#i have a job that pays me six figures i have a whole LOT of savings i have a UK residence permit ive held for years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

capslocked · 11 months ago

Text

HONNE, TATAMAE & THE OTHER ONE

male reader x shin yuna

9k words

Yuna shuffles into your office with the same sneaky smile, the same easy slouch, and she settles into one of the chairs across the table. There is, apparently, more to talk about.

It's a matter of image, of perception, is what she believes.

You know every good lie starts with the truth.

So you swallow. You pause. Some other part of you understands Yuna can't ignore who she really is, and you’re not sure you can either.

Look - Shin Yuna is the kind of woman that turns heads, even with the best of intentions. A long, lithe silhouette; an easy, rosy sort of youthfulness clinging to the swell of her cheekbones, the curve of her waist. Take a dress that's cut to show a little thigh, or a hairstyle pushed back on one side - earrings, or heels, or just the subtle swipe of red over her lip - it doesn't take much for men (or anyone else) to figure that out. A girl who, more times than not, really ought to have a boy's hand planted on her ass, in possession.

So the opportunity to capture such a form perfected - all toned and graceful and flush for curves, her legs never seeming to end, the slithering fit of the dresses - these were the things they wanted. Package it, put a logo on it - better yet, a ribbon or a bow - and ship it straight to the consumer.

Somebody everyone wants, somebody no one can ever have.

“So,” Yuna asks from the other side of your desk, lips slanting halfway coy. “Are you going to treat me like an adult?"

Her fingers play idly with the hem of her skirt, and she lets a long, slender leg slowly slide out from beneath her.

“In what way,” you answer, half paying attention.

"The photos." She doesn't have the slightest qualms about lifting it higher. The soft creak of leather, and a deepening smile. "Am I not allowed to be a little racy?"

"That's certainly... one way of looking at it."

You glance away from where her stockings wrap around the soft curve of her thighs to flip back through the photos in your lap, one after the other, each a little different from the last. The beach, the sun, a flimsy white slip of a bikini top that hides exactly nothing, her muscles wet and glistening and perfect. Beyond suggestive, it's considerably inappropriate.

But then to a lot of people, Yuna is a lot of things.

She’s more clever than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s fucking gorgeous, sure. That’s definitely not up for debate, but god is she young - she's barely twenty. And here’s some rather uninteresting food for thought: you couldn't even technically take her for a drink without faking an ID or breaking some law or another, like a real one. So go ahead, chew that down. Girls her age are typically studying, or working a retail job and getting wasted on the weekends. And they aren't typically making six, seven figures turning their head to the camera and asking how much more skin?

You have some thoughts.

Prudently, you’re her publicist, and it’s your job to make sure that the public gets a good look at her and sees exactly what you want them to see. It's unfair. She wields sex like a weapon. She's got the face, the body; it's an easy sell, commodified and commercialized down to the finest detail, the softest curve, the slightest arch of her brow. The idea's to not let anyone look too long, should they catch something you haven't approved yet, or the fact that she's quite possibly a real person with a real life and real feelings, which could easily fuck up her brand, so unfortunately, that's a bit of a no-go.

Sign of the times maybe, no ethical consumption under another something, yadda yadda - it's a shitty business, really, and the whole thing usually leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

(And just to be upfront, as an important disclosure: you are fucking her brains out on the side, which is a different kind of ethical dilemma, with a different kind of flavor to it.

You’re supposed to be something of a role model - and she’s gone and fucked up bad by falling for you. From her perspective, it probably makes sense. Girl gets boy, bespoke song, credits roll and it's fine. No sin to atone, no 'after'.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. It’s metastasizing into something you’re not even going to attempt to put into words. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that. And you know the girl has daddy issues, but then you've never had a problem whatsoever playing into it. The possessiveness, the control - she gets off on it. You're pretty sure that she'd do just about anything if you asked her, and you'll admit that the thought alone makes your stomach stir, your mouth run dry.)

Yuna taps her knuckles on the wood of your desk. “What’s the verdict?”

"Well, professionally," you say, caveat in hand, and you give the photos one last flip through. "I'd say they're fine.”

"Oh?" Yuna cocks her head to the side. Her long, blonde hair curtains over her shoulder, and the smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth is almost wicked. She leans forward, chin propped on a palm, and you see that her expression is bright, glittering with interest. "And unprofessionally?"

Sure. It's a fair question.

Though she's wearing her stage face, the one that looks all big eyes and doe lashes, a hint of a pout on her plush bottom lip, and she's staring at you expectantly, the way she might look at a man she's just asked for the time.

You've seen her look a million other ways. You've seen her with her knees spread, her cheeks flushed, on all fours, straddling your lap, face pressed into the sliding glass door of your shower, her eyes screwed shut as she chokes out your name. And god, doesn’t she look good in all of them.

Your fingers tap against the photos.

“Unprofessionally," you tell her, and the smile on your face is tight - unknowable. "I think they’re a little… gaudy."

Yuna frowns, and it's just a flash before her expression is carefully blank again, the stage face back in full swing. She's been doing this since she was a teenager, so the mask is impeccable, but you know her, and you know that she's thinking: about the photo shoot, the way the photographer was looking at her, and the way you had looked at her later, too.

She knows what you've seen. She's wondering if that's why.

"Really," she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Really," you confirm with a small sigh, though you're still smiling. It's a small, private sort of smile, like you're remembering a joke. You don't miss the way she glances down at your mouth either. "Let me be clear, you have a shot at real success. I mean, you have a chance at a career. A real, sustainable career.”

She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her foot tapping restlessly, and when she's silent for a moment too long, the way her eyes narrow just a smidge, her head tipped slightly, you realize how it sounds. Patronizing.

"Look," you amend. You're not the best at apologies, but you try. "I just mean - I think that you could be doing something that you actually enjoy."

"Who says I don't enjoy this," she says, and there's a bite in her tone, a challenge. She's leaning back in her seat now, arms crossed.

"What, taking your clothes off for the camera?" You laugh, a quick bark. Isn’t that a cruel question, and you can see it in the way her eyes flash. "You could do a lot more than that, I'm just saying."

"Right," she says, and she doesn't blink, doesn't even move. Her gaze is fixed, unwavering. "Because I'm not pretty enough."

You open your mouth. Close it.

It's not a question. It's a statement.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"Do you know what makes me different from the IT-girl-of-the-month? The Jang Wonyoungs, the Bae Irenes, the Kim Jisoos of the world?" Yuna cuts in.

"Yuna, this isn't-"

"You should know. " She laughs. "It's your job, knowing things, isn't it?"

The silence stretches thin between you. She's not wrong. There’s the quintessential beauty, the timeless classic, the fantasy-wrapped-up-as-a-daydream - oh, it's all sexual, but the product there is palatable (read: marketable). An idea the general public wants to take home to their mother, not take to bed. A beauty so docile and innocent, you feel guilty harboring those untoward thoughts it makes you have.

Yuna is somewhere possibly, someway probably the opposite. You’ve sold her as such, as fantasy in sheep's clothing. She's neither afraid to put the images to words, nor speak her desires aloud. It's her own brand of sensuality, and it's what the public wants - has always truly wanted, since the dawn of man and of popstars fucking their publicists - what the public wants but turns itself in knots just to pretend they don't. The only way it’ll end up in anyones’ parents' home is under the guise that it will be smuggled upstairs and held down into the springs of a mattress. Hand over her mouth, or maybe around her throat, just so she'll shut up.

She's not a nice girl, or the girl-next-door, a bride-in-a-box, but you'd known that before. The line between fact and fiction is fine indeed.

"You're different," you tell her, finally.

"When I first came in here, you had no qualms, no issue to raise, and now all of a sudden, everything is too much," she says, and she's not smiling, her tone flat. "If it was a problem from the jump, you would've said so."

“I just think a little subtlety would be a nice change of pace. It could go a long way, I mean, I could show you the data- "

"So you're going soft on me, is that it?"

You blink, and the realization hits.

"Just where was this noble version of you when we first started out? You had no problem then, remember? Put a sixteen-year-old in front of a camera, in this industry, and all of a sudden-"

"Don't."

“And suddenly it's all 'oh no, that's a little too much, we need to dial it back'." She sighs, a single sharp burst. "Why is that? Is it because you think that now you own me? I fuck you, swallow your cum and call you daddy, and now these are your decisions? Is that it?"

She’s standing now, her chair shoved back so fast it nearly clatters to the floor. There's a storm on her face, almost a rage. This now become a familiar story. The one where the girl's too pretty for her own good. Too much, too soon.

"I'm not a child," she tells you, her tone measured, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. "I know what I want. I know how to get it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'm different. You're right."

She's different, but the girl's clever, too. And she's stubborn. It's a dangerous combination.

You breathe slow. "Then why don’t you act like it."

“If they’re going to call me a slut,” she hisses, and she's walking forward. Her palms land on your desk, hard, and you glance down at her clenched fists, at her neatly kept nails, "you know, after we leak them all those steamy photos online-"

Your mind clicks. You reach to slam the cover of the photo book shut. She's caught your hand, though, in hers, holding it firmly to the desk.

Yuna glances at the photos over again, at the tight fit of the swimwear, or how the ties slip in an invisible breeze. And she's biting her lip, trying not to smile, you can tell. "You know it might be worth it for once," she says, slipping a finger between the buttons of her shirt.

There's a long, tense moment, and before you can register it, Yuna has rounded your desk; she’s closing the distance, fast.

And she’s lowering her eyes. Putting her lips on yours.

It knocks the wind from your sail, for just the instant. You're speechless.

Because her fingers. Her mouth. Her hair. Yuna's everywhere, and she's warm. It's utterly selfish, you understand: you want her to be yours. You want her to be yours and no one else's.

She’s realizing she might be.

You feel her grabbing for more of you. Wanting. She tilts her head, her breath hot, and you kiss her back, her mouth slick against your own, and the kiss is a fast, deliberate kind of messy. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, and her tongue slips past yours, licking into your mouth, her hands clutching at the collar of your shirt. It's not like it is when you're fucking, which is slow and hot, and she's on her back, legs around your waist, her nails biting into your skin, or when she's bent over the arm of the sofa, her ass in the air and her back arched, her breathless moans a chorus of yes, yes, please. This kiss is more battle, more heat, less gentle and less finesse. It's the kind of kiss that's just short of an argument.

"You're an asshole," she breathes into your mouth, and it's not a compliment.

You smile against her.

"So are you," you murmur, and her lips are parted, her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath coming quick and hot.

"Then maybe you should just fuck me," she says. She's not asking. “Yeah.” You press your words right into her neck, her collarbone. “Maybe I should.”

Your hands are on her hips faster than you can realize what it is they’re doing, palms pressing into her, and then you're walking her backwards, shuffling a few steps until the small of her back collides with the edge of your desk, and you're lifting her up onto the surface, the photographs falling to the floor, scattering.

"I thought we weren't supposed to do this here," she murmurs, pulling away for just a moment, her mouth swollen and wet, her eyes dark. She knows exactly what it does to you: the goading, the taunting - the looks of faux-innocence later over a bare shoulder, her ass in the air. How it can get you to fuck her within an inch of her life. What it’ll get her, the return on investment.

"And I thought we agreed to longer skirts."

Her thighs are smooth, silky, and they part, the lace of her underwear stark against her skin. You slide a hand beneath the elastic band, sinking down, and down, until she inhales sharply.

"The fuck do you end up doing going up the stairs?" you add, and your fingers are tracing the swell of her hip, and you can feel the goosebumps on her skin.

She bites her lip. You sink down to press a kiss to her thigh, and then the other.

"Nothing," she tells you, and her eyes are wide. "I guess it all just hangs out."

She simply smirks right back into you, throws her arms over your shoulders. You’re snared, caught - she’ll always be able to fuck what she wants right out of you.

"Jesus, Yuna." Your hand curls around her wrist, thumb pressed to her pulse, and her shoulders roll back.

You push her down, and she's sprawled across the desk, legs stretching wide, her head tilted back and her chest heaving. “God, you’re so fucking wet, and I've barely touched you. That turns you on? Being a brat?"

She sucks air past her teeth, and you can measure each rise and fall of her chest. The lace under her hips is soaked, her pussy swollen and pink. Like if she doesn’t get your hot, open mouth on her clit this instant, you’re both going to have a problem.

You slip two fingers into her instead, and Yuna keens.

"I know it does," you say, and your voice comes out lower, drier than you expect. She's hot, so wet around you, her pussy fluttering. "It fucking turns me on, too."

"Please," and “god,” is what all you receive back in half whispers, while her legs are spread, her heels now really dug into the square of your back, and she's got a fistful of your hair like she owns it. Her voice is high, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be such a fucking tease."

You're not going to make it easy. She's not going to make this quick.

"What, and you aren’t?"

You curl your fingers inside her, and the noise that leaves her is positively obscene. She's grinding against your palm, her hips bucking, and her lips are parted, her eyelashes dark and thick, fanning her cheeks. She's panting, her thighs trembling.

"No," she breathes. If she’s shaking her head, you can’t tell. "I'm exactly what you tell them I am."

Your hand stills, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the pressure inside her is gone. Her eyes snap open, her mouth twisted.

"Fuck you," she spits. "Put them back."

You're already sinking down to your knees, and you've got her skirt shoved up, the lace panties pulled aside, her hips canted, her pussy glistening. The stockings can stay, fuck, the heels, too. She's so fucking hot, her legs spread apart and her lips red. Her palm shoved into her brow, and her breath just barely more than a ragged huff of air. You can feel her body wound tight and ready, her eyes on the ceiling.

You put your tongue against her, flat and slow. Inaccurate, indiscriminate, licking up her wet cunt. And her whole body arches off the desk, a cry leaving her mouth with her head thrown back. Her thighs are shaking, and her heel presses into your shoulder, and god, she tastes incredible.

"Please." It comes like music, really, a song of desperation. You can hear it. She's singing it for you now. "Oh god, please, fuck-"

So you do her one better. You put your whole mouth over her, and she fucking shivers. You don’t even try to ease into it - you're devouring, ravishing her, working your lips and tongue all over her pussy, lapping the length of her in broad, hot strokes, and she's almost shrieking, her body going taut. You suck on her lips, pressing your tongue into her clit, and when you pull off her, your hand takes over the place where your tongue can't quite reach, her wetness slick around your fingers. Yuna's close - you can see that she is, you can hear that she is, and it's her gasp that lets you know.

"I'm -" she says, her voice reaching higher, her nails digging into the flesh of your shoulders, the wood of your desk. The sound she makes is wretched and beautiful. "God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming - fuck!"

The licking, the lapping, the fucking fingering. You can feel her slicked cunt pulse and throb in a satisfied, anticipatory kind of way. Even if she wasn’t audibly wet around your knuckles, you’d read Yuna like a map.

Your thumb taps across her clit, once - twice, thrice, and it’s just that.

She arches off your desk, thighs trembling as your tongue works her over, This hard, hungry kiss, and she tastes as sweet as she looks - as filthy as she acts, too. Her pussy is slick, her hips rolling, her body trembling, and she's making soft, little ah, ah, ah, sounds into the wet seal of your mouth. She's trying to keep it quiet, because she knows as well as you, everyone in the damn office does, probably - it's one thing to play at being a slut. A complete other to really fuck like one.

Your finger slips in and out of her pussy, and then another. They fill her up. The knuckles bending and pushing deeper. Yuna's fucking ruined - your desk is ruined.

But then there you are, complicit, and perhaps a little evil: licking and licking and licking right into her, making her grip twist in your hair and her thighs clench around your face. You can feel it in how her breathing is coming fast, faster, her whole body growing taut, and it was never going to take long, you figure, the way her hips were rolling the moment you got your hands on her. You can tell. She's close, and she's so pretty, all flushed and writhing, her skirt hiked up, her ass perched on the edge of your desk, and when her mouth falls open and her breath catches in her throat, you pull yourself up to watch her, the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, and she's shaking.

"Look at me,” you tell her, a kiss trailing unsatisfyingly into the crease of her thigh, your voice running coarse.

She does, her gaze glassy, and the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob. That’s all it really takes.

“Show me. What face you make when you cum on my fingers sweetheart, show me what a slut you actually are-"

You can watch it all in real time, the panting, the heaving. The sculpted lines of her pretty face screw up, real tight, and she lets out another moan, breathier this time, her mouth hanging open. She does it again when you press down. And Yuna fucking shakes, her hands balled, white-knuckling, and the desk rattling beneath her.

It's all a matter of slight degradation, you’ve learned, the barest humiliation. Like the paradoxical freedom she knows she can find in a hand clenched tight around her throat or her hair pulled and twisted into a fist or the sharp sting of a smack across her ass. Her pretty face. She likes a little something that burns. Something sinewy, visceral, raw: you call her a whore, a filthy fucking cumslut and it makes her body curl like she has hot metal pressing into her skin. Makes her breathless, like she wants you to own her.

Sometimes it's better than being fucked.

(Sometimes.)

Because just look at her: she’s in the middle of coming apart, mouth fallen slack, brow furrowed - and she gets real quiet when she cums, the absolute opposite of the journey she’d taken to get there, all those loud little, uh-uh-ah, fucking please god, her moans, her whimpers - her orgasm ripping right through the middle of her, the hourglass of her entire body stiffening on borrowed time as it washes across her features.

You let out a loud sigh, something she can moor herself to that isn’t your fingers, the desk, or your hair at the roots. Yuna can be every bit as uncomplicated as she can be complex, but god, you love her most like this: an unrehearsed, beautiful mess.

"Baby," you tell her, because it's easier to just call her that, and because you don't know how else to end the statement, because you know if you ask, she'll let you - hell, she'll beg for more, and that’s got your brain feeling rather mushily incoherent at present.

"Daddy," she responds - because of course she fucking does; she’s gasping, and her cheeks are still so pink, her body sated, and your heart leaps into your throat.

It's a problem; you've been trying to work it out for a good few months now, and by this, you mean the little moment you have right after you're done, where your eyes meet, and you smile at her. A problem, too, her lips. A problem, because she kisses you, soft, and slow, and easy. A problem, because her heart's probably already yours.

If anyone were to ask, you would have said there's no greater pleasure than knowing a girl that's almost died to take your cock, but maybe that's the point: it's just supposed to feel a bit better if you're a little head over heels, a little stupid about it too.

"I'm going to use this perfect pussy now," you warn her - just simple formality - because you're already rolling her down onto her back, your cock hard and aching against your trousers.

You've got your hands on her stockings, tugging them down to her ankles, the lace of her panties around her thighs, the neat garter of her garter belt wrapped around her hips, her cunt bare beneath it. You unzip, too slow. You tug yourself out.

“I’ll be good,” she says to you, a promise.

“Yeah,” you return to her, “I know.”

And you slip your cock into her cunt, just barely - maybe an inch, maybe more - and you hear a little noise leave her throat, low. Broken.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, and god, you just can't help it, it's easy; you sink deeper, nice, slow, everything smooth inside her, until another broken sort of gasp spills off her lips.

And then another: "oh my fucking god."

You snap your hips back in, bottoming out this time in the wet heat of her perfect cunt, and she just fucking collapses. Yuna looks like an absolute dream in this state of half-dress, half-distress: black suede around the ankles, stilettos, with just the perfect heel. There are worse things, you can imagine, and she looks perfect sprawled out against your notes and portfolios, all this hot, aching want. As gorgeous as she is fucked. You tear into her stockings, a little. You’ll tear more.

You already know you're going to hell. Or at least that’s where you should already be, but you hips crash into hers again, fucking her legs wider apart, spreading her open across your desk for you, getting her slick all over the photos, her career - it’s all so perfectly unfair.

"You have no idea, the things I want to do to you right now," you breathe, your tone hushed, and you're talking again, like you often do. There goes your mouth - but your hips drag back, and then again, her pussy clenching, vice tight and impossibly wet.

It's a long, torturous, lazy sort of a pull, that draws these pretty thin moans from the very center of her.

And the way that feels, your cock buried deep in her cunt: better than good - heaven, if you care enough about labels for it, or the names of things. You haven’t any real way to tell; the gates haven't opened or anything, so all you're working from here is an educated guess. From the fact that Yuna’s eyes have slid closed, her lips parted, and her whole body starting now to tremble gently with it.

"Jesus, this perfect, tight pussy grips me so good, god - such a good girl, always so fucking wet for me," and your mouth is pressed to the arch of her ear, whispering every last thing you know will make her cum again, like a dream.

And she is, she does.

She's twisting up to grip at your hips, her head falling to one side. When you drag your cock through her cunt, slowly, you watch her lips purse and the way the flush moves all the way down the column of her neck, past her collarbone, her shirt half undone and her tits heaving against the white, sheer fabric. You fuck her for a little, and then you roll your hips slow, so slow.

Until your pace is fucking punishing, deep, and so hard. You can’t help it.

Because it's unbelievable - she's so perfect, so tight around you. Fit snug like a glove, like she was made to take your cock, to whimper and mewl at your mercy. Her lips part further and she keens, her brows twisting in similar disbelief as you pound your length into her. The heat pooled in your belly, the way she looks under your desk: fuck, she's so beautiful like this, properly fucked.

You'd let her ruin you for life - it's that simple.

"Yuna, you - fuck," you barely say, and you sound more than slightly stunned, so she’s filling in the gaps, elaborating in the spaces you cannot - that she loves it, that you’re so good for her, and so is that, and that, and that - the way it hits, right there, keep fucking her just like that, because right there, right there, right there, right there - the way she props herself up on her elbows to tell you, "you're fucking me so deep, oh my god - yes, oh my god, fuck."

By the time Yuna shudders through another orgasm, a silent ghost of a wail leaving her pretty frozen mouth, her lashes are batting against her cheeks, and she's biting her lip, so hard you're certain she's going to break the skin, her back strung like a bow. It's the look on her face, that soft sort of reverence, and how her lips are swollen and spit-slick, the pretty hollow of her throat. Your thrusts become faster, shorter - your own moan thick in your throat, your jaw hanging slack.

“Here,” you say, and she’s just putty between your fingers, on your cock.

You’re flipping her around, onto a different angle. You know she likes it, the way her tits are pressed against your desk, and it's hot the way her ass tilts right into your hips, arched. Proffering. "Be good for me, and spread yourself open."

She's already so meek when she complies. "Anything, sir. Stretch me out; I want you to make me yours."

God, she's practically purring when she talks like this. She knows exactly what that fucking does to you. Knows that when her eyes draw back, big and watery and full, you're a goner - if your cock wasn't deep in her pussy, fucking her open and raw, the view would nearly be enough. And all of this, the pretense, the pantomime, she knows how to bend the line of your body to her own, because when she turns, and presses her red mouth to the crest of her shoulder, you are hers.

You could probably cum, right now, deep down into the molten hot of her cunt: if your hips keep up their ruthless pace, if her ass was sticking up the slightest bit more - the sound that would come from her.

"Take that perfect cock - and fuck my pussy up," Yuna mewls, her voice saccharine and slurring, a touch whiny. She rolls her hips. Your cock grinds, still, though it stutters now - shallow and quick.

"All this pussy, for daddy's cock," and you're sure that the entire office can hear her now, the moans that escape from her mouth - but you can't even find it in you to care. You're caught, all of her a net you've willingly been ensnared by, and here you figure that's the slightest bit appropriate; you're so fucked, and it's funny, too. Funny enough to laugh about, later. "Nobody fucks this tight little pussy the way you do, sir."

It's a smile she hears in your voice when you say, "is that right? Go on then, let’s hear all the things you'd have me do to your slutty little cunt."

The line's crossed again, in some indecipherable direction. Where, again, exactly, does it matter? There are lines and lines, and none of them quite mark the beginning, the end, the periphery. This time you don't pull back; you dig deep, and it makes Yuna cry out like you’re killing her. Which, in a way - you already have.

So your hips stutter forward again, once more, and you lean into the slant, so fucking deep it's practically impaled. There’s nothing quite like holding this girl’s hips and pounding her from behind. Her pussy alone is fucking incredible. And the sound her ass makes against the flat of your stomach, the crease of your thighs - it's unimaginable, the way Yuna makes these little squeaks of a noise, like half-broken moans, when you fuck deep, deep, deeper into her. The way her arms splay wide and search frantic across your desk. And as you grab her slim, dainty wrist, pin it back and pull her tight - fixing her upright until you have her head lolling back against your chest - you simply fucking pound away.

Fucking all these little curses and sounds of appreciation out of her throat. Your cock forcing out each syllable, "yes," and "fuck," and "god, oh my fucking god - I cannot believe," now on repeat, how her tone grows tighter. How she moans - a lot, like something's being worked loose.

"Uh-uh," and you're holding her steady now, with one broad, strong hand at the back of her neck. "Keep telling me, and maybe I'll let you cum."

Your free hand finds purchase in her hair. Yuna's groan coming out pathetic and wanting, her mouth half open. You wrap her silky golden locks around your fist, her hair thread neatly through your fingers, and then give the slightest of yanks.

Christ, her pussy just fucking soaks onto you. Greedy. Needy.

"Shit," and Yuna gasps when she can, where she's allowed to.

"Oh, is my little girl into getting her hair pulled?" and you can see the signs of affirmation: the muscles inside her flexing, grasping you as you roll in, a small, soft nod, and the way she sighs your name, like a prayer on her lips.

Listen, she can barely speak, the way you're fucking her apart. Yuna's body is wound like a bow, like string and taught wire. Bent into the side of the desk and open for you, her pussy pulsing tight around you with every stroke.

"Sir, I'll do - whatever you need, just - just - let me have your cum, please -" and there, she's begging now, and her voice is tinny, breaking, breathless and airless.

Then it’s her fucking hair. You pull so much on it harder this time, with another measured thrust inside her, your body flush against her ass. Fingerprints searing down onto where her hips flare and taper, impossibly narrow.

You’re probably hurting her. You’re probably ruining her for anyone else - nothing will ever satiate her more than the way she sobs as your fingers twist tighter through her hair. Around her fucking miracle of a waist. It's an obscene sound that echoes down to your cock, as deep, hot and fucking filthy as her cries when she cums for the third, fourth?

"Just," Yuna barely makes, her eyelids heavy, her gaze flitting somewhere behind her. "Just look at you, fucking me so hard, filling up my tight little pussy, making me take everything your cock has to give. God, you love wrecking my perfect little hole, don't you?"

No, or yes, or probably. You’ll figure out the details later.

"God, I love it when you get real messy, when I get you like this-" your words run seamlessly into the searing heat between your bodies, like punctuation, like the end of days -

"Use me." She doesn't just say it. "Take me, and cum in me, wherever you want. Daddy, you can have my mouth, or, or, you can - you can finish inside me."

And god, you could, you really could: just the timbre of her voice does things to you, the way that it curls around the words daddy, and sir, and you're fucking me so goddamn good. She's saying them now, her whimpers breaking into outright moans and all: shit, please, please - you're gonna make me cum - oh - oh fuck! And when she's wound that tight, a quivering, sopping mess of a girl, you put your fingers against her clit, circling and pressing in tempo to the thrust of your cock.

The cruel metronome that makes. Hell, it fucking sends her.

She’s begging you to finish inside her. It's fucked up - and she knows it. She wraps her heels around the square of your back, and the tension rises, and rises, the coiled spring tight and waiting - just a push away, so you slam into her once, then twice more, the push of a hand splayed between her tits and your fingers digging into the muscle of her thigh. She wants you to cum in her pussy, fill her right up; she tells you that, again, that she wants it, and her voice is raspy, high. That she wants you now, as if she didn't before, and how does this compare, because she needs it now.

You hold out for just a little. You’re holding your breath. Just a little, just until Yuna’s eyelashes flutter open over her shoulder and she says your name, so sweetly, and says, "please, just, inside."

You shouldn't.

You can't.

So here, barely able to think at all, you end up doing the unthinkable - thinking all the while of pumping her right to the finish and draining your balls straight into the deepest reach of her cunt, how fucking tempting it may be - you muster an ounce of good judgment still adrift in a sea of lust. Your throbbing cock draws out of that wet, inviting heat and into your fist, and watch how that makes her begin to unspool: the way she tries to press her knees shut. She's sobbing for it, pleading, her lashes dark with tears. "No, no, fuck me, please, I'm begging you. Please, I'm going to be so good - god, please -"

You tug her back, look her in the eye, and let out a loud, shaky exhale. "Knees, princess."

She's too wracked with need to do anything other than comply. Her jaw drops. “But-”

"Mouth," you cut in, sharp enough that her gaze lifts, and you're right there - on the precipice, so close, watching her tongue dart out of her mouth to run across the swell of her bottom lip.

Watching her knees fold into the carpet, her stockings down loose around her thighs, her underwear hanging off an ankle. The rise and fall of her chest like rolling waves, and you can see her hands fisting on her knees, and her face: you watch the emotion flash over, like water on glass, and a moment is all it takes. She leans her face forward to your hand, as you wind her hair into your fist, her lips parted and her gaze lowered. She's obedient, taking the weight of your cock with her pretty pink mouth like the fucked-up-little-fantasy that she is, opening so nice and wide.

Her eyes flit up to yours, her mascara-ringed lashes fanned against the pink of her cheeks.

"My face," she tells you, or something close to it, "fuck my face. Go ahead, use it - cum all over me."

Your cock slides halfway home, her cheeks hollowing, and when it presses to the back of her throat, she gags. You curse and tip your head back, the wood of your desk digging into the flesh of your palm.

"What did you say," you half groan out. "Baby," you add, just for good measure, just to play along, "c'mon."

The tip of Yuna's tongue sweeps and swirls just beneath your cockhead, and she moans her answer around your length, lapping at a leak of precum. "I said," she's repeating now, her cheek brushing across your shaft, and you shudder. "Fuck, what I said was I want you to cum all over my face."

Jesus.

You bury your cock into her mouth once, twice. Let it sit there. Let her really struggle for it, the angle just a tad awkward from above. Let her lips stretch wide, and her shoulders shake a little - tears start to gather, pricking her eyes, her lipstick a mess, the way your cock fits, plugging up her throat so full. You hold her like that for just a second, a little less - until Yuna's moaning, the vibration low in her mouth, and her eyes flutter open, closed.

"Fuck," you spit out, and "perfect," and your voice is shot, your whole face warm, and you're going to cum on her - everywhere on her. Yuna, who’s been staring up at you in wide-eyed submission, gives you a little nod, like she means it.

Like she’s earned it.

And maybe she has: it only takes one last look to seal it - her hand curled around your cock, her cheek matted with her own spit and lipstick, the bright smudge of her own cum from the point of her chin to the cleft of her cupid's bow, and her eyes are locked on yours, eager and hot. Maybe she hasn't - and maybe you should make her beg, fuck her mouth some more - it's almost cruel, how she looks. A perfectly pretty picture, poised and pliant and waiting, and she's right there, beneath you, and fuck - this is so wrong, and you'll ruin her, you'll mark her up like this. She'll be painted like a work of art.

Your pulse thickens. Stands right up in your veins.

Then, your control, snapping: her pretty lashes flutter, her mouth gone slack, her jaw still tilted up like she expects a gift, an offering, her palm wrapped so nice and snug around the base of your cock, her expression dazed, and so easy, and perfect, so eager. You tilt your hips just a fraction further, and she fucking swallows, her tongue tracing the underside where you throb harder, heavier - her body lilting up as you press in so deep.

“God,” you breathe in, out. It hits hard. It hits fast. “Yuna-”

A tensing of your stomach coils up through like smoke, and your grip tightens on the edge of your desk, the other in her hair, a helpless, desperate thrusting, and there - it's a wonderful, brilliant sort of explosion, like light, the white-hot burn of a fever breaking. You cum all over her face and into her hair, spilling out streaks of hot, filthy white onto her sculpted features and the sweet line of her throat, and god, there's so much, she's taking it so easily, all her breathing hot and heavy and loud.

Her skin alabaster and porcelain; cotton and canvas; she lets you fucking paint her, all messy and ruined.

In fact she’s even smiling like she’s holding in a laugh, all gooey-soft with satisfaction, and you're jerking your cock slow through her slender fingers, even after there's nothing else left to give and every inch of her face is marked - the way she wears your cum like new skin. You feel the shockwave tear your nerves open, and then the calm, right on its heels, spreading out from your core to your fingertips, out through the roots of your hair.

"Ah," you exhale, a tight gasp. Yuna takes the entirety of you into her mouth, sucking down your length - harder - as she swallows back a final, sticky load, her own hair sweat-slick to her face.

Just look at the damage: that’s a story not even you’d be able to spin. There's cum on her nose, dribbling past her cheek. On her jaw and on her cheek. Filthy white streaked all over her parted lips, her neck. Down her shoulder blades, and soiling her hair, and leaking down past her collarbones.

(Christ, was this better or worse? You can't even tell. Every version of her that's been served on a plate for you has seen fit to make you sweat.)

When the dust begins to settle, you’re left panting and spent. Yuna, the collateral on this fine, whiny, disaster of a deal. A collection of photos, and some thoughts and ideas, that now sit disheveled on the ground. There's a scathing voice inside your head that's demanding to be heard, reminding you all-too-casually that this is not any way to manage a client. She could snap her fingers, call out to that sycophant at the top floor, and your career would be over - she could do anything she should ever desire.

You know, on a baser level, this, and worse: the duality of the thought. Her tight cunt on your desk, you on your knees; the sharp gasp you can steal from the top of her throat, perhaps when she feels the gentle pressure of teeth around one rosy nipple. The pinch of your thumb and index finger around the other. Her nails down your back in ten angry lines, and the throb in her throat, while you slide the whole width of a hand, rough, over the flesh of her ass.

Maybe the desk, like everything else, can just join the pile on the floor.

"Yuna," you say, the vowels pitching like a sigh.

Her palms find the sharp crease in your pants and slide upward. She's gazing up at you, bright, her face sticky with you.

"You can't send me out like this," she tells you, matter-of-factly, letting a smile cross the lines of her lips - or a smirk. A wordless extension of the previous sentence - of a few.

You pull out and away from her: a white and gray dotted tie hanging loose, unknotted; a button still fastened somewhere mid-center, your trousers pulled off and loose down just below your knees, the fly gaping open. She's in a similar state, the cups of her bra slipping loose, her mouth flushed, lips swollen and red, the outline of how she’d let you use her in a smeary, runny stain across her cheek.

"Maybe let your manager know," you tell her, pulling your belt in place, and you think you catch her eye rolling. "That you're going to be late."

Yuna doesn't hesitate.

"Tell her yourself," she responds, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear I'm not actually dead - just having gotten fucked stupid on my PR person's cock."

"I might forget to include a couple details."

"You shouldn’t." Her eyebrows jump. And she's chewing, lazily, on the full curve of her lower lip, her teeth glinting like razors. "Here, before you throw all this to the sharks -"

So, so very dramatic, and with this: her thumbnail pressed beneath your chin. It draws your gaze up - up, and down: from the splay of her legs and the gleam of wetness between them, a brief rest along the arcs of her chest - the room's a total fucking wreck. Your necktie, her skirt, her blouse, her pantyhose. The papers and books all spread, bent, broken, the stack knocked clean onto its side. The skirt's probably still pulled too far up her hips for decency, her breasts shoved up to her neck and the collarbone, and then there's her face - her chin streaked with cum. Yuna smiles then, the corner of her mouth pulled upward.

She might kiss you if you'd let her.

Cum on her lips be damned, she's beautiful like that, like she isn't even trying. And in fact, she never really had to - this girl, she'd do it alone. The idea that someone could be as universally loved as she, is enough, a marvel even, but here she is in front of you, every atom and curve a siren, a study in perfection and composition. Like she’s not just all your mistakes laid out to bear.

"Take a second to take a proper look, hm? Get all the memories in, while they're fresh."

"Because?"

"You can remember I'm only the person you say I am, for you."

"Oh, of course," and the laugh that leaves your throat sounds dry, cracked open. The band of her skirt stretches, snaps back, so neatly that it leaves a pale line on her flesh. And now there are your hands, fitting around her hipbones, a sigh: a short, sudden motion, tugging her up. Yuna gasps: something surprised, delighted. She's all grins and teeth, all clean, bright incisors.

"Mine," you're breathing, the flat of her stomach underneath the fingers you've placed upon it. "This is mine - you. Yours - you're all mine."

It’s possessive, but, you’re not all incorrect.

"Yeah," she more than agrees.

There's a ribbon-taut quality in the way it leaves her mouth, the tension in her body coiled up through to the bones. She makes it sound like the beginning of a promise, the beginning of something much larger.

And by the way." She’s still buttoning her shirt. Putting herself together. You’ve seen the triage, the damage control. This is the Yuna you get.

So, she needs the second - a respite to lick a stray stripe of slick and cum off her wrist - blotting her cheeks with a ball of wet tissue, until all that's left is the smeared lipstick, her stockings splayed around the floor. The pattern you've worn, where your fingerprints would've shown, gets covered up under her skirt and her coat, wrapped up in a scarf.

The smug satisfaction in her tone pulls your focus, just in time, her hair's falling in waves down her shoulders - perfect, but not flawless: there's a creased line, a hint of her throat, just beneath the collar. There's a slight wisp out of place. The buttons aren't arranged all the way from her collar to her sternum.

"I'm going to go with that photoset, with the white top, in the sand - gonna post 'em online and generate some buzz. You even said it yourself: they're fine. " She pauses, pushing away a strand of hair. "Professionally, of course."

"Professionalism." You smile. "Of course."

She walks out carrying the stilettos: pumps in either hand.

"Always. Catch you soon," she promises, and you do catch a last flash of her expression, lips parted, the lower curving into a satisfied smile, right as she flicks the lock on the door open and your office goes back to quiet.

For a split second, it's unbearable: the silence.

And you think again.

She can have anything, get any boy, girl, whoever, any designer, photographer, make-up artist in the world; there's something so unmistakably intoxicating about the fact that the thing she's decided she wants, is you.

#yuna smut #itzy smut #itzy yuna smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic

2K notes · View notes

whirlybirbs · 8 months ago

Text

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST | AO3 | SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing: a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster.

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague.

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock."

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches.

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate.

ALL I WANT TO DO IS GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot.

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah.

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig.

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade.

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was.

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...?

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all.

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear.

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter.

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows.

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future.

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning.

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not.

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action.

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused.

You hope it all works out for her in the end.

But, Christ this coffee is bitter.

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am.

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work.

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior.

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract.

And so this has been home for the last four months.

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras.

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers.

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one.

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern.

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny.

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it.

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do.

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now.

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you.

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark.

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK.

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to.

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131.

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it".

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door.

Your boots follow in a trail.

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo.

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief.

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again.

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too.

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline.

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different.

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that.

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday.

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time.

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London.

1977, huh. Zaniac.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled.

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet.

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone.

And he's here, wasting his damn time.

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time.

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks.

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes.

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in.

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?"

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact.

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time.

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki.

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis.

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt.

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin.

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers.

He has to... He...

He needs you back.

Now.

#beyond the void #from the void with love #loki x reader #loki x doc #loki x y/n #loki reader insert #loki/reader #loki/you #loki imagine #marvel imagine #marvel reader insert #loki season 2 fic #marvel fanfic

522 notes · View notes

hauntedestheart · 1 year ago

Text

Team Meeting (Male Possession)

As captain of his college football team, Jayvon had a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders. Not only was he expected to be the coach's right hand man and keep the team running like a machine on the field, he also had to make sure that the team behaved themselves off the field as well, which was why the team decided that he should be the one to break "the news" at the next post-practice meeting.

"Championship is on the horizon team," Jayvon addressed his teammates, bellowing loudly so the sweaty young men would pay attention. "This is what all of us have been dreaming about since we picked up the ball back in high school, a chance to get that trophy and be the best team in the country. So I need everyone on their A-game." He paused expectantly. "Anything you wanna share with the team Kyle?"

All eyes went to to Kyle, the handsome running back, who was at that moment distracted by the surreptitious flexing he was doing of his sizeable right bicep. He giggled under his breath, one hand squeezing at the swell of muscle, but at the sound of his name he quickly lowered his hands to his sides and looked up sheepishly.

"Me?" Kyle asked, confused, and he dusted his hands off on his sides. "Uh, no, I think you said it all. Just, you know, go team!"

The young man gave a few small claps and then threw his fist in the air like a cheerleader, a rather dainty looking motion that elicited groans from his teammates. Jayvon bent his head and pinched the brim of his nose, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"Benicio, we know it's you in there," he grumbled, fixing a tired stare onto the sandy haired boy in front of him.

From the outside, he looked just like the same strapping running back who had been a valuable member of the team for the past three years. But Jayvon was certain there was someone else inside, and he had the whole team backing him up on that.

Kyle flinched and a look of shock crossed his face for a moment, but then he scoffed and crossed his arms. "Wh- what are you guys talking about?"

"Cut the crap Ben, we know you stole Kyle's body," one of the other team members called out, and Jayvon shot the speaker a stern look.

"I'll handle this guys," Jayvon assured them, and then he turned his attention back to the impostor in their midst. "Ben, don't bother pretending, everybody's figured it out by now. You've done a terrible job of acting like Kyle."

"Excuse me?" Kyle gasped and splayed one hand out across his chest dramatically- something Jayvon knew the real Kyle would never do. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're literally wearing a crop top," Jayvon pointed out. "When have you ever seen Kyle wear a crop top?"

Kyle glanced down at the thin grey crop top he was wearing- sleeveless, so as to show off his powerful arms, and just short enough that it would flare up and reveal tantalizing glimpses of his abs as he ran. A slutty choice for workout gear clearly meant to draw the eyes, and very unlike the Kyle everyone knew.

"Maybe I just wanted a change," Kyle tugged at the hem of the shirt, one of his hands moving instinctively to slide over the ridges of his tight six pack. "I've got these great abs, why wouldn't I want to show them off?"

"Even if I believed that, you don't know any of the plays," Jayvon continued, and the rest of the team mumbled their agreement. "Kyle has the playbook memorized front to back and yet you can barely catch a ball."

Kyle crossed his arms and shuffled in place, his meek and insecure body language a stark contrast to his heavily muscular form.

"Brain fart?" He protested weakly, the sweat on his head unrelated to the heavy workout he'd just participated in. "So I've been having a few off-games, that doesn't mean I've been body snatched."

"And dude, I'm just gonna say it," Jayvon shook his head- he'd hoped he wouldn't have to bring this one up. "You've done a terrible job of concealing your boners in the showers. Did you think we wouldn't notice that thing swinging around? It's kinda hard to miss."

Jayvon shuddered when he thought back over the behavior Kyle had demonstrated over the last few weeks in the locker room- no one had been able to miss how the running back had suddenly begun regularly sporting massive wood, or how his usual cursory post-game showers had transformed into almost hour long self-worship sessions where he loving rubbed soap into every nook and cranny of his chiseled body. Fortunately no one on the team had reported "Kyle" for any sort of harassment, but Jayvon had been forced to remind him several times that it was not okay to jack off in the community showers.

"Okay, so, I'm virile. I'm a college football player, that's normal!" Kyle frowned and tucked his hands in front of his crotch protectively, attempting to conceal the fact that his dick was already at half mast. The bulge bouncing around in his shorts was another sign that it was an impostor- the real Kyle always wore a cup. "And what, I can't be gay?"

"You can," Jayvon spat on the grass. "But Kyle isn't. Kyle doesn't have a limp wrist. Kyle doesn't stare at everyone's dicks in the shower. And Kyle definitely doesn't go out to gay bars on the weekend, tell everyone his name is Benicio, and offer to let dudes grab his ass in exchange for free shots." Jayvon watched as Kyle's body froze, and he knew he'd hit the mark. "Yeah that's right, my cousin saw you last week. Really Ben?"

Ben finally dropped the act and relaxed, popping out one of his hips and placing his hands on his waist. Everyone recognized the posture of the gay young man who had been attending classes with them for the past four years- only now, he had the face and body of a football hunk.

"Oh, what, so I'm just supposed to pay for drinks when I have a dumpy like this?" Ben rolled his eyes and arched his back, baring Kyle's prodigious bubble butt demonstratively. "As if!"

Everyone on the team erupted into chatter at that, but a quick look from Jayvon silenced them.

"I don't even want to know how," Jayvon frowned and fixed his gaze on Ben. "Just... why?"

"Why do you think?" Ben rolled his eyes. With one hand he lifted up the hem of his crop top, exposing his sweaty torso for the world to see, and the other hand slapped at one of his meaty pecs. "Look at all this body! Kyle is the hottest guy on the team, AND he was a total jackass so I didn't feel bad about doing it. Can you blame me for wanting to have a little bit of fun?"

Jayvon instinctively averted his eyes from the amateur strip show in front of him and cleared his throat.

"Okay, well, you've had your fun," he said. "Now it's time to let him go."

"Are you guys threatening me?" Ben shrunk backwards a bit, glancing around nervously at the pack of ripped men surrounding him, and he seemed to be trying to cram Kyle's hulking body into as little space as possible. "Are you guys gonna like, beat me up? Because I'm warning you, this body has really big muscles so I'm super strong right now and I'll-"

"No one is threatening anything," Jayvon interrupted. "Right boys?"

Everyone on the team voiced their agreement, and Ben relaxed a bit. Jayvon took a cautious step forwards and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, his voice lowering like he was talking to a frightened animal.

"Look, Ben, everyone here likes you," Jayvon continued. "You seem like a cool dude other than... you know, stealing this guy's body and whoring it out to dudes. And god knows that Kyle could be a bit of an asshole. But he's one of our best running backs and we need him for the season, okay? So we all agreed to just look the other way and let you dip out of him, no questions asked. Otherwise we'll have to go to the authorities with what we know. That sounds fair, right?"

"But-" Ben's lip quivered and tears welled up in his eyes. "But he's so hot! I've never gotten this much dick in my life. I feel so sexy when I'm inside of him, I love being a big strong football guy!"

Jayvon shook his head. "You don't like being a big strong football guy, Ben. You hate football," he said bluntly. "You've showed no interest in it at all since stealing Kyle's body, all you're really interested in is having big muscles and a big dick. You can find somebody else to do that- let Kyle go."

"Well, I was getting tired of having to act masc all the time..." Ben chewed his lip for a moment, mulling over his options, and then he sighed. "Fine! I'll let him go. Just..." Ben glanced around the circle of boys hesitantly, then back to Jayvon. "Can I have a second to say goodbye?"

Jayvon released his shoulder and took a step back, giving a little shrug in confirmation, and immediately Ben's hands were all over Kyle's body. Shamelessly, in front of the entire team, he shoved one hand down the front of his pants, eyes squinting shut with pleasure as he threw his head back and groaned.

"This thing is so sensitive, you guys have no idea," he announced, and all of the other boys shuffled uncomfortably.

Ben's hands continued their farewell tour of Kyle's body, tracing a path up his abs to his bulging pecs, and he gave a little squeak of excitement when he tweaked one of his nipples. The hand remained there, thumb stroking at the peak of pink flesh, and then the other hand darted up and grabbed the other pectoral and he squished the two of them together, giving a little giggle as he did so.

He released his chest and slid his hands back down his body, migrating south until he reached the swell of meat that jutted out from his backside.

"And I think I'll miss you most of all..." he muttered, his fingers digging deep into the pillowy flesh of Kyle's ass one last time. Ben glanced up at Jayvon expectantly, the excitement in his eyes a strange juxtaposition to the massive cock staining the front of his shorts. "Can I rub one out? Just for the road?"

"Okay, that's enough of that," Jayvon coughed awkwardly, deciding that it was best to interrupt this before it went any further. He cleared his throat, mustered up all the authority he had as captain, and clapped his hands. "Here's what's gonna happen now: we're gonna close our eyes, I'm gonna count to ten, and when I open them, Kyle is gonna be Kyle, okay?"

Ben gave out a sigh, nodded, and then Jayvon stuck his hand in the air and began the countdown. All eyes went shut and everyone listened to the booming sound of Jayvon's voice.

"Ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three..."

Jayvon stumbled and paused in the count early, but everyone opened their eyes two seconds later anyways. Immediately, all eyes were fixed on Kyle's body. The young man was standing in the exact same spot he had been before, but now he wore a look of utter confusion on his face.

"How did I get on the field? What am I wearing?" Kyle groaned as he rubbed at his head, and then he shifted his hips and winced. "And what the fuck happened to my ass?"

Everyone on the team erupted into cheers and they rushed in towards their teammate, patting him on the back and giving him warm wishes on his return. He glanced around, still unsure where he was or what was happening, and his eyes locked onto his captain Jayvon. Jayvon grinned back at him triumphantly.

"Great job everybody, now that that's taken care of, hit the showers!" Jayvon called out, and the men of the football team cheered and took off for the locker rooms with a very confused Kyle trailing behind.

One of the team members stopped, noticing that Jayvon hadn't moved to follow them, and he called over to his captain.

"Hey Jay, are you coming?" He asked, and Jayvon shook his head.

"No, no, I think I'm gonna head out actually," Jayvon said, rubbing at his chest. "Something just came up."

The teammate shrugged and turned to jog away, completely missing the sight of Jayvon tugging his shorts forwards and peeking down at his crotch.

"I can work with this..." Ben grinned.

#male possession

309 notes · View notes

klapollo · 8 months ago

Note

is copywriting a good job to look into as a writer? im job hunting and i see quite a few openings online but im worried the work will be extremely dreary

i didnt set out to be a copywriter -- frankly when i graduated i had no idea what i wanted to do. i spent about three and a half years freelancing and doing gig work and i'd make like 140 bucks a month on a good year. i happened to apply for a copywriting job among a sea of other entry level things -- social media coordinator, communications associate etc. and i feel SOOOOO fucking blessed that i fell into copywriting

in terms of money: copywriting is very lucrative if you get the experience for it and stay the course. my very first position with no prior copywriting experience (just freelance writing experience) paid me 35/hr. starting off you'll probably make about 50k but moving up the hierarchy can pay a LOT. with four years of experience, during my job hunt i would say the vast majority of the positions i interviewed were within a six figure salary band. moving up the hierarchy, lots of senior copywriters make six figs, and some associate creative directors make over 200k. you can definitely live comfortably as a career copywriter if you play your cards right.

in terms of work: personally i love copywriting, but it's an arm of marketing. if you cant stomach writing marketing materials or learning how marketing works, it might not be for you, but i kinda make it into a game in my head. there's a lot of different kinds of copy -- short form (landing pages, social media blurbs, headlines, emails, product descriptions etc) and long form (white papers, SEO articles/blog posts, ebooks). i would aim to find a copywriting position that will have a wide scope of copy types, because that helps cultivate a well-rounded resume (i.e. shoot for a job that'll have you writing landing pages, emails and blog posts etc over one that's just headlines and captions).

there is also B2C (business to customer, as in marketing a consumer product to individuals) and B2B (business to business, as in marketing a product like mailchimp to a business). i mostly do B2C, but I also do B2B now. it's fine to start with just one, but i'd say right now demand is very high for B2B

the good thing about copywriting is that basically any industry requires it in some capacity. i've worked predominantly in entertainment and digital media, but right now i'd say the biggest demand is in healthcare, fintech and SaaS (software). i freelance for a telehealth company right now in part because i want to make my portfolio more well-rounded. but as i said, nearly any industry can need one -- hospitality, beauty, fashion, retail, nonprofits, anything that is a business that needs to be advertised. when i started, i worked in television, which meant my days largely consisted of watching shows before air and writing episode descriptions. i had a lot of fun!

personally, i dont find my work dreary. sometimes it can be a LITTLE tedious if i'm writing something more technical/internal, but the whole point of copywriting is to figure out how to entice someone to check something out, which means puzzling out how to write something fun and engaging. if you want something less marketing-focused, i would look into getting into technical writing. this is basically writing informational texts and guides for technology and similar things. it pays VERY well and is usually in high demand, but i will say it's definitely more tedious than copywriting.

in short: yes i love copywriting and you can be very financially stable in it! i'd argue it's one of the most financially comfortable day jobs for someone with writing experience. happy hunting anon!!!! i hope u get what ur after

10 notes · View notes

sunpaintedsea · 15 days ago

Text

[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { BENEDICT ‘BEAN’ EVERLY } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { HE } is ? they kind of look like { THEO JAMES } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { THIRTY-FOUR } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { THIRTY-FOUR YEARS }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { JASON MENDOZA } from { THE GOOD PLACE }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { THE SALTY SAILOR } as a { BARTENDER }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { AIRHEAD } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty { DIM-WITTED } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { FRIENDLY } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { 5 BEDROOM } apartment beside me over in { CORAL COVE }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!

tw: florida man behaviour

Basic Information

Full Name: benedict thomas everly iv

Nickname(s): bean

Age: thirty-four

Date of Birth: may 16

Hometown: palmview grove, florida

Current Location: palmview grove, florida

Gender: cismale

Pronouns: he/him

Orientation: heteroromantic, heterosexual

Relationship Status: single

Occupation: bartender at salty sailor bar

Favourites

Weather: partly cloudy with a strong breeze

Colour: blue

Sport: football (american)

Beverage: fireball

Food: steak, medium rare

Animal: llama

Family

Sibling(s): 4 sisters, tba.

Pet(s): a caucasian shepherd named waffle

Biography

benedict thomas everly the fourth is, despite his name, actually the eight generation of palmview grove village idiot. it is a miracle that his father, an extremely dumb but very charming security guard met and fell in love with his mother, an incredibly brilliant lawyer. bean was an accident they couldn’t replicate, no matter how hard they tried. they’d dreamed of a large family, but when bean was three, they realized it wasn’t going to happen naturally. so they turned to adoption, and from there, bean gained four sisters. his sisters were his whole world, from the moment they came home. he was destined to be a big brother, even if he lacked wisdom to pass along to them. each new daughter who joined the family only expanded bean’s heart, and he didn’t believe there was anything in the world he could love more than his girls.

{ tw: amputation } you’ve heard of florida man™, the powerful and elusive creature known for all manner of creative and unique manners of fucking shit up. imagine, you’re scrolling socials one day and you see the headline FLORIDA MAN GETS LEG BITTEN OFF BY GATOR TRYING TO RUN ACROSS THEM LIKE LOGS. you think “wow, what an idiot”. what you don’t think is “i wonder what he’s up to now”. well, friend, he’s your local bartender. it’s been six years since bean lost his leg from the knee down, and he’s adapted to his life quite well. he has a prosthetic that makes his life a lot easier, and even had a tattoo artist friend paint some neat designs on it. he’s relatively open and honest about what happened, and admits *now* that it was a stupid idea.

when bean met waffle, it was love at first sight. waffle was just a puppy, eight weeks old and forty-five pounds of fluff. they warned him that this dog was going to grow up to be massive, but what he didn’t expect is what a massive instagram hit waffle would end up being. from a puppy to now, she won over 2.1 million followers, and has been featured on multiple news outlets across the globe for her size and cuddly demeanor. running waffle’s instagram account became his day job, and soon sponsorships were paying his bills. combine that with the discounted rent of sharing a five-bedroom, he is living large. is he smart with the money? absolutely not. does it just keep coming in anyway? as long as he posts every 2-3 days. he’s basically unstoppable. good luck to anyone who has to deal with him.

#🇮‌🇳‌🇹‌🇷‌🇴‌ ╱ bean everly.#palmviewintro

5 notes · View notes

iluvhavingnobrain · 3 months ago

Text

WARNING, A LOT OF WORDS 🤧

Today, Alastor had told me he'd be over soon to paint another wall or two, he just had to buy a new gallon of paint and some other personal things before hand. I didn't mind, he wasn't in a rush anyways. It also gave me time to relax before he came over as well, so really it's a win win. Although, last night while I was trying too sleep I heard screaming from down the sidewalk. Was more than likely the murderer, I'm thinking about moving to the other side of Louisiana..where the killer doesn't reside. But then I'd have to quit my only paying job AND I'd have to say farewell to my new friends, I didn't want that.

Not at all. But I couldn't help but feel concerned about my safety whenever I roamed the streets and sidewalks, especially during nighttime when I was coming home from work. Gender doesn't seem to matter too this so called..'Deer man' people always say that his shilloute looks like a deer..yata..yata. I thought the nickname..or..title for this killer was a bit humorous if I had to be honest, I know that serial killers are dangerous and all, but I didn't think why deserve some cheesy title to make people even more riled up.

You want people to feel safe in their own homes, not uncomfortable. I sighed as I thought about that, to be honest..there was times when I felt uncomfortable in my own home, especially when I rounded a corner in the hallway or something. I need to ask Mimzy if she could let me out of work a bit more earlier..since..according to the morning papers, six proskirts, pimps, and gang members have been found dead. Within just the last two weeks! Meaning 18 dead bodies have been found, either mangled, gutted, or just with their throats slit. The thing was..most of it was during nighttime, around the early, early hours. Or just a bit after midnight.

I tried to do most errands during daytime whenever I could. I don't know much about killers, but I do know that this one..and most, wouldn't dare kill a person in broad daylight.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts, I sighed as I got up from the couch before heading over to the front door and opening it. "Oh, hey..that didn't take long." I said as I was greeted by Alastor, he simply chuckled before replying. "Never said it would." He teased as I fully let him in, I nudged his elbow. A soft chuckle escaping my lips. "Yeah, yeah. Smart alleck."

I paused for a moment, realizing something. "Hey, how'd you convince your boss to let you have an off day, Al?" I asked, he thought for a moment trying to figure out his next words. I snickered as he put his thumb and index to his chin, pretending to think really hard. "Well, I just promised him I wouldn't ask for the rest of the month. Although I only said that because I knew he'd forget eventually."

I paused at his words, did he just finesse his boss? "Ho-..Im not even going to ask."

Alastor chuckled at my reaction, causing me to huff and cross my arms. "Let's just get started." He nodded before handing me a paint brush, I gently grabbed it before dipping it into a paint bucket. Coating the brush in grey paint. I began to paint the half painted wall that we had left off on, this time, there was no messing around. Only chatting and sometimes jokes, we both had dry humor..so luckily it wasn't as awkward as it could've been.

We finished up about two walls, almost the whole living room. "Better than last time." I said with a shrug, Alastor snickered and I arched a brow. "Darling, it's...it's..if not, the same." I sighed and crossed my arms as I glanced at him. There was a difference, A very small one. "Yeah but it's still progress, and progress is progress." I hummed, Alastor shrugged and nodded. I scoffed playfully, he never took anything seriously. "Ooh! How about you stay for dinner?" I chirped, turning to Alastor. He seemed to hesitate, I seemed worried for a moment before he said.."Of course, my dear!" My eyes lit up with excitement as he said those words.

I've been contemplating the question for

the past week now, and I never thought he'd actually say yes! "Okay! Although Im not telling you what I'm making.." I teased and he sighed, causing me to giggle. "I'm sure you can wait, now make yourself comfortable..wait, actually..clean yourself up first." He paused, his smile turning to one of confusion. "Well, I don't have an extra pair of clothes." I frowned slightly, I hadn't thought of that..I should've.

"Hmm..your clothes aren't that bad.." I gently tried to swipe one of the small paint stains off of his shirt, making it smudge. "Sorry.." I muttered, he simply chuckled. "It's fine, my dear. I have plenty more sweaters like these, don't sweat it." Alastor said reassuringly, I nodded with a sigh before heading upstairs, pausing at the first step. "I'm just gonna get changed." With that, I continued up the stairs.

I could hear Alastor huff before sitting down onto the couch. I sighed quietly to myself, yes I felt a bit bad. But, it's only three splotches...he'll survive.

_______~*✰◇✰*~_______~*✰◇✰*~______

I came back downstairs five minutes later to find him zoning out on the couch, seems about right. "Heeellooo...? Earth to Alastor?" After I snapped my fingers in front of his face a couple of times, he blinked before looking up at me. "Oh..hey, darling. Sorry.." I shook my head, a reassuring smile on my face. "No need, we all do it sometimes..well, most times." We both shared a small laugh before I moved away from the couch and into the kitchen. "Now, as I said before..Im not you what I'm going to make, although it will be something form my culture!" I chirped as I got the pots and pans ready.

I already had meat thawed out, originally..I was just going to cook it for me, myself, and I. But now I have company, so there might not be any leftovers.

"Is that the only hint your going to give me?" Alastor teased from the living room, causing me to giggle under my breath. "Hmm..let me think, yes!" I said back from the kitchen, causing him to playfully huff. "Yeah, well..just let me know when your done!" He replied and I nodded. "Got it!" And with that, I began to get started with dinner. ________~*✰◇✰*~______~*✰◇✰*~______

(Sorry for another time skip 😭)

I watched in awe as Alastor scarfed down the traditional dinner I had made, I hadn't expected him to like it so much! When he was done I began to snicker, causing him to arch a brow as he looked up at me from his plate. "Why, I uh..didn't really expect you to actually enjoy it.." I whispered a bit shyly, I've never been the one to cook genuine meals. I commonly made small single person sized meals, never just..actual meals!

He chuckled and politely took his napkin before wiping his mouth and the corner of his lips with it. "Why, I never said I wouldn't." He teased, I gave him a soft smile before he spoke again. "What's this stuff called again, my dear?" I thought for a moment, how could I have forgotten the name? It's such a short one anyways. It popped up into my head, I blinked as I suddenly remembered it before answering him.

"Okra soup." I hummed, Alastor thought for a moment. "Could you possibly write down the recipe one of these days?" He asked a bit quietly, I nodded and looked down at his clean plate.

It still amazed me on how quickly he had finished that, and yet somehow..he still stays pretty lean. "You want me to take care of that for you?" I said with a quiet snicker. He glanced down at his plate, seemingly had forgotten about it. He just dismissively flicked his wrist. "No, it's okay. I can do it, I am the guest after all." A small tingly feeling rose to my cheeks, was I seriously blushing right now? I shook my head subtly before nodding at his words.

"Just put your plate into the sink, I can take care of it later." I said to him as he got up with his plate, I watched him leave the dining room before gently slapping my cheeks. As if trying to slap the blush away, yeah I know..pretty stupid.

I immediately stopped when Alastor walked back in, standing up from the table and grabbing my own plate as I did so.

"Heyyy..Al." I said quietly, he arched a brow at me. "Are you okay, darling?" He asked worridly, I nodded reassuringly. I didn't need him worrying about me, I hope.

"Yeah, of course I am!" I blurted out before covering my mouth. "I mean..I am, yes I am fine." I said a bit more quietly and politely, Alastor blinked before laughing. I huffed in embarrassment, putting my hands on my hips as I did so. "What? You've done the same thing once or twice whenever you talk to me!" I exclaimed, causing him to laugh even harder. I groaned and got my plate before heading into the kitchen and rinsing it off.

"Yes, yes. But it was still humorous!" Alastor called out from the dining room, I grumbled under my breath. To be honest, anything was humorous to this man. "Yeah, yeah.." I grunted under my breath before drying off my hands. I walked into the living room and sat down next to him. "It's still barely 8o'clock. There anything you wanna do?" I asked as I lazily leaned back. Alastor thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No, not really." I nodded before a question popped up in my mind.

"What time are you looking to go home?" I asked as I sat up, he stayed silent for a moment, odd. He's usually a chatterbox, maybe not today..I hope that's all it is. "Al?" He flinched as I said his name, his eyes wide for a moment before he glanced over at me. "Sorry..I just..sorry." I shook my head. "No, it's okay..although that's twice now." I reached to put my hand onto his shoulder before stopping myself, I needed to ask first.

"Do..you mind if I?-.." I whispered, gesturing to the way my hand was hovering over his shoulder. He shook his head and I placed my hand onto his right shoulder, rubbing it in a comforting way.

We sat in silence for a moment, both of us drowned in our thoughts before he spoke up. "Would it be alright if I were to stay the night?" Alastor asked hesitantly. I paused, that was unexpected. Especially since it was coming from him,

He never really wanted anyone to pity him or..he'd never really ask for comfort at all.

"Is there any reason on why you'd like to stay the night?" He shrugged, a longing look on his face. "No..well, yes. I just..you don't have to say yes, I can go back home if you like." I shook my head at his words. "Nonsense, you can take the couch for the night. I have extra blankets in my closet." I stood up from the couch and headed upstairs to my bedroom, I opened up my closet..I had a special velvety blanket. I usually kept it too myself, but..it's only for one night.

I grabbed the large and warm plush blanket before heading back downstairs into the living room. "I could wash your clothes for you, if you'd like." I said gently as I approached him. His posture was slumped and he looked defeated and tired. Poor guy.."That'd be nice, thank you." He said as he stood up from the couch, I nodded and turned around to give him some privacy as he undressed.

"You've asked me this question a bunch, so..now it's my turn to ask..are you okay, Alastor?" I asked quietly. He was quiet for a moment..the silence was uncomfortable and tense. I didn't like it, it made me anxious. "No." He said quietly, I froze..he'd never down right admit the truth when it came to his feelings..so why now?

"Can I turn around now?" I whispered, causing him to hum in response. I saw him in only his boxers, although I didn't care about that. I only cared about why he wasn't feeling well. "Why don't you feel well..mentally?" He seemed awfully hesitant to answer..although eventually he did. "I wouldn't like to share on why.." He muttured, I nodded and guided him back down to the couch, I then untucked the blanket from underneath my arm and handed it too him. "If you need anything, I'll be upstairs."

And with that, I headed into my room..his words plaguing my mind.

______~*✰◇✰*~_________~*✰◇✰*~_______

HALLOO I BEEN PREPPING FOR COLLAGE ND STUFFS, SO LIKE..IM GON BE UPDATING SLOWLY 😔😔

Like I promised..

Word count: 2246

Shh, it's good trust trust 😔🤘⛓️🖤

#hazbin hotel #alastor #fanfic #human alastor is hot #human alastor x oc #human alastor #hazbin alastor #oc #ram #wattpad writer #wattpad

2 notes · View notes

birdgirl90 · 1 year ago

Text

Well preparing for the move is in full swing! Full details below, and thank you all for being so supportive.

I have technically three ish weeks to get everything ready to go, but I want to be done before the week of Thanksgiving so I can spend that week doing nothing except being with my family, so it's more like two weeks.

I've been steadily going down my to do list - stuff for my dog is all taken care of (treats, toys, food and water bowls, etc all for the trip itself), my medications are all called in for 90 days so that I have a few months to figure out insurance and get doctors (parents said they would mail the meds to me if they don't get filled in time), I ordered my contacts for the next six months so that I'm stocked up on those, hotels are reserved for along the way, and so on.

I have a tentative plan for when I get there, but it's still scary as fuck.

My parents are being supportive even though neither of them like that I'm moving so far away. (For reference, I'm in Colorado and I'm moving to Maryland, which I love the east coast and am very excited.) Thanks to my dad helping me out, I was able to get a loan from the bank to pay for my move and living expenses until I get a full time job. Both of them are sad, as is my little sister who is heartbroken I'm leaving, but they all know I have to do what's right for me.

The half baked plan is to take four days to drive cross country with as much of my stuff that will fit in my car as well as my dog, driving about 6 hours or so a day since it's just me. I have my cities picked out to stop in, and I think it's going to be a pretty uneventful drive. I love road trips, so it's great getting to take one on my own tbh.

Then when I get to Maryland, I'll be rooming with my best friend. Once she left her fiance and I got divorced, it was the plan to be roommates, so she got a decent two bedroom apartment last month that she can afford on her own. My contribution when I get there will be to pay for groceries until I work full time and can afford to help with rent too. I figure groceries is the least I can do, and she keeps telling me that I don't have to do anything if I don't want to, which is incredibly generous but I refuse to just be a bum and do nothing.

Once I'm settled, I'll be hitting the ground running looking for work. The job I really wanted I got overlooked for because I'm out of state, so being in state will help for other jobs. So far I'm looking into online tutoring (I have an education degree and I currently work for Sylvan Learning Centers - I've done administrative director stuff as well as tutoring and they have a lot of opportunities) as well as transcription jobs for like court reporting. Both together should tide me over until I find a full time job somewhere, I think.

This whole thing is exciting and also terrifying as fuck. I have never done anything even remotely close to this before, and going out without a job lined up scares me shitless. But as I had it pointed out to me, nothing gets done staying in one place forever, and if I want to make this change, I need to just do it.

Does anyone who follows me live on the east coast of the US? If you do and would ever be interested, I would love to get coffee once I'm settled. I am really looking forward to making friends for once outside of the two or three that I currently have.

Thanks again for everything guys, all of you mean a lot to me.

~Birdie

#birdie speaks #moving #moving across country #from colorado #to maryland #so much chaos going on #I have no clue what I'm doing at this point

7 notes · View notes

chaoskirin · 2 years ago

Text

Watching the internet go after "major publishing houses" because they won the case against the Internet Archive is so upsetting.

I don't think people realize this, but they don't pay their authors enough to survive. Even if you're published through one of the big four, you're generally not going to earn enough to live, unless you're pumping out 6-10 books a year.

There seems to be this pervading belief that authors published with major publishers earn a LOT OF MONEY, IE that an advance might be in the range of six figures. Which leads people to the conclusion that piracy hurts no one.

In reality, your advance on a book might be in the range of $6K if you're a new author, and doesn't really go past the $20K range for established authors, unless you're really famous. They HAVE the money to pay authors. They just... don't.

I know $20K seems like a lot, but an adult living on their own needs a whole lot more to live, especially because authors in the US need to purchase health insurance. They don't get it through work.

In 2023, the living wage for a family is, at the very minimum, $80,000.

So what happens when you boycott Penguin, or Harper Collins? They aren't going to give their CEOs less. They're going to give their authors less. Because to them, authors are disposable. There are always more people willing to sell their books, until they realize they can't make a living wage off being an author. Then they stop writing.

And the CEOs keep getting yearly raises.

I really, REALLY wish I could get through to people on this. Every time I try, I'm usually slammed with one of two arguments: 1. Piracy hurts no one. Or 2. I ought to get an actual job and stop treating a hobby like a job.

Which just baffles me, because y'all are out here consuming books, but you're literally despising the authors for trying to write full time and survive. It sucks. And it's gotten progressively worse. Not even 5 years ago, the prevailing opinion was that you Do Not Pirate Books.

Honestly, it's hard to care anymore with wave after wave of instructions on how to pirate books. It's barely worth the effort to write anymore, and the desire to put the work into creating a story, editing, and then searching for a publisher just isn't there.

And that's how a lot of queer and marginalized authors feel. By pirating books, you're losing the voices you want to read, while elevating the voices who are doing real harm.

I just think you all should know that and accept that before pirating. If you're okay with that, then I guess go ahead and do it. You'll definitely be satisfied in the short term, but just understand that queer voices are FINALLY getting their stories heard. Pirating is just going to erase all that progress.

That being said, if I ever earn out 6 figures, pirate my books with my blessing. But right now, here's a picture of my March royalties:

So please, don't pirate my books.

Also, despite what the comments say, this is NOT a slippery slope toward destroying fanworks archives. The Internet Archive was literally pirating books (not purchasing them, like libraries do) then scanning them and putting them up on the internet to borrow. If the IA purchased books from authors to scan, it would be considered a library, and authors would be happy.

Fanworks like fanfiction fall under derivative work, or parody. It's a totally different ballpark.

So many organizations reached out to the Internet Archive in an attempt to come to a license agreement, and the IA did not respond.

I really hope people consider reblogging this post. My source is that I'm an author, and have been following this case very closely.

#internet archive #hachette v. internet archive #piracy #book piracy

25 notes · View notes

treasure444 · 2 years ago

Text

Her Savior II Pairing: Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader Rating: Angsty/Fluffy WC: ~3.9K Contents & Warnings: Mentions of the abuse relationship from part I, Ari is protective - let me know if missed anything else. I know I say this every time I post, however, I want to thank @universitypenguin for the incredible beta reading. You are there every step of the way, and I am so thankful to have you a part of my writing journey! MINORS DNI Feedback is always appreciated, likes are too, but reblogs are golden! Taglist:

It had been six months since you last ran into Ari. Six months of being Elijah free. Six months of getting to know Alisha. After bringing you to the hotel of your choosing, Alisha stayed with you. For the first month. While you had appreciated the kindness, it took a lot of time to realize that there was no other shoe that would drop. No surprises. You were happy to call her your friend.

You managed to get a well paying job in the heart of the city. You were a data analyst, and you were thankful to be able to afford your own little apartment. It wasn’t very big, but it was yours and yours alone. It meant you were completely free.

Of course, you had scheduled outings with Alisha, and got to know some of her friends. Becoming close with Alisha also meant you became aware of what she did for work. It also meant you asked questions. A lot of questions revolved around her work, and co-workers. It was later revealed that Ari’s official title was consigliere, he was the right hand man to whoever ran the ‘mob’. You had learned to not ask questions regarding his work, or even Alisha’s. He was someone considered above her in the ranks. But the two got along quite well.

You call her on your way home from work one Friday.

“I’m curious if you maybe wanted to go out tonight?” You asked after exchanging pleasantries.

“What kind of outing is this? Is the goal to get blackout drunk? Party? Or just a few drinks?” She questioned.

“Oh no no! I’m not looking to get blackout drunk!! Just looking to let the stress of the week go, have a couple drinks! Nothing too crazy!”

“I’m so in!” Alisha exclaimed, “any place in particular?”

You bit your lip, “I was thinking The Lazy Jewel?”

“This wouldn’t have to do with the fact that the whole gang’ll be there would it? Including a certain Consigliere?”

You could hear the teasing lilt to her voice. Your cheeks flushed, “What? No, of course not. I just want to have a few drinks with a friend.”

Alisha giggled. “I’ll meet you there for, say seven o’clock?”

You nodded, before realizing she can’t see you. “Yeah. Seven sounds great!”

You didn’t want to take too long getting ready. Once you were home, you opted to take a quick shower, and then change into something that was appropriate for drinks with friends. Grabbing your stuff, you were off to The Lazy Jewel.

Walking up to the main door, you felt uneasy. What were you thinking? You didn’t know. You had gone insane. That was the only logical explanation. Someone behind you cleared their throat, you jumped out of the way, mumbling a short ‘sorry’.

Taking a deep breath, you walked into The Lazy Jewel. You felt out of place. This time was a little different. Taking in your surroundings, things looked a little bit more inviting, and you couldn’t figure out if it was because of your lack of company this time around, or if something had changed.

It didn’t take long before you spotted Ari. He was hard to miss, with his back facing you. Alisha saw you and practically floated over. “Hey!” She greeted. You smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, before pulling the sleeve of your jacket over your hands.

She caught where your eyes went. “He’s talked about you a few times now, you know.”

You shook your head, “Oh please, he’s got much better things to think about, and talk about.” You giggled, not fully believing her, but it didn’t stop your stomach from feeling fuzzy.

“He has! He’s asked if anyone has heard from you. He wanted to make sure you were alright, but I told him I’d keep my eye on you.” Alisha grinned, and bumped your shoulder with hers. “I know he’d like to see how you’re holding up.”

You sighed wistfully. “It definitely hasn’t been easy...” You glanced over at her.

“No one said it would be, love. But you’re still doing better than most. Not everyone would be able to get out. You did.” She rubbed at your back.

“It’s all because of him.” Your voice wavered.

“No. Ari helped, but you did it. You got away. You stuck to it. You didn’t go back to him no matter how bad you may have wanted to. Or no matter how much he called, or begged, or whatever,” she assured you.

“Still. I owe a lot to him. He had a big hand in it. It feels like a ‘thank you’ isn’t enough,” you mumbled.

“Let’s get you a drink.” Alisha mused, as she led you to the bar.

Both of you had ordered, and started up a brief conversation about work, and what had gotten you down. It was nice to be here, and be able to catch up with your friend after a long couple of weeks. You hadn’t noticed Ari approach the bar, but Alisha certainly did. She even noticed the look he gave you, and waved at him.

You turned to see what she was looking at, and came face-to-face with Ari.

“O-Oh, hi.” you addressed him first.

Ari nodded, “it’s nice to see you again.”

You had noticed, he still kept a small bit of space between the two of you. “How are you?” you asked, after hearing Alisha mutter something about ‘being right back’.

The corners of Ari’s lips turned upwards, “I’m good. How have you been?”

“Better… Things are definitely better.” You pointed to the bar, “Can I get you something?”

Ari chuckled, but not in a rude, or condescending way. “Normally, I’d say yes. However, I get free drinks.”

Your face heated, and you were sure you looked like a tomato, “of course..”

“Alisha tells me you have your own place now?”

You nodded, and took a drink, “yeah, it’s just a small apartment, but it’s close to work and it’s my own.”

“That’s incredible. What do you do?” Ari stepped closer.

“I’m a data analyst at Citadel Agency.” You smiled, you truly did love what you did.

Ari frowned, “the one on 87th street?”

You nodded, “yep! Crazy isn’t it?”

Ari moved away from you, “I see. Well, congratulations on everything, but I have to go. It was nice to see you.”

He had left before you had a chance to say goodbye. Alisha came back shortly after.

“Where’d Ari go?” She asked.

You pointed to where he was, with his back facing you.

“What happened?” Alisha turned to you.

“I have no idea. We were talking, he seemed normal, and then he just flipped and started acting weird after I told him about the job.” You frowned.

“Maybe he’s just having a bad day? Ari’s known to get cold and distant when he’s had a rough day. Which happens quite a bit, actually.”

“It’s possible… I imagine he does, given his line of work. I just thought it might be different, you know? He seemed pretty interested.”

Alisha giggled, “Oh trust me. He’s interested. He’s just trying to play Mr. Cool Guy right now.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, and turned back to the bar. “You should’ve seen the look in his eyes… One minute, he was really close and his eyes were the brightest shade of blue I’d ever seen. He was so close… I literally could have touched him without moving my hand much. And the next, he stepped away from me, and his eyes turned gray.” You looked up at her.

Alisha frowned, “hey, you’re really shaken up. Do you want me to talk to him? See what’s going on?”

You shook your head, “No. He very obviously wants nothing to do with me. I’m sorry. I’m gonna go home, I shouldn’t have brought you out. I really am sorry Alisha.” You glanced over at her.

“No. No, no, you don’t have to apologize. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. Please, I don’t need sympathy.”

“Alright. What are you doing this weekend? I could swing by with some cheesy movies, some junk food, we could have a girls weekend.”

You giggled, “Okay…” You bit your lip, shrugging your jacket on, and standing up. “Thank you.” You said to Alisha giving her a quick hug. You turned around looking for Ari, but he was gone.

“No problem. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.”

You shook your head, “There really is no point. See you later.” You waved at her, and walked outside.

Immediately heading to your car, to try and avoid the slight chill in the air.

“Hey,” You heard a voice, and turned around. Ari was standing in front of you.

You didn’t say anything, just pulled the sleeves of your jacket over your hands.

“Promise me something,” Ari glanced around, “promise me you’ll be safe.” He gently placed his hand on your bicep.

The heat from his hand radiated through your jacket, soaked into your skin. Suddenly, every other part of your body was freezing cold. “What do you mean?”

Ari sighed, removing his hand, “it's… complicated.”

“Only because you’re making it complicated, Ari. Look, I really have to go," you said, and opened the car door. Ari shut it.

“Please.” Ari leaned against the door. “Promise me.” Ari gently grasped your hand, but you pulled away as his fingers grazed yours.

“I don’t know that I can make that promise to you. Do you want to explain what the hell happened in there?” You questioned.

“I need you to promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I need to know why you’re so invested in this. In me. I mean, you tell Alisha that you want her to keep an eye on me. And then you start up a conversation with me, you seemed so interested, so genuinely happy. Then when I mentioned the new job, you flipped. You suddenly didn’t care. You were so emotionless. So please tell me. Just give me a straight answer. Not ‘its complicated’. Please Ari. I deserve at least that.”

You could feel your composure slipping, just a little. The pure want to be closer to him, for him to let you into his world was too strong.

“It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Dangerous how?” You took a step closer to him.

The corners of Ari’s mouth turned upwards slightly, you would’ve missed it had he not been directly in front of you, and opened your car door.

You nodded your head twice, “of course you won’t give anything.” You mutter, putting your stuff in the car. “I promise. Okay?” You whispered, looking up at him.

“Thank you.” Ari said as he rubbed your back.

In a moment, Ari was gone back into The Lazy Jewel, and you were left with no answers.

Sighing, you got into the vehicle and drove off.

____________________________________________________________________________

Alisha came over the following day with movies and junk food, just as she'd promised. The movies had been discarded the moment she got there.

“He doesn’t let people in, it’s just who he is.” Alisha mentioned. Of course, the topic of conversation was Ari. It was all your mind would focus on. You were confident, when Monday rolled around, the quality of work produced would go downhill, but wouldn’t allow yourself to focus on it.

You groaned, and threw your head back against the couch. “I feel like I’m in school again. I just want him to be honest. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone to let me in their life as much as him. I want to be important to him. It’s pathetic.”

“It is not! It’s cute. You are important to him. You have to know that.”

“No. I don’t. Because he won’t let me in! It’s so frustrating. He’s asking me to make promises, but he won’t tell me why!” Your head rolled to look over at her. Alisha’s frame was shaking, she was laughing. You pouted, “It’s not funny!”

Alisha only laughed harder. You groaned, standing, and walking into the kitchen. Rifling through your cabinets you didn’t even know what you were looking for, you just didn’t want to be ridiculed. “Look, I know. I know I haven’t spent much time with him, and I don’t know him that well, but he’s… intriguing.” You slowly turned to face her, only to find her smiling at you, standing beside you.

“You’re into him.” Alisha pointed out.

“And that’s terrifying,” You tilted your head, “I don’t know what to do around him. I’m scared of what that means, Alisha.”

“I know… Ari wouldn’t hurt you though. You know at least that.”

“I don't think he’d hurt me on purpose. He’s hurting me right now though… by not being honest.”

Alisha’s gaze softened, “Let me talk to him.”

You sighed, and walked to the couch again. “Can we just watch something? I don’t want to think about him anymore.”

Alisha nodded, and put on a random movie from the Netflix that was on your tv. Though, you weren’t really paying attention to it. Still stuck in your head about Ari. Soon enough, you were asleep. Alisha got up, and draped a blanket over you before grabbing her purse and calling Ari.

He picked up after two rings. “Hey.” His voice sounded.

“I know it’s late. Can you meet me down at The Lazy Jewel?” she glanced over at you, “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, sure. Is everything okay?” Ari asked, voice laced with concern.

“No.” She said, before hanging up, and quietly gathering her things, and leaving. She made sure she locked the door before getting into her car and speeding off.

____________________________________________________________________________

Monday came and passed with little to no problem. The biggest issue was that the barista gave you the wrong coffee, and you didn’t notice until you got to work. You thought Tuesday was going to be similar, if not the same, and it started out just as every day did. You woke up, showered, went to the coffee shop down the street, before heading to work. It’s the same steps you took everyday. It took a turn when you got to work.

Walking over to your desk, you set all your stuff down, and got out the data report your boss had asked for last week. You finished it too late last night to give it to him. Knocking on the door, you heard a gruff “come in”.

Walking into the room, you turned to shut the door behind you. “Good morning, sir. I wanted to bring this over, I finished it late last-” You were cut off upon turning around, and seeing Ari leaning against the wall opposite your boss’ desk.

Ari said your name, and nodded.

“Sorry,” you turned to your boss, “I finished the report late last night. I know it was due yesterday, but it didn’t feel right to just leave it on your desk.” You approached him, and set the report down in front of him.

“Thank you. You’re free to leave.” Your boss said, curtly, not having once taken his eyes off Ari.

“I-I didn’t know the two of you knew each other.”

You knew you could potentially get into a lot of trouble. Your boss had dismissed you. You needed to know what Ari was saying though. Was he trying to get you fired?

Your boss turned to glare at you. “Right. Right. We’ll talk later. Sorry.” You said before he could reprimand you.

You walked back to your desk, and pretended to be busy, glancing every so often at your boss’ door to see if Ari was leaving.

Ari emerged 30 minutes later, and walked right past you. You stood from your chair, and struggled to follow him.

You tugged on his arm once you had caught up with him. He turned on his heel, to see you. “Good to see you again.” He said.

“Can I have a word with you?” You replied angrily, before pulling him along with you, into a vacant hallway.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You turned on him.

Ari rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to protect you.”

“NO! You’re trying to get me fired! It is one thing for you to make me promise I’ll be careful, but another entirely to show up at my place of work! I am more than capable of protecting myself!”

Ari’s eyes narrowed. “What, like you protected yourself from your ex?” He spat at you.

Your breath hitched, you had only seen Ari this angry once. The mention of Elijah only fueled the hurt, and the tears that gathered in your eyes. “That was a low blow.”

He knew it was, yet he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. I’m only trying to help.”

“But you’re not. Why are you here?” You stubbornly wiped the fallen tears from your face.

“I already told you.”

“But you haven’t!! Gah, you’re so frustrating! Just be honest with me, for once please!! What do I need to protect myself from?! I promised you I would, but if something is dangerous I should know right?!” You shouted, more tears falling.

“You think it’s easy?! That the truth is some magic spoken word? That you speak the truth and all's right with the world?! That’s not how it works Princess. I’ve. Already. Told. You.” Ari raised his voice back.

“Why do I need to keep myself safe?! What the fuck do I not know?!”

Ari glared, “not here.”

“Fuck you.” You spat and walked around Ari.

Ari spun and grabbed your arm. “You want to try that again?” He growled out.

“Fuck. You.” You shoved his chest, forcing him to let you go.

The rest of the day passed without so much as a hiccup. You were relieved to see the clock strike 6:00. Your work day was finished. You packed all your bags up, and walked out. The air had a slight chill to it, but it was more than welcomed after spending your whole day in a stuffy office.

Your phone rang as you walked towards your apartment complex, fishing it out of your purse, you saw Alisha’s name on the screen.

You answered it immediately. “Hey!”

“What the hell happened today?!” Alisha practically shouted down the receiver.

“Okay, ease up, what’re you talking about?”

“I know Ari showed up at your work, but he got back here around 11:30 this morning, and has locked himself in his office. He’s refusing to come out!”

“I couldn’t tell you what’s wrong with him. Only that he’s a selfish prick.” You walked faster.

“What happened between you two? I mean just the other night you were talking about how your feelings for him scared you, and now you’re calling him a prick.”

“He’s lying to me!” You finally got to your apartment, and unlocked the door. “Okay? He’s lying to me.”

You walked in.

“Lying to you how?”

“He showed up today, he was talking to my boss, Alisha! He was in there for over a half an hour, definitely longer, because he was in there before I showed up! He told me he was trying to protect me! But I don’t need protection from my employer! He wouldn't answer me when I asked him to elaborate, he’s hiding something, and lying about it!” You threw your stuff down and collapsed on the bed.

“Oh my… Can you get down here? To The club tonight. Please?” Alisha asked.

“What? Alisha, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me, okay?”

“Absolutely.” You hung up, and closed your eyes for a few moments.

You sat up, and grabbed your favorite takeout menu. Not feeling like cooking. As you reached for your phone to dial, a call came through. You didn’t recognize the number, but answered anyway.

“Hello?” You scooted back against the headboard.

“Hi. Look, you probably don’t want to talk to me, but we do need to talk.” Ari’s voice rang back.

“How’d you get my number?”

“Alisha gave it to me a few weeks back. I didn’t want to alarm you by using it.”

“Of course she did. What do you want from me Ari?”

“Come by. Please. To the club, tonight, I need to talk to you…”

“Fine. I’ll be there soon. But you better be ready to answer my questions.”

Ari chuckled, “I definitely owe you some answers..”

“I’ll be there soon.”

You arrived in 20 minutes. Record timing for you. You shot a quick text off to Ari to let him know you’re there, before walking in.

Ari met you at the door. “Hi.” You said, quietly.

“Can we head somewhere a little more private?” He asked, to which you nodded, and followed him into his office. The entire way down, you heard the whispers, the quiet voices talking about the two of you. How Ari had finally met his match. You made a mental note to ask him about it.

Upon entering the room, Ari gently shut the door so as to not startle you. “I owe you an explanation.” You turned, and found Ari looking extremely guilty.

“You only suppose that now you owe me an explanation? Not like 9 hours ago?” You quipped.

“I owed you one then too, but we were still in the office building, I couldn’t just explain everything to you then.”

“Ohhh. So I deserve an explanation now, but I didn’t deserve one days ago when I was begging you in front of my car?” You glared at Ari.

He sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

“When you told me you got a job, I was interested. I was happy for you. The Citadel Agency used to be owned by the Howling Commandos. Steve Rogers was the old owner. When you mentioned you were working there, I thought.. I thought you may have been playing us. Then I realized why you were here in the first place, and it didn’t add up. So I thought maybe you didn’t know. I asked you to be careful because of that. I was only checking in. When I went in, and it wasn’t Curtis, it threw me. I thought they had new management. But not that they sold the company. I had to make sure you were safe. When Jake told me… I felt like a fool.” Ari didn’t realize he was slowly stepping closer to you.

You pulled your sleeves over your hands, “I owe you an apology too..”

Ari shook his head, but you cut him off.

“No, I do. I accused you. I was so rude to you. You were only trying to help. I’m so sorry.”

“If I had just been open and honest, but I wanted to be sure. Earlier today, we were likely under some sort of surveillance. I couldn’t say what I wanted. Days ago, I didn’t want to alarm you, I had to get my facts straight.”

“Well, I’m a little bummed I can’t dispute that, but I am sorry.” You joked.

Ari laughed, “It’s okay.”

“So… I’m your girl?” You slowly rocked back on your heels. “Is that what you’ve been telling everyone?”

Ari chuckled, “I haven’t said it.. But everyone can kinda see how protective over you I am. How crazy I am about you.”

Your face flushed. “Ohhh I see. Maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink sometime? Maybe somewhere that's not here?”

Ari smiled, “I think I can arrange that.”

#Ari Levinson #Ari Levinson x Fem Reader #Ari Levinson x Female Reader #K Writes #Reader Insert #Ari Levinson Fic #Ari Levinson Angst #Ari Levinson Fluff #Chris Evans #Chris Evans Fic

23 notes · View notes