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buryustogether · 1 year

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lilac - chapter 8 + epilogue

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the walls are crashing down, and even spiderman can’t hold up an entire universe.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: smut, kidnapping, universe collapsing, torture, filming, blood, blade violence, explosions, choking, falling off a building, love confessions, major character death, start-overs

If you closed your eyes hard enough, if you flooded your senses with your deep, treasured memories and blocked out everything around you, you were able to transport yourself back into last week. Last week, when Gabriella had crashed on the couch, and you and Miguel were lying in bed with chests heaving and sweat cooling across your necks. The bedside lamp was dim; the bulb needed to be changed. Outside, the city continued to thrive, churning and burning and spitting. But inside your bedroom, your hand clasped in his, the world was still.

He had rolled you over so that you lay on top of his broad frame, but he was still inside of you, soft and flaccid now that he’d finally chased his release - after giving you yours four times. You blinked tiredly, staring at nothing as you felt one of his long, thick fingers skimming over your back.

“I’ve been thinking,” you murmured against the warm, tan skin of his shoulder.

Miguel hummed, acknowledging your words. His fingers continued to graze across your skin, up and down, up and down.

“Obviously we’re… planning on staying together. For a long time. Right?”

Though he kept his eyes closed, his thick, full lips quirked upward into a smirk, allowing the tips of his fangs to poke into view. “Believe me, sweetheart,” he rumbled from deep in his chest. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

His words stirred inside of you, like a new hope springing to life. “Well… we’re going to need to move. Someplace bigger, with more room. For all of us. And this city, Mig, it’s… it’s not safe.”

It was then that Miguel’s eyes opened, and that smile slowly disappeared from his lips. You felt your heart sink with them, like an anchor in your belly. “You’re talking about moving away?” he said. When you only lifted your head to look at him, chin resting on his sternum, he exhaled deep and moved his hand to begin carding through your hair. “I can’t leave, bebe,” he said softly. “You know why.”

Yes, you knew why. It was because he was Spiderman, and this was New York, the worst city in the country to live in. With criminals on every block and fires and shootouts and a sky so deeply and violently purple you’d never even known its true color.

Being a lover, a father, everything before and after and in between, was what made Miguel who he was. But that was only a part. That other half came from being a hero, from helping those who could not help themselves. Walking with a sense of pride in what he did, knowing that people had something to trust in.

And you knew he could never leave that.

So you swallowed thick and let the issue go. You sighed and wrapped your arms around his large, naked form, nestling your face into the soft, delicate spot where his throat met his chest. “Okay,” you said, and you felt him lean down to kiss the crown of your head. “I’d still like a bigger place, though. Your daughter can’t sleep on the couch forever.”

Miguel chuckled, wrapping a sinewy arm around your middle to keep you close while you both dozed off. “I think we can do that.”

You were suddenly brought back to the present when, behind the glass partition you were facing, the giant, hulking machinery moved a few inches before coming to a halt. The metal groaned and squealed, startling the little girl held tight against your chest. Gabriella was heavy, and your arms were beginning to grow tired, but you would hold her until the end of time, if you needed to.

The Alchemax viewing area was dim and dark in the corners of the room, illuminated only by the glow of the control panel to your right and the stark, white lights projected onto the molecular collider in the lab. It was a massive piece of machinery, built to withstand its own otherworldly power, armored and bolted to the ground should the walls and ceiling be blasted away into nothingness.

You turned slightly when the collider moved again, twisting and turning in on itself, and Gabriella released a small, pitiful cry against your shoulder. Twisting your expression into a sneer, you fixed the man at the control panel with the meanest look you could muster.

Doctor Octopus - Otto Octavius, a visionary genius turned terrorist after his mechanical arms took over his head - lifted his head slightly and let his shades slip down his crooked nose. In return to your harsh frown, he gave an apologetic expression that carried no genuinity whatsoever. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said as one of his arms reached out to flip a few switches. “Just a few test runs.”

Shifting Gabriella’s weight to your hip, you glanced down and smoothed the girl’s hair from her face. She was still wearing her jacket that she would have put on at recess - they must have been watching the school, waiting for her to emerge from those brick walls so that they could snatch her up. Suddenly you were cursing yourself, wishing you could face your reflection in a mirror and shatter the glass with a fist. You could have been there. Could have made sure she was safe, she was secure.

Her being here was your fault.

And her being here meant something that made your veins turn to ice when you thought about it; they knew who Spiderman really was.

When the collider began to shift again, shaking the building slightly in its very foundations despite being here in the basement of the building, you turned your head to face Octavius again. “What exactly are you all planning to do with this thing?” you said, watching as he shifted across the control panel to reach a few buttons and scanners. “I heard it wasn’t ready for tests yet.”

“From who, darling?” he said, meeting your eyes over the rims of his shades. “A spider on the wall?” When you said nothing, averting your eyes to the floor, he hummed and continued on, allowing his mechanical arms to carry him over to a large monitor. His gloved fingers typed faster than you thought possible for a person. “Alchemax is playing a dangerous game with a toy they don’t understand. Tests mean nothing when dealing with a piece of the future like this. That Spiderman of yours told you about the multiverse, didn’t he?”

Told you about it. Explained it. Came from it.

Octavius raised a finger and beckoned you toward him. You hesitated, holding your breath, before silently padding across the observation area to stand behind him at the monitor. Squinting your eyes against the light, you watched as he gestured to a warping, live image of string-like animations repeating in a loop on the screen. “These,” he said, finger grazing along the lines, “are realities close within one another. They’re different, sure, but only in little ways. Someone’s eyes are a different shade. A grain of sand is misplaced a foot from where it landed. Again - little ways.” He used the touchpad of the computer to scroll outward, giving you a view of so many lines warping together it looked like almost an entirely colored screen. “And these are the realities within our grasp with the collider. Meaning -” he looked down at you - “every reality in the multiverse.”

You stared at the screen, hugging Gabriella to yourself tightly. One of those lines was Miguel’s reality. Where he was supposed to be.

As Octavius scrolled back in, you caught a glimpse of a line flickering and glitching, unlike the others. You stopped him. “That one,” you said, and he halted. “What’s that one?”

“Earth - 9193,” he said, his voice low and grave. He met your eyes, his gaze darker than it was just a moment ago. “Our home universe.” He gave a rather rueful smile as he watched your expression melt into one of confusion. “In our reality,” he explained as his mechanical arms set him - finally - on the ground, “there is no Spiderman. This city - it’s not supposed to get better. So imagine the universe’s bafflement when Spiderman from a different reality swoops in to save the day. It tries to expel him. Tries to correct canon events gone wrong. But it couldn’t. And so - it’s collapsing.”

“Collapsing?”

“Correct.” He paused and you both looked up when, overhead, there came a distant boom; the city falling apart at the seams. The building shook again and dust fell from the ceiling. To your surprise, he lifted one of his arms and shielded your head as it bounced off your shoulders and clung to your hair. “Call us selfish,” he said and lowered his arm again. “But my associates and I aren’t particularly fond of sticking around when the end comes around.”

You blinked a few times at the screen, feeling your heart skip a beat or twelve as you let his words sink in. Your universe - it was collapsing. That was what the glitches in the city had been. That was why Miguel’s apartment building had folded in on itself - it was because of him. No matter where he went, the glitches followed.

Because he was a virus here in your reality, and when viruses could not be expelled, the system would ultimately kill itself.

You clutched the little girl in your arms a bit tighter. “You’re… running away,” you murmured as Octavius fiddled with the monitor and its data. “You’re leaving us all here to die.” The words were barely able to clear your throat, barely able to keep themselves afloat.

He hummed in that way you noticed he did. “Running away wouldn’t be the correct term,” he replied. “Moreso… self-preserving.”

At that moment, the doors leading into the observation area were thrown open on their hinges to reveal the figures you had come to fear striding into the bay. You took three steps back as the Prowler slid down a railing and came to a smooth landing at Octavius’ side. “How are we looking, Doc?” he said as his purple, eye-lit mask dematerialized to reveal his face. His gaze was a touch crazier than you remembered it, bold and wild in a way that screamed danger.

Octavius’ cold, stony facade slid back into place as he adjusted his shades and rose, his mechanical arms lifting him off the ground. “Swimmingly,” he replied. “A few more tests, and she should be ready for lift off.”

“Perfect!” shouted Ferris abruptly, causing you to jump slightly. He clapped his hands and approached you as, behind him, Kraven hefted a news broadcasting camera onto his shoulder and began to fiddle with the settings. “Sorry to keep you waiting, babe,” said your ex as he approached you, taking two steps forward when you took one back. He showed off a disturbing, unnatural smile. “Had some loose ends to tie up.”

You sneered at him and turned, placing yourself between him and Gabriella. “You’re fucking insane, Ferris,” you hissed, inches from his sickening grin. “Taking me is one thing, but a kid? You’ve lost it, for real this time.”

“Big words, coming from you,” he said, tilting his head as the collider twisted and churned again. “Shacking up with a vigilante who crossed realities to dick you down.” He snickered to himself. “Listen, babe. That day when Spiderman - sorry, O’Hara - cracked my spine and broke my jaw and left me to suffer in that fucking alley, I realized something; why stick around in a dump like this when I can make like your little fuck buddy and squeeze myself into another dimension? Hell, why do I need you when I can just find another one of you who won’t screw me over?

“So I managed to get myself up. Crossed paths with these guys, told them…” He brought his lips close to your ear, so close you felt his breath fan across your skin. “I knew the identity of Spiderman.” He grinned again, drew back slightly to touch his forehead against yours. You would have smacked him, shoved him away, were you not still shielding the little girl in your arms. “I would say it’s not personal, babe,” he whispered. “But it is.”

Then his lips were smashed against yours, so roughly and ruthlessly you were flashed back to when you still lived with him, let him touch you, let him fuck you. He would always kiss you like this, like he possessed you, like he owned you. It only lasted a moment or two before he pulled back, forcefully plucked Gabriella from your arms, and handed her off to the Vulture, who was standing beside Octavius.

“Alright, boys,” he said as his mask materialized back over his face. “Let’s make a movie!”

Taking a few steps closer and backing you up against the glass partition of the observation area, Kraven hoisted the camera up and pointed it directly at you and Ferris. You found yourself frozen in place, petrified and staring back at your own reflection in the lens. His clawed hand came up to grip the back of your neck, and the other clapped over your mouth.

“Stick to the script,” he murmured in your ear, “and I’ll let the kid live.”

“Broadcasting to every system in New York,” said the hunter, then clicked a button and the camera and a light near the top flashed red. “...Now.”

Unbeknownst to you, across every screen in the city - televisions, phones, Times Square, everything - the broadcast crackled through and began to stream. There was not a soul in New York that was not watching.

Not one.

Ferris tilted his head at the camera in a way that made your stomach churn. Even behind his mask, you knew he was smirking and squinting his eyes in that way he did when he was playing coy. “Hello, Spiderman,” he said in a low, even voice. It sent chills crawling up your spine, made you struggle in his hold until his claws dug against your skin. “You and I have unfinished business, and it would be rude to leave hanging in the air - you know, before we both jump ship. You know where I am.” Behind you, the collider moved, and this time, it did not stop. A blast of energy exploded from the edge, shaking the building again. You stumbled slightly, raising a hand to clasp at his wrist over your mouth. “And just in case you need some incentive…”

You let out a small shriek when Ferris ripped you forward, sending you spinning around to face the camera. Before you could get anything out, he came up behind you like a vengeful apparition and grabbed your jaw, his claws digging into the soft skin of your cheeks. “Go on,” he murmured in your ear, just loud enough for the camera to pick up. “Cry for help. Cry for him.”

Against every ounce of willpower you had, because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, you felt tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. Just a moment later, they spilled over, cascading down your cheeks and staining the fabric of his glove. Yet despite your tears, despite the silent sobs racking your body, you refused to speak.

Ferris dug his claws into your cheek further, drawing a few dots of blood and pinpricks of searing pain. “Come on,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Beg for him.”

Your eyes turned behind the camera, where the Vulture held Gabriella’s collar in a grip tight enough to pale his knuckles. She stood beside him like a confused puppy, tear tracks staining her face as she watched you. And you knew you couldn’t do this alone. Not with her here. Not with Ferris.

“Spiderman,” you breathed, then cried out when Ferris yanked your hair to expose your neck and poise a claw over your throat. It gleamed in the light that the collider was throwing about the lab, shaking and burning out energy.

“Ah-ah,” he tutted. “His real name.”

You didn’t have time to mull over the realization that you were going to expose his identity, didn’t have time to think about that, really, it wouldn’t matter, because your reality was tearing apart, anyway. Blood collected on your cheek where his claws dipped in, and pain seared through your face.

“Miguel!” you finally wailed, feeling your tears mix with the scarlet. “Mig, we need you - please! He has Gabriella. I need you, please, Mig, I need you!”

With a grunt, Ferris spun you to the ground, then stalked forward and grasped the camera by the lens. “Come and get your girls, O’Hara. Alchemax. You have until the universe collapses. Or, you know…” He trailed off as his mask tilted downward toward you. “I decide to let one of them go a little early.”

You found yourself sitting against the row of desks holding computers, cradling Gabriella to your side as you watched Ferris and the rest of the vigilantes watch the collider charge, murmuring amongst themselves. You heard the words ‘sensors’ and ‘turrets’ and ‘muzzle for those teeth’ and ‘dead before he hits the ground.’ They had planned for Miguel, were waiting for him.

Gabriella murmured your name - the first thing she’d uttered since you both had been brought here - and you at once looked down. She clutched onto your dress, her cheeks stained with tear tracks and her chest rising and caving with deep, panicked breaths. “Is Daddy going to come and save us?” she whispered.

Doing your best to shove down the dread, and sorrow, and grief hanging suspended in your throat, you put on your best wobbling, warped smile and brushed her hair back from her face. “Yeah, sweetheart,” you replied quietly, just barely audible over the sounds of the collider. You sniffled, holding her closer. “He’ll be here any minute.”

It couldn’t have been just a few minutes later when, from the corner of your eye, you saw one of the computer screens jump to life. You thought it to be chance, a touchpad disturbed by the constant shaking and rattling of the building, but then images began to flash across the screen. You turned your head and realized they weren’t images, but letters. Words - being typed out across the monitor.

Letter by letter, your name was spelled out. The cursor blinked for a moment before everything was deleted. Then -

H E R E.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you leaned forward. The word was typed again, this time in bold. Then in italics. The computer - no, someone behind it - was beckoning you forward. With a few words of reassuring nonsense in Gabriella’s ear, and a quick glance to make sure the men were still distracted, you crawled on your hands and knees along the row of computers. Sitting up on your heels, you faced the dim screen.

Hesitantly, you whispered, “Hello?”

The word disappeared, soon replaced by another. L Y L A.

Lyla - Miguel’s AI. A surge of hope flooded through you like a tidal wave, filling your veins, your heart, your soul.

H E I S C O M I N G.

You exhaled, blinking at the screen. Then -

D U C K.

Your body reacted before your mind even had a chance to catch up. The entire world seemed to move in slow motion as you scrambled to your feet, grabbed Gabriella and huddled behind the desk - just moments before the back wall blew outwards in a ground-shaking eruption. The glass partition shattered and the collider shrieked as debris rained upon the observation area like hail from a hellstorm. A chunk of rock sliced across your cheek, letting pain rip through your face and blood spill down your face.

Like a train unable, unwilling to stop, to keep from plowing into the first thing it saw, a flash of red and blue came tearing from the site of the explosion and collided with the purple figure of the Prowler as he struggled to his feet. They went sprawling across the rubble-covered deck, only separated when a mechanical arm grabbed the back of Spiderman’s leg and hurled him across the room.

He caught himself and landed in a striking pose - then his mask dematerialized, and Miguel’s scarlet eyes raised to the men before him. He opened his mouth, exposing those long, glinting teeth, and released an animalistic snarl that froze the blood in your veins. His hair was mussed and the lines beneath his eyes seemed deeper than before. His hands, his claws, practically trembled with the rage and fury radiating off of him in waves. In that moment he was truly more beast than man.

You shielded Gabriella’s eyes as he snapped, standing again to his full height.

“About time,” said Ferris behind his mask, then readied his own steel claws. “Let’s settle this once and for all - Spiderman.”

The next few moments were blurs of violence, of villains with metal limbs and wings and a thirst for blood all came down to assault Miguel where he stood. He was a whirlwind of action, taking blows and giving them back in a tempo you knew was not humanly possible. His teeth sank into skin. His claws tore through muscle. He roared and thrashed and fought for everything he had, because life outside may have been falling apart, but his entire life was right there inside that observation bay.

Bits of light poking through the still-settling dust from the explosion drew your eye away from the nauseating fight, pulling your attention to the place where the door used to be. Flickering from the corridor - the exit.

Gripping Gabriella’s hand so tight you knew it ached, but you didn’t care, you brought your face close to hers so that she could look into your eyes. Blood still seeped down your cheek, now staining your collar and your neck. “Listen to me,” you said to her, just audible over the sound of her father snapping one of the Vulture’s wings in half. “We’re going to run, okay? And we’re not going to look back. You hold my hand and don’t let go. Just like we practiced with the drills at school, alright?”

She nodded her head, and then you were off. You ducked your head as a piece of technology sailed past, tugging the little girl along over rubble and through the shattered doorway. From there you took the first stairwell you found, listening as the sounds of the battle grew more and more faint. Up and up you went, until you reached a heavy metal door that you shoved open with all your might. Gusts of wind rushed in to greet you, whipping your dress skirt about, whispering about your fate in your ears, and when you reached the roof, it seemed that, really, they were right.

New York was no longer recognizable. It had turned into a hellsite of glitches and chaos, entire streets folding in on themselves before completely vanishing. You nearly screamed upon realizing Harlem, Queens, Brooklyn… they were all gone. From this height you could see past where the river was supposed to be, but instead it was all… nothing. There lay a vast, wide nothingness, like a blank canvas. No ground. No buildings. No people. Everything, just… erased from existence.

Panic rose in your throat like bile, pulling you to your knees and fresh tears to your eyes. It was all true - your reality was collapsing in on itself. All those people, gone. And soon, you would be, too.

It was a long moment before you realized Gabriella was tugging on your hand, attempting to pull you further along the roof as she kept her terrified gaze trained on the door to the roof - until it was too late. You both shrieked as the Prowler emerged from the frame, his suit ragged and torn, stained with blood and his mask vanished. Scarlet ran down his face, same as yours, as he approached you on the roof.

“You want to know something funny, babe?” he said. The last word, that awful pet name, was rasped through clenched teeth as he stalked you, taking his time even as you scrambled to the edge of the building, because you both knew - you had nowhere to go. “I wasn’t really going to kill you in that alley. Just wanted to scare you, ‘ya know?” His face dropped. “Now I really wish I had.”

In a moment, Ferris had pounced, rolling you over and over yourself on the roof of Alchemax, his clawed hands tight around your throat and his knees on either side of your waist. No matter how much you struggled, how much you kicked and screamed and wailed and bucked, he refused to let go.

How ironic, came a quiet, barely-there voice. Even while it dies, the universe is attempting to fix itself.

As tears blurred your vision, you shifted your gaze to Gabriella, who watched the life being strangled from you with wide, petrified eyes. To Gabriella, who suddenly clutched at her stomach, her lips parting. To Gabriella, who, slowly, like a channel stuck on a loop slowly fading out, began to dissolve into a reality-splitting glitch.

To Gabriella, who was there one moment, and gone the next.

For a moment, you stopped your struggling. You stopped trying to grasp at Ferris’ own throat, stopped your kicking and howling. You just lay there, feeling the life drain from you slowly, staring at the spot that little girl had been just seconds ago.

You would have cried, could you have breathed. You would have screamed, could you have breathed.

You would have died inside - could you have breathed.

“Isn’t this romantic?” panted Ferris over you as his hands tightened their grip on your throat. “The two of us, going out together? Like we were always meant to?”

You knew he would have killed you then and there, had you both not heard the thundering, storming, ground-shaking thuds pounding up the stairs leading to the roof. Footsteps. A body being slammed into the walls as they ran. An ear-splitting, heart-skipping roar of your name.

Ferris let out a long, trembling, exasperated groan before he yanked you up by the neck, hauled you over to the edge of the building, and held you out like a lure over a lake. Your hands, your nails, scrabbled at his wrist as you looked down the best you could, watching as people stories and stories below scrambled for cover before glitching out of existence. Your legs dangled, your hair blew in the wind.

This was it. This was how you bit it. Not from strangulation or being winked out of your reality - but from a drop that would hit you before you knew what had happened.

Slamming out onto the porch in a frenzy of raw, untamed, wild fury, Miguel skidded to a stop and began to lunge at the Prowler - before he laid eyes upon your form at the end of his arm. His gaze searched wildly for his daughter, for his Gabriella, before it met yours. Before it took in the tears spilling down your face.

“Don’t you see what you’ve done to us, O’Hara?!” said Ferris, flexing his fingers around the column of your neck - the only thing keeping you from plummeting. “What you’ve done to our world?! Can’t you just leave us this last bit of ourselves before we all kick it? Can’t you just leave us alone?”

Miguel began to pace on the rooftop, edging closer and closer with each step. “I can offer you a bargain,” he said, but his voice came out more snarl than word. “Give her to me and I send you home. To a different home, one just like this. You’ll never know the difference.” His tone dropped. “You’ll think you’re in the real thing.”

Your legs were beginning to go numb, your fingers clawing at Ferris’ wrist losing feeling. One hand dropped to your side.

Ferris shook his head, sneering at him with all the hatred left in this collapsing, dying universe. “You already took my world,” he said. “So I’ll take away yours.”

And suddenly you were falling. Released from his grasp, because in the split moment after he let you go, his body glitched and jumped and disappeared. But you were still there, plummeting toward what remained of the earth below you.

You didn’t think it would be so fast.

Craning your neck against the wind screaming in your ears, against the sight of the Alchemax building beginning to crumble as it, too, succumbed to the fate of all else, you watched as that familiar suit of red and blue jumped off after you. Extended his arm. Released a web that, you thought, wouldn’t get there in time.

But it did. The webbing clung to your chest, pulled taut, buoyed you like a bungee cord as Miguel stuck himself to the side of the building that was still standing. He slowly lowered you to the ground, then began the descent himself.

You stood. Extended a hand to him as he raced toward you.

Then fell as you lost the feeling in your legs, lost what it was to be still.

Miguel caught you before you hit the ground, skidding to his knees and gracefully pulling you into a cradle in his lap. “Hey, baby, hey,” he said in a strained, strangled voice. Red stained his temple, the crooked bridge of his nose. “Hey, I’m here. I’m right here.”

You realized then that you were crying again, letting sobs and wails rack your body, because you knew what was happening. You knew it because everything else of this world, of this reality, had vanished. Ceased to exist. It was just him, and you, and the sky overhead. Nothing else. And soon, you would be gone, too.

“Miguel,” you gasped, reaching up a shaky hand to paw at the side of his face. “Gabriella - I tried. I really, really tried, I’m sorry -”

“Shh, baby, I know. I know you did.” Through the wetness in your eyes, through the sensation of your lower portion becoming static and fuzz, you watched as tears pricked at his own eyes. They trickled from the corners, mixing with the grime and blood on his face, and he did not wipe them away. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

You cried and clung to him, desperate to hold onto the feeling of him. Of his hand cradling the back of your neck. Of his lips against yours. Of his body on your own. Of his laughter against your skin, and his fingers trailing across your back, and the warmth that spread through your chest when he smiled at you.

God, that smile. What you wouldn’t do to see it again.

“I don’t want to die, Mig,” you said, your voice wavering. You’d forgotten the feeling of your waist, of your belly. They were foreign to you. Glitched out. Going. Gone.

You did not jump when Miguel opened his mouth and released a stifled sob, his warm, salty tears dripping onto your face. “I know,” he shushed you through his own cries. “It’s going to be okay, alright? I’m right here, baby. I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.”

Arms dropped. Your chest stilled.

“Hey,” you said, nudging your nose against his when he leaned down to press his lips against your temple. He met your eyes, his forehead pressed against yours. “Look.” Your gaze tilted upward, upward, to the sky. He followed it. “No smoke.”

You were right. Without the buildings to churn out smog, without the people to feed the machines, without the universe to choke itself out… the sky had cleared. And it was not violet, or plum.

It was lilac.

Miguel dipped his head again, his lips quivering as you stared up at him. “I love you,” he said.

You would have said it back - were you not already gone.

He stared at his now-empty arms, eyes trained on the spot beneath him you had just been. There was no trace left. Nothing left behind, nothing to tell him you had even been there.

For a long, long moment, Miguel sat still, his chest heaving and his eyes wide and his lips parted. Then he dropped to all fours, shoulders shaking and knuckling the ground, and opened his mouth to scream. It was a wail heard in every corner of the empty universe, a cry that shattered everything of the nothing left. Filled with agony, and grief, and horror, and guilt. Again and again he screamed, fangs glinting and tears gleaming and throat hoarse.

When he at last could not take any more, he collapsed onto his side. Hands twitching. Chest shaking.

Nothing.

For a long while in that empty universe, it was still. Silent. Lilac.

Then, from behind Miguel, there came a voice. “Hey, boss,” said Lyla gently. “Ready to go home?”

—

Earth - 2943

New York

Roses, peonies, lilacs, irises… the bundles of flowers crowded your workstation at the back of your store like a wildflower field had grown right in the middle of the little shop on seventy-first. Greens and pinks and yellows and oranges filled your windows. Petals littered the floor like a chapel. Living walls carefully and lovingly-kept occupied the sides, a rainbow display of every flower and blossom one could name.

Your little flower shop was doing well - and you couldn’t have been more proud. You lived alone in your apartment just upstairs, your rent was on time, you didn’t have to work a second job at all to keep yourself fed.

Everything was perfect. As it should have been.

Your attention was drawn to the front of the store when the little bell above it chimed, signaling someone had just entered your shop. “One second!” you called around the corner, hurrying to clip off the remaining thorns from the blossoms. “I’ll be right there!”

When you were finished, you wiped your hands off on your apron, gathered the bunch of flowers up in your arms, and swept around to the front room. There, a man and a little girl - his daughter, no doubt, they looked almost identical - stood admiring the displays you’d set out just last night.

“Good morning!” you greeted them, carefully setting the bundle down. “Can I help you find anything?”

Brushing a bit of hair from your face, you were able to see the man more clearly. Your breath hitched in your throat; you were staring at the one of the best looking men you’d ever seen. Tan skin and cheekbones placed high on his face, full brows and lips, a sinewy body and a tapered waist… he was beautiful.

The man smiled at you - with his lips closed, but nevertheless it was gorgeous - and jutted out his hip to place his hand on. Oh, fuck, that was hot. “Just browsing,” he said kindly.

You found yourself unable to pull your gaze away from him. You could not say precisely what it was, but there was something that drew you to him. Like a magnet between walls, almost, yearning and needing to be closer.

When he realized you were staring, he smiled wider.

“Heh - sorry,” you said, shaking your head. You leaned over your counter as he meandered closer, letting his daughter marvel at your flowers. Up close, you were able to see the tired, exhausted lines beneath his eyes. “It’s just… have we met before? There’s just something about you…”

Unbeknownst to you, because he could never let you know, could never let you go… you had met before. In a different universe. In seven, to be precise. He had met you as a teacher, a stripper, a doctor, a thief, a hero, a villain… He’d seen you in every form your soul had to offer. And he would continue to do so. Because he wasn’t going to let you go.

Not then. Not now. Not ever.

He chuckled, his free hand reaching up to touch the delicate skin of his throat. “No, I don’t think so. First time in here.” He tilted his head, smiled at you. “But… I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.” Then, like every other time before, and every other time that would come after, he stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Miguel. You are?”

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quaintii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead @bitch-onthemoon @hier—soir @takayomi @kirke-is-my-name @d1lf-loverrr @might-be-a-rat @brooks-lin @maki-z @bookfreakk @act1839 @dollscircus @sleepingaway @anxietybutterfly @bioticboot @mxkn @freeingrebels @digitalcreature404 @aimee777 @hunnaye @blahbahed @cyanide-mustard @impettywhenyouare @mental-illness-is-my-friend @bobfood @jenniferdixon05207 @moonchild-cupcake @venomous-ko @marvelouslovely-barnes @syarblu @fruitcupsworld @soooooyesbutactually-no @hopefulcandywitch @elwyn7 @oh-theseus @thepanwiccan @takayomi @dreamingofbucky @yuuuumii @p1nkliquor @scammer-get-scammed @mlishe

#miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara x y/n #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara across the spiderverse #miguel atsv #atsv #atsv x you #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #miguel o’hara atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse

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thetxtdevil · 3 months

Text

Fashion Week

Yeonjun x Reader

summary: Yeonjun goes to Paris, France for Fashion Week to look at the latest hot styles. He's also going to meet up with a super hot model.

content: smut, fashionista idol yeonjun, supermodel fem.reader, paris/fashion week setting, they've hooked up before, strip tease?, blowjob, (fem) masturbation, consumption of cum :P, fingering, condom use finally, doggy style

word count: 1.4k

The sun was bright, shining down the many fashion lovers attending Paris Fashion Week. Yeonjun was known to attend the men's portion of fashion week. He was all for the new trends and beautiful garments that matched his own beauty. Once the shows he was invited to ended he sent his asks for certain styles and quickly heads for another show specifically for women.

Luckily, the french weather had suddenly changed, sun covered by clouds making it more bearable for Yeonjun to run down the cobblestone road to a old lavish building. Walking in the garden that surround the building, the green grass became covered with paparazzi. Yeonjun takes his time to wave and pose before continuing his journey to the show.

He loved all things fashion, the many styles, colors, its a way to express yourself however, in this show he was there for a specific supermodel. Sitting down on a wire framed chair in the front row Yeonjun relaxes under the cool breeze of air conditioning. The many women strut in spring inspired attire passing by as he watches contently. Yeonjun turn his head right when the the star of the show turns the corner.

Yeonjun leans forward elbows on his knees, he was in absolute awe. You, the supermodel he's been waiting for, strutting in confidence. Wearing an intricately made haute couture dress that fit like a glove. Yeonjun watches you closely, looking at you like you’re his next meal. Trying to focus on your walk, you simply glance towards the man keeping a straight face. Walking past him, you move your finger as a wave to the man. Yeonjun sees this little action, smirking and continues to study the dress and the definition of your exposed back.

After the show, Yeonjun makes no time for more paparazzi to take pictures of him. He was determined to make it to the back stage before you leave. A little overwhelmed by the many models changing and trying to leave, a women with a clipboard and headphones walks straight up to him, “Are you Yeonjun?”

“Uhhh yes...”

“Y/n asks for you in her dressing room.”

Yeonjun tilts his head, very pleased to have an escort to your room. The man follows the assistant making his way through the crowd of models. He arrives to a door, separating you from the crowd. Yeonjun slowly twists the doorknob and walks in. A substantial difference between the outside and the room, it was quiet with faint classical music playing in the background, and big widows that arched over head. Greenery framed the glass with a distant view of the Eiffel tower, it was simply romantic.

“I didn’t think I’d see you at the show” you walk into Yeonjun’s view hugging him. Yeonjun takes his chance to feel the expensive fabric along your body. You were currently in a slip dress worn underneath the original runway dress, the man's hands lingered for a while, he missed his little love affair with the model.

Your first big modeling gig was exciting for you and that excitement increased when you met Yeonjun at a after party. Hitting it off, naturally he lead you to his hotel room and since then every time you two were in the same city you guys meet.

You both separate when you walk to the partition, hiding the vanity, taking off your earrings and placing them on the surface. Yeonjun was not too far behind you, knowing you had nothing to hide when changing.

"After this I was thinking we can go out for a walk, get cappuccinos-" you stop mid-sentence when you feel hands unclasping your necklace. A slight shiver runs down your spine feeling his fingers graze your skin. This reaction was not unnoticed by the man. Yeonjun gets closer to your back, lightly tracing your arms, placing the delicate diamond necklace into your open palm. You watch him through your vanity mirror, watching as he presses his lips to your neck but you weren't prepared with how satisfying it would feel. Eyes fluttering shut, you tilt your head to the side letting him lightly kiss more of your exposed skin.

"or we can just stay in this dressing room a little longer." you smile looking at Yeonjun's same reaction reflected on the mirror.

Turing around, you plant your lips against his plush ones. Delicate fingers stroking Yeonjun's black hair. His big hands around your waist, all this felt like heaven.

Making the kiss harsher, you push the man towards the velvet sofa in the middle of the room. Falling into the cushions with him, you start to grind against his hard on. Moans slipping from both ends you break the kiss, lifting yourself off of Yeonjun. Slipping out of your slip dress letting it fall on the ground and then slowly taking off your black sheer panties throwing them at Yeonjun all while seductively staring at him.

Yeonjun catches your flung garment, feeling them to see that they were soaked. He watches you hover over him crawling down hooking your fingers to the band of his pants, unbuttoning, and lowering both the trousers and briefs. You reach your hand down between your legs, gathering your juices to lubricate Yeonjun's stiff cock. The man drools and groans at the sight, laying his head down on the couch. Hissing once he feels your lips wrap around his girth, skillfully bobbing your head up and down. God you were so enchanting, it would be so sad to leave you in agony.

"Touch yourself" Yeonjun commands.

You look up at him through your lashes and a mouth full of dick. Yeonjun nods his head confirming what he said. Continuing your pleasurable sucking with one hand you reach to your dripping pussy gently rubbing circles on your clit. Your eyes roll moaning against Yeonjun's cock sending electric vibrations causing the man to climax. "Fuck, you're good at this." Yeonjun can't help but thrust up into your throat to finally catch to his release. You still moaning, you decided to push the beauty under you over the edge by removing your glistening hand from you to his balls. With a loud "fuck" Yeonjun's cum was running down your throat and you gulping down every last bit.

You lift yourself up kneeling in front of the man catching your breathe. You stare at his sweaty face, smiling to yourself you lean in to kiss him. "Now lets get this designer outfit off you hmm?" Slowly but surely you undress Yeonjun revealing his lovely toned body. Not able to control yourself, you drag your hands on his abs delighted by the soft skin. Yeonjun smirks at your entranced state, "Bend over and let me see your ass, love." You obey his command, you twist on your knees turning away, grabbing a throw pillow to relax your elbows on.

Yeonjun changes positions kneeling in between your legs getting a handful of your plush ass. Tilting his head to the side as he sighs at how ravenous you looked, with one hand he slides his fingers within your slit then into your hole, "damn you're wet." Face already shoved in the pillow your whines were muffled. Yeonjun's free hand scavenges in his abandoned blazer looking for a condom. The plastic materiel gets into his reach, he puts it into his mouth biting it then rips it open. You let out a bratty cry when Yeonjun removes his fingers to apply the condom. "Don't worry, love, you're going to get what you want."

You look over your shoulder with plead in your eyes. Yeonjun lays his torso on your back kissing your shoulder as he rubs his cock among your glistening folds.

"Ready?"

"Yes god jjun just do i-"

You choke on your sentence when Yeonjun slams his dick into you, pushing your body forward into the pillow. Both of you pushed into delirium by the delicious feeling. Jolted moans escape your mouth going with the pace of Yeonjun's thrusts. You look back at him seeing his sinful concentration. "S-so good ah-" you try to praise but the feeling of his tip hitting that sweet spot had your back arching. Flames burning your core at the intense drive, walls begin to clench hard around Yeonjun. He huffs at the tightness, bending down again planting kisses and reaching around your hips to rub your clit.

Screaming and bending your back even more, pleasure was too sweet. "I-im mmm going to c-umm" you slur your words, it was out of your best effort. Yeonjun was close too, working hard through your tight walls he was determined to make you cum the same time as him. A long drawn out moan escapes your pretty pink lips, your high washes over you dripping down your thighs. Yeonjun finally cums gasping for air, pulling out to remove the uncomfortable wrapping.

With the energy you had left, you move to your side leaving room for the man to fit snug beside you. Noses touching, soft kisses, you both giggle at the euphoric moment of having sex in Paris.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

#txt devil #txt imagines #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt x reader #txt hard hours #txt x you #txt x y/n #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun x y/n #yeonjun x you

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ressjeon · 2 years

Text

desperate | pjm (m.)

pairing: model!jimin x pa!reader

summary: being Jimin's assistant made you immune from his flirty tactics, but somehow you find it hard to resist him when he unusually becomes desperate.

rating: 18+ | word count: 3.8k

genre/au: smut (a bit of plot if you squint)

warnings/content: crude language, masturbation, fellatio, handjob, deepthroating, face fucking?, switch dynamics, a lot of pining ig, cheeky jimin that has many lustful thoughts and he's a brat too oml

a/n: been a long while and this is unplanned as always lmao. was supposed to be posted on the 14th but the universe said no so i couldn’t post it. anyways, this is for the 2nd anniversary of this blog’s official debut in this community so why not post a fic of the person who made me start writing in the first place, as the first fic of 2023 just like he was my first fic in this blog (just in time with vibe’s release, his solo album announcement and his official partnership with Dior too! 0.0). thank you Jimin for being my light, i love you 🥰

― masterlist — navigation — wips

You’re currently on your knees, helping Jimin out with his problem.

Not that kind, goodness no. He’s been doing practice poses for his shoot as soon as he arrived like he always does in each photoshoot. You ignored his flushed look when he entered the studio, already knowing his morning routine and went straight for the pre-shoot meeting. Everything was smooth until you noticed some stain on his black pants when you were checking him for any final touches.

So here you are now, dabbing the wet wipes around the spot on his thigh while he’s leaning against the frame of the glass partition behind him.

He’s lucky that most of the staff are not here yet so you have time to remove the stain from his pants, a cum stain that almost made you scream when he told you sheepishly that it was from some girl he fucked this morning before coming to the studio.

“are you still mad? i told you i didn't realize she’d be a creamer”

In any other situation, this would've been a strange exchange with someone you essentially work for. Jimin has no filter in the way he talks to you but you don’t really mind it as you do the same. You and he have grown closer to one another each day since you started working for him so these types of conversations became normal between you both.

It's one of the perks of Jimin hiring someone around his age for a personal assistant. You've been with him from the very start of his career, barely scraping anything during that time with the both of you fresh from graduation. When he initially asked you, you looked at him incredulously because his plan was quite risky. Jimin understood your hesitance but he was surprised when you finally agreed after a bit of consideration.

Your friends said that it must be the puppy eyes that he constantly gives you but no, you knew of Jimin during college. It’s common knowledge from your mutual acquaintances of how hardworking he is and you’ve witnessed it a few times before so you said yes because why not. You're both in the same boat anyways, still looking for other jobs and who knows, if this works then it will be great for your future careers.

You remember when Jimin got his very first paycheck, running up to you with a tight hug and asking you something that you’ve been wanting for a while. You were confused but then he cracked a smile and revealed that he wanted to treat you as a gratitude for doing your best to find casting calls and gigs for him. You were happy of course, with both of your hard work finally coming to fruition.

This dynamic you have with Jimin as a very close friend and colleague has been pretty balanced as the years go by. There are times when you fought, unavoidable with your contrasting personalities but you both became comfortable with one another regardless. This makes your teamwork efficient with more understanding from both sides as your relationship gets closer.

“believe me, it’s hers, not mine i swear” he adds, repeating what he explained earlier when you don’t answer him.

Thoughts aside, you do, of course, believe him because Jimin’s one of the most responsible guys you’ve ever known. He always comes prepared for photoshoots and arrives early to do last-minute check-ups despite what his shenanigans are the night before like earlier today. He’ll never go bare with anyone to avoid risks because he already experienced some scares before from past hookups.

No answer from you still but it’s partly because you've been in shambles on the inside with what you feel for him these days. You’re not only annoyed by this whole thing but you also felt uneasy at what he said. You’ve been used to it but you somehow felt the sting when he explicitly laid out his latest hookup.

You’ll never admit to yourself or him why because it would be unprofessional.

At the same time, you’ve also been fighting to focus only on finishing up what you’re doing, occasionally straying your eyes toward the glass windows to calm yourself down. He was practically naked in front of you, with his damn gold necklace where its round pendant dances around his belly button and pointing down to the huge bulge he was sporting. And it would’ve helped if he’s covered, at least while you’re still on the floor. But apparently, he felt the need to not zip it up and just wear it as it is, torturing you with his sculpted body.

You shouldn’t mind it but you’re a bit suspicious because Jimin’s always been involved in his photoshoots. He always consults with you regarding his outfits even if it’s not part of your job. He often asks for your input as well, discussing his ideas with you before he gives them a go. For this shoot, he picked this specific hooded jacket among all the ones that you’ve shown him, insisting on wearing it without anything under it because this one is apparently very loose.

Which became an immense distraction to you.

You remember zoning out earlier in the meeting room when Jimin was picking the final photos from his pre-shoot, trying all the concepts that he’s been wanting to do. You were already a mess with his slicked-back hair and exposed body along with his tight pants. And now you couldn't stop staring at his veiny hands as they hovered around the pictures. The gold rings on both of his index fingers didn’t help either, turning your focus on them instead of listening to him explaining to you and his stylist.

Jimin of course notices and teases you like always. Though he’s been doing it more frequently these days, adding more to the brewing tension between you.

He ran his fingers through the pinned pictures on the pegboard and casually picked up the pictures near where you were standing by the edge of the table. He leans closer and closer so you have to fight the urge to look at him, instead focusing your attention on talking with this stylist.

“you alright, __?”

You just scoff and roll your eyes at him, brushing him off with an excuse of being sleep deprived. He’s doing this on purpose, he could’ve lied to you earlier about fucking someone because how is he still hard? Thankfully he zipped up for now so his oversized jacket covers it but you knew he had a hunch about why you’d been acting weird around him right now.

Jimin's been smiling, knowing that his current hairstyle has been your favourite. He noticed it when he had his rainbow blond one last time where you couldn't stop touching his hair, hands constantly on it whether hair spraying it or simply tugging its strands whenever you can, reasoning that it's looking messy though it's not.

You couldn't stop looking at him too, eyes staying on him more than you ever did since working for him. That's why he specifically talked to the stylist and the photographer about bringing this hairstyle back for this photoshoot since it’ll also fit with his whole look. Also, you’ve been sneaking glances at him today which has been lifting up his mood. It just adds to how hard his dick is already, affecting you this much makes him very excited for today.

“Jimin, you can't do the shoot with this” you will yourself to ask, relieved that your voice came out sterned. When you look up at him, Jimin swears that his cock just twitched at the view of you in this position, his thoughts playing a different scenario where you’re giving him the suck of his life.

“then help me..” he mindlessly responded, totally not paying attention to what you’re referring to. He's not sure really, his mind’s still hazy and all he can think of is the ache of his balls from not being able to cum earlier.

“i’m trying” you grumble, ignoring his pouting. He’s adorable when he’s like this, and he uses that on you when he wants something. Sometimes it works when he combines it with his affectionate touches but you have to be strong this time. You’re not even sure what he’s specifically talking about but then you’ve also been occupied in trying to fight off your growing lust for him.

Jimin’s pout turns into a grin after catching your eyes flickering from looking anywhere and on his bulge again, he can sense how your hand’s so tempted to touch it with how much you’re gripping his pants. Your hand continues to fidget, eyes unfocused as you continue to wipe off that stain as hard as you can just in case. You don’t look annoyed now either, but you’re wearing a struggling expression that tells him just how conflicted you are at this moment.

You’re beyond torn because that fucking tent of his pants is dissolving your annoyance little by little with sinful thoughts already creeping up your mind the longer you stay down the floor.

“where are you looking at?”

“the city view looks good from here”

You automatically answer, clearing your throat in the process before gathering up the pack of wet wipes and the damp cloth along with a bowl of cold water from the ground. You avoid looking at Jimin’s face because you knew he was going to try something now that he noticed your slight slip of judgment.

“yeah, the view is amazing but my view from here is better”

“up or down?”

“both, but i’d say down. you’d say the opposite, right __?”

You almost dropped what you're holding at his remark but this is nothing new to you: Jimin shamelessly throwing his lewd innuendos at you at any chance he got. You indulge him in it, after all, it’s just harmless flirting between friends, something that you never expected when you took this job. Sometimes it's part of your banter, you doing the same thing to him which catches him off guard sometimes when he's focusing on something while working. You especially do it when discussions of his escapades come to light, which you helped in arranging because of his demanding schedules.

Yes, you’re this dedicated to your job even if it sometimes causes an ache in your heart.

“why? didn’t you fuck someone?” you deflect, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affecting you.

“yeah but i didn’t get to cum, couldn’t…” he trails off as he closes his eyes and grabs his crotch to hopefully feel a little bit of comfort but it's no use. He wants to tell you why he couldn't, wants to let you know who has been stopping him from getting off with other people but you don't care anyways.

“then get rid of it, you still have time”

You state with urgency, nervously looking around if anyone saw but everyone’s been doing their own thing. Patting his thigh, you stand up from your kneeling position and push aside your want to help him in getting rid of it. He might be good at hiding his expressions but he does look like he’s been struggling for hours since he arrived on set. Jimin didn’t do anything but huff before retreating to the dressing room to take care of his problem.

Now that most of the staff are here, you check in with them for any possible last-minute changes. It took your mind off Jimin a bit but your eyes couldn’t stop glancing at the door of his dressing room. You shake your head, pushing yourself to focus on your current task. It’s still early but you want to make sure Jimin’s ready when the scheduled time for his photoshoot is on. This is an important shoot for him so you just hope that he finishes as soon as possible to not keep everyone waiting.

After you’ve double-checked everything, you decide to fetch Jimin. Nearing his door though is making you more agitated than you already are. You’re about to knock when you hear his loud, sexy groan. fuck.

You haven't really heard how Jimin sounds properly because each time you catch him fucking someone, either during his breaks or random times when you need something for him to confirm, his partners’ moans usually overpower his so this is quite new, and you won’t deny that you'd love to hear more of it.

“oh fuck..fuck”

Jimin being this loud causes you to panic at the possibility of anyone in the studio hearing him like this. This might not be new for some of the staff but still, you just don’t want everyone to hear how he sounds like.

You took a deep breath before wandering your eyes around if anyone was watching but thankfully, everyone was busy.

He wonders if you’re listening, purposely moaning louder than he intends to as he fists his cock. You probably don’t care and if you ever catch him, you’ll just ignore his attempts and scold him for taking too long at this. It’s always been the case with you but he does find it amusing to piss you off more.

So when he hears the door opening, a smirk creeps up on his face before opening his half-lidded eyes.

“y–”

“shut up” you seethe as you approach his propping form on his vanity. He thinks it's just one of his imaginations again, indulging him with his fantasies. But when he feels you grab the chain of his wrap necklace towards you, his eyes open fully before releasing a small gasp. The smaller chain loop fastens gradually around his neck when you begin pulling its long chain gently while looking into his eyes. He maintains eye contact and you notice the hunger and mischief in them as you continue to pull his necklace.

“s-shit” he whines quietly, though the smirk still remains on his gorgeous face as his hand continues to stroke his cock even faster. His other hand reaches for the dark bottle of lube, bringing it in front of you before pumping its nozzle on his very angry tip.

He closes his eyes again, placing the bottle back on the table while his other hand spreads the lube around his dick. You’re speechless for a second with this whole show he’s putting on, pausing to watch him. It’s when his other hand comes up in an attempt to touch you to come closer that breaks your reverie, swatting his hand away.

You stare him down, brows scrunching while contemplating what to do next. This would be crossing whatever boundaries you have with Jimin both in your personal and professional relationship. You had to look away from him to think this through. You’re used to seeing him semi-naked with other people before but not like this. Him now naked from the waist down in front of you, his tight black pants pooling around his ankles.

It’s Jimin’s desperate whimpers that made your mind up. There’s no point in denying wanting the same thing he desires from you.

“i’ll help you but don't make a sound” you command and he nods, too fucked out to respond because all he wants is his release.

Your hand replaces his before you kneel on the hard floor, immediately swallowing his cock to not waste more time. One of Jimin’s hands is on your head at once, not gripping your hair but just holding onto you for support because fuck, your mouth feels so much better than his hands, hell it's even better than pussies he’s had before.

It’s you, of course, Jimin has always thought about how much better you’ll be at pleasuring him than others. He smiles after noticing your demeanour change as soon as your mouth envelops him. It must be the lube flavour that he specifically picked knowing apple’s one of your favourites. Your mouth is greedily sucking him in now, warm tongue lapping up the entirety of his cock.

"you were drooling for my cock earlier, hmm? bet you wouldn't mind sucking me off in front of everyone outside" his mocking tone shudders, his attempt of gaining control wavering with you being encouraged by what he said. You bob your head faster, opening your mouth more to take him deeper cause the view from where you are is spurring you to do more. Jimin in his fucked out glory is a sight to watch, his gold link earrings swaying as he tosses his head back, his plump lips getting swollen from him biting them to hold his moans in.

You want to see more of it.

When Jimin’s not closing his eyes from the pleasure, they never leave yours as he stares right into them. He surprises you when he gets up from leaning on the vanity, his hand moving from the top of your head down to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him. This made him push deeper into your mouth so you loosen your jaw, the new angle allowing more of his length in your mouth. As soon as his tip reaches the back of your throat, you’re unable to stop releasing gurgling moans when it nudges further.

“can’t..believe..you’re.. choking on my cock right now..”

Jimin rasps needily as he rolls his hips slowly, deeper with each thrust. The vibrations from your moans are not helping him in holding his orgasm longer. He’s been trying hard because he wants to prolong this, relish this view of you on your knees and your mouth on him because who knows if this will ever happen again. He’s losing himself, grinding on your face while his hand starts massaging your nape in time with his thrusts.

Now you’re confused because you for sure thought that he’ll start fucking your throat roughly the moment you allowed him but he’s not. You take a deep breath through your nose as you come up, readying your throat in case he’ll change his mind later when he’s close to cumming. But the way he’s touching your nape is making you relax, distracting you from your main reason for helping him in the first place.

He’s close already, his cock's been throbbing before you started bobbing your head earlier. His pace also changes a bit faster but is still slow and you’re confused as to why he’s been holding back. His breathing turns erratic and his lower abs are flexing. You know it so before he does so dig your nails into both of his meaty thighs before one of your hands leaves and pushes away his hold on your head.

You take him deeper until your lips reach the skin of his crotch, immediately pushing back when he grabs your head again, releasing his cock from your mouth which causes Jimin to whimper in frustration.

“that's for making me wipe other girl's cum on your pants” you glare at him, voice hoarse from taking him that deep in your throat. Standing up from kneeling was making your legs wonky, feeling numb from your previous position but your mind’s not on it with your prior annoyance resurfacing because of his attempt to pacify you.

Jimin, however, begins laughing.

Your brows rise from his reaction, totally not expecting this because you were really sure that you already got him under you.

“so you’re jealous after all,”

“i’m not, i wouldn’t help you if i were” you counter, avoiding his eyes as you pull his jacket back on him, it was slipping on one side already, showing his muscular arms and the tattoo on his ribs. Your fingers have minds of their own when you start tracing each of the letters, causing Jimin to shiver at your touches but the devilish smile remains on his handsome face.

“but you’re doing it to prove something, right?”

You don’t know how to answer him and you don’t want to tell him the truth because it’ll just feed his already massive ego. Instead, you grab his swollen dick, hot and heavy in your hands and begin stroking him roughly. The slick from the lube, his precum and your saliva made it easier for your plan. There’s no way you’ll let him, he’ll never be able to make you admit it.

The smile disappears from his lips as his whole body shakes with a cry, not expecting your punishing pace on him. You want to look at him, to watch his smug face morph back into a pliant one.

But you can’t.

Jimin couldn't cum earlier while fucking another girl because all he can think about is you and now you’re doing what exactly he’s been imagining for months, years. You’re still not looking at him, your brows scrunching in focus on jerking him off. He can’t stop himself from bucking into your hands when your thumb starts flicking his mushroom tip, nudging his frenulum with your index finger before squeezing his shaft each time you do it.

You’re honestly amazed at how Jimin manages to hold off his climax this long but it shouldn’t surprise you when he has such incredible control of his body. It’s when your other hand reaches out to pull his necklace again to pull him towards you, that he finally gives in. It never crossed your mind that modifying this necklace by combining it with his gold link could serve as an advantage for you when playing with him.

Jimin’s hand leaves the table to muffle his mouth, eyes somewhat begging you to let him cum. You smile and he lets himself go through a series of incoherent cries, still covering his mouth like you ordered him to. And despite knowing how loud he can be, you quickly move to remove his hands to finally hear the delicious moans that he’s been obediently keeping.

He continues to rock his hips despite the overstimulation, trying to catch your eyes and when you do look up, he’s back to purposely biting his lips as he gapes at you with his dark brown eyes.

He’s grinning while still biting his lips as he shoots more of his cum into your hands, it’s spilling all over but most of it landed on your black sheer top, especially on the sleeves.

“Jimin what the fuck! you came so much..” your enamoured eyes are focusing on his slit that’s still releasing loads of his sticky cum around your fingers.

“yeah, been holding them back” for you, he wants to add but he just chuckles, breathlessly and all giddy while eyeing you. It could be high from his mind-blowing orgasm but it’s more with how he basically just covered you with his cum.

You look cute when you’re annoyed, grumbling because of the stains on your sheer puffy top. Some of them are on your black leather pants too, and this just adds to his amusement as he watches you walking around frantically, looking for something to clean you both up with before his photoshoot finally commences in about a minute or so.

Jimin’s not sorry of course, seeing his cum stains on you is stirring something carnal in him. It's his way of marking you because you're his now, well, kind of. He'll just make sure to properly mark you next time.

e/n: i initially wrote this around the time it came out and during his birthday but wasn’t planning on posting it until later cuz i do have other priority fics but i just have to since i wasn’t able to post him last year 😭

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cityof2morrow · 7 days

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CDK: Customer Service

Published: 9-14-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY Use the Cubic Dynamics Kitbash (Simmons, 2023-2024) collection to set up corporate, exposition, and office environments. Envisioned as an add-on to the Cubic Dynamics set (EA/Maxis, archived at GOS), it features minimalist and retro-futuristic objects. Find more CC on this site under the #co2cdkseries tag. Read the Backstory and ‘Dev Notes’ HERE. Set up an area in your business for routine customer reception, processing, and other service-related work with the CUSTOMER SERVICE SET.

DETAILS All EPs/SPs. §See Catalog for Pricing | See Buy/Build Mode You need the Company Expo (Mesh Pack) set (Simmons, 2024) for TXTRs to show properly in game. ALL files with “MESH” in their name are REQUIRED. Several objects in this series are oversized/offset. You may need to shift an objects upwards once to level it, and you may need “move objects” and “grid on/off” cheats to place them to your liking. When placing partitions/floating shelves and tables/desks/counters on the same tile, place the partition/shelves first. I recommend using this set with Object Freedom 1.02 (Fway, 2023), which includes Numenor’s fix for OFB shelves (2006), for easier use overall. ITEMS Bench (1735 poly, HIGH) Comfort Chair (496 poly) Counter (610 poly) Counter Desk (288 poly) Counter Island (500 poly) Fence (~424 poly) – not included in collection file Partitions 001-003 (40-132 poly) SimSafety Glass Partition (48 poly) – thumbnail looks “blank” but isn’t Table (64 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA COMPATIBILITY AVOID DUPLICATES: The #co2cdkseries includes edited versions – replacements - for items in the following CC sets: 4ESF (office 3, other 1/artroom, other 2/build), All4Sims/MaleorderBride (miskatonic library, office, postmodern office), CycloneSue (never ending/privacy windows), derMarcel (inx office), Katy76/PC-Sims (bank/cash point, court/law school sets, sim cola machine), Marilu (immobilien office), Murano (ador office), Olemantinker, Reflex Sims (giacondo office), Retail Sims/HChangeri (simEx, sps store), Simgedoehns/Tolli (focus kitchen, loft office, modus office), ShinySims (modern windows), SH (reverie office, step boxes/shelving), Spaik (sintesi study), Stylist Sims (offices 1,2, & 3, Toronto set), Tiggy027 (wall window frames 1-10), Wall Sims (holly architecture, Ibiza). *The goal is to link the objects to the recolors/new functions in the #co2cdkseries without re-inventing the wheel! Credit to the original creators.

CREDITS Thanks: ChocolateCitySim, HugeLunatic, Klaartje, Ocelotekatl, Whoward69, LoganSimmingWolf, Gayars, Ch4rmsing, Ranabluu, Gummilutt, Crisps&Kerosene, LordCrumps, PineappleForest. Sources: Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik). SEE CREDITS (ALT)

#ts2downloads #sims2cc #ts2cc #co2cdkseries #ofbprops

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glass-partitioning · 9 months

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Elevate Spaces with Cost-Effective High-Quality Glass Partitioning

Elevating spaces to new heights is now more achievable than ever with cost-effective, high-quality glass partitioning solutions, a testament to the expertise of qualified professionals in the field. These specialists leverage their skills to introduce a touch of modernity and practicality to diverse spaces, catering to a range of needs.

Framed glass partitioning, a cost-effective option, brings sophistication to spaces without compromising structural integrity. The collaboration between qualified professionals and this solution results in a seamless integration that enhances both aesthetics and functionality. Whether applied in open-plan offices or private workspaces, framed glass partitioning strikes the perfect balance, providing an open feel while maintaining a sense of privacy.

Wall glass partitioning, another cost-effective alternative, allows for the creation of defined work zones without the need for extensive structural modifications. Skilled professionals strategically implement these partitions, transforming spaces into flexible, adaptable environments that align with modern work dynamics.

For environments where acoustics are a priority, the integration of Acoustic Glass Partitioning offers an affordable solution. This specialized glass ensures sound control without compromising on cost-effectiveness, creating a tranquil and focused atmosphere.

In essence, the synergy between qualified professionals and cost-effective, high-quality glass partitioning is reshaping spaces, making modern design and functionality accessible to a broader spectrum of environments.

#wall glass partitioning #framed glass partitioning #office glass partitioning

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oftenwantedafton · 10 months

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Trapped - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Detective Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Explicit

CW - blood and violence

Excerpt: You’re an adult now with several years of experience as a police officer behind you and the gun at your waist is a small comfort when you patrol the area. You shiver as your eyes scan the vacant lot, imagining shapes in the shadows where perhaps there are none. You are grateful it is closed, the front entrance encased in rusting steel bars and a thick padlock. You do not know if it is enough to keep new thieves out.

You pray it is enough to keep the evil inside.

Also available on AO3

The cracked mirror divides the man’s face by a jagged line, a dark scar that partitions his features. Blood spatters freckle skin and stain the creases that bracket icy blue eyes still illuminated with an inner light from the thrill of the murder he’d just committed. The crimson liquid mixes with perspiration, tracking down stubble coated cheeks, a lover’s caress tattooing a salted blood trail across pale flesh. He can smell the metals of that crimson life force, nearly taste it, even. The knife resting on the edge of the chipped porcelain sink is still dripping, rivulets painting spidery paths like blood vessels. A pair of gold framed glasses perch nearby, temporarily abandoned as they were unnecessary with the enhanced vision of the rabbit suit he’d worn.

He cups his hands under the spray of water from the faucet, letting it run cold over the long digits for a few moments before he bows down and splashes his face, rubs it over the back of his neck and lets it trickle over his upper body. He can still hear the symphony of screams, the fear and terror echoing in Parts and Service. He’d nearly forgotten how sweet that melody sounded.

He pulls an undershirt and dress shirt on, slinging a tie around his neck and sighs, almost regretful at concealing them again.

Suddenly the man leans forward, squinting and frowning at a stubborn bloodstained fingerprint on his shirt collar. It seems he’d been a bit careless cleaning up the evidence of his crime. He’ll have to use peroxide on that when he returns home. Home, he thinks, sneering. Well, not really his true home, but what he calls his dwelling. It’s a front, just like his position as a career counselor, just like the false accolades framed in the walls of his office and the name placard on his desk. Lies, all of it, but they all believe him, so gullible, so trusting. Adults or children; it makes no difference now.

He smiles humorlessly, eyes flickering to the mascot head he’d carried into the employee bathroom with him, its counterpart suit already stowed away securely. It’s deteriorating further, the fur and fabric wearing away with time, exposing metal and wires, lights and circuitry. Damaged, but still very much of use to his purpose, even after all this time.

Just like this old friend here. He caresses the blade for a moment, reliving the feeling as it had sunk into soft flesh. The possessed animatronic had started the bloodletting, and he had continued, long after the trap had mauled with razor sharp blades. He’d carved until there’d been very little left that was recognizable as a human being, let alone the middle aged security guard he’d hired earlier that week.

He’ll need to replace him, of course. There was still the problem of unwelcome intruders. But he had no doubts some other desperate soul would come along, eager for work, willing to do anything. Fate always provided.

He shuts the faucet off, wiping damp hands on his trousers, then drags a rag over the knife until it gleams in the floursescent lighting. He’ll need to sharpen it again, but that can wait for the morning.

Hooking two fingers inside the rabbit’s head he’d worn earlier, it lifts easily and William Afton begins humming as he exits the restroom.

***

You’ve heard the stories. Everyone who’s ever lived in Hurricane has. Perhaps they’re whispered late at night by a campfire, or uttered as a threat to misbehaving children, no mere ghost story or tall tale but a dark history of crimes committed by a killer who’s left no trail.

This was the terrifying legacy of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

Never go near the abandoned pizzeria.

Everyone knew it. Back when the business had been operational, multiple children had consecutively gone missing, and even though authorities had searched thoroughly, multiple times, no trace of those kids had ever been found. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air, leaving their parents forever worrying and wondering, imagining the very worst had happened. Perhaps it had.

Perhaps the reality was even worse still.

Despite all of this, it didn’t stop occasional break-ins. Teenagers on a dare, thrill seekers, people looking for a way to earn money. There were bound to be plenty of copper pipes and wires, valuable sources of metal for construction. Arcade and change machines still loaded with cash. The animatronics themselves, with their complex inner workings, must be worth something.

Some trespassers had made it out, but they never seemed any richer. There were only more stories. The place was haunted. The animatronics moved, not in their preprogrammed state but of their own volition, wandering the halls, investigating the rooms. Sometimes people saw a yellow rabbit, taller than the other mascots, the costumed individual moving fluidly. Its eyes were silver and it laughed, low and mirthless.

You believed them, because you’d been to that restaurant, years ago as a child, to play the arcade games, to attend a classmate’s birthday party. You’d known even then something was wrong. You could never explain it. It was just a feeling. You could hear the establishment calling you, beckoning you, imploring you to explore further, to become a part of the wonder, the mystery within its depths.

Maybe it was the yellow rabbit trying to lure you in.

You’re an adult now with several years of experience as a police officer behind you and the gun at your waist is a small comfort when you patrol the area. You shiver as your eyes scan the vacant lot, imagining shapes in the shadows where perhaps there are none. You are grateful it is closed, the front entrance encased in rusting steel bars and a thick padlock. You do not know if it is enough to keep new thieves out.

You pray it is enough to keep the evil inside.

***

As it turns out, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza has a new employee.

You see the car one morning as the sun is just rising, a rusted sedan seated in front of the main entrance. Parking nearby, you keep the engine running, watching as a young man likely in his 20’s emerges from the depths of the building, securing the heavy lock and chains before trudging to his vehicle. You can see smudges beneath his eyes. He looks exhausted, awkwardly fumbling in the pocket of his hoodie until he locates keys for the car. It’s then that he seems to notice you, his right hand frozen while inserting the key into the lock, the other hand clasping a worn looking copy of a book entitled Dream Theory.

You step out of the car, still not shutting off the engine, and introduce yourself, one hand still resting on the open door, as if you are ready to make a quick escape, to bolt from this wretched place once and for all. The other hitches in your belt, within reach of your firearm, the holster snap already unfastened.

The man nods cautiously, telling you his name is Mike Schmidt. He’s the new security guard working the night shift, he elaborates.

You ask if he’s seen or heard anything unusual, noting the hesitation before he shakes his head. Upon inquiring who hired him, you receive a name you don’t recognize, accepting the business card he digs from the pocket of his jeans. Steve Raglan, Career Counselor.

You warn him to be careful, eyeing the creased spine of the dog eared paperback one last time before you settle back inside the car, tapping the business card against the steering wheel thoughtfully. You follow the security guard out of the parking lot and then turn onto the freeway.

Perhaps you should pay this career counselor a visit.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

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soft-girl-musings · 11 months

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An Unexpected Proposition (pt. 1)

based on this prompt from @imaginexhobbit, previously submitted under @jawn-i-made-coffee

cross-posted to ao3

part 2

Kíli x fem!Reader

tags: mentions of blood/injury, Reader is described as tall (by human standards), Y/N is used

wc: 1,615

fic summary: An injured dwarf appears on your doorstep. Do you grant him sanctuary on this stormy night?

A/N: posting this is totally self-indulgent and very out of left field for this blog but idc, we just reached 800 ao3 hits on this bad boy (some days we blog for the younger self anyway). I submitted this from my high school blog and revamped it in 2020, might flesh it out beyond pt 2 if the muse strikes.

Thunder and lightning seem to battle for superiority in the storm, chasing heavy torrents North. The evening is dark and damp, but you don’t mind. Your cottage is as safe a haven as any. You sit before your hearth, fire blazing as you bury yourself beneath several blankets, a mug of tea warming your lap. Nothing could ruin your cozy evening alone.

As if on cue, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminates the windows. A bloodied man’s face is pressed against the glass, his lips moving incoherently. You stifle a scream. In an instant you have your sword in hand and cloak about your shoulders, ready to face your intruder. Throwing the door open, you strike a defensive stance and scan the property. To your right, you see that it is no man at all, but a dwarf bleeding out in your garden. Dark hair clings to his face, bruised and battered. Blood marrs his complexion as rainwater drenches him. Before you can speak, the dwarf doubles over and begins to heave into your prized rose bush. You grimace.

"Please," he rasped, "please, I ask for sanctuary." His knees give way with the last syllable. You manage to catch him before he falls into the mud.

"I’ve got you, sir dwarf." Propping him up, you guide him inside. "Poor thing, you're soaked to the bone."

His small frame would not have been so heavy if not for his copious belongings. The dwarf seemed to have packed for a long journey, which had somehow led him to your door. You stumble over to the kitchen and deposit him in a chair, his head lolling to one side. You pour a cup of water and help him drink.

“Thank you,” he manages to rasp after downing a second glass. Life seemed to be returning to him already. “I do not mean to be a bother.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “If anyone’s bothered, sir dwarf, it’s you. Come, let me help you--” you assist him in his efforts to remove his belongings from his weary shoulders. He shivers fiercely, but does not refuse your help.

You notice how cold and pale he is. “Best not to strain yourself… let me start a bath for you. Your wounds need to be cleaned before they are dressed.”

You hand him a blanket and lead him to a partition in the next room. “Here, you can wrap yourself in this while I start the water.” The dwarf removes his outer layers and complies, his dark eyes never leaving you as you begin the tedious task of hauling numerous pots of hot water to the tub.

“Why are you helping me?” he finally asks, his face growing more puzzled with each trip you make.

You stop in your tracks, offering a shrug. “Because you asked.”

With that, you leave him to his bath.

You gather the dwarf’s wet clothing and lay each article in front of the still-warm stove. On the other side of the table lay his daypack and weapons. You hadn’t taken the time to inspect them before: the dwarf had been carrying archery equipment, numerous knives, and a shortsword. You examine each piece with reverence. The dwarves were renowned for their craftsmanship in the forges, but you had never seen proof of their handiwork until this moment. The blades were smaller than any you were used to, expertly fashioned with intricate detail.

"Like what you see, then?"

You jump at the sudden voice, dropping a knife. The dwarf had come out dressed in the shirt and trousers you had laid out for him. He stands by the fire, drying his hair.

"I was just admiring your weapons, sir-"

"Kíli."

You nod. "(Y/N)." You notice the color has already returned to his skin and his cuts were clean. He had looked much worse before; in the light of the fire, he was almost handsome. "Feeling any better?"

"Oh, loads. I cannot thank you enough for taking me in." He grins, and you can’t help but follow suit.

"What were you doing out there? Facing that storm as you were seemed like a deathwish."

"I had the misfortune of running into some bad company at your tavern." His body fell heavily into a chair by the fireplace.

"I'm afraid the locals do not take kindly to dwarves," you say with an apologetic smile, standing to join him in your earlier seat. "What are you doing so far West? Your people are native to the mountains, I was led to believe."

You realize how young the dwarf was when his face breaks out in another eager grin. "I'm on a quest. I was on my way to Hobbiton."

You lean forward, intrigued. "The Shire? What kind of quest concerns the halflings?"

Kíli tells you of his Uncle's plan to reclaim Erebor for the dwarves. He makes sure to highlight how dangerous the task may prove to be. You try to hide your amusement, but your shaking shoulders and involuntary simper do not escape your companion's eye.

Kíli crosses his arms. "Is something funny?"

You wipe a tear from your cheek. "I'm sorry, but you look like you've seen nary a battle in all your days."

"What, like you have, lass?" he scoffs, nodding toward your sword propped by the door. "I'll bet you've never laid a hand on that weapon of yours until tonight."

Your expression darkens. "Watch your words, sir dwarf. I have seen and spilt more blood than you would care to believe."

Kíli shrinks back in his chair. "Y-yeah? When?" Even under correction, his excitement could not be diminished.

You tell him of your past days as a soldier. Having always been tall for your age, you had cut your hair and enlisted in a male disguise when you were barely sixteen. You regale him with tales of the lands you had seen and battles you fought as a young woman among hardened men. The fading storm is the perfect backdrop for your stories; in truth, it had been a long time since you'd been able to talk about your fighting days, and you revel in the drama of the moment. Kíli clings to your every word, apparent awe and admiration dancing across his features. Many hours and cups of tea pass between you before you conclude your saga, the fire having long since died down.

You yawn. Dawn was but a few hours away. "It's late. You must leave in the morning, I assume?"

"Yes, I have to get back on the road."

You stand and stretch your aching muscles. "We should both get to bed, then. I have an extra room you're welcome to." You hold out your hand. "Goodnight, Kíli."

Kíli rises and takes your hand, but instead of shaking it as you intended, he leans forward and kisses the back of it. Your face grows warm at the surprising softness of his lips. "Goodnight, (Y/N)."

He turns to leave, but stops and looks back at you.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you leave that kind of life? You spoke so fondly of your time in service."

You give a sad smile. "Let’s just say it wasn’t by choice." You begin to walk to your bedroom, but Kíli grabs your hand as you pass.

"If you had the chance, would you go back?"

You squeeze his hand and wink. "In a heartbeat."

__________

"What's all this, then?" You laugh. From the looks of it, Kíli had been cooking a small feast since before dawn.

"Good morning, my lady!" Kíli wipes his hands on a cloth and bows with great bravado. "I hope you don't mind me raiding your larder. I wanted to express my gratitude for your generosity." He takes your hand and leads you to the head of the table, fixing your plate once you sit down.

"You really didn't have to do this."

"Ah, 'course I did! I'd have drowned if it wasn't for you."

You spend the morning laughing and eating your way through the meal with Kíli, realizing how much you will miss his company in the days ahead. He’s been a refreshing change of pace for the simple monotony you’d build for yourself. As you wash the dishes after your meal, you notice he is dressed in his clothes from last night, weapons and bag secured to his back.

"All set, then?" You know your face betrays you, but you don’t care if he knows how sad you are. You had gained a friend last night.

"Not quite." He practically bounds up to your side, that familiar grin plastered onto his features. "I have something to ask of you."

You set down the plate you had been scrubbing. "And what's that?"

"Will you join me? On my quest, I mean?" His face is radiant with expectation and excitement.

You busy yourself with another dish, shaking your head. “Kíli, I’m not quite sure what to say-"

"Say yes! (Y/N), you told me yourself that you missed your old life. This would be the perfect chance for you to reclaim it!"

Despite all logic, you realize how right he is. Some small but powerful part of you had longed to be on the road with him when he spoke to you last night. You knew it was rash, but your heart was already pumping from the mere mention of excitement, aching to get out in the world once more. The quiet life you had been leading was nice, but it paled in comparison to the journey Kíli now offered. You craved adventure. When else would you have the opportunity to taste it?

"I'll have my things packed within the hour."

__________

A/N: you ever feel an old hyperfixation staring you down, threatening to return if you look at it too long? that might be happening again. only time will tell.

tysm for reading!

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #hobbit fic #an unexpected journey #kili #kíli #kili x you #kili x reader #kili/reader #kili x y/n #imaginexhobbit #rip my old blog she will be missed #my works

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 6 months

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LOKI's POV Part I

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: Loki's side through the lens

Word Count: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @tarithenurse.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The familiar wall of the 'BTS room' came up on the camera with the lone empty chair in the front. There was a slight movement behind the screen before the frame took in the face of Javier. His usually beautiful blue eyes seemed to lose some sleep while his olive skin looked flawless. Running his hand through the brown curls over his head, he sat down on the chair and took in a deep breath for the camera. "Hi there! I am Javier," he signed with a tired smile on his face. "As you may already know, I am one of the people behind the cameras here in the Avengers facility." He wanted to continue signing but a thought made him pause. His features were lost in some invisible maze for a moment before he came back. "A lot has changed here," he slowly began again, "and things are not how they usually were. So…" his long fingers hung in the air for two seconds before coming back. "I compiled some of the footage that I was strictly told not to let out. Well, more of a threat to not let these out. But I don't care anymore." Javier shrugs and gives a faint smile. "I'd rather have this come out than-" he paused, bringing his hands together to intertwine his fingers. He eventually sighed and rubbed his palms on his face before getting up and coming closer to the camera and clicking something to make everything go dark.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

A footage comes up, of the very first day when everyone is busy chatting, properly introducing themselves despite having met on the battlefield before. You are there too, a little reserved but never without a smile for anyone who comes up to talk to you. But the camera is focused behind all this lively chaos at the lone figure by the fridge. Loki. A glass of wine in one hand, he is observing minutely every little thing happening across the room. More so, he is observing your interactions with everyone and how you come back to cuddle with the little stray pup every time you get some alone time. Loki is practically leaning on the countertop next to the fridge all the while slightly amused by how you always come back to drown your hands in the lush fur of the baby. .

It is the next day and the 'happy to help' coming out of you has shut some part of Loki down. The camera is still zooming into his face as he is suddenly lost in some calculations thrown by your sunshine of a smile- while the world is moving past him but he just standing there by the kitchen island with his arms across his chest and a big furrow of his brows. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

At Bruce's lab, the camera records his starry eyes as he explains to you how the universe works and you are hung up on every word of his. And once he leaves the lab, for a breather, the camera follows him."No one's looked at me like that," Loki is speaking more to himself than to the camera. Once he realises that, he looks at the camera with a straight back and a puff of air blowing out through his mocked laugh. "What is wrong with this human?" he casually points at the lab before getting his eyes stuck on you through the glass partition. Again. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

In the night, the camera seems to be out on the balcony, right outside Loki's room. Zooming in, you can be seen standing outside Loki's door with Thor before you walk away with a smile and Loki slams the door in his brother's face. Turning around, Loki walks towards his bed and the camera pans in to show him carrying a plate with a freshly baked lava cake. The God jumps onto his bed and lies on his stomach, keeping the plate in front of him as he digs into the lava and lets his mouth savour it with the biggest smile on his face. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The CCTV catches you falling asleep on Loki's shoulder as he reads you the lore in the library, making Loki pause and look into some invisible void in front of him. "As much as I don't want to-" he brings his hand to brush your stray strands away from your face and lock his fingers under your cheek resting on his shoulder- "but you might have to hear an earful from Barton if I do not move you away from me." He gently brings your face to rest on the sofa's headrest instead, and barely a second later, Clint barges in, waking you up and forcing Loki to lock eyes with the one camera that followed the hawkeye in. The God just gives it one tired look. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The camera is panned in onto the large glass of orange juice Loki is pouring for himself. "Why should I be bothered by how she feels? She would have eventually found out one day that she was adopted." He brings the glass to his lips to sip it like tea. .

The God is lifting weights in the training room without much difficulty. He is more focused on something else. "Do you think she got hurt because of me telling her she's adopted?" He squats and comes back up in the camera's frame. "Because it's not great news to be told, from personal experience." He squats again and the camera can see the door open and a figure entering the room. Loki comes back up. "But that should only be a sad thing if her adoptive parents are not good parents." He thinks out loud and squats again. The camera focuses on the figure still standing at the doorway. It is Sam standing there in mild shock. "Is this dude deadlifting Seventeen hundred pounds like it's nothing?" the man exclaims to the room. .

"So what if her parents are not good enough," Loki huffs to no one in particular. The camera pans out to show the rooftop garden having the most luscious-looking fake green grass but a one hundred per cent real vertical garden. Loki sits in the middle on a lounge chair as he sips a screwdriver and puts his sunglasses on while he basks in the bright sun. "Everyone has screwed up parents," he is finally talking to the camera, "the world is not always soft and warm. She should grow up. And we all know what does not kill you makes you stronger." He nods at himself in satisfaction and goes back to sipping his drink. .

"I did get stronger. But at what cost?" It is night-time and Loki lies on the rooftop, higher than that garden. The camera seems to be sitting next to his lost figure; the figure that is staring at the starry sky, swimming in them for some answers. "Not to mention I did almost die," he whispers. "And I cried every night when I survived that wormhole, wondering what I had done wrong to make my biological parents hate me and my adoptive parents loathe me." There is a moment of silence in which the camera zooms in to show the glistening eyes of the God as he does not take away his gaze from the view of the universe above him. "Do you think she feels that way too?" he whispers. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

At the Pepperoni wedding, Javi's camera is constantly pointed at Loki and you, and usually, you both are near each other. Often When Pepperoni finally kiss, the camera is fast to turn and find you in the hooting crowd, smiling with tears welling in your eyes and no one but the God looking at you with just a spec of longing in his eyes. And Peter and Scott look at Loki, hooting and clapping- sometimes smacking each other in the chest in excitement- with heart eyes. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The single cement block in front of the tavern holds Javi's camera when the frame records Venom devouring one of the perverts. "Javier!" a voice comes from behind the camera, making the device shake as if startled. Loki's face comes into view with quite the lines of worry running down his forehead. "I told you to call me as soon as you found Y/N! Where is-" He hasn't even finished the sentence when he hears your scream coming from the van in the parking lot. His head whips in that direction and his eyes turn dark. Within a snap, he is right next to the van, in between you and the lowlife thug. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The camera is recording a familiar figure sitting by the kitchenette counter looking down on the drawing of a chibi Loki on a napkin. With a sigh, the figure puts the napkin back on the counter and stands up. "All right, magic Mike, you can send me back on my honeymoon now," he announces before a sparkling circle opens to a beach and our man walks away. A few seconds later, the elevator dings open and the camera zooms in on the figure of Loki still in his formal attire- though a little crumpled- walking in. He is heading for the dorms when his eyes land on the counter. Taking a few careful steps, he tilts his head at the site of the drawing on the napkin. He stands there for two minutes, staring at the little version of himself, quietly breathing, never moving. Finally, he picks up the napkin and takes it to his room. .

The next morning, the camera is up early and recording outside Loki's room. One can hear the shower running when the frame quickly records a once-over of the beautiful room before finally landing on what it is looking for. Right next to the open window, on the study table, in between the fluttering pages of the justifiably bulky epic Mahabharata is a carefully laminated napkin of a chibi Loki being used as a bookmark. Javi records the bookmark in the frame at an aesthetically pleasing angle, taking him and a half minutes. Once satisfied, the camera is zoomed out to take in Loki's daunting figure standing next to the study table with eyes that spell murder. The camera nearly falls from the boy's hands but Loki does not flinch. He stands there, his arm resting on the French window while he looks down at the camera. "You tell anyone about this, your little cameras won't be the only ones I shut down permanently."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The camera records you walking across your college campus with an unusual- but convincingly threatening- gait. Once you turn the corner to the desolated parking lot in front of the swimming pool, a shimmering wave of golden light changes you into Loki. "Men are disgusting," the God announces with such force as if he had been holding it in for a long time. He turns to the camera. "Javier, you are assigned to follow Y/N around campus, right? You make sure that worm David stays away from her. He does not seem to have good intentions for her." The furrow in his brow is a serious one. "And if he does try to do something that, let's just say you would not do to Y/N, you contact me. Do you understand, Javier?" The camera keeps panning on Loki while the God is lost in a two-second thought before looking at the lens with judgement in his eyes. "Did you hear what I said? Then repeat it to me."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The camera sits right in front of the television screen in the lounge to capture you, Loki, Clint and Cassie in a serious game of Uno. "Uno," you declare, keeping down a Draw 4 card, "colour Blue." Loki gasps dramatically, bringing his hand to his chest. "How could you Y/N?!" Clint chuckles. "She got you good, Lolo." "How could you-" Loki draws a card from his pile and puts his Draw 4 on top of your card- "do this to Cassie?!!" You roar and Cassie groans, the little girl almost falling back on the floor. "Noooooo," she announces from behind her cards as she gently draws one from her pile and puts another Draw 4 in the arena, "how could she do this to Clint?!!!" Clint is simply blinking at the Draw 4s while the camera takes the liberty to pan in on the twelve cards he's already holding. "No, this can't be right. You cannot Draw 4 on another Draw 4!!!" Cassie giggles at the defeated expressions of Clint, Loki simply shrugs his shoulders for following the rules made by them girls and you guffaw in unadulterated elation, your happiness throwing you off balance into Loki's arm. There is a split second of eye contact, made by Loki with the camera before he regains his composure like a professional and sits there similar to a statue while your laughter has stopped making a continuous sound and is now just little breaks of a tiny engine of a toy train. Clint is throwing a fit. And your laughter is throwing you back till the arm you have fallen on grabs your back to support that unhinged cackle. No one notices the God's ears turn red when your hand smacks itself on his thigh for the overflowing hilarity. No one but the zoomed-in camera.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The lounge is empty thanks to everyone being out on a mission and with no one but Loki in the facility. Of course, the security team is doing their jobs in some security room but we do not care about that. Loki is sprawled on the sofa, his long stature barely fitting the already huge velvet seating setting. A camera is recording from behind the kitchenette island, panning in slowly to see what Loki is tapping on his phone’s screen. On zooming in further, the camera can finally read the name on top of the chat. V. Loki: How is Greece? V: It’s cool! Lots of white stones, lot of ocean, lots of beautiful babes… Loki: Sounds fun. V: But they don’t have jet sprays and their toilet pipes are too thin for toilet paper business. Major L Loki: …okay. Loki: I have a question for you… V: Shoot. Loki: Does your sister like precious stones? V: You can easily distract her with a colourful pebble bro Loki: …typing V: Or some food Loki: …stops typing V: I can list her favs if you want for $200. Loki: $50

V: Deal

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The holographic clock on the wall shows three past twelve on the lounge wall when the camera swerves to the figure of Loki carefully entering the space from the dorms. The camera then turns away and focuses on the light snores coming out of you as you lay haphazardly on the sofa with the TV still running. The God plants himself on the floor next to your face as he whispers a spell into his right palm before putting the hand over your head. The lens records specs of gold originating from his hand to glitter and land onto your hair before seemingly dissolving inside the parts of your head he touched. Loki knowingly smirks at the camera. "My work here is done," he says to the zoomed-in frame as he gets up. The camera catches the shift of your body. Your hand grabs his arm to let your cheek rest onto his palm as you let that side of your face turn towards the sofa. Fear. Loki's eyes show fear for the first time. "Ahh," you whisper, a smile growing on your lips covered in drool, "so cold." The camera shifts between your sleeping figure and Loki's distressed brows as he tries to get his hand out from under your face. “No, Chichi,” you moan in your sleep, making the God pause, “that’s my blanket. Don’t take it away from me.” A deep sigh leaves Loki's lungs as he crosses his legs and sits next to you. Apparently, so does the camera. No matter how often he tries, your grip on his arm strengthens. And so, two hours pass for the God sitting there, given up now as he plays with baby hair strands on your forehead- his sulky face concentrated on turning them into the tiniest pigtails. The camera is already panned in on his face, his smaragdine eyes having a dim glow in the night as he studies your face. Lazily, his eyes move from your brows to your nose, then to your lips. Loki does not realise he has tilted his head, resting it on the little space on the sofa, facing you. The fingers from his free hand are running over the fine lines, the pores, the natural moles over your face, either counting them or giving them a boop. His eyes are locked in on your lips when they part to breathe and his fingers in close proximity of them, having paused just before coming in contact with your lips. His pupils have gone wide, wider than they usually do. His visible ear is turning red. Maybe he realises it too. Because within the next ten seconds, he whips his hand out from under your face and crawls a step back on the floor. His bewildered eyes are looking at you while his mouth is agape with some newfound surprise. Gathering himself- barely- he gets up and furiously walks back into his room. The same camera runs out onto the balcony and past the other rooms to halt outside Loki's French windows. The God has closed the door to have his back stuck to it as he slowly falls down onto the ground with his hands on his mouth in some silent prayer. The camera is zoomed in- enough to have a close look at Loki's face again. "This cannot be happening." the mic on Loki is still on. "How can you even think of her that way, Loki." And apparently, he is speaking to himself. "How can you think of-" he stops mid-sentence as his gaze returns from the infinite void to something closer. The camera pans out of the beautiful face to look at the little familiar box kept on his bed. "Oh, Valhalla-" the camera looks back at Loki- who is still staring at the box as he whispers to the room- "what are these new emotions."

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fluff #loki smut #loki x female reader #marvel loki #marvel fluff #mcu loki x reader #mcu loki #It's The Avengers #Maladaptive Ninja Returns

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beemynumberone · 3 months

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All The Colours (7/7)

-> In which Idol!Minghao and Actress!OC convey their heartfelt messages through colours.

-> slowwwwburn romance. friends to lovers. no smut.

-> constructive feedback is always appreciated!

All pictures are from Pinterest, I do not own them.

Writer’s note: Hi! I am writing these scenarios to placate my active imagination and hopefully make someone’s day/night. I do not intend to hurt anyone/anything through this fic.

Thank you for picking up my story and happy reading!

Masterlist

*btw, Yile is pronounced as Yi Le (in Chinese pronunciation), it is not supposed to rhyme with Kyle

Part 7: Blue

You had me at um, hi

The morning chill blew through the air. Minghao wrapped his denim jacket around him tightly. Yile had told him to wear blue. After looking through his closet, he realised a denim jacket would be the least flashy blue garment he could find. It suited this “meet-up” after all. It blended in with the population and was casual, no sincere feelings on either end, amirite?

His bandmates were all telling him to “man up” and “confess already”. But Minghao wasn’t sure of Yile’s feelings and if there was a risk he didn’t want to take, it would be this. This meet was definitely a between-friends thing right? He didn’t want to get his hopes up too soon.

He stood in front of the address Yile had sent him. The café looked like it came out of a garden, with an assortment of flowers decorating its door frame. Warm lights from inside the shop lit the tranquil ambience indoors and Minghao eagerly stepped in.

He was instantly hit by a sweet and earthy aroma of tea leaves. Yile had chosen a place that she knew he would like. Minghao couldn’t be more grateful for her consideration. It was still early so the café was mostly empty, except for the familiar figure sat at the back of the shop. He walked over to her, opening his mouth to call her name out.

“Yi-” Wait. Should he call her name? Would the café staff start spreading news that he and Yile were on a date or whatever-they-wanted-to-call-it? Was this safe for her?

“Hey, Minghao.” Yile waved him over. Noticing his apprehension, Yile explained. “I’m close with the staff here. Nothing will be leaked, don’t worry.” Minghao slid into the plush deep blue sofa opposite Yile and took in their surroundings. They were seated at the last booth in the café, with partitions between each booth, providing privacy for each table.

“I heard from Junhui that you liked all things tea, so I decided to introduce you to this café. It was started by a good high school friend of mine, specialising in herbal tea and confectionery.” Yile picked up the menu. “I’ve taste tested everything here and I can assure you nothing tastes bad.” Minghao browsed through the selection. He had tasted most of the tea flavours, except for blue pea. He asked Yile on her opinion.

“I like roselle tea the best — it’s a deep magenta flower. But I prefer blue pea for the milder days. Y’know, the cold, lazy mornings. That’s what I’m getting, actually.”

In the end, they decided to share a pot of blue pea and some fruit tarts. A waiter took their orders and left them to converse with each other.

Soon, the waiter reappeared with a tray of their orders. A transparent glass pot filled with hot water and a small dish containing dried blue pea flowers.

Minghao reached out to start making the tea. Yile stopped him, insisting that she wanted to do the honours. Minghao complied, setting the fruit tarts in the middle of the table. Lemon slices, dried dark pink petals and another glass cup sat neatly on a dish. Minghao didn’t know why they were there. He distinctly remembered not ordering roselle tea.

Yile sensed Minghao’s curious gaze on the additional items. She steeled her nerves and efficiently stirred the blue pea flowers in the teapot. Minghao couldn’t tear his eyes away, mesmerised at the saturated colour of the water. Yile set two glass cups in front of her, pouring the blue liquid out. To Minghao’s surprise, the tea didn’t smell of much, just an earthy whiff.

Then, Yile spoke. “Did you know, blue pea tea changes colour based on pH level?”

Yile squeezed some lemon juice into one of the cups. The previously blue tea turned purple. Yile took a deep breath. Be direct and pointed, Xinhui had advised. “Minghao, I’ve overthinked and weighed the pros and cons and everything on this. I want to know if you would like to be friends or something more?”

Yile sprinkled some pink petals into the other cup of tea, stirring so the solution turned a fiery red. Red like the graphic liner on Yile’s face the first time they met, Minghao realised. Red for love, red for passion, red for fortune.

Then he looked at Yile’s earnest expression, purple tea on her left, red on her right. Purple meant a mix. A limbo, if you will. A delicate balance of red and blue, friendship and romance. Of a precarious area of no rest and constant struggle.

He took the red cup. “Fortune favours the brave.” He smirked and downed the cup.

Bad idea, Minghao scolded himself. His tongue stung from the scalding pain of hot tea. Even though his tongue was in pain, he felt happy. A weight had rolled off his shoulders and he could now laugh freely with his girlfriend about his dumb decision.

#minghao #the8 #seventeen the8 #seventeen minghao #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #svt minghao #svt the8 #xu minghao

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rainbow-rebellion · 11 months

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Supercorptober Day 21: "Lavender"

Read on A03 instead

Lena stands in the hallway playing nervously with the key in her hands. A key she’s surprised she still has. She's stood in front of this exact door a hundred (a thousand?) times, used the key to let herself in at least a few dozen times, probably more - yet here she was, unable to force herself to turn the knob. She’s not really sure how long she stands there, but at some point, she finally takes a deep breath to steady herself, squares her shoulders, and lets herself into Kara’s apartment.

It hurts more than she expected it to, being back here. The last time she was in this apartment Lena had come to tell Kara she was wrong about Non Nocere, to ask for forgiveness - and then ended up with Alex’s gun pointed at her head. It’s not exactly a fond memory. Before that, it had been nearly half a year, back when Lena still came over for movie nights and cuddles on the couch. Before Lena found out about Kara’s secret identity in the worst possible way and everything went to shit.

And now Kara is gone. The apartment is quiet and achingly empty without the joyful sound of her laughter to fill it up. It’s been three days since Lena’s deranged half-brother sent Kara to the phantom zone - fucking Lex - and the super friends still have no idea how to rescue her. Lena’s not sure Kara would even want her here, with their friendship still on rocky terms, but she just needed something , some kind of connection, some reminder to keep her from giving up hope.

The apartment hasn’t changed all that much from what Lena remembers, at least as far as she can tell. She walks slowly around the space, taking in all the details she’s seen so many times before, but that suddenly carry so much more weight now because the details are so uniquely Kara. The fluffy blankets on the couch. A blue coffee mug on the kitchen counter with a red supergirl logo and yellow writing that says “Have a SUPER day!” (a gift from Nia), and another mug next to it covered in a pattern of brightly colored donuts. The easel in the corner with some of Kara’s paintings propped against the legs and her box of painting supplies next to it. The assortment of different sized picture frames scattered throughout the spacious loft on various tables and shelves, filled with smiling photos of Kara’s family and friends. Lena stops short when she realizes the picture of her and Kara together is gone from the shelf where it used to sit. It shouldn’t surprise her, after all the hurt she caused, but it still stings - more than it should, considering Lena smashed her own framed picture of them with a whiskey glass. She squeezes her eyes shut and forces herself to swallow the lump forming in her throat.

For whatever reason, Lena decides to wander past the partition into the space Kara uses as her bedroom, running her hand over the familiar blue and green patterned comforter on Kara’s bed. When she glances at the bedside table, she feels her heart stop. Kara didn’t get rid of the picture of her and Lena - it’s right there, on the table next to her bed. Right where she would see it every morning and every night. But why? Why would she want to look at that after everything?

It’s all of a sudden too much for Lena, and she sinks down heavily on the edge of the bed. She can’t stop the hiccuping sob that claws its way out of her chest or the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, so she grabs one of Kara’s pillows and squeezes it to her body as tight as she can. As she does, her nose tingles with the lingering scent of lavender and vanilla. Kara. Years of being best friends (years of being in love with her best friend), Lena knows that scent, one she used to breathe in and try to memorize every time she and Kara shared a hug or snuggled up on the couch together.

She’d give anything to hug Kara again.

The sharp pang of her anguish cuts into her like a knife twisting in her stomach, and suddenly she feels like she is drowning under a tidal wave of emotions. She clutches desperately at Kara’s pillow and rocks herself back and forth, while she cries deep gasping sobs that feel like they are being ripped from her lungs. Her eyes burn from the hot tears that are now streaming relentlessly down her face, dripping onto the pillow and sliding down her neck to soak the collar of her shirt. Once again, she feels like her heart is being cracked open, but this, this is infinitely more painful. This isn’t just some fight between friends, this is her possibly losing Kara forever. She doesn’t think she can live with that possibility.

“I’m so sorry Kara.” Lena chokes out between labored breaths. “I’m so so sorry. This is all my fault. I promise I’ll find a way to bring you home. I promise.” Her voice cracks on the last words, her throat so raw she can barely speak above a whisper.

Lena cries until exhaustion wins out, until her body hurts as much as her heart, and she has no more tears left to cry. When her breathing finally returns to normal, she decides it’s time to pull herself together and go back to her own apartment. She can’t stay here any longer, it’s just too painful of a reminder of Kara’s absence, and Lena needs to be focused if she’s going to help the team find their missing friend. She breathes in one more deep breath of the lavender and vanilla scented pillow, trying to commit the smell to memory before she leaves.

She’s about to walk out the door when she stops herself. She turns around and walks back to the couch, where she picks up one of the fluffy blankets Kara always keeps there. One they used to share, with popcorn, and chinese takeout, and hot chocolate, and stories about their respective days. One that still smells like Kara. She takes it with her so she can have just one little piece of Kara to hold onto, a reminder of what she used to have, of who she is still fighting for.

———

When Lena gets back to her penthouse, she carefully removes the picture of her and Kara from the broken frame and puts it in a new one. She falls asleep with Kara’s blanket wrapped around her and the picture clutched to her chest.

———

Lena returns to Kara’s loft a week later when the blanket finally loses its scent. Kara is still gone, and the apartment is still too quiet and lifeless. Lena’s heart still feels like it’s been hacked open by a dull axe.

She lets herself curl up on the couch for a moment, finding the other blanket she had left here last time and pulling it tightly around her, breathing in the familiar smell. She imagines Kara cozying up on the couch next to her, socked feet tucked under her legs, her head resting on Lena’s shoulder, blonde hair tickling her neck. She thinks about all the times she wished their cuddling would turn into something more, how she wished she could have had the courage to tell Kara how she felt.

“Kara…” she pleads to the void. “Please come back Kara. I’m so sorry. For everything. I miss you so much.”

“Please… I love you.”

The blanket is wet with tears when the whispered confession floats away into the silence of the empty apartment.

———

Lena ends up staying at Kara’s apartment. She told herself it would be too painful, but it turns out her crippling misery was determined to follow her no matter where she went. So she surrenders, and just lets herself be surrounded by everything Kara. It hurts, but there are also happy memories here, ones Lena wants to hold close to her heart for as long as possible.

———

Another week and a half drags by, and then by some miracle, the super friends are finally able to rescue Kara from the phantom zone (with help from Lena’s yellow sun grenades, which she is very proud of, as she should be). When Kara stumbles onto the ship and collapses into her sister’s arms, everyone can tell that she is physically and emotionally drained. There’s no time for pleasantries or conversation - Kara needs to be taken as quickly as possible to the med bay for a full exam and to get her onto a yellow sun bed so her body can begin to heal.

It’s two full days later when Kara is finally recovered enough for the super friends to throw her a welcome back party at the Tower. Meanwhile, Lena’s anxiety is at an all-time high. Her and Kara’s friendship was in a shaky place when everything went down with Lex, and Lena doesn’t know if Kara blames her for what happened. She doesn’t know what Kara may have experienced in the phantom zone and how that might affect her. Trauma does strange things to people, Lena knows that from firsthand experience. Is Kara even the same person anymore? Will Kara still want Lena in her life?

The first positive sign is that when Kara enters the common room to the sight of donuts, flowers, balloons, and her friends and family gathered around, her face immediately breaks out into a genuine Kara Danvers smile, all full of white teeth, dimples on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. She still seems a bit tired and perhaps a little more reserved than usual, but otherwise very much still herself, and everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief.

Kara works her way around the room exchanging hugs, each team member expressing their joy at having her back, and Kara expressing her own joy and gratitude in return. Lena is the last one left, and she feels her heart flutter and her throat go dry when Kara’s eyes meet hers. The superhero nods her head towards Lena with a fond smile and her arms open wide, and it takes all of Lena’s willpower to force herself to walk when all she wants to do is run at full speed into Kara’s warm embrace. When their bodies finally meet and they melt into each other, everything feels right again. Like all the empty spaces in Lena’s heart are being filled back up and every ache and pain in her soul is being soothed by Kara’s presence. She’s home. She’s home. She’s finally home.

“It’s only because you’re on the team that I’m here,” Kara murmurs in Lena’s ear. She squeezes her so tightly it almost hurts, but Lena just squeezes back as tightly as her own strength will allow her. She feels the tears sliding down her cheeks and takes a deep breath through her sniffles, trying her best to hold herself together. When Kara finally pulls back, she pauses for a moment, her hands drifting to Lena’s shoulders. She cocks her head to the side and looks at Lena with a soft smile on her face and a gentle question in her eyes. “Your scent… vanilla and lavender…?”

Lena knows exactly what she is asking, because Lena usually smells like her expensive perfume, or her coconut and hibiscus scented shampoo. And there are a thousand ways Lena wants to answer that question, a thousand things she wants to tell Kara that she can’t put into words just yet. So she tries to pour all her emotions into a single sentence, and hopes Kara understands. She bites her lip to stop it from quivering and gives a tiny shrug, before she answers in a small shaky voice. “I really missed you.” She ducks her head down and tries to swallow, her throat constricted with emotion. She gathers what courage she can to open herself up, to lift her head and make another confession, whispered so softly only Kara can hear her. “The only thing that kept me going was the hope that I would get to see you again.”

Kara is silent for a minute as she stares into Lena’s glassy green eyes, her own tear-brimmed blue eyes searching Lena’s face for some hidden truth. Lena wills her to find it, to see all the love Lena holds in her heart for her. She wills Kara to hear the way that same heart is currently hammering against her ribs, even while it feels like it's stuck in her throat.

When it seems like Kara has found what she is looking for, she whispers back, her own voice cracking just a little. “I really missed you too.”

There’s a weight to the way Kara says it, the words feeling charged with hidden significance. Lena's thoughts go to the picture of them she found on Kara’s nightstand, and wonders - could she…? Now it’s her turn to search Kara’s face for answers, and as she does, she finds herself looking into a longing gaze, blue eyes filled with overwhelming affection, and sparking with a sudden fire she’s never seen before. Kara moves her right hand from Lena’s shoulder to softly cup the side of her face, her thumb gently wiping away a tear from her cheek. Lena lets her eyes flutter closed for a second as she leans into the warm touch. There’s a moment between them, a low buzzing electric current connecting their bodies, air thick with anticipation, a silent conversation with their eyes. Kara's eyes flit to Lena's lips, nodding her head almost imperceptibly, and then she leans her body closer to Lena’s, drawing them both towards the inevitable.

The collision course they are on is abruptly derailed by Alex, completely oblivious to the moment of intimacy she just interrupted. “Apologies from Kelly, she really wishes she could be here, but she had a full day of orientation at Social Services.”

Lena reluctantly steps back to allow the sisters to talk, but she can’t help noticing the way Kara's shoulders droop ever so slightly, and the look of disappointment on her face. A sentiment Lena definitely shares.

(What she doesn’t see is the way Alex glances between her and Kara, and the fleeting moment of realization in the older Danvers’ eyes, followed immediately by a quick flash of guilt, as she puts two and two together).

The moment is over though. Conversation moves on, and everyone goes about their business as if nothing happened. And as far as everyone is concerned, nothing did happen - only Lena and Kara are privy to the wordless declarations that passed between them.

But it did happen, and it gives Lena hope. More hope than she’s had in a long time. And she knows there are conversations to be had. Her and Kara need to talk about their fight, and how to trust each other again. Lena should probably explain why she was sleeping in Kara’s apartment. Clearly they need to discuss the feelings it seems they both have for each other, with actual words this time. (though perhaps some of those feelings could be expressed in other ways…)

She knows Kara will need to heal from the emotional and physical trauma of being in the phantom zone, and that alone could prove to be a difficult obstacle to overcome. There’s still a long road ahead of them, and most likely not an easy one.

But for now, Kara is home, and that’s enough.

#supercorptober #supercorptober2023 #supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercorp fanfic #phantom zone #lots of feelings #kinda angsty #hopeful ending #lena luthor needs a hug #lonely lena luthor #oblivious alex danvers

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aliciameade · 4 months

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Darkness at Dawn - Ch. 5

Title: Darkness at Dawn Author: aliciameade Rating: M/E Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: Even Bonnie & Clyde met their fate eventually.

Set five years after "Baby."

Also on AO3

Part of Stephanie knew it was inevitable, but she had hoped she wouldn’t have to see Sean until her trial, which is still pending a date.

He looks like he wants to kill her, and she doesn’t blame him for that. She’d framed him for murder. Had him sent to prison. Stolen his wife (well…his wife ran away from him) and his son. Ruined his career and reputation, and she knows that, even exonerated, it will follow him forever.

If the tables were turned, she’d feel the same way about him.

She steels herself, pushing down her emotions and fixing a look of cool confidence on her face and picks up the telephone receiver. Her wrists are still handcuffed and she sees him take notice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You fucking bitch.”

“Aw, it’s nice to see you, too, Sean! It’s been a while. Yet somehow not long enough…”

“How dare you? How dare you do something like this? You’re deranged. Insane! You’re sick. You and Emily both.”

She keeps her cool and shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You framed me for murder. You’re in prison, Stephanie.”

“Am I?”

“With my wife!”

“Oh, now she’s your wife? You literally just called her sick and deranged. But she’s my wife, actually,” she says just to watch his face contort further with anger. “Well, I suppose you’ve complicated things now,” she amends with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We definitely checked off that consummation box, though.” She knows how to push his buttons and winks as she mimes a checkmark in the air before licking her lips and lowering her voice. “You know, the first time she fucked me was on that nice white couch in your living room. And then…” she feigns thoughtfulness, “Ah yes, maybe an hour later at your dining table, right there in your chair at the head of the table. And then I tied her up and fucked her in your bed. All. Night. Long.”

He’s seething with quiet anger and she senses he’d like to push the glass partition. “You don’t know her at all. She’s playing you. Just like she played me. I bet she made you do it. I bet you’re the one who killed Faith like the lapdog she turned you into.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeats, knowing better than to respond to the accusation. He’s right about Faith, but Emily didn’t make her do anything. “But you’re the one who doesn’t know her. She was miserable with you, and you had no idea, too caught up in your failure. A one-hit wonder lying to himself that he’ll strike gold twice. And your self-loathing suffocated her and everyone around you, just a toxic cloud of patheticness everywhere you go, and now you’re here, infecting everyone. Thank God for this.” She raps her knuckles on the glass between them. “I do fit quite well in her lap though; you’re right about that.”

She’s had years to think about Sean and Emily’s relationship, how it started hot and heavy. Sean with a thriller on The New York Times Best Seller list. Emily was starting her public relations career with Dennis Nylon. They were a power couple in a statement home and soon, a baby. But Emily’s career continued to soar while Sean’s fell apart, failing to deliver a sequel to his novel despite the advance his publisher gave him, which was spent and kept him held hostage to either deliver a novel or pay back the advance.

He was unable to do either.

Things unraveled quickly for them and Stephanie remembers when she first met them as a couple. They bickered even as they kissed, and she recalls thinking how they were putting on airs, pretending they were in love when they, at least to Stephanie, clearly despised one another even if they did have sexual chemistry. There was a time, before she and Emily became close, that she even found Sean attractive.

The first time Emily kissed her, though, she knew it was never Sean she found attractive. She had simply envied him, wanting to be the one Emily kissed like that, the one she exchanged barbs with.

Only she and Emily never exchanged barbs. Instead, they fell in love.

She continues before he has a chance to respond.

“Have you ever seen her laugh? I mean really laugh, so hard that she cries? That it makes her stomach hurt? Did you ever see her cry? Did she ever beg you to let her come your tongue like she begs me?”

“Smothers!”

She flinches at the guard standing a few feet away listening to her conversation. She’d forgotten for a moment that she was being monitored and vulgar language was prohibited in visitation. She’d gotten heated. She’s relieved she hadn’t admitted to anything in her tirade.

Sean’s anger turns cold. His eyes harden. “Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you have any idea what this has done to Nicky? Where’s your son, Stephanie? Do you even know?”

She recoils at the accusations, and the insinuation that Nicky is not hers; that only Miles is. “How dare you ask me that? Miles is being taken care of. Nicky didn’t know you anymore and you stole him from us. I didn’t do this to Nicky. You’re the one who took him away from his family.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Why are you here, Sean?”

“I went to Emily’s bond hearing.”

“Oh, I’m sure she loved that,” she snips. “A happy family reunion.”

“I wanted to see her shackled. To see the judge deny her release.”

“Oh, twinsies!” she says with a bitter, biting smile as she holds up her wrists. “Emily puts them on tighter than they do here, just FYI.” She hadn’t known Emily’d had her bond hearing, but she wasn’t surprised that she was also denied release. She drops her hands and her smile and stares him down. “Why are you here?”

“For the same reason. To see you right where you belong. Those handcuffs really set off that shiner you’re sporting. What did you do to earn it? Please tell them I said thank you.”

“So you came to gloat?”

He smiles like a snake but she doesn’t let it get to her.

“You’re wasting my time. I have better things to do.” She hangs up the phone and pushes her chair back and waits for the guard to take the chain on her waist. “We’re finished,” she says to the guard, giving Sean both middle fingers before being escorted back to her cell.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The exchange helps Stephanie find her resolve and fuels her fire. She’s earned a level of respect from the other women in her block through her connection to Emily, and she picks their brains over games of poker and chess and finally learns how inmates get messages to friends in other parts of the prison.

The phone-computer combinations on the walls of the common area have email. It’s regulated, and they can only send and receive email to pre-registered addresses. But, if you and your friend know each other’s PIN, you can log in and leave emails drafted for the other to read.

“How do I figure out her PIN?”

“I’m sure it will come to you,” she’s told.

She spends days trying to think of number combinations Emily might use for her PIN. She tries everyone’s birthdate and the PINs they used to share on their credit cards and bank accounts. None of them work.

Until one day.

“Hey, Punkin.”

She looks up from her game of solitaire at a table during pod time and one of the women who’d made several sexual advances toward her, only to stop once she found out about Emily, tosses a paperback book to her which she manages to catch. It’s a copy of Sean’s Darkness at Dawn. Her heart skips a beat.

“Someone said you’d like this. Told me to give it to you.”

“Thanks,” she says with a neutral smile and resists the urge to page through the book. Instead, she tucks it under her thigh and finishes her game before putting away her playing cards and returning to her cell where she can look through the book without prying eyes.

She has to flip through it a few times before she finally notices page numbers are circled. Two pages in the entire book. She makes a mental note of them and adds the book to her small collection along her bunk before taking a stroll around the common area until she reaches the phone system.

She hesitates for a moment and then logs in using the numbers from the book on the touchscreen.

Instead of her own profile, Emily’s populates and she quickly taps into the email application so onlookers don’t notice it’s not her name on screen.

There’s a draft waiting and her heart races as she opens it.

Hey, baby. If you’re reading this, Sean’s book was finally worth something. You’ll be okay. Do me a favor and kiss the boys for me. You’re so good with them.

Don’t worry about me.

I’m always the alpha.

I love you.

Stephanie rereads the message, trying to read between the lines of Emily’s carefully worded message, constructed so that even if a C.O. were to read it, it would be dismissed. She reads it again and commits it to memory before deleting it.

She doesn’t exactly know what it means, but she’s sure Emily’s telling her something. She just doesn’t know what.

She opens a new message composition window and considers her response for a moment.

I will.

I won’t.

I know.

I love you, too.

She saves the email as a draft, logs out of Emily’s account, and, with no one waiting in line for the computer, logs into her own.

She has an email from Miles, sent through his grandmother’s account, telling her about his science fair project with a photo of it. He’d done a project on wind power and talked about sailboats. She’s reminded of how much he loved sailing, and the memories make her tear up. She blinks them away quickly so no one notices and taps out a quick reply of pride, and expresses her love for him.

There’s also an email from her attorney informing her of an upcoming hearing where the federal prosecution would be sharing their latest evidence with the court.

She makes note of the date with one of the crayons and scrap papers left by the phone for inmates to use and confirms receipt of his notice.

She logs out and returns to socialize while they’re still allowed out of their cells, and spends the entire night lying awake trying to decipher everything Emily didn’t say. Her heart is full, though.

Her good mood carries through to the next day, and during their four hours of pod time, decides to conduct a baking class, where she shares her recipe for no-bake cheesecake, a passable dessert she’s able to make from items available in the commissary, for those who can afford them. Cream cheese, lemon juice, graham crackers, sugar, coffee creamer.

She’s able to make two of them and the whole pod gets a small slice.

It wins over the last few hold-outs who were still giving her a hard time.

~*~*~*~*~*~

On the day of her hearing, she showers and makes herself as presentable as her situation allows. She gathers her paperwork and waits on her bunk, watching the minutes tick by on the digital clock on her shelf until a loud buzz precedes her cell door sliding open.

“Smothers, let’s go. Court date.”

There’s always a bit of fanfare when an inmate leaves for court. It’s tradition to act as though your fellow inmate is on their way to freedom, regardless of the purpose of the hearing.

She waits at her cell door while the guard cuffs her wrists and locks them to the chain he wraps around her waist, and then her ankles are shackled and locked in as well. It makes for an awkward shuffle, especially in the ill-fitting prison-issued shoes, but she’s used to it now.

She’s loaded into a van with a driver and a pair of guards. It’s just her; the only prisoner on her way to the federal building in Hartford this day, it seems.

Her arrival is a big to-do that makes her eyes roll at the security precautions in place. Armed guards. Metal detectors. She’s patted down twice as if she would somehow be able to procure and hide a weapon on her person between stepping out of the van and stepping into the courthouse.

Her attorney meets her outside the courtroom and she expects him to debrief her on what’s going to happen today. Instead, he greets her with a smile. She hasn’t seen the man smile a single time since her case began.

“What’s happening?” she asks, feeling something was not right.

“You’re late,” is his answer and he opens the door to the courtroom for her.

“Sorry, I stopped for a latte,” she says before zipping her lips when she steps into the courtroom.

“United States versus Stephanie Ann Smothers?”

“Here, Your Honor,” her attorney states, escorting her up the center aisle and past the bar to take a seat at the defendant’s table. “We apologize for our tardiness; Ms. Smothers’ transport was caught in a bit of traffic.”

“So nice of you to join us, Ms. Smothers,” the judge says from his seat at the front of the courtroom. She’s familiar with Judge Reynolds. He’s been seated for each of her hearings, and she thinks she’s made a good impression on him so far.

“So sorry, Your Honor,” she offers.

She glances at the three-person prosecution team seated at the table opposite her own. They usually have stacks of files and paperwork with them to present, but today, they only have a single manila file folder in front of each of them.

“Well now that we’re all here: United States versus Stephanie Ann Smothers. State, you may proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” their lead attorney states as he sits up in his swivel chair. “Your Honor, today the United States brings forth a motion to dismiss.”

“A motion to dismiss?” The judge repeats.

Stephanie sits up straight, mouth going dry.

“Yes, Your Honor.” He stands and carries his manila folder to the bailiff to present to the judge. “We are dismissing the charges against the defendant of murder-in-the-first, kidnapping, conspiracy, perjury, criminal fraud, and money laundering with prejudice.”

The judge looks as taken aback as Stephanie feels.

“Well, Ms. Smothers, it seems to be your lucky day,” he directs toward her. “On what grounds?” he asks as he starts to page through the documents provided.

“We’ve received a full confession of all charges from Emily Claudia Nelson, the other individual associated with these crimes.”

Her heart drops. “You what?!”

Her attorney puts his hand on her shoulder to stop her from launching out of her seat.

“We’ve agreed to dismiss the aforementioned charges against Ms. Smothers in exchange for Ms. Nelson’s confession. We are only proceeding with the charges of forgery and false identification and, if Ms. Smothers wishes to plead guilty today, we will accept her plea and not seek trial.”

“Well, Ms. Smothers, what will it be?”

Her attorney stands and she follows suit, grabbing his elbow to get his attention. “What is going on??” she whispers harshly. “What happened to Emily?”

He bends down to quietly answer, “Congratulations.” And then, “Your Honor, we request the court consider an arrangement of our own. As you know, Ms. Smothers has been incarcerated for nearly two years, much of it overseas in a particularly harsh environment. The Connecticut Department of Correction reports she has an impeccable behavior record and has been a model inmate. We wish to enter a plea of guilty for the charges of forgery and false identification for time served plus five years probation.”

Her brain is spinning and she maintains her hold on his elbow to prevent herself from collapsing.

The judge flips the manila folder closed. “The court can agree to that. State?”

They signal their agreement for the record.

“Ms. Smothers, you are charged with the crimes of counterfeiting and forgery under Title 18, U.S. Code Chapter 25, and possession of false identification, Title 18, U.S. Code Chapter 1028. These crimes carry a combined minimum sentence of seven years. You have served one year and ten months, plus good behavior and hardship consideration, and the State has agreed to terms set forth by your counsel. Should you wish to enter a guilty plea, it will be accepted by this court, or you may seek a trial by a jury of your peers as is your right. How do you wish to plead?”

Her tongue is heavy and her face is hot and her eyes are wet.

What has Emily done?

“Guilty,” she says with a gasp.

“The court accepts your plea, Ms. Smothers, and the court accepts the State’s motion to dismiss the remaining charges with prejudice. Congratulations, you’re a free woman.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stephanie’s ears ring the entire drive back to prison. She’s no longer handcuffed, but she barely notices.

Emily had taken the fall for the murder Stephanie had committed. Had confessed to the laundry list of associated crimes.

She’d confessed to it all so Stephanie could go free. Now she understood the message Emily had left for her.

You’ll be okay. Kiss the boys for me. You’re so good with them.

Don’t worry about me.

I’m always the alpha.

I love you,

She’s confused when the guard sitting next to her offers her a tissue. She hadn’t noticed she was crying and tears were streaming down her face and dripping from her chin. She accepts it and dries her face, watching through blurry vision as her transport vehicle pulls back into prison.

They still escort her through the facility but without the chains.

She has one last night to spend there; she has to be processed out, and it’s too late in the day for a release.

It’s also past time for lockdown, so she returns to her cell where she shares the news with her cellmate.

Good news travels fast even from locked prison cells, especially when her cellmate shouts it out for the whole block to hear. It turns the evening into a party, any excuse for a celebration is good enough when behind bars and she listens to the cacophony of music, singing, and people shouting to her. People ask her to deliver messages to friends on the outside, pleading their cases for her commissary items, reminding her how good of friends they are to try to persuade her.

She doesn’t respond to any of it. Other than small talk with her cellmate who’s celebrating on her behalf, she stays quiet, lost in her own thoughts and worries. If Emily has confessed, what does that mean for her situation?

She bequeaths her belongings to her cellmate; she has no way to distribute them elsewhere anyway. They’ll be coming to get her before breakfast.

Her last night in prison is perhaps her loneliest yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Can I transfer my commissary balance to another inmate?”

She’s filling out paperwork as part of her exit processing.

“Yeah, who do you want to move it to?”

She watches the officer at the desk pull up her inmate profile. “Nelson. Emily Claudia.”

She’s unsure if Detective Summerville will have been petty enough to somehow prevent such a thing but to her relief, the balance transfer is a non-issue.

An officer takes her to a private changing area and she’s handed a garment bag off a rack. The clothes she’d been wearing when arrested back in Greece are long gone, and she was transferred to the U.S. wearing the clothing issued to her at Thiva. She had, quite literally, nothing of her own to be returned to her.

But to her surprise, inside the garment bag is a simple outfit: jeans and a light sweater. Proper undergarments. Black Chelsea boots. A purse with a new but very old-style flip phone, one she’d expect to purchase for an elderly parent. She asks where it came from. Her attorney, they say. She’s grateful they’d let her shower that morning before everyone was up, but she still can’t wait to take a proper one when she finally gets wherever it is she’s going.

She hasn’t told her mother about her release; it’s a three-hour drive from Albany and as eager as she is to reunite with Miles, she needs 24 hours in solitude and silence to get her thoughts together and process what’s transpired.

She gets dressed and pockets the bus ticket and $100 cash they’ve given her to get back to Warfield.

“Good luck,” the guard at the final gate says before he closes it behind her.

The sun is blinding as she looks up at the clear blue sky. Feels the breeze on her skin. Hears the quiet noise of the great outdoors now that she’s out of the incessant mayhem of the prison. Through the silence, she can hear the distant sounds of the rec yard and she wonders if Emily’s one of the voices. Emily, the woman who’d become the love of her life, had become her whole life. Who’s given up her chance at freedom to guarantee Stephanie’s, knowing Stephanie will do everything she could to give their boys a good life, after going through so much bad.

She spends the night at the Warfield Deluxe Motel and orders a pizza. It’s all she has money for. She has no identification, no credit cards, and no way to access the bank account she’d left open in her legal name before they’d fled overseas. It’s going to be a long road back to normalcy, but it will never be normal.

Not now.

Not anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~

#a simple favor #stephanie smothers #emily nelson #fanfic #asf fic #murder moms

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