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[kmhonco]

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[tufferoneindustries]

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[rigidind1]

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[daistea]

Laios, Mithrun, and Kabru x Reader Headcanons

Word Count: 1,483

Falling In Love With You & Relationship Headcanons

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

Laois

It takes a little while for Laios to realize the truth of his feelings, to be honest. He doesn’t have much experience with romance, and actually not much interest in it either, so he sees you as a really good beloved friend. 

He falls in love without realizing and spends quite a while having no clue that he’s in love. Everybody else knows how he feels and are impatiently waiting and watching for him to realize it too.

Laios thinks of you often. Between the pages of monster doodles and notes are very badly drawn doodles of you. (He’s made you a monster-sona, it's very cool, but he's too nervous to show you.)

Laios says the sweetest things without realizing they’re sweet. He’ll always tell you that you look nice. He’ll always make sure you’re well fed. He’ll always make sure you’re safe.

He spends a lot of time around you. A lot. He’s like your shadow, or a puppy at your heels.

He only realizes how he feels after a big event, such as you dying in the dungeon, getting hurt, etc… 

But even then, he’s not really sure what to do with himself. He starts to get more nervous and pulls away a little bit, but his actions with you also become more weighty and serious. His touches are more meaningful, he looks you in the eyes deeply often when he’s talking to you, he tends to put a hand on your back to lead you through the dungeon (though he gets flustered when he does that.) Laios basically starts trying to put more thought into how he acts around you, trying to be cooler or more charming, but this isn’t very sustainable because he’s not being himself anymore. This is probably fixed by someone in the party telling him to stop, or by yourself.

Laios is a clingy partner. He’s very touchy and unashamed about it. He doesn’t realize he’s touching you half the time, it’s just habit. He’s the type to absently draw circles on your thigh or hand. 

He isn’t particularly jealous, mainly because he doesn’t realize it when people are flirting with you unless they outright say it. Then he’s just worried about you, and how you feel. He can be protective though, he just doesn’t really know what to do if it’s a human threatening you. 

Buy this man a bouquet of flowers once and he’ll start thinking about marriage. He likes affection from you. 

Laios’s love languages? All of it. Every type. Gift giving and physical touch are big for him though.

You ask Laios for a baby and he just thinks for a minute… His cheeks are a little pink as he asks, “What kind?” Preferably human, you say. He tries to hide his disappointment but agrees nonetheless. 

Kabru

Kabru is immediately aware of what’s happening with himself. The very moment he hears you laugh and thinks to himself, “Wow, what a pretty sound…” He’s like haha hold up! No. 

Kabru is a charmer and knows how to handle people. I believe he’s been in very light, casual relationships before, but nothing serious. At first, he’d assume his feelings for you are light, like usual. Nothing to be concerned about. 

He starts getting the urge to dissect your thoughts and put each of them into little jars for him to inspect. He does not say this out loud and tries not to show it, but he stares a lot. 👁️👁️

His feelings for you quickly become a chess game that he’s determined to win. Unfortunately, you’re eating the pieces when he’s not looking. 

He worms his way into your life very subtly. One moment, he’s asking you how you feel about the weather, the next moment he’s urging you to spill your childhood trauma. It’s only when he takes a step back and asks himself, “Why do I care so much?” that he realizes how serious of a situation this is. 

Of course, Kabru cares about a lot of people. He likes to know things. But this is different. He wants to know every little detail about you simply for his good pleasure. Sure, he files it all away into neatly organized cabinets in his mind, but he has no intent to use that information for anything but your happiness. 

For example: Kabru will most definitely remember that offhand comment you made about preferring a certain table at that one restaurant you visited three years ago. He’ll make sure you get that table. He knows exactly what you’ll order too. 

When he’s wrong about you, though, it baffles but simultaneously charms him. 

You people-watch together. He can probably read lips, and he tells you what the people around you are saying. 

He needs to keep you away from the dungeon. Not because of anything you did, but because he might go a little mad if he doesn’t at least try to keep you away from that lifestyle. 

Kabru is chivalrous and kind. He kisses your knuckles a lot, like a gentleman. He puts his hand on the small of your back. He fixes your hair if it’s messed up. He isn’t much for pda, but it’s obvious you two are a couple with the way he often whispers to you, catches your eye, and smiles at you. 

He’s a blanket hog. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. 

Jealousy isn’t a big thing with Kabru. Sure, he feels it, but he stays calm and will simply wrap an arm around your shoulder and start a conversation with the person flirting with you. He’ll end up actually making their acquaintance and have a relatively okay conversation. He's still jealous, but distracted enough for it to not consume him. 

Kabru's love languages are acts of service and physical touch.

You ask Kabru for a baby and he just laughs. He thinks you’re joking. After a moment, it sets in that you’re not joking and he gets flustered.

Mithrun

Mithrun is vaguely aware of what’s happening when he’s falling in love, it just doesn’t seem like something he needs to acknowledge, think about, or act on. He’s wrong. 

To be honest, he doesn’t believe he’s capable of romantic love. He’s wrong.

It starts out very subtly. Mithrun starts to take more notice of the little things about you; the color of your hair in the sun, the color of your eyes, how your voice sticks in the back of his brain and refuses to leave. Mithrun knows what this means, but he doesn’t really care at the moment.

Then, it starts getting more intense. Without meaning to, he notices the shape of your lips, the feeling of your skin, the sound of your footsteps… 

This is when he starts getting a little curious. Is this a desire the demon missed within him? Is this a new desire forming? Huh.

Pre-ending Mithrun chooses to ignore it because what’s the point? This results in some irritation for him, longing looks(he doesn’t look longing on the outside, but it’s there on the inside. What everybody else sees is just... a slight look of determination on his face. He has no idea he's making that face either nor does he really care.) and unexplained protective tendencies that shock the canaries and, occasionally, himself.

Post-ending Mithrun chooses to dig deeper because this is a desire forming and he wants to hang onto every tiny molecule of desire he possesses with all of his strength. This results in soft touches at every opportunity he has, willingness to do whatever you ask, and his constant presence with no discernible explanation. 

Are you dating? Nobody quite knows, not even you. 

Mithrun was naturally jealous and possessive before The Incident. He doesn’t get like that again until you come along, and then it’s like his old self wakes up a little. Just a little. He doesn’t make scenes or get emotional over it, but he will calmly walk up to somebody that’s flirting with you, touch their shoulder, then teleport them away from you.

 If someone asks what you are to him, he simply says, “Mine,” or “Does it matter?” with a straight face.

He can be seen frequently wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his head on top of yours if you’re shorter, or on your shoulder if you’re taller. 

On occasion, he will be caught with a small smile as he holds you. It’s rare, but it happens. What’s he thinking at those moments? No one knows. 

The canaries are incredibly nosy— aside from Pattadol— about your relationship, and Mithrun has no qualms about answering their invasive questions. 

Mithrun’s love languages are acts of service and physical touch. You’re the only one he likes touching. He doesn’t say I Love You often but he will definitely lean on you a lot and protect you even if you don’t need it. 

You ask for a baby and he calmly says, "Give me a week... What color do you want?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[moomine]

backwash II | daisuke

author's note: totally awesome people should check out part one as well ⍢ also, if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) It's been a little over a month since the Tulpar departed on its 382-day long haul. Anya takes the reader aside to perform her monthly psych eval, where she discusses her experiences with her peers and life on the ship so far. After she's clear to go, she runs into Daisuke who's drawing in the lounge.

word count: 2,291

warnings: mild language? all characters are 18+

now playing: Radiohead - "Motion Picture Soundtrack"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 028—

I’m starting to feel more and more homesick. I miss my mom’s roast chicken. I miss swimming pools and the feeling of the breeze. I miss burning incense. I miss my friends. It hasn’t been that long since we left Earth, but I guess I just never considered how still outer space would be. How lonely I’d feel. The others have been nice, yeah. Especially Anya. And Daisuke. I get the feeling that Captain Curly is still warming up to me. I wonder if he’s ever taken on another apprentice before. I don’t know about Swansea, or Jimmy. They seem to tolerate me at best. But then again, those two kind of just tolerate everyone, except for maybe Captain Curly. It’s only been almost a month. I just have to keep my head. 

If mom were here she’d say: “Everything gets easier with time. Time and patience.”

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN—

“Everything okay, [Name]?” Anya asked in a gentle tone, gingerly placing a hand on the table in front of you.

Your shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice as it filled the otherwise silent lounge. You looked up at her, feeling the tension seemingly wash away by the sight of her face. She offered you an understanding smile, her tired features softened as she looked down at you.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Just lost in thought, I guess,” you responded. 

You raised a hand to rub your eyes. It had been difficult to find sleep lately. The groaning of the ship was almost haunting at night. Laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you spent the few hours allotted for sleep thinking about Earth, about what laid just beyond the door to your room, about the ceaseless whining of steel and steam. About the next three hundred and fifty four days.

Anya nodded sympathetically, moving her hand from the table top to your shoulder blade. “It gets easier. I promise,” she paused as Jimmy and Curly entered the room, their voices loud and booming. “Are you ready for your psych eval?”

You nearly didn’t hear her over the sound of the other two. They were reminiscing, shouting stories back and forth of college parties, bar fights, and past lovers.

“As I’ll ever be,” you said with a timid grin. 

Anya nodded once more, motioning toward the door just past the kitchen space. You came to your feet and followed her until the two of you made it to her domain. The medical bay had become a safe haven for you. Over the past month, you gravitated toward Anya the most. She had been kind to you from the very beginning, almost sisterly. When there was no more work to be done, you often found yourself walking straight through the lounge and into her office. Anya didn’t mind. In fact, she had grown to rather enjoy the company.

She walked around the desk before taking a seat in her chair. Behind her was a wall of white shelves and cabinets with glass doors. Inside they held assorted medical supplies and books on psychology and basic clinical practice. To the right of her was a bulletin board, cluttered with posters, a calendar, pictures of her hometown, and notes and reminders. A number of Daisuke’s doodles had made it up as well, namely ‘Yimpy’, a rather horrible caricature of Jimmy. It was pretty realistic.

You sat across from her with your hands interlocked in a tight ball. “Same as last time, right?”

Anya grinned as she organized your file. “Yep, same as last time. Since it’s only your second evaluation, I’m going to go over it one more time. Is that okay with you?”

You nodded.

“Lovely,” she said with a soft hum. Tapping the papers into a neat pile against the desk, Anya glanced at you once more. Her eyes flickered from the page to you, you to the page as she read aloud. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions about your experience, relationships, and general well being during your time under contract with Pony Express. It is your responsibility to answer as truthfully as you feel comfortable and/or deem necessary. Your answers remain confidential unless you give reason to believe you are at risk of harming yourself or others. Do you have any questions?”

“No questions here,” you replied with a shake of your head.

“Perfect. Let’s get started. On a scale of one to ten, how confident do you feel in your capability to complete your work and responsibilities on a day to day basis?” Anya read.

“Maybe eight? I’m still getting a hold of some of the more technical aspects. The Tulpar is an older ship… I wasn’t exactly trained on her special quirks in school,” you said with a nervous laugh.

“You’ll catch on fast. You already have,” she reassured, jotting down your response with that sweet smile still on her face. “Okay, next question. You mentioned last time that you’ve been having difficulty sleeping, is that still a relevant cause for concern?”

“I don’t know if it’s that concerning. I think I’m just having a hard time getting used to the new environment. It’s been getting easier to fall asleep though,” you responded. A little, white lie.

“I’m happy to hear that, [Name]. Your rest is important. I remember not being able to sleep at all during my first haul. I spent all night just tossing and turning, reading my books if I could focus on them long enough. It’s normal, but from the sound of it, you’re doing a great job adjusting.” Her gaze softened as she spoke. It was clear that she had grown to care for you quite quickly, and you did the same for her. “Only a couple more left to go…”

Anya listened intently while you answered each of her questions, taking the time to write down key details of your responses. Between questions, the sound of her pen etching against the paper filled the room. As Anya wrapped up the second to last question, your eyes wandered to the evening window screen. The warm orange and reds of the artificial sunset made the room look like it was on fire. You looked back to your hands, reaching up to take a piece of your hair and twist it between two fingers.

“All right,” Anya spoke up. “Last but not least, how do you feel about your relationships with the rest of the crew? Is there anything I should know about in particular?”

“No, I don’t think so. Everyone has treated me fine enough. Other than you, I’m still trying to get to know everyone better,” you said, still focused on your hair.

Another sympathetic smile graced Anya’s lips as she looked over at you. She knew how it felt to feel slightly out of place. “Look, I’m technically not supposed to tell you this, so you have to keep it a secret. Okay?” Anya let out a quiet laugh as you nodded quickly. She watched amused as you dropped your strand of hair and leaned in closer. “Daisuke mentioned during his eval that he wanted to get to know you more. Maybe you could try talking to him? You two have more in common than you might think.”

You looked down at your lap again, biting at the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, okay. Maybe I will.”

“Well, you’re all set. You’re free to go.” Anya closed the file and tucked it away alongside the others in her desk. “Thank you for your time, [Name]. I assume I’ll see you here tomorrow. Same time as usual?”

“Same time as usual,” you echoed, beaming as you got out of your chair and left the room.

From the hallway leading to the medical bay, you could tell that the lounge was quiet now. Curly and Jimmy must have wandered off elsewhere. It would have been completely silent if it weren’t for the subtle sound of pencil scratching coming from deeper within. As you entered the room you noticed Daisuke, hunched over the table as he sketched something in his sketchbook. Completely oblivious. You leaned against the doorway and watched from a distance for a moment, admiring as he tucked a tuft of fried brown hair behind his ear. 

“What are you drawing?” you questioned.

Daisuke jumped in his seat like a cat that had been snuck up on. His eyes shot to you, the surprise he felt immediately quelling into a tenuous excitement. He hastily closed his sketchbook —almost like he was hiding something— and smoothed out his hair. His mouth broke out into a wide, infectious smile, the gap in his two front teeth a thin ravine and the dimples on either side of his mouth tiny sinkholes.

“Me? Oh, y’know, just doodling,” he said, leaning back in his chair as if trying to act casual. “Where ya been? I couldn’t find- I mean, I didn’t see you back in the cockpit.”

“Psych eval.” You pointed over your shoulder with your thumb as you pushed yourself from the doorframe. “Can I see it?” you asked, walking up to the table and taking the seat across from him.

“Uhh… see what?” Daisuke asked in turn, voice coy and simultaneously flustered.

“Your doodles,” you responded with a laugh. “Only if you’re okay with that, obviously.”

“Oh! I mean, yeah. That’s like, totally fine. But, fair warning, they’re not that incredible or anything.” Reluctantly, Daisuke passed you his sketchbook. He looked rather bashful, cheeks slightly flushed and smile wavering.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I’ve seen your stuff on Anya’s corkboard. You’re really good.” You took the sketchbook in your hands, looking down at the cover of it. It was absolutely littered in a random assortment of stickers. Only through the few and far between gaps could you see that it was once a pure black. It looked much cooler now decorated with the various games, bands, and whatever else Daisuke liked. “Are you sure you don’t mind me looking? Again, it’s perfectly fine if you changed your mind.”

“Nah, it’s all good. Just don’t expect too much, ‘kay?” he replied, running a hand through his hair.

“No expectations,” you agreed.

You turned over the cover, revealing the first page. In red ink you read ‘if found please return to Daisuke, thank youuuuuu’, alongside it was a doodle of himself looking particularly grateful. Or maybe he was pleading. You chuckled under your breath and began flipping through the rest of the pages. Each one was filled with sketches and those increasingly familiar doodles of predominantly other people. Friends, maybe family, and characters from the different games he liked. His work wasn’t quite realistic, but not the most stylized either. Rather, it seemed to be a perfect mix of the two. Something entirely unique to him. To Daisuke.

The deeper you got into the book you started to spy familiar faces. Captain Curly, Swansea, Anya, even Jimmy, but mostly you. You glanced up at him, seeing that he was seemingly avoiding eye contact with you all together. His hand was still tangled within his hair, head turned to the side, and lips knitted into a fine line. That mole —high on his left cheek— stared at you more than his own eyes.

When you finally got to the last page you realized he hadn’t been doodling at all. Instead, there before you, in soft pencil sketching, was a portrait of you that Daisuke had drawn from memory. It wasn’t perfect, but it was incredibly detailed nevertheless. You held up the book, taking in the details with a look of awe on your face. He captured all of your little imperfections —the tilt of your eyes, the quirk in your smile, all of it. 

“Daisuke, these are actually so good!” you exclaimed, setting the book down and passing it back to him.

“You… you really think so?” He let out a breath of relief, finally looking at you again. “Man, I thought you would find them totally weird. I’ve been too scared to show anyone else but Anya.”

“Why would I think they’re weird?” you asked.

“Shit, I dunno…” Daisuke trailed off.

You shook your head. “You’re really talented.”

“I- Thank you,” he breathed. Daisuke’s face softened as you looked at him from across the table. The flush in his cheeks was barely noticeable, a fair pink dusting the peaks of his features. “Hey, I noticed you brought a Walkman on board with you. I never thought I’d actually see one of those things in the flesh.”

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed lightly. “It was a gift from my mom. It’s outdated as hell, but I’ve got a bunch of custom tapes back in my room. We should totally listen to them sometime.”

“Are you kidding? Dude, I’d love to-”

“Daisuke!” Swansea called from down the hall, cutting him off. He rounded the corner, sticking his head into the lounge with a sweaty brow. “There you are. Get your ass up, break time’s over. We’ve got work to finish up before dinner.”

Daisuke looked noticeably disappointed at the sight of Swansea. “But I-”

“No ‘buts’. C’mon now, I don’t have all day,” Swansea said with a huff before he turned around, walking back toward the utility room.

“Coming,” Daisuke sighed. He stood up, tucking his sketchbook under his arm with a slight frown. “Guess I’ll see ya later, [Name].”

“Yeah! I’ve got to show you some of my mixes, remember?” you responded sweetly, smiling up at him.

Daisuke nodded enthusiastically. As he left the room, he adopted a pep in his step. A smile was glued to his face as he beamed down the hall. The human embodiment of sunshine in that moment.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Keep Your Head In The Game

Yandere! Victoria Neuman x reader

(Warnings: threats of murder, non con touching/kissing, implied captivity)

Working at the Bureau had been your dream job. 

Vought had ruined so many people’s lives. It felt good to be part of something that stood against that company for those who couldn't. Despite not having powers, even you could be a hero. You'd worked under Victoria Neuman for years. You knew everything about her. 

And then Hughie Campbell ruined everything. 

You’d like to think of him as a friend. You and him had lunch together sometimes. You’d sit and smile as he went on and on about his girlfriend. He was a nice guy. You’d like to think that he and you were close. 

But Hughie broke you.  

Evidence. He’d shown you evidence of what she’d done. So much blood. So much gore. The orphanage, the files. 

“She’s one of them,” he’d whispered right before he fled into the night, “stay away from her. Quit. Please, for your sake, don’t go back to that fucking snake den.” 

And then he was gone. Just like that. 

Work in the Bureau continued as normal. Safe for the rumors of Soldier boy sightings, everything was so…fine, even without him. 

Even Neuman was unphased. 

She still smiled and laughed and told jokes as she surrounded herself with regular humans. She curled her lip when Supes were discussed. You used to love it when she brought Zoe around, but even her daughter you couldn’t even trust to be real. 

Victoria didn’t act like a Supe. 

But Hughie wasn't lying. 

Friday night. The bureau had a party going on tonight. Another Supe had been successfully put away. Those were always a sight, especially considering Gina would get shitfaced. You couldn’t go, feigning illness before you slipped out the night. You couldn’t enjoy yourself, not when you had so much to think about. 

Instead of enjoying the night with coworkers, you found comfort in the hardest liquor in your cabinet. Your one true friend. 

Not Hughie. Not anymore. Hughie left. Or maybe he was killed. Who knows. Who fucking cares. 

There’s a knock on your door. When you ignore it, it comes again louder. You groan, but you pull yourself off the couch eventually. Your neighbor again. You need to have a talk with her about disturbing you at odd hours of the night. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days.”

You can only stare. Victoria tilts her head. 

“Gonna let me in or will I have to stand out here?” 

Against your judgment, the instinct of always listening to your boss kicking in, you open the door. She elegantly steps in, surveying your home. 

She’s wearing that blue suit you’ve always complimented her on. Earlier, you would have admired her professional elegance. Now, it makes her look more inhuman. She looks even more out of place in your shabby apartment, studying your upkeep. 

“Sorry,” you say when you stop gawking, “I…I hadn’t had time to clean up.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Victoria waves you off. “Just checking in on my favorite employee. How’re you feeling, by the way.” 

“Good.” You quickly reply. “I was just feeling a little under the weather earlier. I hope I didn't worry you." 

"Why wouldn't I be worried?" She tilts her head, grinning with straight white teeth that get increasingly eerie the longer you stare. "We're friends, aren't we?" 

Before, you wouldn't have blinked twice at her words and tone. You would have mindlessly agreed, smiled even. But things were different now. You were playing pretend with a known murderer. 

If you close your eyes, you can still remember the faces in that court before their heads exploded. You'd been behind a screen, watching it all in horror and you remembered closing your eyes and begging for Victoria to be alright, praying that it would be okay if everyone died but her. 

And now to realize she caused all that? 

"Maybe you have a fever. You're shaking." 

You were. You clasp your trembling hands together, trying to ease your nerves. 

"Yeah." Even your voice was wavering. Calm down. Calm down. "I still might not be over...whatever I came down with."

The predator clicks her tongue in sympathy, cooing as she nears her prey. You force yourself not to stiffen when she wraps a sturdy hand around your shoulders, leading you over to the couch. You sit next to her with your thigh pressed up against hers. You feel like you're about to vomit. 

"You should rest," Victoria says, "take a few days off work. I'll let everyone know." 

"Yeah," you say because this is good, it'll help you focus on what you need to do next, "definitely, thank you." 

"Oh, please, don't thank me." She laughs. "I'm glad you're not in the office because you're sick. For some reason, I thought you were avoiding me. Y'know, 'cause you were scared, I would pop your head." 

One second. Two seconds. And then you're up, scrambling off the sofa. It's instinct to run from monsters, no matter if they would take your head off your shoulders on a whim, whenever they want. It's instinct to be stupid and careless and run. 

If anything, you should be grateful this monster is her. 

She's strong, like all Supes are. Even though you know what she is, it takes you a moment to realize it's Victoria who had pinned you against the couch, keeping you underneath her. You used to win arm-wrestling competitions against her. The pressure caused your lungs to tighten, making it hard to breathe. Even has you struggled, tried to claw at her hands, tug on her pristine clothes, she didn't budge. You think the worst thing about all of this was that it didn't even look like it took much effort to keep you down. Like she was wrestling a kitten. 

"Easy, easy." She hushes, tone soft and condescending. "C'mon, we're both adults, aren't we? Let's be civil here." 

Civil. Like she had any right to use that word after what she's done for months, perhaps all her life. Your heart is a hummingbird frazzled with fear, but you can feel that twinge of anger and resentment even then. Something else too: betrayal. 

"Why?" You asked, your voice failing. "Why, Vicky?" 

For the first time tonight, her mask cracks. Her eyes flicker, looking at your defeated body before coming back up to your face. She looks remorseful, but not guilty. 

"I didn't....I didn't want you to find out this way." She admits, slightly easing off you, enough to ease the force in your lungs. "Or maybe ever, actually. Fucking Cambell, leaving a mess, and then running off. What else can you expect from that guy, right?" 

You just stare. Victoria sighs. 

“Of all people, I thought you would understand.” Her voice wavers. “I thought you’d get it, somehow.” 

You look at her, and you feel like you’re staring at that girl from Red River. Scared and Trembling Nadia, who just wanted love, someone to lean on. Someone who wasn't scared of her. 

Then it flickers, and then Victoria's back. 

"You murdered a whole room." You finally say. "How could you possibly ask me to understand that?" 

She glowers, her frown deepens, and then she's sitting up, getting off you. You learn your lesson from last time, but you still huddle in the corner of the sofa, watching her. 

"Right, because I'm supposed to believe you feel bad for them." Victoria rolls her eyes. "Half of those guys vacationed on Epstein's island before the brand change, and you were there when those deep fakes came out. Remember Congressmen Davis? He kept staring at your ass on the House Floor, so I'm not sure why you're acting like they're suddenly men of valor." 

"Yes, yes, yes, they were terrible people." You press your hand to your forehead. "But you-we-we can't kill people. We-we're supposed to do things the right way and I just-" You choke on your words. 

"Hughie got to you," she notes, "I knew I shouldn't have paired you up with each other." 

"You lied to me." You murmur. There's no anger anymore, just heartbreak. "You lied to everyone. I thought we were fighting against Vought, but we've been in their pocket this whole time." 

"We're still fighting-" 

"You're Stan Edgar's daughter. We're in their pocket."

You press your hands to your face, squeezing. All the while you can feel Victoria watching. You ignore her. There's no point in talking to her, not anymore. You might not have known Victoria, but you know the Supe that committed a massacre. Her cover was blown. You were a leaking faucet she needed to turn off. 

"What now?" You ask, drawing up to look at her. "Are you going to kill me?" 

Her mouth twitches. Her eyes flicker with realization. A soft coo comes from her lips, utterly condescending. Suddenly, her posture changes: less intimidating, more welcoming. 

"Oh, sweetie, is that why you're so upset?" She shifts until you're trapped in her arms. You don't bother fighting. Your bravery has run out. Tears are already dripping down your cheeks. "You thought I was gonna...." There's a laugh spilling off her lips. You squeeze your eyes shut when she hugs you tighter. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Victoria says, a smile in her voice. "Not to you. Never to you." 

Her hands are so warm as she cradles your face, forcing you to look at her. It's a gentle type of cruelty, forcing you to face your fears while the monster gives you a beautiful smile. 

"I cherish you too much to do that." 

You must look so lost. She laughs even more at that. 

"Seriously? It wasn't obvious? C'mon, Zoe is crazy about you, she never shuts up. And I...I think it's better if I just..." 

Her lips are soft. Gentle. You don't kiss back. You can't. You're frozen in ice. 

"I won't hurt you." Then, her tone tightens just the tiniest bit. "You're friends and family, on the other hand..."

When she pulls away, she's the most relaxed you've ever seen her. You wish you could say the same. While her smile grows larger, so does the gaping hole in your stomach. 

You close your eyes, slumping in defeat.

"What do you want?" You plead. 

You can feel her lips press on your cheek. Victory.

When you walk through the door, Zoe looks elated. 

She calls your name with a delighted giggle, reaching out to hug you. You wish you could return her enthusiasm, but you can barely pat her head. 

"What're you doing here?" She asks when she's done hugging you, looking up at you with pretty eyes. Her eyes are much like her mother's; they just haven't lost their innocence yet. 

Neuman steps in, a strong hand on your shoulder. That same gentle smile that holds the comfort a mother has for her daughter. 

"Gas leak, right?" She turns to look at you. "Real nasty. So, I offered our home for a little while." 

Zoe nods. She's the only thing so far that's remained stagnant. Maybe that's why you're more than eager to listen to what she did at school that day. She rambles on and on, and there's nothing left to say anymore. Until Victoria sends her daughter to bed. 

"It's probably best to keep the real reason hush-hush," she tells you later, shutting the master bedroom. 

You're seated pliantly on the bed, watching her shrug off her cardigan. The mattress sinks underneath your weight. Silk covers. It's too big for just one person. 

You're not a captive, she explained in the back of her fancy black car. You could roam around, meet up with friends, call people, do whatever your heart desired. It would just be under her eyes from now on. 

"A safeguard." She charitably explained, perfectly manicured fingernails drumming on her thigh. "Just so you don't do something we both might regret." 

You don't know if she'd been telling the truth when she insisted your head was off-limits, but you knew she had your family's names and addresses. So you sat pliantly in that car, pliantly listened to Zoe, and pliantly followed Victoria into her bedroom. 

On paper, you weren't a captive. But you and Victoria both knew better. 

"Is Zoe also...?" You trail off, averting your eyes when she unbuttons her blouse. You can hear her clothes drop to the floor as she unabashedly rifles through her drawer. 

"No," Victoria answers. And then your heart drops when she adds. "Not yet." 

You shudder, but she's already sitting next to you. She coaxes you to look at her with a hand on your cheek. Even dressed down, she's gorgeous. Unblemished skin was barely covered by a silk gown. 

You think she looks just as upset as you. Maybe even more. She pets your cheek thoughtlessly. 

"When I brought you to my bed for the first time, I thought things would be different, somehow." She laughs. It sounds bitter. 

"I never wanted this. Not for us," Victoria says, "but-but there's nothing else I can do. It...." 

A tear drips down your face. She's pushing it away. 

'You'll be okay." A kiss to your temple. "I know you will." Lips at your cheek. 

When she finally gives into her inhibitions and kisses you, you know she was lying about it all. 

[midnight-bay-if]

If the MC is the type who feel uncomfortable or disgust by even slight of contact, how would the ROs react to the first physical contact that MC deliberately made because they're comfortable around the ROs?

S: With anyone else, the touch may have been inconsequential - the slightest contact of fingers as they passed on a file to your waiting hand. A fervent apology teases the tip of their tongue, but when you do not flinch, it dies in their throat. In fact, you smile at them before turning around to the cabinet and filing the document away.

You seem entirely oblivious to how you have provoked their heart. Who knew the most tamest of touches could provoke such a stimulating heat?

"Is everything ok, S?"

"Undoubtedly so, MC; never better."

Rain: It had become a ritual for the two of you. After a long day, free time permitting, you would both curl up on the couch at a respectable distance, a large bowl of popcorn between you, and pick a VHS from your father's collection. For you, it's a way to relive parts of your childhood; for them, it's a way to become more acclimatised to human nature. It's something just for the two of you, something special.

Something made all the more remarkable when, whilst enraptured by the latest film pick, you both reach into the popcorn bowl, and your fingers brush against one another. Rain yanks the hand back, afraid to see you recoil from them, but you seem entirely unruffled.

Rain stares at you, nonplussed. You meet their gaze with a shrug before launching your sweet projectile at their nose. Laughter bubbles at the pit of their stomach, but the joy is brought upon them from an entirely different place.

What had they done to deserve this moment? To deserve all the moments? They have no answer, but it's worth everything.

Taj: Keeping personal space sacred was easy enough for them. In fact, when it became apparent you were not one for physical touch, Taj felt as if they might finally have something in common with you. Little else, mind, but in this, you could agree.

So, when Taj offers to share their pastry, they hope you do no protest when they tear it in half with their hands, handing one half to you with some trepidation. You smile, reaching out to take it, your fingers brushing against Taj's with only the lowering of your lashes to indicate you noticed at all.

Their thoughts run wild, the newfound tremor of their hand betraying their racing heart. Whether their increased heart rate is born of fear or longing, they cannot say, nor do they wish to dwell on the answer. It's stupid, ridiculous; they might care that you feel safe in their presence, and they don't know how to handle it.

"You're staring at me eating," you point out, a little self-conscious.

Taj shakes themselves, turning to their half, grateful for the distraction. "Eat up quickly. And don't tell Rain, or next time they'll be hounding me for their share."

N: It had been a difficult ask to get them to alter their habits. Intimacy was their most effective method of communication. It's what they knew. Words could be tricky, trying, and, more often than not, a trap. Touch was sensuous... soft... safe, at least for them. But, it was never anything you responded well to. So, they learned to curb their touch rather than their tongue, often tripping in the attempts.

But still, you responded. The newfound honesty their efforts brought to the surface was... alarming. The moment they lay a hand on your shoulder, instincts taking over, and you did not flinch, was more alarming still. When had it become okay? When was permission granted? They have to bite down their need to chastise, to chasten. How dare you lower your guard? They have done nothing to earn your confidence.

The venom of their thoughts does nothing to quell the overwhelming fondness threatening to sequester them.

"Too soft," they whisper through grit teeth. "Too weak." They know it is not you they speak of.

Umbra: It had been entirely by accident. Umbra dislikes the idea of touching another's skin just as readily as you while desperately yearning for it in the dark. It was nothing they ever permitted themselves to seek because nobody other than you would be sufficient. But it would be a cruelty to subject you to their chill, to the odorous stink of death that stalks them and keeps them cowed.

It should have frightened them how easily your arms wrapped around their waist despite their warnings. How you nuzzled against them, salving the affliction that has them chained. They shouldn't want it; now they have it and refuse to let it go.

"I know I ask much," they begin, feeling heat for the first time, "but may we stay like this a moment longer?"

(I got carried away again. Ah, well. Hopefully, they will be at least enjoyable.)

[spideesenses]

Heat → Miguel O’Hara

pairing: miguel o’hara x afab!reader

warnings: smut! MDNI! there’s no piv, just dry (wet) hmping. dom!miguel. panty fcking. light degrading. mentions of menstrual cycle.

prompt: Miguel doesn’t take his rapture serum, letting his more animalistic tendencies surface.

note: this has been my brainrot for several days now bc my bf did it to me and i😵‍💫 please practice safe & clean sex! you can mess up your pH balance especially with something like this, so please make sure you know the proper aftercare. love u

He could smell you. The scent of your wet slick between your thighs sent him in a frenzy, not to mention that you were ovulating. So this intense wave of horniness would hit you randomly. You’d been trying so hard to concentrate on the mission report that Jess was delivering, squeezing your thighs to gain some friction.

As Jess wrapped up the mission report, Miguel dismissed everyone. Everyone except for you. A wave of panic shot through you. You knew there was better choices to be made during the mission, but was it worth getting reprimanded for?

“What is this about?” you spoke softly, stepping forward. The release of your tightened thighs only released the scent of your dripping pussy even more so. As you stepped closer, the scent filled his nostrils and he had to stop his eyes from rolling back.

“You were helping Lyla reproduce my rampage serum earlier this week.” Miguel finally spoke after what seemed like an eternity. He wasn’t asking, he was stating the fact. So you were unsure what he wanted from you.

“Yeah, you had me stay back from a mission because I was feeling unwell.” you period was so crippling that day. You still wanted to make an impact so you asked Miguel for an alternative project to work on. “Is there a problem?”

The question made him chuckle dryly. You felt her pulse at the sound. That, you couldn’t help. He turned giving you what seemed like a grin. A sadistic grin.

“When you updated the inventory,” he waved his hand and a computer monitor came up. Video footage of you storing 6 vials into his cabinet pulled up. You had turned in your rolling chair to lean over as you went to fill out the fields on the computer.

Your name

The date

The serums you were making updates to

The quantity

You squinted your eyes at the footage. Oh. Seemingly enough, you had fatfingered an extra number on the file and saved it carelessly before exiting the lab.

“I was under the impression that I had another 10 vials to last me before I had to make more. I actually would have asked you to assist me in that again, but because of your mistake,” he swiped his hand again, making the video feed disappear and taking a step closer to you, making you instinctively back up. “I am all out.” he wasted no time grabbing you by the neck, forcing you to look up at him. “Do you understand what that means cariño?”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, wincing as his grip on your throat tightened. You reached up to grab his wrist, giving it a squeeze.

He ignored your apology. “And while Lyla is scrambling to make a new batch, I have sit here and smell you.” if his teeth wasn’t dripping with venom, his voice was. This didn’t help your problem. You could feel the wetness collecting at the crotch of your suit. The way he was manhandling you? Scolding you as a means to humiliate you? He took a whiff of the air once more, blinking a few times before narrowing his eyes at you. “Is this- Are you getting aroused by this?” you didn’t have to answer, he could smell it.

Due to his lack of rampage, his senses seemed to have heightened. He was more aware, he had to be. He was like an animal released in the wild with no limits to his terrain.

He needed you just as much as you needed him. He’d take you as quickly as he could, oh but he knew it would take patience. As mean and broody as he was, he was still a gentleman, when he wanted to be. Images of you being manhandled, moaning with him touching every inch of your body. He blinked a few times realizing you were using your powers on him. You could project thoughts into ones mind.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” he nuzzled his face into your neck, peppering kisses there. Miguel teasingly dragged his fangs against the soft skin at your neck, making you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you huffed out. Your sexual frustrations were agonizing, body heating up quickly as your dripping slick grew warmer. The sounds that were coming from you reminded Miguel of the sounds that a prey would make when it was caught. The primal instinct was to bite you, mark you as his territory.

A sweet little moan escaped passed your lips. Miguel looked down and seen your thumbs caressing your nipple through your suit. He could see the hardened mound, how painful it looked. The thought of you pleasuring yourself underneath him would have been more than okay… if he wasn’t feeling territorial.

Miguel flicked your hand away, grasping your breast in his free hand, his other still tightly around your throat. He palmed over your sensitive bud, the feeling of a more calloused hand over your boob feeling sensational. You didn’t care how needy your mewls had sounded, you were unbelievably turned on out of your mind. Whatever he was willing to give you, you would take. The moans falling passed your lips were caught with his.

You would occasionally buck your hips into his, emitting a growl as he lightly bit your bottom lip. You needed friction. Anything to relieve the growing pain. With control, you bucked your hips slowly, making sure to drag the pool of wetness onto his suit. You’d let out a breathless ‘heh’ as you felt him through his suit.

Oh and he could feel you alright. The one stroke alone had left a wet on his suit. He quickly commanded for his suit to disappear and he was suddenly bare in front of you.

He was mouthwateringly gorgeous. His chiseled chest through his suit was a masterpiece. And now that it was bare right in front of you? He looked too delicious to be consumed. His waist was slim in comparison to his chest, yet bulky and defined. His happy trail lead down to something that you would consider very happy to see you. It wasn’t just the girth that intimidated you, it was the length as well. How the hell was he going to fit that in you without breaking you or tearing you in half?

He wasted no time in tearing at the crotch of your suit.

“Hey!” you whined. You’d made your own suit. You were actually one of the only spider people without an upgraded suit. The first version of your suit was your now ruined suit.

“I’ll program you another suit princesa,” he panted, gasping as your silky red underwear came into view. Though the wet patch of your underwear presented a more maroon color. He lifted you up on his desk, pushing his keyboard and mouse off in the process. He bent down, taking a whiff of your clothed, soaked pussy.

His eyes glossed over crimson. Miguel wasn’t even sure if he had ever been this aroused before. Maybe it was because he couldn’t remember a damn day where he was out of his serum. He pressed your lips together in a hard kiss, jerking his hips forward so the leaky tip of his cock would press against your puffy clit.

“M’gonna fuck you with your panties on,” he mumbled against your lips. He guided his cock underneath your panties, collecting the wetness from your crying pussy. The tightness of your underwear was enough to keep his cock firmly pressed against your slit.

You bucked your hips eagerly, whimpering as the feeling of his cock against your pussy stimulated the most sensitive part of you. He switched hands; one resumed its position at the base of your neck, pinning you down on his desk and the other held your thigh as it was hiked over his hip.

Miguel rutted his hips, letting out a sigh of relief. Although it wasn’t the inside of your plush, wet heat, this would do. The scent of you enveloped him and he could only imagine what your velvety walls would feel like fluttering around him.

“More, please.” you begged, tears brimming your eyes as you could feel yourself wanting more than just the slow rolling of the hips.

“Oh,” Miguel pursed his lips, looking down at you. “Look at you so desperate for my cock.” he was talking down on you again, making your jaw fall slack as he slowly picked up the pace, stimulating your clitoris a little more.

The sounds that were coming from the underside of his cock rubbing against your wet slit were pornographic almost. Slosh, slosh, slosh. If he could drown in your puddles of wetness, he’d be all in you every second of everyday.

“Cock hungry and I haven’t even been inside of you,” he coo’d. He drew his hips back, the tip of his cock slipping past your folds. Miguel’s eyes locked onto yours as he gently prodded past your pussy lips.

At this point, it was like you were the animal. Bucking your hips in desperation, tears spilling from your eyes as you pleaded - as you begged him to break you. He could take you however he wanted, he could make it hurt, you just needed him.

“You’re gonna shut up and take what I give you, like the slut you are. Do you understand me?” his voice was stern enough to pull you from your cock drunk state. You nodded your head. “Use your words, princesa.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you answered before he shoved his fingers into your mouth, to which you suckled on with joy.

“That’s my good girl,” he gave you positive reinforcement. Slowly begin to move his hips again, only this time he had his thumb placed on top of the fabric of your panties, so he could keep the placement of his cock over your clit.

His pace was unforgiving. The sound of you begging so desperately for his cock echoing. The image of you crying over not being fucked was glued to the back of his eyelids. You were so cock drunk already, it made him wonder how long you’d been thinking about him fucking you.

Images of you fucking yourself with your fingers, free hand pinching your nipple while moaning his name popped up in his head. Here you were, projecting images into his head once more. As he’s fucking you through your panties, he can feel the grip of your mouth releasing his fingers. Your mouth was ajar as he pistoned his hips against yours, your moans and his grunts filling the room.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you moaned, your hand capturing your breast. “Please, can I come?”

How obedient. Still asking him permission after he told you to take whatever it was he was giving. How much were you wrapped around his finger?

“Yeah baby, you can come. Come for me,” he leaned over, mumbling into your ear, his teeth grazing over the shell of your ear. “Come on, be a good girl for me.” hearing that made you whimper in his ear as you released the knot that was forming in your stomach.

“Fuu-“ you whined, arching your back against him. Your walls clenched around nothing, wishing you could milk him for every drop. You felt your body convulse as euphoria took over you, your cheeks flushed red as your legs shook around Miguel. He could feel your hard nipples on his bare chest. In the frenzy you were in, he had no idea how you were even coherent enough to reach down between you two. Your hand kept his cock in place while your thumb circled around his sensitive tip.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head. He imagined the softness of your hands being as soft as you were on the inside as he pounded you. His hips began to stammer as he released his load into your panties, with a guttural moan. His hips slowed and he rested his forehead against yours.

You could feel how heavy your panties were. They were slicked down from the wetness of your pussy, and now they were filled with Miguel’s cum.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” Miguel muttered.

“Huh?” he heard Jess’ voice in confusion.

He blinked and suddenly Jess, Peter, and you surrounded him. Just as you did during the mission report. Jess and Peter were confused to say the least, but not you.

Your smug grin confirmed Miguel’s thoughts. You had been using your powers to project your sexual fantasies in his head.

“Ay coño,” he whispered under his breath. “I’m gonna fucking kill her.”

[velvetures]

Vulnerable pt.1?

A/N: A not-so-little thing I've had for a few weeks, and wanted to see if a part two was something anyone would be interested in reading. If so, please let me know. Summary: You try and get Ghost to relax after a harsh mission and find a bit of a quiet moment. T/W: not proofread :)

Bad intel led to you and your Lieutenant being nearly hunted down and killed by a not-so-small group of arms dealers who caught on quickly to the pair of foreigners lingering just a little bit too close to their sheltered storage garage right in the middle of a market district in the South East. The task force assumed sending in an entire squad would be overkill just for some simple recon information and decided that you and Ghost would be the perfect pair for the job. ‘In and Out…’ Price had said quite offhandedly, sliding the prepared information in two files across the table to you. Only Price’s sources hadn’t double-checked if the area was secure enough for them to enter without full backup on standby. Not necessarily a lethal kind of mistake when bringing you and the Lieutenant into the equation, but there were too many close calls and stray bullets that were clearly heard for either of you to feel super confident in getting away unscathed.

Your only savior was a small farmhouse that had been recently abandoned due to the illegal and dangerous activity that had been surrounding the small city. Modest in size with two bedrooms and running water. Perfect for a makeshift safe house to keep the trackers off your asses until an extraction could be arranged and put into motion. Contrary to belief, the 141 didn’t have the bottomless pit of resources everyone believed they had at their disposal. Which included access to evac and trained air-support teams. This wasn’t a big mission that had a lot of working parts and multiple organizations involved that had enough liquidated funds to through out for a helo and heavy gunners to rescue two operators from the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where.

That means with busted equipment, inoperable comms, hardly enough ammunition to fight out of a wet paper bag, and zero way of knowing when and if you’d be rescued, there was nothing left to do but try and relax in one of the most difficult predicaments. It left you searching through cabinets for maybe some kind of food to keep the both of you while Ghost did one of his favorite things. Pacing the house from window to window looking for the slightest bit of movement. The trouble being, there wasn’t anything for at least two miles in any direction. The people who owned this place were farmers of some sort, and had placed their home right in the middle of crop fields that gave a very advantageous sightline. While that information gave you quite a bit of comfort, it was not effecting Ghost positively in the slightest.

Your relationship with the Lieutenant was complex, to say the least. When you were first introduced it was for a succession of short co-op missions that were nothing if not brief and very impersonal leaving you with more questions than answers about the man who stayed hidden under the mask. Through some talks that you hadn’t been privy to being in the room for, John Price decided that your skills would be more useful to Task Force 141 than for the U.S. Division of Clandestine Service and offered you a position that you couldn’t possibly decline.

By day-in and day-out contact with Ghost, you got a lot more comfortable with him and learned much of his little idiosyncratic behaviors. Maybe a little too well…. He didn’t particularly act much differently towards you in the grand scheme of things, but something in you felt like trust had been developed to where he could depend on you when the situation called for it.

“Go hit the rack, I’ll take first watch.” He called gruffly from the living room where he had moved a chair from the kitchen to sit facing the front door head on with his MP5 resting lazily on his chest.

You couldn’t help but notice just how damn tired he looked under all that gear and through the black smeared around his eyes. He couldn’t be carrying less than one hundred pounds on him right now; even sitting in that chair with it wasn’t a good enough solution. Let you take a moment or two for yourself, stripping out of your tac vest and heavily weighted gear to drop it on top of the kitchen counter with a little grunt. Two days ago you both got the luxury of sleeping, and since then it’s been nothing but being on the run.

This would be the safest place for you that wasn’t in the belly of an evac bird, and the thought of Ghost not taking the time to sleep sat in your mind like a lead sinker. Leaning against the doorway and watching him for a long moment, you start having thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Ones that normally wouldn’t surface if you’d been able to separate working with Ghost from the more personal aspect of literally sharing almost every part of your life with him. Thoughts about how you could make him feel better… even if just for the night. That no one was around for miles and whatever happened could safely stay between the pair of you.

By utter carelessness of your position with the team or lack of fear about how the Lieutenant might respond, you walk into the living room and kneel down right in front of him with your fingers reaching out to unlace his dusty boots. Off instinct alone, you expected and watched as his foot flinched away from you. His whole body jumps and stiffens at the contact and sight of you kneeling on the floor. He quickly pauses and collects himself, taking several moments before his gravelly voice breaks the silence.

“What’re you doin’ Sergeant?” His eyes grew heavy and showed more expression than the rest of his massive body as they flashed with confusion and a little swell of anger. That aloofness didn’t hide that slight guardedness of something that made him uncomfortable in one way or another.

“I’m perfectly capable of takin’ care of my fuckin’ self.” He adds with zero discernible sign of either offense or gratitude. You can’t help but smile tiredly, feeling like you’re attempting to soothe a feral wolf into letting you pull it’s paw out of trap.

“I never said you couldn’t L.T.,” You reply gently, reaching back to start unhooking the laces from their claws on his left foot. “Just thought you couldn’t use some affection.” Smirking to yourself, you can’t help but think something this small being considered ‘affection’ didn’t fit anyone save for Ghost. He was just too hard to approach. Walls so thick and tall that it would take someone with patience beyond that of a human to break through and see what rested behind all of that brash posturing and icy disposition.

“You know affection is something I’m averse to,” he utters, watching yet making no effort to stop you. “What you’re doin’ is unnecessary.” A small sound close to a growl escapes from behind the mask when my hand reaches to the back of his leg to help aid my effort of pulling his boot off.

Chuckling softly and sitting the boot down at your side you respond, “I know you don’t like affection,” You’re already working on the other one, purposefully moving slowly as not to overwhelm or spook him. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, L.T..” You can’t help but look up at him almost exhaustedly yet still trying to be reassuring.

“M’fine without it.” He spits out quickly, looking away from your face back down to your progress on the laces, his masked face otherwise unreadable. “Didn’t ask you for this shit, Sergeant.” Tinged with an undercurrent of irritation his deep voice sounds near the bridge of turning to anger.

“Mothering me isn’t in your best interest.” He growls low and threateningly in your face as he bends down to grab the boot sitting next to you and giving it a quick look of observation before sitting it back down closer to him. You just finish taking off his other boot and sit it down next to the other without much more of a verbal fight and put a hand on his thigh to steady your sore legs as you get back up to your feet.

“I’m younger than you Ghost, I can’t mother you.” You reply, holding out your hand for him.

He doesn’t make note or stop you from using him to help yourself up, however, Ghost follows your movements carefully… closely. He’s doing everything in his power to hide his emotions, but there’s still a faint twitch of his lips when he looks down at his boots sitting at his side. You’d done something very unusual, and he knew berating you was what he should’ve done. Yet a flinch of a smile was what really moved Ghost’s mouth. It’s gone before it even surfaces, pushed down by the sight. of you holding out your little hand in front of him. The sounds of his deep breathing fill the quiet house as you both sit there unflinching of each other. The Lieutenant shifts in his chair, readjusting his rifle on his chest.

“Go to bed. It’s late.” His repeated command felt softer now. Wavering a bit with you hand still held out and your fingers wiggling a little.

“Come on,” You hold steady and patient.

Reward comes in the form of feeling Ghost’s heavy and large hand falling into yours and gripping just hard enough to allow you the phantom sensation that you’re actually helping him up from the chair, hearing a short grunt as his back straightens up. Without explanation, you lead the Lieutenant through the small house back towards the only bedroom in the house with an actual bed left behind by the owners, pulling him to the center of the room and turning around to face him.

“Put your arms up for me.”

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s frown can be heard from behind the mask. Despite his apparent bewilderment, he hesitantly obeys, extending his arms above his head with an exhale of a tense breath, looking down at you with dark and questioning eyes. “What are you doing now?”

You just smile and hum to yourself softly, reaching out to begin unclipping and unzipping the sections of his tac vest holding it on his upper body and the multiple ammo belts. Carefully draping them over you shoulder as you release his body from them one by one. Seeing the way Ghost’s body sinks into itself with the weight being pulled off after days without rest. You feel his eyes scan over you, over your hands finding ways to take off his gear for the first time in your life, feeling your way through sunch an unusual yet careful act.

“Bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous…” He growls, covering up the feelings of not being so concealed by barking at you a little.

“Shhh.” Your hush does enough to stop his quiet and brooding complaints.

Long enough for you to kneel back down at his feet and work at the thigh straps over his pants and even remove the ankle holster you’d left alone while taking off his boots. He doesn’t resist this part, just watching you undress him bit by bit with half a mind questioning just what had happened for you to start acting so strangely. You’d always been sweet. Much nicer than your job allowed for. Yet even this was quite off the edge of the character Ghost had built for you over the years. This felt downright intimate for just two operators to be doing.

Then again your shared situation wasn’t exactly one of professionalism at this point. You’d been improvising for nearly a full day just trying to stay alive. Once back on your feet, you take hold of his hand again, this time with a little less caution since you’d already touched him there, and begin pulling at the fingertips to slide his sand and dirt-cakes gloves off. Even seeing his bare skin under his gloves be seen in the dim lamplight of the house, Ghost doesn’t do more than flex his fingers once you’ve rid him of the stiff material.

Purposefully avoiding his mask, you get Ghost down to nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt, even with his help at certain parts without him growling more or acting like you were irritating him. While he still gave off a feeling of all-around grumpiness and more than a little confused as hell, you paid it no mind as you led him towards the edge of the bed and pointed to it with a short yet polite command for him to ’sit’. Right away you noticed his hesitation and the way that his shoulders and arms tensed, his attention solely on you, flashing between your eyes and mouth like he was trying to reassure himself that he’d heard you correctly. But with one small tug on his hand, he turns around and sits on the bed with his feet resting on the floor and his arms braced on both sides of him a little stiffly.

“Now what?” His voice held a bit of rasp to it as he tracked your movement from his side, seeing you climb up into the bed and position yourself on your knees behind him. The close proximity didn’t go unnoticed by the Lieutenant as he cleared his throat, once again interrupting the calm silence in the house. His tension filled the small space between you, heating the gap of air, almost electrifying it.

“Just relax Ghost.” Easily touching his shoulders, you begin working your palms flat against the slopes of his muscled neck.

Purposefully but gently rubbing at the stiff cords of muscle and introducing the sensation to him as easily as possible in the case that it was a bit too overwhelming for him all at once. You knew you’d pushed the boundaries with him much further past anything you’d expected to achieve in one night. But now that he was sitting here in front of you, it was hard not to smile brightly that he was trusting you so much. Allowing your hands to be on him. Accepting that you had positioned the both of you in a very vulnerable position that could lead to a lot more violent options than affectionate ones. Torture and nightmares had given more than a fair share to Ghost, yet he was patiently staving off his own clear hesitation so that you could play out whatever this was turning out to be.

Your command went unacknowledged just like all of Ghost’s from earlier had; His breathing steadily slowing down into a deep and rich, relaxed sort of rhythm. Power of your hands and calming attitude worked faster than you anticipated, leaving the massive man sitting between your thighs begin to release. Tension falling out of his body not only under your hands but by sight of his jaw loosening. You’re even lucky enough to spot him trying to take glances at you from the corner of his eye, only to look back ahead since you were in quite the blindspot. Taking your thumbs in a sweeping motion from the edges of his shoulders inward, you apply pressure on the back of his neck and experimentally reach higher up under the hem of his mask. A dangerous game to play. Rumbling sounds of appreciation filling your ears are better than any sort of medal you could earn or bet you’d ever cash in. His head rolls back slightly with each small circle of your thumbs and fingers, pushing against you. Silently asking for more pressure.

“Feel good?” You ask at just a whisper, not wanting to disturb the warm sort of feeling the room has right now by speaking too loud.

Under the safety of his mask, Ghost’s mouth curves into a smile hearing you. He rolls his head back again, arching slightly to accommodate your small hands struggling to find good purchase to keep working at the intensity he’d been hinting at. A much less controllable sound escapes his mouth when you begin working at a very sore spot he didn’t even know was present right at the base of his skull.

“Keep going,” His sleepy-sounding mutter makes your chest ache.

Grinning at the feeling of his harsh accent and sudden domestication you work away diligently down his back carefully and methodically so as to not miss a single thing. And while it’s not necessarily going to help him much, you go ahead and use your fingernails to gently scratch up and down. It’s then a groan interrupts your focus and you see Ghost shift on the edge of the bed. Believing you’d found the end of your time, you leaned back on your heels and expected him to get up and leave you in the bedroom alone. Watching him tug at his t-shirt and pull it over his head to toss it somewhere across the room was how you were told that Ghost did indeed want more. Only his shirt was getting in the way of something he wasn’t getting.

Hearing him give a deep sigh when your fingertips returned to his now bared skin gave you a rush of adrenaline and nearly caused you to wiggle happily that you’d been able to share this with Ghost. He leans back into you a little more, letting your hands and arms take more of the weight as he groans out;

“You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but not for a long time.” You answer, eyes smoothing over the muscles rippling as your hands work at them.

“You’re good,” He grunts, closing his eyes and zeroing in on how to focus his attention between your small hands working so efficiently and the conversation he’d begun. “How’d you get so good at it?” His head turns a little, trying to get at least one good look at you. He keeps shifting now, allowing him to keep you just in the edge of his periphery.

“Had a good teacher for a few years,” You answer, working in tight circles over a large ball of muscle fibers all collected just at the edge of his shoulder blade, earning another growling sound from the Lieutenant.

“Teacher? When?” He asks, giving a slow release of a deep breath giving a short indication that the muscle you’d been working to release was getting a bit uncomfortable. Pulling back for a moment just to give him and your hands a break, you hear him make a noise then lean back a little further, pressing his back against you almost like a dog wanting to be pet more.

“Don’t stop.” He requests in a husky tone. You chuckle aloud, returning your hands and taking a less aggressive approach by smoothing your palms over him in less-than-planned patterns, just enjoying feeling his tattooed and scarred skin under your hands as you think about how to answer him.

“A woman in London taught me,” you start, using your nails again on his skin softly. “In the year or so between my U.S. military discharge and acceptance into the task force with you.” You see the effect of your touch on Ghost as it takes him longer to respond and the way he keeps leaning more and more weight back into you, unable to keep himself from subconsciously trying to get closer. Wanting more whether he’d ever admit it or not. There’s no mistaking it between either of you, he’s enjoying this.

“I assume she was special to you.”

It was your neighbor just across the hallway from you. An older woman named Sarah. Eccentric in modern times, you’d always believed she must’ve been a force to be reckoned with when she wasn’t hindered by an aging body and an even more ailing mind. A massage therapist by trade, and a pianist by heart there wasn’t much that Sarah could accomplish without someone helping her once she became limited in movement living on the eighth floor of the apartment building you shared. Back then you didn’t have much in the way of contacts after leaving the country, and it led to a friendship with the old woman living across from you. Sharing stories, eating dinner together, grocery shopping together when she felt like going out, and trading some skills between each other. After telling Ghost this much with your fingers tracing out letters and shapes over his back, you can sense he’s listening carefully. And Ghost is feeling a slight fuzzy sensation building in the back of his brain, spreading out in a warm wave down to his fingertips and toes.

“She taught me massage since at the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life.” Your head falls to the side, examining how the lamplight shines on ghost and deepens the already significant definition in his physique.

Ghost falls against you even more, and this time he lets his head fall back against you. Trying to counterbalance his weight and keep both of you from falling backwards with just him limp he’s becoming, you wrap on arm around his neck and hold his head in the bend of your arm. He gives another sigh, and settles against you heavily. He. looks at you in silence out of the corner of his eye listening to your explanation.

“Why was she your only friend?” You can’t help but chuckle at his question, resting your chin on his opposite shoulder and bringing your other arm under his to begin scratching and rubbing at his chest, feeling deep and puckered scars littering nearly every inch of him.

“I didn’t know anyone else. And you know me well enough to know that I’m not exactly extroverted.” You smile, tracing lightly up and down his well-defined arm. Ghost couldn’t be more comfortable laid against you.

“Sorry to hear that.” His voice low and husky with his mouth so close to your ear. “She must call or ask about you…”

You shake your head. “No. She died just before I joined you all. Her mind was… failing her. And there was some kind of accident in the middle of the night The police told me she was likely trying to get to the bathroom and fell. She apparently died on impact… they didn’t say what, but I think her head hit something.” You explain quietly. “And you and I both know that means lights out. So she didn’t suffer.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he answers as softly as he can manage after hearing the darker part of your happy memories. “How did it become… intimate, like this?” He asks, nodding to the way you were leaned up against his back with your hand tracing over every inch of him that you could reach. The longer you’ve both let this go, the more boundaries get pushed further out of reach, making it hard for either of you to really know where it could end.

You smile with a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks, thankful you’re somewhat hidden out of sight. “This isn’t really what she taught me,” You mutter a bit quiet. “When i was massaging you… yes. That I got taught. But this, it’s… just me.”

Out of your sight Ghost’s face flushes slightly as well, his cheeks a warm rose-color. You’re touching him in a way that he’d never expected. But hearing that you’re not just doing it for… relaxation, it’s a heavy but welcome thought. And Ghost can’t help that his body reacts to it with chills raising all over his skin despite the house being perfectly warm. He lets out a deep breath focusing on your words, repeating him over just to ensure that you’re not saying it one way and him interpreting it differently due to your hands being all over him, making him feel so good. Mind racing, heart pounding, he truly realizes just how vulnerable he is under you at this moment.

“I can stop if you’d like?” You offer, preparing to move away from him.

“No,” His hoarse voice gives away his sudden dry mouth. No matter how much your touch is affecting his body, he’s not willing to stop you right now. You’ve crossed into a level of trust that he can’t think to make you abide by anymore. It’s a foreign feeling for him, but he wants to push through it. Hoping he can feel more of you if he just holds on a little longer to this.

“Don’t stop."

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated <3

[reasonsforhope]

"Samuel Onyango’s office at Kibera Primary School is serene and spacious. His table is neatly arranged, with an assortment of files and an array of books. One side of his cream-colored office is decked with aggregate performance scores, and another shows off several trophies in a glass cabinet. Last year, Onyango’s school performed a traditional dance and scooped third place in the National Drama and Film Festivals, where schools across the country competed for the top prize.

But today Onyango, the school’s principal, is bragging about something much more basic: Thanks to an innovative community program, his students and teachers are no longer getting sick from dirty water.

Onyango’s school, with a staff of 30 and a student body of about 1,700, is in Kibera, a neighborhood in the Kenyan capital of Nairobi that is widely known as Africa’s largest informal settlement. It is a community of houses made from mud or tin sheeting where residents have to hustle to meet even their most basic needs, like electricity or clean water.

It is also a community where creativity and innovation, at the heart of any hustle, are changing how some people can access clean water — and making major ripples in public health.

Onyango’s school has long gotten its water the same way many people in Kibera do: by buying it from independent suppliers, who truck water in and sell it for around $30 per 10,000 liters (about 2,650 gallons). But trucked water can be contaminated, despite suppliers’ promises, and Onyango’s students and staff were often using unclean water at home, too. It was common, he says, for both teachers and students to get sick and miss school because of waterborne illnesses.

Last November, Onyango’s school got connected to an aerial clean water system built by a local grassroots organization called SHOFCO, which stands for Shining Hope for Communities. “Once we got connected to SHOFCO’s water,” Onyango says, “cases of these ailments reduced to nil.”

SHOFCO’s water distribution system currently reaches about 40,000 people and distributes more than 3.7 million gallons of clean water per month.

Access to safe drinking water — and its equitable distribution — underpins public health. But for the estimated 250,000 people in Kibera, who live without any government infrastructure, clean water is often a luxury. Many people are using illegal water connections, which proliferate among the poor — there are nearly 130 in just three lesser-resourced Nairobi neighborhoods. But those DIY hookups can mix clean water with raw sewage, and Kenyan officials have recently warned of a looming public health crisis if water access is not prioritized.

Shifting weather patterns also increase the risk of waterborne illness, government officials say. The Ministry of Health and the Kenya Red Cross Society have called out severe flooding during the El Niño weather pattern as a source of a recent major cholera outbreak in parts of the country. Kibera was not spared this risk: The floods led to the contamination of various sources of water in the sprawling neighborhood.

But the aerial piping system SHOFCO built in 2012 — the one that brings water to Onyango’s school — saved some Kibera residents, quite literally. With collaboration from health and county authorities, SHOFCO has all but eliminated diarrheal disease in the communities that use its aerial piping system, according to Gladys Mwende, a program officer at SHOFCO. In the health facilities SHOFCO runs, the incidences of diarrheal infections have also gone down, she adds.

Pictured: People in Kibera’s Makina section pass by the signature blue pillars that hold up SHOFCO’s aerial water piping system. Visual: Sarah Waiswa/Harvard Public Health Magazine

“[Poor sanitation is the reason] that our water is aerial piped,” says Kennedy Odede, the founder and CEO of SHOFCO. Piping water in helps clean water maintain its integrity without interference from elements including tampering. In a huge community with no major infrastructure, piping seemed impossible — there was no money and no will to build a disruptive underground system connected to the city’s main water supply. Instead, Odede and his team put the pipes up in the air. “As somebody who grew up in Kibera, to see this clean water — which I have also drank — is powerful.”

SHOFCO’s water distribution system currently reaches about 40,000 people and distributes more than 3.7 million gallons of clean water per month — nearly 46 million gallons per year — at community water kiosks, which residents access with tokens linked to the mobile money platform M-Pesa. The water kiosks are pre-programmed to fill jerry cans that hold about five gallons at a cost of 3 Kenyan shillings, or about 23 U.S. cents.

A recent evaluation of SHOFCO’s clean water efforts, undertaken by the African Population and Health Research Center, shows diarrheal disease among children under age five have decreased by 31 percent where community members used SHOFCO water kiosks and received SHOFCO’s sanitation messaging.

“We don’t get as many cases of diarrhea even though now we are in the middle of the floods,” Mwende says. “Communities have not reported any outbreaks within the areas where we are working.”

Mohammed Suleiman is grateful for the change. Suleiman, 25, was born here, and it’s been his job for the last 18 years to fetch 135 gallons of water daily for his family’s personal needs and for their samosa business.

Two months ago, Sulieman contracted typhoid from the unsanitary water he was consuming. Once he recovered, he says, switching to SHOFCO water kiosks was a no-brainer.

“I don’t know where the other independent vendors get it from,” he says. But he trusts SHOFCO water. “Water sourced from SHOFCO is cleaner than that of other vendors,” he says. “I don’t have to treat water from [SHOFCO] kiosks before consuming it.”

And he’s the living proof: Since switching to SHOFCO water, Suleiman hasn’t been sick even once."

-via Undark, August 13, 2024

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Office Romance: Part Two

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: smut, fingering

Summary: Work is so much more fun when you're sneaking around with your boss.

PART ONE

Squares Filled: clothing: lace (2021) for @mcukinkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Should you be doing this? If anyone catches you, then you and Natasha could lose your jobs. She is very good at what she does and has often stated how much she loves it, so are you willing to risk all of that just because you have a major crush on her? Based on what happened in the elevator, it’s safe to assume she likes you too, otherwise, why would she stick her tongue down your throat?

Are you really going to do this? She asked you to come into work early today but you know it’s not going to be for work. Who knows what’s going to happen when you walk into her office, but are you prepared to deal with the consequences? Fuck it. If you’re going to do this, then you may as well do it properly.

You set your things by your desk and notice a light underneath Natasha’s office door. The rest of the office is dark since no one else is in so it’s just you and her. Her blinds are closed so the only indication that she’s in her office is the light underneath her door. You grab your makeup pouch and make sure you look presentable while fixing your shirt. You loosen two buttons to make your breasts pop, and you fix your hair to give it more volume.

Once ready, you walk over to her office and knock twice on the door.

“Come in,” she says.

You open her door and frown when you don’t see her at her desk. She is by the filing cabinets with her ass sticking out. She is bent over so she can put some files away in the bottom drawer. Motherfucker did this to you on purpose. Her skirt is already short enough so you’re able to see the lace underwear she is wearing just slightly peeking out.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Close the door.”

You do as you’re told and she straightens up before facing you. Her shirt also has the first few buttons undone so her breasts pop. Everything about this woman gets you going, it’s pathetic. Never has another woman made you feel things than this woman has, and she’s only kissed you. You’ve gotten home runs with other women but none of them compare to her.

“Thank you for coming in. Please, have a seat,” she gestures to the chairs on the other side of her desk.

You walk to the desk but you don’t sit down like she wants you to. You lean against the desk just in case you need to make a quick escape. It’s not like you want to, but you’d like the option just in case.

“How do you like my skirt? I got it yesterday,” she smirks.

“Yeah, it looks really good,” you nod nervously.

Natasha walks closer to you which makes your heart beat faster. She reaches out and touches the ends of your hair gently.

“Do I make you nervous?” You can only nod. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. You do want this, don’t you?” Of course, you do. You’ve wanted this since the first week you’ve started working here. Still, you can only nod in response. “Use your big girl words.”

Your mouth goes dry at her dominance.

“Yes, I want this.”

“I know exactly how to make you relax.”

She pins you to the desk and leans in to press her lips to your neck. She skips being gentle and starts nibbling on your skin with her bright red lips. She pulls the skin into her mouth as she sucks while running her hands down your freshly pressed dress. She grabs your hips and lifts you to sit on top of her desk. You tip your head back and moan quietly from the feeling of her on you.

“Relax,” she whispers into your ear.

She moves her lips to yours and kisses you passionately. You’re too distracted by her lips that you don’t feel her hands roam underneath your dress. She dips her hand between your legs and easily finds your clit which is throbbing with need. You gasp and try to pull back from her but she chases you to keep you at her mercy. Her thumb rubs your clit in hard fast circles, causing you to moan her name.

“Do you like this?”

“Yes, please… More.”

She pulls your panties to the side and runs two fingers up and down your slit, spreading as much wetness as she caner you.. 

“Already so wet for me.”

She kisses you again just as she slides her middle finger into your pussy. You grip the sides of the desk tightly and she smirks knowing how to make you break. She slides her index finger inside you alongside her other fingers before placing her thumb on your clit. That’s when you break and grab her hair tightly. You yank her head back gently and kiss her forcefully as if you have all the control here.

“Fuck, Natasha!” you gasp against her lips.

“You want to come?”

“Yes.”

“Say please,” she smirks.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “please!”

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

She curls her fingers and rubs the spot that kicks you over the edge. You tighten your legs around her hand as you spill over her fingers. She keeps them inside you to let you ride out your high before she pulls them out. She immediately puts her fingers in her mouth to taste you.

“How do I taste?” you ask.

“Fuck, so good.” She sinks to her knees to clean up your mess when you see the lights turn on in the office. People are just starting to come in which means your activities must come to an end. She chuckles and uses your knees to help her get up. “I guess we’ll have to finish this some other time.”

She walks over to her window to open it to filter the room with fresh air. Her hair is still in perfect place despite you yanking on it, her makeup isn’t ruined despite you two making out, and she looks like nothing happened to her. You, on the other hand, look and feel like a mess. Your hair must be tangled, your makeup is smudging, and your clothes are a bit wrinkled. How does she look this good afterward?

You quickly smooth down your hair and use the mirror in her office to fix your makeup. She grabs some files from her desk and hands them over to you.

“These files need to be digitized, please.”

“Sure,” you whisper.

She walks over to her desk and sits down as if she didn’t finger fuck you five minutes ago. You awkwardly walk out of her office and back to your desk. You’re not sure what to make of this because you’re still so turned on. You’d want nothing more than to go back into her office and take her but you have to be professional.

Wanda comes in and pauses next to your desk. You look fine but you know she has a keen sense of knowing when something is up with you. You’re so distracted by the feel of her lips on you and her fingers in you that you don’t feel Wanda bend down next to you.

“First your makeup, now this? You could have at least sprayed some perfume. You reek of sex.”

“Wanda!” you gasp and hit her arm.

She laughs and takes a seat at her desk which is across from you. Taking her words into consideration, you grab some perfume from your bag and spray it a few times on yourself.

“What would you do without me?”

“I don’t know,” you chuckle.

“So, how was it?” You shake your head because you don’t want to talk about the way you fucked your boss in front of your coworkers. Wanda looks at Natasha’s office and smirks. “Don’t look now but boss lady is watching you.”

You don’t have to look at her to feel her eyes on you. You straighten your back and smirk knowing you have her attention on you. This is going to make work a lot more interesting.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[toocabaret]

I’ve been having some Thoughts™️ about the weird meta paradox of gerri kellman’s sexuality. as basically The Older Woman on the executive floor she’s trying as much as is possible to blend in with her male colleagues while also not being perceived to be doing so. muted colours and understated makeup. a competent filing cabinet. her husband is dead and her daughters are nameless. she was sexual once but that’s out of sight out of mind and now it’s just the work. it must be a relief in some ways to become finally unfuckable because you’re over 40. she can finally be taken seriously, but only if she toes the line between being too female and not female enough. trying but not too hard. desirable in the past tense only. an honorary man but still in a skirt. and while the men around her can fuck their much younger assistants and get sports massages and run a sex trafficking ring on a cruise ship, she is the job and only the job and that keeps her safe. for a bit anyway.

the irony of gerri saving the company from the full legal extent of a sex scandal by dating someone from the DOJ??? like i’ll never be over it. even filing cabinets have to flatter and please and fuck when called upon. i genuinely don’t believe any of the other execs could have swung it because they’re not women. she dated laurie (generally unseen unless framed from another man’s possessive perspective) to save the men from going to jail for covering up rape allegations. the irony is delicious. and even though she did that, she’s discarded once she’s framed sexually. Dick Pic Gate was out of her control and yet when confronted with any element of gerri’s sexuality (even her PASSIVE sexuality, even after using it to save his company), logan dismisses her as weak or impractical or failing or whatever other excuse he uses to justify his disgust.

i would argue that roman’s interest in gerri is not in spite of but BECAUSE of her asexual framing. it’s a challenge that he’s never going to win which is ideal for his impotency issues; he can push and push and get the thrill out of it, out of the fucked up power dynamic, but he knows he’ll never have to actually fuck her. it’s all hypothetical: down a phone, through a door, half-joking, covered in sensible skirt suits. gerri’s deliberate lack of sexualizing is counterintuitively a turn-on for roman. and i bet the game of chicken they play is freeing for her too because the fact that she has to be professional and cannot be sensual is part of the fun of it. “roman is weird about gerri”. “it’s fucking disgusting”. not because of their family history, or their professional positions, but because she’s old. because the absence of her sexuality is enough of a presence to be off-putting. shiv patronising her about it as a power play is so weird because she’s talking to her simultaneously like a child and like an old woman, and gerri, agency-less, just has to keep reassuring her “i can cope”.

BUT it’s worse than that because it’s so meta. Because gerri is hot. her actor is attractive and like roman, many people watching find her sexless, no-nonsense framing to be titillating. me included. what if roman likes gerri not because of oedipal issues but just because she’s hot and god forbid we find a woman over 50 hot? but whether or not gerri is hot in the context of the show shouldn’t be a big deal, she should have been able to escape this by now!!! she’s in her 60s she’s a widow she’s tired stop sexualizing her!!! but don’t NOT sexualize her either because that’s problematic too and old women can be hot and old women shouldn’t have to be hot and suddenly i’m making gerri do what waystar does and exist as something sexual and non-sexual at the same time. she has a huge plotline in which she’s essentially a sex object. whether or not gerri is fuckable is talked about as much in the show with mildly-disgusted fascination as it is in the real world!!! she can’t win she’s hot she’s old she’s sexually framed she’s deliberately trying not to be she wants sex she doesn’t want sex she’s covering sex with sex and she’s telling roman to leave her alone so she can just do her damn job because she knows that this is what will bring her down!!! sex scandals historically don’t get men fired but an unsolicited dick pic knocks gerri off her podium in logan’s head forever. even now i’m talking about it at such length because i’ve given it so much thought!!! she’s the only woman in the old guard and she’s one of the most sexualized characters in succession. but only as a joke. in the abstract. never actually. because that would be weird. right?

[rigidind1]

Designing Your Dream Workspace: Finding the Best Office Furniture in Dubai

Office furniture plays a crucial role in creating a professional and comfortable work environment. In Dubai, where businesses of all sizes thrive, finding the right office furniture that meets both style and functionality requirements can be challenging. Fortunately, the city offers a vast selection of office furniture solutions that cater to various budgets and tastes.

From sleek and modern designs to traditional and elegant options, Dubai's office furniture in dubai stores offer a wide range of desks, chairs, cabinets, and storage solutions to meet the diverse needs of businesses. Whether you are looking for furniture for a small home office or a large corporate space, you can easily find options that fit your specific requirements.

Besides the aesthetic appeal, office furniture should be ergonomically designed to promote good posture and prevent discomfort or injuries. Dubai's office furniture stores offer a variety of ergonomic options, including chairs with adjustable height, back support, and armrests, to ensure maximum comfort for extended periods of work. Additionally, many stores provide customization options to tailor furniture to meet individual preferences and needs. Overall, investing in high-quality office furniture is essential for creating a conducive work environment that boosts productivity and enhances employee satisfaction.

[writeoffside]

DOCUMENTS AND DESTINIES  

♯ battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader - 1/?

summary: An unexpected visitor comes to your work to check out the history of his company, which leads you both to a tense search for the much needed files… Which is pretty tiring for you.

warnings: none - just swearing

info: english isn't my first language, i apologize in advance for all the mistakes (if there are any!)

a/n: working on part 2 now hihihi

The time went slowly when you were stuck in the office. The uncountable amount of times you've checked the clock is absurd. 

Papers are all over the table, every single document staring at you back. The highly reflective colored highlighters sitting at the side of your desk. Nearly at their lowest as they've been used so many times in the past few hours. The documents are full of names, places, words, numbers and other symbols. Some names are unknown to you, some familiar. 

A sigh escapes your lips, turning to the side to look at the clock on the other side of the room.

It was finally reaching the time you were mostly looking forward to. 

5:58, the clock read. 

"Thank god," you whispered out to yourself. Slowly gathering all the papers from your table and closing the work laptop in front of you. All the papers are quickly gathered on top of each other and put into a dark purple-colored folder. The color is slowly ripped around the edges of the folder as it has been in use for a very long time. A white — now dark pastel brown like color sticker is in the middle of it. The sticker is pulled at the edges,

but still stays on. Your name written on top of it, written with a dark blue pen. You don't have the heart to switch the folder with a new one. It holds too many memories. 

In a quick time, all of the things you've had on your table are safely packed and put inside your bag. All the documents are starting to overflow your folder, which ends up taking the whole space in your bag. You know well that your shoulder is going to be hurting pretty badly when you come back home with the bag draped over it. 

Your boss had barged inside your office just a few days ago with multiple folders on top of each other in his hands. When he dropped them all onto your table, it felt like the table itself would drop as well and break down just there. 

He started talking about how he needs the documents to be checked, corrected, and put out into mails, then returned... And more instructions were flying onto you from his mouth. Which you've totally ignored, but gave him a nod as you pretended to listen to his instructions. The amount of documents there could be counted into hundreds and hundreds.

Now, thankfully, you were about to just go home and enjoy your night by yourself!

Or so you have thought.

As you were about to move your chair back to the table and make your way out of your office, a knock sounded on your door. Which sounded completely different from the knock your boss' usually gives you on your office door.

With a deep sigh, you made your way towards the door and pushed it open. The person who was standing behind the door was someone that nobody in the entire building would expect.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

"Daniel's not here," you quickly muttered out the first thing that came to your mind. Mentally slapping yourself for such an answer. Of course, your boss wouldn't be there... In your office.

"I'm not here for Mr. Meyer... The receptionist told me that you are the only one in the building with the keys to the archive. Is that so?" He asked lowly and looked back to the hallway that he most likely came from. 

"Oh! Yeah... I am the only one with the keys," you chirped, backing away from the door and walking back into your office, "I was just about to go home, but thankfully, you caught me just at the right time!" You laughed your sentence off awkwardly. He remained silent and with no other expression. His stoic' expression remained unchanged.

You opened the drawers of the cabinet, which was near the table and fumbled with the drawer, which keep the keys safe. Finally opening it and pulling out the set of keys that could open the multiple doors of the archive. The keys rattled with a sound as you picked them up from the drawer. 

Then in just a moment, you closed the drawers, stood back straight, and looked over to Mr. Wayne, who was still standing outside of the office. Now fidgeting with his fingers, with his head hung low. He stood here, waiting, with no intention to move inside the office to retrieve the keys himself from you.

He was wearing a dark set of brown pants, which weren't skinny nor baggy. A white pastel-like blouse underneath a matching dark brown jacket with its front opened. The little cufflinks with 'W' could be seen on the cuffs of the blouse. His shoes were peeking out from the bottom of the pants. His dark hair was falling into his face and his pale white skin was showing off.

You shuffled back outside and closed the door of your office. Your belongings still inside as you'll have to take the keys back and lock them up back into the drawer after you come back from the archives.  

"Okay... We can go now, this way! Down the stairs and then to the archive doors," you told him as he looked up to meet your eyes. His expression still hasn't changed since he knocked on your door. 

Both of you made your way towards the staircase with no words uttered between each of you. The steps echoed around as both of you walked down. The sound of your heels hitting the stairs echoed down the staircase. 

"If I may ask, Mr. Wayne... Why do you need to go to the archives? Is there something wrong with the documents we've sent back to the Enterprises? We can—" You were quickly cut off by his husky voice.

"No. There's no problem with the documents we've received," his voice cut your rambling quickly, "I've found something else... In the older documents. What my father might still have stored down there, in your archives... I need to check them out for certain reasons," he informed you as you reached the end of the stairs and started walking through the long, hardly lit, hallway. 

The walk to the archives felt endless.

The sound of your heels hitting the tiled floor started to echo around the hallway once again. His walk was steady and his steps were long. The awkward silence felt like it grew with each step you both took. You had to walk even quicker than before, to catch up next to him. 

"Here it is," you told him as both of you stopped in front of locked doors with a black bold writing on it 'ARCHIVES' and a smaller text underneath which said; 'RESTRICTED AREA; NO ADMITTANCE - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' 

The keys jiggled as you looked through them to find the right one for the first door. The key had a little red cover on it with a little black bold number one, '1' written on it. Meaning that it's for the first door of the archives.

You unlocked the first door and turned to Mr. Wayne to let him in first. With a nod, he entered the room and walked deeper into the room. 

"Your father's documents are stored in the more 'locked up' side of the archives, the much more important side," you told him as you closed the door behind you. The room is filled with drawers, shelves and boxes full of important documents, the scent of old paper making its way to your nose.

You quickly make your way towards him, where he's standing by door with '2' written on it and some smaller text underneath it, which you don't care to read as you've been there multiple times before.

You unlock the door and let him in first again. Closing the door after the two of you. You look over as you see him stalk over to the next door at the end of the current archive room. 

God, this man has no patience.

"What's up with your father's documents, though? They've been checked, even multiple times and on different occasions... And your father, he used to—" You started rambling to him as you approached him but you were, once again, quickly cut off by him.

"I know. But I have to check something on them. For personal reasons and also to check up on our history, the Wayne Enterprises' history, with others... I know what I'm doing," he snaps back at you sternly, now looking straight at you, into your eyes. His brows furrowed. 

The tone that he spoke to you in, was no close to respectful, nor close to being polite. A scoff wanted to make its way out of your mouth, but you rather kept it shut. Your lips press into a thin line as you watch him look back at the door he waits for.

You unlocked the third door and let him in first again. He stops and looks over at you for a split of a moment and then he's turning his body away from you and heading inside, leaving you standing by the door alone. 

With another sigh, you make your way inside, closing the door after you. 

You made your way towards him, where he was standing. He was standing by the drawers with a big red 'W' written on the label, peeking from the side of the drawers. All of the drawers marked with red 'W' contained all the documents from the Wayne's. 

"You can... Um, check the documents you need. Just put them back into their place, where they were placed before," you told him as you watched him open the first set of archive drawers to check through them.

A few minutes went by, he put out about five files out onto a table next to him. He went through every single document and file, flipping through every page he came across. 

"Who's this?" He suddenly asked. His finger stopped at a certain part of the document he was reading at the moment. 

You stood up from the very much uncomfortable chair that you were sitting on. You made your way towards him and looked over to the documents that he was holding.

He lowered the documents to your height and his finger hovered above a certain name.

Scott Starkey.

His name was crossed out with a black marker. In every sentence, his name was mentioned.

You looked up to meet his eyes and then back down at the name, "He used to be close with your father. He worked hard to reach a position as your father had... Or at least one close to him. He was so ambitious and hungry for success as he, your father, had," you started telling him. Bruce's eyes stayed on you.

"His ambition to get to that position literally consumed him and morphed it all into one huge obsession. He fought against his own limitations. He didn't know when to stop... His friendship with your father started to tear, he couldn't understand why your father had achieved so much so effortlessly. His admiration turned into resentment, anger, and total hatred against him," you told him as you looked up to meet his furrowed expression. His stance was now noticeably different, he was standing straight as he listened to you.

"He dug so deep into your father's personal life. Scott started to spread your father's secrets and things about his personal life, your father's reputation wasn't going to end well for him, or anyone in the Wayne Enterprises if he would have continued," you sighed as you stopped for a moment.

"What happened to him?" Bruce suddenly rasped out into the silence with his question. He looked into your eyes and then down at the documents, which he was holding in his hands. A deep frown on his face after hearing thr backstory from you.

"I don't really know..." you mumbled out to him. Your mind going blank now. They never told anyone what had actually happened to him, he just left everything behind and never came back.

He completely disappeared.

Bruce hummed and closed the file quickly. The dust flew into the air. Floating around the two of you. The files haven't been opened for a long time now. 

A cough made its way out of you from the dust. You waved your hand around to get the dust away from your face.

Meanwhile, Bruce turned his body away and opened the next drawer, and took out the first file of documents, reading and listing through them. His brows were furrowed in concentration, eyes running over all the words, numbers, and symbols written on the paperwork.

You went back to sit in the chair you sat in moments prior. You didn't take your phone down there, so you've got no idea what the time currently is. But you know one thing and that is that you should have been home for at least an hour now. Not at work, sitting in the archives, on the most uncomfortable chair ever, and with the Bruce fucking Wayne.

You try to sit comfortably on it as you watch him go through another opened file, which is more of a yellowish color. Must be an older one than the other ones. 

As you watch him closely, you can feel your eyelids getting heavier. Your head slowly falls forward, hanging lowly. Your eyelids flutter shut and you can feel yourself drifting away into the darkness.

The sound of traffic and the rhythmic hum of a car wakes you up. 

You slowly come to your senses and open your eyes to see the road of Gotham City, full of traffic, in front of you. The rain is falling against the car.

The car. You're in a car. 

Your head quickly shoots up to look at your surroundings. You blink a few times as the very unknown and unfamiliar surroundings come into focus. 

You're seated in an unknown car in the passenger seat, with a seatbelt on. The interior of the car is black and looks way more luxurious than your car does. 

You look to the side and you finally see the driver of the car. 

Bruce Wayne is sitting at the driver's side, holding the steering wheel. His side profile is up to your eyes as you watch him from your seat. 

His eyes suddenly flicker to yours and you can see a slight hint of a smirk coming up on his face. And then it's quickly gone.

"You're awake," he says, his eyes returning to the road ahead. 

"Where... Where am I? I was at the archives. Where are my things?" you groggily ask as you push yourself away from the window that you were leaning against the moments before.

"Wait! The keys! I didn't put them back, didn't lock the doors! Oh my god, Daniel's gonna kill me!" The realization suddenly comes onto you and dawns slowly. You recall your last moments when you were at the archives; sitting in the chair, slowly falling asleep while he checked through the files. 

Bruce sighed softly at your rambling, "I locked all three doors. As well put the keys into their place and locked your office," you looked over to him once again as he talked, "your things are in the backseat, don't worry."

You slowly looked over to the backseat and saw your coat and your bag on the seat, with the dark purple folder peeking out. You smiled to yourself. 

Then the silence filled the car they were in for a brief moment.

"Thank you... For taking care of the things and taking me with you," you said to him after a few brief moments. 

You see him give you a small nod, his gaze never moving from the road and traffic ahead. His hands turn the wheel to the side as the car moves to the left. You recognize the street you're driving through.

"Wait— How'd you know where I live?" You ask him as you watch the buildings and cars go by through the window. 

"A friend of yours told me… Angus?" He answered, his eyes flickering to yours for a moment. His expression is much softer than back in the archives.

"Oh! Angus, yeah..." you sigh as you lean back into the seat, the tiredness creeping back onto you. 

You watch the buildings go by and then another turn comes. Then you see your apartment building just a few buildings away from where you're right now.

"This is me," you point out to the building you're nearly at. The building looks like any other ordinary building in Gotham.

Bruce nods as he slows the car down and parks near the curb, in front of your building entrance.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door of the car. Your feet meets the pavement and you stand up. Your body aching from the sleep.

You softly close the front door behind you and make your way toward the back door to get your things out. 

You're met with Bruce standing by the other side of the car, with your long coat and bag in his arms. He walks around the back of the car and hands you the items.

"Thank you," you utter to him softly, taking the items from his grasp, "for everything you've done for me today. Means a lot," you smile up at him.

You're so sure that you saw the corners of his mouth turn a bit upwards. A smile wanting to creep up onto his face. 

"No problem," he says after a long pause. He nods his head and leans against the back of his car, his arms folded over his chest, and closely watches you stand. 

His tone was steady but his eyes and posture said differently. His eyes held a hint of something even more. A very subtle, small smile coming up onto his face couldn't even be seen. 

An awkward silence took over your small conversation. 

You shuffled from side to side on your feet, looking down to the ground before meeting his eyes once again.

"So... Well, I should probably... I should probably head in," you say with a small smile to him, clutching your bag and coat to your chest.

"Oh, yeah... Of course!" He quickly replied with a shake of his head. As he pushed himself off the car.

You gave him another shy smile and turned yourself around to leave, walking up the stairs to the entrance of the apartment building. As you reached for the door, you looked back and lifted a hesitant hand to give an awkward wave to him.

Turning back and opening the door to the building. Your steps finally met the surface of the tiled floor of your apartment building's first floor.

You take a quick glance over your shoulder and catch your eyes with him once again. 

Then he lifts his hand as well, and a very hesitant wave comes back to you. A smile plastered on his face. His smile grows as he watches you disappear into the apartment building. A warm feeling spreading through his chest. 

With a final glance at the building, he walks around and gets back into his car. The childish smile not leaving his face at all. 

The whole ride back is quiet. But he can hear his heart beat so loudly inside of his chest. As he drives, he can only think of one certain thing. His mind is stuck. 

He only thinks of you.

PART TWO

bruce wayne fic is here! i'm so obsessed with battinson hahahah

give it some love if u liked it thank uu <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Office Space 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as 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 an assistant to private and corporate investigator, Nick Fowler, and find yourself brought into the fold of his shady professional life. 

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, this reader is known as Elfie.

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💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Another thick folder falls on your desk. You look up as Mr. Fowler strides without a word into his office. No explanation, no directive, as ever he's elusive but demanding. 

You sigh and push your mouse aside, bringing the folder in front of you. You open it up and find stacks of hand-written notes, receipts, and reports. You get the happy task of digitizing each one and sorting it into the electronic archive for investigation.  

Your boss closes himself into his office as you sit in the vacant silence of the small lobby. It's no walk-in location. PI work doesn't exactly operate that way. Corporate investigations are even less advertised. Fowler does more than find the corruption, he scrubs it when necessary. 

You expect the discretion of the work is why he hired you. You don't talk much. You do you work without question and clock out. Still, it doesn't keep you from after hours or early arrivals. He texts and you're where you need to be. 

You sort through the thick folder. Chronological or by type? Some don't have dates and what would you categorize a cocktail napkin as? You get up and haul it all into the copier room. It's the smallest room in the rented space, made tighter by the filing cabinets and the industrial printer. 

You unhook your laptop and bring it into the copier room. You put it on the narrow table and go to task. It's mindless work. You fall into the pattern of scanning, numbering, and cataloguing. The copier hums in the empty static. 

No music, no noise. Your request for white noise was declined without consideration. You accept without argument. Fowler isn't the type to entertain pushback. He's the boss. 

Whatever, you wouldn't trade the silence for the top ten on repeat at your previous retail gig. The people are enough to make you tolerate the isolation. Besides, it's a job, it's not meant to be fun.  

You get your kicks after work; a drink with your fellow corporate drones down at Retro's. Thinking of, it's been some time since you had a spicy margarita. You pause your work and go to retrieve your phone from your purse. As you find it hiding in the middle pocket, Fowler's door opens and he promptly marches over to stamp his mug down on your desk. Shoot. 

"Emergency?" He wonders as his blue eyes narrow at your grip on the phone. 

"No, sir, checking the time," you lie and drop the cell back in your purse and hide it in your drawer. "Coffee?" 

He doesn't answer, merely taps the brim and walks away. He leaves his office door open as he retreats. You give a tight smile to the empty office and snatch up the dark blue cup. 

You take it into the little room meant to be some sort of break space. You don't take breaks and neither does he. You approach the expensive nespresso machine and go through the motions. Cappucino. You've become a pseudo-barista since you started the job. 

The smell of coffee tempts you. You're permitted to have one of your own but you have to supply your own coffee and dairy. It's easier to hit the cafe on your way or pack a cup from home.  

You carry it out and tentatively approach Mr. Fowler's door. You peer inside and clear your throat. He sneers at his phone without acknowledging you. You near and place his cup on the marble coaster beside his apple mouse. 

"We have an extra mug?" He asks without looking up. 

"Yes, sir, I think--" 

"I don't need you to think, I need yes or no." 

"Yes," you swallow down his bluntness. As you least you never have to wonder what's on his mind. He'll tell you. 

"I'm in expecting someone in twenty minutes." 

That's it. You have the pieces, put it together. His visitor will require their own beverage. Lovely. A rare drop-in is hardly exciting, more stressful. If they're important enough to come in, they're important enough to be concerned. 

You go to find a second cup. You have your own, a red travel mug without a handle. You’ll leave the silicon lid in your drawer and give it a quick rinse.  

You wait behind your desk, the mug clean and sparkling beside the nespresso in anticipation. You’ll go back to your scanning once you have the visitor settled. You know Fowler wouldn’t want them walking into an empty desk. In the meantime, you sift through another case file on your screen. 

When the door opens, you pop up, overly alert. That’s not your usual state. This place makes you sleepy. You stand up to greet the man as he steps through. 

He’s tall, taller than Fowler, but slender. While his shoulders are broad, the rest of him is trim. His blonde hair is kept neatly and his blue eyes are crystalline where your boss’ are dark and stormy. This man is like sunshine compared to the usual grim cloud over this place. 

“Hello, uh, sir,” you smile, “you must be here to see Mr. Fowler.” 

“Yes, that’s me,” he says breezily, “Jonathan Pine.” 

“Okay, erm, I’ll let him know you’re here,” you round the desk, hitting your hip on the corner but hiding the pang it sends down your thigh, “uh, would you like a coffee?” 

“How kind to offer, but no, I’m more of a tea drinker,” he replies, “pardon, but I didn’t get your name.” 

“Elfie,” you utter instinctively, “er, excuse me, I’ll just go let Mr. Fowler--” 

You scurry to the office door and it opens before you can reach it. Mr. Fowler steps out and sends you a sardonic look. You wince and step back out of his way. He struts by and approaches Jonathan, Mr. Pine properly, with his hand out in offering. 

“Pine.” 

“Nick,” the man answers familiarly, “long time.” 

“Not long enough,” Fowler counters as they shake hands firmly. He’s a few inches shorter than Pine though hardly falters at the fact. “Elfie, coffee.” 

“She did offer,” Pine intones, “I politely declined. You know it isn’t my style.” 

“Mm, yes, I know your style too well,” Fowler rebuffs and lets him go, gesturing him through his office door. As he follows, he glances back at you and arches a brow. What did you do wrong this time?