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Equivalent Exchange (curse user! Nanami x sorcerer! Reader) SMUT, 18+, MDNI

Kento Nanami's defection was at one point amicable, until a string of very precise murders indicates your former classmate may have taken a turn. Maybe you can help him come back to himself. or....

Ao3 Obviously inspired by all the villain Nanami art esp (@yuutaguro and @ivoreene) this shit got wild ngl. So incredibly OOC its insane.

Content Warnings: ANGST, GUYS SO ANGSTY, lots of manipulation, this is NOT HEALTHY behavior, smoking, kissing, fingering, oral, degradation, slapping, spit, Nanami is being a freak, but you are matching that freak, let's call this deranged by consensual :).

Smoke curls in a paisley storm contained within the shaft of dim golden light emanating from the out of style lamp on the bedside table. A piece of wire had poked out from the lining of the seat cushion underneath you, poking itself into the tender meat of your thigh. The cigarette in between your fingers was nearly all ash, held together only due to your stillness, sloping downward toward the stained carpet below. It must have been ten minutes since you lit it, and you hadn’t moved an inch, not daring to break your gaze on the door. He was an hour and a half late, actually he was 96 minutes and 45 seconds late. 46, 47, 48, 49, 50. He was late the last time, too. Prior to-- everything-- he had been extremely punctual. He had been a lot of things. 

This morning he called out of the blue from a blocked number, his voice rough and betraying nothing of his condition; emotionally or physically. 

“Luna Hotel, under Helmer, 10 o’clock.” 

Your skin went cold, you choked out a small sound of acknowledgement, but before you could speak the line went dead. The line droned, tears stung your eyes; clouded vision and full ears gave you a moment of placelessness, your office, the school, this world dissolving around you. It was him, it was really happening. It had been so long since you had heard his voice, but you could have picked him out of a crowd of thousands if he were whispering.

 It was really happening, your throat tightened but you swallowed down the knot before it could choke you. With a deep breath the tears faded and you returned to your body within your small office at Jujutsu High. Finally setting the phone on its hook, the tone died, making the beating of your heart fill the space left in your ears. It was still early, you had an entire day of teaching to complete, and you couldn't let anyone-- even the most observant among your coworkers-- catch on. Twelve hours had passed in calculated normalcy, externally engaged as always; teaching your class, laughing with coworkers, but internally you had a singular thought. 

You were seeing Nanami tonight. 

Kento Nanami had defected from Jujutsu society eight years prior, following the previous defection of Suguru Geto and, more personally affecting, the death of his classmate and partner Yu Haibara. Initially it was an understood amicable defection, it was unusual but not unheard of for sorcerers to decide to follow other paths. Geto was, of course, an unfortunate exception. You had been able to keep in touch with Nanami as he attended a fast tracked university and got a job working as a finance specialist for businesses both in Japan and internationally. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t around at all anymore, he would attend group events every few months, stop by a birthday party or a night of drinking. But as the time since his leaving went on you saw less and less of him, work schedules and personal responsibilities making it rarer and rarer. Two years ago, he stopped calling completely, stopped responding to text messages and emails. You were beginning to wonder if you should do a wellness check at his office or see if you could find his address. 

That was until you found yourself in an all school meeting to discuss a recent string of murders. Shaking across the table from Satoru Gojo, Ieri Shoko, and the rest of the staff as Principle Yaga detailed how the victims were all cut with a surgeon's precision into various pieces, when Shoko was able to reassemble them the pattern emerged. The disassemblement occurred at a 7:3 ratio at Every. Single. Point. 

The pictures on the table were horrific, gory, visceral, but what brought bile to your throat was the thought of Nanami being the executioner. Your brain couldn't render the image of him killing a human person. You had seen him kill dozens of curses, seen his skill and finesse in real time, but you couldn’t piece that together with the images in front of you now. These men weren’t just killed, they were butchered. 

“What do we know about the victims?” Gojo asked. 

“Wealthy, mostly inherited wealth, all of them have ties to the same organized crime group that we have followed for some time.” Yaga explained, thankful for the chance to look somewhere else than the photographs on the table, “drugs, weapons, human trafficking, you name it.” 

Gojo shrugged and leaned back in his chair, “Nanamin always had an intense sense of justice.” 

He was right, you thought it too, and you were willing to be everyone else in the room thought the same. You still hadn’t spoken, your throat was dry and closed, your brain was too stuck on trying to piece together an image of the man you knew doing this. 

“He did. Vigilante or not…”Yaga continued, now unable to look anywhere but the pictures, “The higher ups have caught wind of this being a curse user, thankfully they don’t pay enough attention to techniques so they’re not exactly sure who is responsible.” 

Yaga stood and added a blurry photograph to the board. Nanami, you could just barely make out his features, his strong nose, his golden eyes. It must have been taken from a surveillance camera before the feed was wiped, he looked right at the camera, an expression of focus and hatred marred across his face. Your heart lurched at the sight of him so angry. No…not angry. Pained. 

“There are laws that prohibit sorcerers from intentionally taking human life. The unregulated use of jujutsu against civilians is cause enough to call for our response. Nevermind the…brutality. ”

Yours and every other pair of eyes in the room flicked to Gojo, he noticed, although he did not let on. You felt your cheeks burn, Nanami was Gojo’s friend, however reluctantly. Gojo had been closer with Geto than anyone else, and now he had been betrayed not once but twice.

“The sooner we…”Yaga’s words caught between his teeth, “react, the better. Reducing the liability of exposure and continued loss of life.”

The meaning he danced around began to set in. They wanted to kill Nanami. They wanted to send someone in this room out there to kill him. Gojo realized it too, starting to argue but his and the principal's voices began to fade, a ringing taking its place, and increasing in volume. Your skin began to go cold. The meeting continued around you, although as it turned to a fight no one seemed to notice your mental absence. You couldn’t let this happen, you wouldn't. 

That night you sent one last email to the last alleged work email of Nanami’s that you had been able to dig up. One that had been hiding his new company’s directory just waiting to be found by you. All it had taken was one call to their payroll department posing as the hysterical disgruntled wife possibly being cheated on by the project manager of Nanami’s team. You used an email of your own that you reserved primarily for spam, business sign ups and the like, one that didn’t have your name or any of your initials, one that no one would associate with you.  

Loyalty doesn’t expire. They’re looking. 

That was two months ago. Until his call today you didn’t know if the address was still active, if he had access to it, if he had ever seen it. But now, after a single call months later, you were in the Luna Hotel room 819 reserved under the name Helmer. Of course he chose that name, strange enough to stick out just the right amount, but anyone looking would find it as a fake, stolen from a famous play. They didn’t know how Nanami had gifted you a copy of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House when you were still in school. How he told you about his grandmother in Denmark who loved it too; how she took him to see it once, probably far too young, on a holiday to visit her. They wouldn’t know what it meant between the two of you. You still had the exact copy he gave you, you must have poured over those pages a hundred times since you had seen him last. That same copy currently sat at the bottom of the small go bag you had stashed under the bed…just in case.

It was approaching midnight, and he still hadn’t arrived. Exhilaration that had been keeping you upright was beginning to wane. The light flickered, your cigarette ash finally fell to the floor, you didn’t care about the carpet, you didn't care about the sleep pulling at your eyes, you didn’t care about the ache of the day settling into your stagnant bones. You were so close, you couldn’t turn back now. 

You felt him before the knock came. The breath vacated your body, his cursed energy filling your senses, tears rushed to your eyes but were quickly cast aside as his knuckles tapped against the door. You stood, but didn’t move to the door. A chime came from the door lock, followed by the whirring of mechanized deadbolt retracting. You fought away the urge to tense up as he entered the room. 

Tall, perhaps even taller than before, certainly wider. He must have put on forty pounds of sheer muscle since the last time you saw him, every inch of him seemed developed. Wide shoulders, sturdy, quiet legs. His hair was shorter, choppier than the neat styled fringe you had been used to. A severe undercut at the back of his neck showed where he had been cut in a healed pink scar. There were more scratches and scars than you expected. You didn’t know what you expected. But it wasn’t this, this wall of strength standing before you now, dark blazer buttoned, small impression on his back where you knew his blade was strapped to his back. Finally you were able to regain the composure to look at his eyes. Golden, honey brown locked right with yours. It could have been the flickering light, or your delirium but you thought you saw them crinkle slightly at the sight of you. Nanami let out an even breath, looking you over once, the door clicking shut behind him.  

“It’s really you.” His voice washed over you like a warm coastal wave. 

“It’s really you.” You echoed, taking in the face you once knew so well, the parts that were different, the parts that remained. 

He stared down at you, the same analytical look on his face, taking in every inch of the woman you had become. You were different than when he had left, you changed your hair-- although so had he, your body had lost its teenaged gawkiness and you stood with so much more confidence than you had before. You filled your clothes better, you were maybe even taller. But your expression looking at him, the shine in your eyes, the flush in your cheeks, it was exactly the same 

“Part of me expected this to be a trap.” He sighed out, unbuttoning his blazer and starting to slide it down his arms, turning away from you briefly. 

As he did, you caught sight of his wrapped knife in its holster. The white and black wrapping was now stained a deep crimson, without your encouragement your mind returned to those photographs on the conference room table. What he had done, and how. How skilled he really was with that blade. You closed your eyes briefly attempting to squeeze out the images. When you opened them you saw him studying you, a silent assessment taking place that you weren’t sure if you were passing. 

“No one else knows where you are?” He asked, voice even and deep. 

“No. I know how to be discreet.” You answered, a bit too quickly. 

“Did you drive?”

You shook your head, “I took the train, paid cash, got off two stops before the closest, walked the rest of the way.” 

“It’s dangerous to walk alone at night.” he chided, tone almost mocking you-- or maybe himself, “Your phone?”

“I turned it off before I left, removed the SIM card, you can check it if you like.” you offered, gesturing to your purse on the table next to him. 

Nanami’s eyebrows raised cautiously, deciding to call your bluff and reach inside. You didn't even flinch, you had nothing to hide, only something to prove. You were mesmerized by his every twitch, the way his hair moved with him now, how his eyes scanned over everything meticulously. Shadows of the Nanami you knew and the Nanami that was captured on those cameras merging together. He pulled your cell phone from your bag, seeing it was switched off, he checked the side for the SIM card and saw it was missing. A small smile itched the edges of his mouth. 

“Nanami I promise, you can trust me. I sent for you, I put my job, my life on the line just to be here.” You wished you didn't sound quite as pathetic as you did when you asked him to trust you. 

Nanami set your phone back in your purse and faced you, “That’s right, you did.”

His face remained pleasant as he took a seat in the same armchair you had occupied. He took up so much more space now, broad and wide, thick and sturdy, his thighs strained the fabric of his pants as he settled in front of you. 

“Take your shirt off.” 

You felt your chest heat up, inching toward your cheek by the millisecond, you shifted your weight. 

“Wh-what?”, you nearly laughed, taken aback,. 

“I need to see that you don't have a bug or a wire or something else.” He leaned back in the chair, one elbow propped up on the arm rest. 

“Kento, I-I wouldn't.” You wanted him to believe you, you wanted him to know that you would never turn him in or put him in danger like that. 

Nanami cocked his head, “You trust me too, right?” 

You nodded. He gestured for you to continue. 

You had changed after work into something neutral, something that would let you blend in and not be noticed as you snuck here. You unbutton your shirt slowly, hand trembling slightly before you swallow and get them back under your control. When you had undone the final button and opened the lapels, revealing your body clad in only your black bra and slid the rest of the shirt down your shoulders and onto the floor. You stood in front of him, feigning your own neutrality, however futile after your previous hesitation. 

“Turn” he instructed. And you did, slowly so he could see your sides and back clearly. 

Nanami gave a hum of approval as you turned away from him completely. You didn’t hear his approach but you felt his body heat as he moved behind you. 

“No weapons?” He spoke softly now, his breath hot against the back of your ear. 

You shook your head. 

“No…”He sounded pleased, “they wouldn’t send you to kill me, would they?” 

You felt his hand on your hip, just ghosting over the surface of your skin. You wanted to melt into him, to weep in his arms, to succumb to every fantasy you held privately in his absence, to berate him for leaving, to beg him to stay. But you stayed still and let his fingers on your flushing skin be enough for now. 

“You’ve always had a soft spot for me, huh?” His hand moved your chin to the side to meet his eyes, nearly black like the eyes of a shark, only a corona of his usual honey brown remaining. 

You nodded, your lips subconsciously reaching for his. 

“So who are they sending?”, His voice returned to the dark, unflappable tone from before.

“Yaga wants Gojo to do it.” the words left you before you even thought, whatever spell or curse or hypnosis you were under sucking the truth from you directly into his mouth.  

Nanami paused for a second, studying your face in his hand, “I’m flattered.” 

Nanami let you go, his eyes flicking down to your lips before truly letting you go. He moved back to the table and opened your cigarettes. You caught your breath and followed his arc with your eyes, unsure of whether you should redress or not. He took a dart from your pack and lit it between his lips quickly. 

“I thought you didn’t smoke anymore.” You noticed his practiced hold, the easy way he inhaled. 

“So did I.” He sighed, sitting back in the chair, “A lot of things I thought were true and proving to have been ....unreliable.” 

You stepped closer, just barely, “Nanami, what happened. I thought you were happy to be out, what was so awful to make you come back… like this?”

Nanami thought for a second, his brow furrowed, the deep elevens on his face that had been present since childhood now much deeper. He took another drag of the cigarette before answering. 

“You don't know these guys….their monsters. All of them.” He shook his head, eyes fixed on memories that were not visible to you, “They want only for themselves no matter the cost, they betray one another, they betray order and decency. And the things they expect from you to join their little ...club” he took another fevered drag, stopping the thought there, “And we, those who can actually do something about it, are forced to benevolently observe? I just don’t understand the point anymore.”

You approached him carefully, he was locked into his own head enough that he wasn’t watching you. 

“I won't protect some and not others. Not on the basis of the humanity of evil. Curse or Human, evil has no place. Not while sorcerers sacrifice themselves left and right while the real dangers are out of our jurisdiction” Whatever atrocity had been replaying in front of his eyes concluded and he finished what remained of the cigarette. 

Sorcerers, Ours, We 

You weren’t sure if he realized it himself, but he was still including himself amongst you. He considered himself a sorcerer even now, upholding the responsibility to protect those who cant protect themselves. You took the filter from him and discarded it on the table, feeling bold enough to reach over him to do so. Still topless you leaned into him on your return. 

“I think it’s noble what you did, Kento.” You confessed, “We shouldn’t have to sit by and do nothing when we can make a real difference. Not when you can.” 

You felt one of his big hands move over the back of your neck, hard enough to keep you in place but affectionately enough to not jar you. What do you have to be worried about? It’s Nanami, he would never hurt you. 

“That’s why you’re here, you want to help, right?” he nodded in time with you in response. 

“Anything Nanami, anything.” You dared to touch the side of his face, feeling his soft even skin. Even now, he was as perfect as he had been in your memories. 

He leaned into your touch, like a wild animal indulging in the first kind touch after unending isolation. He was beginning to believe you, in your devotion, in your loyalty, in your usefulness. 

“Anything?” He hummed at you, pulling your face even closer.  

“Yes.” You could feel his breath on your lips, you could see the freckles on his face, having multiplied in number since last you studied them. 

“Then you have to derail the plans for my execution.” He held you still, no longer inching toward your eager lips. 

You felt your eyes go wider than dinner plates. 

“Lose documentation, mix up data, get rid of photos, anything.” His tone was deadly serious, his grip tightened on your neck, his eyes bore into yours looking for any kind of hesitation, “No one has access to more information in that place than you. I know you can do this.”

Your heart swelled at his assurance, saiting your own fear as it rose inside of you. You looked into his kind, patient face and felt all the apprehension slip away. You finally feel secure enough to ask him the one thing you want the most. 

“Can’t I go with you?” You pleaded, wanting nothing more than to never be parted from him again. 

He shook his head slowly, cupping your face so sweetly., “It’s too dangerous. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you, honey.” 

You warm at the title he’s awarded you, his demonstration of care for you. Your joy soars exponentially when he pulls you into his lap, one arm around your waist, the other keeping your gaze locked with his. His thumb strokes your cheek and you feel your cheek whetted by an unannounced tear that has left you. 

“Kento…”You shudder, “why did you leave me. I would have gone with you, you never asked. I thought-- I thought we… had something. I thought you wanted me.” 

“Oh love, I did. I do. I lost myself after Yu, I had to leave, I couldn’t control my anger and I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I wasn’t a man worth loving, especially not by you.” 

“Kento…”

“But I’m here now. And I’m yours.” He looked at you with the same seriousness as when he gave you your instructions, “do this for me and I’m yours forever. Help me keep this world safe, keep you safe.” 

You felt another heavy hot tear spill onto your cheek, “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Kento. Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me again.” 

“Never again.”  He promised before pulling you in to kiss you. 

His kiss was worth every second you spent away from him. Every sleepless night wondering if your budding romance was gone completely or if you could ever know the warmth of his companionship again. He pulled you even closer to him, now seating you perfectly in his big, wide lap. His hand slid up your back, hot against your skin. His tongue slipped between your lips perfectly to explore the inside of your mouth, sliding against your own, tasting the smoke that lingered inside. You couldn’t help the moan that resounded from your throat, you were too overjoyed. You wanted to indulge in every taste, every sensation, every sound, every inch of this man. Your hands were all over his chest, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, feeling the change in the man you loved. He was the same, his heart, his mind, his bones were the man you always loved, but you relished in the feeling of new, taut muscle under your fingers.  

“I love you.” you confessed against his lips. 

“I love you.” He answered, pulling you in again for another deep, wet kiss.

He tangled his other hand in your hair, the other migrating from your face to grip your thigh draped across his lap. His grip on your leg was firm and sturdy, squeezing the muscle and flesh you had gained since your last encounter with him. 

“You’re a better kisser now.” You challenged, leaning your forehead against his.  

“You taught me well, I improved on your method.” He smiled up at you. 

It had been nearly a decade since the last, first, and only kiss you and Nanami had shared. A night of teenaged drunkenness in the dorm rooms and a fateful game of seven minutes in heaven leading to you and Nanami squeezed together in Gojo’s dorm closet. The darkness made Nanami bold enough to confide that he had never kissed anyone before, and you bold enough to jump at the chance to “teach him”, despite privately never kissing anyone yourself either. The timer had run out all too soon and Gojo pulled the curtain early, revealing a heated, albeit sloppy, makeout to your group of classmates. In your years schooling and working together you had never spoken about it, at least not so brazenly. Time and loss and reunion will bring anything to light. 

“I was lying. I hadn’t kissed anyone either. I just wanted to kiss you.” You simpered against his lips, feeling the hand on your leg move up closer to your ass. 

“You're kidding.” Nanami said flatly, kissing you again. 

Your cheeks heated, “You knew?” 

Nanami shrugged, smiling slyly, “Took a few other kisses before I pieced together that you had no idea what you were doing.”

You laughed out, feeling decade old embarrassment rise in you. 

“Hey,” He soothed, “Who do you think begged Haibara to suggest the game and pick us to go first.” 

You gawked, “You didn't.”

He nodded, “I did. Quite embarrassingly so. I don't think Gojo ever let a day go by that he didn't remind me of it.”

You were touched, elated, so devastated on behalf of the time you lost, but so grateful for the time you could have now. You pressed your lips together again, hands finding purchase in his hair, feeling the crop under your nails. He kissed you with a new fervor, remembering the growing romance he had abandoned, the way you had made him feel all those years ago. His hands moved up your back and found the clasp of your bra, with no words exchanged he undid the hooks and you moved your arms so he could slide the garment off of you. Once you were free you brought your hands to the button of his shirt, eyes closed and too entranced by the kiss to notice the spots of blood that stained the cream colored fabric. He pawed at the exposed skin of your back, down the dip of your spine, over your hips, and up once more to the back of your neck. He pulled back hard, separating your lips. 

“Let me see you.” He ordered, taking in your exposed chest. 

You whined at the loss of his lips, but relished in how closely he studied your body, your breasts, your stomach, your hardening nipples, everything he had longed to see before but was too guarded to ask of you. The hand didn't leave your neck, in fact it slithered around to the front, holding you in place on top of him. You had managed to undo his buttons, revealing his own chest, rippling and creamy in the amber light of the hotel room. You ground yourself down on his lap, desperate to feel his hardness underneath you. 

“No.” He tightened his grip around your throat, stilling you, “Be patient, I've waited years to have you like this, I won't be rushed.”

You nodded as best you could with your throat still in his grasp. 

“Be good.” He warns, bringing you back to his mouth, guided by your neck.

You wait for him to kiss you, wanting to demonstrate how good you can be for him. He leers at your obedience, before sliding his tongue across your lips. Not exactly a kiss, but you accept it so eagerly, the feeling of his spit wetting your lips, the anticipation whetting your desire. It's so possessive, so absurdly erotic it is nearly demeaning. But why should you care, it’s Nanami, your Nanami, you want to be possessed by him. Finally he kisses you again, your and his face both damp. His hand leaves your neck and slides down to grip one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between his finger and thumb, making you hiss.

“Sensitive.” He mumbles, pinching harder, pulling a whine from you. 

Heat is pooling in between your legs, you're certain he can feel the effect he is having on you, it would be dripping onto his thigh at this very moment if it weren't for the layers of fabric between your bodies. He grips your other breast, repeating the stimulation to your other nipple, once again relishing in the whines and whimpers you sing above him. You close your eyes and throw your head back, not seeing when he leans forward and latches his mouth to your unoccupied nipple, soothing the pain with soft, generous suckling. His other hand has curled itself around your hips and gripped unabashedly at your ass. Your hands returned to his hair, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. And feel him you did, his hardened length making itself unmistakable under you and Nanami rocked your hips forward, grinding you down on him. He let out choppy, moans into the flesh of your tit, his mouth full and muffled. You saw stars as the sensation of being ground down on his clothed length electrified your swollen clitoris. You had heard saucy gossip from classmates turned coworkers about Nanami “packing”, but you could feel their accuracy as he directed you to writhe against him.

“K-ken..ah!” You huffed out as the bulge pressed right against where you desired him the most. 

He filled his mouth with your other tit and pushed you further down on him, making you keen above him louder. He was so much stronger than you, you couldn't pry yourself off his lap if you had wanted to. Thankfully there was nothing in the world you wanted less. He carried on sucking, biting, circling your breast with his mouth, bringing you to writhing, whimpering putty in his hands. You felt as though you were melting above him. The heat between your bodies building, scrambling your brain into nothing but more..more….more. 

“Fine.” He growled, pulling away from your chest and picking you up to toss, truly toss, you onto the bed. 

The cheap mattress bounced under you as you struggled to sit up on your elbows, only to be met with a firm hand clapping down on your chest, pushing you onto your back once more. 

“Desperate slut can’t even wait for it.” Nanami glared down at you, fire behind his eyes you had never seen before. 

He shed his shirt completely, not shy to give you a show of the muscles and scars he had gained in your separation. Bruised fresh and barely healing splotched across his stomach and hips, what looked like amature, although clean and neat, stitching, keeping a cut on his back together. Your breath stayed heavy as you watched him undress, you didn’t dare move another inch. He removed his pants, groaning as his length that had been straining against the tailored fabric gained relief. Your mouth filling with hungry saliva as you watched him supine on the bed, how he selfishly palmed himself through the thin fabric of his boxers before finally turning his gaze back to you. Your heart caught in your chest at his stony gaze, the annoyed expression between his eyes, the way his jaw set itself as he appraised your position. 

“You said you’d be good. That you’d do anything to help me. And yet here you are on your back panting like a whore after ignoring the first instruction I gave you.” The bed sank as Nanami moved one knee onto the edge. 

You stayed silent and still as his hands undid the clasp of your pants, inching them down your legs at his own pace, noting how goosebumps appeared in the wake of his touch. He watched as you strained to stay still, only allowing your body to move as he moved it, only allowing yourself to be puppeteered out of your clothing by his hands. A sick pride filled his chest at the sight of your heaving chest, still shining wet from his mouth, your hair mussed by the bed sheets, eyes wide and watching him. Your panties were already sticking to your dripping pussy, the wetness seeping through the flimsy fabric and leaking onto your thighs. Nanami joined you on the bed completely, hovering over you, sliding his index finger up from your knee. He met your eyes again, a taunting tilt to his head. 

“Is this what you imagined?” Nanami’s breath ghosted over your lips. 

You weren’t sure how to respond, when you had first imagined what your first time with Nanami was going to be, you never imagined this set of circumstances. You imagined sharing firsts, learning the motions of expressing love physically, you imagined him making you feel wanted, just as you wanted him. Now he was a Wanted man, and you were jeopardizing everything by lying under him, by letting him touch you, by begging him to take you, to make you his. Your silence was answer enough for him, he traced your slit with his finger, it took every ounce of strength you had left to not shiver, to not whine and mewl and beg again. He noticed. 

“Good.” He once again leaned down to kiss you, his tongue quick to invade your mouth, to pull you back into his spell of thoughtless depravity. 

His finger slipped past the gusset of your panties, feeling the sopping origins of the liquid desire spilling onto the sheets. You couldn’t hide the shaky breath that escaped as he penetrated you. His fingers were long and knuckles, just the one seeming to fill more of you than a single digit ever should. He watched your eyebrows scrunch, your eyes flutter, and your mouth fall open. He can see the backs of your teeth, the big buds along the base of your tongue, he finds himself enveloped in the idea of prodding the back of your throat with the tip of his cock, with his fingers, with your fingers, he finds he has all kinds of strange fantasies these days. You clenching around his finger wakes him from his daze, and he's quick to supply you with another, feeling your spongy walls stretch around him, trying their hardest to accommodate his intrusion. 

“mmgph..”You whimpered, rolling your head to the side, not willing to look at him as he began pumping his fingers. 

Nanami looped his other arm around your head, bringing you up to kiss the column of your throat, feeling the muscles strain and flex in response to the pleasure he is so generous to give you. You tried to bury your face in his shoulder, but he held you down firmer. He added a third finger, curling them right against your g spot. You couldn't help but cry out. 

“Agh! Fuck…fuck.”

Nanami growled against your neck, keeping his pumping hand steady. The sloshing sound of your pussy drenching his hand and wrist fought to stay audible as your moans threatened to drown them out. You felt his teeth, first scratching, then biting into your neck. You weren’t going to last, you could feel the avalanche of pleasure bounding toward you, you were going to be lost, smothered, destroyed by the wave. Your body moved on its own, smacking at his chest before curling upward in an attempt to save yourself. The hand around your head pulled you down to the bed as he pumped harder. Fucking you gast on his fingers. 

“No. Take it.” He commanded, watching you struggle under his hold, fighting him, he dug his nails into your arm, “Take it.”

Your vision went white, blocking out the lamp light, the room itself, as you squeaked out in pleasure. Your abdomen shuddered, your legs kicked, you strained against him, panting and whining. He carried on through your orgasm, not letting up until he saw fat, hot tears spill from your eyes. He kept his fingers inside as you came down, watching as you reinhabited your body that for a moment belonged entirely to him. He waited for you to open your eyes, he had always been a patient man. When you finally looked up at him with your love drunk stare, he removed his fingers, privately relishing in the squelch.

“Open.” He ordered, and you obeyed. 

He filled your mouth with his fingers, the taste of your cum all encompassing. His mouth drops open as he watches you suck his fingers, he experiments with you; testing how far you’ll let him push, touching the gummy flesh at the back of your throat, mentally marking how little you gag. Good girl. 

He's so overcome with pride and love, or something close to it, that when he removes his fingers he is desperate himself to bring you into another deep kiss. He feels your body tremble against him, aftershocks racing through you, your hands grip at his body, begging for more, begging to be closer. Nanami can't help but groan as you touch his clothed cock, his tongue still touching yours, the taste of your orgasm and the sound of his pleasure shared between two open, waiting mouths. You trace his length through his boxers, his own hand comes over your own and guides you over the totality of him, tip to base, the warm balls underneath, the spot of wetness at the top where he has leaked despite himself. You look up at him, eagerly awaiting his instructions. He smiles down at you, almost sweetly. 

“Sweet girl.” He coos, seeing the joy bloom in your face, “You just want to be good, don't you?” 

You begin to nod but are cut off by a hard slap coming down on your cheek. No time to dwell on the sting before he grips your face, pursing your lips. The shock of the smack bounces up and down your spine before you realize the pulse throbbing between your legs once more. He squeezes his cock through your hand, letting you feel the same pulse in himself. 

“You’ll do anything for me, won't you?” Nanami’s keen eyes train on you once more, opening his mouth slightly inches above yours. 

You think he is going to kiss you again, but he squeezes your face more, your lips separating in a bizarre pout. He spits directly into your mouth. You’re quick to lap at his offering, savoring it briefly before swallowing it. You feel his cock jump against your hand, he groans at the wanton sight, he's beyond pleased, he is elated. Before you finish savoring the remnants of him in your mouth he has you on your back once again. He rids himself of his underwear out of your sight and positions himself between your legs. He lifts your hips up and holds you level with his pelvis, wrapping your legs around his hips. The shaft of his cock slides in between your lower lips, he coats himself in the melange of your previous orgasm’s release and the new wetness he has pulled from you. Deciding it isn't enough he spits again, this time on your twitching cunt. Nanami marvels at how beautiful he finds the sight of his spit on your body, you wet at his behest, at how beautiful you are under him, your eyes trained on him, waiting so patiently. With one perfect stroke he fills you totally, your hands grip helplessly at his forearms. You arch your back with a whine as you feel the girth of his cock split you open, he is quick to find a pace, his hungered hands taking their fill of your hips and thighs as he fucks himself further into you. His bruising, soldier’s grip nearing fractal pressure, you pull at his fingers, trying to ease his grip on you, offer your body some grace. But he grips tighter, thrusts deeper, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix, his heavy balls smacking against your ass. Your cries fill the room, as does the plap plap plap-ing of his hips hitting yours with devastating precision. 

“Kento…oh fuck…i-its too much, too much!” You writhe, pulling at his titanium strong fingers at your hips. 

“Too much?” He mocks, his hips not missing a beat, “Too much?” 

You sigh in relief when one of his hands leaves your hip, the bruised spots settling. You jolt as that same hand comes down hard on your clit, making you scream, “Nana--Agh!” 

He repeats the assault twice more, letting your screams fill the room before clapping the now slick soaked hand over your mouth. He thrusts himself completely inside, leering over you cruelly as you mewl at being overfilled.  

“Don’t yell my fucking name. What if someone heard you?” 

He’s so deep it feels like he could push out through your stomach, you are barely able to mutter out a small, “‘m sorry.”

It sounds so pathetic you’re almost grateful it's barely audible behind his hand. He keeps his hand over your mouth as he starts thrusting once again, not able to withstand the temptation of your walls hugging him so tightly, you’re so warm, you’re so wet, and you’re all his. He can have you all to himself, the thought alone almost makes him cum. But when he looks down at your fucked out, sweat and spit dampended face, he holds strong. He wants to give you this, he wants to give both of you this. Remind himself that even a murderer like him can find moments of bliss. So perfect, so ready to help him, so eager to prove yourself to please. If things were different he could see this being his eternity, loving you, being loved by you, a life together. But it was too late for that now, he couldn’t go back. He could never get that future back. 

Nanami releases your mouth, his hands instead moving your legs up and over his shoulders, angling his hips deep and deeper, folding your body into a nasty mating press.Your mouth falls open, he’s reaching points even deeper than before, you can hardly stand it, your hands claw at his shoulders. When you are finally able to see after this transition, you open your eyes to find him looking directly at you, gazing in your eyes, fucking himself into you at the sight before him. His body rocks yours, you move as he instructs, leading you from within to match his thrusts. Finally his resolve starts to crack. 

“F-fuck..” He gasps out, his face scrunching, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling from his forehead. 

You can feel him twitching inside of you, it’s as though he is swelling inside of you as he nears his end. You reach up to his hair, tugging, urging him to kiss you. He complies, connecting your lips and rutting into you wildly. The hot, fevered kiss is scored by his moans, gracing your ears, better than your most indulgent fantasies could conjure. For the moments before his climax, there was nothing but the two of you. His body shielding you from the rest of the room, his arms held your legs, the smell of your combined sex filled your nose, the sound of his body on yours, the grunts into your mouth, his sweat on your body, the taste of his tongue against yours. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. 

With a low howl Nanami spilled himself into you, driving his hips forward, pulling your hip up to meet his thrust. He thrusts once more, the pair of you grunting together. You can feel the twitch of rope after rope of hot cum filling you, painting you from the inside. He buries his head in your neck, not willing to let you out of your folded position. When he finally releases you it’s only for a second so he can move your legs from your ears. He pulls out briefly, moving onto his back, collecting his breath. You wiggle briefly, stretching sore, twisted muscles but don’t get too far before Nanami pulls you onto his chest. You press your lips to the junction of his neck and shoulder, his arms wrap around your back, his knuckles grazing your spine. 

The hum of the air conditioner, the buzzing of the bedside lamp, and the pattering of rain against the window fill the silence left behind by your moans. You could hear the drumming of his heart, the leveling back of its usual tempo. His hand stills on your back,

“There’s no one else in the world I can trust, you understand?” His voice is warm in his chest under your ear. 

You nod, “I know.” 

He tips your face up to look at him, “Stay with me tonight?” 

Your heart nearly bursts, “yes! Yes.”

He smiles and kisses you, holding your face, holding you to his chest. It wasn’t an hour or more before you had fallen asleep soundly on him, the weight of the day pulling you into sleep before you were ready. Before you fully succumbed to the sandman’s curse, you thought you heard the words I love you leave him. 

You didn’t feel the weight of the bed shift when he got up a few hours later. You didn’t hear him redress and gather his things. You didn’t hear him reach into your purse and pocket your SIM card. You didn’t hear the door click shut as he left before the sun was set in the sky. You woke up in the hotel bed alone, the indention on his pillow and the ache between your legs the only immediate evidence he had ever been there. Your throat tightened as you smelled the sheets next to you, the fabric just barely holding a trace of his scent. Immediately the phantom memories of his hands on your body, his assurances, his instructions flooded back to you. It wasn’t until you got up completely that you saw the finger shaped bruises on your hip and the note in his neat, familiar handwriting. 

I’ll be in touch. Forgive me. 

Your chest tightened, your eyes stung, but you swallowed down your emotion. You had a promise to keep.

NANAMI IM SORRY I KNOW YOURE NOT THIS MAN. I DONT KNOW WHY ANYONE WOULD SAY THAT ABOUT YOU. Well i hope you guys liked my freak shit! I also wrote about half of an epilogue to this last night that i think clears up some of the context and the tone. I'll post that in the next few days as well. Its mostly with Gojo. OKAY LOVE YOU GUYS THANK YOU FOR READING. --- Doodle <3

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #03)

FEB03: Mutual Pining

You’d enjoyed having dinner with John on your little shared balcony. He was every bit a gentleman, even if he was mostly joking around with you. He pulled out your chair, and he plated your dishes like a chef, serving you as if it was a real date. Part of you wished it was, but the other part of you felt guilty. 

You had a boyfriend, after all. It didn’t seem like you did, though. He was never around, and when he was, he always made an excuse to leave. He worked in a senator’s office, and was “stuck at work” more than any normal person would be. You knew you needed to break up with him, but you just hadn’t found the right moment. 

When you told John about your situation, he seemed to sober up a bit, obviously surprised since he’d never seen anyone around your place. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t come to Bethesda,” you confessed as you twirled the spaghetti noodles around your fork, watching as the pasta slipped through its sauce, “He says it would be too far from the office.”

“Never? It’s not that far,” John said, a little perturbed. 

“I didn’t think so, but it is what it is,” you shrugged, “Sometimes I wonder why we’re still pretending to be together when we’re clearly not.”

“Why are you, love?” He asked you, very forward. 

You looked up at him, surprised at his challenge. You didn’t have a good answer. 

The conversation moved to work and to family and to friends. You learned about his coworkers, and even though he was vague, you learned about some of the missions they’d been on. He would light up like a candle with smiles and laughter at some of the stories, but sometimes he’d become very serious and bottle himself up when he told you about the others. John was a complex man, but he craved simplicity. He wanted a world that was easy, and it made you wonder how much of his life had been hard.

In the week after you’d had dinner together, you and John were finding more and more reasons to be out on the balcony. He would smoke. You would water your plants. He would work on his laptop. You would read. Sometimes, he asked you to read to him. Those were your favorite moments. Then, one morning, you saw him through the window smoking as he usually did, but this time, he was completely shirtless.

You stared through the window like a hungry dog at a butcher’s shop, practically drooling at the meat on display. Goddamn he was gorgeous. As large as he looked in his clothes, he seemed even bigger out of them. His enormous, heavy muscles rippled beneath furry skin, and his shoulders and back were splattered with thousands of freckles. He was thick. There were abs, sure, but he was well-fed and powerful. His Adonis belt was round and heavy, cutting a deep v-shape that disappeared into his running shorts, and you imagined what those vanishing ruts would lead to.

Just when you let your mind wander a little too far, he walked over and knocked on your sliding glass door, scaring you half to death. You hoped he hadn’t seen you gawking at him. 

You slid it open and greeted him, 

“Hey, John, everything alright?”

He smiled, a bit embarrassed, 

“Ahh, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’ve bloody locked myself out. Thought I put the latch down, but it has a mind of its own.”

“Sure, come in. I actually have a spare for that unit. I’m telling you, it’s the ghost. I bet she flipped the latch on you,” you joked.

Then, John Price stepped into your small space, and you got an up-close view of those mountainous shoulders of his. He smelled like his cigars and the sun. It was the outside scent of the warmth that clung to his skin that drew you in. He was peering down at you, watching you step in front of him as you let him through. For a moment, you breathed the same breath together, and you were so close, if you just tilted your head… your mouths might just…

“You might be right, love,” he chuckled, pulling you from your stunned state, taking the key from your hand, “Two days ago, I could’ve sworn I turned off the bath water, but it was running, full-on, in the middle of the night.”

“Spooky!” You laughed in shock, trying to cover up your flustered, pink cheeks with a casual laugh.

“Damn right. Anyway, thanks for this,” he nodded at you and returned to the patio.  

Two days later, your washing machine went out, and you were borrowing his. The same song and dance kept happening between you. You’d slide in past the other, sharing that same charged breath, and then you’d laugh it off. 

This time, it was the basket of clothes that saved you. 

“C’mon in, love. Washer’s there. Opposite side of yours, I’d expect,” he pointed to the old machine. 

“Yep,” you nodded, tossing in the load of clothes, “Thanks for letting me use yours for now. The guy said he’d be here for repairs tomorrow.”

“No harm done. But, uh…” he paused, smiling knowingly, “Don’t forget these.”

You watched as he bent to pick up a particularly skimpy romper that you slept in recently. It was white and pale blue with little bows on the straps. He dropped it in the wash as it filled with water, and you thought you heard the faintest laugh under his breath. 

“Want to watch a bit of telly while you wait for them?” He invited you deeper into the house, “Could pour you some wine, or we could call out for Chinese?”

If you stayed here one more moment, you were going to try to kiss this man, and you had to do everything you could to stop yourself,

“Oh, I’ve got some work I’m doing. Thank you though. I’ll be back in a half-hour or so?” You backed out of the hallway like a crawfish, trying to escape.

“C’mon. Take a break for a bit. You work too hard…” he purred, sinking into his sofa and patting the seat next to him invitingly. 

You shrugged, push-over that you were, and relented,

“Sure, it can wait.” 

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No.”

“Just watching Top Gear. That alright?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting back gingerly in the sofa, feeling his body heat radiating along your left side. 

The show was playing, but you heard none of it. You couldn’t recall a single thing that happened. Something about men in cars? All you knew was how deeply your neighbor was breathing beside you. You knew the smell of his detergent, filling the air of his apartment, borrowed and blue, the suds of which were mingling into your clothes, making you smell as he smelled. How his sheets must smell. 

He was just sitting there, stock-still, but you could tell he was not watching the show either. He didn’t laugh when the audience laughed, he didn’t speed through commercials, and he was looking at you. It was subtle. He hadn’t even turned his head, but his eyes were on you, staring down your top. You’d just registered what you were wearing now, too late. You’d come over braless, in a tank top, those same hot pink almost-nothing shorts, and mismatched socks, scrunched at the ankles. 

Eons passed like this. The show kept playing, and you kept wanting, with every fiber in your being, to crawl over this man’s lap and crush your body to his, begging him to fuck you. It had been so long since anyone had even pretended to want to.

But, you didn’t move. You wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper, would it? Not while you were still in a relationship. Not while he was going to be your neighbor, perhaps permanently. So, you didn’t react.

You did, however, test his resolve. 

You uncrossed your legs and tucked them, criss-cross on the couch, spreading your thighs wide apart. You shifted as you did so, slyly pulling your top down just a little bit further, knowing your left strap had a nasty habit of falling off your shoulder. Like a charm, it did. 

You pretended not to notice, and you watched as he very much did. 

His hands spread wide and his palms ran flush across the denim of his jeans, down his legs, sweating, perhaps. His breathing quickened, and he now was very obviously staring down your shirt, his gaze pinned to your breasts. 

Suddenly brave, you looked up at him, and he didn’t shy away. He wasn’t ashamed. He simply met your eyes, took one of his fingers, and - as lightly as he could - dragged the strap back into place, swallowing hard against his enormous, scruffy Adam’s apple. 

You were still watching him, looking up into his face. You licked your lips, and his eyes went straight to them. You could almost taste his desire. 

Then, the buzz of the washing machine shocked you. It rang out through the whole house, and you rose to change it over. When you thought it was safe, you snuck a peek at the couch and its owner. He was still sitting there, but his hand had moved to his crotch, and he very clearly needed to readjust himself. Luckily, you were mostly out of his view, but you stored that mental image for later. 

“Hey,” you called out, “Can I borrow your bathroom?”

“Sure. Loo’s down the hall,” he called back.

You ducked into the small room and flipped on the light, staring at yourself in the mirror and reminding yourself that he was your neighbor, you had a boyfriend (no matter how absent), and you needed to get it together.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

[nandhini23]

The Heartbeat of Collaboration: Exploring the Role of Hospitality in Coworking Spaces

In the bustling landscape of modern work culture, coworking spaces in Chennai have emerged as dynamic hubs of productivity, collaboration, and innovation. Beyond merely providing desks and Wi-Fi, these spaces cultivate a sense of community and belonging among diverse professionals. Central to this ethos is the concept of hospitality, which plays a crucial role in shaping the coworking experience.

Hospitality in a coworking space transcends the traditional notions of customer service. It encompasses a holistic approach aimed at fostering a welcoming and supportive environment for all members. From the moment individuals step through the door, they should feel embraced by a culture of warmth and inclusivity.

One of the primary ways hospitality manifests in coworking spaces is through personalized interactions. Unlike conventional office settings, where interactions may be limited to colleagues within the same organization, coworking environments encourage connections across companies and industries. Community managers, often serving as the face of the space, play a pivotal role in facilitating these interactions. They greet members by name, inquire about their day, and proactively foster introductions between individuals with complementary skills or interests.

Moreover, hospitality extends to the physical layout and amenities of the coworking space in Mount Road. Comfortable furnishings, thoughtfully designed workspaces, and inviting communal areas contribute to a conducive atmosphere where individuals can focus, collaborate, or unwind as needed. Amenities such as complimentary refreshments, well-equipped meeting rooms, and networking events further enhance the sense of hospitality by catering to the diverse needs and preferences of members.

Beyond the tangible elements, hospitality in a coworking space is also characterized by a culture of generosity and reciprocity. Members are encouraged to share knowledge, resources, and opportunities, thereby enriching the collective experience. Whether through informal mentorship sessions, skill-sharing workshops, or collaborative projects, individuals have ample opportunities to contribute to and benefit from the community.

Importantly, hospitality in a coworking space extends beyond the confines of the physical location. It encompasses digital interactions and virtual communities, enabling remote members to feel equally valued and connected. Online platforms, such as forums and social media groups, facilitate ongoing communication, collaboration, and camaraderie among members regardless of their geographical location.

The significance of hospitality in a coworking space in Mount Road extends beyond mere convenience; it directly impacts individual well-being and professional success. Studies have shown that a sense of belonging and social support in the workplace is closely linked to job satisfaction, productivity, and overall happiness. By fostering a hospitable environment where members feel seen, heard, and supported, coworking spaces contribute to their holistic growth and fulfillment.

Furthermore, hospitality plays a crucial role in attracting and retaining members in an increasingly competitive market. In an era where remote work is on the rise, individuals seek more than just a place to work—they crave a sense of community and connection. By prioritizing hospitality, coworking spaces differentiate themselves as more than just shared office spaces; they become vibrant ecosystems where individuals thrive personally and professionally.

Conclusion:

Hospitality is not merely a nicety in a coworking space in Thousand Light; it is a fundamental ingredient that defines the essence of these dynamic environments. By embodying principles of warmth, inclusivity, and generosity, coworking spaces create a culture where individuals can flourish collectively and individually. In an ever-evolving landscape of work, the significance of hospitality in coworking spaces remains unwavering—a beacon of light guiding professionals towards greater collaboration, innovation, and fulfillment.

[kemregik]

a lesson about spacing

a winter storm has engulfed chicago. it's been 4 days of off-and-on ice, sleet, and snow. it's a cold early-december morning, and the clouds have not relented, but as the clock strikes 7 am on this friday, most people are content with just being at the end of their work week.

that morning, during rush hour, what had been a light breeze and snow dusting slowly progresses into a blizzard. alerts are sent, offices close, and children are picked back up from school. chicagoans are used to this, of course. the windy city didn't get this name for no reason, and though the howling sounds do not perturb them, many have recalled a shiver crawling up their spine at around 9:30 am.

the last thing many of these people saw on their televisions that morning before the power went out was the news telling them to stay indoors and not leave for any reason. it was too cold, they claimed, nobody could survive out there. had it not been for this, many might've seen the plumes of smoke rising at the edge of the horizon.

six flights failed to reach chicago that morning. from different parts of the country, carrying nearly a thousand passengers from all over the world. the sudden storm claimed all of them, every single one, and nobody in the city would be any the wiser.

it was monday morning before trucks with plows reached the suburbs, but most people were not in a celebratory mood. though power had been restored by the end of the day to 90% of the city, it seemed internet service would be a different story. nobody had so much as cell service. not the city's rich, not the local government, not anyone. calls wouldn't connect, text messages wouldn't send, searches wouldn't load. nobody could connect to anything or anyone.

marcus showed up to his job in san antonio on thursday to find his department a ghost town. he wasn't the social type, he often preferred working by himself, but being alone on his floor made him feel... strange. it was the voice of his boss that broke the silence, stepping in from the elevator hall. marcus remembered his face looking somber, like he had just lost everything.

the conference room marcus was shuffled into was full of equally depressed and shaky businessmen, all above his pay grade. he was shown to his seat, and a man standing at the front of the room began to speak. "as you all know, our IT department is gone." "gone? what do you mean gone?" asked marcus. his question was met with silence from everyone else in the room.

"they're... gone, marcus. funerals are being arranged."

he was in disbelief. an entire department, dozens of people, all dying suddenly? it was impossible, unthinkable. it made no sense whatsoever.

until he looked at the clock, perched high in a far corner.

9:28 am. thursday. december 8th.

his hands began to tremble. memories flooded back like a tidal wave, and marcus began to hyperventilate as he meticulously picked apart every interaction he had with every one of his coworkers the previous week. his body began to shut down, spots began to dance on the walls, and as he felt himself succumb to the feint feeling in his head, he realized his worst nightmare had come to pass. "last weekend was mff."

[epkcoworking23]

shared workspace thousand light

Are you in search of a shared office in Chennai? EPK Experts specializes in helping you find the best coworking space options in Chennai, including private, virtual, customized offices.

[yanderenightmare]

Pro-hero BAKUGO with his own agency obsessing over his new sweet perfect little assistant, just needing to have her all to himself, the JELAOUSY

yandere boss ! BAKUGO KATSUKI x assistent

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, misogyny, obsession, dubcon/noncon, profanity, this got looong, Kirishima is such a jock, abuse of power, not that much jealousy per se, but Bakugo being protective and obsessive and horny af, uhm slight mommy kink kinda

WANTS & NEEDS

Bakugo stormed towards the elevator.

Not letting the sliding doors of the entrance to his agency slow him down. Making a dedicated beeline towards his office on the sky-floor.

Anyone else would have thought he was grumpy as per usual, therefor keeping their distance. But like always, it didn't stop Kirishima.

"I don't want another wide-eyed snivelling slutty ditzy assistant, Shitty-hair." The explosion-hero grumbled in the elevator.

Still visibly pissed off that he wasn't allowed to simply explode his way to the top where he was reduced to wasting a whole two minutes standing still. Forced to listen to the makeshift red-head's yapping whining on about what he can and can't do, what he must and mustn't, what he needs and needn't, what's best of him and what's best for him. With a thousand means to no end.

"Give her a try-" The red-head pushed in a drawl.

Having only barely lost any of the enthusiasm he started off with when they were on the first floor.

"I heard she’s supposed to be great!" He beamed.

His teeth shiny like razors in his mouth.

"And pretty."

Bakugo didn't even bother giving him a glance. Rolling his eyes beneath his eyelids. The toothy smile of his friend and coworker too bright an annoying light to face in the morning.

"I don't understand why you bother..." He sighed.

The ash-blonde allowed himself to calm down, knowing it was about another minute left in the tight space, and how no one else could hear his crude words, nor the insecurity hidden in them.

"If it’s a lady she’s gonna be too sensitive anyway." He mumbled.

He always sent them crying. This one would be no different.

"One; you’re the one who’s too insensitive." Kirishima stated, having his finger raised, another bony-knuckled digit following, marking his additional argument. "And two; that’s wicked misogynistic, Bakugo."

"It’s been true so far." The ash-blonde grumped.

"Yeah, but please don't say that shit in front of anyone but me, yeah?" He urged. "At least not when we reach the top floor."

Katsuki turned to look at him for the first time that morning.

"What's on the top floor?"

He did not look amused.

Kirishima twirled his fingers innocently, mouth parting dumbly as he slowly began answering the question in demand.

"Well... I might have gone and taken the liberty of hiring you a new assistant-"

"Fucking dammit, Kiri, I told you! I don't want a new assistant!" The pro-hero groaned, whining like a child only with the growl of a man, trying to keep his breath calm while carding his fingers through his hair, yanking on it, feeling the need to rip it from his scalp to hold himself back from punching the apologetic smile off of Kirishima's face.

"Man, you need one!" The red-head defended with a breezy laugh, seemingly dusting his friend's rage off like it was nothing.

Katsuki only grunted in return, shaking his head, sighing. Giving Kirishima the cold-shoulder. Knowing that if he opened his mouth to say anything now, it would be far from pretty.

He instead opted for reducing his anger to mere growling and brooding for the remaining minute stuck beside the pest that was his bothersome friend.

"You'll love her." The sturdy-hero insisted, putting his fists to his hips while puffing up his chest, chin raised in a way that told Bakugo he couldn't be told otherwise.

The brute huffed as he folded his arms back over his chest, wordlessly disagreeing. Looking up with glaring alarm-red eyes to the lit numbers above the door while tapping his combat-boot-wearing foot loudly against the floor, frustrated with how Kirishima stood beside him optimistically drumming his fingers on his thigh to the beat of the brain-rotting elevator-music, yet slightly uplifted to see he was closer to being allowed to lock himself away in his office and stay there unbothered by the likes of pesky meddling friends and dumb fragile assistants.

.

She stood there, awkwardly awaiting her new boss where the bare-chested hero had left her to go receive him.

Kirishima was nice. A type of friendly she knew she shouldn't be expecting from the explosion-hero.

Which is why her palms were sweating so embarrassingly much, making her wipe them down her skirt, also in an effort to straighten it, where the ding of the elevator only aided in making her heart skip along faster, looking down to see if her blouse was still perfectly situated.

She swallowed her anxiety as the two men neared her, trying to wipe her face free of timidity, knowing how such fragility would not survive here, in Pro-hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight's Agency.

She decided she would be the one to initiate the handshake, wanting to make a strong first impression, the intent almost leading to her leaping forward into the man.

"Hie! I'm-"

But her offered hand was disregarded before she could do as much as finish her introduction.

Without giving her so much as a glance, the tall muscular male didn't even slow down, but continued to walk straight past her, leaving her only one curt cruel comment.

"Listen, kid, I don't need another snivelling crybaby getting tears in my coffee. Don't bother unpacking." He grouched, cutting her off, trying to stomp off in direction of his office, yet stopped by the other male who had his mouth gaping in disbelief at his charmless friend.

"He doesn't mean that." Kirishima rushed to assure. "He really needs you-" He tried defending, but apparently it wasn't needed.

She was ambitious to prove she could handle herself.

"I'll be sure to put a lid on the cup, sir." She made her voice sound cool and unbothered, face relaxing nonchalantly though still with a small soft smile to compliment her pretty face.

Bakugo gaze went from glaring at the red-head to offering the snippy thing a side-look.

Kirishima looked stunned for a moment too before giving a loud grin, eyes glinting.

"See? She can handle you!" He nearly shouted, enthusiastically giving Bakugou a punch to his shoulder. "Come with me! I'll help you settle in."

The man placed a massive gravely hand to the small of her back, guiding her, taking her box from her without asking in order to carry it for her.

She would tell him she could manage on her own, but she'd already come to terms with his slightly domineering acts of manliness and opted for simply smiling in gratitude instead of going full feminist on his out-dated acts of chivalry. It was only her first day after all.

"You'll be primarily Bakugo's assistant and receptionist-" The muscular male started explaining, taking large steps she struggled to parallel as he ushered her forward. "But, to be completely honest with you, you'll probably have to be a bit of a babysitter and maid as well..."

The ash-blonde gave a sigh as he stalked on, leaving Kirishima to take care of the new office pretty addition, not happy with how his friend was describing him, yet not bothered enough to stop him.

"He's very needy, lazy in a sense, he can't be bothered with fixing his calendar and getting his coffee, addressing the public and that sorta thing, so you'll take care of it for him." The sturdy-hero continued informing as he walked her to the glass desk placed lonely outside Bakugo's transparent office.

"Of course-" She nodded her head, listening and agreeing. "I'm here to make his life easier."

"Exactly!" Kirishima said with a smile. "I knew you were perfect!"

Bakugo shook his head with little thrill.

Kirishima said that about every assistant he'd gone and hired on his behalf.

He looked at her before closing the door to his office, analysing what he saw with an uninterested face, taking in her straight posture, standing there like a doll with her knees together, hands folded over her lap, nodding her head pliantly to Kirishima's every word.

He allowed for his scarlet-eyes to judge.

Mundane pencil-skirt, tight-fitted yet appropriate, reaching just beneath her knees, showing off calves but nothing more as her boots hid her ankles. It was the first time he'd seen a woman in an office without stilettos or any other annoyingly loud power-heel on. Her blouse was modest too, no see-through fabric, no bright pop colour, no cleavage, just boring rose-beige reaching up beneath a set of pretty collarbones and an un-necklaced throat.

Pretty in a plain sort of way.

If she was wearing makeup, it couldn't have been much. But her lips had a certain shine to them. Not much colour sept for natural, but glossy in a way making them look pillowy and soft.

He made a note of how she wasn't dressed like a slut, how she looked nothing like those other assistants that came before her, who curled their hair to crispy meanders bouncing as they fake-laughed, with pink manicured nails curling around Kirishima's bulging biceps as he flirted with them.

Fucking disgusting.

He's pretty sure the red-head had banged about every bratty bitchy lazy assistant he's had, knowing how the toothy moron has it as some type of wager with himself, a goal to make each dumb pretty-girl even dumber on his dick.

This one looked sweet though.

Not at all like some brain-dead plastic bimbo hoping to be swept up by a sugar-daddy, or a power-hungry manipulative bitch looking for fame and publicity.

This one simply looked happy to be there.

No ulterior motives sept to do her job.

He nearly felt bad for her, knowing how his dumb-as-a-rock friend was going to abuse his popularity yet again and play her like a football match; first base, second base, third base, and home run, only to then kick her to the curb. Leave her as a crazy ex-girlfriend, bitter and sour with a thirst for vengeance, or a brokenhearted mess, whiny and snotty with mascara streaming down her face, ending up just a complete ghost in a shell, featherbrained and simply useless. Making him do the dirty work of firing a poor snivelling mess only because his stupid friend couldn't control his sadistic carnal urges.

Bakugo sighed.

With just one more glance, he clicked his tongue and huffed, closing his door with a mumble.

"She'll be gone before the week's up."

.

First day went by without speaking to the boss, but she was adamant on making a change the day after.

Realising she couldn't expect him to meet her halfway, she recognised how he needed her to do most of the talking and approaching all on her own.

So, she ran her hands through her hair a couple more times like a comb, straightened her skirt and fixed her blouse, cradled her tablet in her arm for quick easy note-taking and pulled her bag onto the other shoulder.

Holding the boss' coffee in one hand, she took a deep breath and knocked on his door with the other.

He made a grunt, which could have just as easily meant go away instead of enter, but she decided on the latter.

"Good morning, sir."

She trotted inside the spacious office, allowing for just one brief moment to take in the breath-robbing panoramic-view of the entire skyline of Tokyo city shown through his curtain-windows. Refraining from gulping at the vastness of it all as she placed his cup down on the clear glass of his desk.

"Coffee, snack, newspaper, agenda for the day." She listed, placing each item down neatly on his desk, having organised and printed out his schedule the day prior in order to come in prepared.

Feeling slightly like she was baby-sitting. Rethinking the snack, as it might have been a touch too much, giving he was a grown man and not a toddler. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling he'd either skimmed or hadn't gotten his full-amount of breakfast in the morning. Her sixth-sense telling her he needed it.

The man didn't look up, busy studying his gauntlet, visibly struggling with cleaning out the insides of his gloves, however taking a second to reach towards the newspaper, face scrunched in concentration and mild frustration.

She'd picked up the inkling feeling that he preferred the paper-version news above the electronic kind. Something that seemed to prove as true, as he wordlessly started flipping the pages.

Understanding she wouldn't be getting much more of a reply, she continued explaining the agenda.

"Pro-hero Deku filed to have your ten o'clock meeting moved down to twelve. He's awaiting our reply."

Short, sweet and impersonal is what she'd decided the best tactic when speaking to her new boss, leaving all pleasant but unnecessary chit-chat in the dust.

"Tell him to fuck off." He mumbled, still not looking up, however apparently listening.

Where which she, without much hesitance, replied.

"Sure thing, I'll proceed to tell the number-one-hero to fuck off." She repeated, scribbling down the note on her tablet. "I'm sure he'll understand the meeting will be held at ten like originally scheduled, and no later."

At least she doesn't cry over curse-words. Bakugo thought, pretending to read with an unfazed expression on his face.

She brought him a snack? That's kind of weird. No other assistant had ever done that... but he was hungry.

Strange she knows how he prefers things in a physical form, both the newspaper and the schedule printed out instead of e-mailed to him.

Kirishima had probably shared the knowledge.

He reached for the coffee, making a note how it wasn't poured in some flimsy plastic or paper cup, but a glass mug, just the way he likes it.

Her and Kirishima must have been talking about him for a real long good while for her to know all this about him. Or, maybe it was just all on her whim.

That seemed unlikely.

But still, even with Kirishima's guidance, it was impressive how everything had gone strangely perfect so far.

He put the cup to his lips, taking a sip.

What the.... hell?

The coffee tasted different. Good, but different.

But... really good.

"The HPSC has filed for a call at two-" She continued, not noticing the puzzlement hidden beneath his gruff expression, too occupied with quietly studying his fairly barren office, noting how it was just his desk and a bookshelf and an absurd amount of empty space. "But I believe I can handle the meeting on my own where we're most likely to discuss your public face." She offered, getting a feeling he didn't enjoy discussing trivial maters on call with a room full of suits. "I could tell them to fuck off as well, but I suggest we offer something that'll ease their worries."

Bakugo scoffed.

"Who the fuck knows what they want? Nothing's ever enough for those asshats."

He nearly chugged the rest of the coffee after his statement, setting the cup down with a bang on the glass table-top, going back to tweaking at the gauntlet leaking oil all over his desk.

She noticed the mess. Dirty clean-wipes scattered everywhere as though he were sick, but clearly made dirty by grease, crumpled and tossed aside when no longer useful.

Cringing, she decided to walk about and pick up after him while speaking, feeling awkward simply standing there.

"I could tell them that you're willing to colab more with pro-hero Deku."

He made a sound, but she decided to push on, dumping a sum of a dozen clean-wipes into the trashcan beside his desk.

"Unlike you, the public adores him. And lucky for you, he seems to adore you." She explained, fishing a new container of clean-wipes form her bag, placing it on his desk. "I would think giving the media a piece of your upbringing as childhood friends to rivals to coworkers will be an easy way of giving your likability a boost."

He scoffed, reaching for the fresh wipes she'd placed down in front of him, pulling out a handful to rub away the sweat of his quirk smeared on the insides and clogging up the mechanism of his gauntlet.

"Deku'd get a real fucking hard-on if I ever agreed to some pussy-shit like that."

She didn't pay his swears any mind.

"It's just a thought. Perhaps something you can bring up at your ten o'clock meeting if you change your mind on the matter." She professionally dismissed his unprofessional choice of words. "I'll think of other less crucial options that you might favor until then."

She made some more notes on her pad before continuing.

"Other than that, Red Riot wished to relay a message: he's taking the one to five patrol, and requested you take the morning. I have already made arrangements for another hero to take on the patrol between nine and one where you'll be caught in your meeting with pro-hero Deku. I can do further arrangements to clear up your entire day if you wish to prepare-"

"Nah, I'll do it." He cut her off, standing up and stretching with a yawn. "Anything else people need from me today?"

He grabbed the snack, ripping loose the paper before stuffing his face.

She watched the crumbs fall to the floor and made a mental reminder to vacuum while he was out.

"Not at this moment, but I'll be sure to let you know-"

"Fine. Leave." Mouth full as he ordered, giving a half-hearted swat of his hand in the direction of the door, shooing her off as though she were a bug buzzing about him.

She didn't take offence, rather finding her first day going off to quite the good start seeing how he hadn't yelled at her yet.

"I'll see you at nine, sir."

She turned, walking off just the way she came, opening and closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Bakugo watched her go.

That wasn't terrible.

.

"Fuck's this?" Was the first thing the boss said as soon as he walked into his office.

Back from his patrol, pointing a straight finger to the steaming cup on his desk while she was busy organising the documents stuffed hap-hazardously into the bookshelf, fixing the scotch bottles and glasses that laid hidden behind trash and other documents, fan mail and gifts she'd taken the liberty of opening, most of them written and drawn by little kids.

Looking back over her shoulder, she answered.

"Tea."

Refraining from turning around completely to acknowledge him, otherwise busy dusting the shelves.

"I ain't ask for tea." He grumbled, ridding his arms of his already dirty gauntlets on the table she'd just finished rubbing clean.

Where regardless of the unholy sight, she didn't let herself fret.

"Your nerves are static, tea will smooth them over before Pro-hero Deku arrives." She explained, finishing up with the bookshelf, turning around, taking in the muddled look on his face. "You needn't drink it, I just thought I'd give you the option of..."

She wanted to find a better word for it, but figured the straightforward boss probably favoured straightforwardness.

"A sound mind."

She picked her bag from the floor, and started heading out.

"Drink, if you wish, I'll go see to it that the conference room is-"

"What's this for?"

She stopped at his additional interruption, looking back to see him lifting the suit she'd picked from the dresser beneath the bookshelf, dusted free of rubble and other dirt, ironed to perfection by herself just half an hour before he arrived.

"The suit?"

She tilted her head to the side, looking puzzled.

"Well... it's a business meeting."

She looked him up and down, smog coating his otherwise tan sand-coloured skin, some small cuts still bleeding red.

Her brows furrowed.

"You weren't planning on going like this, were you?"

Her finger pointed at him, bobbing at his hero get-up, trashed and tethered and in no way presentable.

"I ain't dressing up for Deku." He spit the name, and she sighed and rolled her eyes at him.

"Think of it this way."

She threw her hands up in a wordless request for him to hear her out.

"One picture."

She looked him in the eye, needing to make sure he was listening, even though he'd hadn't proved himself to be one that doesn't pay attention.

"One lousy picture on Pro-hero Deku's Snapchat feed or Instagram or Facebook of the two of you in suits would do wonders to your reputation."

It was Bakugo's turn to sigh now, groaning out in exasperation.

"Don't get me wrong-" She defended quickly, noticing him slipping on his focus, needing to reel him back in. "Greasy sweaty pictures of you and Pro-hero Red Riot grant you many fans. The media loves your bromance, but that would double if you prove yourself civilised and friendly to the number-one-hero." She argued, fishing for his agreement, feeling as though she was loosing him to his irritation. "He talks of you constantly, how you were the inspiration for his hero-name, how you made him the man he is today-"

"I ain't gonna freeload of Deku's cheesy poster-boy smile." He insisted, throwing the suit to the desk and plopping down like a sack in his chair.

She huffed, small fists balling at her sides, not ready to give up and not done stating her case. Stomping up to him.

"That's not what you would be doing." She denied. "As it stands right now, the way the public view you is as a bully who cares only for one thing-" She chastised. "But sit down with Pro-hero Deku, he'll ask for a picture, like he always does, probably an autograph as well, and all you need is just grin that trademark smirk that have the girls go weak in the knees and suddenly all of Japan will know that there are plenty of sides to pro-hero Dynamight aside from being an explosive in the field."

She picked up the suit so it wouldn't wrinkle, hanging it on the minimalistic mute servant by the door.

"Furthermore, the HPSC will get off your back and won't get back on it, because that one picture with Deku will have such ripple-effects in your carrier that no one can chastise you for being too scary or unapproachable or-"

"Fine." He stopped her rambling, seeing her point. "Where exactly am I supposed to change?" He had an attitude about his tone stating he didn't really enjoy being forced to see reason, despite it being for his own good.

"First-"

She picked up the remote she'd found stuffed in one of the drawers of the bookshelf, forgotten in the mess, clicking on the button she'd found out opened up for a built-in shower at the corner of the office.

"Shower."

She pointed like a strict mother, or a master ordering her dog around.

"You expect me to shower in front of the entire office?" He asked, tone rather childish in its aggressive sarcasm.

But she only giggled at his attitude, clicking another button on the remote he had no idea controlled anything more but the lights.

"I'll leave you to it."

The blinds rolled over all four of his window walls, the office carpeted and the lights of Tokyo city snuffed out, his glass-cage turned into a blackbox, dim moody lights brightening on their own.

She placed the remote on his desk and turned to leave.

"Call on me if you need help with your tie, sir."

Why did she have to say that?

Almost as though she knows he couldn't tie one even if his life depended on it.

.

He hates wearing suits.

Too tight and constricting, too easy to rip.

And warm and sweaty.

The cotton and wool doesn't breathe enough.

And it's loud.

The polyester-lining swishing and rubbing when he walks.

It's the same type of embarrassing as when girls wear heals that echo through the hallways with each pounding step.

He felt like a fucking show-pony.

An uncomfortable show-pony at that.

He thought of his assistant. How it had only been a day and she was already forcing him to act like some bloody dance-monkey, and succeeding no less.

Why the fuck was he taking advice from some brat in boots anyway?

Dressing up for a dipshit like Deku just because she told him to?

What the fuck has happened?

What the fuck did she put in that tea?

Calm his nerves?

What the fuck does that even mean?

He's always calm! He's never not calm!

He's the fucking definition of calm!

He stormed out, but stopped immidiatly at the giggling behind his door.

"So, any plans for the weekend?"

Kirishima sat on her desk, bright smile plastered on his face, the one that makes people feel as though they can tell him anything, as though they can trust him with their deepest darkest secrets.

"Why yes, actually." She replied, small secretive smile curling her lips, making her dimples pop.

"Hmm, let me guess..." The red-head chuckled a playful light-hearted laugh, wiggling his brows at her. "Sweet-pea goin' on a date?"

She gave am impressed look, mouth slightly parting before giving him a smile.

"How'd you know?"

"My excellent people-reading-skills." He boasted with a grin, before leaning down to her level, voice significantly lower, the voice Bakugo had heard him use too many times on countless poor unsuspecting ladies, each one hanging off his words like moths to fire, so quickly to burn themselves. "You've been smiling to yourself all day."

Her face flushed.

"Have I really?" She hurried out in a whisper, eyes timid like a baby-deer, bashfully looking down at her lap. "Is it that obvious?"

Dorks are so fucking cute.

Kirishima had to stop himself from licking his lips.

"You're cute, getting flustered like a schoolgirl."

The goofy smile on his face turned sharper and sharper, almost amounting to that hungry smirk Bakugo knew always lied in wait like a predator, waiting for the moment he felt he'd played enough with his prey.

"Been a while, buttercup?"

He saw the way Kirishima's eyes gleamed, thrilled and basking in making the little assistant squirm, flustered and embarrassed by his questions and flirty devil-eyes.

"No..." She said sheepishly, obviously lying, but Kirishima just found that cuter.

"But this one's different?" He pried, adoring the way she pressed her knees together beneath the clear glass of the desk, toes pointed inward at each other meekly.

"I don't know..."

Her smile was gone, eyes shy under Kirishima's domineering charisma, resisting the urge to bite her lip.

But someone had heard enough of their conversation to allow it to continue.

"Keep your fucking personal life to yourself." Bakugo barked, announcing himself, rescuing her from getting caught on Kirishima's teeth.

"Wow, Bakugo, dude-" The red-head feigned innocence, but Bakugo gave him a look.

"You got that?"

He looked to the girl who wore an expression that seemed oddly happy to see him, relieved in some sense.

"Yes, sir." She nodded, feeling her heart slow to its normal pace.

"And quit taking up Kirishima's time, he's got better shit to do than flirt with you."

He seemed angry, but she remained bright nonetheless.

"Of course, sir."

Red Riot rolled his eyes with a smirk on his face, throwing his head back with a laugh.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"I ain't fucking around, Shitty-hair." The boss bit out through grit teeth. "If you're gonna stay at my agency, you gotta make yourself useful." Bakugo's voice was gruff and final, words spoken in a tone no one would ever dare defy.

All except Kirishima, of course.

"Grouchy ouchy." He commented, pushing himself off the assistant's desk with an unbothered chuckle. Giving her a wink while flashing a grin, eyes seeming a deeper more bloody shade of red than before. "See yah."

She only gave a stiff smile in return, finding the male's disregard for her personal space less and less charming for every moment she was caught alone, forced to share intimate moments with him, watching his mask chip and flake away, revealing the man she got the unsettling feeling had less pearly-white ulterior motives lurking behind that perfected pearly-white smile on his face.

"You." Her boss's piercing voice cut her from her thoughts, making her take her eyes off the retreating muscular back of the topless hero.

Gaze snapping to the tall broad figure still standing in the threshold to his office, groomed free of his usual coat of battle-rubble and instead clad in a velvet-red silk-shirt, oblivion-black vest hugging him perfectly, tailored to perfection with vines of pale-roses adorning the sides.

His scarred calloused hand gripped onto the complimentary tie in visible frustration.

"Tie this."

She sprung to her feet, pondering whether or not she should thank him for chasing the rowdy red-head away, but decided not to, while fingering the soft silk-tail to his tie.

She needed to tip back and forth on her heels and toes in order to get the height on him, still whole heads shorter, arms reaching almost as though she were to embrace him as she swung the tie around the back of his neck.

And, with having tied a couple hundred ties in her life, she made to look up instead of focusing on her handiwork.

"Your hair does that naturally?" She asked, viewing the way it had already poofed to all corners all without being gelled or blown with a hairdryer.

Looking explosive.

"Like a Pomeranian." She commented, getting the feeling he needed a distraction, where between being stuffed into a suit and awaiting the number-one-hero he seemed far too tense for her to simply ignore.

He made a grunt, but she swore his face softened just a bit. The knot set deep between his brows loosening, his gaze set forward, skimming the top of her head as she looped his tie once then twice.

"Don't ever say shit like that again."

A giggle bubbled from her throat as she smiled up at him.

"Of course, sir."

Tweaking his tie to sit perfectly beneath the collar of his burgundy shirt, brushing his shoulders down when she was done.

"I meant a proud lion, obviously."

It was disarming having someone other than the likes of Kirishima and the devil himself be so calm around him, especially a person who wasn't even a hero, especially a woman.

A small cute woman who brought him snacks and tied his tie for him, who compared him to a cuddly fluffy couch-dog the size of a football and teased him when his pride was hurt by it.

He refrained from swallowing or coughing or stuttering on his words when she caught him staring at her for just a moment too long.

He looked off to the side, serious frown returning.

"What time is it?" He grumbled.

"The current time is nine forty-eight." She answered while walking to retrieve his jacket that was left back in his office, stopping abruptly in her tracks.

The floor was absolutely flooded.

He certainly hadn't bothered trying to maintain the water to one part of the giant space, but rather spread it out to every which corner of the room.

He observed as she tiptoed about the puddles on the floor, manoeuvring to reach his desk in her cute flat-heeled boots, small delicate hands reaching for the last edition to his suit.

Again looking to the floor to avoid slipping and falling on her butt, smiling once having made it back safely to the threshold of the door.

He was half-waiting for her to throw the jacket around his shoulders and help him into it, taking a moment longer than what he was proud of to receive it as she handed it to him.

He tread on the jacket by himself, but the nitpicky assistant followed shortly, coming to his aid with smoothing and straightening it over his shoulders and sleeves, pulling forth a pair of cufflinks she'd kept safe in the pocket to her bag, attaching them to decorate his wrists.

"You have about ten minutes before pro-hero Deku arrives."

He groaned, carding his warm hands through his still damp locks in hope to dry them faster.

With closed eyes he sighed, wanting to go punch something, but with the tiny assistant standing right there, so intimately close, and smelling so enticingly good while looking so adorable and pleased with her handiwork, he didn't want to disappoint her with ripping or ruining his suit with scorch marks.

So, he opted for a less nuclear option.

"What animal is he?"

Her eyes widened as she peered up at him, his question muttered but still clear, causing her smile to widen.

"Animal?"

She gave a false puzzled look.

"He's no animal... Green hair? He's obviously a vegetable."

Giggling, she kept tampering with the suit, making it sit perfectly, touching him so softly he wished she wouldn't touch him at all with how much he was beginning to sweat under her gentle hands stroking delicate touches over his tense and abused muscles, being so fearlessly careless around him despite his reputation for being a temperamental asshole, where aside from that, additionally, she was also doing something so daring as mothering her own bloody boss.

"Something between a celery and a broccoli." She mused. "Though-" She giggled, and his heart seemed to stutter in his ribcage at how endearing he found the fruitful sound. "There was this one time he'd been on vacation and came back looking like a carrot."

Bakugo cracked on smile.

"That fucking idiot." He laughed.

The boss was laughing.

And it wasn't at all in the same gut-wrenching manor the other pro-hero had chuckled when squeezing her thigh.

Sure, Pro-hero Dynamight was rough around the edges and a bit colourful with his language, but he was by no means the raging demon others had made him out to be.

She was left smiling like a goof, feeling as though she'd fully completely and utterly crushed it on her first real day as Mr. Bakugo's new assistant.

.

She walked on ahead, taking the express elevator straight to the bottom-floor in order to guide Deku to the destination of the meeting, having told Bakugo to go along with Kirishima to the conference-room.

"The fuck was that about?" Kirishima asked with his normal jockish attitude, dressed in a grey suit and a black shirt, wearing his signature apologetic toothy grin, having his hands up in defence as he followed Bakugo into the elevator.

Annoyed, he didn't bother giving the red-head a glance, standing strictly straight, eyes locked on the closing elevator doors, hands balled at his sides, a growl in his tone as he spoke.

"Keep it in your pants for once, will yah?"

Kirishima cocked his head, looking at his friend slyly.

"So... you finally like the assistant I picked out for you?"

He had that playful tone of voice that Bakugo hated, the one that was always so adamant on embarrassing him.

"She's fine." He answered curtly, still with his focus on the clean view of Tokyo city through the glass walls of the elevator.

"Cute too." The red-head pushed, just like he always did.

Pushing his buttons, pushing his temper, pushing his sanity.

"Don't you think?"

The ash-blonde could hear the type of salacious, almost sadistic, mockery kept on Kirishima's tongue, how it seemed to drip with venom, those sharp teeth waiting to spot a weakness, only to pounce and sink them in deep.

"I guess." Bakugo offered, knowing ignoring the red-head was just as much use as indulging him, thinking that keeping his words short and arbitrary would help put an end to his friend's bloodlust.

But alas, the curt answer was more than enough to have the stars in Kirishima's red eyes go supersonic.

Kirishima smirked.

"Come on..."

The boss was stupid if he thought the sturdy-hero was going to let his obvious lack of dislike towards the pretty little helper go on unchecked.

"You're subtle but I see you."

His grin glinted, eyes shining with an eager will to tease.

"The way you look her up and down when she isn't looking."

Kirishima chuckled.

"I always knew you were a momma's boy."

Bakugo sighed with a rust, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to tune the mocking jeering of the stubborn rowdy male out of his mind, hoping to grab onto the calm he felt after talking to the assistant. The laughter of making fun of Deku now tainted by his own friend pulling his leg.

"You love seeing her clean up after you. Pick out your clothes, give you snacks... bet you wanna button up that blouse, give her tits a suck."

"For fuck's sake, Kiri, would you shut up?" The ash-blonde snapped and turned, brows set deep on his face, eyes narrowed to mere red slits as he glared at the grinning asshole he was stuck with.

"I worry about you, man!" Kirishima said in defence, worn hand coming to pet the seething threatening angry blonde's face, with no concern for being bitten, pinching and pulling on the chub of his cheek with a smile. "It's not natural to be this good looking and not fuck."

Bakugo pushed him off with a hand grabbing his collar, a snarl on his lips like the face of a wolf.

"Maybe I just ain't a hyperactive hormonic spaz like you." He seethed, letting him go with another shove.

"Yeah yeah, insult me all you want, you angry dandelion..."

Kirishima pulled himself off the glass-wall, still bearing his smile.

"But you know I'm right."

He straighten his tie and pulled on his jacket to flatten the wrinkles made by Bakugo's split-second hands-on anger.

"She's perfect for you, man. Sweet and nice, smart and tough, cute as a fucking button, and so professional, so eager to please..." The red-head listed, trying to get another rise out of the explosion-hero. "I mean... could you imagine her down on her knees-"

"Stop." Bakugo's voice was definite, carrying the type of tone that made goosebumps spring to the surface, but as usual had no effect on the sturdy-hero.

"Oh, so you have already?" He teased, smiling knowingly.

"I'm this close to punching you, Shitty-hair."

Bakugo showed two fingers that were touching, but his threats hadn't spooked Kirishima in a long time.

"I'm just calling 'em like I see 'em." The red-head said, knowing they were as thick as thieves despite all the empty-threats and crude name-calling, and how the elevator was their boys locker-room where they could share all wolfish dirty secrets.

He just needed to give the blonde a little nudge and he'd soon fold.

"You wanna tap that, zip her out of that skirt, bend her over your lap-"

"I swear, Kiri..." Bakugo growled, but with less acute anger this time, a difference Kirishima had learned meant he was lowering his walls, granting him enough of an opening to cut him off.

"If you're scared, we can do it together, Kachan~" He laughed, and the blonde sighed heavily, closing his eyes, exasperated to the point of defeat.

"I fucking hate this elevator..." He mumbled.

"What?!" The red-head feigned offence, clutching his chest. "We have our most important conversations in here!"

"Fuck you." Dynamight drawled, trying his best to fight off the small smile itching to spread on his face, body slumping in defeat, hunching forward as he rolled his eyes.

"No, fuck her." His friend urged in a whisper like the devil on his shoulder.

"She's useful." The ash-blonde argued, but the red-head merely clicked his tongue at the weak statement, offering a solution.

"Then fuck her and marry her."

"Just don't touch her."

Bakugo was serious, more so than what he usually was, and Kirishima could tell by the way he looked him directly in his eye, pools of red bleeding into a set of equally red puddles.

The sturdy-hero laughed, slapping a hand on the other man's shoulder and giving it a firm reassuring squeeze.

"Don't worry, boss."

Kirishima smiled, a smile lacking the childish mockery from before, a friendly trustworthy smile, the smile Bakugo knew was reserved for only the very few that knew him through and through.

"She's all yours."

.

Next day, Bakugo walked into his office. His schedule, newspaper, coffee and snack were already lined up on the desk which had his gauntlets looking just shy of brand-new if it weren't for the marring in the paint-job. His hero-costume too, which he'd left in a heap on the wet floor the day prior, was not only hung to avoid creasing but washed free of rumble and smoke from yesterday's patrol.

"Bloody hell... is she a suck-up or a work-a-holic?" He breathed, noting how the floors had been polished as well, strictly clean, and that the mess that had littered the bookshelf with fan-mail and other documents he hadn't bothered to sort out was now tidy, papers neatly placed in binders labeled with easily understood titles, organised after importance. "Probably afraid I'll fire her..."

Not before he'd taken in the total lack of chaos, coming to terms with how it was still his office, getting over the feeling that he wasn't welcome in the sheer tidiness of everything, shook from the questions he voiced out loud about the assistant, was the vixen herself standing outside his door, drumming a little tune on the glass separating them.

"Come in." He granted, watching as she popped open the handle and stepped inside, same practical boots from the day before, but accompanied by white-knitted leg-warmers this time as it was a colder day. The blouse was swapped out for a warmer sweater, large on her small frame, but the skirt remained the same, tight over the curve of her ass, formfitting running down her thighs, a slit in the overlapping fabric, giving for a peek at her one knee.

It was enough to make his throat tighten.

"Did you see?"

His eyes traveled up to her face.

"What?" He nearly stuttered, almost tripping on his tongue and the water pooling beneath it.

"The popularity poll!" She squealed, walking with hurried enthusiastic steps over to his desk. "You've already risen five places! And it hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours yet!"

She supported her tablet on her forearm, resting her elbow on her hip, similar to how one would hold a toddler.

He didn't know why he was making the comparison.

Or he did...

"I always thought GEMGD was a bully, turns out he's just a bit rough around the edges. That smirk has me weak. Explosion-boy looks even hotter in a suit! Dynamight makes my heart go boom!" She read aloud. "All the comments are for you! And they're endless."

Her finger scrolled through the display on the screen, eyes running over the fan-comments beneath Deku's post of the two of them. The green-haired freckle-faced hero smiling a big gritted grin, eyes scrunched closed from the force of it, whereas her ash-blonde boss bore a more crazed expression, open-mouthed smirk stretched across his face, way huskier than his goofy counterpart who'd also had the audacity to throw up a a peace sign behind him, looking like a pair of bunny-ears; Deku's trademark.

She decided not to comment on how cute they looked.

"They're begging pro-hero Deku to post more of his quote on quote best friend."

"You said one lousy picture?"

He raised a brow, looking displeased.

She bit her lip, and he really wished she didn't as he felt the pull in his pants immediately, something twitching by the display of her looking down at her feet, something so unfairly sexy in the timidity of her grinding the tip of her toe into the floor.

"Well... what I meant was that... one lousy picture could spark something..." She explained sheepishly. "We'll still have to feed the fire a bit from time to time."

She bent down to gather the cardboard shipping package he'd ignored once stepping inside his office, dropping the large box down on the desk with a thud.

"But you're a big boy- you can survive a photoshoot every now and again, and a couple of ten minute interviews."

He should tell her to fuck off with the name-calling, but damn... he really didn't want to.

"Oh- that reminds me-"

Small hands laid flat on the top of the box, she drummed on the cardboard with her fingers.

"Heroes Fashion Magazine request you model for them."

"Modeling?" He nearly shouted, face twisted in confused disgust, offended she'd even suggest such a thing. "Fuck no."

"Well-" She ignored his outburst. "I said we'll consider it and they already sent over a box."

She patted the package put down on his desk with a smile.

"I took the liberty of taking a look and I think you'll actually find what they've come up with in your image quite amazing."

Her attitude was a nice thing in the morning, he thought, despite talking about things he didn't give a shit about.

"They've done some designs based around your trademark skull, which I think will be a huge aid, given right now it's associated more with villainous things rather than heroic, when we want to give the image of a badass and not a bully."

And there she goes with the fucking nicknames again, making his head hot.

"Also, Pro-hero Deku would like to post a picture of the two of you in your youth."

"He's already posted the class-photo." The boss mumbled.

"I believe this one is more in the time of your kindergarten days." She informed, searching through the files kept in her bag, pulling out a sheet of paper. "Here, I printed it out for you."

Laying the picture on the desk, she smiled with a tilt of her head, looking over the two boys' bright faces, her boss wearing a black T-shirt with a skull-print on it, similar to the one the paparazzi so often catches him wearing when dressing casually. She found it quite adorable and amusing how the design seemed to have grown up alongside him. Then there was the All-Might trading-cards the two of them clutched so protectively in each their small hands, their ambition of following the great hero in his footsteps clear in their large eyes.

"It's cute." She stated.

And though it was put simply, the comment nearly had him blush if he hadn't given his thigh a rough pinch to control himself, head pounding from yesterday's conversation with Kirishima in the elevator, unable to look at her or listen to her without twisting everything into a something dirty.

"I think it'll be good to show the public you were a bit of a geek."

And then there was the fucking teasing name-calling shot at him left and right.

He could prove to her how much of a geek he was. He was a boy-scout. He still remembers every knot in the book.

He would love to try them all out on her-

"Fine." He gruffly voiced his approval, quitting his own raving thoughts.

She made a couple movements on the screen to her tablet, noting his answer.

"Very well, sir, I'll inform him."

And at that she turned on her heel to leave.

"Oi, toots." He called. "Stay."

Stopping in her tracks, she spun around and blinked, preparing herself for a correction or a scolding in the form of a loud slew of curse-words.

"Something's been bothering me."

She felt her heart climb up her throat, as though she'd swallowed some living creature who fought to claw its way to freedom through her mouth.

"My coffee’s different every time." He stated, voice strangely serious to be discussing coffee. "It’s... not bad. Just weird." He informed, and she was left with another deafening pause to wonder what she'd done that was an issue. "Is your quirk making coffee or something?"

He'd been wondering what the tiny assistant had been gifted with for a while, not having found it on file as it probably wasn't worth the effort. Deciding, as her boss, it was in his rights to to simply demand an answer of his employee.

She blinked.

"Oh-"

Her heart rested and she exhaled in relief, smiling while giving a short laugh.

"My quirk." She repeated, resting her focus, forgetting her anticipation of being shunned and fired. "Well... uhm..."

Her brows knitted, pondering what way best to describe her rather mundane quirk to the man who literally sweats explosives.

"Boring and stereotypical, or ironic, as it may sound, it's called Assist." She informed, hands displayed in offering. "Basically... I guess... you could say that I naturally know what people need and how to assist them." She explained, but came to her own correction quickly. "It only counts for small things though..." She blurted out. "You know, like... what type coffee you'd prefer and... whether you wish for your schedule to be printed out or sent to you."

The man gave a huff, indicating his understanding.

"Obviously, you wouldn't be working here if you could cure cancer."

He wore a new type of smile she hadn't seen yet, a type of smug grin she'd expect to see on haughty jocks back in middle-school, eyes jaded, relaxed as he looked at her.

"Practically made for this job, aren't yah?"

She nearly pouted, but sucked it up and stiffened her upper lip.

"It might sound mediocre, but it sure comes in handy." She defended herself, raising her chin proudly. "So while you’re off keeping the world safe, I’ll be here tending the fort, keeping you happy."

He gave another smile and a small amused chuckle, eyes gleaming in a way she found deeply unsettling, the same type of eerie focus she'd seen displayed on Kirishima, the type of look she wanted to run from.

"Hate to break it to you, buttercup, but it’ll take a lot more than a good cup of coffee to make me happy."

She swallowed thickly, trying to keep up appearances despite feeling her face drain.

"Ah- of course, sir."

She ignored her additional sense telling her he was thirsting for something far different than coffee altogether. Wishing she could rid herself of the feeling before allowing her mind to slip and stray to what indecencies she felt were suggested in his tone, knowing she was being ridiculous for even thinking that her esteemed boss was hinting at something of the sort, knowing it was all most likely due to her own stupid female instinctive fears twisting his words.

But then she felt the unmistakable pull of her quirk telling her the truth of it.

Her cheeks heated as the treacherous urge to assist him with his needs arose like instinct, feeling the place between her thighs get hot as she busied herself with reminders that he was a public servant who protects. That he would never ask something like that of her even if he humoured the thought within the privacy of his own mind.

He was her boss.

An honourable man.

A respectable professional.

A hero.

But a man nonetheless. And she can't blame people for having urges, and perhaps... was her skirt too short maybe?

His focus left her and she felt like she could breathe properly again, still feeling dizzy as she watched his hands aim for the newspaper, his eyes skimming the headings.

"At least you’re not useless like the last one." He offered and she gladly accepted, too thankful to be let off his stare to pick up the derogatory substance of his sentence.

Face brightening a smidge.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

She brushed the icky feeling of his former attitude off on the fact that boys gotta be boys sometimes, just the same as girls will be girls at moments too, though not able to discard of the incident completely without giving her outfit a second thought and the mildly seductive gloss she wore on her lips, feeling stupid while thinking it was perhaps in her best interest to say goodbye to the tight pencil-skirt hugging her ass.

"Sir."

Dismissing herself, she turned her back, red eyes looked up from pretending to read as she opened the door and slipped out, leaving her boss to his own thoughts.

Her quirk should be called Housewife.

.

Following his schedule, he left early, the little assistant wishing him luck from where she sat working at her desk, waving him goodbye with dancing fingers as the elevator doors slowly closed and sent him down to ground level.

Patrol was uneventful in its boring four hour-long walk. A couple of small-fry villains quaking in their boots, regretting picking Pro-hero Dynamight's district as he sent them flying, leaving them to be scraped from the sidewalk up by his sidekicks.

Finding himself counting the minutes until he'd be back in the office.

Good thing it was a quiet day in the streets, what with him being so very distracted and all, conjuring up dirty pictures of his cute little assistant. Sitting at her desk with her knees glued together, squeezing her thighs close, so oblivious to his stares. Lost in her own world when planning his itinerary for him, making herself so useful for him, his pretty little helper, doing her best to keep her promise, to make him happy. Hand holding onto her pen, tip of it caught in her mouth, plump lips having no issue sucking on the small thing, making his head spin, thinking of how she'd handle something bigger.

He came back just shy of ten o'clock, happy to miss getting caught with Kirishima in the elevator again.

But, the sturdy-hero had already sowed his seeds in the muck of the explosion-hero's head, and the roots had already twisted their way through his gut, flowers blooming, nectar oozing and dripping, spilling down the vines, sweetening his senses, pollen fogging up his mind, only allowing him to think of one pretty little busy worker-bee, and how he wanted her to lick up his honey-spill-

"The fuck are you wearing?"

This was the last fucking straw. She couldn't be fucking serious with her innocent act, she had to be doing this on purpose.

She looked up from her tablet, eyes round as she processed his lack of greeting, before looking down at her clothes, trying to spot what he was attacking.

"Oh- I tripped with my coffee and spilled it all over my sweater, so I decided to- uhm- test out the product...?" She explained, pulling on the black fabric to the oversized hoodie she'd pulled on.

His trademark large white skull plastered on the front.

His head pounded, growing hotter, boiling, palms sweaty at his sides, tongue feeling heavy and large with the sting of sweet saliva pooling beneath it. Something snapped in his pelvis, drumming, pumping, growing warm and heavy, thankfully kept hidden in the expanse of his large cargo-pants.

"You should model." He let slip, eyes kept on the hoodie thrown on her tiny shape.

The cut was definitely finer, skull tweaked to look uniquely and unmistakably Dynamight. The edges were rough, decidedly unfinished. She'd tied the strings to the hood into a little bow on her collar, but he hadn't the time to bask in the details, when he was too caught up in thinking how it looked as though she'd put on one of his hoodies, mind forcing forth the thought of him having fucked her good first, made her sweaty and dumb on his dick before finishing up with dressing her up, showing the entire world how she belonged to him.

He cleared his throat, brought back to reality by the blank face she gave him, puzzled by his prior comment, undecided whether it was an inappropriate compliment or not.

He wouldn't give her any more time to think about it too much.

"Tell the magazine people they have a go on the merch."

She let his former comment slip, deciding to forget about it.

"And the modelling?"

"Thirty minutes tops." He answered, walking towards his office.

"Very well, sir. I'll inform HFM right away." The cheeriness in her tone had him curl his brows and squeeze his eyes shut, fists clenched at his sides, stiff as he opened the door.

"I have reports, don't bother me." He informed coldly, not waiting for a reply before he shut his door, never giving her a second glance, even as he handled the remote that had his blinds gliding over his windows, leaving him alone in the darkness of his office, no pretty assistant with adorable doe-eyes giving him anxious flickering looks as he unbuckled his belt and popped the button to his pants, zipping open his fly to free the painfully erect large tented bump in his boxers.

"M'fuuhck..."

His mind reeled, letting his eyes glide close.

Where would he take her first?

Hmm...

His hand dipped beneath the band of his expensive black briefs, running over a bush of mousy blonde curls to wrap around the warm thickness fighting desperately against its confinement.

On the desk?

Lay her down on her back, hand on her throat, thighs spread by his hips, legs tangled over his back, keeping him close, moaning so prettily for him, perky tits bouncing on every thrust up into her tight cunt, nipples hard between his lips. She'd gasp as he bit down on the little nubs, cry out for him, eyes large and glossy looking up at him, waiting for her orders.

"Fucking hell..." He groaned, tugging slowly on his base, so sensitive he had to hiss when his thumb brushed over a particular pulsating purple vein, bulging tip blushed an angry red, a drop of pre-cum spilling sweetly from his slit, running down his shaft, getting caught on his fingers as he smeared the wetness up and down his length.

Or maybe he should bend her over it instead?

Pretty tits mushed against the desk, her small wrists caught in a cross behind her back, held tightly in his fist, cute face blushed red and dewy with sweat, pressed against the cool glass, lips parted and panting for breath, crying just a bit by how her hips would ache against the edge of the table, but blissful nonetheless with his cock filling her up snugly form behind, cute ass smiling at him, begging for him to give the soft plush flesh a squeeze or a little slap that would have her yelp and hiccup on her moans.

"Fuck..." He chewed his bottom-lip, fucking up into his hand slowly, savouring the feel of his fingers wrapped tightly, rubbing over every sensitive vein, squeezing on them just like her tight pussy would.

On his black Italian-leather chair?

Have her kneel on the seat, back curved like a pretty little kitty, ass arched up into him, rubbing against his crotch, teasing him desperately for his cock. He'd have his hand yanking her hair back, strong fingers tangled in her soft locks, making her stare up at him, her hands gripping onto the plush chair for support, nails marring the leather as he rocks into her, make her drool at the curve of his cock brushing up into her cervix, his other hand slithered around her stomach, coarse finger painting cruelly delicious patterns into her throbbing little clit.

"Nah..."

He'd fuck her against the window.

All of Tokyo at his feet, laid bare before him, just like his tiny tight assistant wrapped around his cock, clinging to him so needfully, small soft hands holding onto him, thrown around his shoulders and down his back, warm doughy thighs hugging around his torso, squealing for him each time he snaps his hips forward, buried deep in her grateful little wet cunt. Pretty words on her lips.

Am I doing good, sir? Please, sir, I want to make you happy... I want to give you what you need~ I want to help you, sir. I want to be useful to you, sir. Please, let me be useful~ Thank you, sir~

I love you, sir.

"Holy fuck-"

He bit his tongue, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his temple.

Good thing she'd been a doll and placed a new packet of clean-wipes on his desk... what with the white mess decorating it.

.

The boss remained in his office well beyond working hours.

She contemplated whether or not she should knock on the door and tell him she was clocking out, but decided it was unnecessary in the end as he'd given her strict instructions not to bother him.

Coming back early next morning, walking into the spacious floor only to find her desk, not exactly cleaned out, but gone entirely.

The blinds where still drawn before Mr. Bakugo's office, where she, anxious as it made her, walked to the door and knocked.

He was prepared to bark at anyone to leave him the fuck alone, but recognising the delicate tune drummed on his door, he would make an exception.

"Come in."

"Morning, boss..." She stated timidly, as though something was amiss and he felt his gut wrench in fear that she might have heard him moaning her name all day long the day prior when he was supposedly doing paperwork reports. "I hate to ask... but have you seen my desk-" She asked, before turning her head to look over what was taking up the former empty corner-space in her boss' office.

"It's been moved." He informed while she took in the relocation of her usually lonely desk, still positioned four meters away from mr. Bakugo's desk, yet no longer separated by neither glass wall or blinds. "Is that a problem?" He dared.

"No..." She replied, still confused as to what purpose the change would benefit, but mostly if he at all would like it this way, be it beneficial or not. "But are you sure I won't be a bother?"

She's been a bother from the start.

"I ain't here too often." He explained.

"Well then..."

She fiddled with her fingers, braiding hem together as she briefly thought it over, thinking she actually wouldn't mind a space of her own where she could escape the lingering stares of one certain conversational red-haired hero.

"This is perfect!" She cheered then, not in need of more convincing. "Saves me the time of knocking."

She smiled, placing her bag on her chair, already liking her little nook in the office, gratefully admiring how whomever had moved her desk had made sure everything was still in their designated place, eyes skimming the digital clock stating the time, brows furrowing.

"You're here very early?"

Her question gave him just enough of a warning before she turned around to look at him, allowing him the time to take his eyes off her ass and wipe his expression free of the sour look he'd adopted when spotting how she wasn't wearing the skirt he'd come to love.

"I didn't leave." He confessed, flipping the page of the hero-magazine he was pretending to be absorbed in.

"Have you not slept?" She sounded worried, and his gut warmed at her sweet motherly tone, hand twitching, wanting to pet his cock despite having wrung it for every drop his balls were worth all night.

He sighed heavily, a type of growl that sounded fed-up.

"I have."

"Not well, I gather?" She pushed, as though scolding him, placing his coffee, newspaper and schedule down on his desk.

"It's fine."

He reached for the coffee, stomach fluttering for the taste of what new flavour she'd concocted for him today, though letting none of his excitement show on his face.

She hummed in suspicious thought.

"Well, you don't have patrol until two o'clock, which isn't for another eight hours."

Tapping her pointer-finger on the schedule placed before him, she continued.

"And as you have the time, where there are no ongoing big cases that require your attention at the moment, I could make arrangements for you to sleep on the couch in the conference room, or you could go home and have a nap before returning-"

"I ain't a child, toots." He glared at her, face in a frown.

She took it lightly, which only served to frustrate him even more, with how she seemed to brush away his anger like a mother does her temper-tantrum-throwing child.

"Of course not, sir."

"Then quit suggestion shit like naps." He ordered.

"Very well, sir."

She nodded, still with that small soft smile that seemed unshakable.

"Have you eaten?"

Why ask if she already knows the answer!?

He gripped the arm-rest, knuckles turning white in his frustration.

"No..." Voice in a muddled grumble, childishly admitting defeat.

"Well then..." Her tone so charmingly patronising, eyes soft as she looked at him. "Does the grown man want a snack?"

Who the fuck does she think she is!?

Poking fun at her own boss like it's nothing?!

Not just her boss, but one of Japan's greatest and toughest heroes!

Ridiculing him in his own fucking office!

He ought to teach her a little lesson...

But for fuck's sake- just give him his fucking snack already!

He snatched the offered food from her palm with another grunt, slumping back in his chair.

"Wipe that fucking smile off your face."

Her lips pulled further up into a smile, making her eyes shine.

"I'll try my best, sir."

.

It was late, roughly seven o'clock, and everyone had long gone home for the day. But, with the rising her boss had done in the popularity ranks, he'd received a ton of new fan-mail, which she felt the need to go through before calling it a day.

Meaning, she was there alone.

However, not for much longer, for as she was slipping the last fan-letter into it's designated binder, was someone staggering into the office.

She nearly screamed, jumping from her seat, needing to squint for a moment or two to recognise who it was, not having noticed she'd been working in the dark for the last half hour. But, as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room did she not only identify her boss, but also the blood staining him.

"Oh my goodness!" She squealed, hurrying over, helping him to the chair. "Are you okay!?"

It wasn't fair to him that she was this perfect.

"It's nothing." He brushed off, groaning as he repositioned himself in a strive to get more comfortable with the ache in his body.

"Are you sure?"

She sounded too sweet, too worried when looking at him, brows knitted all hopelessly, eyes large and shimmering, lips formed into a little pout.

If she kept looking at him like that he was sure to do something he might regret.

"What?" He snapped, shaking her from her blank-staring state.

She gave a little whimper.

"Nothing..."

Shaking her head just a bit, yet remained just as distressed.

"It’s just..."

She bit her lip, eyes skimming over the many bleeding cuts decorating his upper-body, no mind to the blood staining her own clothes from helping him sit down.

"It's just- uhm- your needs are all over the place."

He chuckled, unable to hold it back, finding her absolutely adorable.

"Then get to them."

It feels good having a pretty little thing fuss over nothing more than a couple of scratches.

"Isn't that your job?"

She drew in a breath, trying to toughen up with a nod.

"Of course, sir."

Walking to the bookshelf, she started pulling out drawers, mumbling some to herself.

"Assistant, receptionist, maid, baby-sitter- Mr. Kirishima should have put nurse on the list of qualifications as well..."

Coming back, she slid a rocks-glass onto the desk, lifting the diamond lid from the crystal whisky-bottle before pouring him a drink. Proceeding to pull out cotton-pads and disinfectant, resting her butt against the desk as she reached out small pretty hands, softly caressing his chin to steady him when with the other hand dabbing softly at the cut on his brow.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, eyes focussed on her task. "I'm sorry, stupid question, obviously it hurts." Dismissing herself with a shake of her head, she shut up in favour of focussing.

He didn't care much that it was a stupid question to ask.

Not when she was this sweet with him.

She continued working, placed between him on the chair and the desk she leaned on. Her knees between his knees, right in front of him. Tight black jeans, form-fitting around her thighs, over the curve of her hips, tightened in a stop at her waist with a black belt, where his large hands would sit so perfectly, squeezing her, pulling her close.

He didn't know what he was doing before it was done.

Hands placed exactly where he'd imagined them, hoisting her up to sit on the cool glass surface of his desk.

"Sir? wha-"

He grabbed her chin before she could finish, fingers pressing into the adorable chubs of her cheeks, squishing her lips into a soft pillowy welcome, greeting his lips with ease as he pushed forward, sinking in, mushing his face against hers, kissing softly, slowly and yearningly, without teeth and without aggression, but deeply, with passion, with an urge to stop breathing, incessantly, with a mellow yet disturbingly hungry bottomless obsession, with a thirst to put a fire out.

Her brows furrowed. Hands dropping the blood-dirtied cotton pad when needing to meet with the warmth of his chest, steadying him in his needy pursuit.

She had been so adamant on making it.

So determined on succeeding at this job so many others had failed in.

She was so certain she could survive crude merciless curse-words flung at her face, completely aware she wouldn't be receiving any form of appreciation back for her hard work.

She'd heard Kirishima would try his best to have his go and was prepared to block any of his advances, having made peace with the fact.

But... having brushed-off the cries of her quirk, she wasn't at all expecting to have to deal with choking on her own boss forcing his tongue down her throat as well.

She couldn't pull away, wasn't allowed to, only able to keep her eyes wide as her boss sucked her face, finally detaching with a thick string of drool connecting their tongues, his heated gaze troubling her, suddenly feeling very small, stuck and caught before his tall massive muscled form.

Her sixth sense was a boiler at this point.

"Ah- I- I think I should leave, sir." She tripped at the taste of his tongue, keeping her lips parted, hesitant on swallowing the mixture of his and her spit caught dripping, smeared and painted on the walls of her mouth.

His breath was warm on her face, panted on her glossy wet lips.

He didn't pull any further off, even after her statement, finding it quite amusing how small her tiny little hands were, placed on his chest as though it would do her any good.

Looking into her large anxious little eyes, he could only think of two things.

She'll definitely quit if he let's her leave now...

... and he can't afford to lose her...

And with that in his mind his hands moved from the chubs of her cheeks to her throat.

"Ah- sir?" She gasped, but the breath caught in her throat, kept from her by the way his hands slowly and carefully squeezed her free of air.

Her hands clung to his arms, trying to push him off, tears given just enough time to slip from her moon-wide eyes, but he remained happy when she gave out quickly.

Like a flower in a forest fire.

.

She awoke softly.

Looking like a scene in a movie.

A way too cute girl laid down in a bed of expensive black sheets she didn't belong in.

He'd brushed the locks of hair out of her face, half-way submerged in the dune of his pillow, small hand clutching the air in her sweet dreaming.

Soft snores left the rise and fall of her chest where he'd done the dirty deed of removing her blood-stained clothes, leaving her in a pretty pink lace-bra, cupping the light weight of her breasts in a rosey pattern just shy of being see-through, and her cute matching panties, a simple and chaste piece, but still so very tempting in it's innocence.

He'd needed to stop himself before going too far, his rough hands running over smooth plush flesh, becoming addicted to the softness before backing off with a frustrated groan, pulling his armchair up to the bed, reduced to simply watching her, studying every freckle adorning her flawless shape. Every curve, every dip, noting down some unexpected scars marring her skin, cocking his head at the marks, wondering what caused them, if she was a clumsy little thing who snagged herself on sharp things or if she somehow was a tiny little brawler at some time. He chuckled at the thought, thinking the former was more likely.

She made a moan, humming out a tiny pretty whimper as her brows furrowed, scrunching as she grasped for the light seeping in through her eyelids.

"Morning."

He rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as he hunched forward with his lips kissing his knuckles, monitoring her with keen eyes.

"How're you feeling?"

He knew she was fine.

He'd choked her out with expertise, knowing with out-most certainty he hadn't hurt her, only merely forced her into a safe temporary loss of consciousness.

Her eyes fluttered open, stirred by his gravely tone, met with blurry surroundings.

Brows remaining curled as she blinked slowly on repeat, confused and adorable as she tried adjusting her eyes to the light, most definitely disoriented.

The poor thing.

"Scared shitless, I bet."

With eyes growing larger, and breath picking up speed she flushed and shivered on a coat of goosebumps upon the voice, finding her boss sitting in an armchair a rough meter away from the soft but foreign bed she was placed in.

"Mr. Bakugo?" She croaked, eyes growing more and more swivelled with panic, mind crumbling, spinning and splitting until it ached when peering down at herself, seeing she was in nothing but her flimsy undergarments. "I don't understand-" She spluttered. "What happened? What-"

Panicking, she tried covering herself up with the Egyptian-cotton-sheets, a type of soft comfort he bet she'd never had the luxury of feeling against her skin.

"Where am I?"

He pushed himself up from his chair and come to her side, trying to calm her down once she started hyperventilating at the sight of her bound hands.

"You're safe. M'sorry I tied you up-"

His attempt at soothing her wasn't appreciated, only aiding in making her even more panicked.

"What's going on- sir? What did I do? What did... what did you do?"

She tried scurrying away from him, pushing with the balls of her feet digging into the mattress.

"You... tried to kill me."

"No." He dismissed with a click of his tongue, grabbing her conjoined wrists as he climbed after where she tried to worm herself away from him, pulling her back to rest on the pillow. "I just knocked you out." He defended, tone casual as though it was the most obvious thing, as though she was overreacting.

"Knock me out? Why- You-"

Tears sprung to her eyes as she writhed beneath the large man, feeling smaller by the second, weak and helpless as he loomed above her.

"Quit being scared, I ain't gonna hurt you." He cooed, trying to control her struggles by gripping her waist, needing to tighten the grip where she thrashed around like a fish out of water, aiming to fend him off with hitting at him with her bound hands.

"Please let me go, please, I- I won't tell anyone, I promise, I promise, sir, I-" She pleaded, but Bakugo couldn't care for the hysteria cooped up in her ditzy little head, annoyed with her pathetic rambling, needing to make her understand the new situation.

"Shut up, toots."

His fingers found the plush of her cheeks roughly and squished them to make her still, chuckling crudely at how large and hopeless her eyes shown up at him.

"You think you can play perfect little housewife and not own up to it?"

His eyes had her frozen, glowing scarlet with crazed predatory heat, the carved knifelike smile on his face looking like that of a hyena in a hunting frenzy, eyeing cornered prey.

"Uhm- sir?" She whimpered, twisting at the stench of his breath wafting over her face with warmth.

"You stopped wearing that skirt I liked." He dismissed her. "Got tired of your quirk telling you how I needed to bend you over my desk?"

She gasped, eyes widening even more, going completely silent, dead-still under his touch if it weren't for the heavy sporadic rise and fall of her chest.

"You're scaring me-" She whimpered and his smile grew, eyes going dull, lazy with awe at her adorable little pitiful face.

"And the lipgloss-" He ignored her outcry again. "You stopped wearing that too."

He scrunched her face tighter between his fingers, making her whimper beneath him.

"Too freaked out by how your boss needed you to come into his office and lock the door behind you?"

She hiccuped at the feel of her heart jumping to her throat and how his eyes seemed to want to drown her in red.

"How I needed you down on your knees in that tight pencil-skirt, plump pink lips wrapped warm wet and nice around my cock."

"Mr. Bakugo-"

"What? You gonna make me some tea? Help me calm down?" He teased, drawing in closer, face less than an inch form hers where tears spilled rapidly from her poor glass-eyes. "Nah... what's your quirk telling you that I really need right now, huh?"

She trembled, shaking her head.

"I- I don't understand-"

"You don't understand?" He interrupted, voice pouty in mockery. "Just so innocent, huh?"

She thought she might faint when feeling his hand drumming thick sand-paper fingertips down the soft skin of her stomach.

"'Cause... to me it feels like I need to be eight inches deep in my tiny assistant's tight twat."

She started sobbing then, wanting to push him off or hold onto her underwear when he hooked his fingers into the flimsy band and starting running them down her thighs. Unable to do anything when kept levelled by the eyes staring her deep in her little terrified soul and the hand holding her cheeks, forcing her to face him. Where no amount of struggling would loosen the rope keeping her wrists together, only succeeding in chaffing the delicate soft skin found there.

"Sir, please- think about this- ah- please- don't- don't do this."

Her legs kicked, but small as she was all he needed to was push her knees aside, spread her wide, the cool air kissing her bare cunt, quivering beneath him.

"You're too obsessed with giving people what they need." He drawled, body sagging in awe at the pretty sight in front of him, her cute face torn with anxiety, caught in his hand, lips juicy wet with tears as she sucked in her breaths, in full focus on him and his hand coming to play with her scared little sex. "How about I give you what you need for once?"

"No- sir, please, stop."

She tried twisting away, tried inching further up on the bed, scurrying away from his touch, but wasn't given the freedom.

"You said you wouldn't hurt me-" She accused, voice wet and broken with hopeless betrayal, desperate to make him stop.

"And I ain't gonna hurt you-" He reassured, though acting as the farthest thing from assuring as he dipped his roughened fingertips into her soft tender folds, messaging the slit gently. "I'mma take care of you, proper care."

She felt like she was suffocating, throat tightening, tongue a heavy foreigner in her mouth, the room a taste of blood.

"Truth is, little assistant, you make me hate being alone." Tone so very gratingly overbearing, burning in her head, words like flames licking at her ears. "Only right you fix it."

She whined in protest.

"Please, sir, stop-"

Insisting in small prayers, blubbering like a little bawling toddler, lips quivering, shaking on each sob.

He lifted his hand and put two of his fingers into his mouth, gathering a thick coat of saliva on them before motioning it back between her thighs.

"I need you warming my bed more than I need you running errands anyway." He whispered, smearing the thickness of his digits between her folds, running over her clit before skewering his middle-finger inside her tight little hole.

She wrenched uncomfortably.

"Please, sir-"

Quaking on her shaking sobs with her breaths hitching in her throat, thighs jolting, squirming in small pitiful hopeless struggles.

"Shh, baby." He cooed, but she only cried harder. "I won't hurt you- promise." Repeating the vow, he placed a chaste kiss to the side of her mouth, tasting the salt of tears on his tongue. "It's just like you said..."

He continued laying a trail of wet slobbering kisses down her neck, nipping at her skin playfully with the teeth of his smirk, watching with idle eyes her chest heaving in shallow panicked breaths.

"You just keep up the good work..."

His finger pumped into her slowly, thick and boney, crooked by many years of breaking bones, both his own and others, reaching in deep, hooking into the tender spongey wall, so sensitive at the hand of his brazen confident touches it made her moan.

"You keep me happy, while I go save the world."

TIP-JAR

[epkcoworking]

Comparing Chennai's Work Culture: Plug-and-Play Offices and Coworking Spaces

In the vibrant city of Chennai, professionals and businesses seeking versatile work environments encounter two prominent options: plug-and-play office space and coworking spaces. Understanding the nuances between these setups is essential for individuals and organizations striving to align their workspace with their operational needs and culture.

Plug-and-Play Offices in Chennai

Chennai, a bustling hub of innovation and business, hosts a variety of workspaces tailored to the dynamic needs of professionals and organizations. Among these, plug-and-play offices have emerged as a game-changer, offering instant functionality and flexibility in prime locations across the city.

Features of Plug-and-Play Offices in Chennai

Strategic Locations: Positioned strategically in areas like T. Nagar, Guindy, and OMR, plug-and-play offices offer accessibility and convenience, situated in the heart of Chennai's business districts.

Ready-to-Use Infrastructure: These offices come fully furnished and equipped, boasting ready-to-use amenities such as desks, chairs, high-speed internet, and essential IT infrastructure. This setup ensures immediate functionality upon occupancy, eliminating the hassle of setting up an office from scratch.

Flexibility in Leasing: One of the key attractions of plug-and-play offices is their flexible leasing options. Businesses can opt for short-term leases, enabling them to scale their workspace up or down based on evolving needs, without being tied down by long-term commitments.

Cost-Efficiency: Ideal for startups and small businesses, coworking office space in Thousand Lights and plug-and-play offices in Chennai offer cost-effectiveness by eliminating initial setup costs. This allows companies to allocate resources strategically without the burden of substantial upfront expenditures.

Advantages:

Immediate Functionality: Plug-and-play offices offer quick operational readiness, ensuring immediate functionality for focused work.

Privacy and Control: These spaces provide autonomy and privacy, suitable for individual tasks or team-based operations, allowing businesses to control their environment.

Disadvantages:

Limited Networking: The private nature might limit networking and collaboration opportunities compared to more communal setups.

Potentially Higher Costs: While upfront costs are lower, long-term expenses might be higher compared to shared spaces due to individualized infrastructure.

Coworking Spaces in Chennai

Key Features:

Coworking spaces, thriving in locales like Alwarpet, Nungambakkam, and Teynampet, foster collaboration and community spirit with these defining characteristics:

Community-Centric Environment: Open spaces encouraging interaction, networking, and skill-sharing among diverse professionals.

Flexible Amenities: Varied facilities such as shared workspaces, meeting rooms, and networking events accommodating different professional needs.

Diverse Network: Attracting freelancers, remote workers, entrepreneurs, and established companies, fostering a melting pot of ideas and collaborations.

Advantages:

Networking and Collaboration: Coworking spaces offer an environment conducive to networking and collaboration, facilitating idea exchange and skill enhancement.

Resource Sharing: Access to diverse amenities and resources enhances productivity, providing a supportive and well-equipped work environment.

Disadvantages:

Potential Distractions: The open layout might lead to distractions for individuals requiring focused work, impacting productivity.

Limited Privacy: Shared spaces might not suit those needing greater privacy or confidentiality for sensitive work or discussions.

Choosing the Ideal Workspace

Selecting between plug-and-play offices and coworking spaces in Chennai demands consideration of several factors:

Work Culture Preference: Determine the preferred work environment—private and focused or collaborative and open.

Budget and Long-Term Goals: Evaluate short-term cost-effectiveness versus long-term scalability and expenses.

Networking Needs: Assess the importance of networking and collaboration opportunities in professional growth.

Conclusion

Chennai's workspace offerings encompass plug-and-play offices and coworking spaces in Mount Road catering to diverse professional needs. Comprehending the distinctive features, benefits, and limitations of each empowers individuals and businesses to make informed decisions aligned with their operational dynamics, work culture, and growth aspirations."

[avintagekiss24]

𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗 | 𝖇. 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘

→ pairing: beefy shadow monster!bucky barnes x black!reader

→ word count: 5367

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, dub con, a tinge of somnophilia, exophilia, #monster fucker, smut, sex, rough sex, masturbation, rough masturbation, sex toys, butt stuff, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, voyeurism, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo​ 

wiping the other’s tears away

→ author note: guys, i’m... this is who we are now. we are monster fuckers. this is based on @idga-buck​ INCREDIBLE ask that was bred from this post. i honestly don’t know if this holds a candle to that ask because, whew girl. that shit fucked me up when i first read it! anyway, hope you guys enjoy because i might be planning a little monster fucker series based off of this and another certain someone that is mentioned in the fic.

→ read hirsute

The stress in your shoulders makes it hard to lift your arm once you finally reach your apartment door. It takes everything in you to shove your key into the lock and slam your hip against the old, swollen wooden door to pop it open, but just crossing the threshold into your sanctuary helps soothe your nerves. Everything falls to the floor within an instant— purse, messenger bag, coat— hell, even your keys. Hopping on one foot to remove a light brown, velvet heel, and then the other as you make your way towards your bedroom, ignoring the lively green house plants scattered around window seals and the living room.

You don’t even bother to turn on the lights. Don’t make a pit stop in the kitchen, or even the bathroom to remove your makeup. Hunger pains be damned. There are exactly two things that will help with this mood— an orgasm, and sleep. Thank God one always leads to the other.

It was 10:12am, just two hours into your work day, when you knew what you were going to need to help forget about this day. Emails piling up, phone ringing off the hook, picking up the slack for coworkers because you’re just so well versed in this… we could really use your help. Took its toll. By 10:12am you were ready to scream, punch your perky, always in a good mood cubicle mate, and rip your hair out— so you knew, right then and there, that you were gonna fuck yourself stupid when you got home.

Perverted thoughts lingered all day as you rifled through old court filings and scoured obscure statutes. Thighs tightened as your sex started to dampen at fantasies of being bent over your boss’ desk. Caught yourself staring, more than once, through his open door as he chatted on the phone, bright blue eyes glinting underneath the natural sunlight that poured into his office, crinkling on the sides as he laughed.

Then he would furrow those brows as he read through briefings. Jaw and lips set tight, eyes squinted as he nibbled absentmindedly on his bottom lip. Big hands and thick fingers made the pen in his hand seem entirely too small. Pink tongue darted out to wet pink lips.

You’ve spent many a night with thoughts of Andrew Stephen Barber; and tonight will be no different.

Dark shadows are cast across the floor and bed, small slivers of moonlight creeping in. The sound of your shoes hitting the floor don’t even register in your ears as you wiggle out of your skirt and panties and fall onto the soft, warm, inviting Queen mattress.

Deft fingers make light work of the buttons on your silk blouse but the other hand can’t wait— slipping down your stomach and between sticky, hot flesh. A sharp inhale fills your chest as you rub slow circles against your clit, pangs of quick excitement starting to fire off. Your fingers push down to your slit, prodding and stroking gently as a new wet starts to slick your muscles.

A lazy smile curls onto your face. The stress of the day starts to evaporate as you melt into the mattress, the circles against your clit quickening, hips starting to roll and push up into your hand. The expensive silk of your blouse falls off your shoulders just a bit as you push it away from your chest, exposing two bare tits and quickly thickening nipples.

You take hold of one— tweaking it slow. Pinching and rolling the nub before palming your tit all together, cupping and pushing the mound of flesh up your chest. A swipe of your tongue— rough and torrid— against your nipple makes you grunt deep. Makes your hips jut upward as you prod that now filthy wet slit and hole.

Muscles flex as the sound of your dirty deed fills the empty space. Wet squeaks and sloshes bounce off the walls as fingers thrash back and forth and up and down against your clit. Heavy, thick thuds of your palm pounding against your body when one, two, three fingers finally slip inside— but they aren’t enough. Not wide enough or long enough to feed the hunger.

Then… there’s a shift. The atmosphere in your apartment— your room specifically— just changes on a dime. The tiny hairs on your body start to stand on end, goosebumps raising on your skin. Your eyes slide open, blinking up at the ceiling as your pumping hand slows down to just a creep before stilling completely. An already racing heart starts to beat harder, lips part, eyes and limbs completely frozen in place as fear strikes you.

You’ve felt this before, at random times since you moved in. Sometimes in the shower or in the kitchen, when you’re getting ready for work, or catching up on a show— but mainly at times like this. When you’re stretched out on your bed, naked, fingers rooted deep in your cunt, when you feel like you’re being watched. Like there’s a thousand eyes on you all at once.

There’s even a chill that takes over the room, sometimes getting so cold that for a brief moment, you can see your breath. You’ve gone to management a few times, who of course did nothing— but a few of your neighbors put your mind at ease, it happens to them sometimes too. It struck you odd that it was mainly just your female neighbors who experienced the random chills, but you brushed it off. You live on the southside of the complex, the sun gets blocked by the surrounding buildings. You also live on the first floor— heat rises, cold sinks. It happens.

You swallow hard, shutting your eyes, trying to center yourself again. A small laugh escapes your lips seconds later— you’re ridiculous. Maybe it's time to lay off the horror movies for a while.

Shrugging out of your blouse the rest of the way, you roll onto your side and pull open the drawer of your nightstand. Out comes the cute little heart shaped butt plug, complete with a pretty pink crystal gem. A small bottle of water based lube is next, and then, the pièce de résistance. Your ten inch tall, two inch wide realistic dildo.

Your stomach tightens with anticipation as you fumble with the flip cap of the small purple bottle of lube. Just a dollop is enough to coat the steel plug, the excess on your fingers used to wet your warm, puckered hole. Melting back into the mattress, you roll your shoulders, let your eyes flutter closed, and grab your bottom lip between your teeth as you massage your rim with the rounded tip, gently pushing.

A soft moan vibrates in your throat as your body opens up. Your hole twitches, clenching tight around the toy as it disappears with a quick pop as soon as the widest part is shoved in, leaving nothing to be seen but the pink heart flush against your hot rim. You draw your legs up, calves pressed against the backs of your thighs, butterflying open as you drag the fake cock through your folds— against your clit— using your slick to lubricate the soft silicone.

Fingers find your nub soon after, slapping quick, before stroking the delicate flesh as you start to tease your slit. The cock head slips in easy, but you're so tight, so worked up and eager, muscles swollen, that it takes a little more effort to swallow the rest. Tiny little wet squeaks fall from your lips, body tenses and curls inward as you push, push, push— mouth falling open, face splintering with pleasure.

It takes not even ten seconds for your body to adjust, hips wiggling and shifting to get comfortable, before you're pulling the massive toy out and shoving it back in. You start to murmur, indiscernible, clipped words filtering through full lips— a hot tongue slipping out, sweeping over teeth as your hips start to get into it.

You’re soon too far gone to notice the black shadows moving around the room. Chalk up the feeling of the little hairs standing on end, the goosebumps popping up across your body to your arousal— and not the two piercing blue eyes that illuminate at the edge of your bed.

~~~

Bucky could reach out and touch you he’s so close now. He’s careful still— almost getting caught by you earlier, his anticipation for your almost nightly show getting the best of him. Making him sloppy.

He’s haunted these walls, these rooms, these buildings for decades, if not a century or more. Seen generation after generation moving in and out, kids growing up into adults, adults growing old, the old dying off— but you— fuck, you’ve got to be his goddamn favorite of them all.

Deep brown skin. Lithe and delicate. A soft little quiet thing, engrossed in her solitude and house plants, more than happy to shut the rest of the world out more often than not. You’re gentle. Your soul, your physicality, except in these moments. When you fuck yourself like this, and it doesn’t matter when— in the mornings when the sun is soft, in the late afternoons, your body covered in the oranges and pinks of the sky, late at night in the absolute darkness with nothing but the moon and the shadows— you’re anything but gentle.

Unrestrained and wild you are when in the throes of your arousal. Writhing and loud, a thin sheen of sweat on your brow. Eyes clamped closed so tight sometimes sweet little tears squeeze out and slip down your cheeks. Two perfect tits, mounds of soft flesh, jiggle and bounce with the aggressive thrashes of your fingers against a glistening, sensitive nub.

Nights like tonight are his favorite. When you’re acutely aware that he’s here, but too scared to really give it much thought. When the fear strikes you stiff. When you pull out that monstrous fake cock and spread yourself wide— stretch that pretty, pink, wet cunt. The squelch, the squish of the foreign object being jammed into hot, distended muscles.

Your smell. So sweet and pungent— distinctly you. It’s constantly on the tip of Bucky’s tongue, filling his nostrils, swirling in his head and chest— taunting him. Intoxicating him. Begging and beseeching him to just reach out and touch. Taste. Oh, to have your scent— your flavor— on his lips to savor. He wants to bury his face between those thighs, drown between them. Slither into you and curl up, take up residence.

Bucky’s gotten bold as of late— now, not even waiting until you’re fucked out and sex drunk, falling into a peaceful, post orgasm slumber to move around. No. Now he shifts while you’re still awake, still fucking— toy sowed deep, fingers slapping, hips snapping, back arching.

You’ve snapped your head towards him once or twice over time as you’ve caught his movement in the corner of your eye. Sat straight up, mouth hanging, eyes wide, chest heaving as you stared into the darkness— waiting. Scared shitless. You even tried to cover yourself, hands over your tits, legs closing into each other.

It made him laugh.

You’re already his. That body claimed— no need to cover it up now.

Even tonight, he’s even bolder still. Right at the edge of your bed, peering on. It’s a damn near perfect view when you get like this— sloppy. Legs splayed open, heels dug into the mattress, hips arched off the bed. Your slick glistens underneath the moonlight, splashed on your thighs, strings connected between two puffy, balmy lips. It’s nothing but an invitation— an invitation that he can’t ignore for much longer.

He pushes his knee into the mattress, and then the other, his substantial weight dipping it. Piercing blue eyes snap towards your face as he stalls, waiting for any indication that you feel him there— a smile curling onto his lips when it doesn’t come. So he pushes closer, settles right at your feet. Reaches out, hovers long, black fingers over your chest— so close that his pointed, sharp nails graze your skin.

Makes you gasp.

Bucky snaps his hand back, but you don’t stop. You shiver. Goosebumps ever present on every inch of your skin— but you don’t stop. In fact, you get faster, harder. Pounding that fake cock into your cunt, pushing your hips higher as you slap and knead at that sticky, swollen nub.

You like it.

You like his touch.

Pride swells in Bucky’s chest. Maybe you’re much more receptive than he originally thought. Maybe it’s the fear itself— knowing you’re being watched by something, not someone— is what turns you on. And it makes Bucky bolder still.

He looms over you, hand pressing into the mattress right by your head. Head tilting as he leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against your cheek. You jump again, mewl loud when his nails scrape against your skin, between your jiggling, bouncing tits. He wants to fuck you so bad. Stuff you full of his monster cock— he knows you can take it. Knows you can stretch wide for his veiny, dripping prick. Suck those pretty tits into his wet mouth, those hard, perky nipples between his sharp teeth. But he won’t, not now.

You’re so close.

And this is always the best part.

So he pushes away, away from the bed. Hovers up near the ceiling, eyes shifting from their brilliant blue to pitch black so he can enjoy your finale. Then he’ll wait a while, maybe a few nights— maybe a few hours, who knows—  to encourage an encore.

With a little help, of course.

~~~

You cry out, shrieking into the darkness as the coil planted deep threatens to snap. The chill in the room has your nipples hard, but the heat blooming across your skin has you damp and sticky. There’s gusts of something— splashing over your naked body— but the windows are closed. The air conditioning turned completely off.

It feels like breath. You’d swear it— and it’s so close. Like someone, or something, is right on top of you. Shudders wrack your body, adrenaline rushes as ice floods your veins. Alarm, panic, sheer horror gripping you.

But, you cum before you can rationalize it. Before you can pinpoint it.

It’s so sweet, the orgasm, so deep as the warmth of it spreads like wildfire. Toes curl hard, so hard they go numb as the waves crash, each one harder than the one before. Heart in your throat, the blood rush in your ears. Muscles spasming, clenching and clamping down around the silicone cock, clit jumping with each contraction of your cunt.

It lasts for awhile— your body knowing that this is what you needed. So you ride it out as long as you can, fingers still rubbing and thrashing against your clit until it’s too sensitive. You stuff the cock into you one last time and leave it there, fixed so deep as your body falls back against the mattress. Your asshole constricts around the plug, twitching and fluttering as the last jerks of your hips start to subside.

Chest heaves with deep, long, ragged breaths. Tits pushing up and down, jiggling, stomach flexing as you go limp. Limp and fucked out. Asshole and cunt used, hot— weeping lube and cum. You’re a mess. A beautiful, sated, sloppy mess.

A lazy smile on your face, eyes hooded, you stare up at the ceiling. Unaware that you’ve found two black eyes just perfectly— stare right into them as they peer back at you.

Sleep starts to pull, a mushy, hazy brain giving in all too easily, not giving you time to recognize that you’re being watched again. That there’s a presence looming just over you— all around you. Or maybe, it's a mechanism. Maybe you don’t want to recognize it. So you roll over onto your side, shimmy underneath the blankets to gather some warmth. Shut your eyes and give into the sleep— vow to stop watching those cheesy scary movies so late at night.

They’re making you paranoid.

-

The sting of cold on your extremities makes you stir. Letting out a yawn, you flex your toes, pulling the blankets up to your chin as a chill ripples through your bones. You roll onto your back, and push out a breath, not opening your eyes to see the white puff of air. Another shiver, a deep one, rolls through you again, making you shift underneath the blankets and push your face into the pillow.

Moments later is when you perceive a warmth. A soft moan trembles in your throat as you smash the back of your hand against your face, still teetering between sleep and consciousness. The ache between your legs grows harder to ignore— the warmth, starting to sear. Your hips buck soft. Another groan scratches at the back of your throat.

You’re writhing within minutes. A white hot molten pooling in the pit of your stomach and spreading out to the tips of your fingers and toes. The cold nothing but a distant memory as the familiar burn of lechery encompasses your tight body.

It feels so real— a long, forked, rough tongue lapping at your folds, swishing around your clit. You jump suddenly, gasping deep when something like teeth, so many sharp teeth, nibble and bite at the meat of your thighs. There's pressure, pressing down on your stomach and wrapped around your thigh as you draw your knees up slow, digging the balls of your feet into the mattress. The pressure, it’s warm and vast— something like a palm… there’s scratching, quick little tickles over your stomach, your tits, your ankles and calves.

Fingernails. Long, jagged fingernails.

You give in to the fantasy— the dream. Not opening your eyes, not giving into the consciousness that tugs at you, not wanting to lose this euphoria. The pressure on your stomach gets harder, heightening the sensation of the tongue against your core and almost pinning your writhing hips to the sturdy mattress.

The tongue, rough and wet, slithers through your folds, flicking quick against your clit before the mouth sucks you right up— lips, clit— right into it. Tongue flattening against your slit, teasing your pink opening. Then, oh God, and then it slithers inside, that tongue. Massages your hot, swollen muscles from the inside. Your body jolts up, away from the mattress, a breathy, drawn-out snarl bursting from your lips.

You fall back against the mattress— liquify into it really and let your hands roam, finding your taut, thick nipples. Tweaking and rolling them, pinching between deft fingers before palming your tits feeling the goosebumps that have popped up on your flesh again. Your knees fall apart, legs splaying open, putting your swollen cunt on full display for this invisible force.

It’s not long before your hips are jutting up into the dream tongue, the lips, the teeth hard and fast, a sharp sting piercing your clit just as you start to cum again. Loud, shaky moans fill the room as your hips pulse and your back arches. Cursing, whaling as the dream tongue swipes and flicks, lips wrap around your nub again, sucking hard, coaxing every last drop of your release out of you.

Thighs, stomach, arms, cunt burn as a delicious stretch, a used ache settles deep in the exploited muscles. Long, hoarse breaths fill your chest, the air rushing so fast, and yet so slow that it makes you dizzy. You couldn’t move if you wanted to, everything is just so fucking heavy.

Brain is mush again, cloudy and dense, stupid with ardor. Lazy, broken moans vibrate through your vocal chords, body twitches with quick aftershocks every now and again, making you giggle. You feel like you’ve been hit by a mack truck. It’s so nice.

Once your breathing has slowed back to normal, you roll your head towards the window, open your eyes just enough to see the moon cutting into the room. Relief floods through your veins, happy to find it’s still night time, still dark, your room still moody, giving you time to fall back asleep with the pleasant thoughts of whatever just happened— but you’re a mess again. Skin sticky and damp, panties ruined. Your eyes droop and close as you push out a soft breath, hand slipping down your body. You should really clean up.

Maybe in a few minutes. You push your knees together slowly, swaying them back and forth as your fingertips find your clit, toying with it gently. They calm your jumbled nerves quite nicely and immediately— the touch familiar. Your fingers stretch out, tips push down just a little lower as you smile stupid and lazy and blink slowly up at the ceiling.

The smile doesn’t last long.

Your eyes pop open as a simultaneous sharp gasp fills your chest with cold air. Blood runs ice cold through your veins.

“Good,” a scratchy voice sounds as your fingers push through a tuft of thick hair just between your legs, hot breath sticking to tacky flesh.

Shallow, quick breaths squeak through your teeth, eyes wide, lips and chin trembling as your limbs grow heavy— oh so heavy. Frozen. You slam your eyes shut when a hand slides slowly up your side, serrated nails skipping across your skin. A sob chokes out as you slam your eyes shut, fear gripping every inch of your body.

The wet, long, hot tongue of your dreams swipes at your core again but you’re still sensitive— jumpy— hips pushing down into the mattress to get away from it. A second hand grabs your hip, squeezes it hard, stilling your lower half as it laps at you again. The crawling hand finds your left tit, cups it— kneads it slow— rolling the thick bud between even thicker fingers.

“Look at me.” The voice sounds again, like gravel, low and rough.

Your clit is sucked into an instant warmth, a wide, flat tongue massaging— rolling— gently. A soft, tiny little noise thrums in your throat as a shudder ripples through already irritated muscles. The sound pleases whatever is between your legs, as it chuckles deep, the vibrations adding to the sensation of its tongue.

It pinches your nipple— quick, hard— and bites down into the meat of your thigh while also squeezing it with it’s other massive hand, “I want you to look at me.” you hesitate— and it doesn’t like it, “Look at me.”

The chill in its voice forces your eyes open, but you keep them on the ceiling as silent tears trickle down the side of your face and onto your pillow. An influx of air fills your lungs when a hand pushes up to your face. A thumb swipes underneath your eye gently before an index finger curls to wipe away the wet emotion.

“You’re pretty when you cry,” it says, a little softer, still rubbing your cheek slowly, “Look at me.”

Against your better judgement, fighting through the fear, you blink, shifting your eyes towards your drawn-up legs. There are two big eyes, unnaturally blue, probing and upturned, staring back at you, disappearing in the dark as it blinks before they settle back on you. In fact, they stay on you as it’s tongue flicks out at you again, sweeps through your folds, teasing your opening, your clit again. It palms your tit, squeezing before sitting up, exposing it’s true size.

Your eyes follow slowly upward as it towers over you, it’s knees pressing into the mattress, dipping it deep with its weight. You struggle to breathe, eyes flutter quick as your lips tremble, taking in the umbra. There’s a wide chest, thick biceps and forearms and hands and fingers that push your legs back— towards your chest and stomach. Stocky thighs and a—

You gulp slow, sitting up on your elbows as your eyes zero in on the throbbing, weeping cock between its legs. The moon illuminates the pulsing veins running the impressive length, the wet, red, dripping cockhead— cum already dribbling out, splashing on your skin. It’s hot and silky— dense, the cum, as it wipes the spot away with it’s thumb, a nail cutting into your skin.

It grabs itself, strokes it’s massive cock slow as it drags its eyes along your naked body. Another shudder trembles through you when it teases your cunt with it’s cockhead, pressing into your clit, dragging through your folds, prodding at your slit. You let your head drop slightly, let your eyes close to slits, let your mouth drop as it’s fingers skip up and down your thighs, it’s jagged, black nails tickling you.

Errant hips canter upward, pushing your clit against its tip again, coating it with your slick before you let it settle back against your opening.

“Now that you can see me, beautiful,” it’s raspy voice sounds, starting to push into you, “I want you to scream.”

It juts into you hard, pulling a loud scream out of you— just what it wanted. You pant as it pushes, deep, deep, deep, until its hips are flush with yours, cock completely sunk. It doesn’t move right away, lets you wiggle and twitch, hiss and grunt as you adjust to the size— the absolute fullness. Stretched so wide, clasped so tight around this pulsating cock that you aren’t sure that you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

But you’ll risk it.

It locks one of your legs around it’s waist, throws the other over its shoulder, slipping its massive hand down the length, down your calf, over your knee, along your thigh until it’s fingers settle on your cunt— on your clit. Slow circles are drawn into your flesh, a gentle pressure applied as it pulls back, cock dragging out of your death grip. You hiss as it sinks back in, reaching something deep.

It’s blistering after that. Within seconds, hips are snapping, skin slapping against… skin? You aren’t even sure. Long fingers are everywhere, tits, stomach, legs, cunt— gripping, groping, pinching. They venture up to your chin, up to your parted, swollen lips, where they linger. You send wide, innocent eyes up to its blues, tits sliding up and down as you lunge with each thrust— and open your mouth wider, sliding your tongue along the tip of its finger.

When a husky moan rumbles through its chest, your heart soars unexpectedly. It’s pleased with your eagerness— your reception.

You’re empty suddenly. A strong hand grips your side, pulls you roughly down the bed. Flips you over before yanking your hips upward, propping you up on your knees. And then, you’re pinned— an unyielding grip around the back of your neck holding you in place. You grunt and start to whimper,  another bout of fright coursing through your veins as it smashes the side of your face into the sheets and pillows.

It fucks back into you slow, a long, shuddering groan spilling out of your trembling lips, “My pet,” it speaks again, squeezing the back of your neck a little harder, “Such a sweet little thing.”

Reaching back, your fingers graze over a sinewy thigh, taking hold as you start to spring forward with each drive of its hips. You slam your eyes closed, more emotion squeezing out of them. The dull burn is back in the pit of your stomach. Your toes and fingers start to curl and flex as each stroke gets sweeter and sweeter, hitting that deep little spot within.

Goosebumps pop up again. Heat blooms across your skin, filling your face and chest and stomach. Spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth as two pouty lips form a perfect little “o” as you start to shriek, each sound coming faster and faster, louder and louder. Your fingers find your nub again, rubbing and slapping to set this release in motion. The sound of your slick is sloppy, wet— and gorgeous, to both you and it.

You’re cursing, sobbing, begging within minutes, teetering right on the edge. It starts to thumb at your asshole, rubbing the rim gently, pushing just inside— coaxing you on.

That’s all it takes. You tense hard— toes curl, fists ball, stomach clenches— and then stiffen as your orgasm hits. A white hot flushing through as you quake, cunt spasming around it’s heavy cock. Jammed full, orgasm rippling, fingers still thrashing against your constricting clit, you’re dizzy, warm all over, sweaty and freezing cold all at the same time.

Your companion— this monster of the night, lurking in the shadows— hammers on behind you, pumping, gripping, squeezing, pushing you down further into the mattress as his strokes get sharper. Stronger. More forceful.

It gets loud. Growling so deep and heavy that the sound shakes the walls— the bed. God, the poor neighbors. It grips your hip with one hand so hard you yelp in pain, hands flailing, trying to grip and grab anything they can as it fucks into you.

One, two more jabs and it stills quick— and that’s when you feel it. Another white hot, this time all concentrated in your overstimulated, tight, wet cunt. Long ribbons of cum, silk soft and warm, fill you up, up, up— to the brim. It’s cock veins pulsate, it’s girth seemingly growing wider, stretching you more as it unloads. Cock jumping in your tight grasp as cum weeps from it.

You take it all, humming loud and proud, panting as you feel it’s seed spill out, down the inside of your thigh.

It drags out slow, as if not wanting to at all. Like it likes the feeling of your messy, cum filled cunt all wrapped around him. You feel that swollen cock head through your folds again, slowly pushing up and down your clit, teasing your slit. A finger, and then another glance over your asshole— lovingly. Softly. Massaging the twitching rim before burying it’s hard cock between your cheeks, slapping you with it.

“No more,” you plead, voice small and broken and pathetic, “Please, I can’t.”

Another chuckle rumbles through its chest, “Ok sweet girl,” there’s a hand on the back of your head, stroking curly, damp, surely tangled hair, “Such a good girl.”

Hands are back on your skin again, fingers pushing and pulling, adjusting you on the mattress. You’re flat now, splayed out on your belly, legs spread, hands shoved underneath your pillows and head. Balmy skin, puffy flesh is soothed by slow gushes of breath, making you jump and whine more— whimper more. The bed sinks again as it moves, pulled again, your back up against a massive chest and hard stomach.

It wraps around you, slinging an arm and a leg over you, enveloping you in its warmth. Rids your face of the wetness, pushing the remaining tears away with its thumb. Nuzzles in close— a scratchy cheek against your own.

A heavy hand over your heart.

“I like this,” it says soft, tapping along with your heartbeat, “The rhythm.”

You hum again, happily fucked out and cock drunk, already feeling an ache settling into your muscles and bones. Hips and ass push back into its hips, pushing its dense cock against you— wanting to feel it resting against your cunt, “You got a name?”

“Brarthronoz.”

“Excuse me?” you giggle through a deep yawn as your eyes flutter.

It— he nuzzles again, pushing his face closer, “Bucky is fine, pet.”

“Bucky,” you sigh a little, “I like that.”

You fall asleep with the soft rhythm of his breath against your neck.

-

When you wake, he’s gone— but you kinda figured that anyway. The oranges of the sky and rising sun chases away all the shadows. You go about your routine but a little slower— inflamed, throbbing arms and legs make showering and brushing your teeth a little harder this morning.

You look for him though, in the corner of your little kitchen, in that small spot where the sun just never quite reaches.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth when you find a pair of bright blue eyes fixed on you, a little wink encouraging you further.

“Toast?” You ask cheekily, a wide smile on your face as you offer him a plate.

[tryingmybestpls]

Do Me A Favour (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve Rogers seeks out his ex-teammate (and ex-fiancée) as he tries to gather the team in order to reverse Thanos’s actions, but she isn’t happy to see him. (Part 2, Part 3)

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Swearing, that’s about it

Steve hadn't seen her in almost four years.

Y/N had left him and the rest of the team a year after the Snap. She didn't say goodbye to any of them, just gathered all of her things and disappeared into the night. Steve didn't realize she had left until he had came back to their shared apartment and saw that all of her things were gone. During those four years, she didn't reach out to him and if she was reaching out to anyone else on the team, they weren't telling him. It was like his teammate had disappeared off the face of the earth. He couldn't be too mad at her. Steve was the reason why she left.

Months after the Snap, he had proposed to her. She had been so excited and her happiness had rubbed off of him slightly. It seemed right, it felt right. Everyone kept telling them that it was about time they finally tied the knot. Yet, as time progressed and the severity of a post-Thanos world settled in, Steve wondered if this was actually a good idea. He didn't want to voice his worries to Y/N though. He missed seeing her this happy so Steve tried to tell himself that this nervousness would soon disappear.

Then the day of the wedding rolled around and Steve couldn't bring himself to drive to the church. His phone kept ringing as various members of the team called and texted him, trying to get a hold of him. As the start of wedding neared, Steve went down to the hall where he holds grief counseling and stayed there until the day ended. When he got back to the apartment, all of her things were gone. The only thing Y/N had left behind was her engagement ring and the wedding dress she had been wearing hours earlier.

Steve pulled up in front of the address that Natasha had given him, nervousness and guilt eating away at him. He was already confused when he pulled into the residential neighborhood, but the house he was currently parked in front of didn't help. Steve double checked and triple checked to make sure that the address was correct before he got out. He walked up the little stepping stones that lead to the cookie cutter house. She had told him that she never ever wanted to live in the suburbs, living in a house that was identical to the ones surrounded them. It was the perfect place for her to hide out.

Never in a thousand years did he think that Y/N would be living in a place like this. As he looked around, eyes landing on the carefully manicured lawn and the flowers planted in flower beds surrounding the house, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. The thought of Y/N being married or even having children made him feel ill. Steve knew that he shouldn't feel like that at all. Y/N wasn't his, never truly ever was his. He was the one that had fucked up everything so he really shouldn't feel like this over the possibly of her being married. Steve looked up at the little cream colored two story house as he walked up the porch steps. There was a swing-like bench on one end, surrounded by various potted plants. It was all very...homey.

Steve tries his best to relax as he stands in front of the door. He swallows hard before ringing the doorbell and knocking on the the red door. Would Y/N still be pissed off at him? Most likely. She wasn't the type to forgive and forget, especially with what he did. Would she be even more pissed when she finds out he's here to try to get her to come back, to try to defeat Thanos? He was probably going back to the Compound in a body bag.

The front door opening ripped him out of his thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" Y/N asks, only peeking her head of the door. From what he could see of her, she looked good. Y/N always looked good, but the past four years have been good to her. In that last year after the snap, she lost her color. Sure, there would be times where she was happy, but as the wedding date neared and Steve continued to be distant, those moments of happiness were few and far between. Now, she looks happy, healthy. Well, she wasn't happy right now. Steve shifts slightly, looking around in her little neighborhood before looking at back at her. Y/N was glaring at him.

"Can I come in, Y/N? We need to talk." Steve tries and just as she opens her mouth, a child's head squeezes her way through the door and Y/N herself. Y/N's eyes widen and the color seems to drain from her face. Steve feels like he's been shot at the introduction of a child. What if she's moved on, had a family during this time? He would have no one to blame but himself.

"Mama, who's this?" The child asks, practically glaring at Steve. Like mother, like daughter. He didn't know that she had a kid. Natasha didn't tell him that there was a kid involved when she handed him the address, a sad look on the ex-Russian spy's face. Steve knew that she had wanted to go retrieve her friend, but someone had to get Clint. Now, he knew why she was so reluctant to hand over the address. Y/N never even mentioned that she'd ever want kids. She would always brush off the question when Steve would ask, immediately changing the subject. But then again, four years is a long time and people can change. The rest of their team surely did. Y/N muttered a curse under her breath, weighing her options in her mind. Steve is surprised when she opens the door a little more.

"Sarah, this is my coworker, Steve. Steve, this is my daughter Sarah." Y/N introduces them to each other, her hand moving to rest on the back of Sarah's head. The way she says "coworker" made Steve feel like shit, but then again, he does deserve it. He tries his best to ignore it and moves to squat in front of Sarah, smiling at the little girl. Her hair is pulled into two pigtails and she's wearing a black dress covered in white dinosaurs. Sarah is practically a carbon copy of Y/N, down to her hair and features. The only thing that's different about Sarah is her eyes. She has bright blue eyes that seem vaguely familiar, but Steve can't quite place them.

"Hi Sarah. It's nice to meet you." Steve tries, holding out his hand. The little girl moves to hide behind her mother, holding onto Y/N's leg. Steve's smile fades and he puts his hand down, moving to stand back up. Y/N doesn't even bother to look at him as she guides her daughter back into the house.

Steve is greeted by the evidence of her changed life. Children's toys litter the grey colored wood floors and pictures of mother and daughter cover the walls. Not a single picture of his teammate from anytime before the four years she's been gone, but there was pictures of members of the team and her. A picture of Natasha, Y/N, and Sarah here. A picture of Tony, Morgan, Y/N, and Sarah there. No evidence of any sort of father figure. The smell of pancakes and coffee hang in the air. This is a home.

Time travel and Thanos are a million miles from his mind now. All he could think about is that Y/N, the woman he was supposed to marry, has a child.

"No talking business around her. Please." Y/N announces as she walks further into the house, Sarah following hot on her heels. The blonde wonders if someone had tipped her off that someone from the team was coming or maybe she just knew him too well and knew that he wasn't here for personal reasons. Either way, Steve feels the immense tension hanging in between them and gives mother and daughter both a little space as he takes in the house. It looked almost normal.

"Of course." Steve replies as he follows them into the kitchen. Sarah is already sitting at the island, looking at him as her mother sets a plate down in front of her. Steve stands beside the fridge, leaning slightly on the wall. He doesn't know exactly what to do, everything feels awkward. Y/N has a kid. Y/N has a kid.

"Sarah, it isn't polite to stare. Now eat your breakfast." Y/N scolds softly, no anger present in her voice as she speaks to the child. Sarah turns her attention to her mom as she picks up her fork.

"I sorry, Mama. 'teve eat?" The little girl asks and Y/N glances at Steve, who is smiling at how the little girl pronounced his name. His smile melts away as soon as he meets Y/N's eyes Anger is still deeply etched into her face, no matter how much she tries to mask it.

"I'm okay, Sarah. Thank you for asking though." Steve quickly fills in and Sarah nods, seemingly pleased with his answer. Y/N crosses the room, moving past her old teammate to go over to the living room. She turns on the tv, switching the channel from the news to some cartoon. A distraction.

"Baby, Steve and I are going to my office, okay?  If you need anything, come get me." Y/N tells her daughter. Sarah just nods in response, her focusing going to the mess of bright colors and shapes on the television. Y/N motions her head for Steve to follow her as she walks out of the room and down the hall. She opens a door, flipping on a light. This is room is a sharp contrast to the rest of the home. It's cold and uninviting. Big, flat white cabinets line the walls, filled with God knows what. Steve wants to smile at her 'home office' because it's like she brought her weapons room from the Compound home with her.

But the look she is giving him keeps the smile off his face. Y/N's about to open her mouth, to question him no doubt, but Steve cannot help what flies out of his mouth. He just has to ask.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a kid, Y/N?" The Captain questions, his eyes softening as he looks at his ex-fiancée. Y/N leans against the table in the center of the room, crossing her arms over her chest. She no longer trying to mask her anger.

"You weren't in my life, Rogers. Why would I tell you that I had a child if we aren't speaking?" Y/N retorts, shrugging her shoulders like it wasn't a big deal. They both know that this is a huge, colossal deal. There's stomach acid in Steve's throat and he feels like he's going to throw up as he forces out his next question. He is dying to know, but he dreads the answer.

"Who-"

"Don't ask me that." Her voice is ice cold as she shakes her head, "Please, don't ask me that."

That's when it slowly starts to dawn on Steve. He swallows the bile down in his throat as he takes a step towards her. Her angry facade is cracking as tears brim her eyelids. Her carefully built world is crumbling down around her and there isn't a thing she could do about it.

"Y/N, how old is she? Just-Just tell me how old she is." Steve's practically begging as Y/N looks away. She's fiddling with the necklace she has on, moving the pendant side to side on the rose colored chain. It feels like an eternity before she decides to speak again.

"Three. Sarah-She's three." Y/N finally speaks, looking back at him. It's like Steve's heart shatters in his chest and he has to lean against the wall for support. Steve Rogers isn't as smart as the others on his team and math has never been his thing, but it doesn't take him long to do the math in his head.

"Were-Were you ever going to tell me?" Steve asks as Y/N chuckles drily. The smile that's on her face doesn't reach her eyes.

"Of course I was and then you left me at the altar. Forgive me for not wanting anything to do with after that." Her tone was full of bitterness as she looks at him, "I was going to tell you that day-God, I was so fucking excited and then you just didn't show up. That's when I realized your priorities were greatly skewed and that you didn't really care about me anymore."

"That-That's not true, Y/N." Steve starts and the woman scoffs.

"Really, Rogers? You weren't even fucking talking to me anymore. You only came to me when you wanted to relieve a little stress. Why you asked me to marry you is besides me." She snaps, her words full of poison, "I wasn't about to bring a kid into the mix."

"So what? You were just going to hide away here forever? Never tell me that I had a kid?" Steve responds, motioning to the door. He's clearly angry at the woman in front of him. Y/N chuckles.

"You know what hurt the most about you leaving me at the altar? You didn't even call. There was no "Hey babe, I realized I don't want to be bound to you by law, hope you understand!". Three fucking hours passed before I finally realized that you weren't coming. By then, Natasha had already hunted you down and saw that you were at one of your meetings, acting like you had nothing else to do that day." Y/N tells him as she runs a hand through her hair, "But sure, go ahead and be mad at me because I didn't tell you I was pregnant. Be mad because I left because you apparently did nothing wrong."

"Look I'm sorry-" A knock on the quickly cut him off. Y/N sent a glare his way before walking past him and opening the door. Steve watched as she squatted so she was at eye level with her-their daughter. Steve looked at Sarah, trying to memorize her face just in case this is the last time he sees her. Blue eyes that resemble his glance at him for a moment before they return to look at Y/N.

"Mama? Help?" Sarah asks, her outstretched hands covered in something sticky. The smile that Y/N gave the little girl made something rise in Steve's chest. Neither of them glance at Steve as Y/N leads her back towards the kitchen, leaving the Star Spangled Man With a Plan alone in the room. He did not know what to do with all of this information. Steve had a child, a daughter. A little girl who was fifty percent him and fifty percent Y/N. He knew he had fucked up, but didn't realize he had fucked up this bad. Steve was numb as he walked out of the pristine room, walking down a hall full of pictures of Y/N and their daughter. He leans against the wall as he watches the two of them.

"How did you get this sticky, baby? I gave you a fork." Y/N teases softly, lifting up Sarah so she can wash her hands in the sink. The little girl giggles and Steve thinks it's the best sound in the whole world.

"I sorry, Mama. 'ticky." Sarah responds, which makes Y/N laugh. Steve can't help but smile at the sight in front of him. His head quickly becomes filled with thoughts of "what if". It's not until he feels something tug on his hand, yanking him out of the various scenarios running through his head. Sarah's tiny hand is wrapped around two of his fingers. His heart swells in his chest and he suddenly understands why Tony was willing to give up everything for Pepper and Morgan. He wishes he had made the same decision.

"Go to park?" Sarah questions, looking up at him with those big blue eyes. Steve is at a loss for words and he looks up at Y/N for some sort of help. Y/N is still drying her hands off as she clears her throat.

"Sarah, I don't think Steve wants to go to the park with us. He has to go back to work." The woman tries, walking towards the two of them. Sarah looks disappointed, pouting and making a noise. Y/N glances at Steve, once more weighing the options in her mind.

"I-I have enough time. I'd love to go to the park with you-If your mom is okay with it." Steve responds and the little girl turns to look at her mom. Y/N's features soften and she nods.

-

"Tony called before you arrived. Said you're trying to create time travel." Y/N announces as they sit beside each other at the little park that was in her neighborhood. Sarah is running around, laughing loudly. Steve glances at the woman beside him. She knew why he had showed up on her porch but still had let him in. Y/N had every right to not let him in, to not even answer the door. Hell, she didn't have to tell him that Sarah was his, but she did.

"Yeah. Lang is pretty sure we can do it. We just need to get the team back together." Steve replies, to which Y/N just nods. Her eyes stay on Sarah, never letting the little girl out of her sight. Steve turns his head to look at his daughter, who is currently sliding down a slide as he continues, "But I understand if you don't want to. Things have...changed."

"If we have a chance to fix things, I want to be there." Y/N responds, fiddling with the necklace she was wearing. Worry was written all over her face and Steve regrets even coming out here try to get her to join them. Her eyes stay on Sarah as she runs around, "If something happens to me, you have to tell her dressed in the suit."

"W-Why?" He is confused at her request, but he wasn't going to tell her no. Steve doesn't even try to tell her that everything is going to be okay if she joins them. They both know the risks involved with their job and he'd be lying if he told her that this was going to be an easy mission. For the first time since they got to the park-Hell for the first time in four years, she turns to him and smiles.

"Because Sarah knows that her daddy is Captain America and she's been dying to meet him."

[nyx-aira]

We'll meet again

Summary: Peggy goes on a mission and everything goes wrong.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Peggy, I hope you like it (thanks for the inspiration @lilian-maximoff )

Tag list: @escapetodreamworld @midnight-lestrange @king-star @ynscrazylife @ycfwmalise14 @procrastinatingsapphictrash @ineffablebean @mochamoff @wlwlovesreading

Peggy was late, she was too late. She sprinted around the corner of the abandoned building and followed the bloody trail, hoping it didn't lead to who she thought it was.

Peggy had been sent on a mission to retrieve some HYDRA Intel, or rather had broke into the office, stole the files for the mission and had gone alone. Because these imbeciles of coworkers she had wouldn't get the job done, at all.

She had been successful in breaking and entering, just the leaving part wasn't as easy as she thought it would. When Peggy stepped out of the office she saw a shadow leaning against the wall, watching her.

She was ready to lie or fight her way out of this situation when you stepped out of the shadows, a knowing smirk on your face.

"Seriously Peg", you said as you stepped forward, " breaking and entering and you didn't invite your best girl?"

Peggy laughed at your antics, mustering you and the way you were dressed. Instead of your normal office attire you wore a leather jacket, army pants, boots and a backpack that looked like it could hold Captain America himself. She shook her head, she should have anticipated this, there was no way to keep a secret from you, not just because you were an SSR agent.

"Where are we heading?" You asked as you followed Peggy to her car, throwing the backpack in the backseat and getting in on the passenger side.

Peggy started the engine and drove through the streets of New York, driving out of the city and heading north. She grabbed a map and threw it in your direction, focusing on the road as she spoke.

"We got word that not to far from here, there's an old factory that's been used by HYDRA. We think that they might still use the facility."

You looked at the map and saw a building that was situated deep in the woods. You snorted, the typical villain hideout.

About a mile from where the building was situated you stopped the car, hiding it behind some bushes and deciding it was safer to walk the remaining distance. The two of you walked in complete silence, focusing on the task at hand, trusting the other to cover your back.

When you arrived at the facility it looked as abandoned as the files had said but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong here. Peggy broke into the building and you followed close behind, weapon drawn.

What greeted you inside was eerie silence. The whole interior was destroyed, machines broken only sparks of electricity lighting the room up. Somehow Peggy got the emergency power running and the whole place was lit in ominous red. It reminded you of a horror movie.

You crept through the hallways, Peggy close behind, following the path of destruction. It lead to a room at the end of the hallway. Peggy stopped you with her hand, signalling that she would go first. You nodded and prepared for the worst as you entered.

Whatever you thought was inside here didn't prepared you for the absolute horror you were faced with. The whole room was covered in blood and you could spy at least two bodies from where you were standing. Looking at Peggy you both agreed that this wasn't an abandoned facility but rather that this was the scene of a crime not too long ago.

You decided to go investigate the second story as you heard a noise. It sounded like the rattling of chains so you ran into the direction of the metallic sound. Banging open the door you rushed into the room, looking around to see nothing more then an empty office. Confused you wanted to leave when suddenly you saw some movement out of the corner of your eye. You turned around and got hit into the head, then everything went black.

Peggy ran faster when she saw a figure slumped against the wall. Coming to a skidding halt in front of you she immediately sank to her knees, taking in the damage. Your leg was bent at an unnatural angle and you had a head wound that was painting your face red. But the most concerning thing was your shirt, your shirt that was turning crimson faster than Peggy would've liked.

You jerked awake as you felt hands on your body, frantically trying to pry them off in a last attempt of self defense. Gentle hands grabbed your trashing limbs and a soothing voice tried to comfort you, a voice you knew. Peggy.

Slowly opening your eyes you groaned in pain as something touched your leg, the voice apologising immediately. Peggy looked absolutely wrecked, her hair was loose and all over her face, tear tracks marking her face. She was devastated but you didn't know why.

In fact you didn't know why you were here at all, how you got here and why there was so much pain. Everything was fuzzy and you were on the edge of unconsciousness, the throbbing pain in your leg and stomach the only thing keeping you from slipping into the darkness completely.

Peggy was crying. She hadn't cried in a long time, the last time when had she lost Steve. But here she was, crying again, over a person that could have been so much more than a friend if she didn't let them sacrifice themselves.

She took your hand and squeezed it, begging you to hold on to stay with her but she felt your grip weaken, your hand slipping from her fingers.

Peggy was sobbing, she was angry, angry at herself that she didn't come with you, angry that she couldn't protect you and angry that she'd never get the chance to tell you how she felt about you. She should have said something while she still could.

A gentle brush of fingers against her arm broke her out of her trance, looking down to see you smiling weakly at her. You lifted your arms and she instantly knew you wanted her closer. Shuffling forward on her knees until she was all in your personal space she looked at you questioningly.

You only gave her a weak smile and pressed your lips to hers, startling her for a second. Peggy soon recovered and kissed you back as gentle and with as much passion as possible. Her heart was torn between happiness and sadness, happy that she finally got to do what she wanted to do since you stepped into her office that faithful day and sadness. Sadness because as you kissed her as if your life depended on it she felt you slipping away, slipping through her fingers even though she just caught you.

You broke away with a teary smile, hand caresing her face one last time, memorising her face so you would never forget. You brushed away one last tear and whispered one last confession as your eyes shut and you were finally at peace.

Peggy felt a hand on her face, wiping her tears away. She looked at you and if she hadn't been that close she would have missed it.

"We'll meet again my love."

She wanted to answer but your eyes fluttered close, one last tear rolling down your face, a smile ghosting your lips as you faded away.

As she pressed a last kiss to your temple, she felt as if your skin was on fire, burning like a thousand suns. With tears in her eyes and burning lips she got up, looking around to see the sun rise over the horizon.

It was a new day, a new day in a new world, a world that maybe wouldn't be so cruel after all.

"We'll meet again my love, we'll meet again."

[medical-gal]

Death by a thousand cuts

I have been thinking about writing this for months now. Even before I decided to quit the residency at my previous job.

COVID has been kicking our ass, true, but that was (is) true for most healthcare providers all around the world.

No, my struggle started a bit before that actually.

First some background, I have been working at one of the biggest most famous ID clinics in central Europe. The clinic is in a different country than I am originally from so there was a bit of cultural accommodating at the begging. But we were a big group of ID interns/residents/fellows and specialists.

I don't actually remember that much from my first year working there. And I couldn't figure out why, but then I read in some study that when u experience a high dose of stress and/or sleep deprivation for a long time, your brain kinda stopps being able to transcribe short term memory into a long term.

I was working 100hours/week, sometimes less, sometimes more. After a year and a half, when the last half I worked in the ID ER for five months, I always stayed after working 24 hours, sometimes over 36hours, and I would see and treat 70ish patients. Nobody from the older docs would help me out, nobody from other interns either bc usually they would have their own kind of hell to take care of.

The fact that basically, inexperienced doctors are taking care of patients never really phased my ex-boss. Her mantra was that if there was a problem that you cannot resolve, you can call her and she would advise you. Which most of the time was true, I must say that.

But we all have been young docs, barely out of our medical school garments, and sometimes as it happened, we could not recognize there IS a problem that maybe needs a more experienced opinion.

I am often confronted with this idea or more like a culture, of pretending that once you are an MD you don't need help and asking for it is a kind of weakness and that then you are forever on the list of WEAKLINGS.

And let me say this only once.

That's absolute bullshit.

Anyway, the first time I decided to quit I worked there for about a year and a half, I went for a long-expected holiday, I took three weeks off, had interviews and talked with my bf about my options.

Second thing...my man, bless his beard, would support me no matter what. He is almost 10 years older than me, so he has more work experience and I find it reassuring to discuss stuff like this with him bc I know he will not sugarcoat it. He said that I should dig my heels in and last at least one more year till the end of my "internship". As a "resident" who worked at this specific department, I wouldn't have a problem finding another job. We r basically the equivalent of a french legion of medical professionals (when u work in this specific department and everyone knows it, I will come back to that later).

So I took his advice. Thankfully as a part of our training, one of those parts is a year-long internship at the internal medicine department, which I did shortly after we had that conversation and guys, that was a revelation of how medicine and just...work and life can be experienced. There were enough docs for a floor, an attending who had the time to manage and advise us. I´ve grown that year as a doc so much. Other internships were mandatory so I could have become (equivalent of) a resident, and it was a general surgery, anesthesiology, radiology, microbiology etc. But I did them all and became a resident.

The moment I came back to our clinic, my boss would put me in our outpatient department. Which I have never worked on before. The head of the department has quit a few months before, and I had no idea what to do there, bc it's a very different type work. The only thing my boss told me when I spoke of my concerns were "you will learn".

Thankfully the previous head of the department was a good friend of mine and she would always answer my questions and requests. Suddenly I no longer had to deal with the hectic life of an ID floor or ER, no sepsis, meningitis, etc.

Most of my patients were the chronic type...Lyme, chlamydia, mycoplasma... let's say it literally drained the life out of me. But I managed. Also, I started to work for their outpatient office which takes care of patients with chronic hepatatis. That I enjoyed more.

I also started to dip my toes in vaccinology, either planned like for travel but I started to be more interested in preventive care in the immunocompromised and my own phantasmagoria was to make a palliative care team in our hospital. Bc, we had none. And then a wonderful thing happened, other docs, older experienced, great at their work, started to refer their patients to me specifically.

There were more examples of the utter a complete FUCK U(s) which were kindly provided either by the system or by the head of the department or the hospital.

Then covid hit and the shit hit the interstellar space.

I still can't make myself remember the first few months bc it actually causes me to go into a rage fit, and honestly, I am done with that kind of negativity.

I hold out for a year. Year of such shitty treatment from the chief and our hospital head. No thank you- s or you are doing a good job or we r all on the same ship.

No.

People will say that I quit bc of the money. And that's not true, tho it did irk me a bit. All the other ID specialists working at different hospitals would get covid bonuses every month. We got jack shit. Again, the best biggest most know ID clinic. We were the first and oftern the ONLY ones who would test for/diagnose/hospitalize/treat a patient who had covid FOR MONTHS in the beginning.

I mean, the medical community is small, the ID community even smaller so yes, we were able to compare and contrast the work at different ID departments in other hospitals bc our friends worked there. And all of them would go speechless when they would hear from us what we were living thru.

At one point at the beginning of the pandemic, ALL the ambulances would go thru our ER department and we were supposed to decide where the patient should go.

AN EXAMPLE

Ambulance with a woman who has known colon cancer, had a fever, stomach as a rock and is projectile vomiting. I was supposed to decide where she should go and the surgeon would be super pissed when I said that I don't think she has COVID but without PCR I can't be sure but I think there is a bigger pressing issue. I remember him saying:

"well if anyone else gets infected at our department and dies, it's on you."

fun.

There were other examples of seriously stressful episodes which I and my coworkers lived thru, for which we were not trained for, advised, or properly supervised. At a certain point, I started to take anxiolytics before and during my all-nighters bc I didn't know what I would do with all that stress which was so callously shat on me and my coworkers.

For a few months, I stopped working nights, only thru the mercy of my coworkers who saw how exhausted I was and would take my shifts.

Anyway, after only two months I had to start working nights bc I needed the money. The basic pay for docs was just not enough without the extra from night shifts. Talk about exploiting.

The moment however when I decided to QUIT, when I was DONE, when I actually heard my heart break, was the moment at the end of the previous year. They decided to start vaccinating in our tiny small vaccination centre. Let's say a "shit storm" brewing is the light version of events that ensued.

But basically, as I was trying to discuss with my boss that we are all exhausted, that this wave is not slowing down and that throwing more work at us, the docs and nurses and other staff, who are overworked, is not a good idea,

What she basically said to me is that who says things like that is lazy and that if she can handle it everyone must be also.

The thing is..most of us were at the bring. Some would handle it with casual and calous sex, drugs (legal or not), a bottle of wine before sleep. A coworker ended up with antipsychotics.

But u know,

we were all lazy apperently.

I realized there is no way out of this other than quitting. I could not continue being so tired and sad all the time. I took two weeks off, really thought about it. Had diarrhoea and nausea for a week as I realized I will have to quit :D

On a Monday I came back, handed in my notice. Basically what she told me and how she reacted made me realized how right the decision was.

I had to stay there for another three months bc that's the law, but my mood changed significantly.

I got another job in a smaller ID department, working with amazingly kind people, but that's another story.

But that was the only interview I actually looked for and did. I, however, did get several job offers from different types of medicine. From heads of different departments in my old hospital to smaller general medicine chain offices who are looking for ID specialists, to insurance companies.

Like I said, french legion.

Or Runway and your boss is Miranda Pristley. Once u survive that, u survive anything.

But at my old work they would keep hitting you with wave after wave of passive agressive comments about how if u quit, u wont be able to find anything as"prestigious" as this.

There were many other exmaples of a shitty and questionable situations which were treated as "normal" but there is not point on getting on that rage train.

Contrary as it might seem, I am greatful I got to live thru this, good and bad, bc now I know what I am and am not willing to sacrifice for a job. No matter how much I might love it.