he clamps down on your nipple with his teeth. You look down at him, making brief eye contact before involuntarily letting your eyes roll back, your lip pinched between your teeth as you succumb to the pleasure he so expertly gave you.

He looked surprised that you were finishing so quickly, eyes wide when you look down at him as you clamp so tightly around his digits. You continue clamping around him repeatedly as you ride out your orgasm, becoming louder by the second before he kisses you again, attempting to stifle your moans from echoing in the vacant lot. With one final swipe of your clit he pulls his hand free, immediately backing away to suck you off of his own fingers, grunting once he finally gets a taste of you properly. As if on instinct, his hand snakes his way underneath your panties again to caress your pussy, rubbing his hand in sloppy motions to coat himself in your juices thoroughly. He pulls away again, licking his fingers one by one with an eager grin.

“Ever had a taste?” He asks, wiping his filthy mouth clean.

To be fair, you had, but you wanted to see what he’d do if you said no. So you did.

He responds by taking your chin in his still wet hand, lolling his tongue out as he ravishes you in an open-mouthed kiss. You return the gesture, tasting yourself from his mouth and you were shocked at how intoxicating it was. How intoxicating he was. You so desperately want to return the favor, and then some.

He has the back of your head grasped in his palm but you resist, trying to get the words out as he all but devours you, groping your tits and reaching a hand behind you to grab your ass in a large, firm hold.

“Can I - mmph, can I.. be greedy… now?” You manage to get out before you reach down to palm his length, to which Sukuna lets out a focused, long breath through his nose. He pulls away from you with a smirk, hips leaning towards your touch.

“Dunno’ if I should - mmh.. let you, hah. I wasn’t tryna’ make you cum yet,” he admits, looking down with a ‘phew’ as you hook your fingers tantalizingly under his waistband, pulling him closer.

“That was you trying to make me not cum?” You ask with a laugh.

“Not yet. Wanted to make you wait for it, but you’re too much of a brat to be patient. You've been one ever since you showed up tonight,” he says and to prove his point further, you grab him by the arms and spin the two of you around, gingerly pushing him against the wall. He makes a face like he’s unimpressed before he reaches to the back of his tank top to pull it over his head. You gawk at his musculature and even more tattoos that are revealed to you as he throws the shirt at your feet.

He reaches down to undo his belt, the loud clang of the metal sending chills down your spine. You look down at the shirt then at him, shooting him a questioning look as he looks like he’s waiting for something.

“For your knees, stupid,” he says and as if on command, you drop to your knees onto his shirt, placing your palms in your lap in anticipation. You subconsciously lick your lips as he unzips his pants ever so slowly.

He stops his movements, grabbing the top of your head to tilt it upwards at him, “If you’re that desperate, you can get it out yourself,” he says with a pat of your head. He leans back onto the wall further, crossing his arms over his cold chest as he waits.

You smooth your hands over the top of his briefs and across his happy trail, dipping your fingers below the waistband before you ask, “How long has it been?”

The question takes him aback as his breath catches in his throat. He tries to still his hips from pushing into your feather-light touch but it’s inescapable. It had been a while for him, too.

“A minute,” is all he offers before you reach up to press a wet kiss to his lower abdomen as you pull his briefs down over his length. You pull for so much longer than you assumed you’d have to; after what seemed like so many inches his cock finally springs free, lazily jerking up as it hits the cool air. If it wasn’t for the heavy mass, his dick would stand at attention in front of you. You grab him in your palm, shocked at the sheer weight present in your hand. His angry tip was beading precum as you slowly worked your hand up and down his shaft, sticking your tongue out below him to catch it before it drips.

He starts to speak before you interrupt him, “I’m gonna’ try to make you not cum, okay?” He peers down hungrily at you, cock twitching at your filthy words. You take his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue to gather the bittersweet precum before you start to suck. You feel as if you can only take a few inches of him before he’s already prodding the back of your throat, making you cough around him.

“Don’t wimp out on me now, woman,” he says, grabbing himself at his base with a squeeze, using his thumb to line himself up with your throat perfectly.

“You wanna take my dick then fuckin’ take it,” he adds, grabbing the back of your hair to tilt your head back and your chin up towards him. He hums to you a simple ‘relax’ as he slowly pushes his length further into your throat, stopping when he meets a resistance with a throaty groan that has you whining around him, too. He tried his best to keep quiet, but your watery eyes and furrowed brows looking up at him with his dick shoved down your throat made his resolve disappear.

“Breathe,” he commands as he slips out of your throat, leaving you a coughing, sputtering mess with your lips still pressed against his tip. You follow his lead, taking a deep breath in and out before he pulls your mouth open with a thumb on your chin.

“Deeper this time, yeah?” He asks, quickly shoving his length further than before, nearly balls deep into your throat as your eyes shoot open and you swallow on instinct, earning a breathy ‘fuck’ from the man above you. You breathe out slowly through your nose, focusing your mind on doing anything but gagging. You squeeze his thighs to anchor yourself, pulling back from him almost entirely with a gasp before you force your head down again. You feel your throat start to relax as you continue your slow back and forth motion, trying to take him deeper with every thrust into your mouth. His hips are bucking lazily now as he tries his hardest to be somewhat gentle. As gentle as a man can be with a hand gripping your hair and the other guiding his monstrously large cock into your wet heat.

“Hah, l-look at you. I’ll have that throat trained for me in no time,” he praises, admiring how incredible you look as you throat him, watching how the dim parking lot lighting illuminates you enough for him to see the noticeable bulge in your neck. He can’t help but thrust more powerfully now, seeing as you were already taking his dick with ease after such a short amount of time. You meet his thrusts with your hand wrapping around the remainder of his shaft, stroking what you couldn’t reach with your mouth.

You pull off from him and you swear he pouts, bucking into your continued stroking as you kiss his tip.

“Who says I need my throat trained for you? Who says this will ever happen again?” You ask, curious how he would react.

He laughs, biting his lip to hide the moan that nearly slips.

“Oh, s-so you don’t want me to fuck you?” And he had you there. You start to run your hand furiously over his weeping tip and the sudden increase in sensation has him buckling over, mouth agape as heaving breaths signal how close he is. You’re barely able to suck his tip again before he’s removing your hands, pushing you back to sit on your feet.

“Fuck..y/n, open up,” he says as he strokes his length meticulously, grunts leaving his mouth as his fingers run over the tip repeatedly, “gonna’ paint that - fuck, pretty.. fuckin’ face,” he manages, smiling with an almost pained look as you loll your tongue out obediently. He can’t warn you any further before he’s cumming, white hot liquid pouring into your mouth as you jump in surprise at the sheer volume. With each spurt he’s moaning, strings of profanities leaving his lips as he sees white. You reach your hand up to finish the job, giving him a few final strokes before you suck on his tip a final time, swallowing his gift for you with a smile on your face. You wipe the remainder of your face with your sleeves as you stand to your feet.

“Come here,” he says, drunk on the feeling still as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss.

You pull away, “Now what?”

He chuckles, “hah, we go home,” he says, checking his watch that reads a depressing ‘3:17’, “unless you need my dick that bad.”

While you did actually need his dick that bad, that wasn’t the problem bothering you in the moment.

“Sukuna, I don’t have my keys. Just my phone,” you offer. He reaches down to dust off his shirt before he puts it back on. He motions for you to follow him as he grabs his keys out of his pocket.

“Guess you’re getting what you want after all.”

(pt. 2 in the works)

[6okuto]

i write so you know i love you

🧺 #27: "handwritten letters" with akaashi for @shobvrry :D

the first letter akaashi wrote for you was a short, anxious confession slid into your locker, folded neatly with a star sticker to keep it shut.

i just wanted to say i like you, and i’d like to take you on a date sometime if that’s okay with you. please don’t worry if you don’t feel the same way, but also please pretend you didn’t read this if so. thanks for being my friend. i’ll see you tomorrow :)

he didn’t expect to see you waiting for him after practice that day, the familiar paper in hand. with his ending request, among a dozen catastrophizing explanations stood one reasonable for your presence—

“i like you too, ’ji,” you said a little faster than practiced, heart stumbling at the sight of him.

it was sunset as you held the letter in one hand, and for the first time, keiji’s hand in the other on your way home—pink and orange ribbons of light finding a temporary home in interlocked fingers and brushing arms.

the confession is still carefully tucked away in a box of other gifts and letters you’ve received—the first in a section just from him. he could’ve easily texted at least a third of them, you pointed out once, a few days before your first anniversary, but he only shook his head. it was the romanticism of it all, and—

“what if you texted back right away? i wasn’t ready to handle that, i probably would’ve thrown up or ran away or something.”

his feelings after your first date, a request to see you after school a month after, then the letter celebrating your one month anniversary exactly 31 days later.

they built and built—words pulled from an endless well of love and poetic prose in hopes of capturing just how much you meant to him. you still like flipping through them all, on anniversaries or an otherwise insignificant thursday afternoon.

seeing the different decorations and envelopes and letter lengths throughout the years, only keiji’s handwriting remains the same throughout. it’s the same one that writes “i hope these aren’t sour,” “don’t forget your project by the printer,” “i hope you have a good day :),” and i love you, i love you, i love you.

so when your four year anniversary nears and he makes a remark about his gift, you ask “another letter for me?”

keiji stills, fingers slowing down as they flip the next page in his novel—dostoevsky, you think. his index and thumb start to pull the corner (not enough to fold, but reminiscent of what he does to the hem of his shirt when he’s nervous anyway.) “maybe?”

he fixes his posture, sitting up straighter on the couch. “is that…i know i write them a lot, huh? would you like—”

“no!” you shake your head. “no, i like the letters a lot, keiji, i promise. i just,”—you move next to him and frown—“i hope you don’t feel like you have to write them, you know? i don’t know how your hands don’t hurt a lot after. you could type them out and i’d be just as happy.”

but keiji shakes his head, and it feels a little similar to three years ago. “no, that’s not the same at all. i want to write them for you,”—he closes his book with his thumb as a bookmark, the other hand moving to hold yours—“that’s what makes them special.”

“plus formatting them digitally wouldn’t be any easier than my double-sided tape—do you want to take the joy of tape and stickers away from me?” he raises a brow and squeezes your hand in his.

you snort. “okay, you know what? fair enough.”

and keiji pours a lot of honesty, of himself, into his letters, but maybe one thing he’ll keep a secret is how often his hand cramps and red indents and cuts form on his fingers. because it’s inconsequential in the end, really nothing in comparison to the bright smile and hug you give him when he hands you the next letter a couple of weeks later, carefully folded in an envelope with a star sticker on the front.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

—posting to the correct blog lol—

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The appletini at girls' night does little to ease you through a restless night. You’re not a traveller. You’ve never flown before. The only reason you have a passport is it was required for the job. You didn’t expect to actually use it. 

You give into consciousness around 3am and double check your bag for everything you need. You forego your usual coffee as you fear an anxious bladder adding to your addled state. You still can’t figure out why Mr. Stark told you to come along. You don’t have anything blocked into his calendar. He’s had weekend meetings before but you usually pop into zoom to take notes and nothing else. 

You spare the fare for a cab as the streetcar isn’t in service yet and you don’t feel like venturing into the underground at this hour. The ride is swift in the dead streets of the city. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so empty. 

You arrive at the airport and realise you’re missing a very important piece. A boarding pass? Terminal information? Any sort of direction to find where you need to be. Well, it never hurts to ask for help even if you don’t get it. 

You enter and go to the counter. The woman behind it looks tired as dark rings stain her sockets and she fixes her smile to greet you. You nervously clench your jaw and exhale through your nose. 

“Hi, I... I’m supposed to be flying, er, private? I work for Tony Stark?” You creak out through your dry throat. You need water. 

“Mr. Stark?” She lowers her brow, “do you have proof of employment?” 

“Erm, yeah,” you unhook your keyring from your purse and shove it towards her. Your company ID is hooked onto the cluster of novelty attachments and keys. 

“I need to make a call,” she says as she examines your identification. 

Great. 

You bob nervously on the other side of the counter as the attendant speaks quietly into the speaker. Your phone buzzes and you jingle the keys as you find it. Stark has sent you a simple message; ‘Terminal 1, tarmac. Now.’ 

As you peek up over the counter, the woman hangs up. “You need to head up to Terminal 1. Find an employee there, in a white shirt like mine, and show them this.” She kits a few keys and her printer grinds with great effort. She hands you a boarding pass but most of it is empty. There’s only a code at the bottom. 

You thank her and head off. You scramble through security, walking through the scanner as your bag rides the conveyor through and x-ray. You retrieve your things on the other side and run off to reach Mr. Stark before he gets too impatient. He’s probably already agitated. 

You check your watch. It’s only 5:01am. You’re on time, right? 

You follow the signs to terminal one and find a large man standing by a ramp entrance. You approach him and show him the pass. He points you to another employee at the far end as he talks over his walkie talkie to them. You cross the tiled floor to meet the man and he beckons you towards another ramp. 

You’re led down to the tarmac and left to shuffle across it on your own. You’re only told to approach big jet waiting by a tower set of stairs. There’s an attendant at the bottom who greets your brightly and you show the pass again.  

“Mr. Stark is expecting you. May I take your bag?” She offers. 

“No thank, I can handle it,” you nod and lift the bag off its wheels. 

You climb a stair at a time and pass another attendant at the top. She directs you to leave your bag in the front carriage and you roll it behind the wall of webbing there. You turn to the ivory curtain and peek through tentatively. The movement of fabric draws Mr. Stark’s gaze from his phone. 

“Get in here,” he demands, “about time, George. I was about to fall asleep.” 

You push through and near him, “sir, did you need coffee?” 

“They got the long-legged ones for that,” he waves away your offer with his lecherous allusion to the pretty, tall attendants. “Sit.” 

You look at the chair on the other side of the table, across from him, and you hesitate. You lower yourself into the cushy seat and cross one leg over the other, your foot bouncing anxiously. You clutch your hands together and stare at Mr. Stark. 

“You look tired as hell,” he cackles. 

“Sir, it’s early.” 

“Ah, don’t let that ruin an all-inclusive. Tell me, Georgie, a girl like you, are you jet-setting every weekend? You got billionaires flying you to the Caribbean on the reg? Didn’t think you were the popular type.” 

“No, sir, I--” you try not to wince at his insinuation. You are all too aware that you’re on the bottom rung of the ladder he sits atop of. “Thank you for this. It’s very nice of you to bring me along.” 

“You are very welcome,” he says smugly, “move.” 

He points to the seat next to him. 

“Oh, uh,” you pull your hands apart and push yourself up with the armrests, “sorry.” 

He grunts, irritated, and signals with two fingers. As an attendant approaches, you sidle around the table and in front of Stark to get to the other seat. You feel a brush on your thigh but ignore it. It’s a tight squeeze.  

He asks for an espresso as you lower yourself down. He reaches over and pinches the fabric of your pants, just at the top of your knee. He sniffs. 

“This isn’t very Caribbean-friendly. You’re gonna sweat your tits off,” he derides. 

You try not to show your embarrassment, ignoring the urge to cover your chest at his comment. Out of habit, you put on your usual attire. A cardigan, a tidy blouse, and slacks. He huffs again and tugs at the sleeve of your cardigan. 

“Get rid of this,” he demands. 

“Oh, uh...” You sit forward as you undo the single button and you shrug out of the wool. He swipes it away and tosses it on the floor.  

The attendant returns with his espresso and gathers up your cardigan as you send her an apologetic look. Stark takes his coffee and tastes it before setting it on the table. He turns to you and clucks again. You let out a squeak as he reaches to pop the top button of your blouse, then the next. You flatten yourself to the seat helplessly. 

“Better, gotta let those things breathe,” he winks and sits back with a smirk. 

[buddierecs]

aly's recent reads - pt. 1

hi, i have been reading some amazing buddie fics recently so i wanted to make a list of them all for you guys! i will probably start doing this whenever i feel the need too :) these fics are mixed rated, so please check the ratings and tags!

loves a game, wanna play? by: 42hrb "in the aftermath of chris leaving for the summer, buck convinces eddie they should apply for love island together." word count: 57k rating: mature important tags: reality tv au - love island, humour, flirting, idiots in love, getting together, season 7, pining, social media time makes you bolder (children get older) by: sevensoulmates there’s a new resident moving into the suite across from buck’s. “what’s his name?” buck asks. “eddie diaz,” nurse corra tells him. “hey, you know eddie is also a retired firefighter." eddie diaz, new recruit, a voice echoes in his mind. “huh.” buck says. "never heard of him." word count: 26k rating: not rated important tags: future fic, old age, memory loss, this will make you cry!!

i think if you're lucky by: colonoscopys "evan hits him with his car" word count: 19k rating: teen and up important tags: royalty au, different first meeting au, firefighter!eddie all my little words by: youbetsya "eddie: did you just send me an email?? buck: yeah lol eddie: why… i dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. just stuff to print when your printer is broken buck: did you read it? eddie: not yet too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me buck: just read it dude 🙄" word count: 11k rating: teen and up important tags: texting, season 7, idiots in love, getting together, eddie diaz's mustache in love with every song you've ever heard by: timeshareindestin "how a conversation about tardigrades results in buck grappling with a disability he's suppressed, getting hearing aids, and realizing that the family he craves has been there for him all along. in that order." word count: 19k rating: teen and up important tags: character study, disability, getting together, coming out, hurt/comfort, angst, hard of hearing!buck loose-tongued, in love by: wenttoafortuneteller "the one where buck, drowsy and delirious on pain medication, confesses his love to eddie without realizing it." word count: 4.4k rating: teen and up important tags: love confessions, miscommunication, fluff, angst, getting together drift past the flowers by: dylanesthetics "buck and natalia get engaged, and eddie flees the state about it. a petty email correspondence ensues." word count: 45k rating: teen and up important tags: email correspondence, friends to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, mutual pining, minor buck/natalia paralyric narcolepsy guy hates buckley & diaz by: eightpackdiaz "paralytic narcolepsy guy is forced to listen to buckley and diaz talk to and about each other in his unconscious presence over the years. he insists he fucking hates them. but then he also accidentally helps them get engaged" word count: 5.4k rating: teen and up important tags: outsider pov, narcolepsy, idiots in love, getting together perfect to me by: fallingthorns "eddie has bad posture, buck is a mouth-breather, and the rest of the 118 all have a thing, too" word count: 5.4k rating: teen and up important tags: team as family, bickering, humour keeping score by: arcanaphora "after getting dumped, buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. all's fair in love, war, and trivia." word count: 23k rating: mature important tags: vacation, fake dating, gay disaster!eddie diaz, mutual pining treat an opportunity like it's treating you by: daisies_and_briars "after losing his leg as a result of the fire engine bombing, buck is presented with the opportunity to have a service dog donated to him." word count: 12k rating: teen and up important tags: service dog, amputee!buck, hurt/comfort, angst, pre-relationship jeep talking by: daisies_and_briars "a ride in the backseat of buck's jeep with buck and eddie in the front gives chim new perspective on his brother-in-law's strange dynamic with his so-called "best friend.' and chim is sick of them being so oblivious." word count: 2.2k rating: teen and up important tags: chim pov, humour

an inch away from more than just friends by: allyasavedtheday in which buck has a clipboard and a list and is about to romance the hell out of eddie diaz. word count: 9.6k rating: teen and up important tags: fluff, falling in love, romance, feelings realization brojobs are normal, maddie! by: mihaly "buck and eddie are the most oblivious idiots on the planet and literally everyone knows they're in love but them." word count: 43k rating: explicit important tags: idiots to lovers, oblivious!buddie, mutual pining, mutual masturbation, size kink, daddy kink, phone sex, oral sex, anal sex save a horse, ride a mustache by: bisexualbuckley "eddie gets a mustache. buck goes insane. there's some miscommunication. mustache smut ensues" word count: 7.1k rating: explicit important tags: horny!evan buckley, misunderstandings, oral sex, face-sitting, praise kink, anal sex, come eating, top!eddie diaz, bottom!evan buckley, riding

[heartfullofleeches]

Oohhh I love the night gallery crew!! <3

Okay so- how would the art gallery harem react to the news that their precious night guard used to pose as a nude art model for one if their previous jobs? Bonus points if they end up digging around and finding old drawings/portfolio pics of them posted online lol

The Painter

Their muse - a model in the past? A nude one at that? They can't say they aren't jealous others have bared witness to their beauty, but they won't be so upset about it if their dearest is willing to come out of retirement and maybe send their older photos up to their study. They promise not to stare too much, but they pray their muse doesn't mind if their eyes linger. It's rare for them to be in the presence of such raw perfection. They are more of a hands on type of painter so their muse wouldn't mind a few touches, no? As they would say, it’s all just apart of the process.

Rosebud

Of course they are interested, but they won't press the matter unless Reader offers to share.... Please ignore the excitement of their roses - though they do reflect Rosebud's inner feelings they assure Reader it's just past their feeding time. Clearly more flustered than they let on. Refuses to look at the images because they would only make them more tempted to leave bites all over Reader to claim them as their own as they are when they see the Guard's exposed neck or wrists or pretty much any uncovered inch of skin.

The Scavenger

Hope staff gives the printer in the breakroom a nice funeral because if Scavenger gets its hands on those portfolio shots it's the end of the line for that poor machine. Anything relating to their precious treasure is the pinnacle of their collection. They must have more - even if it's the same picture a thousand times it's still not enough. If anyone comes across one of their copies it's best theu leave them their because even if they're trying to return them Scavenger will accuse them of stealing. There's not doubt I my mind they've eaten a copy or two because they're weird like that.

The Faceless Angel

Conflicted. On one hand they are interested in seeing their guard in all forms, but on the other it feels like an invasion of privacy. Unlike some, their intrigue comes from an artistic viewpoint rather than sexual. They'd give anything for the opportunity to touch Reader's warm flesh without clothing in the way. It feels like heaven on their stone skin.

The Lady in Red

It's the less images she's interested in and more the people who have seen them. Swiftly cuts down anyone who views Reader's pictures while in the gallery be they human or fellow exhibit. She can't do anything about the past, but does everything in the present to keep too many eyes off her love. Takes the photos Scavenger loses and while she keeps a few on hand - she burns the rest.

Julian

Slimy fuck is probably the first to come across them being the noisy little stalker he is. As an artist in his free time, he does use them for reference, but it's much more fun to use them for other things. Like teasing Reader about their past or taping copies to the breakroom fidge. He only does it when he knows they're the only two on shift because he'll have to hurt anyone who sees them nakee besides him. Like Lady, he's more likely to attack paintings who have gotten a hold of the scavengers copies.

Anri

Their favorite coworker was once a model? How fun! They aren't the best artist, but they can draw Reader too. A little bashful about seeing them naked so they stick to just about the shoulders. They want to at least waiting until their ten date with Reader before seeing them in such a state. Covers their eyes and runs off whenever someone tries to show them. Julian only allows Anri to see the photos because it's fun to chase them through the halls with them or point out various aspects of their features to make Anri flustered

The Director

Dislikes imagine of Reader because while they can be used to create copies of them, The Director wants the real thing. Still has one of Scavenger's photos tucked in his coat pocket.

[amazingmsme]

Listen Here Punk!

AN: Day 2 comin' in hot! I didn't really intend to do 2 spiderverse fics in a row, but they fit the prompts. Been wanting to write something with Hobie & Miguel, & this idea just jumped out at me!

Miguel didn't necessarily mind sharing his lab space. He knew he had state of the art equipment, and quite frankly everyone wanted to get their hands on it. He'd never admit it in a million years, but he liked the quiet company of someone working nearby with the low hum of machinery droning on in the background.

But that's the thing: he liked quiet company. And Hobie was being anything but.

Hobie had asked him if he could use his 3-D printer while he was in the lunch line. He said sure and shooed him away, and he'd expected he'd be gone by the time he made it back to his office. Needless to say, it was wishful thinking.

Not only was he still there, but he had a damn boombox with him, and it was blaring heavy rock much too loud for his ears.

"Hey I'm back, could you turn it down?" he shouted as he walked in. Hobie looked right at him, and didn't turn it down, so he repeated himself. "Hey, could you turn it down?"

Much to his dismay, Hobie locked their gazes and cranked the volume up.

Miguel glared and marched over, turning the volume so low it was barely audible. Just as he made it back to his desk, the music blared so loud it made him jump.

He whipped around and noticed the way Hobie was hunched over his project sporting a sly smirk.

"Hobie, this isn't funny. I'm asking nicely, please turn off the music," he said, a final warning.

"See, an' I'm trynna give you a better taste in music," he quipped, snickering to himself quietly. If it weren't for Miguel's superhuman hearing, he probably wouldn't have heard it over the deep bass coming through the speakers.

"I'd like it a hell of a lot better if you turned it down!" he yelled, voice barely raising above the music.

"Well that's no way to listen to this kinda music, bruv," he teased, turning the volume dial up even more.

That seemed to be the last straw, because Miguel snapped. He slammed his hand on the boombox and turned it off before setting his sights on Hobie, who was trying hard to play it cool.

"We all know cats land on their feet, let's see if it's he same for spiders, eh?" he asked, walking him closer to the edge of the platform. It was only 15 feet off the ground, so he really wasn't worried about actually hurting him.

"Wait a minute, I was just jokin'!" he tried justifying his behavior, but it was too late. Miguel grabbed him under his arms, hoisting him in the air as he was about to chuck him off. But then he started giggling.

"P-put mehehe dohohown!" he pleaded, legs kicking frantically. His outline grew more sketchy and erratic, his colors more vibrant. Miguel was in such shock, that he did just that... But he didn't let him go. Something Hobie realized with growing fear.

A giddy, terrified grin played at his lips as he clamped his arms to his sides, keeping Miguel's hands trapped in his pits. His own hands were clutching Miguel's forearms for dear life.

"You don't have to do this mate," he pleaded, though excitement glimmered in his eyes.

Miguel clicked his tongue, cocking his head to the side. "I kinda do though. You deliberately went against me, then tried to play it off as a joke-"

"It was a joke!"

"Don't interrupt me," he said sternly, wiggling his fingers in warning. It sent him sputtering, doubling over in his grasp as he tried to fight off the mirth that was building up in his chest. "It's rude. Just like turning up the volume after being asked politely to turn it down," he said sternly, though Hobie could've sworn he saw a fleeting smile.

"Ihihi'm sohohorry!" he caved rather quickly, having heard the rumors of how ruthless Miguel could be.

"Thanks, but I really don't believe you. I mean, you're laughing through your apology! That seems far from sincere to me," he taunted, drilling his thumbs in the center of his pits, making him scream.

"Ihihit's literally your fahahahault!" he cried, stomping his feet as he tried to run out of his grip, with no payoff. His feet simply scraped against the floor as he stayed put.

"Wooow, I didn't expect you to be one to victim blame," he teased.

"I'm the bloody victim here!" Hobie yelped, squirming around in Miguel's hold. "L-lehehet me gohoho!"

"Hmm, I don't know if I should," he wondered aloud, drumming his fingers down his ribs. Hobie doubled over, hugging his arms to his chest as deep belly laughs and sporadic snorts filled the air. "I mean, do you really deserve mercy after that little stunt?" Miguel added, not even bothering to hide his smirk anymore.

"Yehehes Ihihi do!" he insisted, having to lean against Miguel for support as his knees buckled.

He chuckled and shook his head, releasing him from his hold. "Fine. But next time, just listen to me punk. It'll save us both the head ache," he said, giving him a pat on the back as he walked over to his monitors.

"Yeah right, you totally enjoyed that. Smug ass," Hobie quipped, having regained his breath fairly quickly. Miguel looked at him from over his shoulder, arching a brow.

"You want me to actually throw you off?" he threatened in warning.

"Nah I'm leavin' 'm leavin'," he mumbled, stepping off the edge, letting himself fall for a few seconds before shooting a web to catch himself.

Hobie ended up forgetting his boombox. When he remembered a few hours later, he was more than amused to find Miguel, working while listening to music. The same music he had complained about earlier.

"That's funny, thought you didn't like it," he quipped, making his presence known as he walked up from behind. Miguel didn't even flinch.

"Never said I didn't like it. Just asked you to turn it down."

[veren-cos]

I just can't do this!

Alex (sdv) x gn!reader

Kinda hurt/comfort but more just the reader getting out frustration. Lots of the reader swearing lmao

Not proofread, approximately 1k?? I really need to get a word count on these..

Today sucked. Today fucking sucked!

Nothing was going right. Oh my Yoba why can't anything go fucking right?! A new season started so all of your crops died, and you miscalculated how much money you would need for new seeds. Then you went mining to try and make up for the money. But you ended up getting beat by a zombie and needing medical attention from Harvey that you couldn't exactly afford.

You lost your best sword. You used up nearly all of your left over berries from the last season and Yoba knows how long it'll be until this season's start growing again.

And that's what you came home like to Alex. You hadn't cleared the old crops so now you were just stomping over and over on a poor old parsnip.

"You uh.. you alright there babe?" Alex walked over to you, kinda laughing at your pathetic attempt at rage, but was genuinely curious.

"No! No I am not fucking alright, Alex! Nothing is fucking going right. The whole town can go to shit for all I care! They won't get my crops anymore! Pierre can go fuck off, claiming my shit as his own. The mayor can piss off and cry to his girlfriend. But oh wait! He can't! because he is too much of a fucking asshole to actually say Marnie is his girlfriend!!"

You stomped more at the dust that was a parsnip. Every attempt got mildly more and more enraged and pathetic. All of the emotion and pent up anger was boiling to the surface but you were so tired from the repeated stomping it had become deranged.

"Okay, whew that was.. a lot(!) of emotion! You need out of here, like now." He went up and grabbed your shoulders. "I know just the place!" He shot you his signature smile before holding your hand and leading you away. You attempted to pull him off of you but couldn't manage to do anything. Today was rough and you were getting tired.

"Here, babe. Drink this. I just opened it before you came home. It's still cold!" He handed you a protein drink.

"Thanks," You spat out. You weren't meaning to be rude to him. But today was just so god awful!!! He knew you didn't mean it though, so he just kept walking.

Eventually, the two of you arrived at the bus. "What are we doing here? It is way to late to go to the desert."

"While we may be going to the desert, we are going somewhere you have never been before!"

You gave him an intense staredown. "And you're sure this is a good idea? It's mid-afternoon. Everything will be closing soon."

"Not everything! C'mon babe, let's go. You'll see." He pushed you forward onto the bus. And Yoba, that drink was awful! How did he drink those everyday..??

By the time you arrived to the desert it was nearly 7. You were still upset, and starting to get annoyed at the fact you didn't know where you were going.

"And here we are!" It was a beat up old building.

"Alex. Dear. What are the fuck we doing at an abandoned building in the middle of the God damn desert?!" It was too late for all this shit.

He stepped up and opened the door to reveal a dingy 24 hour gym. How had you never known this was here????

"It's been a while since I've been. Probably like 2 years? But they have this!" He gestured to a set of boxing gloves and a punching bag. "Perfect to get out frustration!"

"Babe I don't think I need a punching bag I think I need to legit punch someone in the face."

"They have a printer so you can print whoever's face you want and punch it." He pointed over to an old printer in the corner.

Holy shit, they really did! Too bad you didn't have your phone to print anything.

"Babe. Your anger is totally valid, and a lot of the times it leaves you with a lot of energy that you don't know what to do with." He looked around, reminiscing a bit.

"I know when I can here I was still pissed to all hell about my dad. Sometimes even thinking about him still makes me upset. And now, obviously, you can't go around kicking dead parsnips everyday. So here is a thing you can punch all you want! No danger from the mines, and no repercussions if you screw up. Perfect to let out some frustration."

For how beat up the outside looked, the inside was still pretty nice. There was a table of boxing gloves, and a few mats you could hit. Next to the table, there was both a hanging and standing punching bag.

"Now let's see what you've got."

He tossed you a pair of gloves, and picked up a large mat to warm up on your swings.

"This is silly" you kinda laughed the sentence out, but it truly was a silly thing. You knew that it probably would help, but he made it into the grand reveal that was just so silly.

"It may feel stupid, but you will fell better! I found that it helped more if I said out loud what I was angry at before I punch something."

"Okay... let's try" You put on the gloves, and they were a little too big, but that's okay.

"Whenever you're ready." He looked at you up and down. Even pissed as hell you were still hot.

"I hate that my crops die the second a new season starts!"

*bam*

"I hate Pierre for taking credit for my work!"

*bam*

"I hate that Mayor Lewis is a dumb greedy bastard who mistreats Marnie!"

*bam*

"I hate how long to damn community center is taking to build!"

*bam bam*

Your list went on and on. Punch after punch landed into the pad. Alex at first was trying to stifle laughter from how silly your complaints were, but quickly shut up when you started putting force into your hits. He was stumbling from the impact you left, where honestly it turned into a workout for him too.

When you were finally done, you felt great. It didn't solve anything, but all of the pent up energy got realesed in a shocking fun way.

"Babe.." Alex looked at you. "Remind me to never piss you off"

You burst out laughing. "Awh dear, I could never get mad at you." You booped his nose after setting the gloves down. "Is there anything else you'd like to do here? I seriously can't believe you've never taken me here!"

"No. No I'm good. Trying to not fall from you hitting the mat was enough for me." He laughed, and you could genuinely see he was wiped out.

So the two of you went home, and made casual conversation. He tried to get you to drink another protein shake but you strongly declined. Those things are seriously gross.

"Thank you Alex. It was really nice of you to take me there."

"Of course!" And he shot you another one of his signature smiles, just like earlier. The two of you made it a habit to go at least every other week from then on.

Masterlist

[kneesheee]

I haven’t watched D4, and I’m probably not going to, but one line that I see floating around is when Cinderella says:

Some people act mean at fist cause they're too afraid to feel. It's survival, it's protection. That's why roses grow their thorns.

Who were the first two “good” people that we met that were “mean?”

Chad and Audrey.

We know Auradon isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

Audrey had a mental breakdown and fell victim to a lingering curse and she was still punished by planning the wedding for Ben and Mal; the reason for said breakdown. Yes, it’s funny, but who would want to tempt fate like that again? Also, yall wasn’t scared that she’d do something to mess it up?

I’m not having someone who does not like me and had literally just said that she wanted to hurt me plan my wedding no matter how sorry she is.

Then we have Chad who this quote fits the best honestly.

Chad has been described as dumb, a womanizer, a jerk etc.

1. He’s the heir to his kingdom.

At the time of D1-D3, he was presumably an only child, meaning that at the time, there were no thoughts about how the inheritance to his throne would go.

This means any girl that succeeded in marrying him and birthing an heir has secured her and her family’s future with no threats.

(This is now a challenge due to Chloe’s existence; if the girl decides that she even wants kids.)

Chad isn’t dumb; he’s proven to be quite smart considering that he made a copy of Jay and Carlos’ dorm room key so that he can use their 3D printer. He’s smart about things that he prefers.

In D1, Doug describes him as someone that inherited all the charm and not much else.

For opportunists, this basically means: He’s an idiot. If I marry him and give him a heir, I can basically be the real power behind the crown.

Not sure how well that’s going to work because in the book Return to the Isle of the Lost; he does seem to care about his kingdom when Ben takes him on a trip there due to Madam Mim’s escape.

Also, it does show that he is concerned about how the line of succession moves if something happens to Ben, and I have thoughts on him, so that’s for another post though.

Back to the point, if he’s “dumb” and they want to take advantage, who wouldn’t turn it around on them? In the movies and books, he canonically had three official girlfriends and a lot more unofficial girlfriends.

1. Ruby Firzherbert; Second in line to Corona and Dark Kingdom.

In some cases, she could be the heir to the Dark Kingdom since in Frozen; Hans mentioned that his brothers were set to one day inherit different kingdoms, and it happened a lot in Ancient Greece that sons would have to find their own kingdoms.

Why not make her the Queen of the Dark Kingdom? It’s been about twenty years. It has definitely been restored to glory.

2. One of Ariel’s nieces.

Ariel has six sisters, and unknown amount of nieces so it’s hard to say what number she is to inherit because the only niece we know of canonically is Arabella. However, if we go with the idea that the sisters were supposed to inherit the seven seas like in the live action version, as a nod to their names and numbers and tails, then this niece would have also been secured in her own lineage.

There is also the fact that said niece could have been the one to inherit the throne to all of Atlantis.

3. Audrey.

She has two kingdoms. Her Father’s and her Mother’s. If we go by the live actions, she has the Moors. She’d also a direct descendant to Queen Ingrinth’s old kingdom. That gives her four kingdoms, but we’re going to stick with two.

Chad was very excited when Audrey wanted to date him. He drove six hours to her with a tire. They broke up in Return to the Isle of Lost, but he still immediately went to help her even after he spent so long on having Evie design his outfit for the Royal Cotillion.

So, the past how many years and months that Ben and Audrey had been together, which really sounds like an arranged marriage from the first book and her line in Queen of Mean where she says “she always thought she’d be the Queen”… then this means he’s watched the only girl he loved be in love with someone else. His best friend basically.

Back to the quote, in D1, we see from Lonnie that the Auradon kids operate under the belief that the villains loved their kids.

Stay with me now.

In D4, we learn that Chad has a younger sister. The early assumption was with the first three movies that he was an only child. Now, we move on to a bit more canonical side. He has a younger sister.

A thing that some mothers fall victim to is living through their daughters.

This gives Cinderella the chance to give her daughter the life that she never had. That same headcanon where everyone says that she spoiled him rotten to make up for her own childhood… it fits better with Chloe because again, Chad is the oldest and the presumed heir so he’d be having a bit more lessons in regards to the kingdom meanwhile he sees his Mother and sister going on another shopping trip or wtv else.

He sees her doting on what he can assumed is the child that she always wanted. He’s obviously not that much older than Chloe, so he could see the difference in how they are treated.

Going with the thought that villains loved their kids and under the presumption, that yeah, his mom loves him, but he wasn’t the child that she wanted… he lashes out.

a. Mal love potions Ben, causing him to publicly embarrass and hurt Audrey.

b. Evie tries to use him just like everyone else.

c. Jay doesn’t have sportsmanship, but he’s quick to take up for the girls. Something that Chad is doing for Audrey, and the parallels are staggering and not something that he wants to see at that point of time.

Now, this my own personal interpretation. You may feel differently. You can disagree with me just as I can disagree with you. That’s your personal right.

[nwheregirl]

A little bit of fun for your soul. (Kevin Lomax x reader)

Request: “So, can you do an headcanon Yandere Dark Kevin Lomax being obsessed with his innocent secretary female reader, please?” By @gea-chan96

((NSFW-ish, DARK CONTENT, 18+ ONLY, DUBCON, FEMALE READER, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, IT’S CLEARLY A POWER DYNAMIC AND A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP KEEP THAT IN MIND, NOT A WRITER JUST HAVING FUN, COULD CONTAIN TYPOS.))

New York is so fun, right? You just moved there, probably enchanted by all the wonderful scenery your parents' friends often told you about. Besides, you needed to feel independent, to leave mum and dad's house in order to finally be a woman free to do what she wanted.

Rent is expensive, the apartment is perhaps too small for such a high price: you immediately had to find a job.

You noticed on the newspaper that a famous New York attorney was urgently looking for a secretary: the salary was quite high for such a...simple job?

"Who cares? You literally just have to sit behind a desk and smile to his clients, and learn how to use the printer!" Your friend with whom you were talking on the phone told you, while you were sitting on the sofa of your small apartment in shorts and a tank top. "Or I'll end up spending my mornings and nights printing papers, having to remember how he takes his coffee, and having his wife storm into the office to punch me in the face out of unreasonable jealousy!" You answered, in a tone that was not too ironic.

Your friend had pointed out how you were perfect for such a job: you had always been a kind and honest, quiet girl…sometimes too naive for your own good. You were a person incapable of hurting anyone, it was hard for you to lie, you were smiley and polite. Basically, an emotional and sweet soul.

You both imagined that this big-shot lawyer was probably old and wrinkly, someone who needed help with the little tasks of his job because of his age.

Wrong, you were fucking wrong.

Kevin Lomax was a promising young lawyer from Florida. He had been making a name for himself for some years now, as a professional who had never lost a case since his career began. Over the years the commitments had increased, along with his money. He had just gotten out of a stormy divorce with his ex-wife (this is something you would find out later).

The reason for the divorce was that Kevin was an absolutely unfaithful, self centered and possessive man. His poor wife had come to have a nervous breakdown due to the immeasurable sadness he had caused her.

But this, you would never know.

You applied for the job, and on the day of your interview you were struck by the beauty of the man: his pitch black hair and his brown eyes that seemed to penetrate into your soul for how deep they were, his broad and muscular body and his expensive suit that hugged his shoulders perfectly... you were convinced at first that he was just a trainee, but no. He was the man you were going to work for.

In the first months of your job Kevin had been professional and quiet, at times even cold and rude. He just nodded to you, ordering you left and right to do something for him without so much as a 'thank you' or 'please'. He was a man of few words and busy. You thought it was definitely not the friendliest environment to work in.

No one from the office ever spoke to you: you were simply the secretary and nothing more. They wished you good morning and smiled at you, that's it.

What you didn't know was that, in the first few months there, Kevin had done meticulous research on you to understand what kind of woman you were: he had contacted some criminals he had managed not to send to jail (they owed him a favor) to stalk you and make a complete profile of the person you were.

He was a lustful man, but at the same time (given what he had gone through with his ex-wife) he wanted to aim for a woman who was simple, submissive and therefore easy to manipulate. Not a gold digger, possibly. He wanted to indulge in his needs without any stress.

Kevin liked your aura of kindness and naivety, so he wanted confirmation that it wasn't just a mask: he discovered that you were actually a good girl, with a simple life and many female friends. You were shy around men, sometimes maybe even scared that someone might be interested in you. In short, you were perfect. Kevin wondered how it was possible that you didn't realize how beautiful you were, your sinuous body could have set a fire in the soul of any man that looked at you. He liked it even better that way though, it would have been easier to corrupt you and make you his good little fuck doll.

It happened out of nowhere: your boss had started being nicer, almost too much. You didn't know what to say or what to do, you were too embarrassed...and he had too much power over you to complain. You couldn't risk getting fired.

“Grab me a coffee. Will you, sweetheart?”.

“What a nice skirt you are wearing this morning, doll”.

“It’s late, I’ll call you a cab”.

“Y/N, print me this.” He would say, moving exaggeratedly close to your ear and tapping his fingers on your hips for a few seconds.

“You can go now. Do you have any plans for the weekend? I hope you don’t have a date, sweetie”. He said to you one day, winking at you with his pearly white smile: you laughed at those words but there was a touch of jealousy in his eyes, it seemed that through that small gesture he was hiding something more sinister.

During the few months in which those subtle behaviors had gone on you hadn't reciprocated his flirting ways: you wanted to keep it professional, you were shy and perhaps it made you a little uncomfortable. You couldn't deny that you weren't flattered to get the attentions of such a handsome and powerful man, though. Kevin knew that behind that fear, that innocence…you craved him just as much as he did. He was starting to lose his patience, no longer wanted to play nice with you.

It happened one evening, in one of the most expensive bars in New York: Kevin had just won yet another lawsuit. You often accompanied him to court to keep his papers organised, always finishing work after dinner time and coming back home exhausted. This time, however, you had decided to pass by that bar just for a few minutes to say hello and congratulate him.

"Congratulations, Mr. Lomax!" you exclaimed happily as you entered the bar. You knew perfectly well that you didn’t belong there: you were surrounded by very rich attorneys, with their beautiful trophy wives and their shiny sports cars.

You were wearing a navy blue knee-length skirt, a white button-up blouse, a tailored blazer and stud earrings. A pair of low heel classic pumps at your feet. You wore your hair down, alway looking professional and polished.

Kevin turned to look at you as he was talking to his colleagues, his face changing completely into a seductive grin. He stared at you, licking his lips. He was wearing a sophisticated three piece grey suit.

His voice almost seemed to take a different tone; much deeper and seductive.

“Thank you, sweetheart”

He said with a charming wink, taking a sip of his drink as he offered to buy you one.

"Oh no thanks, I don't drink. I just came by to say hello, I don't want to disturb you"

"Who ever told you that you disturb me, honey?" Lomax said, his smile widening more as he leaned forward. He brought his drink to his lips slowly, eyes locked on yours as he did so. You didn't know exactly what to answer to those words, it was simply you being shy. Lomax reached out a hand, placing it gently on your arm.

He looks strong and confident, you had always admired him for his confidence…

“Don’t be so self conscious, you are a beautiful girl” He said with a warm smile, bringing his hand up to gently stroke your hair.

Wait…what the fuck had just happened? Was Kevin Lomax really stroking your hair?

You blushed, you lowered your gaze and murmured thanks to that compliment: man, now you understood why all the girls in the office spoke of him as if he were the most fascinating man on the planet. It took very little for him to make someone's legs shake.

"Mmh..thank you, but I really have to go..." You whispered at that moment as you sank into your shyness: but he wouldn't have given you a chance to escape. In fact, being late, he offered to drive you home in a tone that made you understand that "no" was not a plausible answer.

So, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of his very expensive car, your hands resting shyly on your knees while you avoided making eye contact with Kevin and admired the sight of the city’s lights from the car’s window. The famous attorney had turned to look at you, a sly smile on his face: you were so cute, he could feel his pants getting tight at the thought of corrupting such a simple girl. It would have been so easy to make you fall at his feet…

"You know I don't bite, right? You can talk to me." There was an awkward silence in the car due to your discomfort. You turned your head toward the man, a shy smile on your face. Fortunately, you were not very far from your apartment: you could hold out a little longer. You smiled shyly, apologizing to him.

“…unless you want me to bite”.

What? What did he just said?

You turned towards him, shocked: you felt your throat grow dry as your cheeks turned bright red. You stood still for a few seconds.

"Mr. Lomax?" You called his name, thinking you were losing your mind. But no, it was real and it was really happening: you became aware of the fact that he had parked in front of your apartment but was showing no signs of wanting to unlock the door.

"You know..." The handsome attorney whispered, bringing his face closer to yours.

"I know you've noticed how I've treated you over the past few months, but you've shown no signs of wanting to give in. I am a not very patient man, if I want something I always get it." You noticed that you felt a huge emptiness in your stomach as you continued to stand still and look into his eyes with your lips half-open in shock.

"I always win." The man had whispered then, brushing his fingers over your cheekbones.

"I don't think any of this is appropriate…you are indeed a handsome man...but what will be said about me if people find out about this?" You whispered, as your insecurity blocked your throat from making a confident, clear sound.

"There are many beautiful women just waiting for attention from the famous Kevin Lomax, I am simply your secretary. I know what lawyers do with their secretaries, they use them like dolls and then throw them away. I don't want to be that, for any man in the world -- not even the richest one..." You kept going, feeling your eyes getting wet: damn insecurity, but at least you were managing to speak. That innocence and tenderness of yours generated in Kevin an even stronger lust for you: it was true, a good part of his colleagues did that. The world of New York lawyering was a world full of sins and scandals. But he was a gentleman, or for that matter he was distinctly better than some people: it almost seemed as if he could smell your fear and embarrassment.

"Sugar..." this time Kevin caught your face in his hands, bringing it brutally close to his: you could feel his breath smelling of alcohol and cigars on your skin. Not commenting on anything you had said, he ended the conversation this way:

"Good night, try to get some rest because tomorrow you will be forced to stay with me until late."

And once again, his tone scared you.

Back home, you looked at yourself in the mirror as you silently rinsed your face: you thought first about calling and quitting the very next morning, and then in the silence of your room -as you tried to fall asleep- you sensed your most unconscious emotions taking over your brain.

Kevin was handsome: you had stated that several times. You admired his confidence; you were frightened by his authoritative energy. You were a woman like any other, you had needs and when a person was attractive to you, you couldn't help but fantasize at least a little bit. Your brain had done that with your boss too, but you had always tried to scuttle your thoughts-you felt guilty, damn guilty. It wasn't right, what would your parents think of you?

You fell asleep overwhelmed by this train of thoughts, ignoring the fact that you had woken up after dreaming of your body bent against a desk, powerful hands pulling at your hair.

The next day you felt like you were in a different place, not the one you had now come to know for more than eight months.

You constantly felt Kevin's intense, dark gaze on your body; he hadn't spoken to you all day: he seemed to be back to his old way of doing things.

How wrong you were.

He simply wanted to make you feel uncomfortable, and he had succeeded. You felt that you had done something wrong, that you had offended him: perhaps you had gone too far? Was he about to fire you?

You were doing an impeccable job: his schedule was always perfect, his papers always in order, and much more. Would he really have been able to send you away or treat you badly because of a simple conversation?

You were forced to stay late into the evening in the office, when everyone had already left. Kevin had been in court for many hours that day because of a very difficult mob case. Now, after having dinner with several colleagues, he was forced to stay until late sitting at his desk to analyze documents that contained important evidence that would enable him to win the case. It was you who had alphabetically sorted through that large amount of documentation; that was why he needed you.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he had coldly called your name to ask you to find him the file of a specific person.

Slowly, you opened the small metal drawer to look for that specific file. There was total silence inside that room, it was now almost 11 o'clock at night, and you couldn't feel the fatigue because of the adrenaline rush that the discomfort was causing you.

You could once again feel the attorney's eyes slowly exploring your body-he was waiting, but panic made it seem like your eyes could not focus on the right letter. You coughed several times, starting to sweat.

"So?" He had said aloud, passing his tongue over his lips: his blazer was resting on the chair, his sleeves were rolled up, and his tie was now forgotten somewhere. The first buttons of his shirt were open. His hair, that were always tied elegantly combed back, now fell over his forehead.

At that moment, to get even more comfortable, he had taken off his suspenders and the very expensive Rolex he was wearing on his wrist until a few minutes before.

"I'm sorry, I'm looking for it: it must be fatigue slowing me down." You had your head lowered in shame: you were generally quick, it never happened to make him wait more than a minute.

“Come here”.

You slowly turned toward him, your eyes still fixed on the floor.

"Look at me."

You didn't want to, you were ashamed, you couldn't really lift your head. At that point, Kevin violently slammed his hand against the desk.

"I said fucking look at me! Don't you ever listen?"

Terrified, you raised your head toward him: your legs were shaking, you felt you were about to cry--you don't like it when people yell at you. Kevin realized that maybe he had gone too far in having that reaction with you (or maybe he had accidentally shown you his true nature?), so he signed and massaged his temples:

"I'm sorry, come here..." He turned in your direction, opened his legs slightly and settled more comfortably in the black leather chair.

Figuring it would be worse if you didn't listen, you slowly approached the desk and looked at him with a confused and disappointed expression. You were facing him now, but were still too far away for his own taste.

"I didn't mean to respond that way, sugar..." He repeated, displaying a mask of guilt as his hand repeatedly tapped his thigh.

"Come closer” He said in a firmer tone, this time understanding what he was getting at.

"Kneel" He ordered you, and so you positioned yourself between his legs like a lapdog: in the silence of that moment you felt humiliated…humiliated and that you were succumbing to his power and feeling even more ashamed of the fact you were liking it. His hand began to caress your cheek as his thumb did the same with your lips.

"Open" The lawyer ordered , and you welcome his finger in your mouth, licking and sucking it slowly. You had heard of things like this: you understood then what he wanted, and you were at least trying. He'd probably been with more experienced women than you, and that shamed you even more. You felt like a stupid teen.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice the fact that Kevin had slowly started to undo his belt, opening your eyes when you heard the noise of the zip being lowered.

"Don't worry, I’ll teach you everything" He explained, having noticed how awkward you were: even better he thought, it would have been even easier for him to make you what he wanted you to be.

"You're mine now, not that you'd ever get a chance to run away from me..." The way you were looking at him, with his finger still between your lips, made his eyes darken: you reminded him of a sweet deer, small and innocent. He smiled, taking your face in his hands and leaning towards you.

"If you're good, in a couple of years I might even put a ring around your pretty little finger…you would like that wouldn’t you, little doll?”.

[nyrasbloodyclover]

parallel lines (canon!aemond x modern!reader)

a/n: i couldn't come up with how aemond ended up in our world, but i didn't want to use standard stuff like the multiverse or idk (you get what i'm trying to say, i am too lazy, basically)

also, this was soooo fun to write please someone request part two

Aemond was not of this world, that was very much visible. His clothes (that suited him very much) completely stood out from the things people normally wore now,his hair was beautiful but unusual, platinum blond, almost reaching his waist, and the sapphire eye that replaced his lost one looked perfect on him.

Long story short, he didn't belong here. His world was of dragons and family dynasties. But, since he was stuck here (for god knows how long) I got to show him the beauty of the modern age.

"What can you even do here? Everything looks the same," he said, thinking of my street and all of the houses. He didn't like that they were built beside each other.

"The beauty of architecture is gone, as far as I can see. You claim to be making a progress and talking about future, but if your society continues to exist like this, it's going to ruin itself."

"Aemond, please don't rain on my parade right now. It's so much fun showing you all the new things in my world since I know everything about yours."

He furrowed his brows, "What parade?"

I smiled for myself. "Nevermind. Do you think Aegon is a nihilist?"

"Your philosophy makes no sense to me. And I think the whole concept of your so-called nihilism is very much stupid. How can you say that you are a nihilist if there is nothing and you believe that nothing really exists? If belief doesn't exist, how can you believe—"

"Please stop and follow me." My head started to hurt from his many many MANY arguments about everything.

"What is this? You know I already told you I don't like your room. Why do you decorate your walls with these gruesome pictures?"

"It's not gruesome, I already told you—"

"And why is there a picture of my brother beside your bed? How does it look so realistic? Are you a witch?" he said with wide eye. I didn't explain to him how printer works yet.

"Stop being so dramatic. I wanted to say— I already told you I keep photos of my favorite TV shows on my walls. Your brother is there because he's very much my type." Not that I am Team Green. Nyra for the win.

"You want him as a husband?" He asked like it was the most impossible thing someone could say.

"Something like that..." It was different speaking about fictional characters you like with your friends than with said character's BROTHER. I could say the most unhinged things with my best friend but I had to restrain myself in front of him.

Aemond was smart, he quickly grasped the whole concept of the modern era. And he was well read too. So when he told me he was bored, an idea came to me.

"Here," I took his hand and led him to the corner of my room where I kept all my books. The large shelf made him smile. He probably had way bigger library at his home, but this'll do for now.

I was happy that he liked my idea. "Can I?" He gestured towards my books. I nodded, as exited as he was.

"Why are they so colorful?" He frowned. I wasn't sure if there were many romance novels in Westeros. Or fantasy. What even was fantasy to them? Guns and women's rights, probably.

"I have classics too. They aren't so colorful," I picked a couple from the bottom of my shelf. "They could help you understand our world better."

I handed them to Aemond, his gaze hypnotized. He probably read most of the books in Westeros, that they bored him. This was something new, something he hadn't seen before.

"Who is Dorian Gray?" I heard him ask. My smile grew wider.

"He sold his soul to the devil for eternal beauty. But his sins began to show on his portrait, representing his cursed soul."

"I think my mother would've liked this."

"Maybe, but look at this one." I showed him my favorite. Frankenstein. "I think you should just read it and tell me what do you think."

After a couple of hours, a whole season of The Walking Dead, and five diet cokes, he finished reading my favorite book. Then the discussion began.

"So what you are saying is that the Creature's actions are justified because Frankenstein is the real monster?"

"Yes. Exactly. Frankenstein made something—Someone and refused to take responsibility. The Creature wouldn't have done all of that if Victor showed him some love. Like a parent. Murder is obviously wrong, but Frankenstein abandoned the Creature. And it yearned for love. Things would've turned out differently if Frankenstein had been there for his creation."

"I still don't agree. Just because our parents don't give us love doesn't mean we get the right to go around and murder people."

I almost wanted to laugh. "You're the one to talk."

He turned his head, almost breaking his neck, "Excuse me?"

"Oh don't play all nice right now. You killed Luke! And for what?" I said, accusingly.

"It was an accident!"

I think we argued until 4am. We couldn't sleep even then, so I switched genres. It was a bad idea.

"Give me that! You're certainly not reading Penelope Douglas!" I chased him around the kitchen, trying to snatch the book from him. And I mean Punk 57. Not trying to be rude, but reading that made me lose brain cells. And I didn't want to explain to Aemond what a vibrator was.

"You'll become stupid! Stop reading that! Do you wanna be stupid??" I said, running around the kitchen table, trying to get to him. He was reading it while avoiding me.

"Are you calling yourself stupid?" He said with a chuckle.

I groaned in frustration. He was so annoying.

He, fortunately, dropped the book after it's third chapter, saying he didn't get the whole point of high school. I agreed with him.

So I gave him Edgar Allan Poe's collection of short stories while making noodles and cookies. The sun started to rise.

"My classmate said he looks like Hitler."

"Who's Hitler? Another person from your modern era I should admire?"

"Please forget I said anything." I reminded myself to shut up.

It was funny how Poe confused him.

"What is this?" He said after reading The Tell-tale Heart. "Why did he hear the heart beat under—"

"His own guilt made him insane," I said, frowning while trying the cookie dough. It was too sweet, I loved it.

I could see him concentrate while reading The Black Cat and completely change his face when he switched to Poe's poetry. I knew he would love it.

"I think Alone is my favourite so far."

"Mine too. But everything he wrote just resonates with me, you know?"

"Even the Premature burial?"

"Especially the Premature burial." He gave me a once over after my comment and I went to get the food.

Aemond hated noodles, that was certain. He almost spat them out, claiming to be too spicy. I rolled my eyes at him. They weren't even homemade.

I gave him one cookie and I could see that he liked it, but he found another way he could annoy me.

"How do you keep all of your teeth while eating this? The sugar is going to poison me."

"It's not, trust me." I chewed my cookie. "I think you should start reading Tolstoy next and then switch to Kafka."

[shiorimakibawrites]

inside the mind with peter parker!!!! also, congrats bestie!!!!

Thanks bestie! I hope this helps cheer you up:

After the events of NWH, Peter tries several jobs that one can get with only a high school education - waiter and/or barista at various fast food or local cafes, cleaning services for hotels or office buildings. Name a low-level service industry job, he’s probably tried it. Along with day labor with construction projects.

Each job ends up running into one little problem: Spider-Man. Saving people sometimes makes him late for work. Sometimes hours late. Or he runs off in the middle of shift to save someone he notices in trouble. Needless to say, his bosses don’t like this. And often fire him.

He has better luck when he starts doing freelance work or online work where it doesn’t really matter when or where he gets the work done as long as he meets the deadline.

Some of this freelance work is vigilante photography. He develops a reputation for getting the best shots of New York’s vigilantes and their battles. Mostly Spider-Man (for obvious reasons) but he has gotten some very good shots of Daredevil.

Peter is torn on those Tumblr posts comparing his ass to those other heroes in the city. The jokes can be funny. But some of the NSFW comments have left him rather red-faced and at times uncomfortable.

He does find it absolutely hilarious that Daredevil won that Hottest Vigilante Ass thing. Easily the funniest part was the look on the man in question’s face when he was informed about this . . . honor.

One of the freelance jobs he picks up is doing electronics repairs. One day, he ends up in the office of Nelson, Murdock, & Page trying to convince their braille printer not to die. He managed it but also captured the interest of the lawyers. Who insisted he take a bonus payment in the form of food.

Peter thought about arguing but his metabolism is very high and his budget low. No sense in turning down (more or less) free food.

The law firm starts regularly calling him with offers of various temp work. He has gone to the office often enough that he has met Mr. Nelson’s mom. Who thinks he’s far too skinny.

Somehow it was after this meeting that Peter gained the attention of Daredevil. Which was . . . cool. Even if the way Peter threw punches made the man grimace and tell him to come to some rundown gym to learn how to do it properly - “you’re gonna break all your fingers doing that way, kid.”

Peter’s protest that (a) he will be healed by morning and (b) that he wasn’t a kid held no water. But Daredevil had a point that breaking the bones in his hands hurt and hampered his ability to fight or flee until those broken bones healed.

He calls the other vigilante Mr. Devil, despite repeated attempts to get him to just call him Devil or Daredevil. Fair is fair. Daredevil kept calling him a kid despite being told repeatedly that Peter was ‘not a kid.’

[fortuositywritings]

Terms & Conditions Ch 6

T&C Masterlist

Summary: Peter has a talk with you. You spend more time with Wanda. Harry begins to feel neglected.

Your first week goes much like your first day - a lot of coffee orders and working the printer. After you’d clock off, you’d make your way up to Wanda’s room, where she would be waiting for you freshly showered or she leaves the door unlocked if she is still in the shower. Those times you opened the door for yourself, you had no qualms making yourself at home, kicking off your shoes and throwing yourself onto her bed.

Today is different. Today Peter Parker stops you in the hallway and asks to speak with you privately. 

“What are your intentions with Wanda?” he demands, crossing his arms defensively. Oh, he’s trying to give you the shovel talk, you think. How cute.

“What?” you ask with a smirk. You can’t believe this is really happening. 

Your smirk throws Peter off. It took him all morning to pump himself up to do this, not being a confrontational person. However, he knows what you are like, or rather has heard from Harry what you are like, and from what he’s been told you are not someone who gets into serious relationships or any relationships in fact. So, of course he has to ask you what you are doing with Wanda. He has to look out for his friends and teammates. 

“I asked what your intentions are with Wanda,” he repeats with less conviction, sounding almost nervous. He tries to shrug it off and puffs out his chest to look more menacing. In all honesty, it takes a lot in you not to laugh. It’s hard to take him seriously when he is wearing a backpack with a Lego keychain on it. 

You bite back a smile, understanding this is just him looking out for Wanda, which you can respect. It’s admirable actually. You think over what you have to say to not necessarily lie but to leave him satisfied with your answer. Not straying far from the truth, you answer, “I plan on being here when she needs me and when she wants me to be here and maybe even when she doesn’t.” 

Peter tries not to chuckle at that last part, but he schools his features to ask seriously, “So, you’re serious about her? She isn’t just another fling of yours?”

“Look, you’ve probably heard a lot of things about me and most of them I’ll admit are true, but what I’ve got going on with Wanda is different. I promise you, I’m not playing her or anything.” And the truth slips from your lips, “I like Wanda. I like hanging out with her and I like annoying her and making her smile and I like how I feel when I am around her, so I plan to be around until I stop making her smile and she gets too annoyed with me. You don’t have to worry about me, Peter.”

He accepts your response, “Good answer.” He sighs like having this talk took a toll on him and apologizes, “Sorry, but I just had to check that you are serious about her. I don’t want to see her get hurt again. It was bad enough having to see her heartbroken once.”

You frown at hearing about this. You have to ask, “Were Joaquin and Wanda that serious?”

Peter shrugs, “She seemed to think so, so when he broke up with her, she was a mess, especially because of when he did it. That guy does not have great timing.”

“What do you m-”

“There you are.”

“Wanda, hey!” Peter greets your fake girlfriend. 

“Oh, hi, Peter.” Wanda gives him a smile, which makes him blush a little, before turning her attention to you. You don’t reserve your comments about it. “I was wondering where you were. You’re usually drooling on my pillow by now.”

You scoff and deny, “I don’t drool.” And you repeat it to Peter because you cannot have people thinking it. “I do not drool.” 

Wanda makes a face of someone sleeping with their mouth wide open. You suppose she’s implying that’s what you look like napping. It makes Peter chuckle and you frown. You huff, “Anyway, I was on my way but Peter caught me in the hallway and we were just chatting.”

“About what?”

Peter’s eyes widen and he looks at you, discreetly shaking his head. You don’t know whether he means don’t bring up Wanda’s rough break up or the reason he wanted to talk to you in the first place. Going the safe route, you choose not to speak about either. “Oh, you know. Intern stuff.”

Wanda narrows her eyes suspiciously. Maybe “intern stuff” wasn’t the right thing to say, so you continue, “But then it somehow got into talking about Lego.”

You guess that sounds more like Peter, because Wanda chuckles and nods her head like she knows that conversation well. “Did you tell her about your Star Wars collection?” she asks Peter, whose face burns in embarrassment. 

“I- uh- no. I haven’t gotten around to that yet,” he says, scratching behind his ear awkwardly while avoiding eye contact. “But I’ll tell you all about it later. Bye, ladies.” He makes a quick exit, grabbing the straps of his backpack and speed walking away. He’s fortunate that awkward exits in front of Wanda are common enough for her not to question it. 

“Come on, then, gorgeous. Lead the way!” you command Wanda to move. 

“Right. It’s baby’s nap time,” she teases, walking the familiar path to her room. You reply with a smirk, “‘Baby’? I kind of like the sound of that.”

“You know that’s not how I meant it,” she huffs, making you chuckle. You follow her into the room after she opens the door for you. You kick off your shoes, placing them next to her desk, and leave your blazer on her chair before jumping onto her bed. You pat Wanda’s designated spot next to you, wiggling your eyebrows, and say suggestively, “Come here, baby.”

“Oh my god,” she groans in annoyance, rolling her eyes at you, but she lies down next to you anyway, turning on her television via remote while you make yourself comfortable snuggling up to her. She’s surprised you make it through two episodes without falling asleep, feeling you giggle at another joke from the show. She finds herself smiling when you laugh at the next joke.

You’re pretty. Wanda has always known this. Your looks paired with your charm, it’s no surprise to her that people talk about you. But having you this close to her, you are something else - another kind of pretty that Wanda can’t describe. It’s just different. 

“What?” you ask Wanda when you feel her staring. 

“Huh?” she plays innocent, pretending she wasn’t gazing at you. Her heart beats faster when you look up at her, raising an eyebrow in question. 

“I could feel you looking at me,” you state. She blushes at having been caught and it kind of feeds your ego. Of course, you can’t help it, loving making Wanda squirm. “Do I have something on my face or did you just want to kiss it?”

Your cocky smile annoys Wanda enough to deny such a thing even though it’s not far from the truth. She tells you, “Actually, I was surprised you’re still awake. Usually when I look down you look like this-”

She proceeds to show you what you supposedly look like when you are asleep and it is horrendous.    

“I do not look like that when I’m asleep!” you gasp moving away from her, fully offended. 

“How would you know? You’re asleep,” she laughs. 

“Whatever.” Wanda wins this one. 

You don’t pay much attention to the following episode. It’s more of background noise while Wanda takes you through her day and you recount yours. Wanda laughs when you tell her about the newly installed cameras by the blender in the break room where you made Tony’s smoothie the last few times. 

“I swear they weren’t there before,” you claim. Wanda doesn’t think you are crazy. It sounds much like him to take the surveillance route.

“I believe you,” Wanda says. “Why don’t you just tell him how to make it so he stops bothering you?”

“I want to see how far he’ll take it for a little juice,” you smile mischievously. 

“Okay, how about you tell him so he stops bothering me.” Wanda explains, “I’ve seen more of him this week than I do in a month.”

“Oh, no. Interacting more with your teammate. How awful,” you laugh sarcastically. She frowns at you mocking her. “Don’t get grumpy.” You poke her forehead. “Any other time I would, but imagining what Tony will do next is what motivates me to come here every morning. Aside from seeing your pretty face, of course.”

“Mhmm,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I’m sure it’s that and nothing to do with keeping a job to keep your trust fund.”

“Oh that? Who needs that when I’m getting paid two dollars above minimum wage. Two whole dollars, Wanda!” You emphasize in a joking manner. 

She chuckles, “Welcome to the workforce.”

You roll your eyes at her joke, but it reminds you that you have somewhere to be. You begrudgingly get up from her very comfortable bed, which Wanda finds odd because she usually has to kick you off of it. She raises an eyebrow, “Where are you going? I was just joking, you know.”

“I know,” you say, as she watches you put your shoes back on. “My father came back from his trip to Chicago earlier today and wants me home for dinner.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Wanda comments. She fondly recalls memories of having dinner with her family when she was younger, so it’s a little bizarre to hear you snort like your dinner would be far from nice. 

“You haven’t had dinner at my house,” you reply.

“Do your parents know?” Wanda asks.

“Know what?”

“About us?” You raise an eyebrow in question. “I mean, if they have heard rumors about us, maybe they find it weird that I haven’t introduced myself yet.”

“Are you asking to meet the parents, Wanda?” You ask jokingly. 

“Forget I said anything,” she mutters.

“I will ask if they are free this week so I can introduce you as my girlfriend, okay?” You assure her as you put your jacket back on. “They’ve been wanting to meet you anyway.”

“They have?” she asks, surprised. 

“Yes,” you answer without further explanation. “I’ll let you know about dinner.”

“Lunch? Tomorrow?”

“Only if you let me order from that sushi place I was telling you about,” you negotiate. Wanda looks like she wants to argue but relents. “Fine.”

“Bye, pretty girl. See you tomorrow,” you rush out before closing her bedroom door, missing the way Wanda sighs as she falls back onto her bed. 

Your father is surprised to see you at the dinner table before him. He anticipated having to call you several times to remind you to be home for dinner or yell at you for being late. He guesses threatening to cut you off is working wonders and asks himself why he hadn’t done it sooner. 

You greet your father when he sits down and Lana when she brings the both of you a plateful of food that was most definitely prepared by the personal chef. The only thing you and Lana have in common is not knowing your way around a kitchen. 

You dig into your food as your father and Lana talk about his recent business trip. Finding that conversation boring, thoughts about work or more so ways to further frustrate Tony entertain you as you eat. 

A buzz from your phone indicating a text received pulls your attention. Your first thought is maybe it’s Wanda. You discreetly take your phone out and hide it under the table. Your father hates phones at the table unless it’s his of course,  his excuse being it may be work and important. 

Harry O : what time is your lunch break tomorrow?

“How was work today, sweetie?” Lana asks. You look up realizing that she’s talking to you. 

“Same as usual,” you reply, not going into further detail. 

Your father speaks up. “Lana tells me you’ve been coming home late from work often.” Lana should mind her own business, you think. You look over at her, unimpressed. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“We’re worried, sweetie. Are they overworking you? This is your first job. Working overtime every week is going to take a toll,” your step-mother warns. 

First they want you to work and now they’re worried you are working too hard? You huff, “No one is overworking me. I’m not working overtime.” Lana looks at you confused so you continue, “Actually, I’ve been seeing someone.”

You wait for a reaction but she looks confused and now your father is included. “What do you mean? Like a therapist? Did you get a therapist?”

You roll your eyes as your father goes on to ask the name of the therapist in order to have him vetted because you can’t trust everyone. They may sell what you say to the tabloids and then what’s the point of working so hard to keep you out of a bad light.

“No, I mean I am dating someone,” you clarify. To your offense they look more confused, like it’s more believable that you see a therapist everyday after work for hours than you take an actual interest in someone and spend time with them. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“That’s wonderful, Y/N. Isn’t that wonderful, honey?” Lana recovers quicker than your father. He narrows his eyes suspiciously and asks, “And that’s where you’ve been spending your time everyday?”

“Yes. We work in the same building so it’s easy to hang out afterwards,” you affirm. You guess it’s the right thing to say because the look on your father’s face relaxes. You wonder what he was fearing you would say.

“When do we get to meet him?” Lana questions next. 

“Her,” you correct. 

“Oh,” Lana utters while your father’s response is, “At least I don’t have to worry about you getting pregnant.”

You want to bring up the fact that transgender women exist but you bite your tongue. He’ll see it as you trying to start an argument and then it will turn into an argument. The fact he hasn’t chastised you for anything yet is a miracle in itself. You take what you can get. 

“When do we get to meet her?” Lana asks again. 

“I was thinking maybe I can bring her over for dinner soon,” you propose. Your father brings out his phone and looks through his calendar. He finds a date that works for him and schedules dinner for next Tuesday. He doesn’t bother to ask if you, Lana, or your girlfriend are free that night. Hopefully the world doesn’t need saving that day.

The next day, Harry invites Peter to eat lunch with him after you turn him down saying you already had lunch plans. Harry groans at his phone after he invites you to some Oscorp event for Tuesday evening and you tell him that you have plans with your parents already, not mentioning that Wanda is going. He tries to invite himself but you tell him that you are having someone over for dinner, but that you will hang out soon. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks, noticing Harry’s grumpiness.

“Nothing. Just Y/N blowing me off again,” Harry complains. Peter chuckles, knowing how that can be. “Yeah, that will happen when they start seeing someone. It’s okay. It happened when my friend Ned started dating this girl sophomore year. He would forget our plans or he would bring her everywhere, but Aunt May gave me some good advice. She told me to let him know I was happy for him but to bring up how I was feeling, that I felt cast aside for his girlfriend. Maybe you should do the same with Y/N?” 

“That is good advice, Petey, but this is different. Y/N isn’t with anyone. She doesn’t do relationships,” Harry says. “Many have tried, none have conquered, the title that is.”

“One did,” Peter informs him.

“What? No. Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend. Whoever told you is obviously lying. I’ve known Y/N a long time and there is no way,” Harry denies. 

“You’re right. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. She has a girlfriend. She said so herself,” Peter responds.

“Who?” 

“Wanda.”

Harry smirks, not believing Peter for a second. Peter obviously must have misheard. “Y/N L/N dating Wanda Maximoff? Yeah right.”

Meanwhile not too far away at a sushi restaurant, Wanda is scoffing at something you bring up - Peter’s crush on the brunette. 

“He does not,” Wanda denies, making you laugh.

“It’s so obvious. He’s always blushing around you. How do you not see it?” You tease her. “You could have asked him to be your pretend boyfriend and he would have jumped at the chance.”

“He’s a baby, Y/N,” she retorts, rolling her eyes, as if that is enough explanation as to why it wouldn’t be possible. 

“He’s not that much younger than me,” you point out. Wanda’s face blanches. “Wait, how old are you?” 

You chuckle, “Wow, you really haven’t looked me up.” 

“That’s not answering the question, Y/N!”

“I think that’s our food,” you say, ignoring her question. The server comes with a tray to your table and begins setting your food in front of you and Wanda. Your mouth waters simply looking at it. The food doesn’t distract Wanda though. As soon as the server leaves you to your meal, she resumes her interrogation. “Y/N, tell me.” 

“Guess. I’ll give you a clue. I am old enough to drink,” you joke. She glared at you for not giving her a straightforward answer but relents to playing your game. After guessing wrong twice, she’s suddenly quiet, looking at you intensely. You think you either upset her or she’s thinking really hard but then you notice a dim red hue to her eyes and you know what she is trying to do. 

“Nu-uh, no cheating.” Her eyes are back to their usual green. 

“Fine,” she huffs. When she finally gets it right, you touch your nose like when playing charades to indicate she’s correct. You are three years younger than she is, which you guess she doesn’t deem too young for her based on the look of relief on her face. Satisfied, she finally begins eating. 

Wanda asks how dinner went last night. You tell her about how it felt more like an interrogation than anything and you complain about Lana always butting in. Wanda defends Lana saying she thinks she is trying to get along with you and maybe you are being harsh on your step mom. 

“She’s just so - ugh. You have to meet her to know what I’m saying.” Which reminds you, “Speaking of, I told them about me dating someone and they want to meet you.” You give Wanda the details, not that there are many. You and Wanda talk and talk until you realize your lunch time is up and you need to rush back to work because oh yeah, you are a working woman now. It’s such an odd feeling. 

You text Harry later, making plans to hang out on Saturday. You recognize that you’ve blown him off the past few days and can’t help feeling a little bad about it so you propose to do something that weekend. What? You don’t know yet, but because it’s Harry it will probably involve a party or the sort. 

Little do you know, there is a fundraiser the same Saturday you intend to go out with Harry. A fundraiser, not held by Stark Industries this time, but one which the Avengers are expected to attend nonetheless. Something for the children you hear from Wanda on Friday. 

“I know I should have mentioned it sooner but Steve just told us this morning. Apparently Tony signed us up a while ago, but forgot to put it on the official calendar,” Wanda explains. 

You are sitting in the living room today after work instead of lying around in Wanda’s bed this time. A change of scenery, Wanda said. Also, no one was hogging the huge flatscreen tv as usual and Wanda wanted to take advantage. 

“We get a plus one,” Wanda continues and looks at you hopefully. You frown in return. You regret informing her, “I would go but I kind of already promised Harry we would hang out tomorrow.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” she replies dejectedly. Hating not being able to appease her, you wrap your arm around her waist and pull her flush towards your side. You rest your chin on her shoulder and say, “I’m sorry.”

Just your luck for nosy Joaquin to appear with Sam when he does, overhearing the last part of your conversation with Wanda. Of course he jumps at this chance. 

“Wait, are you talking about the fundraiser tomorrow?” he interrupts you two. You try not to roll your eyes but you smile when Wanda sighs in annoyance. “Well that’s too bad you can’t go,” he says when you confirm you were in fact talking about the fundraiser. He turns to his ex-girlfriend. “What about you, Wanda?” 

Wanda replies, “I don’t know.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re not going to go because Y/N can’t be there? What, Y/N doesn’t like you going out without her?” he teases with the intention to get a rise out of you. Everyone sees it, including his friend. Sam side eyes him with a frown.

You hold back from scoffing at such an accusation. “Y/N here,” you speak up, raising the hand not on Wanda’s waist to remind him that you are in fact in the room. “Wanda is her own person. She doesn’t need my permission to go anywhere.”

You and Joaquin have a stare down while Sam convinces Wanda to go. Only when Sam succeeds and Wanda gives in does your stare down end. 

“See you there, beautiful,” Joaquin says and he winks at her. He winks at her! You tilt your head, eyes furrowed. Did he really just hit on her while you are sitting literally next to her? Sam frowns thinking the same thing, but refrains from saying anything. Wanda tenses up beside you and you are about to remind Joaquin of his place when he apologizes. “Sorry, old habit.” 

He chuckles, trying to sound embarrassed to play it off as an innocent act, but the little smirk on his face gives too much away as he leaves. Sam trails after his friend. 

“Okay, what the actual fuck,” you scoff, once the men are out of earshot. You stand up from the couch because for some reason what he did has you worked up, like you could hit something kind of worked up. You’re not going to hit anything, but you can’t stay seated when you feel this way. “Did he really just do that? The audacity. You were practically sitting on my lap! Is he kidding me?”

Wanda hasn’t said a thing. “Wanda?” You try to get her attention. She’s still tense, looking elsewhere. You can tell she is daydreaming or maybe she is remembering something. Either way, she is lost inside her head. You attempt to pull her out of it, calling her name a little louder. ���Wanda.”

She snaps out of it and looks at you. She apologizes, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Are you okay?” you ask, carefully approaching her, taking a seat again. 

“Yeah, yes. I’m fine. Why?” she replies, pretending she wasn’t just reminiscing about her relationship.

“You looked a little out of it. What were you thinking?” You place your hand on her shoulder, moving your thumb back and forth, trying to relieve some tension. She sighs and relaxes back into the couch. She answers, “Nothing. Just, um, what I’m going to wear for the fundraiser.”

You know that isn’t the truth but you aren’t going to push. “I’m sure whatever you pick, you’ll look amazing and I can’t wait to see it.”

“You want me to send you a photo or something?” she chuckles, not letting her mind linger too long on the compliment lest she start blushing.

“Definitely!” You nod. “I want a before and after picture.”

She makes a confused face. “You see me without makeup and dressed down all the time. Why do you need a photo of that?”

“I meant before you put on the dress,” you smirk. 

“Ugh, of course,” she scoffs, removing your hand from her shoulder and rolling her eyes at you. It’s just like you to turn a sweet simple compliment into something more. 

You chuckle, “Oh, so you’ll do it? You just said ‘of course’. Can’t take it back now.” You lean back on the couch and throw your arm over her shoulder.

“You know what I meant,” she groans. She doesn’t bother pushing you away though. She’s gotten used to your touchy nature and at this point, though she will never admit it to you, welcomes it and when you leave, she longs for it. However, that's something she has trouble admitting to herself. 

“Mhmm, sure.” You smile when you feel her sink into you, fully relaxed. She’s comfortable enough that you know she won’t leave your side when you joke, “Whatever angles you like is fine, but I do request good lighting.”

She pinches your stomach for the comment, making you squirm but laugh all the same. “You’re annoying. Just press play.”

You resume where you left off on the show playing on the screen. Wanda, easily distracted by the television, doesn’t notice you pull out your phone and send a text to Harry.

Y/N: Change of plans. How do you feel about going to a fundraiser?

________________________________________________

A/N: Let me know what you think and what you would like to see in the story. Thank you kindly for your patience. I think I have everyone who has asked thus far in the taglist on here but let me know if I missed you or if you would like to be added for this story. Replies in the comments from fabraykingmyheart are mine, fyi. 

Taglist:  @scarletswandawitch @imdreamingblo @anxietyisgreat @xxromanoffxx @romanoffomixam @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @harleyswanda @gimaximoff @simplysimping999 @cmaysf @frvny @olsensnpm @chaekhan @dumpaccdontmindme @iliketozoneout @why-31 @aawake-atnight @yelenabelov-ed @marrymemcgrath @btay3115 @alwaysgoodnight @darkangelxoxo @reereeineedtopee @mistyysmione @shortstoppan @didujustcallmedumb @pawiie @pleasantbearscissorstoad @lordesolddepression @splatalia-jumpanova @wandanatfan @pnsteblnme @hoeforwandanat @s1ut4nat @lametag-brockcity @mrscromanoff @hallefuckingluyah @daenerys713 @spongebobtentacles @when-wolves-howl @hxavensent @sojo154 @takeyaki @sapphoartemis @sadpiscesheart @skis1501 @splatasha-jumpinoff @pyrorazor7 @lissaaaa145 @mutsuzvegay @trikruismybitch @raqelacevedo @youlookterribleilookawesome @your-my-mission @yeetus-thyself @ireadtofeel @justhereformemes12345-blog 

[hana-bobo-finch]

OKAY OKAY PUMPKIN DADDY ANSWER TIME!!! I LOVE UNSUBTLY DEMANDING PEOPLE ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT STUFF SO I HAVE AN EXCUSE TO YAP 🥰🥰🥰

HP’S QUESTION: Does Finch have any favorite foods? Or is there one food in particular that will send him flying into a blind rage? Or how do you push his buttons in general? I want any kind of goofy silly trivia that you have about the gourd father--

UH. YES!!! DEFINITELY. favorite is underselling it, it is an unhealthy obsession. He would kill someone with no hesitation over key limes. Key lime anything. Key lime pie especially but if he could inject key lime juice into his veins he would. Got to the point he had to have an intervention because spoiler alert, you can Not live off of key limes. The intervention was done via a mario maker level lmao luckily for yall I recreated it so you can see the wonders of a Mario maker key lime intervention:

I suppose this doubles as a voice reveal? A voice reveal through a crusty wii u microphone?

Foods that send him into a blind rage though, I’m not sure. There probably is something that I’m forgetting lmao but off the top of my head I dunno. Maybe turkey or something??? Just because he’s allergic to it and he’d probably be extremely pissed off if someone gave it to him.

Pushing his buttons though, uhhh there’s a LOTTA ways to do that. Too many to name here. He is kinda a ticking time bomb of pent up frustration but off the top of my head

• saying something unpredictable. If he doesn’t know how to respond to something it’s YOUR fault for saying something unprecedented, not his fault.

• being pessimistic!!! Your cup isn’t half empty it’s half full!!! How dare you imply otherwise!!

• being startled. It will probably end up with someone getting hurt

• APHIDS. no explanation it’s funnier without

• dinkies. dinkies are little magical creatures. He hates them.

• chiropractors

MOVING ON THOUGH because I cannot list off those things forever. Goofy silly trivia. hmmmmm goofy silly trivia. ok

• he tampers with cheddar cheese??? idk that is the most recent addition to the pumpkin daddy cinematic universe. made it up with my friend on a whim while showing off my awesome and totally impressive ability to say anything about him and have it be canon but sure, he tampers with cheese

• he has a plastic fork he once stole from a restaurant and he loves it dearly (he just in general gets way too attached to inanimate objects, someone get this guy some friends)

• in his son’s phone, he is listed as ‘this guy again?’ paired with a very unflattering picture of him

• he has a slug named after himself. The slug wears a big red boot.

• he casually has world breaking items in his pocket. like he can just pull out a black hole from his pocket. Idk how but he can. Don’t ask questions just go with it

• he is like. incredibly emotional. he once got called a mean name on live tv and was so upset he stayed in bed for a week

• a skeleton once threw chemicals in his eye (based on the time I accidentally splashed chemicals in my eye while trying to develop a photo of a skeleton. good times (this was like 3 months ago))

• HE LIKES KEYS!!!

• he breaks printers a lot. Do not let him around them, he will manage to break it and skillfully put it back together long enough so it looks like the next person to use it was the one who broke it

• he has a band??? Did I ever mention that???shit I don’t think I did, he has a band! Not the best band, but he’s made sure there’s no competition. He’s basically an industry plant because he IS the industry. it’s called the exploding pumpkins and it sucks (no relation to the smashing pumpkins. I was so fucking pissed when I learned there’s an actual band with a Very similar name but out of spite I’m not changing it. exploding pumpkins ftw). they have such great songs like one about a depression and leprechauns, one about the horrifying ordeal of accidentally leaving the stove on when you’re out and trying to keep a positive mindset as you rush home to turn it off, and my personal favorite, one about relationship problems that eventually just turns into incoherent screaming (that ones legit kinda catchy and I fucking hate it, I’ll catch myself humming it and I’ll be like girl do you seriously have a song that is in-universe meant to be bad stuck in your head). I of course wrote all of them and most don’t have a coherent melody because I’m not a musician but tbh it’s fun writing songs that are purposefully bad. Like sure go off king, we can have lyrics like “I left my house I kissed my mouse and away I drove, but then I remembered I forgot to turn off my stove.” Anyway I absolutely love that aspect of pdbc I can’t believe I’ve never mentioned it before (I forgot to list the hot wife song, that one’s fucking hilarious I love that one. I don’t even remember how it goes but I have it written down Somewhere)

• he likes to dress up as a reindeer and venture out into the woods to be one with nature…..it has resulted in him almost getting shot numerous times

• he’s a holly jolly kinda guy!!! Uh!!! The second the first snowflake falls he decorates for Christmas, someone stop him.

• speaking of which I guess Santa is real in this universe because he once accidentally sent a bunch of really personal letters to Santa??? yikes they were supposed to go to his friends so he could properly express his emotions but someone sent em to the North Pole as a prank. Santa must’ve been very confused that year

• he really likes wearing eyeliner for some reason

• one time part of his chest flew away. what. I don’t know either it was some weird-ass glitch in procreate that happened this one time, I inserted an image of him to edit it for a shitpost and even after I deleted him part of his chest just Remained in my layers but it didn’t show up when I tried to do anything with it. idk either man but I made it canon because I thought it was funny. He has a ghostly part of his chest floating around

• he made little gopher versions of himself (gopher in the sense that they can burrow but they’re essentially just mini-hims) and. oh boy. he regrets making them. Nobody likes them, they weird everyone out, even himself. they glide around really weirdly and don’t have legs and they just freak everyone out and have this weird habit of calling people handsome and nobody likes them so he put them to work in the mines

• OH NOOOOO WAIT THE MINES. HOW DID I FORGET THAT IN MY BIOGRAPHY!!! HE YEARNS FOR THE MINES. HE ONCE WORKED IN AN EXTREMELY DANGEROUS MINE TO GET SOME EXTRA CASH. I CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT THAT I’M ACTUALLY SO EMBARRASSED BECAUSE THATS BEEN AROUND FOR A WHILE. YEAH HE WORKED IN THE MINES. YIKES. THAT’S ACTUALLY REALLY IMPORTANT LORE BECAUSE IT ESTABLISHED A CHARACTER WHO ENDED UP BEING REALLY IMPORTANT LATER ON OH NOOOO I CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT THAT

I could go on but I’ll cut myself short so I don’t talk too much (it’s too late I already have)

MOVING ON!!! ALASKA’S QUESTION: Why is he called pumpkin daddy if he doesn’t have any kids

THIS IS. ACTUALLY A GOOD QUESTION. he did of course have a kid later in life (and hundreds more if you count the hybrids which. I don’t.) BUT. HE WAS STILL CALLED PUMPKIN DADDY BEFORE ALL THAT. the reason for this doesn’t have an in-universe explanation other than “he was nicknamed that and no matter how much he tried he couldn’t get people to stop calling him that” BUT it has an actual real world explanation. If ya harken back to the origin of all this pumpkin daddy nonsense, it all stemmed from a single out of context page from an old fan comic I stumbled across. IN THIS PAGE his child* (*not worth getting into the actual context there, this is about PDBC not roots) called him daddy and that was the only context I had to anything. I in fact didn’t begin calling him pumpkin daddy immediately, it’s just that in my notes I simply wrote “weird pumpkin daddy??” And after a while the name pumpkin daddy just kinda stuck I guess. So, short answer, because I called him that and I could never shake the nickname so it stuck after all this time

AND FINALLY PUPPET LIMBO’S QUESTION: With Finch being obsessed with time, do the pocket dimensions and Briar Zome and such fascinate him or drive him crazy due to different time mechanics? :0

EXCELLENT QUESTION it’s probably a bit of both. I feel like I wrote somewhere that he was eventually able to figure out how time in the briar zome works but I don’t remember where I wrote it and it’s approaching midnight and I’m not gonna dig through all those notes to find it lol. But it’s probably more so fascination I’d say, when it comes to the pocket dimensions I think the briar zome is the only one that has any substantial time differences. I guess I’ve never thought about it, and it could be interesting to implement different time rules in the alcoves and such, so I very well may just steal that idea. But for what I have in the plot currently, there aren’t any mentioned time differences in the alcoves. But the briar zome, yeah, time is wack there. I doubt being unable to figure out how time works there would frustrate him, at least not that much, but being there for long periods of time pisses him off because there’s that underlying thought that time could very well be passing like normal in the real world and he’d just be gone for who knows how long

ANYWAY YEAH THX FOR THE QUESTIONS THAT I DEFINITELY DIDNT DEMAND YOU ASK 🦅🦅🦅🔥🔥🔥🔥 IF YOU HAVE ANY OTHER QUESTIONS ABOUT ANYTHING PDBC RELATED ASK ME. AHAHA. NO PRESSURE. AHAHAAH (DO IT) (DO IT NOW) (I LOVE TALKING) /LH

[victimeyez]

Break Up

Professional//Victim

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Mind the tags

Tag list: @suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter @whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery @thembology @2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

~

“Tell me when it hurts. Well, when it hurts more.”

Sam probed his fingers up Tommy’s abdomen, pushing in gently. Tommy grit his teeth and stared up at the exam light until his eyes watered.

Everything hurt, a condition he was almost starting to get used to. His chest hurt, his back hurt, his ankles hurt, his ass hurt. The skin Sam’s touch skirted over was in slices, and deeper bruising cut beneath it from the force of the whip.

He flinched badly when Sam’s fingers hit a sore spot, painful enough that he immediately curled up to protect himself. Sam sighed.

“You could make this easier for me.”

(You could, too.)

When Sam stepped away, he wrapped the towel he had been given back around himself, attempting some form of modesty. He’d had the shivers since they had taken him off of the hooks.

Sam returned wheeling an odd machine in like a cart, Caius in tow this time.

“So tell me,” Sam addressed the other man.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

Sam gestured broadly to Tommy, laying on the exam table with the towel.

“What’s the problem?” Caius asked coolly, unaffected by the state of his ward.

“Damn near every time you bring him in, it gets worse. Where are you even finding these people?”

The machine was rolled over to Tommy’s bedside and he started manipulating his limbs like a ragdoll. Tommy didn’t resist, just swallowed the bile in his throat and closed his eyes. A curved part of the machine was positioned over his chest.

“Keep those closed, put your head to the side.”

He obeyed, and saw the flash of the x-ray light under his eyelids for a moment. A few more adjustments, a few more flashes.

“Roll over.”

“Woof.” Tommy mumbled sarcastically, but he was tired. Far too tired to fight. He managed to turn over onto his stomach. There wasn’t any position he could lie in that didn’t hurt like hell, but Sam had given him some good shit and it was starting to kick in. Its foggy embrace dulled the pain significantly.

Sam made an annoyed sound when he saw the gouges on his back. The romantic carving on his ass was still trickling blood, the deep lines struggling to clot properly.

A few more photos taken up his back, and the big printer in the corner started to spit them out. Sam pulled them off and started sticking them to his light board in rows. Caius joined him, eyeing the photos impassively.

“You see this here? Broken rib. Another here. This other one is a hairline fracture. You’re lucky his ankles aren’t broken. And his wrists are both half-pulled out of their sockets -“

Tommy listened to Sam shaming Caius, smirking a little to himself as if it was to his benefit. He really didn’t realize he had broken anything, but it made sense given how bad he was roughed up. It made him feel a little better about how much pain he had been in, as if this revelation justified it.

“They tossed him down some stairs. And he fell off some…monkey bars. It probably happened then.”

Sam swore, and there was a clatter as he hit or threw something to the ground.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Do you know how easily he could have broken his neck?”

“It happened really fast, I didn’t realize he was in danger until he was already at the bottom of the steps. And fuck off, because he’s fine.”

They continued to bicker, while Tommy pulled the towel up to pad under his head. He started to doze off, the heavy drugs finally letting him relax for the first time since the first blow.

(They’re being insufferable.)

(...More than they usually are. You know what that means,)

(…)

(They’re hooking up again.)

The realization suddenly settled in, and it disturbed him enough that he lost the thread of sleep he had started to follow. When Caius and Sam started acting like this, it only ever meant one horrible, terrifying thing:

They were dating again.

Their last breakup had almost been amenable, and they had been separated for over a year. They were terrible and toxic and constantly on again/off again, but he thought they’d finally stopped trying.

His first clue should have been Sam chewing out Caius over him. Sam couldn’t give a shit about his well-being, he just liked nagging Caius about him.

Last time they broke up, Caius put off taking Tommy to get fixed up until he could no longer eat. Caius bitched about Sam the whole way there, and dumped him off - just in time to have Sam bitch about Caius until his keeper hauled him off again.

Every time, he inevitably became a weird pawn between them. Sam cut his meds off when he was pissed at Caius, and Tommy had to beg for aspirin for a broken jaw.

Caius would become overly concerned with Tommy’s health and demand lots of checkups to spend time bothering Dr. Snow. When Sam called him out on it, he broke Tommy’s nose so he’d have another reason.

That one never healed quite right.

Sam was laughing when he returned next to the exam table, and he pulled a prescription bottle out of his pocket. He waggled it naughtily in front of him, making the tablets inside rattle.

“You want another one?”

He uncapped it and dangled an oblong pill in his fingertips over Tommy. Tommy brought his hand up and managed to catch Sam’s, pulling his wrist to his mouth.

Sam chuckled and relinquished the pill to him. Tommy choked it down dry and laid back down. It tasted disgustingly bitter. He just wanted to go away for a while, somewhere outside his prison of a body. He definitely did not want to think about Sam, and Caius, and Lisa and Mark.

Sam popped one in his own mouth and dry swallowed it with practiced ease.

“Let’s get you fixed up, huh?”