#so his boss form reflects that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

incognit0slut · 10 months ago

Note

Since hearing Streets by Doja cat (silhouette remix) I always thought if I ever had the chance to striptease for someone, that would definitely need to be the song playing in the background, the rhythm is so sensual. So can I request a smut with Spencer centered around this song?

Love your blog and tiktok edits, and congrats for reaching 3k! You deserve it!

tysm lovely hope you enjoy this🫶 (wc) 3.1k!

warnings: (MINORS DNI!) Reader is a stripper, lap dance, pantyjob, a lot of grinding lol

Play our fantasies

The FBI agent visiting your workplace wants more from you than answers to his questions.

…we play our fantasies out in real life ways…

"THE FBI IS WAITING FOR YOU," your boss said the moment you stepped down from the stage, his voice a low murmur amidst the pulsating beats of the club. Your clients varied from politicians to well-known celebrities, but you never had the chance to entertain an authority before.

Your boss rolled his eyes as he gripped your arm, navigating you to the VIP lounge. "He's not here for that."

"Oh?"

"He's here to ask some questions," Teddy explained as he released his hold, motioning you to follow him. "Said he wanted to know about one of your regulars."

"My regulars? Who?"

He gave you a sideway glance as you both strode to the back area of the club. "Dennis."

You raised an eyebrow. "Dennis Meade?" You asked. "That lawyer? He hasn't even been here for over a month."

Your boss shrugged. "Maybe that's why the FBI is looking for him, only god knows where he is."

"It's always those quiet ones, huh?" You jested, your heels clacking on the marble floor. You stopped for a moment when you passed a wall that was covered with mirrors, fixing your hair through the reflection. When your boss noticed he was walking alone, he turned around and gave you a disapproved look.

"He's only here to ask you questions."

"I know." You smiled, delicately smearing off the subtle lipstick mark that had smudged over your lip line from the dance routine you performed on the pole earlier. Satisfied with how you looked, you made your way back to Teddy.

"Is he cute?" You asked playfully.

"Y/n."

"I thought we weren't supposed to use our real names on the clock."

He sighed, the ambient lighting casting a soft glow on his exasperated expression as you both continued to walk down the hallway, the distant thump of music reverberating through the walls.

"Angel," he pressed sarcastically, emphasizing your stage name. "Doctor Spencer Reid is keeping his identity discreet, so don't attract any attention to him."

"Doctor?" You mused. "Thought he was a cop."

"FBI agent," he corrected.

"Tomato, Tomahto." You finally stopped at the entrance of the VIP area, a line of doors covered in drapes separating each private space. "Which one is he in?"

"Corner left at the end." He gave you a pointed look. "It's better to stay with him according to your usual private session, lessen any suspicion."

You smirked. Spending half an hour in a room with an authority sounded intriguing. Teddy rolled his eyes as he saw the look you gave him. "No funny business, Angel."

"Of course not, Teddy," you assured him, giving him the most innocent smile you could muster.

He shook his head and took a step back. "You're trouble."

With a playful wink, you pushed open the door to the VIP area and stepped into the dimly lit space. The ambiance shifted from the bustling energy of the club to a more intimate setting. The smell of burning wax filled your nose in the form of vanilla-scented candles as you made your way to the corner suite.

A man stood in the middle of the room, his scrutinizing eyes scanning the small platform in the corner with a pole planted on top of it, but as he heard your footsteps, he turned around and met your gaze.

Your eyes slowly assessed him. His features were sharp, his gaze piercing, and an air of confidence surrounded him. There was something magnetic about his presence, an unexpected allure that contradicted the stereotypical image of an FBI agent. You were never this close to an FBI agent before, but were they supposed to be this attractive?

As the door closed behind you, the muffled sounds of the club outside were replaced by a peculiar intimacy. Especially when his eyes roamed your body, taking in the lingerie top barely covering your breasts and the thin silk panties you chose to wear today.

"You must be Angel," he greeted, watching you intently. The dim light accentuated the subtle nuances of his expression.

"And you must be Doctor Spencer Reid," you replied, injecting a subtle hint of playfulness into your tone. "What brings the FBI to our humble abode?"

"Spencer, please." His lips then curved into a faint smile. "I'm here on official business. There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you."

"About Dennis Meade, I presume?"

His eyebrows raised slightly, acknowledging your astuteness. "You're well-informed."

"It's part of the job," you responded with a casual shrug. You took a moment to assess the situation before nodding towards the plush seating. "You should take a seat, Dr. Reid."

He did as he was told, but his eyes went wide when he noticed you stepping onto the platform instead of following him. "What are you doing?"

"I was told you didn't want your identity to be known," you said as you gripped the pole. "There are cameras everywhere; I'd say it would seem suspicious for the security to see I'm only talking when I should be working."

He watched as you started to move around the pole, your movements deliberate and gracefully controlled. The ambient lighting cast a subtle glow, creating a surreal atmosphere within the room. The pulsating music from the club outside, its tune slow and seductive, provided an unexpected rhythm in the closed space.

"This way, it seems like just another part of the show," you continued as you swayed your hips seductively. "Now, what did you want to discuss about Dennis?"

Spencer's gaze followed your every move and you watched as his tongue flickered along his bottom lips. "We believe he might be involved in something that requires our attention."

You leaned back, arching your back in a sultry pose. "Dennis hasn't been around here for a while. Why the sudden interest?"

"It's not the first time he's come under our radar," Spencer explained, his tone measured. "We're trying to locate him to gather more information."

"I can't say I know much about him," you replied. "There wasn't anything particularly noteworthy about him, at least not that I'm aware of."

Spencer absorbed the information, his expression thoughtful. But it was hard to keep his mind on the case he was supposed to be investigating when your moves became more daring as you leaned down, actuating your luscious hips that were barely covered with that thin string of fabric covering your sex. Then his mouth dried up as you turned around in front of him and fully bent over, exposing the delicious curve of your ass.

He tried to steady his breathing. "Any peculiar behavior… conversations, or associations you might recall might help."

You twirled around the pole again, a moment of contemplation before you spoke. "He kept to himself mostly. No unusual conversations that stood out. As for associations, he didn't seem to have any close ties with the regulars here. Just a quiet guy who enjoyed the performances."

"Especially yours?"

"Well, who wouldn't?" you teased, your gaze locking with his. "I do put on quite a show."

You threw your head back as you moved again and god, it was criminally sensual, the way you danced, unlike anything Spencer had ever seen before. He couldn't put into words the allure you possessed. When you ran a hand over your skin, dipping into every curve, he was unable to hold back any longer, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

"It seems that way," he murmured, his voice dangerously low as he leaned back in his seat.

His jaw then slacked open, heavy breaths being ragged out as he got a better look at you when you started to approach him. Your hair shone under the lights, red-painted lips ghosting upon your lips as you straddled his lap. You leaned into him, placing a knee on each side of his thigh to press into the thick, leather chair.

"Is this also part of the show?" he softly asked.

You chuckled, the sound low and sultry, matching the tempo of the music. "Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't." The palm of your hands slid over his arms, sending warmth along his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. "Depends on what you want it to be, Dr. Reid."

You swore you could see his muscles tense when your fingers glided over his shoulder, and with a sharp inhale, his head fell against the seating. He was even more handsome up close. He had soft skin, a sharp jaw covered with a soft stubble, and brown-colored eyes that shone underneath the fluorescent lights.

His breath caught as you moved in closer, the distance between you diminishing rapidly. The proximity between you two grew more intense, and his initial purpose of discussing the case became a distant memory.

Your lips hovered close to his ear as you whispered, "Do you want me to continue?"

Spencer's mind raced as he struggled to maintain composure. The unexpected turn of events left him breathless, his professional facade gradually giving way to your seduction. It was as if his fantasies were playing out right before his eyes. Having you perched on his lap, the intimate proximity, the charged atmosphere—all of it seemed to align with his imagination.

Then a low, almost invisible, "Yes," escaped his lips.

The single word carried a weight that hung in the air as if the room itself was holding its breath. It was enough of an answer as you slowly lowered your hips. Your thighs parted for him, and you pressed your center against him, letting out a low gasp when you felt how hard he already was.

It shouldn't have surprised you, after all, it was the usual reaction to every man you had to entertain. Maybe it was the unfamiliar setting that had you growing hot; to be on someone's lap who was a high authority, someone who was here for work, someone who wasn't even paying for your time. Yet you couldn't help it, especially when his hands found your hips, urging you to move.

You obeyed, beginning to press your aching cunt against his bulge, rocking your hips softly back and forth. As you do, your silk panties slid over his pants, earning a hiss from his parted lips. You couldn't help but smirk as your palms pressed to his shoulders, offering stability as your hips rolled against his body.

You felt the warmth flooding between your thighs as you grind your folds against him, earning a few twitches of his hips in return. You would normally call in security if any of your clients touched you inappropriately. The club patrons could touch, but there was a policy of grabbing, holding, or leaving marks.

And what Spencer was doing surpassed all the rules. One, he wasn't even a client, and two, you would be in trouble if you were caught enjoying this. Your job was to entertain people, not be entertained. Yet you were far too gone to think of the consequences. The fear of getting caught still weighed on your mind, but with your throbbing clit pressing to him as you rode him, the worries diminished faster than they could build.

You couldn’t deny the bliss that filled your body. Grinding against him had you lost in the moment, legs beginning to quiver as his fingers pressed into your hips harder, head falling back, curses pouring from his lips. His nails began to press to your flesh and it should have inflicted you pain, but instead, you were even more drawn to him that you reached for his belt.

"May I?" You whispered, eyes locking with his. He wasn't sure it was the wisest idea to submit to whatever plan you had in mind, but he found himself nodding, and a few moments later you were already busy undoing his pants.

Your fingers hook into the band of his briefs next, urging the fabric down with assistance from him as his hardened cock spring free. He bit down on his bottom lip, anticipating your every move a second before your fingers wrapped around his girth. Slipping your grip to his swollen, reddened tip, a hiss spilled from his parted lips, and then your palm slid back down his length as his hips pushed forward into your grasp.

"That—" He struggled to say, too focused on the way you dragged your palm up and down his length. "That feels good."

This earned you a smile. He felt thick and warm in your grip and your eyes instantly took in the sight; of his hard cock pulsing in your hand, of his brow creasing as you continued your movements. You watched as his tongue swiped over his lips again when your other hand reached for your panties, slipping the silk to the side, enough to ease his cock between your folds before adjusting the fabric back in its place.

You both let out a gasp at the feeling of him pressed to your flesh, trapped by the tight fabric holding him in place. You nearly lost your mind just as he did the moment you began to rock your hips once again. Juices dripping from your center made it effortless to slip back and forth over his cock, and with your arousal coating his flesh on the underside, and your silk panties caressing him on the other, he couldn't hold back any longer.

He held you in place as his hips met yours frantically. God, you were such a dream; Spencer couldn't believe this was happening. You were such a fantasy. Every moan escaping your lips seemed to cast a spell that held him captive. It was wrong of him to fully enjoy this, yet he couldn't help but be mesmerized by you.

The way you moved along his throbbing cock was such a sight to see. Or the way your head fell back as you satisfied yourself, your jaw slacking as you looked at him through hooded eyes. Your soft whimpers begin to flood his ears, and it urged him to give you more as he told you how fucking good you felt, how fucking wet you were, and how fucking beautiful you looked, even with your hair sticking onto your face from all the sweat.

Fingers brushed loose strands of hair from your eyes and it took so much of your self-control not to kiss him. Kissing your clients was another one of the policies, and it was something you shouldn't even consider of breaking, so instead you focused on the growing heat that stretched along your core.

Your hips increased their pace, rolling against him to offer the both of you relief, your clit swelling with a need for release as you felt his cock pulsing between your wet folds.

Your thighs began to shake around him, giving him the courage to pump his hips a few times, catching you off guard. Gasping, you arched your back, continuing to move your hips over his, using him to find release as his cock rested between your folds and the fabric of your silk panties. You felt yourself growing hot, needy, aroused, dripping along his length, making the sensation all the more electrifying.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your entire body trembling. “I-I’m gonna come.”

“Come,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Come on my cock, Angel. Let me feel you.”

His words sent a rush of electricity through your body, out to every tingling limb and curled toe, and there was nothing you could do but lose the last shred of control you were holding onto. Your moans poured from your lips louder than before, but you had a hard time caring as the bliss swelled within you.

You called out his name, again and again between desperate whimpers and gasps, thighs tightening around him as you rode out your orgasm, not slowing your pace until the wave washed over you.

When you relaxed against him, he took hold of your body, wrapping his arms around you as he began to thrust from below, fucking himself between your soaked folds and silk panties. After a few moments, you grew completely weak, allowing him to take control, allowing him to hold onto you, allowing him to use you to get off until the moment a sharp inhale filled your ears.

Thick ropes of white spilled from the hem of your panties, soaking through the fabric and coating your flesh. His breath stalled for a moment before he released another exhale, head falling back as his hips attempted to keep thrusting, yet he lost all momentum as the pleasure took hold of him.

You sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, surprised by the way his hands brush delicately over your hips, skimming across your lower back in a soothing motion. "What time do you get off tonight?"

You met his gaze. "Late, as usual," you replied, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "Why do you ask?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment before answering, his hands still tracing soothing patterns on your back.

"I was thinking... maybe we could continue this later," he admitted, his voice a low murmur. "In a more private setting."

You raised your eyebrows. "Is that part of the investigation, Dr. Reid?"

"It could be," A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Or maybe I'm far from done with you."

“Oh?” Thoroughly amused, you hummed. "Is that so?"

He nodded and looked at you through half-lidded eyes. "Tell me what time you get off."

It wasn't a question anymore; it was a demand, and a shiver ran down your spine.

God, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to taste him, no, you needed to taste him. You had never craved someone as much as you did now. Maybe it was the unmistakable glint in his eye or the way he spoke to you then that had you caving in, or maybe it was the thought of his cock buried deep inside your cunt that your answer slipped off your tongue without much thought.

It was too easy for you to tell him what time your shift ended when all you wanted was for him to fuck you senselessly.

"I finish at two," you quickly responded.

Spencer's half-lidded eyes seemed to darken, his features betraying a hunger that mirrored your own desires. "Meet me at the back exit at two, then."

A coy smile played on your lips as you met his intense gaze. Honestly, you would let him fuck you right there and then, but you had to be patient. Time couldn't move faster than you wished.

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bywons · 4 months ago

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𖥔ׅ YOU CAN BE THE BOSS — PSH

𝖮𝖱 𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖭 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍, 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾

𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖶𝓉𝖨𝖬𝖤 ⋆ 𝖼𝖾𝗈!𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝒾𝖭𝖢𝖫𝖴𝖣𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒?, 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 1399 wc ( CATALOGUE。)

૮ ♡◞ ◟ ა ⠀PLS REBLOG !! 4 my princess @atrirose i locee u vv much TT

“you were supposed to send me that report a week ago.”

here comes the insufferable perfectionist, with an annoying handsome face which makes it just impossible to hate him for too long. he pushes the glass so it settles still on the top of his nose bridge, eyebrows jotted together to hint a slight disappointment in you. you want to mock him, make faces and scream at him, “leave me alone, idiot!”, but then you visualise your resignation. what an asshole of a boss.

you lift your head up to meet his eyes, hands buried in the pockets of black trousers, leaning tall over your work cubicle. “i uhm- i was, i was sick. high fever,” oh gosh, you hope he doesn't catch the shakiness in your voice.

“high fever?” park sunghoon raises an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face. “convenient timing, don't you think?”

your heart races, and you mentally kick yourself for not thinking of a better excuse. “it came on suddenly,” you stammer, hoping your blush isn’t too obvious. “but i'm feeling better now, so i'll get right on that report.”

and just as you're about to type away on your laptop, a soft but firm grip on your wrist stops you from doing so. and of course, it has to be park sunghoon, the sole trouble maker in your life.

“actually, come meet me at my office,” he says, before letting off your wrist and striding off to his office.

ugh, there you go, another hour long lecture again.

shortly after, you make it to his office. you glance back, all your colleagues getting ready to end their shift and head home. fuck you, park sunghoon, you evil man.

“sir, can i—”

“come in,” sunghoon's serious invites you in, and you close the translucent glass door behind you, which does a pretty good job of reflecting the inner furniture and heads in a blurry, but certain way. “don't just look around, take a seat.”

sunghoon doesn't lift his head up even for a second after you enter the room, he simply gestures you to sit down before him, as he types something on his own laptop, the coffee forgotten and cold beside it. you tap your heels slightly against the office floor, it's been a whole fifteen minutes inside this room already, a minute more and you might just combust.

it's hard to stare at his face. not in a boring, ‘he's so rude’ way, but more of in a breathtaking, ‘i want to kiss him’ way. to be honest, you've imagined how his lips would feel against yours, whether they would move in sync and sweep you by your feet, or steal your breath and make you fantasise. would he like the kiss? would park sunghoon ever kiss you? does he want to kiss you, like you do right now? his ever concentrated face directed towards the laptop screen, the little creases that form around his eyebrows makes him look so cute. you'd like to think that it's just a harmless crush on your grumpy boss, and nothing more than that.

but time's passing by fast, and you need to get home. the taps of your heels against the floor fastens as you say in a tone of urgency.

“mr. park, is this about—”

“call me sunghoon,” he startled you, closing his laptop, “we're of the same age, so it's weird.”

“ok, sunghoon,” you gulp, gosh it feels weird, “is this about me not submitting my leave application?”

“no? it's just a .. friendly talk with my secretary.”

“oh?” what is this bastard planning on again, “well, what is it?”

“how sick were you? i mean, your temperature,” at this point you could throw yourself out of the window. shit, he's kinda smirking, does he really know you weren't sick? that it's all a lie? that you were faking it to avoid a deadline that had you pulling your hair out and attend the corporate party instead? in your defence, that party was much needed by you after a week long of hectic paperwork.

“like about…a 102—”

“i guess people with a 102F fever don't go to parties?” crap. you know that smirk, that ‘i-caught-you-bastard’ smirk. was he at that party too? shit, no way— “i was there too.”

sunghoon sets aside his laptop and leans in against the work desk, folded hands beneath his chin and another ‘know it all’ smirk shoots at you. you gulp, did he listen to you and minji talking too? oh no, no, no, no. you don't want to be fired.

“you annoying bastard,” it was intended to be a low whisper, but under the pressure of your enraging boss's stare, it came out louder than you intended.

“annoying bastard? i think that suits me?”

“no, mr park i didn't mean—”

“no no it's okay, i get that, a lot,” and now he gets up from his seat, circling around his desk to stand just in front of you.

“but i don't get ‘he's cute’ a lot.”

shit.

“i don't get ‘i like him’,‘he's so handsome’,‘he's so gorgeous’ a lot,” you were too mesmerised by his walks and the glints of his eyes to realise he's too close now, hands on either sides of the arm rest in your chair, blocking you in, “i don't get… ‘i wish i could kiss him’ a lot.”

shit, is he smiling or smirking? you can't really say when his face is inches above yours, babbling nothing but the truth. you had in fact shared your little desires about your boss to your best friend, minji, in the party. if only you knew he would be there, you would've bolted out of that place.

this current situation is really getting to you. you're trapped in a damn chair, you don't dare to move as his face only comes closer. a sudden wave of deja vu hits you; no, you've never been trapped in a chair like this by your boss before. but this intimacy, this fluttering proximity reminds you of those playful staring contest between you and him across the office, stumbling over paperwork and crashing against sunghoons chest, and now, this. you could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, as slowly his face transcends down further, now right beside your ear, his lips softly brushing the earlobe.

“no, i-i mean the other park sunghoon, you k-know?”

“hmm? but there's only one park sunghoon in the hype building whom i know of.”

“no you're getting me—”

park sunghoon doesn't let you finish your sentence, he thinks you're too cute to not kiss right now, so he does just that.

a small kiss, a look of admiration and fush in his eyes, then another, and another, and this one holds for a moment.

and the kiss is just as you imagined, soft, sensual, in sync with your rapid heartbeats as the distance slowly begins to disappear, his hands closing in around your cheeks to cup them.

he pulls back, breathing heavy with that smug smirk of his, “was it … cute? or gorgeous?”

“i think i want to kiss you once more,” you whisper. a twitching smile, shy eyes looking up at him and he smiles back, you feel yourself blushing again.

“of course,” sunghoon chuckles, now lifting you up from the chair and sitting down on it himself. placing you on his lap, he leans in for a sweet kiss, once more. it's just as soft and breathtaking as before, this time, you melt even more as you hook your hands around his neck and blush furiously into the kiss.

sitting on your boss’s lap to share a passionate kiss was definitely not in your bingo list this year.

his kisses travel down from your lips, becoming more feathery and ticklish as they reach your cheeks, jaw and finally the crook of your neck.

“i think i find you quite gorgeous too,” he holds you by your waist.

“you think?”

“nah, i'm sure”

“would then be uhm, like to be personal secretary?” he smirks, caressing your cheeks.

“and what do i get in return?” you chuckle

“anything you want,” he reassures, softly gliding a hand behind your back. your eyes surge around the office room for a potential gift, and then they land on the big bold ‘CEO PARK SUNGHOON’ engraved on the metal plate, and then you look back at him, “anything?”

“oh? mrs. ceo?” he smirks again, looking at the plate and then back at you. “of course, you can be the boss,”

a/n — yayaya comeback fic how r u guys, missed ya smsmsm ^0^ pleek lmk what u think of this !!! personally, my skills r cooked TT CLICK ME

📌 :: PERM TAGLIST IS OPEN ( the tags are rebloged ! ) nets. @/k-labels

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starreo · 4 months ago

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multi-character drabble.

includes the boss x employee trope, age gap; characters are a little over thirty and reader is in early twenties, i may be projecting!, masturbation in a public space, implied sex, and adult themes so, minors do not fucking interact.

it's late when you're sitting in front of your laptop, cold air hitting your inner thighs as you finally uncross your legs. a sigh escaping your lips as your hands massage the back of your neck, when you realise you're the only one there. you turn your head around to see that most of the lights are off, including your boss'. ugh, just thinking of your boss, you felt a spark between your legs, the cold air not helping the warm pool forming against your cotton panties.

he's so firm and curt. never giving anyone a second glance. never giving you, a second glance. and you can't remember the last time a man didn't look you up and down at least a few times before giving you the worst compliment ever. your fingers played with the hem of your new skirt, the same one you had purchased after the thought of your boss fucking you in it popped up in your silly head. so you cross your legs again, falling back in your seat, your skirt riding up high as your head fell slightly beyond your chair. fuck, not a good time to get horny. but hey, there's no one here now, so maybe it's okay to take a little risk...

and you're almost reaching your climax, two fingers pumping in and out of your wet slippery hole, shaking as you start to lose composure, while your hand tightly grips the top of your chair. you're panting softly, moaning a little but staying quiet as you curl your fingers and cup your softness, gasping for air when you feel the sticky cum collect between your hand and your skirt.

"f-fuck..." you sigh deeply, calming down and grabbing the tissues from your drawer. but just when you're cleaning between your fingers, your eyes catch a reflection from the black screen of your computer. and you feel the heat start to generate between your legs again.

katsuki. "didn't think i paid ya to fuck y'erself..." he inhaled deeply, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards you. before you could defend yourself, he spun your chair around, leaning down to stare into your eyes through his sharp red ones. his rough hands moved from clutching on the arms of your chair to your thighs, slowly sliding forward, "nice skirt. " he said in a hushed tone, almost as if he didn't want anyone to hear. "k-katsuki, i can ex-" you're cut off when his lips smash against yours. a kiss so hungry yet so gentle. he pulls back, "explain? explain how you were touching yourself?" he grinned, the same way he does when he knows he's won an argument against someone. so you gulp, and lower your head, looking at the sticky cum across your thighs, knowing you've already lost, before his index finger reaches below your chin and lifts your head up, looking into your eyes with a dreamy expression you've never seen before. yeah, you're not going home anytime soon.

toji. booming claps echoed throughout the silent office "great show you put on..." a loud voice spoke from behind you, sending shivers down your spine and straight into your cunt. "i'm so...sorry, i-" and almost as if this was some supernatural fiction, the temperature dropped as he took steps towards you, "sorry, ha?" he taunts, resting his hand on the chair, "y-yes..." he laughs at your response, looking down at you with that glare, that same glare he gave you on your first day when you showed up with your tightest white shirt, two buttons open and tits pushed up. he pats your head with his large hand, humming in the lowest octave as he unzips his trousers with the other. damn... you're really fucked now.

reo. "aah, y/n, i'm paying you to make things easier for me...not harder..." reo said, running a hand through his gelled hair, messing it up in the process. it was a very accurate scene to describe his situation around you. usually so prim and proper but when you show up, he's a mess. and you stand up immediately, gasping when you realise how lewd you look with your panties still around your knees, white cum slipping down your shaking legs, and before you can say a word, he's cussing under his breath, throwing his head back the same way he does in meetings when he's annoyed, and launching out of his chair towards you. "fuck the rules." he whispers before cupping your face in his hands and smashing his lips against yours.

#starreo #katsuki smut #bakugo smut #bakugou smut #mha smut #bnha smut #toji smut #toji x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #reo smut #reo x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #anime smut #nsfw. drabbles :p #mdni #sub!reader #dom!character

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improbable-outset · 5 months ago

Note

for an angst/whatever else Miguel fic

what about an inexperienced reader who has a shitty bf and he makes a cruel joke at her expense in front of people, including miguel, who's her boss and later or something miguel comments on it to her and it can either lead to smut or fluff, your choice 💓

Hi anon, thanks for the request. I might’ve gone a little carried away with this one heh…

📄 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐞

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Toxic relationship, Manipulative and controlling behaviour, humiliation, alcohol consumption, unresolved pinning 👀, fluff and comfort, intimate tension.

𝐀/𝐍: WE ARE SO BACK. While writing this, I’ve discovered that writing toxic characters is actually kinda fun and amusing, especially with dialogues

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: During a company dinner party, you find yourself humiliated by your current boyfriend. Seeking some escape, you confide with your boss, Miguel, whose support reveals some hidden emotions you’ve buried.

Your reflection stared back at you blankly as you fixed the strap of your dress for the umpteenth time. Despite the dress fitting you perfectly, you couldn’t stop yourself from anxiously adjusting it— even if there was nothing to fix.

Social events were always outside of your forte but you wanted to put yourself out there, especially given the fact that it was an event from your work.

You wanted to look your best for tonight and make yourself as presentable as you could, leaving a lasting impression outside of the work environment.

You quickly patted the beads of sweat that were forming from your forehead before touching up on your makeup.

“Are you ready?” A male voice called out from outside the room. Your chest clenched slightly, a sudden sense of urgency washing over you.

“Almost,” there wasn’t much for you to do now but you didn't want to leave the house just yet.

Not a moment passed before Adam stepped in the room. He had a tone build and wore a dress shirt with contrasting dark pants for the occasion. His hair was combed back and he was growing out a stubble that gave a charming feature to his look.

Adam’s held his gaze on your form, eyeing you and your outfit. You felt a tinge of self consciousness until you saw a small amused smile on his face.

“What?” You asked teasingly.

“Nothing,” he stated, his line of sight still sweeping over you. “You look phenomenal, as usual.”

The compliment made your chest warm. You met Adam through a mutual friend at work. Before you got together, you were typically more reserved and kept conversations with everyone to a minimum.

But Adam would always try to spark a conversation with you, even when you gave him one worded answer. He even tried to invite you to socials outside of work with your other co-workers in an attempt to get you to open up.

Though you knew it was only an excuse for him to get to know you and to get your attention, even if it was just disguised as a regular polite conversation. Eventually you caved in to him and a few friendly conversations later, he asked you out.

You took another look in the mirror. There was something missing in the look. You reached over to your vanity drawer and pulled out one of your favourite lipstick shades before putting it on.

Adam leaned over to see your reflection in the mirror and frowned. “Oh…are you wearing that shade of lipstick again?”

You turned to look at him. “Yeah. What’s wrong with it?”

“It doesn’t suit you,” he said simply, his tone casual but the words stinging like a slap. It was one of your favourite lipsticks, a shade you thought complimented you well. No one had ever said otherwise.

“Really? Everyone has said that it matches with my complexion,” you arched your brow in confusion to disguise how bothered you were.

“Well, I’m telling you that it doesn’t look good on you,” he further added. All the reassurances you felt from the compliment you received was replaced with a dull ache.

“I wore it on our first date and you said that you loved it.”

You remembered you were feeling nervous and thought you didn’t look good enough. But Adam reassured you that you look beautiful and that was enough to lift your mood throughout the entire date.

But after hearing his comment just now, you didn’t know what to feel anymore.

“I said I liked the outfit, not the lipstick specifically,” he corrected.

“Should I take it off then?” Reluctantly, you picked up a tissue from the box with trembling hands, ready to wipe it off your lips.

Adam didn’t reply, instead looking at his watch impatiently.

“Look, we need to leave now if we want to avoid the traffic. Meet me in the car in five minutes,” he instructed, completely dismissing your question before leaving the room abruptly, now driven by urgency.

Just to save yourself from hearing him point it out again, you wiped off the lipstick from your lips. However, before you left the room, you packed the lipstick in your purse. A small act of defiance.

As you made your way to the car, you saw Adam fumbling with the glove compartment from the passenger side. Whatever he was looking for, he managed to find it and keep it hidden from your view before you could open the passenger side door.

You stepped in and buckled yourself up before you closed the door behind you. Unintentionally, you closed it harder than you intended, causing Adam to jolt in response.

“Hey, hey easy with the door babe-” he reprimanded, his voice tinged with annoyance.

“What?”

“Are you trying to break the car?” He tried to lighten the mood with a small smirk but failed— his feeble lightheartedness faded like over washed denim.

“I didn’t slam it that hard.” You quipped back.

Adam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You could tell that he didn’t want to dampen the mood and argue about this, especially now.

Defuse the spark before it gets ignited.

This wasn’t the first time you fought about something trivial. He left the argument hanging and pulled out a small box.

So this was what he was getting from the glove compartment…

“Here, I got this for you,” His voice switched like a flipping coin, as he opened the box to reveal a necklace. Your eyes widen, taking in the sight of the jewellery that glistened under the low lighting in the car.

The necklace was a silver chain with a pendant that matched with the dress you were wearing. He took the necklace out of the cushion packaging and gestured for you to come closer.

“Come here. Let me help you put it on,” he said. You leaned forward so he could reach the back of your neck.

His fingers grazed on your skin as he fastened the clasp, an act that felt almost too intimate given the recent tension. The coolness of the metal brushed against your neck.

“It’s beautiful. But what’s the occasion?” You asked, one of your hands reaching to touch the pendant. It sat on your neckline perfectly.

“Do I need a motive to give you a gift? I thought these things would be more spontaneous if they came from the heart,” he said as he put on the car's ignition. The engine hummed to life and Adam drove off the driveway with one hand on the wheel.

The car was bathed in his cologne smell. It wasn’t his usual signature scent that he used everyday. This has a spicy undertone to match the occasion, though you preferred his usual scent to this. The aroma seemed to cling into the air and linger long after he sprayed it. You didn’t want to admit that it was too strong for your liking.

You cruised through the streets smoothly and watched as you passed each building and property. Adam glanced over at you from the corner of his eyes, lingering for a moment before he spoke.“You know, I hope you can handle yourself tonight.”

His eyes went back on the road, leaving you perplexed from his comment. Did he think you needed babysitting?

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been keeping to yourself a lot lately.” He said, teetering with the edge of criticism before he continued. “Don’t you think you should be a bit more sociable at these events? It’s not a good look to be the quiet one in the corner,”

You frowned at that. You knew that navigating through small talks wasn’t your strongest suit but you didn’t need him to tell you how to act. It felt patronising.

“Are you seriously concerned about that? I always preferred to let my work speak for itself.”

“But this isn’t another day in the office, this is a dinner party,”

“I think I’ll be fine,”

“We’ll see,” There was an edge to his response that made your gut twist.

The car fell quiet between the two of you, with the only sound being the low hum of the engine and the occasional honks from passing cars.

Adam broke the silence again, desperate to kill the awkward tension that he had caused. “So, are you looking forward to the event at least?”

“Yeah, it should be interesting. I don’t think they’ve done anything like this before,”

“You’re right,” he said “It might be the new HR coordinator they hired. Seems like they’re trying to make a good first impression.”

Your destination was coming into view now. The venue where the event was taking place was not too far from the main facility building, making it convenient for the employees that were attending.

It was the company’s 25th anniversary so there were a lot of guests attending, which also meant the car park outside the venue was packed. Adam had to drive around the block— you didn’t miss the annoyed scowl on his face— before he found a decent spot to park.

After killing the engine you both stepped out of the car and made your way to the gate. The entrance was dotted with recessed floor lights, highlighting the pathway along with flowers that adorned the grass area.

You recognised a few of your colleagues from your department. It was refreshing seeing them outside of their work attire and in more festive wear.

Stepping inside, you were first introduced to the complimentary drinks before the main hall that was beautifully decorated. The sound of heels clicking and glass clinking bounced off the walls. The company really went far out to organise this, and you had to admit, you were impressed.

The tension from the car ride still lingered in your mind, but you were determined to make the best of the event, despite the rough start. The buzz in the room helped you forget about your unease.

As you padded further into the room, you spotted a few familiar faces from your department. Jess, one of your closest coworkers and best mentor you’ve had, caught your eye and approached you with a welcoming smile.

“Hey, glad you two could make it,” she greeted you.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Adam replied.

Jess leaned in for a hug, and you returned with air kisses on each cheek. She stepped back to admire your outfit. “You look incredible. That dress looks so good on you, girl.”

A sense of gratitude washed over you at that. “Thanks, Jess.”

“We’ve saved you a space on our table at the back,” she said before you all made a beeline through the throng of people.

As you made your way to your seats, you caught sight of Miguel, your boss, from the corner of your eye. You turned your attention over to him momentarily, while still following Adam and Jess towards the back.

His height and physique naturally drew attention. Or maybe it was the way he had presented himself tonight. You didn’t know what it was that made him seem more alluring.

His outfit wasn’t vastly different from what you would normally see at work. He wore a well-fitted blazer that accentuated his form.

It wasn’t tight enough to show off his bulging muscles overtly, but it wasn’t loose either. A balance of both, maintaining a modest look that still seemed to draw wondering eyes.

Adam pulled out a chair for you, an unexpected show of chivalry, before taking his own seat. You couldn’t help but pick up on his charms and how his mannerism was a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor back in the car.

You and Jess caught up and chatted for a while. You twisted your body so you could fully face her but as you did, your elbow accidentally knocked over a glass of water. If it weren’t for Adam’s quick reflexes and catching it before it tipped over, the water would’ve spilled all over you.

“Careful babe, that would’ve been a disaster,” Adam said with a hint of concern.

You still felt your nerves spiked from the small shock but it was quickly relieved when Adam placed the glass safely away from the edge. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see that glass there,”

He peered at you with an unreadable expression. You had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to say something condescending but you couldn’t tell.

A sly smile played on his lips. “It’s alright, babe. Hey, do you remember when you spilled coffee all over the table during your interview?”

You felt like your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. That was a moment you would rather forget, especially in front of the people you work with every day.

You noticed a few of your colleagues at the dinner table glancing over at you. Their eyes felt like lasers, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them.

“Did she really do that?” You heard one of them asked, you didn’t want to find out who.

You felt a hint of irritation that they didn’t address the question directly at you. It was as if you were invisible, a subject of gossip.

Adam let out a chuckle before he said, “Yeah, I’m surprised she even got the job after that. If it were me, I would’ve been too embarrassed to show my face again,”

You could feel multiple eyes on you as Adam recounted the story. This wasn’t something that you would like to share with anyone else, so you didn’t understand why Adam was telling everyone as if he were sharing an amusing anecdote. It felt like betrayal.

It had taken you a while for you to open up to Adam enough for you to share some embarrassing stories like that. Knowing that he was going to share them like an open book so casually felt like an icy grip around your throat.

Despite your silence and reluctance to look at everyone, Adam seemed oblivious to your discomfort. Either he was ignoring you, or was blinded by his bravado to even notice. Jess managed to see your change in demeanor and how quiet you were all of a sudden.

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” she suggested, placing a hand on your shoulder as a silent comfort. Everyone seemed to agree and the conversation steered away from the topic of you.

As the evening progressed, you managed to emerge out of your shell again from your previous embarrassment. You engaged in light conversations with your colleagues, though you found yourself listening more than talking.

Throughout the interactions, you didn’t notice a familiar pair of eyes that was observing you from afar and picking up on all of your body language silently.

The food served was exquisite and left everyone more than satisfied. Between courses, the CEO took the stage to give a speech, thanking everyone for their hard work and dedication throughout the years.

A loud round of applause erupted in the room, accompanied by smiles from everyone. You could feel the sense of unity and camaraderie in the room.

Dinner was followed by an open bar, which meant more mingling. There were more guests now after dinner than there were when you arrived, so the room felt more confined and bustling.

The mixture of alcohol and perfume smelled like an intoxicating fume. Adam effortlessly moved around from one group of people to another, his presence was booming with flamboyance wherever he went.

He was able to attract people’s interest with his bold body language and confident speech.

You, on the other hand, focused on the small group you were sitting with. You decided to stay at the table, enjoying the conversation and occasionally chiming in with your input.

As you were lost in the office gossip that everyone was exchanging, Adam approached your table with a drink in hand. He leaned in to kiss your cheek before he took a seat next to you.

You didn’t miss the looks that some of your female colleagues flashed at you both. You couldn’t tell if it was jealousy, but it definitely sent a prickly sensation through you. How charming…

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked, his tone casual and calmer now.

“Yeah, it’s nice catching up with everyone,” you shifted wearily in your seat.

Adam’s gaze locked onto you as you took another sip from your drink. His stare felt like poking needles and you could tell that he was going to say something.

“You might want to be careful there, babe. Remember the incident last time…”

“Adam please,”

“…you threw up on the sidewalk? You’re lucky no one else was around to see you,”

Your grip around the glass tightened and you wanted to plummet through the floor. You started to wonder if his bold personality and ability to entertain people in a conversation came at the expense of embarrassing others for some laughs.

Being the ass of the joke.

Did he feed off of the attention? Was that why he kept doing this? You noticed no one was laughing. Some gave you sympathetic looks, while others felt awkward.

Adam took this opportunity to add on to the story, his voice resounding with pride. “And I had to carry her home. I felt like a hero that day,”

You forced a smile to try and disguise your discomfort that flickered in your eyes. At this point you didn’t know how to respond or act. But the last thing you wanted was to cause a scene, especially over a comment.

You waited until the subject of the conversation changed again so you didn’t look suspicious before you rose from your seat.

“I’ll be back,” you said as you took a few steps away, excusing yourself from the group. “Just need to freshen up,”

You left the bar and made your way to the end of the room. There was the dreadful feeling that everyone in the room was staring at you as you swiftly manoeuvred past them. The desire to escape the room intensified with each step.

Finally, you reached the door to the patio and stepped outside. Thankfully, there were only a few people scattered around, making it easier to uncoil the tension that built up inside you.

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the fresh air — a relief from the stuffiness inside. Even with the different environment and open space, you still felt the modification catching up to you.

“Is he always like that?” A sudden, familiar rich voice pulled you out of your misery.

You turned to see Miguel standing a few steps behind you. “What?”

He looked striking now that you were up close to him, with the soft glow of the patio light highlighting his features.

His expression was serious when he said “Your boyfriend, Adam. Does he always treat you like that?”

You blinked, swallowing thickly before you spoke. “Oh…yeah. He just has a habit of making jokes like that. It’s just his humor,”

“Interesting sense of humour he has, making you the punchline every time,” he paused, his gaze drifting towards the clear night sky before returning to you. “I find it amusing that you’ve gotten used to being treated like that,”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend…I shouldn’t be—”

“You know, being someone’s boyfriend doesn’t give him the excuse to humiliate you. Why do you keep defending him like this?”

Truthfully, you didn’t know why you kept making excuses for him. Maybe it was easier to downplay the situation than confront reality. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of something that wasn’t that serious in the first place— or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“He’s not always like this. He’s supportive in other ways. But he does get carried away sometimes,”

“Supportive? Do you mean when he points out your mistakes in front of everyone?” He arched his brow, obviously skeptical.

His words shook you but you had to admit, you didn’t believe your own words, especially after tonight.

“I don’t want to seem too sensitive. I’ve been with him for so long. It’s hard to think about leaving him…”

“Don’t let history keep you in place. You shouldn’t lower your standards just because he’s your boyfriend,”

There was a pause that hung between the two of you. The chilling air was nipping at your bare arms now but you didn’t want to step back inside.

The muffled chaos that you could still hear was enough to make your brain melt. You turned to look at the door that led back inside the bar, a sickening feeling churned inside your stomach.

“I don’t want to go back in there yet,” you admitted.

“Then don’t.” He followed your line of sight before he looked back at you. “We can stay out here for as long as you need to,”

You didn’t speak again after that. Your mind seemed to drift to the facility building that wasn’t far from here. The thought of a quiet secluded space was becoming increasingly appealing now.

You noticed the flicker of curiosity that crossed Miguel’s face as you looked far ahead before realisation gradually dawned on him. He seemed to pick up on your gaze and spoke your mind for you.

“You know, my office isn’t far from here,” he commented, voice boarding a suggestive tone.

“Yeah…I know,”

“Why don’t we head there instead? We can stay there as long as you want without being interrupted,”

“I don’t know…” You knew you didn’t want to be here anymore, but you couldn’t just leave, especially unannounced.

“There’s no one there at this time, and it’s quieter than this place,”

The offer was tempting, but what would Adam say? “I can’t leave Adam here,”

“You still think you need to be with him?” He let out a dry chuckle, stepping closer towards you. “Let him fend for himself for a while. I could tell you weren’t having a good time in there,”

You thought about it for a moment. What was the harm in stepping out for a little while? Adam couldn’t say anything if he didn’t know, right? You did owe it to yourself after everything that had happened, after all.

“Alright,” you agreed. Before you knew it, you were walking towards the car park and stepped into Miguel’s car and on your way. It didn’t take long until you arrived outside the familiar surroundings of the establishment.

The slick glass exterior of the building stood out in the night. During the day, it would be bustling with people coming in and out through the revolving doors.

Now, it was quiet and not a sound could be heard. But even if the building wasn’t running its usual course, there were still some occupants inside with a few of the lights on.

As you made your way inside to Miguel’s office, there was a comfortable silence. Miguel’s presence felt like a calming anchor in the sea of your anxiety.

Once you made it outside his office, Miguel held the door for you to step in. “After you,”

Miguel flickered the lights on before closing the door with a click, sealing off the blaring noise of the outside world. “It’s quieter here. You can take a breath,”

His office gave a different aura at night compared to what you were used to in the day time. The windows that provided a stunning view of Nueva York twinkled with the city lights. You couldn’t help but stare out in awe.

You turned back to look at him and he handed you a water bottle. “Thank you, Miguel,”

The condensation of the water bottle felt cool against the pad of your fingers.

By now the alcohol was settling in your bloodstream, creating a gentle warmth that radiated in your chest. You felt like you were floating as you walked over to take a seat on one of the plush chairs.

You were starting to notice that the alcohol made you forget about Adam and his concerns about your whereabouts and what he might think or say.

You cracked open the bottle and took a small sip, the cold water tickling your throat.

“So, how have you been handling things lately?” Miguel asked, taking a seat on his usual office chair.

You were grateful the topic wasn’t centered around Adam anymore. You didn’t want to linger on the sting of his words and actions from earlier.

“Well, I’ve been working on that new project proposal so that has been consuming most of my time,”

“I’ve noticed your dedication and your work on the proposal has been impressive so far,” Miguel’s voice carried a note of genuine admiration.

“Thank you…it means a lot hearing that from you,” you replied. You felt a sudden tingling sensation coarse through you and you knew it had nothing to do with being under the influence.

It was a mystery to you but Miguel’s compliments seemed to resonate with you, making your heart quicken slightly. You didn’t feel this type of effect with Adam, not even at the start of your relationship.

Miguel gave a small nod, his eyes studying your keen interest. “I’ve noticed you prefer working alone rather than in a team. You seem more comfortable that way,”

You were taken back slightly by the subject change. Where was he going with this?

“I guess I do. Sometimes it’s easier to focus that way,”

“It’s important to have people who support you. Do you have someone like that?”

Despite trying your best not to think about it, the question pulled your mind back to Adam. After all, he was supposed to be your support system, the first person you go to. “I thought I did but I’m not so sure now,”

You didn’t know what you were expecting after tonight. Miguel seemed to pick up on who exactly you were thinking about.

“How do you really feel about you and Adam?” He asked.

You recalled the conversation before you left the house for the party, when you were still getting ready. You still remembered putting on the lipstick and how you thought you looked good before Adam’s remark.

That wasn’t the first time he had put you down like that when your confidence was at your high. Did he feel threatened by your self-assurance?

“Well, he’s always been charming but recently he’s been more…critical, especially in front of others. I don’t know where this change of character came from.”

As you spoke, you felt yourself unraveling all of your true inner thoughts about Adam now— one’s that you tried so hard to push away just to salvage your relationship.

Perhaps some liquid encouragement and having the right person to talk to was needed for you to loosen your tongue and finally admit all of this.

“Sometimes, people reveal their true colours under pressure,”

You pondered that. Maybe Adam was trying to fit in and had some unresolved issues. Whatever it was, that didn’t justify his actions and the way he treated you.

You bit your lip, feeling a surge of conflicted emotions. “It has been a lot to handle tonight. I never expected him to be so cruel. Part of me wants to stay and fix things, but at the same time….I want something more,”

You didn’t know why it took you this long to finally confess it but now that you did, the air left lighter.

“You deserve something more.” Miguel said softly. His words, though simple, charged with meaning and something more. Affection?

You were so lost in a trance when opening up your emotions, you haven’t realised the close proximity between the two of you. Close enough to capture the faint smell of his sweet musk.

It made you wonder if he was talking about something beyond your professional ambitions. Miguel leaned closer— either he was studying your expressions or memorising your features.

However the moment was cut short when your phone suddenly vibrated in your purse, shattering the fragility in the room and yanking you back to reality. Startled by the sudden noise, you fumbled in your purse to retrieve your phone.

You felt bile creeping up your throat when you saw Adam’s name on the notification. The text was short but jarring.

‘Where are you? We need to talk’

Shit…

Adam needs to get decked ‼️

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @cl3stevu @tarjapearce (GIRL I GOT INSPIRED BY YOUR TENTATEUR FIC OMLL) @lazyjellyfish300 @kavimoo @laysmt

@mybvalentine @boringpersonality @mun-2996 @leshasnolife @slut4oscarissac23

I was originally going to add smut to this but it didn’t feel right. Especially the position that reader is in here. If this does end well, I MIGHT do a part 2 where she finally ends things with Adam and smut

Ayrus xoxo

#★— ayrus writes #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #spiderman miguel #miguel spiderverse

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thestalkerbunny · 1 year ago

Text

So I will be taking no comments and no critiques but

I watched the latest episode of Helluva and I noticed something fasinating.

So Fizz's nickname is 'Froggie' which honestly correlates with the fact that biblically the animal associated with greed is a Frog; because of it's ability to live on both land and water making it flexible (and greedy in the eyes of others rather than settling for just one environment.)

Meanwhile we look at Mammon in his final stage 3rd Form Boss mode

He is a Spider. (which tbh I thought he was a grub at first, cause a money grubber. get it?) Which makes sense given how Spiders work.

They cast out a large web to catch as much as they can with as little effort as possible. (much like a sleezy manager) They are viewed as manipulators, making things work for them.

But what I think is fun is that-

Frogs and Spiders have a real-world symbiosis.

Tarantulas will keep small frogs as PETS to protect their nest and eggs from other invading bugs.

Which I feel like reflects on Mammon and Fizz's relationship not as a father figure/manager and son/talent-but as an owner and their pet.

#TSB talks #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss Mammon #helluva boss fizzarolli #-mic drop- anyway no further questions or comments

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hoseoksluna · 6 months ago

Text

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.

pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join

warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink

note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3

The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do.

The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs.

Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man.

There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President.

You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.

You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay.

Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.

It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.

Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother.

All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet.

He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment.

He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you.

You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.

And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts.

Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again.

Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same.

He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.

And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did.

And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left.

“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”

It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it.

You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but.

You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all.

The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you.

That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both.

Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress.

“An hour, huh?”

He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it.

“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress.

“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?”

Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth.

“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.”

The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers.

And you do.

The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you.

He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.”

The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart.

“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?”

He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all.

Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen.

The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t.

All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning.

Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees.

Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts.

“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air.

You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.”

Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand.

“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted.

You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.”

Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.”

A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.”

��Sit.”

That half of you wins. That easily.

You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical.

Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.”

“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.”

Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now.

Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream.

“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.”

You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that?

“For me?”

“Yes, for you. For your mother.”

You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely.

“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.”

From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.

Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied.

He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris.

For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort.

For your dream.

For your children.

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children.

Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you.

“Namjoon, I—”

“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.”

Our hotel.

You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true.

And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him.

Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.”

You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.”

It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life.

Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets.

Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”

The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into.

He’s the stone and you’re the mountain.

And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so.

“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins.

“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?”

You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.”

Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.”

You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake.

“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.”

It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child.

And that’s precisely what you need at the moment.

“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?”

Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally.

“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.”

“That’s my nice girl.”

Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?”

You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist.

“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?”

A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth.

The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly.

And so you squeeze his throat.

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally.

That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now.

Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out.

You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you.

Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.

“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.”

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.

You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there.

“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more.

You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.”

Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.”

You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure.

You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.”

Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted.

“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.”

The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with.

“What plans?”

He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.”

You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?”

“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.”

You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.”

The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail.

He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance.

Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?”

You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it.

“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited.

Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved.

You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality.

Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it.

To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges.

“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.”

Oh, he’s a myriad of things.

Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.

He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that.

“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum.

Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch.

Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention.

“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.”

Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name.

“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice.

Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.”

You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue.

“Will you tell me now? What you planned?”

Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.”

You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off.

Anything.

Anything for your husband.

And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue.

“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”

Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.”

Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life.

Most strangely, it heightens the experience.

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction.

The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily.

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.”

Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy.

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?”

He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow.

“I was your bad little wife.”

Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?”

He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain.

You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest.

“I choked you.”

Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him.

“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more.

You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you.

Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.”

Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks.

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again.

Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?”

You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer.

You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth.

“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.”

He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken.

“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?”

You nod. “I do, Daddy.”

A hum. “Will you do it again?”

You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.”

Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy.

Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come.

And another thing.

“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples.

That, too, will ring in your veins.

You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?”

You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.”

When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown.

“Take this off. Now.”

And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you.

Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter.

“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.”

Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years.

Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you.

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret.

“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.”

Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.

A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his.

You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it.

“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.”

Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you.

“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.”

Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed.

He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning.

Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even.

And so you give him your consent.

“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.”

Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.”

And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.”

He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?”

You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.

The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement.

“Ready?”

Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.”

It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?”

Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips.

You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is.

Groundedness is what you’re missing.

The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying.

You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head.

He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you.

“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.

“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses.

That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you.

That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again.

Another thing for him to tame.

Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response.

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over.

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff.

“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last.

It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color.

Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now.

Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness.

He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?”

You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.”

His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.”

You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.”

Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?”

A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.”

A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?”

An inhale of breath. “Paris.”

Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek.

“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.”

Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him.

“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream.

“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.”

He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there.

“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.”

There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.

“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.”

You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat.

“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.”

He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple.

“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.”

He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder.

You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps.

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision.

“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.”

You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek.

You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum.

It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it.

Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this.

“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.”

Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris.

“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do.

You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.

Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art.

Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand.

He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up.

“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.”

You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten.

“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek.

“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?”

He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection.

You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful.

“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.”

Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable.

He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming.

“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.”

Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed.

Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out.

You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him.

“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?”

As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision.

“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.”

“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?”

It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead.

“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.”

Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm.

“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him.

“Can’t. Gonna come.”

“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.”

Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him.

Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.”

You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe.

When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can.

“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak.

“I love you.”

You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly.

“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.”

You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower.

You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head.

“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along.

You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.”

Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.”

Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate.

“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?”

Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality.

You trust him.

Forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

BACK to masterlist

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #namjoon x you #btscreatorscorner #bts smut #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fluff #kpop smut #knj x reader #knj #kim namjoon #namjoon

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misctf · 1 year ago

Text

The Haunted House

Jake didn’t really understand why his girlfriend was obsessed with their university’s haunted fall fair. But he loved her, and so when she wanted to go, he begged his boss at the firm to give him the day off. Given his success at the company, his boss obliged, and that’s how Jake found himself back on campus. And while work was stressful, being back and walking around with his girlfriend was nice. They spent the day walking by their old dorm room, reflecting on where they met. They walked past all the new construction sites where the campus was expanding, joking that the only constant on this campus was construction. And when they got to the haunted fair, Jake couldn’t help but smile at his girlfriend’s excitement. Just like every year, there were plenty of attractions. But what caught their eye was a large wooden haunted house.

“Scariest experience you’ll ever have.” Jake read the small plaque next to the entrance. He smirked at his girlfriend and said, “You wanna give it a try?”

Sarah shook her head, “No way, let’s just go paint some pumpkins or something.”

Jake chuckled, “C’mon, it’s a haunted fair. Can’t come all the way here and not get a little spooked.”

“You’re more than welcome to show off what a big brave man you are.” Sarah teased, “I’m happy waiting.”

“Yeah, well if you insist.” The brunette replied, taking note of the rowdy construction workers making their way through the fair, “But I’d rather be in there than listen to them.”

Sarah frowned, “They’re just having fun. Now hurry up... or are you just stalling? Afraid, maybe?”

Jake grinned- he wasn’t about to let himself be teased like that. He gave her a nod and without another word, he made his way up the ramp and into the haunted house. Once inside, Jake scrunched his nose at the smell. It smelled like his great grandmother’s house. But so far, nothing scary. He walked through the dark corridors slowly, the wood beneath him creaking with each step. And just as he was feeling reassured that this was lame, Jake jumped when the candles on the walls ignited and he came face to face with a full-body mirror.

“Nothing scary about that.” Jake reassured himself, grinning at his own reflection.

He made a turn and found himself in a new room. A room filled with full-body mirrors. Still nothing too scary. As he made his way through the maze of mirrors, he couldn’t help but notice something off about his reflections. As he passed a mirror, he noticed that it had him wearing a flannel top, workpants, and work boots- items of clothing he never possessed. He chuckled, writing it off as some type of fun mirrors. But as he kept going, he couldn’t help but notice his reflection changing—becoming a bit chubbier, a bit hairier—almost looking like the men on the construction site. Jake chuckled. He had to admit that that was a scary thought. He liked his office job and the idea of moving from construction site to construction site and never settling down was something he couldn’t imagine. As he continued though, the images in the mirror were becoming even stranger. In one image, his altered form received a failing grade on a test- then another, and another. Then he dropped out of college entirely, finding a job at the local construction site. And as he walked down the hall of mirrors, each seemed to reflect a story of a life Jake would dread. But it got even stranger. As Jake looked into another mirror, he saw his altered form on his knees, vigorously sucking off another man.

“What the fuck?” Jake said, raising an eyebrow. Sure, he had to admit that the visual effects were impressive, but this image was too much. As Jake went to turn though, he noticed that the figure in the mirror, seemed to turn towards him, smirking. And to Jake’s confusion, he could taste something salty in the back of his throat- and for a split second it became difficult to breath.

Jake shuddered and turned away from the mirror. He ran through the hall of mirrors, feeling his way through the increasingly more complex maze. And suddenly, Jake found himself trapped in an opening- surrounded by mirrors on all sides. He pounded on them, trying to get out- to find a way out of the maze. But there was none. He stood in the center of the mirrors, feeling defeated. And suddenly, he saw it. In the mirror was the man, staring at him with a smirk on his bearded face. The man was naked, his body on full display. Jake could appreciate the muscles the man had, albeit less toned and mixed with fat. And before Jake could do anything, the man flew from the mirror and towards the unsuspecting Jake.

Jake tried to yell, but was unable to as the man slammed into him. The ghostly form smirked and moaned as he sunk into Jake’s body. And Jake couldn’t help but moan too, falling to the ground and shaking as the ghostly form vanished into him. The young man ripped away his shirt, and his toned body began to shift and change. Jake’s body began to grow and expand, his muscles growing while also filling with fat. His toned pecs jiggled slightly, and his abs were now gone, with a slight pudge layered over them. His pits grew damp and thick with hair, causing him to scrunch his nose at the stench. He moaned more as hair sprouted from his abdomen and chest, which were growing more pale in comparison to his arms and head, as his skin took on a classic farmer’s tan.

“Gosh darn it!” Jake shouted in a heavy southern drawl as he felt an intense burning in his left forearm. He watched as an intricate ink pattern formed and a tattoo proudly carved itself into his skin.

It was at this point that Jake looked up at the mirror, watching in terror as his head and face changed. The hair on his face thickened into a nice beard, while his eyebrows grew thicker. His nose began to change, and suddenly the stench from his pits bothered him less—in fact, he thought it smelled pretty good. Jake shook his head, trying to rid himself of these thoughts, barely noticing that his brunette locks fell from his head. Soon enough, he was sporting a buzz cut, which was quickly covered by a gray cap. In fact, his black sweatpants also shifted and changed into a pair of jeans. Jake forced himself to stand up, looking around wildly in the mirrors and down at his changed body.

“Whut happened tuh may?” He whispered in shock.

He stumbled forward, finding that the mirrors that surrounded him had opened up. An exit sign was shining brightly and Jake desperately moved towards it. He needed to find Sarah and find out what to do. But even now he was scared she wouldn’t even recognize him. He for sure barely even recognized himself. But as he got closer to the exit, he noticed a strange sign.

“Scariest experience you'll evur hav; now overcome it.” Jake read aloud, before walking forward and through the exit.

But as he walked through the exit, he froze. The images from the mirror- failing his exams, dropping out of college, going from construction site to site- all of these images flashed through his mind. And as they continued to flash, the images became memories. Jake remembered never being successful in school, giving college a try but failing even the most basic of subjects. But it was okay- he quickly became friends with the men on the construction site here, who were more than happy to offer him a job when he dropped out. Even his memories of Sarah seemed to alter- instead he remembered a man named Trevor, who seemed to take a liking to him on the site. And Jake took a liking to him as well- the memories of late night BJs and fuck sessions becoming very real in Jake’s mind. And when word spread around the construction site about Jake’s talented ass and mouth... well Jake rarely spent a night without either filled. And that was all Jake remembered now- this was his life. Jake tumbled out the exit and fell to the ground, shaking his head.

“What the hell Jackson?”

“Jackson?” Jake whispered, even his name becoming altered in his mind. He looked up to see a group of his friends from the construction site.

“Damn son, what’re you doing out here? You get a good scare in?”

Jackson smiled, not a thought behind his vacant eyes, “Ah guess it wasn't too scary. Ah had uh lottuh fun.” Jackson said, standing up. Suddenly he heard a notification on his phone- the all too familiar sound of a Grindr notification, “Mah bayud!” Jackson said quickly as the rest of the guys started to laugh.

“We aren’t judgin’, but make sure you don’t tire yourself out too much.” One of the men said with a wink.

And Jackson certainly didn’t tire out. Later that night, as he expertly worked the dick in his mouth, he could hear a voice in the back of his head congratulating him on overcoming his fear. But Jackson didn’t have the darndest clue what that even meant.

#male tf #male transformation #straight to gay #mental change

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azuries · 4 months ago

Text

here it is!! my VERY self indulging sees!ryoji au masterpost ;w; i hope you guys enjoy reading through it! i was heavily inspired by all the amazing art and content ive seen of the concept that i wanted to explore it too!

ART:

Moonlight Trio

Yukari and Ryoji going shopping (SEES!Ryoji winter clothes variations)

Ryoji accidentally hitting MC with his scythe

SEES!Ryoji sketch dump

SEES!Ryoji Theurgy splash

SEES!Ryoji Theurgy Storyboard

Ryomina in Tartarus

Ryomina in Tartarus P2

Ryomina in Tartarus P3

Cooking with Yukari

SEES!Ryoji Sprite edit

SEES!Ryoji fanmade P3RE screenshots

Ryomina SEES!Ryoji animatic

feral SEES!Ryoji

Clumsy SEES!Ryoji

Charmed Ryoji

All Out Attack Splash

SEES!Ryoji Cut In Splash

Comic

Ryoji learns about evokers

More SEES Ryoji sketches

Twitter post

SEES RYOJI AU

After Ryoji finds his resolve through the Hero, he offers to join his team. He gives him a choice to go through a better, yet harder way to get through Tartarus, a way only he can access. It features new bosses, content, and a new spin of the final fight with Strega.

Contains: Art, battle stats, Theurgy, combat dialogue, Tartarus dialogue and banter, and more!

Full post under the cut:

—-

This AU explores the idea that instead of Ryoji leaving for the last month, he offers to join the team as a temporary team member to lend his power to help SEES reach the remaining floors of Tartarus before he merges with Nyx. More events happen that prolong the time you spend together.

Ingame, it’s treated like a bonus mission and an addition to get to know Ryoji better during the aftermath of November.

As a new addition to the team, he’ll join SEES in the dorm and have his own version of FTEs with plant tending, movie watching, book reading and cooking. He’ll have interactions with other party members.

The player will also get to know more on his personal feelings as the Appriser. Through conversing with Ryoji, you learn in depth about Tartarus, and the player gets to see a more subdued side of him as he tries to come to terms with his identity.

He uses an evoker to trigger his form as Thanatos instead of using it to summon a Persona.

The player can choose to go through this route, or play the game like how it was originally set. The ending remains the same.

Party Stats:

Level: Scaleable, 2 levels higher

Element: Dark and Almighty

Weakness: None, reflects pierce damage

Combat style: Prioritizes debuffing, tank

Theurgy - Death’s Call: Deals massive almighty damage to all foes. Fears both enemies and allies.

Theurgy condition: When Ryoji sees his friends suffer a lethal blow, he feels determined to take vengeance.

Theurgy Personality bonus:

Chance to grant Arcana Burst even without completing your Major Arcana stack.

+ More damage to weak foes.

Inflicts distress to all foes in start of battle.

DIALOGUE:

Ryoji’s first Tartarus entrance dialogue:

Ryoji: - So this is Tartarus.

I, I can feel her. She’s keeping an eye on us. On me.

Remember that I’m here to help. Tartarus is Nyx’s realm, but I should know a better way to help you get to the top.

Keep in mind that I may not be as impenetrable while I’m here, and shadows will be a lot more hostile if we go this way. Are you sure you wanna do this?

MC:

> Nowhere to go but up.

> Let’s do this.

> Are you sure there’s no other way?

Don’t worry. Whatever‘s waiting for us, I won’t let anything happen to you. They’ll have to get through me first.

First Summon dialogue:

I have to do this. Everyone..I’m sorry for what you’re about to see.

Get out here, Thanatos!

Turning into Thanatos (Persona Summon)

If this is what it takes.

Please look away.

Thanatos!

Do what you must!

Combat

Shift dialogue:

All up to you!

We’re in this together!

Receiving end of shift dialogue:

I’m on it!

They’ll get what's coming to them.

Item use:

This will help, right?

Getting healed:

I don’t deserve this.

Death:

I-I hope it was enough.

Sorry..

AILMENTS

Distress

It’s over.. Why do we still try?

Confuse

Guys? What’s going on?!

Rage

Come on! Take me down if you can!

Charm

So, how about dinner?~

Down

You’re kidding me!

Shock

What is this?!

AOA

Before All Out Attack:

We’re going in!

Before splash art:

And that's how it's done!

Splash art Caption:

DEATH IS INEVITABLE

All Out Attack splash art line:

Pointless to deny your fate.

Basic victory dialogue:

I hope it was worth it.

Heh, how was that?

Battle aftermath:

That was impressive. You’re all amazing!

Stairs discovery

Found the stairs. There’s no time to lose!

Found the way up! You know best, leader.

Treasure

Ooh, something shiny!

Hey, guys! Found something useful? Maybe?

SEES advantage:

They never saw it coming!

Ambush / enemy advantage:

Leader, stay close to me!

Hit by crit:

That’s impossible!

SEES Tartarus dialogue w/Ryoji

Junpei: Hey, so.. Ryoji… What’s with the long scarf? And how do you not slip from it when you run?

Ryoji: I don’t think it’s that long!

Yukari: Seriously? Out of all the questions you can ask him, that’s what you go with?

—-

Mitsuru: For someone with no prior experience, you’ve been keeping up well, Ryoji-kun.

Ryoji: I’m glad you think so, Kirijo-senpai.

Akihiko: Don’t push yourself, though, alright?

—-

Junpei: Ryoji! Now that you live with us, we have got to continue the game we were playing!

Ryoji: I don’t think you’d want to…Didn’t I delete your save on accident?

Junpei: Eh, I wasn’t paying much attention to the story in the first place.

—-

Ryoji: I never got to thank you before for helping me settle in, Fuuka. How about I take you out?

Fuuka: Oh, of course! Let’s invite the others too!

Junpei: …Yikes, dude.

—-

Fuuka: I’ve always wanted to do karaoke with you all. You should join us, Ryoji-kun!

Ryoji: Oh, m-me...?

Junpei: Yeah, you’re always holed up in your room and we never know where you’re out at night! How about we sing our hearts out instead?

Ryoji: Ahh.. haha..I… I’ll think about it.

—-

Ryoji: *Humming Mass Destruction*

Aigis: Ryoji-san. Were you the one making those sounds?

Ryoji: Sorry! Makoto-kun and I were listening to some songs, and now I can’t get it out of my head.

—-

Ryoji: Aigis..About what happened before. I feel like I should apologize one more time.

Aigis: Instead of apologies, let’s make a promise. That we’ll see this through, together.

Ryoji: …Yeah. You’re right.

—-

Aigis: It’s strange. In the real world, you’re impenetrable. But in Tartarus...

Ryoji: Until the promised day, I’m an obstacle to Nyx. I wouldn’t put it past her to limit my power.

Mitsuru: So she was expecting this. Well, we just have to plan accordingly, then.

—-

Aigis: I decided to live, but…how do I even begin? How would I know?

Ryoji: I already sense life within you, Aigis. You’re doing more than enough.

—-

Ryoji: Wandering Tartarus must feel repetitive. Maybe I can try something! I can add some arcade machines?

Ryoji: Oh… but if I do that, Tartarus will just take it away again. *sigh* Nevermind, then.

Ken: Can.. Can you actually do that?!

Yukari: *sigh* Of course he can’t.

—-

Akihiko: How are you holding up, Mochizuki? Think you can still keep up?

Ryoji: Heh, that’s not even a question, Senpai.

—-

Ryoji: I hope I’m not bringing you guys down. What do you think, Koromaru-san?

Koromaru: *barks enthusiastically*

Fuuka: Hahaha. Koro-chan seems to enjoy your company!

—-

Yukari: Whew..! You guys notice the shadows have gotten…much more alert?

Akihiko: You’re right. It’s like we unlocked the deepest depths of Tartarus that Nyx didn’t want us to see.

—-

Junpei: Jeez Ryoji, you weren’t kidding. The shadows of this detour are a whole different monster!

Ryoji: I’m sorry, Junpei. But I promise it’s just a little longer.

Junpei: Who am I to back down from a challenge? This’ll be a piece of cake!

—-

Mitsuru: Are you settling in the dorm well, Ryoji-kun?

Ryoji: Oh. I am, thank you.

Mitsuru: Of course. Just let us know if you need anything.

—-

Ken: Did anyone hear footsteps in the boys’ dorm last night?

Yukari: Must have been Aigis sneaking to Makoto’s room, even if I told her to not leave past curfew…

Aigis: It was not me. I was out for my monthly checkup.

Yukari: Then… who was it?

Ryoji: It wasn’t me!

Yukari: No one said it was you!

—-

Ken: So, where have you been living before, well, all of this, Ryoji-senpai?

Ryoji: I-I actually don’t know. Anything outside of school and Makoto-kun becomes a blur.

Fuuka: Ryoji-kun…

—-

Ryoji: You’re amazing to lead such a capable team, Makoto-kun. You look good like this.

—-

Yukari: Ryoji-kun and I went thrift shopping the other day. It was actually pretty fun!

Ryoji: Thanks for taking me out, Takeba-san. I wanted that jacket, though..

Yukari: Unless you wanna blind someone with that thing, there’s no good reason to wear it!

Ryoji: *sighs sadly*

—-

Ryoji: There were so many couples on Paulownia Mall for Christmas Eve. It was lovely to see.

Junpei: Ooo, does our newest member have a special someone they have in mind?

Ryoji: I-I wouldn’t say that..

Junpei: Hahaha! You’re like a tomato right now, dude!

Ryoji: Hey, knock it off!

—-

Ryoji: Wait, you’ve reached past the 200th floor?! Akihiko: All in a day’s work. Everyone has been putting in their all.

—-

Akihiko: You’re hardly breaking a sweat. What’s your routine, Mochizuki?

Ken: I’m guessing it’s him not being human in the first place?

Akihiko: Ken, that’s not..!

Ryoji: It’s alright, I don’t mind. He has a point, though.

—-

Yukari: I won these chocolate bars, I brought them in case anyone wanted a snack. Want some?

Ryoji: Oh, that’s okay. I don’t eat sweets that much.

—-

Mitsuru: I have to say it was quite convenient for the Kirijo Group to have an extra weapon.

Ken: Yeah, and what’re the odds it was a scythe too?

Ryoji: Hahaha…. I guess.

—-

Koromaru *bark*

Aigis: Koromaru-san is asking that if you’re Death, what will that make of the Reaper?

Junpei: I bet Ryoji here can take him down, no problem!

Ryoji: I’d rather not stick around to find out. For your sakes.

—-

Ryoji: I was told you lost a close friend to the Dark Hour. I’m sorry for your loss.

Mitsuru: …Thank you, Ryoji-kun.

Akihiko: He’d want us to move forward. There’s no use dwelling in the past.

Ryoji: I guess you’re right. I’m here to help however I can.

—-

Koromaru: *bark bark*

Junpei: Hey… you think Koromaru sensed Ryoji’s true identity?

Ken: Oh, do you mean because of dogs’ intuition to ghosts and spirits?

Fuuka: I don’t think Ryoji-kun’s just any ghost though..!

—-

Ryoji: Hey Takeba-san. Can I ask you something?

Yukari: I swear, if it’s you trying to ask me out again…

Ryoji: Oh, that’s not what I was gonna- Wait, do you want me to? Because-

Mitsuru: -I think I saw something important there, leader. Let’s check it out.

Ryoji: This feels too familiar.

—-

Junpei: Kyoto was so fun! School trips should happen more often.

Yukari: *glare*

Junpei: Eep!

Ryoji: Ah-! I-I swear, that wasn’t our intention! It was all a misunderstanding! Leader, tell her!

—-

SP LOW:

Mitsuru: Ryoji-kun. Make sure not to strain yourself.

Ryoji: I’m fine, please don’t worry. I can’t let up in front of a pretty girl like you, now can I?

—-

Fuuka: Leader… Ryoji seems tired.

—-

If Makoto has low SP:

Ryoji: You don’t look good…Please, pace yourself. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.

FTEs: (WIP)

Plant tending event

anddd thats it so far!! if this post ever needs updating, i definitely will!

thank you so much for reading! it really means a lot!

#piano arts #persona 3 #p3 #persona 3 reload #p3re #ryoji mochizuki #sees!ryoji #sees ryoji au #sees!ryoji au #ryomina #implied #ofc i impleid it. its me #UHH i hope you guys like this ahahaha #this is so fucking self indulging help meeeee #sees ryoji

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wannaeatramyeon · 4 months ago

Text

Jake Kim x Reader: Right Person

G/N. 5.2k. Childhood friends to lovers, sorta canon compliant.

The first time you meet Jake, you are the right person at the right place.

Almost.

Both precocious pre-teens and families already intertwined.

Your father does something with his father, but that always seems to be the case, everyone knows Gapryong. Works with him in one way or another. He has all sorts of connections.

The peculiar thing though, at least to Jake's pre-pubescent mind, was that he met you.

Few of his father's underlings or 'business partners' have a child that tag along. Fewer still that are seen as an equal.

Apart from being told to call him Oppa, you don't have any other formalities to follow. You stick your tongue out at him, tease him, laugh at his jokes. He in turn shares his candy and sticks of gum and saves all his best punchlines for you.

Minseong, or Auntie as you call her, always smiles at you; calling you precious and talking about how you and Jake would be a great match to join the families.

That could have been a possibility. If fate had been kinder his childhood crush could have blossomed into puppy love and everyone would have been thrilled at the development.

But before anything was allowed to flourish, fate had other plans.

Gapryong is murdered, and your and Jake's life take a different course.

You attend the wake, offering your condolences and saying all the right things in these unfortunate occasions.

Holding Auntie's hand in yours and telling her you're sorry. In the quiet of his bedroom, you wrap your arms around Jake's shaking body, rubbing circles into his back, kissing his forehead, even as he tries to hold it together.

For a brief moment of time after, you and Jake are like glue. Joined at the hips, never seen without the other.

Staying by his side as he gets his irezumi tattoos, oohing and aahing as he unveils the healed ink to you. Pouting as he shoots up like bamboo, puberty taking hold; growing tall and gangly and a full head or three taller than you. Walking each other home from middle school, him waiting for you outside your school gates. Dropping the bombshell that he has to stay behind for another year; besotted as you lecture him about his awful grades.

Eventually, time moves on.

Your family find better connections and ventures - respectable, creditable, without any of the Kim family's gangster past, and quietly and without fanfare remove themselves from the late Gapryong's inner circle.

They distance themselves, and though you ignore their request to do the same - Big Deal's boss, Sinu Han finds Jake Kim and so does Samuel Seo and the distance naturally grows.

Jake stays in the periphery of your life.

The occasional text, and rarer run-ins.

But he always keeps an ear out for you. Looks for you in every reflection. Hopes for you round every corner.

Right person at the right place but at the wrong time.

He does purposely seek you out once.

When he is on the cusp of joining Big Deal and needs someone sane to talk to.

To decipher his thoughts and feelings with the one person who knows him best.

It's you, it's always been you but-

After, he fully realised how different you both are. The trajectories you are on. You, untainted by all this gang shit, and him about to dive head first into it.

He can't marr you with this.

Wrong place, wrong time.

You sought him out once too, in the form of a letter as he serves his time in juvie.

Jake marvels at your handwriting, chicken scratch somehow turned graceful and elegant with time.

Yet-

Awkward silences punctuate the end of each sentence, and disappointment is found between the lines. Your tone is almost pleading, and there's a desperate yearning for yesteryear.

Jake chooses instead to focus on the crumbs of your life you offer. Thinks at least you're happy and safe and ignorant to the sort of life he leads now.

He keeps your letter under his pillow. Reads it over and over until he can recite it off by heart. Drafts a different reply in his mind every night though he can never bring himself to respond.

"Jake?"

The next time you see him again, he barely recognises you. Whether that was due to seasons apart or his focus on other priorities, he isn't sure.

He turns his head when you call his name, Johan Seong following suit.

"You look different," you comment and he does. Jake finally fills out his tall frame, lean muscle showing through his suit and a scar now adorns his lips.

He tilts his head, trying to place you until you frown. A familiar look of impatience, rolling your eyes-

"Y/N?" Your name feeling rusty on his tongue and his eyes widen at your appearance. How well the years have treated you, how kind puberty has been and how amazingly you clean up.

"Too important now to remember me?" You say, folding your arms but smiling.

"Me? I'm a nobody," Jake grins, relaxing in your presence as Johan mutters his agreement somewhere in the background. "What are you doing around here?"

In the end, he rejects your entrance to Club Vivi.

"Aw Jake, cmon for old time's sake!"

"You're underaged!" He says, but what he wants to tell you is this place is bad news. The further you stay away from anything to do with the Four Crews, from himself, the better.

"Shit!"

You manage to refrain from stomping your feet like a bratty child, distracted by the way that Jake smiles at you. Even with the pulsating music spilling out onto the street, the heaving queues of people, it feels just like it used to.

A wave of nostalgia hits you.

You reach out, yanking him down by his tie until he is eye level with you.

"Whatever." You thought you might be more upset with the rejection but you can't bring yourself to care right now. Not when Jake Kim is right there. "Text me, ok? I don't hear from you anymore. I miss you."

Jake's throat is suddenly dry.

How many years has it been since he's been eye to eye with you. He remembers his mother's fondness of you, your tinkling laugh in his ear. You by his side, the kisses on his cheek and soothing strokes on his back.

"I miss you t-"

Then Johan Seong clears his throat, uncomfortable at being caught up in this scene and wanting to be literally anywhere else, and Jake's eyes dart towards him.

God Dog.

One of the four gangs.

A mess of underhanded dealings involving Gun Park and Goo Kim. God Dog and Big Deal and Hostel and Workers.

The current situation draws sharply into focus, and Jake is reminded of his main goal - Sinu Han.

The spell is broken and Jake's mask as Big Deal Boss slams firmly back on.

"Sure thing," Jake straightens up again and you have no choice but to release your grip.

He doesn't plan to. Doesn't want to drag you into his mess. Swallows down any regret and feelings and offers you a wink instead.

Still the wrong place, wrong time.

Despite Jake's best intentions you are reunited.

You join Big Deal.

...Or more accurately, you find employment on Big Deal Street.

"Y/N?" Jake calls out to you and today your role is reversed.

It takes you a while to recognise your Jake dressed in his suit, a new scar across his nose and flanked by intimidating looking men. Body language serious, powerful and domineering.

Goddamn.

"...Jake?!"

"Everything ok, Boss?" Someone asks and your eyebrows quirk at 'Boss'.

"Fine, Jerry," Jake dismisses any concerns from the hulking man to his right and turns his smile on for you once more, "Just nice to see an old friend."

He lips says friend but his heart wonders if he has the privilege of calling you that anymore.

Are you barely even acquaintances? Someone you might bump into and give a polite nod to. Was he that teenager that you used to hang with once upon a time who you occasionally reminisce about? Do you ever think about him and wonder how he is doing? Do you think about the moments that you had together and the lives you could have had?

Turns out it doesn't matter anyway.

Jake catches the softness in your eyes and he sees that friend is enough.

It could be enough.

Now working part time at the restaurant Jake likes to frequent, you bump into each other time and time again. You become a regular fixture in his life once more.

Serving him extra large portions with a grin, offering up pickle juice with every stew.

"You still add this to all your jjigae, right?" You pull a face, it was never to your taste even if Jake acts like it's the most delicious thing in the world.

Jake blinks in surprise. "You remembered?"

You wipe your hands on your apron, then rest them on your hip. "Duh."

The other faces you gradually put a name to.

Jerry, Brad, Jason, Lineman, and later Lua.

You join them occasionally for the odd drink, perched at the end of the bench next to Jake and soaking up the warm atmosphere, or more likely the boys getting a telling off from Lua even as she throws you a small sly grin every so often.

Sinu and Yeonhui join the group now and then.

The latter takes a liking to you and the former gives you unsubtle glances, elbowing Jake and murmuring things in his ears that causes him to blush and bat Sinu away.

He's talking about you, that much is obvious but you wonder what it is exactly that turns Jake that cute shade of pink.

"What are you saying about me?" You whisper into Jake's ear one time and he jerks sharply at your proximity. Banging his knee against the table so hard that it topples some drinks.

"Shit!"

"Jake!" Yeonhui tuts, "Be careful."

Sinu, arm around her, just grins like a maniac.

You: Sooooo...

You: What is Sinu always whispering about?

Jake: Don't worry about it 😘

You: 😒

Jake: Sorry we didn't get to talk much today.

Jake: Hope you're ok

You: Don't worry about me!

You: I know you're super busy

You: It's just nice being around you again

Jake: Same 🙂

Jake: Are you going to get fired for giving me that free lunch?

You: You look like you needed it

Jake: I'm fine 💪

You: Nuh uh. You're tired. And stressed. I can tell

Jake: ...

Jake: Thanks for looking after me

Jake: I've missed you

You: I've missed you too

You: I've still got your jacket!

Jake: No worries I'll get it tomorrow

You: Thanks for letting me borrow it

You: and walking me home

Jake: M'lady

You: 😒

Jake: Good morning 😁

You: Too early 😪

Jake: It is. But i'm looking forward to seeing you later

You: Still can't believe you sprayed jjigae out your nose

Jake: You caught me off guard!

You: It was just an innocent comment

You: Who knew where your filthy mind went

Jake: 😒

Jake: You made Brad blush!

Jake: brad!!

You: 🤭

You: Can you ask Jerry to stop calling me ma'am?

Jake: Will do

Jake: Sorry ma'am

You: 🙄

You: Do you always train like that?

Jake: Yeah why?

You: Oh 🫣

You: Why does everyone in your crew keep bowing to me

Jake: Who knows why they do what they do

You: And EVERYONE keeps calling me Ma'am!

Jake: 🤷🏻‍♂️

You: Shirtless was unnecessary

Jake: 😉

You: 🙄

Jake: you try running laps around the street

You: can't put those abs away can you

Jake: not when they get so many admirers

You: 🙄

Jake: I had the weirdest dream about you last night

You. Go oooon

Jake: 🤐

You: Stop distracting me! You're going to get me fired

Jake: Who's gonna fire you?

You: Jake!

Jake: I'll speak to the owner don't worry about it

You: Jake NO

Jake: Now who's distracting who

You: Well who's gonna fire the boss?

Jake: 😒

You: Besides I didn't even do anything

Jake: That uniform cannot be regulation 🥵

You: 🤫

You: Thanks for taking me to see Auntie!

Jake: Moms so happy to see you

Jake: Found someone else to slander me with

You: It's all from a place of love

Jake: Sure 🙄

Jake: You working tonight?

You: Yeah and you better keep me company 😚

Jake: Always

During your closing shifts, when Jake is around, your boss and owner, is frequently nowhere to be seen.

You wonder if Sinu is responsible for this but you can never bring yourself to mind when Jake stays behind, offering to help.

Removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves as he wipes down surfaces with you, loads the dishwasher, clean the floors.

"Isn't this beneath the Big Deal leader?" You ask tonight, mopping as he clears and re-organizes the counter.

Jake shrugs, "I don't mind."

(Truth be told, Jason and Brad had given him a questionable look through the shop window once, when they were patrolling the streets at night and found their beloved boss performing menial duties.

Then they saw you grinning next to him and the way Jake looked at you.

And they got it. They, and no other Big Deal member, had questioned it since.)

You resume focus to your task at hand, wringing out the filthy water and scrubbing with earnest.

Damn, this patch of floor is dirty.

Despite pouring all your strength into this section, the mysterious grey splodge, which has likely accumulated from years of slipshod mopping, still has not shifted.

Noticing the sheen of sweat along your brow, Jake plucks a napkin from the holder and offers it to you. "Here."

"I'm fine."

"Your sweaty face says otherwise."

"Nah, I'm good."

You narrow your eyes at the stain, so absorbed in your task you don't notice his approach.

Contemplate getting on your hands and knees to examine it when Jake's hand edges forward, gripping your chin gently, and disrupts your train of thought.

"Come here." He huffs with amusement, angling your face to his.

Your eyes widen comically large and he chuckles. He brings the napkin up to your brow, dabbing attentively. Your temples and down the side of your face, the tip of your nose, before cupping your cheek.

"There."

There indeed.

You lean into his palm and sigh. A sigh built up from the depth of your being, that started from years ago, and your eyes flutter close when you feel Jake's thumb run along your bottom lip.

It's more intimate than you have ever been before but doesn't feel anywhere close to enough.

"Y/N-" he murmurs. Your name feels rusty no more.

Jake leans closer. LIke a moth to a flame, and your flame burns undying and gold.

Knuckles rap on the window, shattering the moment. You both turn and see Jerry with a solemn look on his face.

"One moment," Jake says, eyes apologetic and he exits.

The moment stretches as you watch Jake talking to Jerry outside. Both their expressions growing more fierce, exchanged more heated, by the second.

Jake sighs, and his sigh is nothing like yours only minutes ago. His eyes catch yours. He thinks he might regret this forever, wondering about the lingering what-if, but he thinks about your safety and the safety of Big Deal, and he leaves. Striding off into the night.

Jerry comes in, contrite and bows. Tells you sorry but Jake has somewhere else to be.

Leaves you even more bewildered and confused, wondering what has happened.

Workers storm the street only a few days later.

The Hunt for Big Deal peaks when Eugene, not able to get his way, calls in his favour.

Holding back the police, intrusive thoughts of his failure as a leader enter Jake's mind. The state of the street, the crew. Members of Big Deal lie bruised and bloodied around him.

The one silver lining, at least, is that you're nowhere near.

You're not tangled up in this.

Maybe it could have been the right place.

But the time cannot be more wrong.

You and Jake had left your friendship hanging at an odd place that night.

Then he never called, never texted.

(Neither did your boss, but you didn't care about that.)

You glumly scroll through your text chain with him. All the flirtatious words that you had assumed were building up to something.

You sent him one message asking if he was ok, an olive branch and permission to forget everything if it made him uncomfortable and he didn't respond.

The silence said everything you needed to hear.

You are left to wallow and mope in your gloom.

Jake is awake. Broken and bruised but alive.

Left to deal with the aftermath, the pieces of his crew, with the ever loyal Lineman by his side.

Forces himself to push on when all he wants is to curl up in a ball somewhere. Put on a brave face because what else can he do? Recollect his thoughts, rethink his strategy.

Lineman and Lightning Choi are very little comfort to Jake during these hours. Even as both their loud personalities fill in the silence, camaraderie building between them by the day, Jake feels fragile. Stretched thin and strained.

Regardless, he plasters on his plastic smile. The one he used to wear when he was looking for Sinu and trying to hold on to his sanity.

Funny how life comes full circle.

In his heart and head, he knows that all his focus should be on getting stronger, on saving his crew.

But your latest text, left on read and left hanging, haunts him.

The Wanted posters capture your attention and snap you out of your mood.

'What the...?''

Pictures of your friends pinned up in the convenience store. Bounties in stark black font show beneath their faces.

You abandon your goods, your treats and pick-me-ups mid purchase and make your way to Big Deal Street as quickly as you can.

Navigating public transport and running until you're panting and out of breath and sweat blurs your vision.

Everywhere is shuttered and closed.

Everything Jake does, tastes, drinks is tinged with bitterness.

Nevertheless, a routine forms and with each passing day he feels more like himself.

Determination returns.

He trains alongside Lineman even though Lightning Choi insists that he can't teach Jake anything.

Feels his strength returning and muscle growing. Busies himself with preparation in all forms.

“Here,” Jake sets down fresh cooked ramyeon in front of Lineman who looks up at him in surprise. “Eat up. You need it with all your training,”

Lineman wells up with gratitude, “Boss!”

It's a simple meal.

Packaged noodles Lineman has had thousands of times before but it's the best thing he has ever tasted.

In return, Lineman does something for Jake.

He's not sure it's the right thing to do at first, but anyone with eyes can see Jake moping around like a lovesick puppy.

He extends the reaches of his network.

Calls in long owed favours, reconnects to people in his old Monster Crew, people he trusts that won't spill his whereabouts. Asks everyone to keep an eye out, keep their ear to the ground.

Gold is struck when Lineman manages to locate Jerry.

Encouraged by agreement from Lua, who has stayed in contact with the No.2, that this is what the boss needs-

Lineman sets forth his plan.

“Boss?” Lineman knocks on Jake's bedroom door, a makeshift backroom full of cobwebs with a rickety sleeping cot.

Where Jake currently lies, face illuminated by his phone.

Lineman refrains from rolling his eyes. Probably going through his texts again.

The guy thought he was being subtle, but it's obvious as hell whenever he's looking at past messages with you. It's the only time a genuine smile graces his face before it inevitably turns forlorn.

“Hmm?” Jake clicks the screen off and sits up as Lineman pokes his head around.

“You got a sec?”

“Sure thing.”

“Ok.” Linemans head disappears again.

There's some minor commotion behind the door. Hushed voices squabbling and-

The door cracks open again and you step through.

When you got the call from Lineman, you leapt at the chance of seeing Jake again. To see that he's ok with your own eyes.

Give him a piece of your mind for icing you out, probably under some misguided sense of chivalry.

For not explaining a single thing to you and keeping you in the dark even as this huge shit storm rained down on him.

Worse of all, the audacity for leaving you on read.

Unfortunately, at seeing Jake-

The bruises, now mottled green and yellow, the cuts and scratches littering his skin, body bandaged and tender, the way his eyes have lost their light.

-Everything you planned to say and wanted to say goes out the window.

And you burst into tears.

Lineman, taking that as his cue, clicks the door shut.

Jake is stuck somewhere between elated and miserable.

You're here? You're really here?

But fuck. You're here.

Caught in this chaos.

When he thought he had managed to at least protect you if no one else, you show up when he's at his most powerless.

Then your lip quivers, and your nose lets out a telltale sniffle and-

Shit.

None of that matters.

Jake tries for a smile of his own but feels his own lips turning down.

“What you crying for, dummy?” Tone aiming for jovial, his own voice betrays him and cracks at the last syllable.

A small voice in your head is outraged. Who exactly is he calling a dummy, has he even seen the state of himself.

But you don't move, stay standing by the door, staring as the tears come thick and fast.

Until-

Jake opens his arm, an invitation, and you throw yourself at him.

He winces feeling your weight collide into his body and disturbing his injuries. Luckily your arms coming to hug him around the neck quickly dulls the pain.

He embraces you, one arm holding you close and other hand stroking your hair while telling you it's fine, he's fine, everything's ok.

God. He didn't even realise how much he missed you until you're here. Even the scent of your hair, the feel of your clothes.

Nevermind being able to touch you and hold you.

“Don't you dare ditch me again,” you growl into his shoulder.

Jake opens his mouth, about to argue-

Then you squeeze him tight, lips brushing along his skin and all fight leaves him.

“Ok.”

The initial reunion is sweet. Glued at the hip once more, one never seen without the other.

You forgive Jake with little drama and he is extra attentive. If he's not next to you then he seeks out your eyes in every moment, every scenario.

Quietly checking you're ok, you're happy. That this situation isn't more than you can handle.

When your eyes meet his, your face lights up and you give him a smile that melts his heart and all his defences.

“I will go with you anywhere,” you tell him one night, sitting on some dusty stairs.

“I know,” he grins.

Realistically, it's a problem. The other problem is that he always wants you with him too.

However.

The patience from others is short lived.

Lineman is pleased to have his leader back. See the bounce in Jake's step, the grin on his lips that reaches his eyes.

And who is Lightning Choi to get in the way of young love?

Watching you two laughing together, talking in hushed tones, sharing inside jokes warms his heart

Except.

You and Jake are a thorn in his side.

The incessant giggling is annoying. The constant whispering is distracting.

“Get a room!” He shouts over one day, at the end of his rope when Lineman mishears an instruction and ends up face planting.

That did the trick. Both of you avert your gaze and blush furiously.

Hmph. Young idiots in love.

“You're leaving for Gangnam tomorrow?” You ask, lying beside Jake and resting your head on his shoulder.

“The First Affiliates,” he confirms, clipped and tense.

With D-Day drawing closer, Jake has grown more on edge. Doubt creeping in if he's strong enough to infiltrate and reach Jinyoung Park. Even with the temporary alliance with Daniel Park, he's not sure if it's enough.

After all, the last team up with Charles Choi should have proved sufficient.

With 1A, Jake has given you information on a need to know basis. Kept the details light lest the worry extends to you. Despite his best efforts, you're concerned.

Although, for other selfish reasons.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and face him.

“You said you're not going to ditch me again.”

“Huh?”

“You said!” You jab at his chest with your free hand. “You said you wouldn't ditch me again. No matter what happens.”

Jake pulls a face, and it's one you recognise as regretting his words. Weighing up if being together is worth the potential danger you're put in and trying to worm his way out.

You cut off his spiralling thoughts with another jab and scowl at him. “Promise, asshole.”

His eyebrows shoot up in affront, “Who you calling asshole?”

With one swift movement, he flips you over. You lie flat on his back as he smirks down at you.

“Don't distract me, asshole.”

“It's not my fault you're getting distracted,” and the cocky little shit has the audacity to wink at you.

Ugh. You're serious and he's treating this like a joke. This position is also causing your thoughts to run away with itself.

“Jake,” your gaze dips down to his lips and you angle your face up to his.

He peers down, half-lidded and playful.

“Yes?” He inches closer.

“Stop it.”

"Stop what?” And closer.

“Promise me,” you murmur, lips gently brushing against his. Tips of your noses grazing, his hair falling out of place and breath, minty and sweet on your skin.

“I promise.”

Jake pulls back, enough to look into your eyes. Searches and searches, warm brown eyes boring into yours for what feels like an eternity.

Then finally-

Finds what he's looking for.

And he kisses you, hard. Pours everything, his heart, his hopes, fears and doubts, into the one kiss.

Jake finds Jinyoung but loses Samuel.

Finds out more than he expected about Samuel’s background. Pieces together his background with their falling out, his complexes. At least Jake is able to understand him a little more.

Jerry is safe, if not further wounded from his fight with the Fifth Affiliates - no, with Hostel.

But he's safe. So are Brad and Jason and Lua.

Overall, he considers it a success even if it's middling at best.

Jake has promised you.

Yet-

He wonders if some promises are better to break.

He thinks it would break you too. A little. In a way that you can recover from, he lies to himself.

He opens his mouth, wanting to ask Lua a favour, a huge goddamn favour. Maybe she can be the one that tells you.

Jake would be indebted to her forever. Probably get eaten alive by the guilt, but surely it's the kind thing to do.

Lua glares at him before he even gets a word out. It's the most angry she has ever looked.

Jerry is the one who responds. “Don't you dare, Jake.”

The thing is, there might never be the right place and right time. At least not in Jake's foreseeable future when there's danger lurking around every corner.

He had initially assumed you and him weren't meant to be, life destined to run on different paths. Had given up at first, when you were both just kids, then given a sliver of hope when you met again.

Except isn't that worse than having no hope at all. To get a taste, a glimpse of what he could have?

He has tried to be so good, so selfless.

A good son and a good friend and a good leader. Tried to give everything his all and come up short and weak.

But for you, it never really mattered. You didn't want him to be anything but himself. Didn't care that he was Gapryong Kim's son or Big Deal No. 1.

With you - it's painfully uncomplicated. Even as all other areas of his life crumble.

You're still the right person. Even if nothing else had been right or felt right, you did.

You do.

And in the end, isn't that all that really matters?

Jake lets his selfishness take over.

Watches you from the doorway, pacing back and forth and is surprised you haven't worn a path into the floorboards.

Reasons with himself that he deserves this, deserves you. Thinks that he would go insane if he doesn't allow himself this.

This one thing, the most precious thing.

Something he held back and repressed for years. Putting everything but himself and his happiness first.

He's weak. He's simple. He wants to, needs to give in and he wants to be happy.

“I'm back,” he calls over, and your face snap to his in shock.

You ignore his new scars and fresh bandages. It doesn't matter because he's here. He's come back to you.

Jake opens his arms, an invitation, and you take one step, two, three-

And throw yourself at him. Clinging on. Feeling his skin, his body against yours.

“I was worried.” You say, voice muffled into his t-shirt.

“I can tell,” Jake is grinning. Whenever he thinks he may never smile again, you always tease it out of him.

“Don't make fun of me,” you say, lifting your head and frowning up at him

“Sorry.” And he is. For a lot.

Jake gently grips your chin once more, angling your face towards his.

He wonders how he managed to resist for so long, impressed at his own control because how could he ever say no when you look at him like this.

(He knows he looks at you like this too. Seen pitying glances from Lua and heard sniggers from Sinu.)

Jake surges forward.

Captures your lips with his, feels your body turning stiff with surprise and then-

Feels you sag with relief, with happiness, with pleasure. Melting and leaning forward, seeking out more.

His free arm winds around your waist and pulls you close. Pressing the lengths of your body together and promising never to let go again.

During Jake's worst days, he didn't think he would have the privilege of growing old.

No family of his own. And though you were just friends, instead of a faceless partner, he would still imagine it was you by his side and the kids were the perfect mix of you and him.

Dark thoughts would turn to lamenting letting you slip through his fingers. Thinking about what could have been.

On his best days, he dreamt of growing old with you.

In time, Jake will come to know that fate will be kinder to him, his dreams will become a reality.

From the start you've always been the right person, at the right time, at the right place.

#god i love jakey #lookism #lookism x reader #jake kim x reader #jake kim #kim gimyeong x reader #kim gimyung x reader #lookism fics #wannaeatramyeon

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anakinstwinklebunny · 14 days ago

Note

mafia!ani killing one of his men who badmouthed you and the thrill of the kill makes him horny so he fucks you

TW: at some point it contains sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort. Ani is a psycho

Author's note: I giggled and blushed at that request..is something wrong with me? (sorry dear nonnie you had to wait so long :/)

The dim glow of a single hanging light barely illuminated the shadowy corners of the warehouse. The air was thick with anticipation and fear, and the scent of metal and sweat hung heavily in the cold space. Bound and shaking in the middle of the room was the man who had made the fatal mistake of letting your name slip past his lips in the worst possible way.

Anakin stood before him, towering and calm, his hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his tailored suit, exuding an almost eerie sense of control. His head tilted slightly as he watched the man tremble, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Tell me,” Anakin began, his voice low, smooth, almost conversational, “how do you think this ends?”

The man looked up, desperation gleaming in his wide eyes. His wrists tugged against the restraints, the leather creaking. "Boss, I— I didn’t mean it. It was just— it was just talk. I swear I didn’t—"

“Just talk?” Anakin interrupted, taking a slow, measured step forward, his polished shoes clicking softly against the concrete floor. “You spoke her name,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but the menace in it was palpable. “You let her name leave your filthy mouth, and you think it’s just a talk?”

The man swallowed hard, his breath shaky. "I—I didn’t mean nothing by it! It was a joke!"

Anakin let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no warmth in it. “A joke.” He rolled the word on his tongue as if testing it. “That’s funny because I’m not laughing.”

Without warning, his fist shot out, connecting with the man’s jaw in a sharp crack that echoed through the room. The force of the punch snapped the man’s head to the side, blood immediately spraying from his split lip. Anakin’s expression didn’t change. He looked down at his knuckles, flexing them casually, as though testing the impact, and then, slowly, almost nonchalantly, wiped the blood on the man’s shirt.

“I want you to understand something,” Anakin continued, his voice remaining calm, almost pleasant, as he crouched down to meet the man’s eyes. His gaze, however, was ice-cold. “You don’t just insult her. You insult me. You insult what’s mine.”

The man sputtered, blood dripping from his mouth as he tried to form words. "I didn’t— I was just—"

“Shh.” Anakin held up a finger, cutting him off with a small smile. “You’ve already said enough.”

He picked up a small, gleaming knife from the table, turning it over in his hand as if admiring the sharpness of it. The blade caught the dim light, reflecting a cold, merciless glint. After walking back to the man, Anakin leaned in close, his breath hot against the man’s ear.

“Do you know,” Anakin mused, running the edge of the blade lightly across the man’s cheek, “how much pain you caused her? When you said what you said?” His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. “She didn’t deserve that. But you?” The knife pressed harder, drawing a thin line of blood. “You do.”

With deliberate slowness, Anakin now moved the knife to drove the blade into the man’s thigh, twisting it sharply as the man screamed in agony. Anakin didn’t flinch. Instead, he watched with almost clinical interest, tilting his head as if gauging how deep the knife had gone.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Anakin murmured, leaning in close, his breath warm against the man’s ear. “That’s just a taste of what she felt when you spoke about her. The humiliation. The pain. And now…” He twisted the knife again, causing another guttural scream. “Now you’ll feel it too.”

He pulled the knife out with a sickening sound and wiped the blood off on the man’s shirt, his expression unchanging. The man’s gasps echoed through the warehouse as he struggled to breathe, his body trembling from the shock of the wound.

Anakin’s eyes glinted with something dark, something that bordered on satisfaction. “You want me to stop?” he asked, almost mockingly

The man nodded frantically, blood and sweat pouring down his face. “P-Please… please…”

Anakin smiled—cold, sharp, and unfeeling. “i don't know.”

In one swift movement, he plunged the knife into the man’s side, sliding it between his ribs. The man’s scream was raw, desperate, filled with pure terror. Anakin’s face remained calm, a dark satisfaction settling in as he watched the life drain from the man’s eyes.

“You’ll feel every bit of pain she did,” Anakin whispered, his voice laced with venom as he twisted the blade once more, savoring the way the man’s body jerked in agony. “And then some..I’m going to make sure you understand exactly what kind of mistake you made," his tone dripping with menace

He draw the knife across the man's chest as if the action itself was some kind of art to him. Once his trusted man, now a traitor, a failure, his great disappointed became the aspect of his craft.

But it was not the end. He had way too much ideas and every one of them he wanted to bring to life. Especially cutting off his tongue

With a final, brutal motion, he yanked the knife out, letting the man’s lifeless body slump forward onto the blood-streaked floor. Anakin stood over him, his chest rising and falling with a slow, steady rhythm, the adrenaline of the kill still pulsing in his veins.

The fresh blood pooled around the body, almost touching Anakin's boots. He gazed for a moment longer at his finished murdered, looking at the broken bones, bloody mess, and the body parts that laid there cut off

There was a quiet thrill, a rush of power that surged through him in the aftermath of the violence. His hand, still slick with blood, twitched with a dark satisfaction. But as he gazed down at the mess he had made, his thoughts drifted back to you—his sweet, beautiful girl who had no idea what lengths he would go to in order to protect you..well, maybe you would knew after that

His body thrummed with the intensity of it all, and as much as he had taken pleasure in the kill, it only ignited something else now.

He felt all of the emotions run down his body stopping at the one specific spot which only highlighted the arousal he felt right now

And right now, he needed to fuck you.

Wiping the blood from his hands, he headed to the doors "clean the room" he commanded to the two man behind him who were watching him kill in the most cruel way his once friend, now dead enemy.

He headed to you now. Sweet, innocent you, who would never see this side of him. He'd do all the things his imagination started to reply and so much more, if you're gonna let him

Because no matter how dark he became, how many lives he took in your name, you would always be his one weakness, his one reason. And nothing—no man, no insult—would ever touch you again.

Because for you, he would do anything.

His hands gripped your hips tightly to pound into you from behind, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. "You should've seen him," he moaned between spoken words "Begging for his life, after daring to say your name with that disgusting mouth of his" he grunts, his thick length filling you out completely

Anakin had a habit of making relentlessly love to you whenever he wanted to have a relief from his emotions. And seeing you being so pretty for him everytime his eyes lands on you, his pants can't not get tight..

But you loved it, - you loved how he could tear you apart, how he filled you out, how he poured his emotions all over your body. So letting out a desperate moan, you arched your body up to him

After the minutes of worshipping your body, he leaned down so his teeth could sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder while he continued to thrust into you. "You like that, baby? You like knowing I just took a life, and now I'm taking you?" His voice drips with dark satisfaction. "God's ---you're so warm, so wet...you're mine, right? Say it, say you're mine" after pressing kisses over your exposed neck to your back, he moved his large hands to dig his fingers to the soft skin of your ass

"I'm all yours..all yours" you held onto the headboard for ballance "but God..faster Ani" you begged

A breathless smirk spreads across his face, and he obliges, his hips snapping forward with increased speed and force. The sound of their bodies colliding grows louder, punctuated by his low grunts and her high-pitched moans. "Wrap your hands around the headboard"

His other hand reaches up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Good girl" then, his grip moved to your hips and squeeze them firmly before starting to pound into you at an almost brutal pace, the headboard creaking ominously beneath your clenched fists. "Now hold on tight, sweetheart, because I'm going to fuck you into the next week."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax

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writingrock · 3 months ago

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a lost dream

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral) summary: katsuki has been missing you a lot recently, so he decides to visit you

notes: angst, major death, mourning, hurt, slight toxicity, moving on, time skip, mentions of alcohol, traumatic flashback

word count: 3.3k

a/n: recently made a prequel to this here!

“Hey, is Dynamight in? Got some papers he needs to sign.”

“Oh.. um– honestly not sure. He’s been in and out all day. Why don’t you leave them on his desk?”

Simple enough. The office mailman wasn’t going to complain about that. It beats personally handing this to the pro hero. It’s always been fifty-fifty that the pro hero is either grumpy or decent. The man walks towards the pro-hero’s office, shuffling the stack of papers awkwardly as he opens the door with his elbow. Hoping that he opens it without making a mess. He knows he couldn't be bothered to pick them up if they did spill onto the floor. Muttering a line of prayer under his breath, his elbow sits on top of the doorknob. Pushing it down as he readied himself for the papers to fall.

Thankfully, the stack of paper remains stable. A small exhale of relief leaves his mouth as he walks into the office. Dynamight’s office is vacant and dark. Only a small section of the office is illuminated by the light seeping through the open door. Using the side of his shoulder, he manages to press the light switch to turn on. Flickering on with a low buzz, the office comes to view. The office is neat despite what one might think. Organised shelves filled with numerous documents and files with labels. Well kept and clean office space.

Yet on his desk were scattered piles of paperwork, almost as if he hasn’t been looking at any of them today. Usually even when looking at them, he’s still very tidy with them. Always keeping them in sections. Odd. The pro hero is usually diligent and retroactive. It wouldn’t make sense if he hasn’t already blazed through them. Carefully arranging the stacks of paperwork on the desk, he makes space for the new delivery of papers.

The simple office mailman continues to come up with various scenarios on why the boss isn’t here. His mind coming up with wild ideas that were pure fiction. He was about to leave when something clicked in his head. A sudden thought enters his head as he sets the papers down. "Could it be.." he sucks his breath in. Confirming his suspicions, the mailman looks at the calendar. On the wall is a well used calendar with marks and indications of deadlines and events. The ninth is circled. Suddenly, it makes sense.

“Ah.. it's the ninth of August already?”

Driving down a quiet road is a sleek, velvety red sports car, the low purr of the engine cuts through the air. Newly tinted windows hiding the identity of the driver. One hand on the steering wheel whilst the other turns off his phone completely. The screen turns black and in the reflection, you can see the famed hero Dynamight. Slinking back into the carseat, his steely gaze remains on the road. The one hand on the wheel smoothly manoeuvring the car perfectly to the road. Almost as if he’s driven through it multiple times. With a click of his tongue, Katsuki places his other hand on the steering wheel. It's as if someone was next to him, telling him to do so. But there’s no one but himself.

The roads are narrow, gently curving through the forest, the tree branches forming a natural canopy overhead. Turning his wrist to face him, his eyes peek at the time displayed on his watch. Ensuring he would be alone. Everyone had their set time when they visited you, he preferred it when he was alone when he did. Most knew this and never came by when he planned to visit you. Parking his car near your place, he gets out of the car with the bouquet he always gets for you.

Pure white lilies and purple heliotrope flowers paired with hyacinths painted with a beautiful gradient of blue and purple hues. You’ve always loved hyacinths. He also can’t forget that expensive sake he promised you. God forbid he did. If he turns up without flowers and alcohol, he probably wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Heavy footsteps crunch against the soft, damp grass. Brushing over the blades of grass with each step. The sound changes to low thuds as he moves from the grass to a stone pathing. You’ve managed to find a beautiful place to live in. The area is abundant in maple trees with well maintained stone pathways. It's well taken care of: carefully pruned bushes and manicured lawns, the grass trimmed almost perfectly. There’s an air of serenity and peace here. You’ve always said you were going to live in a luxurious area surrounded by nature. The walk to your home isn’t far and before he knows it, he’s in front of your place.

You’d go up to the door and greet him with a hug. Your same cheerful greeting that he’s grown fond of. Like usual, he’d pretend to be annoyed at you. But it’s different. Not because the two of you got into a fight where the two of you aren’t on speaking terms. Katsuki would actually much prefer that rather than the one he’s currently experiencing. Heck, he’ll deal with petty fights, dumb hypothetical questions and even your indecisiveness. He’d much prefer to have you annoy him every day of the year. All of it is better to deal with than to live in a universe where you’re dead.

You can’t hug him because you’re buried under his feet– instead of you, there is only a slender, polished tombstone.

“I’m here, Dumbass.” The usual gruffness in his voice turns soft as he places the bouquet on the base of your grave. Fresh, fragrant blooms giving colour against the cool grey slate. 'Dumbass' becoming a term of endearment for you. Around your grave, there are some recent offerings from the morning when you had other guests. Starting with the basic respects, he lights the incense, letting the thin line of smoke waft in the cool air before sticking it into the small incense holder. He gives a deep bow to greet your soul. Every year, he’d pay for a professional team to clean your grave. There wasn’t a chance he was going to let your grave be overgrown and turn into a mess. Hell would have to freeze over before he let that happen.

Katsuki is silent as he sits down on the ground, bringing out two ornate sake glasses as he pours one for you and another for him. Without a second thought, he downs the shot of sake, letting the slight burn settle in his throat. “I bought you this darn sake so you better enjoy it.” a grumble leaves his lips as he pours another for himself. Honestly, he drinks straight from the bottle but he could already hear your nagging from the grave so he stops. Putting the bottle aside, he gestures to his current outfit. His hero attire. Katsuki definitely looks incredibly out of place in this cemetery but he doesn’t give a damn. It’s for you. “You’ve always said you wanted to see my hero outfit. I can’t lie there hasn’t been a huge change but this is my most recent one. Figured you’d still want to see.” He explains as if you’re sitting next to him, “my gauntlets are probably the ones that changed the most though.”

He removes one of his gauntlets and starts to demonstrate the intricate details to his hero gear, disassembling it and reassembling it for you. Not a slightest sign of worry on his face as he expertly showcased the gauntlet. Describing each part and how it all worked together to become his weapons of destruction. You were always interested in his gear and how it worked. Finding all sorts of excuses to ask him about his hero outfit or gauntlets.

“In the future, you’d better update me on your gear.” Your voice firm as you look up at your blond haired classmate. The two of you huddled over his hero gear, inspecting it curiously. Screws and loose bits were pushed to the side neatly to ensure they did not get lost. Snaps of metal prying open filling the dorm room. Complex mechanisms on the ground, cracked open to investigate the inner workings of the gauntlet.

Why would you care about his gear in the future? You’re just being nosy. He only scoffed at your words, “I’m not doing that. It’s none of your damn business,” his hands busy reassembling the gauntlets, your head peeking from his shoulder. Katsuki did not manage to reassemble his gauntlet. He got in trouble and had to do without his gear for a week. Despite his words, he always did end up updating you on every detail regarding his gear or costuming. Usually because you noticed a difference and bugged him about it.

Slotting his gauntlet back on, Katsuki turns to point at the car parked under the maple trees. The deep, vibrant red paint gleams under the soft, filtered light that passes through the leaves of the maple tree. The polished alloy wheels had a metallic sheen to it, twinkling in the soft light. “You’re the reason I drove that damn thing here. You better take a good look at it.” Slight embarrassment laces his words as he turns away from the car. Unable to look at it. He feels like some asshole, show-off driving that car all the way here. Like some rich numbskull who has nothing better to do but show his car off at a cemetery. Who even drives a sports car to the cemetery? “I haven’t gotten those imported sports cars you used to talk about. But I’ll drive it over when I do.” Even if he looks like a lunatic driving a sports car to a cemetery.

He wouldn't have done it if not for you. Back when the two of you were classmates, you often talked to him about racing or any new sports cars that piqued your interest. Ranting about any recent races and how it was either rigged or perfect. Gushing about your favourite drivers who performed well in their races. Sometimes it wasn’t clear if you liked them for their talent or looks– honestly, it was probably a mix of both factors. Katsuki always acted like he didn’t care but he was always listening to you go on and on about them. The way you pulled magazines up to his face and essentially forced him to look at some cars. He always told you he didn’t care but it’s never stopped you from continuing your ramble. In a way, your endless talking did benefit Katsuki. Often at any event, someone eventually brings up those topics and thanks to you, he can actually chip in with a few thoughts.

“Hey– when you get loaded, can you buy a sports car and drive me around?” A loud laugh and scoff left his mouth when he fully registered your words. Katsuki could not believe you just said that. What did you think he was? His eyes stared you down in pure disbelief. “Idiot, who the hell do I look like? I’m not buying some shitty sports car and then driving you– of all people– around.” His laughter filled the dorm room as he processed your words. At that moment, he thought your brain cells burned off from training.

“Why don’t you get one yourself?” He shoots back, still recovering from the dumb question you asked. Katsuki still remembered the look on your face. The blankest expression on your face as you bluntly say, “I don’t think I’ll ever make enough money to buy one.” Katsuki remembers this as if it happened yesterday- the way he chortled at your words and used his hand to rub your scalp roughly. His fingers running through your hair as he messed it all up. Your hair ended up looking like you just got out of bed. He thought you looked cute though.

Katsuki can’t take you for a ride. But he can at least show you that in the end, he did buy one of those shitty sports cars. The wind blows past Katsuki, the palm of the wind running through his wild, dusty blond locks. Slowly, he turns back to the bottle and pours himself another shot. It’s been eight years. He’s moved on the best he can. At least he tried to. Nightmares of your death plaguing him occasionally during the month of August. They’ve gotten lesser over the years but they still occur. Detailed ones as if he was transported back to your death.

Sometimes he still asks himself if he could have saved you. The answer is no but he still lingers on the thoughts where he could have saved you. Etched into his brain is the sight of your mangled and bruised body lying lifelessly on the ground, beyond saving. Blood soaked through the rubble under your body. The air thickened with devastation and tragedy. In these night terrors, he’s always holding your body close to his, cradling your frail body as he wept. Choking through sobs as your name leaves his lips. Rocking his body slowly as he registers your death. A blank, empty stare staring down at your face. A painfully deafening ringing plays in his ears when he revisits the memory.

Katsuki doesn’t even realise how tightly he’s gripping the glass whilst the painful scene plays out in his head. A curse slips past his lips. Snapping out of it, he puts the glass aside and looks back at the erected tombstone. Your name written on the polished stone. His quivering red orbs tracing the curve of the letters in your name. Memorising the carved name on your tombstone.

Katsuki always thinks of you when he has a shit night. Memories of you entertwined with his emotions in the stillness of the night. When the weight of the world presses him down into the earth, the thought of you lightens the load even just slightly. Comfort tinged with sadness. He lays in his bed, thinking about every aspect of you. Your smile and the way you always spoke– the way you knew how to comfort him during trying times. During these nights, your absence is palpable and raw. All he wants to do is reach for your touch but you’re just a hollow space.

“I’ve started seeing someone,” he awkwardly starts, the words don’t feel right leaving his mouth, “I know you would have wanted me to find someone. Because in your own words, ‘I can’t be alone.’ .” Katsuki rolled his eyes, it was like he could hear you say that phrase again. He describes his current partner to you. Every detail from how they met and every ‘dumb’ thing he did to court her. In a soft voice, he tells you of how she’s helped him move on and learn to regulate his emotions. How she lets him lean on her whenever he requires. As well as how she dragged him to therapy. She’s the rock he can lean on and he’s also hers. He’s devoted to her, wanting to take care of her as much as he can. To protect and be the man she needs him to be. Strangely, his current partner understands how much you mean to him and respects it. Words cannot describe how thankful he is for such a wonderful partner to enter his life.

Honestly, she reminds him of your stubbornness and wit. Almost as if you sent her to find him. His special lady is probably the most understanding and strong-willed woman he’s ever met. Besides you of course. Nothing could ever compare to you though. You are the dream he lost. Probably one of the best things that’s happened to him in his life. You’ll always hold a part of his heart no matter what. Because you’ve always been that irritating stain on his heart.

Painfully, he had to admit that the number of times he’s seen you in his new lover only fills him with guilt. It should have been you. He hates it when this thought springs through his mind and all he does is bury it deep. Katsuki swears he’ll never say it out loud because it’s unfair to his current partner. He hates himself for even harbouring that thought. Guilt and disgust coils in his stomach when that thought comes up. He refuses to acknowledge such a disrespectful thought. You'd find it appalling and scream at him if he ever revealed such thoughts. Hence why he takes his time in therapy seriously and pays no mind to such thoughts. His lover deserves that at least.

Katsuki allows himself this one day every year to mourn you again and reminisce of old memories. The ninth of August is when he comes here to sit in peace and talk to you, his lover. To fall back in love with you just for one day. The rest of the year, he does not think of you– or at least he tries not to. There’s no forgetting you no matter what he does. Hours of therapy or drinking will never be able to untangle you from him. The two of you essentially grew up together, meeting in UA and going through the whole ordeal of becoming friends. Not to mention that whole messy timeline where neither of you confessed the blatant feelings you both had for each other. He sighs at those memories. A pair of fucking idiots the two of you were.

Possibly the only regret in his life is that he didn’t ask you out sooner. But there wasn’t a way for him to know he’d have such little time with you. Katsuki accepts that you’ll always linger in his life, and he doesn’t mind. He never wants to forget you. But he’s learnt that he can make space for others too. Hours pass and he sits there, talking to you. Not registering the time that has already gone by. It’s only when the sky starts to turn into a deep orange, he gets up from the floor. Cursing to himself as he dusts any debris on his pants. His low gaze stares at where your body is buried and manages to curl his lips into the smirk you loved so much.

“I’ll see you next year. Savour the rest of that sake yeah?” Katsuki says goodbye to you. Hands in his pockets as he turns away, walking back to his car. “And I know, keep two hands on the wheel.” a long drawn out sigh leaves his mouth as he automatically repeats what you always told him. When he first got his licence and drove you around, he swears that’s all you said. Coincidentally, the wind runs by the blond and gently caresses him as he leaves. As if you had taken the form of the wind to give him a peck on his cheek.

Soft sounds of his footsteps echoing as he leaves your grave. Time slows as you watch him go further and further into the distance. The engine of that sports car you’ve always talked about purring to life as he gets in. You can hear the car drive off into the distance back to the city. Presumably back home and to his new lover. It should be you right? It should have been you. Your heart swells at the sight, slinking back into your home. At least you still had the sake right?

A dry chuckle leaves your ghostly form as you take the sake. Katsuki was right about one thing, your corpse would have rattled in your coffin if he did not bring this for you. Possibly haunting him out of spite.

In this lifetime, you’re simply a dream that will never come to fruition. The only thing you can wish for is to be reborn into another universe where you are next to him tonight. You'll wait for him to reincarnate together.

a/n : i wrote this for myself but i hope yall enjoy it <3

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

#bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #x gn reader #bnha #my hero academia #bnha bakugou #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou #bakugo katsuki #bakugo angst #bakugou angst

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cheralith · 1 year ago

Text

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part ii) 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, some fluff if you squint

word count ; 4.3k

notes ; at long last, here's the much waited part two! truly didn't expect the first part to blow up like it did, but i'm ever so grateful for all the support and the patience for those still here!

parts ; one two three (tba)

“Lyla, show me the nearest florist from here.”

“The nearest flower shop? That’s gonna be Business is Blooming on 27th Street—”

“27th Street?!” Miguel exclaims, his shock at the distance startling him and making his hands accidentally tighten the belt he was fixing much too tightly. He lets out a strangled choking sound and quickly loosens it before his legs lose oxygen, a feat that he’d hate to do just minutes prior to an event that could possibly change his life for the better. “That’s at least fifteen minutes away and on the opposite side of Clark! I’m already late, aren’t there any other ones closer?”

Lyla’s smaller holographic form pieces together on top of his full-body mirror that displays him in a formal-casual attire consisting of a cream turtleneck, black dress pants buckled with a coffee brown belt and topped altogether with a sepia overcoat that hadn’t seen the light of day since he bought it all those years ago. She puckers her grinning lips, a little amused at the rarity of Miguel in such an outfit and thinking he looks like a cup of coffee.

“Well, there’s always that crowded grocery store on Main?” she suggests as she examines her fingernails, instantly changing the pattern of them with a snap of her fingers. “But that’s gonna cost ya another twenty minutes and you’re already what—? Ten minutes late?”

Miguel fights off a groan at her teasing. “Lyla, I’m serious. Are there genuinely not any other ones around here? Any local ones? C’mon, this is Nueva York, there has to be at least one.”

“You could always try the marketplace. But then again, it’s Sunday so might not really be wise to take your chances,” Lyla shrugs.

Miguel even wonders if men these days still even have the dignity to give their partners flowers after realizing there is a significant lack of florists in today’s day and age. He wouldn’t be like them; flowers are a timeless gift everyone enjoys and he thinks if he can’t get it for you, he might as well not call himself a man at all.

His eyes go to spot the window in the reflection of the mirror where the sun is beginning to finally set and the city’s nightlife is rising from the dead. Buildings of all heights buster from every corner and the open road that eradicates much of the land dissolves a weary pit in his stomach, obviously annoyed at the many obstacles that block his path. Miguel takes another glance at the clock, the minute hand inching closer and closer and closer to 6:00. The initial plans were to leave the apartment by 5:30, acquire some gifts for you and then travel to the restaurant by 6:00, but seeing as how he’s still trapped in his abode, Miguel thinks that he can only do so much.

But he realizes that’s for Miguel O’Hara, renowned Alchemax geneticist and full-time father. Miguel O’Hara, an everyday citizen, couldn’t possibly crunch so much in such little time.

For Spider-Man, however…

Lyla eyes him suspiciously and purses her lips when Miguel looks at his wrists and then at the window again. “I don’t think that’s wise, Miguel.”

“What’s wise?” he replies coyly, going to quickly shovel off his clothes to replace them with a familiar blue and red attire.

“I know whatcha gonna do,” Lyla says and glitches around him as he searches for his suit. “But it’s not gonna end well, I’m tellin’ ya right now, mister!”

Miguel shakes her caution off, too occupied with shuffling on his superhero suit onto his body before neatly tucking his other outfit into his hammerspaced pocket. “It’ll be quick, I swear. I just need to get her some flowers and then I’ll be on my way. Lock up the house for me, yeah?”

“You’re not gonna make it,” Lyla shakes her head. “Just ditch the flowers and get her something on the way instead.”

But the last of Lyla’s words don’t make it to Miguel’s ears, as he’s already slinging and gliding himself out of the window and toward the given address of the florist. Lyla can only watch in artificial disdain as Miguel’s figure grows smaller and smaller through the passing seconds. She sighs, rolling her eyes as she flickers off the apartment lights before disintegrating.

The roar of the city life grows louder and louder the more Miguel comes closer to the center of it where the flower shop lays. People gather in clusters bustling about all over, making him a little weary of himself as he stares at them from above a high tower. He’s not exactly an ordinary passerby that can easily maneuver their way through so easily—especially not with this getup. Spider-Man is also a name that rather became widespread across the city of Nueva York, meaning that even if one person were to see the flash of blue and red, he’s up for trouble.

The evildoers tonight seem to be at cease, thankfully. He hasn’t heard of any malicious plotting or future events that will take place today by any of the supervillains that hunt him down like deer recently. Then again, there’s always smaller crimes still waiting to be stopped, but he’s sure the cops will come around for those. Miguel convinces himself it’ll just be a one time thing.

Yet when the familiar song of police sirens blare through the city, he twitches at the thought of leaving such miscreants in the hands of police when he’s sure he can take them down like an army of ten men.

But the police have ten men on them, so truly he can just leave it alone, right? He’s essentially in front of the flower shop that’s seated below an apartment building. All he has to do is just jump down, get the flowers, and leave in the nick of time. He doesn’t have time to dilly dally with low-rated criminals.

Then again, when he spots the gang of robbers in two white vans speeding down the road at a blistering speed without any caution for pedestrians, Miguel grits his teeth. On their tail is a rally of five police cars that keep gaining and losing them by the second and Miguel isn’t sure whether the irritation was from his indecisiveness or the fact that if he didn’t do anything, there will be consequences.

Perhaps do both to ease his mind? No, he can’t do that. You’re most likely on your way to the restaurant, all dolled up and fresh-faced. He still would need the time to fix himself up in some dingy public bathroom. A cop car that’s been hiding in the corner joins the chase—that’s surely more than enough to take care of them?

Miguel’s eyes go back and forth... back and forth between the two sights. Anxiety is doing little to help his situation and a mist of sweat begins to form on his skin the more the seconds tick by, making the innermost part of his suit much more uncomfortable and moist. A clock hangs by an awning nearby that displays the haunting time of 6:03 PM, just twenty-seven minutes shy of the designated 6:30 meeting time.

He glances one more time at the chase, swallowing a thick lump in his throat when he sees the vans hurdle full speed toward an open street of walking pedestrians, all ignorant of the fact to what beholds them in just mere seconds.

Miguel curses under his breath.

It’ll only be this for today, no more after that.

Fatigued eyes go to watch as the last people leave the restaurant, leaving you isolated in your little corner both embarrassed and hungry due to the heavy lack of food served on your platter for tonight. The other waiters begin to scrub the tables and booths free of crumbs and topple the chairs onto them, indicating that tonight has drawn to its close. You think you’ve memorized the entirety of the menu at this point, considering it’s really all you’ve been averting your eyes towards to avoid the looks of others.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see the waiters and waitresses pitifully gossiping about you and a heat flashes onto your face by how incredibly desolate you’ve looked in the past three hours. Internally, you thank them for their patience and how they’ve tolerated your excuses for your date’s tardiness-turned-absence, knowing that it must be a pain to look after someone that hadn’t even ordered anything besides water for the time she had been here.

You don’t even wait for your waitress to come to your table for the nth time tonight, going by your own initiative to pack up your things. Your phone is still devoid of any notifications from Miguel, as well, even after the four calls, occasional text checkups, and last minute voicemailed question of a needed rescheduling if he so desired.

What remains is just a grayed out Read, 7:47 PM underneath all the text bubbles.

“I… sincerely apologize if I loitered at all,” you murmur with your head half-down to the young host who shuffles the menus back into the lectern. “This was truly the last thing that I had expected from him…”

You instantly take back that statement the moment it leaves your lips. If anything, you should’ve known that this would’ve happened. Foolish you were—you’ve been with Miguel for the past three years, this was everyday behavior for him. You suppose this is how Gabriella must feel constantly and another heartache pits itself within you at the shared feeling.

The host shakes his head sympathetically. “You wouldn’t be our first case, I’m sure you didn’t have any ill intent. If anything, I’m the one sorry that he made you wait that long,” he replies with evident pity. “Whoever he is, he must be a dick for leaving such a pretty thing like you alone all night, ma’am.”

“Oh, he’s—” you fall short on your words, not even having the energy to sorely defend Miguel’s name. “Never mind…” you mutter.

“Do you need a cab?” asks the host, “Well actually, I’m about to clock out for tonight. I can drive you home, if you want. It’s the least I can do for you after tonight.”

You’re about to reply to him to turn down the offer, as you suspect he’s the type of guy to use women in these situations to his advantage, but the doors suddenly burst open to reveal the one and only in a hazy state and what seems to… flowers clutched in his hands? The petals, however, are corrugated and some have even completely drooped down from their stem. The paper that is supposed to guard them is wrinkled and torn at the corners. Almost all of the bouquet is wilted, much like your own composure for tonight.

Miguel isn’t much better. Hair and clothes a little damp, he’s frazzled and evidently guilty, as his face pales when he sees your contrasting appearance. You’re adorned in an a-lined, half-sleeved royal blue dress that made you look so regal in comparison to your daily white blouse-black pants outfit that he's seen too much of. Not to mention additional details of your styled hair and accessories just brought out the best of your beauty that was wasted on essentially nothing this evening.

“Mr. O’Hara…” you breathe when he passes through the door. The first thing that you notice automatically when his face properly comes into view is a sharply jagged, yet thin cut on the side of his cheek. “Did someth—”

“(Y/N), I’m so… so sorry,” he chokes out. “Something c-came up at work and they asked me to help them out… I’m sorry, I know I should’ve said no, but they were kind of on my ass about it and I got so caught up with it, so I wasn’t able to text you and—”

“She waited three hours,” the host drones and juts his thumb toward the dining area where all the chairs are laid atop the tables. Its lights flicker out, leaving only the foyer and smaller hallways lit so dismally in the night. “Until closing. She didn’t order anything in the meantime, so not only you left her alone tonight, you left her alone and hungry.”

“Hey listen, bud,” Miguel snaps at the host. He points a finger at him with irate in his eyes. “Not your business, so stay out of it.”

The host scoffs with a smirk on his face. “Not the first time I’ve heard that and certainly not the first time I’ve seen this happen. Guys like you always—”

You raise a hand to stop their bickering, afraid of what might happen if things escalate further as you really didn’t desire to do anything more than just sleep off your feelings. Both men stop and turn to look at you with concern on their faces.

“Do you still need that ride home?”

“Are you still hungry?”

A frustrated head shake finally silences the both of them.

“I’m fine, thank you for the offer, though,” you say quietly to the host. You turn to Miguel, who swallows at the sight of your tired eyes. “May we talk outside? I’d hate to stay here any longer than I need to.”

Miguel attempts to excuse himself one more time, but when you begin to pace yourself toward the door without waiting for him, he realizes he can’t exactly make any more decisions of his own any more this evening. Not after choosing his heroic duties again and again for tonight instead of tending to you.

The moon and stars tonight have made their presence with the special guest of light rain coming in for a visit. The whisper of a drizzle ghosts itself on your goosebumps skin and the chill of a wind nips at your flesh.

Miguel is quick to follow you. “I’m really sorry again, (Y/N),” he utters so softly that it makes your heart ache with familiarity. It’s the same tone of voice he’s used with Gabriella when at times, he wasn’t able to make it to her events or practices like he promised. “Are you still hungry by any chance? I know a good 24/7 diner that’s pretty close here.”

Without turning around, you politely shake your head and begin to search for any cabs coming your way. “I’ll be okay. I think I have some leftovers in the fridge that can suffice.”

The thought of you eating alone like he did on a night that you shouldn’t be sends shivers of guilt down Miguel’s spine. He curses himself at his past actions—deciding that it was stupid to catch those robbers who didn’t even put up much of a fight, to stop that gang brawl that was happening on the corner of 5th that was resolved the moment the elderly shopkeeper began to yell, to help that old lady that was certainly taking her sweet time to cross the street. They were such unbelievably mild crimes that he didn’t need to attend to, but did anyway even with the thought of you in mind.

Perhaps he should’ve had more faith in technology, because he’s sure Lyla was going to have much fun taunting him for the rest of the week.

“You can keep the flowers, too,” you say softly when a cab begins to pull up. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think I have a vase to store them in unfortunately.”

Miguel’s grip on the dismal bouquet tightens, not even trying to fight your refusal as you get into a cab. He stops the door from closing just as you’re about to, trying one last time to make up for his actions.

“At least let me pay for your cab,” Miguel whispers.

You know he’s sorry. You can see in his eyes the familiar gleam of woe that he’s given to his daughter. Your eyes go to flicker at the cut again, but you know that if you ask, he’s sure to give one his many excuses because it isn’t the first time he’s shown up with an injury before. And you don’t want to put yourself through that wall of verbal familiarity.

With sorrow gentleness, you pry his fingers off the edge of the car and shut it, putting a physical barrier between you and Miguel. The eyes of the driver goes to pitifully glance at your state before beginning to rev up the engine.

You don’t even have the courage to share a glance towards Miguel one last time before the cab begins to drive off—your wallow of disappointment is deep enough as it is.

The rest of the week is agonizingly slow; Miguel dares to say it’s torturous, even.

He’s thankful you’re still acknowledging his existence and talking with him, but your conversations lack the usual warmth and gentle playfulness they often had. It was already lonely enough dealing with the lack of a third person like him at home, but the feeling of isolation felt even more scarring this time because when he came home late after your babysitting session, you didn’t bother with small talk with him, the only thing that made him realize he didn't have to do everything by himself alone.

You didn’t ask how the late shift was, how were the bosses treating him, if he was getting enough rest… no, you only kept him updated on his daughter's schoolwork and any future events regarding her and her only. Your words never included him or you, only finishing off with a goodbye and have a nice night.

At least you were still kind enough to fix him the usual leftovers.

Work itself wasn’t much better. Conversations were brief and the lab in which you two worked privately was filled with silence that was only broken with the occasional demands and directions of lab work. Sometimes a forced cough would sneak its way through Miguel’s lips if the silence began to disturb him too much. He attempted to make some at the beginning, asking how your day was and whether your father was on your tail again, but he was met with short, sharp responses.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m not sure.”

Never have such words been so agonizing before. Ironic that they are because Miguel often hated it when people rambled and preferred it when conversations got to the point. He supposes, though, you get to the point too fast for his liking nowadays.

When he tried bringing up an explanation for Sunday’s events, you’d quickly shut it down as tenderly as possible, saying things along the lines of “It’s alright, your schedule is hectic. I can understand.” or “I just hope your work didn’t give you too much trouble.” You’re so polite about it that it hurts him. Miguel would much rather have you lash out and insult him than have you soften the landing that does barely anything to ease him because it feels like you’ve put on that mask you put in front of others—professional and orderly—and Miguel didn’t want to be seen as just a mere coworker, let alone your boss, to you.

His pride bites at his ankles. Lies coming out of his lips too regularly, he had to fib to Gabriella the morning after her sleepover when she asked about the date that you had fallen sick and weren’t able to make it. The disappointment on her face mimicked yours too eerily. She asked him if they were going to reschedule it. Miguel could only shrug his shoulders—he wasn’t even sure if you wanted anything to do with him after that event.

At least nothing changed with you and his daughter. He’d still home to an apartment with you helping with homework or her helping with dinner or tucking her into bed. That’s all he could ask for right now.

Miguel still had the chance to redeem himself this week. There was the annual banquet held at a banquet hall to celebrate the yearly achievements Alchemax and those associated had accomplished, as well as discussing major plans for the future. It was a boring, yet formal event used for connections and idle chatter, something Miguel usually didn’t look forward to. Lyla suggested to him to convince you to go and that Gabriella would just have a one-time babysitter while you got to enjoy (or in your case, put up) with his company as he redeemed himself best as possible. You’re not one to talk with others you’ve never met, so he knew that you would most likely stick by his side for a sense of familiarity.

It took a while, but you murmured you’d go under your breath to shake him off your tail. Miguel was elated, but it was quickly shut down halfheartedly by the reminder that you were still somewhat upset by Sunday’s incident, saying you’d take a cab to the banquet instead of driving with him like he offered.

No matter, as long as you were there by his side.

Miguel made sure that this time, he’d be out the door much earlier than the last, promising to never keep you waiting longer than a minute. A text on his phone pings that you’re near the back entrance, where the parking lot was so it’d be easier to find you. He swerves a little too harshly into the lot—either from nervousness or excitement or both—at the mention and had spotted you near the staircase adorned in a floor-length blushed, ivory pink halter gown with luminescent tulle, making you look like the human embodiment of an ocean pearl.

His eyes are so fixed on you that he didn’t realize he almost knocked himself straight into an oncoming BMW. The owner, a crabby old man he recognizes from human resources, swears and honks at him, making Miguel hide his face before hurriedly parking a little more safely.

When he approaches you, he drinks you in your full glory. Everything about you is so fresh… so exhilarating. You’ve done your hair with a couple of clips this time, with more subtle jewelry this time. Your makeup looks tidy and perfect and Miguel enjoys the way it emphasizes your best features instead of morphing them. If only he was wiser on Sunday, he would’ve been able to savor a different version of you in blue.

Nevertheless, you still manage to take his breath away with just a simple breath like you always have. It’s just that it was only recently had Miguel realized you had that ability and he’d be alright experiencing it again and again if it was with you.

“Mr. O’Hara?” you say and wave a soft wave in front of his face to break his trance. Somehow, you begin to grow self-conscious. Perhaps he didn’t like it? Maybe it was too revealing… the slit at the halter neckline did somewhat peek at your cleavage and you weren’t used to baring your shoulders out. “I-is everything okay?”

Miguel blinks a couple of times. His surroundings finally come into focus like your figure, making him realize how long he had been staring. “Apologies. I… never got to tell you this on Sunday, but I hope to do it now, (Y/N)... ” he clears his throat and straightens his posture, remembering to act everything out as practiced, before softly whispering with evident fondness that, “You look beautiful, tonight.”

A spark of surprise shocks your features for a brief moment, before your usual modesty is displayed again. Eye contact is broken, for you can’t fathom the thought of someone like Miguel O’Hara, favored in every possible way, would be complimenting you so casually. “Oh um. Thank you,” you choke out halfheartedly.

Miguel leans over slightly over your figure and tucks a lock of stray hair behind your ear. If he wanted to truly make up for what happened, he was going to have to go all out tonight, even if that meant rocketing out of his comfort zone. He just barely catches you hitching a breath at the semi-intimate of physical contact as he tries his best to hide his own when he murmurs in your ear again.

“I’m not saying it out of manners, I’m saying it factually,” he mumbles, eyeing the passersby that stare in wonder at you. Some ego swells inside of him at the jealous looks that are given to him. “You’ve bewitched me and many others already.”

You stray your gaze away at him with your hands fiddling at the skirt of your dress. “You didn’t have to, but thank you for the dress, by the way,” you murmur timidly. “I’ve never heard of a brand called Lyla, but I admit, this dress of theirs is rather nice.”

Miguel furrows his brows at the mention before Lyla briefly appears on your head, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up before disappearing. It doesn’t take Miguel long to realize that Lyla had shipped something so pristine to you without his permission, though he supposes that she had done him and you a favor given how majestic you look tonight.

He lets out a soft breath of a chuckle before shaking his head. Maybe he’ll give her some upgrades in return.

You turn your head behind you, not knowing what he was looking at. “Is something wrong? Is there something in my hair?”

“No, no. Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts…” Miguel interjects before offering his arm to you. “We should get going. I’d hate for a dress like this to go to waste for only my eyes.”

Internally, Miguel wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be greedy and have you all for himself, savor your every move tonight, have you and him be the only ones in this place. He didn’t want anyone to look towards your direction and have you look at anyone else besides him. A little venomous thought of people not realizing you had so much more potential than they realized embeds in himself, and that their awe for tonight was too artificial. He wanted more and to give you more, but then again, he’s still Spider-Man at the end of the day, the impossible man that somehow does it all and faces the consequences head on. He can only offer a regular day citizen like you so much.

But for now, he’ll make do with what he can. Not as Spider-Man this time, but as Miguel O’Hara.

a/n ; hi yeah don't panic, there'll be a part three lmfao i lied lolol. most likely it'll be the last part to this little series i've got going, too, since i think making it a fully fledged series would kind of lead some things astray for me. that doesn't mean the end of the miggy o'hare writings, however! still will most definitely attempt to write for him bc bro's GLORIOUS

thank you all for the patience for part ii, and i hope to see that part iii comes out asap! i'll give updates for it as always, but in the meantime, thank you for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and infinitely appreciated ( ˘ ³˘) ♡ !

taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @toofsfairys @raeisthebae (for those with strikethroughs, i'm not able to tag you for some reason :(!)

#spider man: across the spider verse #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv miguel #across the spider verse x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #fem!reader

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