#but it was a kind of 'if you have a computer bring this to your parents and they can demonstrate how it works!'
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Office Sleepover 2 - A.H
a/n: had sm fun writing this one yall
im so down bad for him ugh
masterlist
‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧
part one here!
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)
warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader flashes hotch AGAIN, drinking on government property lmao, drunk reader, suggestive comments
wc: 3.2k
You were restless, to put it simply. Every conceivable activity within the BAU had been exhausted, and you had explored every nock and cranny of the office, leaving no corner untouched. At this point they should start paying you for tour guides because you'd be an expert.
You were bored, frankly, and lonely--the team had been on a case all week and you were stuck here. How Garcia managed was beyond you--the walls seemed to close in on you as stir craziness took hold. You kept busy with work, offering as much help as possible while staying put, but it really wasn't the same.
You missed the team, and a particular member's absence you felt just a tad more, though you wouldn't admit it. Thankfully, they were supposed to be back any second now. While Penelope had a special place in your heart, the thought of sitting through another round of her and Kevin's awkward flirting was almost too much to bear. Without Hotch to keep it in check, it was all the more excruciating.
"Bye, Kevin," you chimed in unison, your voices intertwining just as the door clicked shut behind him.
Once you were sure he wasn't coming back, you shot Pen a knowing glance, arching an eyebrow as you pointed one of her fuzzy pens at her.
"Ease up on the death stare, will ya?" Penelope chided, as she wheeled her chair back to her computers, her finger twirling towards you. "You get so broody when the boss man's gone."
You lobbed the pen in Penelope's direction. "No," you replied with a huff. "I get broody when the whole team leaves me behind."
"Gasp," Penelope declared, placing a hand over her heart. "Can you believe it? They're genuinely concerned for your well-being. The audacity!"
"Okay, but seriously, what's the bigger priority here--my life or my sanity? Because it's a fine line," you said with a shrug, pushing your chair back dramatically.
But, before the chair could gain any momentum, you found yourself abruptly against the wall, your head cushioned by an unexpected softness. Without a moment to comprehend, your chair was spun, your eyes growing impossibly wide as Hotch's belt appeared abruptly in your line of sight. You raised your eyes to meet his.
"Your life, I would wager," he said evenly, "but then again, I might be a little biased."
You sprang to your feet, too quickly, your foot catching, sending you lurching forward. Almost instantly, Hotch's hand was securing around your arm, preventing you from landing straight on your face.
"Oh, Hotch, sir, hi," you said, flustered and slightly disoriented. "I didn't realize you guys were back."
"We just got back," he said, his hand falling away from your arm, and you hated yourself for how you felt a subtle coolness that replaced the comforting heat of his touch. "Do you have those reports I asked for?"
"Oh, absolutely, they're ready at my desk," you assure. "I'll bring them to your office in a sec."
As he nods and exits, your scoop up your belongings from Penelope's desk, raising a finger. "Don't even say it, Pen."
You ignored the way she cackled as you left, moving to your desk to grab the needed papers. You attention was captured by Spencer and Emily standing by her desk. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around them both, pressing them against you.
"Ugh, I missed you guys so much."
They both laugh, their hands taking you in quickly as you lean against them.
Emily grins, ruffling your hair as she nudges you. "A week away and you're this clingy? We'll have the start weaning you off us, huh?"
"Don't tease," Spencer starts, his hand resting on your shoulder, "But out of curiosity, how many times did you check our desks while we were gone?"
"Too many times to count," you admit begrudgingly, a sheepish grin on your face. As you glance up, your eyes catch Hotch's through the glass pane. "Oops, almost forgot why I came down here."
Approaching Hotch's office, you tap on the door frame and enter. "Here ya go, sir." you offer, extending the documents toward him.
Your fingers lightly touch as he takes the papers, and for a moment, you're rooted to the spot, the brief contact sparking a surge of disarray in your senses. God, it's almost beyond belief that one man could have this kind of effect on you.
Hotch nods his acknowledgement. "Thanks," he murmurs. As you pivot to leave, he adds, "Could you sit down for a moment?"
You cast a teasing look over your shoulder. "I hope I'm not in trouble," you say. His expression doesn't change. "Wait, am I? Because that would definitely be enough to push me over the edge, sir."
"No, you're not in trouble," Hotch assures you. "I've received updates concerning your case."
You lowered yourself into the chair, hands perched in your lap, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. "Please tell me it's good news because I'm starting to forget what my own bed feels like."
"You've been here just over a week," Hotch states, matter-of-fact.
You blow out a breath, arms crossed over your chest. "Hotch, it's scary at night."
He clears his throat, "Anyway, it's good news. We've got a lead on the hitman, though it's not the all-clear you're wanting."
"Well, that's something at least," you concede with a nod. "But I don't get why I can't be involved in this investigation."
As Hotch opens his mouth, you jump in, deepening your voice to copy his. "Because you're too close to it."
He regards you steadily, clearly not amused.
"Yup, okay, I'm done, sorry, I'm leaving now," you relent, getting to your feet quickly and striding towards the door, but a hand beats you to it, closing it abruptly and effectively barricading you in.
With a quick turn, you ended up flush against the door, Hotch's hand resting against the wood just above your ear. You felt like you were short-circuiting, your eyes growing wide as they met his. He says your name, but it doesn't quite register--too engrossed in the heady scent of his cologne, the pressing warmth of his body, the nearness of his chest, so close that an inch's movement could mean a soft kiss to his neck. Not like that would be totally inappropriate or anything.
"What?"
"I said, I'm worried about you."
You wanted to kiss him, man, you really wanted to kiss him. You bit the inside of your cheek to refrain from doing so.
"Why?"
It was barely audible, more air than sound, not daring to disturb the space too much, afraid of him suddenly becoming aware of just how close he was.
"You're very quick to make light of things, to make jokes, but I'm asking you to be real with me here. What are you feeling?"
His hand left the door, settling on your shoulder, his thumb hovering just shy of the hollow of your neck. Unconsciously, you found yourself leaning into the gentle pressure.
"That sounded sarcastic, Hotch," you noted, your tongue briefly sweeping across your lips, which seemed to dry out as you talked. "You're not implying my jokes need work, are you?"
His lack of response and narrowing eyes made you cave.
"Okay, fine, Hotch. You want the truth? I'm scared, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I have nightmares every night? That I can't sleep?"
Your breaths came faster, teeth meshing tightly as you stared up at your boss. His hand found your cheek, his thumb sketching a path across your skin that ignited a trail of goosebumps over your whole body, making you hyper-aware of your every pore.
"What can I do to help?"
Stay with you, kiss you, fuck you--numerous thoughts ran raced through your thoughts, but none of them seemed wholly appropriate.
"N-Nothing, Hotch, really, I'm okay. It's not something that can be fixed, which is why I didn't say anything. Plus, everyone on this team has been through worse. I can handle it. I'm tougher than I look."
"I know you are, but I—," his words were cut short, a sudden knock at the door silencing him mid-sentence.
His hands fell away from you, but the sensation lingered, the heat of his touch seeming to brand you, marking where he had been. You ran a hand through your hair in an attempt regain some form of composure, just as he opened the door to reveal JJ.
Her eyes darted between the two of you, finally focusing on Hotch. "Sorry, guys, I have that footage from the press conference--is that what you needed?"
"Yes, right." Hotch nodded, pulling the door open further for her, then returning his attention to you, observing your flushed cheeks and uneven breath. "We'll continue this later, okay?"
"Yeah," you exhaled sharply before ducking out of the room.
You need to get a grip, or maybe a Xanax, probably both.
Once the office had emptied, leaving you alone, you sat pitifully on your bed. It was Friday, but there was not much cause for celebration when you were stuck here, surrounded by stale office air. You sprawled out on the mattress, tracing the patterns of the popcorn ceiling overhead. If someone didn't figure out this hitman situation, you were going to take him out yourself.
Not really, that would definitely be a death wish. Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of muffled shuffling outside your door. Sitting up, you slid into your slippers and stepped out into the hallway.
"There she is!"
You snickered as Penelope extended her arms with jazz hands, while JJ and Emily lifted their arms to show off their wine stash. Gratefully grabbing a glass from Emily, you pulled them all into a group hug. "I can't help but feel like we're about to be the subject of a very specific memo from HR after this."
Giggles from JJ accompanied the wine pouring as you stepped back. "Hotch is surprisingly on board we this—encouraged it even. Can you believe it?"
Warmth dusted over your cheeks at the thought. You wanted to kiss him even more, if that was even possible.
"Trust me," Penelope insisted, shaking her head as she paused for a drink. "I wouldn't dare cross HR again. Once was more than enough."
You wanted to say you were a classy gal, confident in your ability to drink responsibly--it was only wine, after all, not Everclear. But as the night went on, your voice rose a decibel too high, your balance a bit unreliable, and your displays of affection way too unrestrained.
You were already a touchy person, ask any of your team members, but with a few drinks, you're giving high school sweethearts a run for their money in the PDA department.
Your arms were flung around JJ's neck, peppering her cheek with kisses as you sang along to whatever music Pen was playing in between smooches. JJ was laughing, tilting backward on her heels, nearly knocking you both over.
"I love you guys. So so much." you said, each word stretched and muddled as you reached out to Penelope, who happily linked her fingers with yours.
"You are so drunk!" Emily accused, her palms squishing your face as she chuckled.
"'M not," you protested, words stifled by compressed cheeks.
She freed your face to grab more wine, Penelope not far behind, as you situated yourself on your desk chair.
"You know who I also love?" you questioned to no one in particular as you slid your phone out of your back pocket. "Morgan, Reid, Dave, and--,"
You paused, your nose crinkling as you bit down hard on your tongue.
"And?" Penelope pressed, brows raised as she looked at you expectedly.
"Hmm?" You hummed innocently, blowing a kiss her way as you shrugged off her question. "I'm gonna call Morgan."
Your eyes darted down to your phone, only to find the room swirling like a carousel. It took a heartbeat to register--someone's voice was already coming from the speaker.
"Hello? Morgan? How'd you know I was going to call you?"
"It's Hotch."
Your eyes grew comically large, a hand flying over your mouth, smothering the laughter that threatened to fall. "Hotch! It is so late! Why are you calling me?"
You shushed the group with a finger to your lips, the girls' curious eyes on you as JJ practically crawled towards you to eavesdrop.
"You called me." He paused. "Are you okay?"
"Hotch," his name was more of a whine than anything as you tossed your head back. "I'm fine, like, the definition of A-Okay. I'm with my friends and we're all kinds of okay."
You shot Emily a thumbs up.
"Good. Okay." Another pause. "Maybe drink some water, yeah? No more wine."
You gasped. "Agent Hotchner, I am a federal agent of the government. I know when I should be cut off."
"Oh, my god, get her off the phone."
You don't know who said it, but it sent you spiraling into another round of giggles, the phone slipping through your fingers while JJ pounced on it.
"Hey!"
She held up a hand, keeping the device just out of reach.
"Yeah, she's pretty drunk." JJ said, then frowned. "Hotch, listen she's more of a lightweight than we realized." You slumped against the chair. "Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."
JJ ended the call and placed it back into your hands. "I cannot wait until you remember this in the morning," she sang, before casting a glance to the others. "Also, a heads-up--Will's almost here."
"No!" It came out louder than intended, almost a shout, as you stood, sending Spencer's pens tumbling. "Whoopsie." You latched onto Penelope, murmuring, "Stay here, don't leave me."
Penelope's laughter rang out, her hands cradling your head. "Worry not, I've set the security guy straight--if you get even a scratch, I'll make him regret the day he was born."
"See, this is why you're my favorite," you whispered.
"Heard that."
Will eventually texted JJ, letting her know he had arrived. As the they waited by the elevator, the doors slid open to reveal Hotch standing there. A squeal escaped you, matched by his single raised eyebrow surveying your condition.
Your cheeks were painted a rosy tint, hair in a delightful tangle, and your shirt hanging askew off your shoulder--you were an adorable spectacle of disorder, and he found himself suppressing the small smile that threatened to reveal his amusement as the other girls filed into the elevator.
He had made them promise not to leave until he got there, not keen on the idea of you being left alone like this. It might have been an exaggeration, but when you butt dialed him and he heard the sound of your slurred speech it had him envisioning all sorts of worst-case scenarios. Sure, he had seen you drink during team nights out, but nothing like this.
"Hotch!" You shouted, moving to him with a rapidity that might be, well definitely, was ill-advised.
He stood motionless as you looped your arms around his neck. You smelled so nice--a sweet hint of vanilla instead of the anticipated alcohol. After a brief hesitation, his hands slowly found their way to your waist.
"What are you doing here, silly?" You ask, pulling back just enough to see his face. "Wait a second, please don't say we have a case."
A subtle smile played on his face, his hand not budging from your back. "No, there's no case."
"Oh, good," you murmured, your head bobbing lightly in approval. The light touch of your fingers at the base of his neck spread a warmth through him. "You want a drink? I think there's still some wine left."
"No, I'm fine," he said, clearing his throat and taking a step back. "I think you need to get to bed."
Your hands lingered at his neck, softly exploring his hair as you looked up with a smile that made his pulse race unexpectedly.
"Is that an order as my boss or a suggestion as my friend?"
He raised his brow. "Both?"
"Well, okay," you shrugged as you took a step back. "Wanna see my room? I don't think you've seen it yet. Everyone else has."
Without giving him a chance to object, you dashed down the hallway. He trailed behind with reluctance, knowing just how dangerous this could be for him. He was all too aware that he shouldn't be here, let alone in your room in your current, wine-fueled state.
You fumbled for the light, fingers slipping before finding the switch as you stumbled into the cramped room. It was pink. Very pink. The pullout couch was lost beneath a mountain of pillows, excessive by any standard. Your closet was bursting, and a collection of gadgets and gizmos had overtaken the room, but he liked it, a lot.
Your collapse onto the bed sent pillows scattering to the floor, his mind wandered about the unseen details of your bedroom at home, and even more so, the thought of what a shared space between you two might look like.
A sigh escaped him as he stood over you. "How about changing into your pajamas first, hm?"
"No thank you."
"You're going to hate yourself if you wake up in jeans tomorrow."
"Fine." You pouted, propping yourself up on your elbows. "Top right drawer please."
He shot you a look but obliged anyway. There was something about that puckered out bottom lip that made him think he'd do just about anything you asked, like he was putty in your hands. Pulling out the most conservative pair of pajamas from the sparse selection, he made a mental note to ask about that later.
"Thank you," you said with a smile. He really liked your smile. "You know, you're really such a nice person, Hotch. Or—Can I call you Aaron? Just tonight?"
He felt a sudden emptiness in his chest as the air was knocked out. "You can call me Aaron. Just tonight."
A high-pitched squeal escaped you as you began shedding your clothes. He offered a stifled cough, quickly averting his gaze and nudging the door closed with his free hand.
"Well, Aaron," you said plainly, "I really like you."
The effort it took for him not to pivot on his heel was immense, particularly when your voice sweetened like honey at the mention of his name.
"You're a great boss."
"I like you too, Agent."
"No, you don't, well, I mean—you can turn around now," you said. "You like me, but I really like you. It's not the same."
As he turned to face you, he could sense his cock twitching in his pants, a physical reaction to the sight of you fumbling with your shirt, your tits exposed in full view, as if begging to be touched.
"Christ," he hissed, gripping the ends of your shirt and yanking down. He was sure you were going to hate yourself in the morning. "You're not making sense, and I think you need to sleep it off."
"Yeah," you replied, your eyes warmly meeting his as you gave him a lopsided smile. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you in such casual clothes, Aaron. You look very handsome."
He needed to get you to bed before he did something he'd regret. He softly nudged your shoulders backward, offering no verbal response. You surrendered to the motion with complaint, your remaining strength insufficient for anything else.
Softly, he settled to blankets around you, taking a moment to study you, with the intention of memorizing you completely (even the part of you that was far too drunk).
"Goodnight, Aaron."
He summoned all his restraint to keep from crashing his lips into yours. He smoothed back your hair, allowing himself that as he shot you a tired smile. "Goodnight."
He hadn't even touched the doorknob when your plea reached his ears. "Aaron, I—, will you stay with me?"
And who was he to deny you anything?
taglist: @chronicallybubbly
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fanfic#hotchner#ssa hotchner#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#Spotify
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Tag your age if you wanna bc I was just thinking about how I have used floppy disks before (I'm 25 and used them in elementary computer lab) but my 22 y.o. brother hasn't which is so weird to me like 3 years isn't a long time at all to me
#I'm wondering if im an outlier in the 25 year old demographic bc i remember bringing my floppy disk home from 2nd grade#and my dad laughing and being like our computer doesn't even have a drive for it anymore#like we didn't HAVE to use them at home bc obviously not everyone had a home computer#but it was a kind of 'if you have a computer bring this to your parents and they can demonstrate how it works!'#'look how you can take your files home isn't tech amazing!'#but i just learned that the school had old computers lol#polls#reilly.txt
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Danny is a house husband.
That's it, that's all it is.
As the years went on. Danny retired from being a superhero. There was no need for Phantom when the GIW were dealt with and all the ghosts were under control.
Now what's left for him to do but to just sit back, relax, and finally be able to live his life.
Sam and Tucker on the other hand....
Well, they had plenty of pent up rage, wits, and chaos inside their mind to become villains.
But they had one rule.
Never bring work home and to never involve Danny in any of their supervillain business.
Okay that's technically two rules, but they're kind of synonymous especially since Danny has been taking care of their house while also entertaining himself with trying new hobbies.
Tucker and Sam both make sure that they never bring any of their villainy home to Danny, because all they want is for Danny to enjoy his happy hero retirement.
And Danny in turn, doesn't bat an eye when watching the news and seeing that there were magical plants that were attacking sites that oil companies were digging or that somehow Lex Luthor had lost five hundred million dollars and had somehow leaked records showing he was building weapons of mass destruction.
He also doesn't bat an eye when he sees that Tucker had brought home a telescope that definitely looks like it came from some fancy lab because hey, Tucker was making him an observatory so he can look at the stars and planets. While also how they were able to make a great gaming pc with computer parts that are definitely not sold in stores, because hey at least the newest update of Doomed wasn't lagging.
Or that Sam comes home with various plants and animals that are definitely not from planet earth, but hey the three headed wolf-lizard-eagle- hybrid thing (that Danny has affectionately named Fluffy) is pretty great at keeping the pests away from his vegetable garden and likes to eat any of Danny's new food creations and is a great playmate for Cujo.
So you can imagine how the Justice League thinks when dealing with the pair of new villains: Upload (Tucker) and Sam (I could not think of a villain name that would suit her, so it's up to you what you think her villain name would be)
And how they were currently wreaking havoc in the city either by cyber warfare with robots or by magic plant monster or a Frankenstein of both approaches. The heroes had all evacuated the civilians from the battle zone and are currently fighting a losing battle. When they've been effectively captured and restrained by the two. Right before the villains could go into a monologue, they hear a person clearing their throat.
Everybody looks to see a 25 year old man wearing a sweater vest (he made it himself, thank you very much) currently holding onto the leash of a giant glowing green dog and some kind of giant animal hybrid. The man's arms were crossed and was currently not sporting a very happy look on his face.
Tucker and Sam (looking at Danny with hesitant smiles): Hi honey.
Danny (frowning): you missed our anniversary dinner.
Tucker and Sam both pale as they quickly realized what the date and time was.
The league all watch as Sam and Tucker immediately start apologizing to the man that just walked into a battle zone.
Danny (still frowning): Hmph! I guess since you two didn't want dinner you can go back to your little fight. Don't expect me to make you any lunches for the next month, and since you two are having so much fun here, you'll be sleeping by yourselves for the next couple weeks.
The league all watch as they were let go as Sam and Tucker yell as they run after Danny yelling apologies as he was walking away from them.
This is not the last they see of Danny.
When Danny is displeased with either of his partners, he'll invite a hero over to have lunch of afternoon tea.
#dp x dc#dp x dc au#dp x dc crossover#danny phantom x dc#dpxdc#I'd think that Flash would be the one that Danny has tea/lunch with the most because that guy wouldn't turn down good food#And Danny is a really good cook#especially since the food doesn't come to life and try to stab him#Sam and Tucker be entering their home and then they see Captain Marvel there eating cookies because Danny offered them to him#dpxjustice league#dp x justice league#dp x dc prompt
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☆ wonwoo x gn!reader — warnings: mentions of nausea
just wonwoo being completely whipped for his s/o <3
if there’s one thing both wonwoo and you are grateful for, it’s your ability to sleep with noise around.
the clock on your right is displaying 1am, and the last time wonwoo got up from his gaming chair was two hours ago, to bring you a glass of water and kiss you goodnight.
it hadn’t been hard to fall asleep, relaxed by the steady clicks of his fingers on the keyboard and the occasional whirring of the hard drive. but a queasiness seemed to have settled in your stomach, making it much harder to stay asleep.
without even looking at him, you know wonwoo has his headphones on. it’s no use trying to call him, and standing up seems a little too risky right now. with a heavy sigh, you turn to your side to at least catch a glimpse of his focused face and occasional nose scrunches.
“is everything ok?” he asks just a few seconds later, snapping a quick glance at you before looking back at his screen.
“i- how did you know i’m awake?” you ask, and immediately notice how talking makes your nausea feel worse.
with a frown, you put a hand on your stomach, tracing circles on your skin in hope it might make a difference.
“i know everything” wonwoo smiles, still focused on his game. “are you okay?”
“i’m not feeling so good” you reply, trying your best to be loud enough for him to hear you.
and he apparently does, since he lets his headphones rest on his shoulders as he slightly spins his chair to face you. with a worried look, wonwoo silently offers you to come sit on his lap like you often do, sometimes for no particular reason.
you’re quick to reply with a slight shake of your head, your face twisted in an uneasy expression. that’s how he knows you really aren’t feeling well, because you usually never decline this kind of offer.
“need some water? a pill? …me?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed after turning his computer off.
in lieu of an actual answer, you simply grab his t-shirt to pull him to bed, making him chuckle in surprise. and the sounds you hear next are more than familiar: him taking his glasses off, folding the arms and gently putting them on the nightstand.
your face is now inches apart from his chest, and you let out a content sigh as his reassuring smell envelops you in a tight hug.
“can i?” he whispers, his fingers slowly lifting the cloth of your t-shirt (well, his t-shirt actually).
you nod, and he lets his hand find its way to your stomach, careful as if you were made of glass. his palm covers much more surface than yours, especially as he starts to rub your skin in slow circles.
“this feels nice” you hum, lulled by the steady lifts of his chest with every breath he takes. “i feel sleepy again.”
“good. try to get some rest baby, i’m not going anywhere” he whispers again, kissing the crown of your head.
wonwoo had not always been one to openly express physical affection, which was okay with you. but the more nights you spent in his company, the more he offered to cuddle you to sleep. and it was often in the early hours of the morning, when you woke up with your limbs intertwined, that you realized just how much you meant to him.
“but what about your game?” you ask, looking up at him in an attempt to make out his features. “you were close to winning, weren’t you?”
hearing those words, wonwoo lifts his free hand to the side of your face, tracing a gentle line along your cheek. it that moment, it feels as if the room is filled with the warmth of his affection.
“i’m pretty sure i already won” he replies, kissing the tip of your nose, an evident smile in his voice.
requests are open!
#writing this healed me on a spiritual level#my soul is cleansed#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo imagines#wonwoo fluff#wonwoo comfort#seventeen x reader#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines
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OC Intro - ╹◡╹
Secret Admirer Yandere
??? ♡ ??? ♡ Human? ♡ Office Worker
TW: Stalking, obsession, delusional behaviour, threats, mention of a blade, implied kidnapping/murder
♡ - You’re an office worker - it’s not your ideal job, but it pays the bills. You keep your work life strictly separate from the rest of your life, always keeping your head down and focusing on the task at hand rather than talking to any of your colleagues, but not working hard enough to get noticed for a promotion. You don’t plan to stick around in this career after all.
♡ - Any of your coworkers shouldn’t have known much about you at all. To be honest, you didn’t know much about any of them anyway. You were perfectly happy just blending into the background.
♡ - But, one Monday morning, as you near your desk, you notice something unusual. Pasted right on the corner of your computer monitor, sits a post it note. At first you assume someone missed you and wanted to leave a reminder for some kind of memo or meeting, but reading it sends a shiver down your spine.
♡ - “Have a wonderful day at work, honey. ╹◡╹”
♡ - You stare at the message on the yellow post it, written in red biro, trying to fathom who it’s from. You assume someone must have left it on the wrong desk by mistake, and throw the post it away.
♡ - The post its don’t stop though. Everyday you come to your desk and see a new one, all with similar cutesy messages, all signed off with that smiley face.
♡ - “Make sure to drink plenty of water! ╹◡╹”
♡ - “You look amazing today, honey. ╹◡╹”
♡ - “I miss you so much! ╹◡╹”
♡ - On Friday, you get sick of it. You go around, asking all your coworkers if their partners have perhaps got the wrong desk, but no one seems to recognise the handwriting.
♡ - Giving it up as a bad job, you decide to talk to HR about it once Monday rolls around again.
♡ - The weekend comes as a bit of relief, but it doesn’t last long.
♡ - Monday inevitably arrives, and again, there is a post it note on your desk. You do a quick tour of the office, hoping to perhaps catch the culprit, but everyone has yellow post it notes on their desk - there is no way to tell who it is from.
♡ - You go to HR, but there is little they can do for you without any knowledge or proof of who is leaving them. Deflated, you go back to your desk and work, trying to focus but unable to.
♡ - When Friday rolls around again, the note reads differently than usual.
♡ - “You seemed stressed, honey. Let me take you out tonight - my treat. Meet me at 7, at that restaurant we both like. Wear something nice. ╹◡╹”
♡ - You haven’t a clue what restaurant they mean, and even if you did, there is no way in hell you are going with some stranger that seems to have some strange one sided love for you. You crumple the note in frustration and throw it away, as you have with all the other post it notes.
♡ - Monday arrives again, but this time instead of a note, it seems there is a letter.
♡ - it’s written on the standard issue memo paper found anywhere around the office. It seems crumpled and tear stained. Whoever is writing them seems to have switched from a red biro to a red ink pen, but the ink seems oddly dark and brown.
♡ - “Honey. I waited for you all night. You never showed. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? How humiliating it was to be sobbing in the middle of the restaurant? I came back here at the weekend and found all my love notes for you in your bin. Why are you so cruel? Did I do something wrong? Do you not love me anymore? You’re coming home tonight. I let you stay at your own place long enough, I know new couples need time before moving in together but this has gone too far. You haven’t even visited or called or texted once. Come home. We have some serious discussion to do. ╹︵╹”
♡ - You can’t bring yourself to get any work done, you can’t bring yourself to eat, you can’t even bring yourself to try and tell HR again. You stand up and do another lap of the office, carefully examining everyone’s faces, trying to work out who might have sent this damned letter, but you can’t tell. You haven’t even the faintest idea.
♡ - You eye all your coworkers with suspicion, until finally you can’t take it anymore and hide in the toilets. You stay there, frightened to leave, right up until it’s time to clock out, and even then, it takes you a long time to work up the courage to leave.
♡ - When you finally get out, the office is empty. There is no one else there, apart from you. You find the darkened cubicles eerie, yet you breathe a sigh of relief anyway. Surely that must mean the note writer is gone too? You run out into the car park, making a mad dash for it, then stop short just as your car comes into view.
♡ - It’s covered in post it notes of varying colours, each one scrawled in that weird red ink. Some are angry, others plead for your forgiveness or return. Every single one is wet with tear stains.
♡ - You freeze. You have to call the police - you’ve let this go one long enough. You take a step back, ready to run back to the office and hole yourself up until the police arrive, only to stop when you feel a knife against your back and hear a voice you don’t recognise.
♡ - “Oh honey, you aren’t getting away with this that easily…”
Personality
The most mysterious of all, “Smiley” (╹◡╹) hasn’t quite seemed to grasp that it wouldn’t be obvious to their darling who they are. In their eyes, they’re already with their darling, and their tactics are less trying to get close to their daring and moreso engaging in what they think is cute couple behaviour. When their darling ignores or dismisses their bids for attention? Well, hell hath no fury like a lover scorned. It’s probably too late for their darling by the time they finally see the face of their admirer.
Dividers Credit: See Pinned Post
#yancore#yandere#yandere fic#yandere x darling#yandere x reader#oc intro#yandere imagines#gender neutral reader#gender neutral yandere#yandere drabble#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc intro#yandere oc#gender neutral yandere oc#male yandere#female yandere#Smiley#Story#Meet Cute
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DP x DC AU: Bruce is the one to invite Constantine over, and no, it's not to improve his tenuous working relationship with the asshole. It's the opposite of that.
---
Danny had become a frequent visitor of Wayne Manor in the last few months, and Bruce had to admit that while the kid was certainly a bit ominous for his liking for a partner to Tim, he was a generally kind and happy soul. They'd been dating for a lot longer than the Bats knew of- Kon had been the one to let it slip to Jon who told Damian and so on- and since the relationship was no longer secret, Tim brings him to family functions.
The thing about Danny is... He's dead. More than half of the time. Which again, is not Ideal for Bruce's wishes for Tim's future husband, but it also means that he reviles in being alive. Danny is downright joyous about using his time left on earth properly. He makes Tim eat real food, enjoy real sleep and generally live a more fulfilled life than he had been. The whole family noticed the changes in Tim, and it made them like Danny even more.
So after a particularly grueling day of dealing with Trigon and therefore the JLD's lack of coordination and sensible planning- Bruce gets the idea. John couldn't fucking contain himself admonishing Bruce, and perhaps it was vindictive, but Bruce figures that John should meet Danny. Sans context of course.
...
John is really over dealing with Batman's prissy, over complicated and perfectionist attitude. Come to the Cave he'd demanded, as though John didn't have a favorite bar to get back to, deal with a ghost he ordered like John didn't have other priorities than some random shade.
When walking into the space however, the second his teleportation portal closed, John knew something was deeply, deeply fucked. The shadows were growing longer, the second hand on his watch ticked slower, the air smelled of sulfur and... Red Robin was sitting working at the computer like nothing was wrong. But what was wrong, was the kid was marked by The End. Marked by The Infinite. FUCK.
John knew Death, the Endless, and knew she could pick favorites just like her siblings (Dream's immortal drinking buddy comes to mind). But this wasn't her work, this was something other.
"Mate- the Bat said there was a ghost?" John feels like he might throw up, the eerie atmosphere complicating what should have been a simple request.
"Uh, obviously." The kid didn't even look over from his screen or pause his typing.
John slowly approached, looking over each shoulder a few times, turning in a few circles as the shadows appeared to dance and echo within the cave. He could see his breath, the air became so cold so suddenly. And then, with the gentleness of a pin drop, a new agonizing sound appeared with a Kid walking down the cave stairs. The aura of the room turned dark, every cell in John's body screaming to run, that this was basically the little girl from the ring crawling through the TV as the young man walked down the steps.
"Babe, your grampa says that dinners going to be ready in a second. Oh, uh, hey dude." The creature speaks, turning his eyes to John for only a moment to study him. It feels equivalent to a butterfly being pinned by its wings.
"Y-y-you, you're, you're one of the Endless?" John stutters, his body reacting in fear despite the nonchalant posture of the Beast. The young man rolls his eyes.
"Nah, one of the Ancients but like uh, I'm new in town. And hon seriously don't be late, A made tiramisu for dessert and you're not allowed to have any if you're late and I don't want to deal with you pouting."
"You had me at Tiramisu!" Red stands up from his computer and then turns, "John, what are you doing here again?" Red Robin finally looks over at him, completely confused.
"Just leaving." John mutters, his eyes still trained on the ANCIENT.
---
Bruce could barely hide his laugh when Tim reported the Magician meeting Danny in the cave.
That'll show the asshole to question Batman's knowledge of the occult.
#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#danny phantom#dc crossover#dp crossover#long post#braindead ship#deadtired ship#timxdanny#bruce approves of their relationship and not just cause he can laud it over constantines head#bruce beefing with constantine#danny is an ancient#also works for ghost king au's but im kind of burned out on those rn#also works for literally any other ship or adoption au technically but my shipper heart must beat on#john constantine#mentioned sandman comics
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" My mom is so beatiful! " - Batfamily x Model!Batmom headcanons
Request: Batmom headcanons where batmom’s a model & the coolest mom ever?
Author's note: Thank you anon 🫶! Here is my second request, so I hope you like it. I didn't know what to put for the title so I settled for this one.
And it will also take me a while to upload the Zatanna x reader oneshot 🤗.
Again I clarify that my main language is not English, so sorry for the spelling errors 😿.
TW: nothing!! Just fluff I think
Nightwing / Dick Grayson
Since he met you, he was fascinated with your beauty and elegance.
He loved when you went to galas and you wrapped him up in your long elegant jacket while you picked him up in your arms and let him fall asleep like that.
Dick didn't miss any of your shows or commercials.
I bet he has your older shows saved on his computer.
A model and cool mother at the same time? Wow, Dick couldn't ask for more.
You are his only support, the only one who was there and loved him no matter what.
Dick will always ask your opinion about what he wears or what haircut he will get.
He goes crazy every time he hears someone say "Your mom is hot."
"It's not my fault that my mom loves me and yours didn't love you, fucking slu-"
I feels like he would play with you by imitating your walk just to annoy you.
Always showing off his mother, yesyesyes.
The YJ and Titans members would be very jealous of him; because you treat him very nicely and send him food, without saying that you drown your son with love.
Jason Todd / Red Hood
When he was Robin he was dwarf and plump. I and other people agree 😇
Jason loves the support you give him and keep giving him.
And he also loves your delicious food, he probably asks you to prepare some for him every time he goes out on patrol.
I just imagined him (when he was Robin) bringing you a bouquet of flowers bigger than him once you finish the show, seeing you with those beautiful and big eyes 😭
I bet he sometimes got scared when he saw your face on a commercial billboard.
And he keeps doing it, only he spits out whatever he's drinking when he sees you in TV. (Without him knowing that you participated as a model in X brand)
He loves and continues to love your attacks of kisses on his face.
Yes, he would also ask you for style advice, but only once a year, he is very proud when it comes to his clothing style.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!! HOW DARE YOU HAVE A FUCKING POSTER OF MY MOM?!?!"
Damn Jason, your mom is a model, what do you want them to do?
Tim Drake / Red Robin
He has a love-hate relationship with your love attacks.
Tim, like his other siblings, would not miss any of your shows, or the parts in which you appear.
He would help Barbara to make sure no one wants to sabotage you at one of your shows.
If given the choice between your food or the support you give him, Tim would jump off a bridge. (jk)
"Bro, can you shut the fuck up and stop saying how beautiful my mom is? I already know that."
Tim gets embarrassed every time he is with his friends and you call him (by phone XD), because you start reminding him that he is very handsome and he need to eat something. But it irritates him more when his colleagues ask to talk to you.
Damian Wayne / Robin
I think he wouldn't care about your job
He's like, the most attached to you.
After your shows he would be attached to you like a flea.
Also at the galas.
Damian was surprised that you were so kind and loving towards him despite the things he said to you before him had that mother and son connection.
I think we all know that there is some kind of hate between you and Talia, no 🥸?
Oh yes, he wouldn't care about your love attacks, as long as it's not in front of his friends.
"Yes mom, yes I ate the food... Yes, I know you love me. *sighs* I love you too mommy..."
You're like Jon's second mom.
His favorite days are pool or beach days, he likes to enjoy the sea while spending time with his mom.
Cassandra Cain / Orphan
Cass is the vice president of your fan club.
Cass loves you infinitely.
She has an album full of photos of you and her after the shows.
She doesn't like the idea of you parading in swimsuits.
She would always ask you for clothing tips and advice.
Cass likes, loves, and admires having a mother who understands her and can be herself with her.
She wouldn't care if you show her love in public or private. She always gives you more love back!
Skincare routine between you and her.
You always make sure that she is fashionable but also has her own style.
She would have a lot of admiration for you.
I feel like she would hardly take any notice of "your mom is hot" because she thinks they are flattery.
But if they go overboard and insult you, Cass wouldn't hesitate to give them a good beating. Nobody messes with her mommy.
I think she would have you as her wallpaper. A photo of you and her on your birthday or on her birthday.
Stephanie Brown / Spoiler
She is the President of your fan club.
Throughout the parade she is like "how boring, I want to leave" until you finally appear, it doesn't matter if the outfit you wore is ugly, she would applaud you with all her might.
"WHY DID YOU AGREE TO DO A BIKINI COMMERCIAL?!?!"
I feel like she gets angry every time anyone tell her "she's super hot" (you), and Steph is like "the nosebleed I'm going to give you is going to be hot."
Every time she sleeps over at the mansion she joins you and Cass's skincare routines.
She loves you because every time you talk there is some laughter.
Steph appreciates and adores the support you give her as a mother figure.
You rarely have love attacks towards her.
But she adores them.
Every chance she would go shopping with you.
Duke thomas / The Signal
Just let me...
Duke is your photographer.
He had a hard time opening up to you at first, but you were just great and so sweet to him.
He doesn't react like his brothers do when they tell him "your mom is hot", rather he would feel uncomfortable.
Only if they insult you would he get serious.
He likes that you are always there to support him every time he goes out on patrol or comes back from patrol.
You and Duke's connection started when you tried to get him to distract himself from the harsh reality of his biological parents, like going to the park and all that.
He is embarrassed when you have your love attacks towards him. It doesn't matter if you are alone or in public, he will be embarrassed every time you have those love attacks.
I feel that when you go with him to buy clothes, you spend a lot of time because you can't decide what clothes to buy him.
But in the end you end up buying everything for him.
Barbara Gordon / Oracle
Yes, I added Barbara, okay?
In my AU there was no love affair between her and Bruce 😇
The one in charge of making sure everything goes well at the shows.
Sometimes she sees you as her mother, sister and best friend.
Barbara always sends you messages; according to her so as not to lose contact, which is a lie because you know it is purely on a whim.
I don't think you have love attacks with her, just a simple kiss on her cheek or forehead.
Although sometimes she envied the attention you gave to your children.
Barbara would value and care for you deeply.
[You can add more headcanons if you like <3]
#🍓୧ ‧₊˚ Request answered! ⋅ ✮⋆˙#batmom#batmom reader#batfam x reader#batman x reader#batmom imagine#dick grayson#nightwing#jason todd#red hood#tim drake#red robin#damian wayne#robin#stephanie brown#spoiler dc#cassandra cain#orphan dc#batgirl#barbara gordon#oracle#babs gordon
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CEO Toji who hires you as his personal assistant as soon as you step through his office doors. As soon as he looks up at you his breath hitches, you're wearing a blouse that exposes the top of the black lace bra you wear underneath, and you keep pulling down the bottom of your skirt that stops mid-thigh. Your glasses are pushed up to your nose as you look at him so innocently through the lenses.
CEO Toji who doesn't waste any time before saying "You're hired". His rough hand finds you back as he guides you through the glass doors and into your new office, which joins with his. He shows you the ropes of what he wants from you, keeping him on schedule, talking to clients, and completing overall admin tasks etc.
CEO Toji who now can't wait to come to work even though he doesn't show it. As soon as he walks through the front doors of the building, you hand him his morning coffee and go through his schedule for the day with a bright smile on your face. He just smirks down at you watching as you practically have to run to catch up to him as he takes big steps compared to your much smaller ones.
CEO Toji who adores how flustered you get when he calls you pet names. "I have the report you asked for, sir" The words leave your mouth so innocently, but he can't help the bulge in his trousers that begins to make itself present. "thank you pretty girl" his words making your cheeks flush red as you hand him over the papers.
CEO Toji who cant help but stare at you. The view from his desk provides the perfect view of you as you work. He can't hold back the thoughts that plague his mind every time he looks at you. His eyes trail from the curls that fall down your back to the way your back curves and your ass sticks out as you type on your computer. Your glasses falling down your nose and your red lips moving as you pick up the phone.
CEO Toji who hasn't felt this way since his ex-wife was around. He hates the feeling he gets when he sees you talking to Gojo the owner of one of his rival companies. He can't take his eyes off the way your hand grabs onto Gojo's shoulder as you laugh at his jokes, and how Gojo places a soft kiss on your knuckle as he leaves your office flashing a wink to Toji before leaving.
CEO Toji who for the first time in ages takes off his wedding ring every time he sees you. Although his ex-wife wasn't the best and he was the one to divorce her, he always kept on the ring yet he had the urge to destroy it whenever you were in his line of sight.
CEO Toji who admires how kind you are and how easily you're able to make people feel comfortable in your presence. He can't stop the smile that covers his face as he sees you offering doughnuts to your co-workers after a long week. "Hi sir, would you like one?" you ask softly looking up at him, his eyes pierce into yours. "call me Toji love," he says before grabbing a doughnut and biting into it.
CEO Toji who just thinks about how sweet you would taste as he bites into the doughnut. He imagines how your lips would taste of strawberries and sugar, and your soft skin would have a hint of coco as he kisses up your neck. but for now the sweet doughnut will have to do.
CEO Toji who cant help but blur the lines between you two. He sees the glances you give him as he paces up and down his office and how your eyes fix on his lips as he talks to you in the morning. After his last meeting he heads back to his office assuming no one would be there, yet he sees your desk light on as you sit on the couch with your laptop on your thighs presumably still working.
CEO Toji who strolls into your office with a smirk "You waiting for me sweet girl?" he asks watching as you squeal with shock. "sir I didn't know you were back yet" you let out, placing your laptop beside you, and walking towards him. "Toji, please call me Toji no need for formalities ma" You nod your head letting out a quick "Sorry sir" which makes him chuckle.
CEO Toji who places his hand on your cheek bringing your eyes up to meet his. His hands are rough and his hair is a little messy, probably from running his fingers through it from stress. "you're a real cutie aint ya" he says moving your chin slightly to get a proper look at you in the dim lighting. "so pretty" he mumbles his face inching closer to yours "you want it?" you only give him a quick nod, as you practically pool at his feet in his touch.
CEO Toji who tastes of cigarettes and a hint of whiskey as he kisses you. The kiss is rough and sloppy but you don't mind. Your much softer and sweeter lips struggle to match his pace. The mewls and whimpers you let out as he kisses you has him going crazy inside. You want to stop and question what this all means but the way his hands grip on your waist and his lips suck on your own has you too dizzy to think of anything else but him
-repost of this because the tags weren't working for a week and have finally been fixed :)
Part 2 here
Masterlist
#jjk headcanons#kentosbabes#toji smut#toji imagine#jjk toji#toji fic#toji fushiguro#toji headcanons#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen toji#toji x you#jujustu kaisen#toji fluff
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Netflix wants to chop down your family tree
Netflix has unveiled the details of its new anti-password-sharing policy, detailing a suite of complex gymnastics that customers will be expected to undergo if their living arrangements trigger Netflix’s automated enforcement mechanisms:
https://thestreamable.com/news/confirmed-netflix-unveils-first-details-of-new-anti-password-sharing-measures
If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes
Netflix says that its new policy allows members of the same “household” to share an account. This policy comes with an assumption: that there is a commonly understood, universal meaning of “household,” and that software can determine who is and is not a member of your household.
This is a very old corporate delusion in the world of technology. In the early 2000s, I spent years trying to bring some balance to an effort at DVB, whose digital television standards are used in most of the world (but not the USA) when they rolled out CPCM, a DRM system that was supposed to limit video-sharing to a single household.
Their term of art for this was the “authorized domain”: a software-defined family unit whose borders were privately negotiated by corporate executives from media companies, broadcasters, tech and consumer electronics companies in closed-door sessions all around the world, with no public minutes or proceedings.
https://onezero.medium.com/the-internet-heist-part-iii-8561f6d5a4dc
These guys (they were nearly all guys) were proud of how much “flexibility” they’d built into their definition of “household.” For example, if you owned a houseboat, or a luxury car with seatback displays, or a summer villa in another country, the Authorized Domain would be able to figure out how to get the video onto all those screens.
But what about other kinds of families? I suggested that one of our test cases should be a family based in Manila: where the dad travels to remote provinces to do agricultural labor; the daughter is a nanny in California; and the son is doing construction work in the UAE. This suggestion was roundly rejected as an “edge case.”
Of course, this isn’t an edge case. There are orders of magnitude more people whose family looks like this than there are people whose family owns a villa in another country. Owning a houseboat or a luxury car makes you an outlier. Having an itinerant agricultural breadwinner in your family does not.
But everyone who is in the room when a cartel draws up a standard definition of what constitutes a household is almost certainly drawn from a pool that is more likely to have a summer villa than a child doing domestic work or construction labor half a world away. These weirdos, so dissimilar from the global majority, get to define the boxes that computers will shove the rest of the world into. If your family doesn’t look like their family, that’s tough: “Computer says no.”
One day at a CPCM meeting, we got to talking about the problem of “content laundering” and how the way to prevent it would be to put limits on how often someone could leave a household and join another one. No one, they argued, would ever have to change households every week.
I put my hand up and said, “What about a child whose divorced parents share custody of her? She’s absolutely going to change households every week.” They thought about it for a moment, then the rep from a giant IT company that had recently been convicted of criminal antitrust violations said, “Oh, we can solve that: we’ll give her a toll-free number to call when she gets locked out of her account.”
That was the solution they went with. If you are a child coping with the dissolution of your parents’ marriage, you will have the obligation to call up a media company every month — or more often — and explain that Mummy and Daddy don’t love each other any more, but can I please have my TV back?
I never forgot that day. I even wrote a science fiction story about it called (what else?) “Authorized Domain”:
https://craphound.com/news/2011/10/31/authorised-domain/
I think everyone understood that this was an absurd “solution,” but they had already decided that they were going to complete the seemingly straightforward business of defining a category like “household” using software, and once that train left the station, nothing was going to stop it.
This is a recurring form of techno-hubris: the idea that baseline concepts like “family” have crisp definitions and that any exceptions are outliers that would never swallow the rule. It’s such a common misstep that there’s a whole enre* called “Falsehoods Programmers Believe About ______”:
https://github.com/kdeldycke/awesome-falsehood
In that list: names, time, currency, birthdays, timezones, email addresses, national borders, nations, biometrics, gender, language, alphabets, phone numbers, addresses, systems of measurement, and, of course, families. These categories are touchstones in our everyday life, and we think we know what they mean — but then we try to define them, and the list of exceptions spirals out into a hairy, fractal infinity.
Historically, these fuzzy categorical edges didn’t matter so much, because they were usually interpreted by humans using common sense. My grandfather was born “Avrom Doctorovitch” (or at least, that’s one way to transliterate his name, which was spelled in a different alphabet, but which was also transliterating his first name from yet another alphabet). When he came to Canada as a refugee, his surname was anglicized to “Doctorow.” Other cousins are “Doctorov,” “Doctoroff,” and “Doktorovitch.”
Naturally, his first name could have been “Abraham” or “Abe,” but his first employer (a fellow Eastern European emigre) decided that was too ethnic and in sincere effort to help him fit in, he called my grandfather “Bill.” When my grandfather attained citizenship, his papers read “Abraham William Doctorow.” He went by “Abe,” “Billy,” “Bill,” “William,” “Abraham” and “Avrom.”
Practically, it didn’t matter that variations on all of these appeared on various forms of ID, contracts, and paperwork. His reparations check from the German government had a different variation from the name on the papers he used to open his bank account, but the bank still let him deposit it.
All of my relatives from his generation have more than one name. Another grandfather of mine was born “Aleksander,” and called “Sasha” by friends, but had his name changed to “Seymour” when he got to Canada. His ID was also a mismatched grab-bag of variations on that theme.
None of this mattered to him, either. Airlines would sell him tickets and border guards would stamp his passport and rental agencies would let him drive away in cars despite the minor variations on all his ID.
But after 9/11, all that changed, for everyone who had blithely trundled along with semi-matching names across their official papers and database entries. Suddenly, it was “computer says no” everywhere you turned, unless everything matched perfectly. There was a global rush for legal name-changes after 9/11 — not because people changed their names, but because people needed to perform the bureaucratic ritual necessary to have the name they’d used all along be recognized in these new, brittle, ambiguity-incinerating machines.
For important categories, ambiguity is a feature, not a bug. The fact that you can write anything on an envelope (including a direction to deliver the letter to the granny flat over the garage, not the front door) means that we don’t have to define “address” — we can leave it usefully hairy around the edges.
Once the database schema is formalized, then “address” gets defined too — the number of lines it can have, the number of characters each line can have, the kinds of characters and even words (woe betide anyone who lives in Scunthorpe).
If you have a “real” address, a “real” name, a “real” date of birth, all of this might seem distant to you. These “edge” cases — seasonal agricultural workers, refugees with randomly assigned “English” names — are very far from your experience.
That’s true — for now (but not forever). The “Shitty Technology Adoption Curve” describes the process by which abusive technologies work their way up the privilege gradient. Every bad technological idea is first rolled out on poor people, refugees, prisoners, kids, mental patients and other people who can’t push back.
Their bodies are used to sand the rough edges and sharp corners off the technology, to normalize it so that it can climb up through the social ranks, imposed on people with more and more power and influence. 20 years ago, if you ate your dinner under an always-on #CCTV, it was because you were in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you bought a premium home surveillance system from Google, Amazon or Apple.
https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#arise-ye-prisoners
The Netflix anti-sharing tools are designed for rich people. If you travel for business and stay in the kind of hotel where the TV has its own Netflix client that you can plug your username and password into, Netflix will give you a seven-day temporary code to use.
But for the most hardcore road-warriors, Netflix has thin gruel. Unless you connect to your home wifi network every 31 days and stream a show, Netflix will lock out your devices. Once blocked, you have to “contact Netflix” (laughs in Big Tech customer service).
Why is Netflix putting the screws to its customers? It’s part of the enshittification cycle, where platform companies first allocate surpluses to their customers, luring them in and using them as bait for business customers. Once they turn up, the companies reallocate surpluses to businesses, lavishing them with low commissions and lots of revenue opportunities. And once they’re locked in, the company starts to claw back the surpluses for itself.
https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys
Remember when Netflix was in the business of mailing red envelopes full of DVDs around the country? That was allocating surpluses to users. The movie companies hated this, viewed it as theft — a proposition that was at least as valid as Netflix’s complaints about password sharing, but every pirate wants to be an admiral, and when Netflix did it to the studios, that was “progress,” but when you do it to Netflix, that’s theft.
Then, once Netflix had users locked in and migrated to the web (and later, apps), it shifted surpluses to studios, paying fat licensing fees to stream their movies and connect them to a huge audience.
Finally, once the studios were locked in, Netflix started to harvest the surplus for its shareholders: raising prices, lowering streaming rates, knocking off other studios’ best performing shows with in-house clones, etc. Users’ surpluses are also on the menu: the password “sharing” that let you define a household according to your family’s own idiosyncratic contours is unilaterally abolished in a quest to punish feckless Gen Z kids for buying avocado toast instead of their own Netflix subscriptions.
Netflix was able to ignore the studios’ outraged howls when it built a business by nonconsenually distributing their products in red envelopes. But now that Netflix has come for your family, don’t even think about giving Netfix some of what it gave to the MPAA.
As a technical matter, it’s not really that hard to modify Netflix’s app so that every stream you pull seems to come from your house, no matter where you are. But doing so would require reverse-engineering Netflix’s app, and that would violate Section 1201 of the DMCA, the CFAA, and eleventy-seven other horrible laws. Netflix’s lawyers would nuke you until the rubble bounced.
When Netflix was getting started, it could freely interoperate with the DVDs that the studios had put on the market. It could repurpose those DVDs in ways that the studios strenuously objected to. In other words, Netfix used adversarial interoperability (AKA Competitive Compatibility or ComCom) to launch its business:
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability
Today, Netflix is on the vanguard of the war to abolish adversarial interop. They helped lead the charge to pervert W3C web-standards, creating a DRM video standard called EME that made it a crime to build a full-featured browser without getting permission from media companies and restricting its functionality to their specifications:
https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/
When they used adversarial interoperability to build a multi-billion-dollar global company using the movie studios’ products in ways the studios hated, that was progress. When you define “family” in ways that makes Netflix less money, that’s felony contempt of business model.
[Image ID: A Victorian family tree template populated by tintypes of old-timey people. In the foreground stands a menacing, chainsaw-wielding figure, his face obscured by a hoodie. The blade of the chainsaw is poised to chop down the family tree. A Netflix 'N' logo has been superimposed over the man's face.]
#pluralistic#enshittification#shitty technology adoption curve#cpcm#interoperabiltiy#comcom#adversarial interoperability#interop#netflix#family#ambiguity#digitizatio#nym wars#authorized domain#dvb#dvds#password sharing
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omg your miguel stories are tew good plz stop encouraging my obsession💀 but just in case you dont wanna listen👀... is there anyway you can do a one shot of miguel being like a laid back sugar daddy/just spoils the absolute shit out of us without giving a fuck PLEASE🙏🏾
anywaysssss love you and i wish you all the best<3
million dollar man
pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader
contents: age gap (reader’s in college while miguel’s in mid thirties), handjob, and semi-public fingering
author’s note: i loved writing this request sm so thank you for allowing me to indulge 😩 wishing you the best too <33
word count: 4.8K
The rules of the website had practically imprinted in your brain with how many times you reread them- no cat-fishing relationships or scams, no low-quality photos, and to not be abusive. The rules seemed pretty simple but you couldn't help but hesitate to accept the terms, your hand hovering the cursor. "Oh fuck, just click it already," you mumbled to yourself, accepting the small box on the right corner of the screen after a couple seconds of hesitation. Your screen flooded with what seemed to be hundreds of older men, most of them actively seeking out for a sugar baby in exchange for some kind of service in return.
You'd been wanting to sign up for a sugar daddy website after noticing how empty your pantry was, a couple ramen packets sitting on the counters collecting dust. While you knew that you could be living much worse, you couldn't help but want more than eating the same food everyday. With the amount of student debt that you were crumbling under, you couldn't afford to make extravagant purchases. The job that you had managed to sustain you for your basic needs, but you were tired of simply just floating above the debt line. You found yourself with the desire to have more.
You decided to accept on the terms of the website and set up a profile, but you couldn't bring yourself to explore the options available. You stepped aside from the computer, rubbing over your eyes as you debated the reality of the situation.
You didn't have much time to regret your decision though, your phone alarm ringing with the reminder that you had to be getting ready for work soon. You shut off your computer, deciding to face the consequences of your actions at a much later time when you weren’t running late. After putting on the uniform for the ice cream shop that you worked at, you made your way out the house out to the parlor.
"I don't really see what the problem is with having a sugar daddy. You deserve more than what this place pays," one of your coworkers, Luna, told you as the two of you cleaned up the spoons from the previous shift. "You don't think I'm being a gold digger by doing it?" You asked her, wanting to get some kind of reassurance about the doubts that'd been clouding your mind since you'd joined the website.
She shrugged, walking over to take the order of an elderly woman that walked in. "If they know what they're getting into, I don't think it constitutes as being a gold digger. They know that the relationship is purely transactional," she responded to your question after the woman stepped away with her vanilla cone.
Her words rung through your mind as you sat down in front of your computer after getting off work, deciding to explore the options that were available. Most of the names shown on the website were some of Nueva York's most prominent businessmen, their name plastered onto some of the most successful buildings in the state.
You'd expected for most of the profiles to be senile men who were in the middle of a life crisis, instead getting men in their mid forties to sixties. Your nose scrunched up as you clicked through some of their profiles, most of them coming up as married with the description of 'wanting discreet fun.'
You were about to give up on your search for the night when you stumbled upon a profile of a man in his mid-thirties, one of the youngest men you'd seen in the fifteen minutes of scrolling. Miguel O'Hara. His profile revealed to you that he was divorced, his description being that he sought out for someone to spend time with in exchange for monitory compensation, a clear difference between his profile and the others you'd encountered.
To say that he was an easy swipe right was an understatement, your finger almost snapping off from how fast you clicked on your mouse. Not only was his persona more endearing than those you'd encountered, he was one of the more handsome men you'd had seen. You didn't think too much of the swipe, your eyes widening in surprise as you got the notification that it was a match.
You spent about a week talking to him about what could be expected out of the arrangement before he suggested that he take you out to a dinner. His reasoning behind the spontaneous date was that he simply wanted to see how the two connected outside of text, get a feeling of what type of person you were. As you waited for the day of the dinner to arrive, you couldn't help but be filled with anticipation and excitement.
You'd even gotten up early the day of to plan out your outfit ahead of time so you wouldn't have to do so after class, choosing to wear a pair of jeans that weren't too distressed with a black top. Scenarios of how the dinner would go riddled your mind throughout the day, your focus of what was on the board diminishing with every second that you were in the classroom.
You showed up to dinner half an hour late due to the subway not arriving at its designated time, easily finding Miguel through the crowds of people. not only was the tallest one in the room, he was also the one with the nicest attire in the place. The black button down shirt he had on accentuated the bulging muscles underneath, the material flexing to fit around him perfectly and the black slacks that he had on fit his legs to perfection.
You caught a whiff of his cologne when he stood up to shake your hand, the pure scent of him reeking of money. He pulled the chair back for you, waiting for you to take a seat before he sat back down. You couldn't help but notice how well he filled out the seat, the pure presence of him almost demanding to be seen.
"Sorry I'm late, the subway got delayed," you started off, wondering just how long he'd been here waiting for you to show up. "While I do appreciate punctuality, I understand," he responded, handing you one of the menus from the table. You picked up the menu, noticing that none of the prices were on there but rather just what the meals had to offer.
A waiter came by a couple minutes later to take the orders, Miguel ordering steak with mashed potatoes and a red wine. "I'll just get the grilled chicken with water, please," you told the waiter, handing them your menu along with Miguel’s. They nodded and stepped away, the only sound at the table being the classical music playing throughout the restaurant.
You looked down at the plate of food dumbfounded, wondering how exactly it was that rich people got full. You were half expecting for the waiter to announce that it was a prank, to come back and fill up your plate. Upon realizing that the two bites that were placed on your plate was the whole meal, you reluctantly took a bite out of it.
"So, the terms of our arrangement would be pretty simple. I'd provide you with the funds that you deem appropriate and you would provide me with your company. I'm not expecting any kind of sexual favors in return, but I wouldn't be opposed to it if you had the desire to," he told you, his tone casual as if he were just having another business arrangement. You almost choked on the water you were sipping, setting the glass back down.
"So what you're saying is that you don't want to have sex with me unless you and I wanted to," you repeated back to him, raising a brow as he nodded. "Do you mind if I ask why?" The question came out of you without much thought, his brows furrowing in exchange. You thought he wasn't going to respond to the question as his silence turned deafening, the room seeming to rise in temperature with every second that passed. "I’m looking for this certain kind of arrangement because I know what to expect from this. My daughter passed away a couple months ago and it helped me to realize that no amount of money that I have will keep anyone next to me," he responded after a couple of minutes, his words coming out with a certain kind of precision as he spoke.
You stayed quiet as you let the words stick in your brain, wondering just what exactly it was that made this man so closed off to the world. You wanted to ask him more questions, but you figured that they weren't appropriate for the setting or the arrangement that was being discussed.
"I'd start off with giving you a short allowance for now, $500 a week just to get you started. It'll increase the more that we spend time together, a little bonus if we have to show up to an event together. Obviously, iId take care of the expenses of your outfit," he added, his red eyes boring into yours like they wanted to see through your very being. “That all sounds very promising, but I think I need some time to think about it if you don't mind," you finally spoke up, watching as his eyebrows bunched up before he nodded.
"You look unsatisfied by the meal. Was it not up to your liking?" He asked after you finished up with your meal, placing a couple hundred dollar bills on the table. "No, the meal was good. thank you," you told him, giving him a tight smile as you got up from the dinner table once the waiter came over to the table. "So if it was good, why do you look unhappy?" He pushed the question further, his eyes locked on you as the two of you headed out of the restaurant.
"Like I said, there wasn't anything wrong with the food. the portions were just a bit.. questionable," you responded, your voice dropping towards the end like you were admitting something taboo. You were expecting for him to protest after what he'd just paid, not the small chuckle that escaped from his lips.
Miguel took you to a burger joint in Brooklyn, stating that 'no other place could do it quite the same.' You'd ordered yourself a burger and fries along with a milkshake, Miguel getting the same thing as you. "Thank you for saying something, the whole meal felt like an appetizer," he told you as the two of you sat down with your trays, the juiciness from the burger looking more inviting than the piece of chicken you'd eaten earlier.
"How do you rich people put up with eating like that?" You asked him, almost moaning at the taste of the burger once you took a bite. "Most of them do cocaine if I'm being frank. I normally don't eat out unless I need to so it's few times I have to subject myself to that," he explained, watching as you stole some of his french fries with amusement.
Despite the initial awkwardness that'd been present throughout the dinner, you couldn't help but enjoy talking to him as the night progressed. His dry humor was something that you were growing to like, the way that he seemed to have a response for everything that you asked/told him.
He was honest and direct, not in a way that he used to excuse what some might deem as 'rude', but in a way that seemed genuine and vulnerable. He'd taken you home after the two of you had finished up, saying that it was too dangerous for you to be taking the subway alone at this hour. You watched as he pulled out of your house, a small smile on your face as he drove away.
The doubts about the arrangement crawled back into your brain once you were alone, absentmindedly reaching over for your laptop and signing in. You weren't sure what exactly it is that you sought out for, maybe some kind of reassurance that he wouldn't get bored with you or start expecting for you to act a certain way around him.
You opened up your browser, deciding to read a Reddit thread about the experiences that some others had as being sugar babies. While some of them described the experience as something pleasant, a few posts lingered about some other girls that had a bad encounter with their sugar daddy. You decided to close your computer after a couple minutes, coming to the realization that Miguel was nothing like the men described in those awful experiences and the decision to say yes had never been so obvious before.
You weren't sure when it was that you started seeing Miguel as more than a provider, seeing him as someone that you cared about beyond what he was giving you. He'd kept true to his promise, his daily allowance now being $700 with the time that the two of you spent together. You'd started to seek him out for the littlest things that you had to do, such as going out on grocery runs or going out for lunch.
When you'd asked him to go to the grocery store with you, you'd managed to deny the growing attraction that was slowly starting to build up by simply telling yourself that you were using him since he was able to reach the top shelf. But the more that you gave a thought about where the relationship between the two of you was headed, the more that you were certain that you couldn't live with yourself if he wasn't present in your future.
You went over to his house after feeling overwhelmed with your final exams coming up, hoping that he would just be able to spare a couple minutes and hold you. "What's wrong?" He asked once he opened the door, exhaustion and anxiety coating your features. "I just need you," you responded back to him, his face softening just the slightest bit before he opened the door to let you in.
He guided you over to his couch, his hand wrapping around your shoulders as he stroked your upper arm. The two of you stayed silent for a while, simply staring at the fireplace ahead of you. "I hope I didn't disturb you," you spoke up, knowing how busy he was.
"You could never disturb me. I like having you around, you're more tolerable than the people I work with," he responded, his thumb lazily drawing circles on your arm. "I'll take that as a compliment," you murmured, leaning against him as you felt the combined heat from his body and the fireplace lulling you into a sense of peace and security. "You should. What's got your little head all worked up anyways?" He inquired, the flame from the fireplace flickering in his eyes as you looked up at him.
"I have finals coming up. And I can't really afford to fail, otherwise I'll get my scholarship taken away. I don't know, I guess I'm just anxious knowing how much is on the line," you told him, realizing just how silly your concerns sounded out loud. “I can help you out if you’re really that stressed out about them,” he suggested after a couple seconds, the movements on your arm coming to a stop. "How about this. if you pass your finals, I'll take you on a little trip to Cabo to celebrate. We'll go on a mall spree beforehand to get you ready."
True to his word, Miguel had the tickets set up for the weekend which you would be done with finals. He'd been the first person that you told about passing them, hearing him say that he was proud of you felt like an even bigger accomplishment especially after he dedicated some of time towards helping you review.
"I knew that you could do it, you're so smart," he'd told you once you shared the news with him, his big arms enveloping you in a hug as he held you close to him. It was the first time he'd hugged you, the feeling strange to the both of you as he did. The act felt unpracticed, something he hadn't done in a long time with the way that his arms awkwardly wrapped around you. Despite that minor detail, you felt invincible as he held you like nothing could touch you.
"I'm thinking about getting my nails done. Which set do you think would look better?" You asked, handing him your phone with the Pinterest board of designs you'd saved. He grabbed his glasses from his case, putting them on the bridge of his nose as he peered down at your phone.
"Isn't it all the same just in different colors?" He noted, scrolling through your phone as he tried to find a difference in the multitude of designs you'd saved. "There's somewhat of a difference in there, it's pretty subtle since I just tend to go for what i'm familiar with," you responded, putting on your seatbelt as you waited. The two of you were heading out to the mall, but you'd come up with idea of getting your nails done after getting in the car.
Miguel ended up liking a simple red design with some gemstones on the pointer and ring finger so you gave the reference photo to the lady doing your nails. You watched as she put on the gemstones with precision, your eyes flicking over to Miguel as he waited for you in the lobby.
If he was uncomfortable in this setting, he didn't show it as he scrolled through the People magazine available. You turned your attention back to your nails, an idea sparking up in your head as she started to put on the final touches to the gem design. "Do you mind putting an initial on my ring finger?" You asked her before it was too late, waiting for her to agree before you told her what letter you wanted on there.
Your hand rested on his pants as he drove, his eyes flicking down to the design and slightly widened as he noticed the small 'M' on your ring finger. "What'd you do that for?" He asked, his attention turning back to the road after a couple moments of shock. "Figured it would be a nice little detail since you were so generous in paying for them," you responded, sliding down his zipper with a bit of difficulty as you adjusted to the feeling of the acrylic once more.
You watched as he let out a shaky breath, his eyes remaining on the road ahead. "I'm driving," he warned you as you started to palm him through his boxers. "So keep your eyes on the road, Miguelito. Just feel," you reiterated, your hand squeezing around his cock slightly. “Ay Dios, nos vas a matar.” (oh god, you’re going to kill us)
You watched as he retrained himself as he drove, knuckles starting to turn white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. You picked up some of the precum leaking out through the tip of his reddened cock, lathering all over the shaft as a form of lubrication. Your hand moved with ease up and down his semi-hardened length, his cock getting harder with each tug that you gave him.
He let out a small hiss as he felt one of your nails brush up against the underside of his cock, the area a bit sensitive for him. He'd pay for your nails hundreds of times over and over if it meant he got to see them wrapped around his cock with his initial on them.
You pulled your hand once Miguel was nearing the mall, drying your hand of the sticky residue with a piece of tissue paper he had in the glove box. "Now you decide to stop?" He asked, maneuvering his way into the parking lot with such ease, parking in reverse in what seemed to be mere seconds. If it were up to you, you would've taken about twenty minutes to do the task before eventually giving up.
Your attention went back to the bulge in his pants, his cock still hard from your previous ministrations. "Well, maybe you'll get more motivated to get out of the mall now," you suggested, getting out of the car as you dusted off your attire. Miguel rolled his eyes as he followed behind you throughout the mall, his hand making the slightest contact with yours.
You stumbled into a Gucci store after a while of walking through the mall, immediately drawn into the designs of the bags. You looked around, one of them in particular catching your eye. The design of the bag was beautiful yet simple, a black leather handbag in the shape of a heart. Your eyes widened as you looked at the price tag attached, your hands making quick work to return it to the shelf.
Before you could get the chance though, Miguel grabbed your hand and turned your attention to him. "What's wrong with the bag? You don't like it?" He asked as he looked at you, expecting for some kind of reasonable answer. "No, there's nothing wrong. it's just expensive," you responded, avoiding eye contact with him as you stepped away from the shelf.
"Well, how much is it?" You heard him ask behind you before you got the chance to walk away too far, his hands reaching up for the purse. "It's almost five grand and that's not including tax. It's fine, I don't need a pu-," you started off but you got quickly interrupted when Miguel called over a sales associate to get him the bag from the back. "I thought you said it was expensive, mi cielo," he simply stated before he went off to check out with the associate that had the bag in a dust bag, taking his black amex card from his pocket as the transaction processed. You stood behind, watching as he paid for the bag with seemingly no hesitation.
The rational side of you threatened to come out, wanting to tell him that he could be spending those five thousand on something other than a bag, but you pursed your lips and watched the scene unfurling in front of you. You remembered the whole point of why'd you even joined the sugar daddy website, wanting the opportunity at having nice things.
"You may not need a purse, but your eyes practically lit up when you saw this one. I'm here so you don't have to resign to that disappointment that you've grown used to," he told you as the two of you walked out of the store, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Well, thank you. I really did like the bag,” you told him, leaning up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. You walked around the mall, eyes glancing around the different stores before eventually walking into Nordstrom.
You picked out a couple pieces for the trip that you'd need, such as a couple dresses, skirts, and bikinis for the warm weather you’d be exposed to. Miguel went with you to the fitting rooms, sitting down on the couches outside as he waited for you to finish up. You'd changed into the shirt and skirt that you'd pulled into the dressing room, looking at yourself reflected on the body-length mirror.
You couldn't deny that the skirt made every part of your legs look good, from your thighs to your ass. Even though you were confident that Miguel would end up liking it, you still decided to call him in to get his opinion. He opened up the door as discretely as he could, glancing around to make sure that no associates were nearby as he stepped inside.
You couldn't help but let out a small laugh as the giant of a man in front of you was rendered speechless, eyes raking up and down your figure as he took you in. "Te ves tan hermosa dressed like that," he finally spoke up after a couple seconds, his hands wrapping around your waist as he held you close to his body. (you look so gorgeous)
You weren't completely sure what the first part of his sentence meant, but you could guess that it was something good based on the tone of endearment that he used and the way that he couldn't keep his hands off you. "Can you be quiet for me?" He asked, looking at you through the mirror as his hands splayed on your stomach. The question sounded more like he was telling you to be quiet, so you simply nodded along and watched him sit down on the small stool.
Miguel placed you down on his clothed thigh, your legs spread out for him as your back fell flush against his toned chest. His hand made his way down your body, your skirt being pushed up as he did so. He cupped your clothed cunt, the expense of his hand capturing most of it.
"You look so pretty when you're all like this. All needy and just for me," he murmured into your ear, one of his hands holding you in place as the other one slid the black pair of panties you'd chosen to wear. One of his fingers went inside your cunt, the tightness of your walls engulfing it completely as he pushed it deeper inside of you. Your slick coated his finger as he opened you up in a way that only he could, reaching places that even some of your toys couldn't reach.
"Excuse me, but do you need some help in there? you've been in there for an awful long time," an associate called out, knocking on your door. Your eyes widened at the prospect of getting caught in this position, a small muffled gasp making its way out of you. "No, the dress is just stuck," you called out, hoping your voice didn't come out as needy as it sounded to your own ears.
"Well I can come in there and help you out. Sorry, it's just that we have a line forming," the associate told you, her hand coming to the doorknob and slightly shaking it as if she were trying to open it. Her attempts failed since the door was still locked on your end, the rattling of the knob stopping a couple seconds later.
You were half expecting him to remove his hand, but his fingers remained deep inside of your cunt as he looked down at you. "You weren't playing fair in the car so why should I have to play fair?" He spoke just low enough for you to hear, a hint of amusement as he spoke. You struggled to keep your voice even as you spoke, resisting the urge to just go ahead and let a moan rip out.
"Uh no, thank you though. It's just a zipper but it's almost off," you told the sales associate, letting out a small sigh of relief as the clacking of her heels retreated from the dressing rooms. Miguel pushed another one of his fingers into your cunt, moving them in a scissoring motion before he curled them upwards to reach that spot inside of you.
Your toes curled and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt his thumb make contact with your clit, the nub already starting to stimulate just by the touch of his finger. You felt your clit throb against his fingers as he rubbed small circles on it, the rhythm in sync with the fingers he was pushing inside of you.
Your back flushed against his chest as you felt yourself getting closer to that sweet release of euphoria, your shaky breaths and whimpers getting muffled as you pressed the palm of your hand against your mouth. Just as you were approaching that all too familiar release, Miguel pulled his hands away quickly.
You were about to protest before remembering what you'd done in the car, the words dying in your throat as you got up from his lap. "Touché," you mumbled as you started taking off the clothes that you'd been trying on, watching as he wiped his hand off on a handkerchief. Miguel covered up your body with his as he stepped out of the dressing room, closing the door quickly afterwards.
"Sorry about that, she called me into help her with the zipper. stupid thing wouldn't budge," you heard him speak outside, surely talking to the associate who must be growing impatient with every second that you spent inside. You stepped back into your clothes, carrying the choices that you'd picked out as you went to go join Miguel at the checkout line.
Needless to say, the attire that you'd showed Miguel proved to be a definite yes. He gladly paid for the rest of your clothes, not batting an eye as the total came out to be two thousand. "Thank you for the excellent customer service. The concern that you show for your consumers is truly admirable," he noted as the associate handed him back his card, a small smirk creeping up on his lips as he also received the shopping bag. The two of you made your way out of the store, completing the small checklist that the two of you had made for what was needed in order to have a successful trip.
#moon-rivr#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara smut#smut#miguel o’hara across the spider verse#spiderman#spiderman smut#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara spiderman 2099#atsv miguel#spiderman 2099#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#atsv smut#miguel atsv#self insert#miguel ohara#miguel spiderman#miguel spiderverse#spiderman atsv#miguel x reader#miguel x y/n#miguel x you#miguel smut#miguel fic
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Rainy Night Patrol
CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Summary: Miguel comes home after a night of patrolling with a lot of pent up tension to find you sound asleep.
Content: Somnophilia, panty-tearing practises (in this fucking economy?!??! I know gurl) jerking off with panties kind of? overprotective Miguel is our favourite Miguel. Rough sex. Multiple orgasms and overstimulation (cause do I evern write anything else anymore?). Implied violence against random street criminals.
A/N: Pre-established relationship with pre-established consent for somnophilia.
Word Count: 4,800
Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist
Rainy nights in New York are the fucking worst.
It brings out the worst in people. Stressed-out bankers who will push old ladies out of their way to get to a seat on the subway. Drunken assholes who piss everywhere, making everything reek, and alleyway mugging seems to increase by a disproportionate amount whenever it's pouring.
It surprises Miguel that street robbery even happens outside of comic books anymore. Do these people not have a computer? Cybercrime is a thing. A successful phishing scam targeting a bank employee can net millions overnight.
Yet here Miguel is, headbutting this public nuisance for trying to rob and assault a sorority girl on her way home, fists eating into the man's face. Even though it is evident by now that there is no way the man has a fighting chance, he refuses to stop. He's hissing and spitting at Miguel, lunging at him with the ferociousness of a rabid racoon.
The easiest solution would be to bite and paralyze and call it a night. But from the reek of stale sweat and copious body Axe spray coming off of this asshole, Miguel has no desire to put any part of this man's body into his mouth.
So here Miguel is, putting this bargain-bin Sylvester Stallone wannabe in a headlock and slamming his head into a street lamp in an attempt to knock the man unconscious, instead of where he wants to be: home, in your questionably sized apartment and lumpy feeling bed.
Christ, he hates this city.
By the time it's all said and done, and everything is wrapped up, it's already past midnight. As he slinks in through the window sill into your bedroom, you're fast asleep.
You're lying on top of the quilts, the bedside lamp still on, which means you've been up waiting for him, even though you're supposed to have an early morning tomorrow. Something, something about how it's year-end and you have to present... something or the other.
It's... endearing that you still do that, try to wait up for him every night, even though you should know by now that more often than not, he'll be home much too late for you to still be awake.
Climbing inside the bedroom, the post-fight adrenaline is still surging through his veins. He's riled up, irritated. There's heat brandishing under his skin that is pushing at the edges begging for an outlet.
He glances in your direction. You look so soft in the dim bedroom light, half of your face buried into the pillow.
No, tonight is not the night. You need your sleep.
With a shake of his head, he walks over to his side of the bed, letting the Unstable Molecule fabric of his suit recede until he's left standing naked in the half-darkness of your bedroom.
Dragging away the sheet, he tucks it over you, you hum and shift in your sleep. Leg swinging Akimbo over to his side before he's even had the chance to lay down. The oversized sleep shirt does nothing to disguise the curves of your body, falling completely off one shoulder and riding up to reveal the tantalizing curve of your bare thigh.
Shit.
His mouth waters at the sight, cock half hard just from watching you. It's not helped by the adrenaline still buzzing in his head. It wouldn't take much to get him the rest of the way there.
Miguel groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the tension growing between his temples. How exactly is he supposed to be getting any sleep with you lying next to him, all soft heat and sweet little hums that make him want to grind up against you like a cat in heat?
The weight in the bed shifts as you roll back away from him. A quiet snore issues from where you’re digging your face deeper into the pillow, clearly exhausted.
Fuck, guess he's just going to have to try. It'd be cruel to wake you now.
He slides into bed next to you, settling for the comforting warmth of you next to him, as he curls one arm around your waist and wraps himself around you. Burying his face into the warm nape of your neck and taking a deep inhale. The smell of your shampoo and soap that pleasantly lingers on his skin, washes away the memories of the stench of rain-soaked streets of this city, the disgusting smell of sulphur and piss.
New York throws a lot of stuff in his way. Muggers, arsonists, would-be murderers. It's nothing he can't handle. And he can handle what it throws at you too. Whether it is torrential rain or some freak force of nature threatening to put you in harm's way, it doesn't matter. He keeps you safe. And despite all the close calls, you're still here. Still alive. Still his.
His hand slides over the curve of your thigh at the thought, needing to feel your warmth underneath his fingertips. Goosebump prickles your skin at his caress, and he watches the way your back arches, pressing into his touch, even in your sleep.
A slow steady warmth blooms in his chest at your reaction. It's a heady blend of protectiveness but also pride. The universe itself can throw any tantrum it wants. He'll protect you from it all.
Your eyes stay shut, still clearly asleep, but your mouth parts with a needy hum, and Miguel gives you what you want, easing your body back into his arms. Like clockwork, you snuggle back against him, and the slight wiggle of your ass brushing against his front ensures there's no half about how hard is dick is anymore.
Needy heat rolls off his back in waves, and he slides one hand under the hem of your shirt and up along the softness of your stomach. If you were awake, you would be leaping away and smacking him for tickling you. But now the touch just makes you stretch and let out a contented little hum, your nipples already drawn up tight and hard for him by the time he reaches them.
Why are you so reactive when you're sound asleep? Part of him thinks you must be doing this on purpose; there's no way you can't be when he feels you shift again, the soft lace of your panties brushing up against his aching cock. He palms your hip, following the edge of the lace down over the curve of your ass, then hesitates.
You only pull out the lacey panties when you really want to rile him up. Saving them for special occasions because (as you never fail to mention while scolding him whenever he's ripped another pair in the heat of the moment) 'fancy underwear isn't cheap!' One of these lacey thrilly little things easily would set you back at $80 a pop. Miguel isn't exactly hard pressed for cash, but he sees your point.
Still Miguel doesn't know what he is supposed to do when you keep pressing back against him the way you are at the moment. He grits his teeth, jaw muscles protesting as he grinds them together, knowing fully well he's fighting a losing battle. It’s really only a matter of time. Miguel isn't a fucking saint, and right now the need riding the length of his spine is burning hot enough to incinerate him.
Oh fuck it!
Hooking a finger around the hem of your panties, he eases them to the side, and his hips hitch forward, rubbing himself against you. Sharp pleasure skitters along his back, and he has to bite down the groan in his throat. He draws back, and does it again, letting his cock ride along the curve of your ass. Letting his aching, leaking cock settle between your cheeks, the delicate lace trapping him in place against you.
You’re definitely gonna bitch at him later for stretching out the elastic. But that's okay, you'll forgive him, the way you always do.
He holds there, gently rolling his hips, doesn't go too forceful or too eager with his thrusts, some half-formed intention to not wake you. Thighs shaking as he savors the contrast between your smooth skin and the textured lace. He tells himself that he should take it slow and not disrupt your sleep. But Miguel's never been a patient man.
His hands are already moving, reaching, before his brain has anything to say about it, fingers hitching your panties even further to the side, and fuck the elastic, he'll buy you a new pair. Shit, he'll buy you twenty new pairs. A whole fucking store of panties if that's what you want.
He pulls back, presses forwards again, cock sliding between those plush thighs, the head, slick with precome, gliding smoothly against you.
And fuuuuuck.
He drops his forehead against your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut to ground himself. He can feel how wet you are, drenching his cock as he skims the hard length over and through your slick folds. You're warm and inviting and oh so fucking tempting. You may still be fast asleep, but your body is telling him it’s oh so very ready for him.
God you feel so fucking good.
Angling his hips, he slides the sensitive head of his dick against your slick folds, notching himself against your entrance, gritting his teeth against the way your pretty pussy clenches at the threat of invasion. He holds himself there, breath hissing between his teeth as he teases you both, with tiny, incremental movements forward, in, and back.
Pleasure swirls through him, hot and heady, his ears buzzing with electricity. He's lost in it, but not so far gone that he misses the noises you're making, your reaction. Those little sounds of dissatisfaction, the way your back arches, pressing your hips back against him. All of it telling him the same thing.
He presses his mouth to the corner of your shoulder. Has to hide the feral grin threatening to break out, because for all his vague intentions of letting you rest, part of him has been waiting for this. Part of him has been aiming for this exact outcome.
You. Awake. Fully ready to take him.
He presses forward again, just far enough that the head of his cock slips inside you, and is rewarded by your body clenching warm and wet around him.
Fuck, you feel too good. You always fucking do. It punches the breath right out of his lungs, needy heat singing through his veins and along every nerve ending in his body until he goes dizzy with it. There are advantages and disadvantages to enhanced senses, and right now, he's fully feeling both. Needs to get on with it, because he intends to have you coming on his cock at least twice before he's done.
Hooking an arm around your waist, he cups your mound. He stays there, pressing with his fingers and the heel of his palm, until he's rewarded by your hips hitching forward into the pressure, then rocking back again, causing you to sink down further onto him. A gasp and a small soft moan falls from between your lips.
He does it again, encouraging you to rock forward and then back again, taking him deeper each time. Inch by brain wracking inch, you take him in. He can feel your tight little pussy stretch around him, adjusting to his cock, as he presses your hips back and back and back until you're taking him all down to the root. Until he’s buried as deep as he can go.
Somehow it's not enough. Not when he's waited this long.
He centers three fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, resting the heel of his hand just above your pubic bone, and then he presses down.
Your pussy clenches tight, and you jolt hard against him, gasping awake with a breathy 'oh' that does funny things to his brain. Makes rational thought skitter away from him, and when he hears his name on a long gorgeous drawn out moan everything inside him roars to attention.
"Miguel."
Satisfaction thrums under his skin. You’re awake, and he wants you awake for this. Wants you to know exactly who is about to fuck your brains out.
"That's right, nena," he croons, easing his hips back, and skimming his lips up from your shoulder to nip at your exposed neck, careful not to break the skin, relishing the sound of the perfect little gasp of yours. "I'm right here. You ready for my big cock, baby?"
"It– mmmmmm– It feels…" you mumble, voice still stumbling and sleepy.
He slams back into you just as you're trying to find your words, taking a bit too much pleasure in interrupting them when he hears you whine out a breathy, "Fuck, fuck!"
"What's that?" Miguel raises a hand to your chin, cradling it in his palm, tilting you back until he can press his lips to the edge of your jaw. "What does it feel like, tell me."
"Fee-feels like– ngh– like I'm already– taking your big cock." Your words are staggered, stuttered out each time he fucks his cock into you, and Miguel smiles.
"You are," he tell you, "You're taking me so well, nena."
It's a struggle for him to get the words out smoothly. He’s rolling his hips at a steady pace, fucking you in earnest now that you're awake to appreciate it. Every slick slide into your needy little pussy has pleasure burning sharp and insistent through his nervous system, overwhelming and inescapable.
He pauses, moving his hand away from your clit for a second, and grins when you whine and clutch at his arm.
"Patience," he scolds you "I've got you. I'm just gonna..."
He tucks his hand under your panties, and you stiffen against him, making a sound like an outraged cat. He knows exactly what you're going to say even before the words leave your lips, so he ignores you, sliding his fingers along the boundary where you're stretched so wide around the base of him, getting them nice and slick.
"You didn't take off my panties!? Miguel, these are my good wuh– oh fuck."
The words cut off when he locates your hard little clit, settling two fingers over it this time, one on each side, the way he knows always drives you crazy.
"What was that, nena?" he bites back a smile, "Something you wanted to say, huh?"
You suck in a breath, but he doesn't give you a chance to answer, fucking into you hard, and wastes no time resuming his former rhythm. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken moan.
"Sorry, baby," he teases, "I didn't quite catch that."
You don't answer. There's no way you're going to, not with the way your body is drawing up tight, gasping for breath as if he's driving every last ounce of oxygen from your lungs.
He knows your body as well as he knows his own, and he has you caught now, like spider with a fly in its web. He keeps holding you tight against him, hips angled to drive up against just the right spot inside you, the one that has you sobbing and clawing at him with every thrust, each one forcing you forward against the fingers he has bracketing your sensitive little clit.
No more words from that smart mouth of yours now, only gasps and whimpers and cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name.
You're clawing at his forearm, breath stuttering in and out of your lungs in staggered gulps. Your heart beating loud and fast and alive in your chest, and he can tell that you're close now. He can feel it in the way your tight little pussy clenches and quivers around him, clutching at his cock like it wants to hold him close, closer, closest.
"Mi– Mi– Mig–" The sound stutters out of you in time with his thrusts, high pitched and desperate—cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name, more whine than words. Pride swells in Miguel's chest at seeing you, hearing you like this, strung out and stuttering on his cock, begging him for your pleasure.
Pleasure that only he can give you.
"That's right, nena." He fucks into you hard. Can feel you clench around him relentlessly.
"I'm right here."
You're squeezing him so goddamned tight.
"Fucking you."
It takes everything in him to hold to the same angle, the same pace. To give you just what you need, the way only he can give it to you.
"Making you come," he bites out.
You writhe against him, whining louder now, sweet noises growing higher pitched.
"Come for me, nena," he demands, and you shudder against him, your voice rising into a wail.
Your hot little cunt clamps down tight, fluttering around him, and bright spots of pain bloom into pleasure as your fingernails dig into his arm, drawing blood. Your pretty eyes flutter shut as the whole of your body tenses under him.
Fuck, you're coming.
"That's– fuck– That's it," he grits out, slowing his thrusts, rocking against you gently to help draw out your orgasm. To buy himself a freaking second so you don’t take him over the edge with you. He keeps the soft rolling rhythm until the wracked shivers seizing your body settles. Counting down the seconds until the grip of your nails into his biceps is easing, and then…
"Again," he demands, snapping his hips forward, fucking into you hard, "Come for me again, nena."
Miguel locks his arm in place, holding you at the angle that will let him hit that perfect spot inside you every time, the one that makes your eyes roll back in your head, and he intends to have you seeing stars. He hears your breath leave you with a strangled noise, feels your pussy clench tight and perfect around his cock, and grins through gritted teeth.
If he times it juuuust right, he can send you over the edge a second time. He's done it before, forcing you into another orgasm before you've even come down from the first, and he’s not above using his enhanced reflexes to make you do it again.
And right now? The way you're writhing against him, hands and arms and pussy clutching at him, like you're trying to pull him closer—pull him in, despite the fact that he's already fucking you as deep as he can go. All of that tells him his timing was spot-fucking-on today.
It doesn't take long. It never does when he makes you come this way. And thank fuck for that, because the feel of you clenching around him is almost enough to take him over the edge with you. He has to grit his teeth as he slows to the gentle rocking rhythm you like best when you’re coming. His free hand fisting in the bed sheets, claws digging into them in a way he knows will earn him another scolding later. But R.I.P. your damn linens. Better them than him. You may have come twice, but Miguel's not ready to be done with you just yet.
This time, when you come down, he keeps things slow and gentle until you go loose and boneless. Forces himself to slows further until every muscle in your body melts under his grip. You sink down into the mattress with a little sigh, like you're ready to drift back off to sleep just like this, safe and snug in his arms, his hard cock still buried inside of you.
And if he wasn't so hard up, skin crawling with need and desperation, maybe he'd let you.
But that’s not happening tonight.
Unfortunately for you, Miguel's too hungry for you. Starving. Wants to lick and bite and swallow you down to the very marrow of your bones.
He's been good. He's been patient. Has held himself back while he made you come. Twice. Satisfaction burns bright in his chest, almost as bright as his need for you. Two fucking times he's gritted his teeth, holding back his own orgasm by the skin of his fucking fangs as that pretty little pussy came around his cock, squeezing him so tight that for a second he was sure he'd black out and see god behind his eyelids.
Miguel is out of patience.
Any intention to go easy on you because you need the rest is gone. Any consideration for your early morning tomorrow has flown the nest.
Hands on each side of your hips, he rolls the two of you, easily flipping you forward onto your stomach and drags you down along the bed. You stay limp and relaxed, as you let him move you like a ragdoll, positioning you the way he wants, head and chest resting against the matress, ass in the air.
Once he's got you where he wants you, he takes just a second to admire you, taking in the way those pretty lace panties highlight the curves of your ass but do nothing to conceal your slick center, pulled to the side as they are, leaving your pussy fully exposed, all pretty and puffy from how well he's fucked you and glistening in the low light.
You shiver under his heavy gaze, and he can see the way your pussy clenches, can see how wet you are, shining slick, halfway down your thighs.
Miguel must've taken too long with his one second. A soft inquisitive "hmmmmm?" emerges from where your head is buried in the pillow, and you rock your hips gently side to side.
His dick jerks at the obvious invitation. Precome oozes from the tip, and he takes himself in hand, lets himself stroke once to spread it along his length, as though he wasn't dripping with you already.
"What's that, nena?" he bites out. He's so fucking hard for you, cock aching from holding back, but even now, he can't help but tease and goad you. "You want more? You didn't get fucked good enough already? Does that pretty pussy want my cock?"
"Mmmmm.... yes," you say, one hand outstretched behind you, making a 'gimme' motion at him.
The gesture is ridiculous, but he can't help the way it makes his chest pull tight. You're always so ready to have him, no matter how much he tires you out. Suddenly, he can't wait another fucking second to be inside you again.
He starts to line himself up, the wet heat of you just kissing the head of his dick when you tense up and make a sound of alarm. Fear stings his spine, and he freezes.
"You okay, nena?" he asks, pulling away from you, suddenly terrified that he's hurt you somehow.
Miguel has always been big—even before the "accident" that changed him—and he's bigger now, exponentially stronger. He’d thought he was being careful, but fuck, it'd be all too easy for him to let his strength get away from him, to go harder than you can handle.
"Are you hurt? Was I- Was I too rough?"
Because he forgets sometimes. Forgets that others don't heal at an accelerated rate like he does. That your body isn't protected by enhanced endurance that lets him walk off falling from a building, barely feeling the six broken ribs and fractured arm that results.
It's why he needs to protect you.
Always.
Unlike him, you can be hurt. Can be broken, can be killed. And if he’s hurt you, then he–
You make a negative sound, shaking your head.
"No, you big doofus," you mumble out into the pillow, and Miguel's heart slowly starts to ease its way out of his throat. "The panties. Take them off first. Don't want them to tear."
He stops, blinking in confusion as his eyes narrow down at you.
Your. Fucking. Panties!?
Really? His mouth curls down into a peeved frown. That's your fucking priority right now? After he's fucked you silly, made you come twice the way only he can?
"You want me to take your panties off, nena?" he demands, tone low and harsh, edging forward on the bed until he’s looming over you.
"Yes," you confirm. "They’re my last good pair." You’re nodding your head energetically in a way that tells him he hasn't done nearly as good of a job of tiring you as he thought. He’ll have to fix that.
With a snarl, he lances the crotch of your panties with a single claw, ripping them off your body.
"Miguel!" you squeak, clearly not expecting that, your voice pitched with disbelief, "Did you just–?"
"They were in the way," he manages to rasp out, lining himself up and pressing forward, unceremoniously shoving inside.
The tight, hot clench of your pretty pussy is blindingly good. It always fucking is. And just like always, Miguel is lost to it. He holds there, buried as deep in you as he can get, shuddering against you. He's damn lucky that extraordinary stamina comes bundled along with super-senses, or he'd probably come every damn time he slips inside you. It'd be all over at the first thrust.
Fuck, he has to move.
He pulls out, and you gasp and claw at the sheets, shuddering under him as he starts to fuck you again. Obscene wet, squelching sounds fill the room, along with the echoing slap of flesh on flesh as he fills you over and over and over. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking perfect. He grits his teeth, trying to get a handle on the feeling, but it’s overwhelming.
Your hot, perfect little pussy clenches and flexes around his dick, and a blissful burn sears against his spine, streaking white and hot with pleasure. A tell-tale sign, warning him of what's to come if he doesn't stop. He sucks in a breath, trying to stave it off, barely hanging on to his control by the tips of his claws because he wants to feel you come around him one more time.
Because twice isn’t enough. Three times won’t be either. Nor would four, five, ten. Miguel’s greedy for you. Selfish. No matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will always want more of you.
More of your soft body pressed up against every inch of his. More of your eyes looking back at him, glazed over as if you have no coherent thoughts left in that pretty head of yours. He wants all of that and more. Another orgasm. Another fuck. Another kiss. One more breath. Just more, more, more.
He curls his hand around your throat, feels the chaotic race of your pulse under his fingertips.
"Come for me, nena," he demands, "I need it. Need to feel you."
He tilts your face up, your back arched like a bow towards him. So fragile. So trusting, that you let him do this to you.
He dips down to claim your lips, snapping his hips into yours faster now. Ramping up the pace as he chases his inevitable climax, forcing you to yours.
You whimper and keen with each thrust, eyes rolling wildly. Your mouth hangs open, panting out sweet, stuttered moans that he swallows in a bruising kiss. Your whole body tenses under him, going rigid, then your pretty pussy starts clenching down around him as you come again.
This time, Miguel can't hold himself back. Doesn't even try. Lets himself succumb to the sight, the sounds, the smell, the feel of you surrounding him, coming for him. His stomach draws in tight, toes curling into the sheets, as he can feel his balls drawing up, cock swelling further as he manages a last few ragged thrusts. Then he’s tumbling over the edge with you, burying himself as deep as he can as the unforgiving bliss rises and spreads, blotting out everything else.
It's endless. Pulses after devastating pulse that won't stop. He comes and comes and comes, emptying himself inside of you until he's lightheaded, barely able to hold himself.
No amount of supernatural stamina can help him in this moment. Not when he can feel his spend filling you to capacity and more, so full that it starts leaking out of you, down the line of your thighs and onto his. His strength gives out, and he collapses into the bed, bringing you down with him.
The two of you lay there, trying to catch your breath. You’re trapped under his weight, your small back heaving under his larger chest, sweat slicking your skin to his. He has no desire to move. Shifts slightly to the side, a concession to your need to breathe, but refuses to go farther than that. He wants to keep you right here, covered and cocooned by his body.
You tilt your head until you can peek over your shoulder at him. There's a look in your eyes, one that he has only ever seen on you. One just for him, filled with exasperated fondness, heat and loving familiarity. One he wouldn’t give up for anything.
"You're getting me new panties."
A warm huff of laughter escapes him. The bright warm glow in his chest spreads outwards, filling him with contentment.
"Sure, nena."
"And coffee in the morning," you add.
He hums in agreement because that's fair. You're going to be in zombie mode otherwise.
"And cupcakes for breakfast," you finish triumphantly.
Miguel turns his head to observe you, the way you're trying to hide that satisfied grin into the pillow to not betray how fucking over the moon you are right now after he's fucked you silly.
Smartass. Always pushing your damn luck. But it's not like he's going to ever say no to you is it?
He puts on a show of sighing loudly with mock exasperation. "From Gladis, yeah?”.
You nod into your pillow.
"Mmhmm."
He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, circling his arm around your waist, easily pulling you to his side.
The rain is still pouring down outside, but here in bed with your warm body pressed up against his side, the sound of it pitter-pattering against the window is almost soothing. He can feel his eyes slipping closed as it lulls him off to sleep.
The rain isn’t so bad when you’re warm and safe in his arms. Nothing is, as long as you’re here with him.
He’ll keep you safe.
Always.
Credits and Dedications: I have to give so so so so much credit to my clown-in-crime @thirstworldproblemss poor woman doesn't even go here, and spent the whole of her evening writing porn to me in my DMs. 90% of the porny parts have been written by her. So for all those who enjoyed this, please go to her inbox and send her much deserved love!!!
I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!
#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara smut#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara fanfiction#oscar isaac#across the spiderverse#spider man 2099#spiderverse fanfiction#miguel ohara x you#marvel#spider man: across the spider verse#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara fic
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Brother's Best Friend - Part 12
Jake Seresin x F!Reader
A/N: Trying to get back into these two. Did we miss them?
Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.
CW: mild angst, swearing, fluff
WC: 2600+
Part 1 | Masterlist
“So…” Jake pauses and purses his lips to suppress a mischievous smile. “When did you start liking me?”
You look down at your lap where his head has been resting for the last five minutes. “Did I tell you I like you?”
Jake meets your gaze and snorts. He reaches up to take your hand off the keyboard of your laptop and brings it down over his chest. “Indirectly,” he admits.
You roll your eyes, recalling when you had expressed to Bradley – in Jake’s presence – how ‘your guy’ makes you feel. You pull your hand out of his grasp and look back up at the screen in front of you. “I have to work, Jake.”
“You’re too hardworking,” Jake responds with a whine.
You shake your head with a grin. “Such a dreadful habit, I know. I’m working on it – wait. Damn, I see what you mean –”
Jake starts chuckling and his head tickles your bare thighs. “You’re so fucking cute.”
You press your lips together as your smile broadens. “When did you start liking me?” you ask.
Jake releases a heavy sigh and sits up. “Alright, enough chitchat. Get to work.”
You watch him rise to his feet and make his way into the kitchen, curious why he so abruptly decided to change the subject. “Got any plans this weekend?” you ask casually, wondering if he’ll finally ask you out on a date. The two of you have been sneaking around for a while, but your only outings together have been with Bradley, so you couldn’t even hold hands. Thus far, you’ve assumed that Jake is just waiting for the right moment to speak with Bradley before the two of you make your relationship official but, as time goes on, you become increasingly skeptical that Jake actually intends to come clean.
Jake shrugs. “Not really. Just hangin’ with your bro.”
You try your best not to frown. “Sounds fun.”
Jake walks back over to you and sets a bowl of strawberries on the table by your laptop. You glance up at him inquisitively and he responds with, “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
You give him a smile. “Neither have you.”
He nods. “Which is how I know you’re hungry.”
“Thanks,” you say. “As soon as I’m through with this part, I’ll move all this shit and we can have some lunch.” You gesture at the pile of literature currently cluttering your workspace.
Jake takes a seat adjacent to you at the table and lets out another sigh. “I don’t know,” he says.
You shift your gaze from your computer to look in his direction. “Don’t know what? If you want lunch?” You pick up a strawberry and pop it into your mouth.
Jake is observing you carefully and you stop chewing because the attention makes you uncomfortable. “I don’t know when…” he says, pausing as though he isn’t sure how to continue. “When, uh… I don’t know at what point” – he exhales sharply – “I have no clue when I f – when I started to see you as more than just Bradley’s sister. As more than a friend.”
You raise your eyebrows at him, your mouth still full of half-chewed strawberry.
“I think I just realized, at one point, that I’d rather spend time with you than with anyone else,” he admits.
You finish chewing awkwardly before responding with, “Huh.”
Jake stares at you expectantly, as though you should have something to add.
But you’re not really sure what to say. You’ve been crushing on Jake for an embarrassingly long time and he does not have clearance for that kind of classified intel, especially since his interest in you is far more recent. What does he want, anyway? A pat on the back for finally figuring it out?
“Your turn,” he says, clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence.
You purse your lips as though you’re in thought. “Not sure,” you say vaguely.
Jake narrows his eyes. “Not sure? Or don’t want to say?”
You meet his gaze tentatively. “I probably liked you before you liked me.”
Jake watches you with a slight grin. “In that case, you were very good at hiding it.”
…
You arrive at the pub already slightly tipsy after pre-drinking at your friend’s house. In fact, you’re drunk enough to not give two shits that Jake has, once again, decided to spend his Saturday night with Bradley. This time, he didn’t even invite you along.
Once inside, you head straight for the bar; no sense in wasting time waiting for a table. You grab a drink and take a look around the crowded establishment. That’s when you see him.
Jake fucking Seresin is sitting at a table near the back – not with your brother. You stare at him – and his female companion – in horror for a few moments, letting the scene sink in. Wondering if you’re in the wrong for being shocked. Are the two of you even exclusive? This has never actually been discussed. But one thing is certain: Jake lied, which makes you sick to your stomach.
You slide off your barstool and, cocktail in hand, you make your way to the little table in the back where your supposed boyfriend – or whatever he is – sits entertaining another woman. It’s not long before Jake notices your presence because you’re making quite a spectacle on your way over as you furiously skirt every person in your path.
Jake looks uncomfortable and that satisfies you greatly. “Hey,” he says when you arrive.
You gape at him. “Hey?” you exclaim in outrage.
“Uh,” Jake stalls for a moment. He turns to his date and says, “This is Bradley’s sister.”
The woman opposite Jake smiles at you but you’re too busy glaring at Jake to acknowledge her. “That’s all you want to say about me?”
Jake watches you pointedly. “What else do you want me to say about you?” He looks back at his date and lets out a nervous chuckle.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Seresin?” you shriek, slamming your stemmed glass onto their table so aggressively that your sour apple martini splashes over the rim.
Jake jerks back to avoid getting wet and then looks up at you in alarm. “What’s the matter with you?”
You shake your head at him in disappointment and then turn abruptly to leave. You expect Jake to grab your hand, or follow you out, but he does neither. In fact, you make it all the way back to the bar before you realize that Jake is not even looking in your direction. You see him laughing together with his female friend, as though they both just witnessed something absurd and worthy of repeating in the future for a good chuckle.
“Hey, isn’t that your brother’s aviator buddy?” your friend says, nodding toward the back of the pub.
You roll your eyes and then turn toward the bar, realizing you left your drink at Jake’s table.
“He’s kind of hot,” you friend continues. “But he’s got fuckboy written all over him.”
You close your eyes and sigh. You have nobody to blame but yourself. You know Jake. What in the world made you think he would become a different person if he were with you?
…
The following day, you wake up past noon with a debilitating migraine. You hear Bradley and Jake’s voices drift up from the kitchen and groan. You’re not in the mood to face Jake after the events of the previous evening. You ended up going home shortly after confronting him and you have no idea where he ended up. Probably in bed, and probably not alone.
You get dressed unhurriedly, dizzy from the pain and, on your way downstairs, you grip the banister tightly just in case. The kitchen is excruciatingly bright, and you cringe upon entering, shielding your face from the open window like a vampire.
“Oh, hey sleepyhead!” your brother greets you.
You grunt in response and head straight for the coffee pot. “Is this fresh?” you ask.
“Nope!” Bradley replies cheerily.
You pour yourself a mug anyway and put it in the microwave, turning to face the two of them while your coffee warms.
Jake meets your gaze with a stoic expression.
“How was your night?” Bradley asks with a grin, clearly seeing that you’re hungover.
“Fine,” you say monotonously.
Bradley raises his eyebrows. “It’s the enthusiasm for me,” he says with a smirk, looking over at Jake.
Jake, however, ignores him and grabs his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “You ’bout ready, Bradshaw? I ain’t got all day.”
“Alright, alright,” Bradley says. “Let me get my stuff.”
Bradley jogs over to the staircase and runs up to grab his duffel bag. Meanwhile, you are deliberately avoiding Jake’s gaze as you lean your back into the kitchen counter. Jake stuffs his hands into his pockets and is also not looking at you. When Bradley returns a few minutes later, disrupting the silence with a melodic whistling, the two of you have not moved an inch from where you’d been standing when he left. Even though the microwave has beeped at you twice.
“What’s with you two?” he asks, pausing in the doorway.
“Nothing,” Jake responds curtly. “Let’s go.”
Bradley glances between the two of you. “Okay,” he says slowly, his gaze lingering on you in particular. “See you later, sis,” he says.
You wave a distracted hand in his direction and head for the couch with your coffee, nearly bumping into Jake as you cross paths because neither of you is looking at the other.
“Sorry,” Jake mutters, stepping aside to let you pass. His hand goes up instinctively to guide you but he catches himself before letting it rest on your arm.
“It’s fine,” you say, wavering slightly on the spot. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and press a couple of fingers into your temple.
“You okay?” he asks, his eyebrows converging as he tries to catch your gaze.
“I said I’m fine.” You sigh, trying to walk around him.
“Seresin, you coming, or what?” Bradley calls from the foyer.
Jake hesitates as you finally pass him, and then yells back. “I’ll meet you there!”
Bradley waits a moment as though he’s still trying to figure out what’s going on. Then you hear the front door open and Bradley shout, “Don’t be late!” as he exits the house.
Jake trails after you into the living room and, when you lower yourself onto the couch, he crouches down in front of you, placing a hand on your knee. “Migraine?” he asks.
You nod slowly so as not to exacerbate the pain.
Jake’s hand gives your leg a soft squeeze. “Have you eaten?”
You cringe. “Please don’t talk to me about food right now,” you beg.
“Did you take anything?”
You shake your head. “I’m out.”
Jake gets to his feet. “I’ll go pick up some meds for you,” he says.
You glance up at him miserably. “You’re going to be late.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he responds, already on his way out.
…
Jake returns not ten minutes later with your medication and a bag full of snacks. “I heard dark chocolate is good for migraines,” he says, holding out a block for you as you swallow your pills.
“I’m not hungry, Jake,” you say weakly, closing your eyes and lying back down on the couch.
Jake sighs, sitting down on the floor beside you and starting to unwrap the chocolate. “You need to eat something,” he says, breaking off a piece. “I also have gummy worms and popcorn.”
You open your eyes. “I love gummy worms,” you whisper.
Jake grins. “I know,” he whispers back.
You take the chocolate square from his hand and he busies himself with opening the bag of gummy worms while you let the chocolate melt in your mouth. A moment later, he hands you a gummy worm and you stick it between your teeth and bite. “Oh my god, it’s so good,” you moan. The motion of chewing helps alleviate some of the pain in your temple and you sigh blissfully, closing your eyes.
Jake leans his back into the wall adjacent the couch and pops a gummy worm into his mouth. For a while, the two of you sit in silence. Then, he says, “You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” you say.
Jake shakes his head and you can sense his irritation without even looking at him. “This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me.”
You turn to give him a flat look. “Would you trust you, Seresin?”
Jake squares his jaw. “I have never given you a reason not to trust me.”
“You lied to me! You said you were meeting Bradley!”
“I was! He was running late.”
You watch him sourly. “And you just happened to pick up a girl while you were waiting?”
Jake returns your bitter glare. “Is that actually what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” you say, sitting upright to look him in the eye. “You weren't exactly forthcoming with an explanation.”
Jake sets the gummy worms on the couch and gets to his feet. “The girl was there for Bradley. He was running late. End of story.”
“You couldn’t tell me that yesterday?”
“She’s seeing Bradley! And he doesn’t know about us. It’s not like I can say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m actually dating your boyfriend’s little sister and that’s why she’s acting like a nutcase. Brb.’”
You fold your arms, sulking. Did you consider the possibility that the woman Jake was sitting with wasn’t his date? Briefly. But you were already annoyed with Jake and that, combined with your less than sober state, was apparently a recipe for disaster. “I guess I don’t trust you,” you say with a shrug, even though this statement isn’t altogether true.
Jake places his hands on his hips, exhaling slowly. “Why?” he asks, sounding exasperated.
You stay silent and continue to brood.
Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces as though this conversation is wearing him out. Then, he lets out another sigh and crouches before you again, trying to catch your gaze as he places his hands in your lap, palms up. “Why?” he asks calmly, waiting for you to join hands with him.
You do. “Well, why would I?” you say quietly, hesitating before you continue. “What is this, even? What are we? Do you know? Because I don’t.”
Jake’s eyebrows knit together. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, why haven’t you told Bradley yet? Is it because you’re not sure you want to make this official? Is it because it’s just a fling so why bother?” You cringe inwardly, hating how insecure you sound.
Jake stares at you in wonder, as though this line of thinking has never even crossed his mind.
“Like, are we even exclusive?”
Jake’s eyes widen and he blinks at you in awe. “We fucking better be,” he retorts, his hold on your hands tightening slightly.
“Well, how would I know that?” you exclaim.
Jake brings his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes. “Jesus fuck, how would you not know that?”
You scoff at him. “Because you’ve never once been in an exclusive relationship! Not while I’ve known you, anyway. Do you even know how?”
Jake’s hands slide down his face and stay over his mouth as he gapes at you. When his hands finally drop back into your lap, you can see that he’s got a small smile on his face. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he says finally.
You lower your gaze, not exactly comforted considering he still has not addressed your main concern: Bradley.
Jake stands up and pulls you up off the couch. He puts his arms around you and you rest your head against one of his giant shoulders, allowing him to cradle you lovingly.
“Why haven’t you told Bradley?” you mutter into his shirt.
Jake pulls away from you and runs a hand through his hair uneasily. “I’m scared, Baby B,” he admits. “I’m scared he’s gonna make me choose.”
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⋆.ೃ࿔* ── 𝐃𝐈𝐘-𝐃𝐀𝐃!
it’s career day, and megumi has to bring his dad to school so he can tell the class about his job. the problem? he only has a 20-year-old sorcerer-guardian who has the brain capacity of a walnut.
content. canon divergence (suguru’s alive and studying to be a kindergarten teacher), possible ooc characters, female!reader.
notes. guys i’m a sucker for satoru who really, really tries and isn’t just a goofy man-child ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ also ! thank you all for your patience, it took me a while to finish this piece bc of uni, so i'm vv happy it's finally done <3
taglist. | masterlist.
“I don’t have a dad.”
As cruel as it may be, a part of Megumi hopes that the sentence makes his teacher greatly uncomfortable. Demanding for a father to attend a Career Day at school simply isn’t fair to children without one—or, well, to the child without one. It’s not his fault his father hauled ass and left, so why is she making this so difficult for him?
“Oh,” she mumbles. It seems his arrow hit the target, as her eyebrows pull together in a frown and she shifts her weight between her feet. “Well, you, uh, have a male guardian, don’t you?”
Megumi grimaces. Instantly, he thinks back to last week. Satoru Gojo, self-proclaimed strongest, had hit his head on a kitchen cabinet. With a dramatic pout and an overexaggerated wobble to his lips, he clung to you for hours. Some affection will make it all better!
Of course, when Megumi criticised his skills surrounding his infinity technique—because, really, how couldn’t it block a simple cabinet—the sorcerer opted to ignore him. He suspects there was some foul play at hand.
“Barely,” he mutters, as the memory resurfaces.
His teacher lets out a startled hum. “I’m sorry?”
“Nothing,” Megumi says quickly. He watches as she starts typing on her computer, and the realisation that she’s probably currently taking a look at his file isn’t a particularly welcome one. “What about my other guardian? Can I bring her, instead?”
“This event is geared towards fathers,” she explains. It’s obvious she forgot her reading glasses today, Megumi thinks, as she needs to narrow her eyes to read the screen in front of her. “I have one Satoru Gojo noted down as your male guardian. Surely, he will be able to attend.”
Megumi pauses. He blinks up at her expressionlessly, and fights off the urge to push his teacher down a well. You often preach about being kind to others, and that wouldn’t be very kind.
“Can’t I take my oth—”
“I’m afraid not,” she interrupts him before he even gets the sentence out. It irks him. Megumi isn’t fond of speaking to begin with, so when he does, he’d prefer not to be cut off halfway through. “An exception will not be made. Please, make sure to bring Gojo-san to school.”
Megumi briefly, and for the very first time ever, mourns the fact that you and Satoru weren’t married. A small part of him calls the man a coward for not asking you to. If he’d simply taken the step, then Megumi would be able to pass you off as Gojo-san. Unfortunately, he can’t, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that there’s no way around this problem.
“Fine,” he grumbles. It takes all of his remaining willpower to not stomp out of the classroom. Once again, he thinks of you. It’d be extremely bad manners. He can’t find it in himself to wish his teacher a nice day this time, though, and so she’ll have to make due with a slightly less polite Megumi for today.
There’s nothing he can do about it. Satoru will have to come to the school.
Megumi suddenly despises the idea of Career Day.
“I need you to come to my school next week.”
Immediately, all chatter around the dining table stops. For once, Megumi finds himself annoyed at the sudden appearance of silence. Before he said it, he knew his words would most likely have such an effect—he just didn’t expect it to be so instant.
He tries his best to feign nonchalance, as if the topic that’s coming up didn’t make him feel stressed-out beyond belief. The confused, startled glances you and Satoru share don’t do much to help him, either. Perhaps it’s because Megumi is looking straight at him; him instead of you. Yeah, Satoru, he isn’t a fan of it, either.
“Me?” The man asks then, and Megumi has to resist the urge to say, ‘no, I meant the snail in the backyard—yes, you,’ in the most sarcastic voice he can muster up. Satoru once again steals a look at you, ever so oblivious to Megumi's mental remarks. “Don’t you mean—”
“I don’t,” Megumi cuts him off solemnly. His lips are pursed shut, and he pokes the slices of pork belly in his bowl with his chopsticks. One didn’t need to be of particularly high intelligence to notice the boy’s displeasure. “I have to bring a male figure for Career Day.”
It’s slow, the morphing of Satoru’s face, but it happens gradually and doesn’t stop until he’s positively beaming. Megumi doesn’t like it one bit. Nothing good happens when he looks like that, and he’s quite sure that all that will spew out of his mouth in a few seconds will be nothing except for pure nonsense.
“Well, luckily, I will have the day off, then!” Satoru chimes, with a smile so wide it causes two dimples to appear on his cheeks. You copy his smile, and gently go to poke the little dent in his skin—Satoru lets you, as he always does. Megumi would think of it as cute if he weren’t so annoyed. “I will be there.”
It seems he was right. Satoru’s words are pure nonsense.
“I didn’t tell you when,” he comments dryly.
The sorcerer blinks. His smile is still on his face, but it’s fading, and the dimples do so with it. Your hand hovers halfway in the air, stuck with nothing to poke, and you slowly bring it back down to your side. It seems neither of you had taken time to think about that small fact—Megumi blames Satoru for dragging you down with him; him and those indentations in his cheek that you always seem to coo over.
“Oh,” Satoru mumbles. A crease between his brows forms as his brain hurries to catch up with the newfound information. A few seconds pass, and then the previous bravado returns. “Well, it doesn’t matter! I can take the day off. When do you need me? Tell me, and I’ll be there.”
Megumi very much doubts he can take days off all willy-nilly like that, especially after he pushed his workload onto someone else to attend his science fair last time, but then again, what does he know? If Satoru didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, then Megumi wasn’t about to break his own head doing so, either.
“Next Friday,” he mumbles. From the tone of his voice, it’s quite clear that he’d rather be saying anything else. “We have to leave at eight a.m., please, be on time.”
“Sure thing!” Satoru chimes, and with that, Megumi thinks the dreaded conversation has finally come to an end.
All in all—it could’ve gone worse. At least Satoru didn’t prolong it unnecessarily. Nor did he add a bunch of relentless teasing. He glances at the sorcerer. Satoru is happily munching on the dinner you’d prepared, both his cheeks stuffed full with entirely too much rice. It’s unbecoming, and a reflection of his poor manners, Megumi thinks, and he doesn’t understand how you look at the man with such hearts in your eyes.
Though, your more than adequate cooking seems to have saved him from one of Satoru’s onslaughts. He’s grateful. Even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight in front of him.
“Hey, ‘toru?” You ask, breaking the silence with a slight hesitation to your voice. It nearly sounds nervous, and both Megumi and Tsumiki look up in alarm. Satoru hums, still chewing away. “What are you going to tell the class?”
Satoru stops eating. His chewing comes to a halt, and his chopsticks freeze in the air. A slice of pork drops from between them, and falls back into his bowl—It’s not hard to see the cogs turning in his head. “Uhm, I. . .” He swallows the food still in his mouth, and clears his throat.
Right. It’s Career Day—but Satoru can’t tell a bunch of seven to eight-year-olds that he hunts and kills grimy, ugly, and freakishly scary curses for a living, now, can he? Megumi doesn’t think that would go over well with the other parents. The boy sighs. It’s just one thing after another. He grimly believes the world might just be out to get him.
“I. . .Oh! I can tell them I’m a teacher,” his guardian scrambles for a solution, and Megumi can’t help but think it’s a little lack-lustre. Who would believe that guy is a teacher, anyway? Then again. . .Megumi doesn’t know a better fix for their current problem, either. He was so focused on the fact that it was Satoru that had to come to the school, he all but forgot about the fact that the dear thorn-in-his-side didn’t possess a normal job. “Suguru has told me a thing or two about his internship. I can take inspiration from there.”
Ah, yes. The famed Suguru Geto. Megumi has met him before. He hasn’t actually spoken to him, however. The man often visits, and has twin girls clinging to him when he does, and while Tsumiki seems to really like him—and them—Megumi doesn’t have an interest in seeking out some form of interaction, yet. Whenever he comes over, Megumi opts to hide in his room. Suguru never tries to disturb him, nor does he try to coax him into coming out. He’s very grateful for it.
So, despite never speaking to him, Megumi knows about Suguru. Well, he knows enough. He knows Suguru went to school with the two of you, and he knows something really, very bad (nearly) happened that caused the man to take a step back from the world you all live in. What exactly happened (or what didn’t happen), Megumi doesn’t know for sure. You and Satoru almost never speak about it, and when you do, it’s in hushed voices—and you always stop immediately when he enters the room.
But that’s okay. He doesn’t need to know. Suguru doesn’t force himself upon Megumi, and so he will extend him the same courtesy.
“I thought Geto-san wasn’t a teacher, yet?” Tsumiki speaks up from beside him, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “Mimi and Nana said he’s still learning. How can he be teaching, already?”
“He’s not a teacher, yet, munchkin, well spotted,” Satoru answers with a proud grin. The nickname annoys Megumi—the feeling of irritation has been conditioned into his very being after Satoru chose it as the designated nickname for both of them. “An internship helps him build experience in the field. It means he is still learning, but he will do so while teaching.”
Tsumiki nods in understanding, her mouth opens and her lips curl into a small ‘ah’ as the information settles in. “So, you will pretend to be a teacher, then? At Megumi’s school?”
Satoru bites on his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. Seemingly—as Megumi is quite convinced he doesn’t ever think before he speaks. “I think so, yes,” he explains, and unknowingly retorates Megumi’s train of thoughts. How annoying. Satoru looks towards you for approval; it’s something he does very often. “It’s probably the safest route, no?”
“It’s our best option,” you say, and bring a thumb up to the corner of Satoru’s mouth. Gently, you wipe away a grain of rice stuck to his skin. It’s effortless, and nearly automated. Megumi wonders how many times you’ve had to do that. “Pretending to be a teacher shouldn’t be too difficult a task. Right, mochi?”
“Right,” Satoru echoes. His eyes track your every move, and the slight, pink colouring of his cheeks doesn’t seem to embarrass him even a little bit. Megumi thinks it should. Have some decorum. “I can do it, no problem.”
“Alright then,” you say, and smile. First at Satoru, and then at Megumi. You look at the boy for a few seconds; you’re about to ask him if he’s okay with it. He knows you are, because you always do. “Is that okay for you, Megumi?” It’s like clockwork, almost.
Megumi feels the need to answer with something snarky. Something akin to the sound of ‘What choice do I have?’ but he doesn’t—because you’re being kind, and you don’t deserve such a response. So, instead he turns towards Satoru.
“. . .Just don’t mess it up.”
Satoru delivers a whole spiel about how ‘he’d never do that’ and that he’s ‘more than capable’ of telling a little white lie, but Megumi dilutes it to background noise rather quickly. He continues sputtering his nonsense when Megumi and Tsumiki stand up to clear the table, and still hasn’t stopped even when you and him start loading the dishwasher together—Megumi chooses to seek reprieve in his room while he’s distracted.
It isn’t until many hours later, when Megumi leaves the sanctuary of his room to swipe a quick snack from the kitchen, that he first hears Satoru speak about something other than his great, and very much sufficient, ‘capabilities’. Your voices are muffled, and Megumi has to focus to make out your words. His soft, inaudible padding down the illuminated hallways comes to a halt. As if that would make his ears function better.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Satoru?”
The boy frowns. With such gentleness in your voice, it’s hard to identify the worry lingering beneath the surface. Megumi moves a bit closer. He stops one step shy of bumping into the wooden surface, and peeks through the groove. The door is ajar—it’s something that allows him to watch how your eyes follow Satoru’s large frame as he paces around the room. It’s strange. Seeing him so. . .frazzled.
Satoru nods. “I can do this, I know I can,” he says, and quits his pacing to look at you. Megumi can’t see his face, but he can see yours. He might as well not have, though, as he can’t make out the emotion that fills your eyes. It’s not one he himself has in his repertoire, that he knows for sure. “He never asks me for anything, princess. I have to do this right.”
Ah, this isn’t a conversation Megumi is meant to hear. He should probably seize his eavesdropping, he thinks, and winces a little when he properly analyses Satoru’s words. They’re truthful. Megumi doesn’t go to him when he needs something. His first thought is to go to you—and his second, Tsumiki. And if he’s being honest anyway, his third thought very likely isn’t Satoru, either; He’d try to solve it on his own if it came down to it. Megumi frowns again. He doesn’t like how that realisation makes him feel.
A careful shuffle of footsteps breaks him free from his thoughts. Megumi looks up, and catches how you place a hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do great, baby,” you mumble. There’s a small, soft smile on your lips, one that quickly makes way for the peck Satoru places upon them.
“Thank you,” Satoru whispers. One of his hands reaches for yours, and Megumi suddenly feels as if he’s intruding on something when the man brings them up to his lips to press a tender kiss to them. Okay, no, definitely intruding—ew.
The boy scrunches his nose up in disgust, and hurriedly darts back towards his room. Suddenly, he has lost his appetite for a late-evening snack. Megumi lets out a deep sigh once he’s all tucked into his sheets again. Perhaps giving Satoru a shot wouldn’t be that big of a problem. Just one, though.
. . .Yeah, just one should be enough.
It’s the final, conclusive thought Megumi has before dozing off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the conversation you and Satoru share—now behind a very closed door.
You stifle a giggle. The disappearance of Megumi’s presence outside your bedroom was quick and rampant as soon as Satoru started to kiss your hands. Something the sorcerer did very deliberately. It’s as if the boy suddenly forgot about the very special, very effective pair of eyes his guardian possesses. And with a cursed energy output such as Megumi’s, it would be hard not to recognise his presence.
“You did that on purpose,” you comment. “How cruel of you, mochi.”
Satoru hums, and kisses the inside of your wrist. “Maybe, the little brat shouldn’t eavesdrop, then,” he defends himself. There isn’t an inkling of guilt to be seen on his pretty face.
. . .Though, both of you still take some extra care to shut the door next time.
Megumi faithfully believes that, as of today, he has used-up all of his luck for the next five, no, ten years. It can only go downhill from here. For some inexplicable, mind-boggling reason—Satoru is actually pulling this off. That’s not all; he’s not merely winging it, he’s genuinely doing well. The boy can’t quite believe his eyes.
When he’d walked to the front with such an overexaggerated pep in his step, and an overabundance of bravado rolling off of him in waves—Megumi couldn’t help but watch on with a grim look, and a healthy dose of negative thoughts. It only amplified the nerves he’d collected so far during the walk to school. Somehow, watching Satoru give your flashcards a frantic do-over did very little to ease his bubbling anxiety.
There were many of them, flashcards that is. All possible questions his peers or his teacher could ever think of are written on those little pieces of cardboard. Courtesy of you, and your boyfriend. Megumi’s able to recall all those nights the two of you spend at the kitchen table—practising. He thought it was silly at the time.
But, as it turns out, it works.
Satoru is fun. To other people; Megumi doesn’t share the sentiment. Against all odds, he’s dynamic, and speaks with conviction. His flamboyant hand gestures have others think of them as amusing—captivating, even. Satoru is talking, and they’re all hanging onto his every word. No matter the fact that they’re all cleverly disguised lies.
Megumi can’t wrap his head around it. He doesn’t need to, however. If anything, he’s relieved that his peers think of his guardian as cool. While he certainly does not share the opinion, he isn’t too dense to admit that such a belief will save him a lot of embarrassment in the future. So, for this one, single day, he will let Satoru Gojo be cool. His snarky comments can resume tomorrow.
“Ah, it seems you have a deep love for your profession, Gojo-san,” his teacher says. She interrupts Satoru’s rant, and catches his attention as well as Megumi’s. Her voice is light and airy, and carries nothing that should cause him to fear the worst. Still, the boy feels on edge. “Though, I don’t remember the grade you are teaching. Could you tell us, again?”
Ah, and there it goes. The very first card in the elaborately built castle of lies.
Satoru pauses. A second passes, and then two, and three, and so on. He doesn’t speak for a good thirty, and Megumi can nearly see his mind leaf through his beloved flashcards—flashcards that are now neatly tucked into his pockets and entirely out of reach. That’s good. Because the absolute last thing Satoru should do now, is resort back to the flashcards.
Megumi shakes his head no as a signal.
“Ah,” Satoru says. “I teach kindergarten.”
Satoru didn’t catch the hint. Megumi wishes the ground would swallow him up. It would have been the correct answer—it is the answer that’s written on the flashcards—if Satoru hadn’t decided to go off route. Getting too caught up in the story he’d been free-writing, and allowing himself to get carried away by the looks of awe is resulting in his downfall, which, consecutively, will end with Megumi’s downfall, as well.
“Huh? But! What about the science experiment that exploded?” One of the children in his class whines. “I didn’t get to do that in kindergarten!”
“And the backflip you taught your students!”
“What about the first prize in the talent show? I thought your students were famous!”
The little bit of colour that normally resides in Satoru’s face steadily disappears, and he clenches his fist at his side. Ah, it’s great to know he’s at least aware of his mistake. That won’t help either of them at the moment, though. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow, and a feeling of distress overtakes him. It shows on his face. He doesn’t exactly go through the trouble of trying to hide it—there are bigger problems right now.
How utterly humiliating to be caught lying.
Satoru’s eyes find him. They’re just as troubled as his own. It worsens his anxiety.
“Oh, uhm, you see. . .” Satoru stammers, and Megumi’s stomach churns when the children around them continue to ask more and more questions. The wince his guardian lets out does little to soothe him. Megumi sighs, and looks at the ground. “Ah, I see. It seems you guys saw right through me.”
Megumi slides down in his seat. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, the ground would absorb him. It’s currently looking like a preferable fate.
“. . .I’m actually a detective.”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
“And. . .And for a detective, it’s very important to listen to what people say, because they could be lying!”
It’s a sad, pathetic excuse for a save. Megumi briefly ponders the distance between his seat and the door. Perhaps he could make a run for it. The subway station is very close by—getting on and travelling to an entirely new city to start a new life doesn’t seem like such a bad option. He sighs. No, that’s not possible. You and Tsumiki would be very worried. What else is there to do, though?
“You all picked up on my lie, which tells me every single one of you could make a great detective in the future.”
Megumi thinks Satoru might have some underlying mental problems. Though, they can’t possibly be as severe as the problems his classmates have—for they all believe the nonsense he’s giving them. Bright eyes, filled with hope and admiration, stare up at the man at the front of the class; impressed hums and entertained smiles get passed between the parents standing at the edge of the room. And Satoru, well, he seems entirely too proud of the fact that he made a bunch of children think they’re destined for a career in law enforcement. But, be that as it may, it works.
The children stir up unrest—the good kind this time, the kind that vocalises their excitement—and all rush to ask the detective a question. But, before they can even open their mouths, Satoru claps his hands together. It seems he has decided enough is enough, and it’s one of those very rare moments where Megumi agrees with him. The boy needs this to be over already.
“Alright, that’s it for today,” Satoru says, and feigns disappointment. He pretends to be affected by the sad groans of the children—keyword being pretend, as to the trained eye it’s quite clear that he wishes to leave. “I’m not allowed to tell you more.”
Ah, see, now that’s a good card.
“Wait, but, what about. . .”
“Ah, sorry, that’s confidential. Detective stuff, y’know?”
Confidential. Megumi thinks that might just be his new favourite word. The lingering feeling of anxiety slowly starts to subside with every step Satoru takes towards the back of the room—to the back, and away from the spotlight. His eyes follow the man’s large frame, but Satoru never chooses to look at him in return. His line of sight is firmly focused on the floor. It confuses Megumi, but he chalks it up to a mere whim.
All things considered (and minus the near cardiac arrest he went through), today went pretty well, after all. Much to his surprise.
Perhaps Megumi doesn’t hate Career Day. A strong dislike is more like it.
Megumi can’t count the times he wished for Satoru to be quiet. The exact number is much like the digits of Pi—huge, and absolutely never-ending. He can, however, count the times he didn’t wish for him to be quiet. As of today, that stands at a very solid one.
The birds around them chirp, and the bustle of other people is heard all around them—but they’re the only sounds gracing his ears. There is none of Satoru’s incessant chatter, nor is there even a glimmer of gloating about a job well-done. It’s eerily silent, and Megumi isn’t sure what to make of it. This isn’t quite how he imagined the walk home to go. Far from it, if he’s being honest.
“What’s up with you?”
It’s possibly the first time Megumi decides to break the silence, ever. The boy frowns, and fiddles with the straps of his backpack. There isn’t a middle-ground with Satoru, he has found out. Either he speaks entirely too much, or unnervingly little. There’s a tiny pebble in his path, and Megumi feels the need to kick it forward—so he does.
“I kind of messed up there, huh?”
The kick doesn’t have nearly enough force to it. Megumi watches as the little rock skips forward. Once, twice, and then it comes to a standstill again. “Yeah, kind of,” he agrees.
“I’m sorry,” Satoru rushes out. It’s said so fast, as if it physically pains him to say it. Perhaps it does. It’s sincere, however. There isn’t even a hint of a joke to be found. Something must be bothering him. “It didn’t go how I wanted it to go, and I don’t know why I went astray, and forgot about the cards. It—well, it was pretty stupid.”
Megumi doesn’t exactly feel the need to deny it.
“So, I get it, okay?” He continues, seeing the boy’s silence as an empty space for more conversation—more rambling. Since that’s what it is; rambles, plain and simple. Megumi doesn’t see the need for such a fuss. “I shouldn’t have strayed from the plan, and. . .”
“It’s fine.”
Satoru blinks at him. “What?”
“I said it’s fine,” Megumi repeats. Because it really is fine. Admittedly, it wasn’t smart of Satoru to all but discard your carefully planned presentation, but it ended well enough regardless. No harm, no foul. “Thank you for coming.”
That small, short sentence is enough to stop Satoru in his tracks. Megumi doesn’t, however. The man is very tall, he’s sure to catch up in a jiffy; he doesn’t need him to wait. There’s another small silence, though this one feels a lot more comfortable than the last. Satoru takes his time to process, and Megumi lets him.
“W—What?” The sorcerer stammers in shock. There is no need for Megumi to turn around and see—he can hear the smile curling onto his lips. “Did you just. . .”
“I won’t say it again,” Megumi grumbles definitively, and picks up his pace. The very tips of his ears heat up, and the apples of his cheeks turn red. The feeling of embarrassment. This wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned it to appear when the day started.
Satoru attempts to run after him, to catch up. “Megumi!” He calls out, the very prominent, very familiar whiney lilt now back in his voice. Megumi didn’t miss it. “Wait for me, I didn’t hear you! Could you repeat that?”
“Yes, you did!” Megumi says, and throws him an annoyed glance from over his shoulder. He tightens his hold on the straps of his backpack. “Stop lying.”
“Nuh uh!”
“What are you? Six?”
Satoru’s toothy grin is infuriating. But—it’s familiar. And Megumi discovers he’s much more at ease when that grin is on display, than when the man in question is moping around. It’s a lot less alarming.
“And a half,” Satoru adds.
The scowl that’s on Megumi’s face appears almost instantly when he goes to ruffle his hair. For a man whose technique largely surrounds being untouchable, he has a surprising lack of awareness concerning this thing called personal space.
“Ugh,” Megumi groans, and pushes him off. It doesn’t work. Satoru gravitates towards him again—almost as if he’s a magnet. He doesn’t attempt to move a second time. In moments like these, it’s best to let Satoru get it all out of his system. “You’re so stupid.”
It’s true. He does think Satoru is stupid, but he can’t deny it—Satoru tried his very best today, and in the days prior. Which makes him one of the very small, barely existent group of people who have done so for him.
It seems one shot was enough, after all.
© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.
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#ꕤ — sanatomis darling: fushiguro megumi#ꕤ — sanatomis darling: gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader#fushiguro megumi x platonic!reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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guys my age | myg (m)
title: guys my age
pairing: yoongi x f!reader
genre: m , smut , mom's boyfriend au , age gap
summary: you and your mom have been living in her new boyfriend's house for a couple of weeks. it's a little hard adapting to living there but on a weekend your mom is out of town and you've invited a guy to the house for a quick and disappointing hookup, yoongi lets you know he's more than willing to help you out.
warnings: [just for the teaser] brief sexual encounter with another guy, bad sex, age gap, kind of dubious consent, yoongi kiiiiiiind of manipulates reader
wordcount: 1.5k (just the teaser)
drop date: not really sure but it will probably drop next month
note: hey :) this is my next fic !!! i'm super excited for this one. i'm still working on basic needs part 3 though, just be patient
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you still get lost in this house, you realize you do when you stop by the middle of one of the hallways in complete confusion because you don’t even know where the office is.
it’s normal to need time to adapt to a new place, you already knew that when you moved with your mom into her new boyfriend, but two weeks have passed since you moved to this house and you’ve lost even the way back to your room now.
it’s only when you hear the noise of a keyboard that you turn to the end of the hallway to the right and see light coming from a room with the door just a little open. that’s the office.
you walk down the hallway hesitantly and knock two times on the door, only opening it all the way when you hear that deep voice saying ‘come in’.
“hi,” you say quietly as you stand by the door. yoongi is working but he takes a break from all of the papers on his desk and his computer to look up at you and take his glasses off. “i- i’m sorry, am i bothering?”
“no, don’t worry,” he seems shakes his head and smiles sweetly at you. “is everything okay?”
“yeah, everything is okay... i just wanted to ask you something.” you bite your lower lip, already sensing the negative response coming.
“sure, what is it?” yoongi leans back on his chair and crosses his arms.
“my mom never lets me bring anyone home, so now that she’s not here for the weekend... i was wondering if you would let me bring someone in, since this is your house.” you let it out as fast as you can, like ripping off a bandage.
“you wanna bring someone over,” yoongi nods slowly to himself as if he’s processing what you just told him so you hum in affirmation. “a friend?” he tilts his head to the side a little, as if he’s testing you.
“uh, well...” you feel your cheeks burn and he seems to get it right away.
“your mom warned me as soon as she left that you would try to sneak someone in.” he says and that’s when you know you’re done.
“okay.” you say quietly, your shoulders dropping in disappointment.
but yoongi speaks again, “he can come over.”
you look up again with wide eyes and see that he has a smile on his face. “really?” you ask in disbelief. you really expected him to say no.
“sure, but don’t cause any trouble.” he warns and you nod immediately.
“thank you, yoongi oppa.” you bow before turning around again and walking out of the office.
it turns out not being that good of an idea to bring the boy you’ve been talking to for a few days over to this house.
“fuck yeah...” the boy hovering over you groans as he keeps fucking you at a way too rough pace for your liking, not hurting you but straight up not making you feel good. “does that feel good baby?” he mutters against your ear and you almost want to laugh but you just fake a moan before saying, “yeah.”
he obviously comes on your stomach and just starts getting dressed again, like sex is over as soon as he comes. he doesn’t even stay, just leaves you there alone feeling completely dirty and empty. and it’s not the first time you have a sex experience as bad as this one, in fact, all of your sexual encounters with guys always end like this.
you only get up from the bed when you decide that you have to at least clean his now drying cum from your stomach. you clean it with some wipes but you still feel dirty, so after putting on an old big shirt and some sweatshorts you walk out of your room and make your way to the closest bathroom with the intention of taking a quick shower.
but just as you turn to the next hallway you stomp against someone’s chest.
“woah, careful.” yoongi’s voice makes you step back and look up at him.
“sorry...” you mumble and quickly look down again in embarrassment because you probably still look a little fucked out.
“did your friend leave already?” yoongi asks, not showing any interest in wanting to walk away so you sigh and look up again, nodding in response. “are you okay?”
your heart starts racing with how he’s looking at you, like he’s analyzing every detail on your expression.
“yeah, yeah. i’m okay.” you nod anxiously and almost flinch when he reaches out to you with his hands, putting the back of it against your forehead.
“do you have a fever?” yoongi asks with a little frown, like he’s actually worried, but you catch the way his lips curl into a little smirk as soon as you’re about to panic.
he’s teasing you. of course he knew what you’ve been doing.
“please don’t tell my mom.” you say as he drops his hand from your forehead. he smiles.
“brat can’t go a day without having a cock inside,” he chuckles and your mouth opens for you to say something but you’re left completely speehless because never in a million years you would’ve expected him to speak like that to you. “don’t think i don’t notice when you sneak boys inside my house. you were nice for asking this time, though. didn’t expect you to.”
“i...” words don’t even leave your mouth, so shocked that he knows everything.
“was it worth it at least?” he lifts one of his eyebrows and tilts his head in a way that has your body feeling hot for some reason. “was he good to you?” he asks again.
“no.” you speak so quietly it’s barely a whisper.
“did you cum?”
“no,” you shake your head, not being able to tear your eyes away from him as if you’re under a spell. “i... never do. they always finish and leave.” you mutter with so much embarrasment that you wanna die, but the words come out much more easily than you would’ve expected.
“mh... i know.” the tone in his voice is so low.
you don’t even notice he’s walking closer to you until you can almost feel his breath hitting your face. after taking two steps back to get away from him, you hit the wall. he takes the last couple of steps to you until he has you cornered between the wall and his body.
“now tell me why i shouldn’t tell your mom, huh?” yoongi hums.
you look down, too embarrassed to look into his eyes now. “please, don’t tell her.” you mutter and a gasp escapes your throat when you feel a finger under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him again.
“say please one more time.” his entire aura is so intimidating that you feel your whole body shaking. he’s never been so close to you.
“please...” you look up at him with big eyes, those use to work.
yoongi exhales through his nose and your proximity to him lets you notice the way his jaw clenches.
“i won’t tell her,” he says and you sigh in relief, throwing your head back against the wall. “i’ll keep your secret if you keep ours.” you flinch when you feel fingertips running up your bare thigh.
“ours?”
he doesn’t reply but you don’t have a chance to ask him again because his lips are on yours.
a moan escapes your mouth and he follows with a grunt as one of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you flat against his body. his other hand, the one he was touching your thigh with, goes up to your ass and squeezes it. you whine against his lips because his hand feels so big, so good.
your mind is so dizzy and your legs are starting to shake because it is a good fucking kiss and the way he’s holding you makes you feel amazing, but something inside your brain makes you snap back to reality. you’re kissing your mom’s boyfriend, a man who’s 22 years older than you.
you put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. “oppa...” you pant, trying to catch your breath, and look down to his chest to avoid his gaze.
“mh?” he brings the hand on your ass to your lower back, keeping you close to him.
“why did you do that?” you say and he only chuckles, so low.
“why did i do what?”
“kiss me... and- and touch me.” you explain with a shaky voice.
“mh?” yoongi hums again and leans down, stealing another kiss from your lips that makes you forget what you were talking about. “touch you?” he asks, so close to your lips.
he smiles when you try to chase his lips. “touch me.” you repeat, not even conscious of what you’re saying.
“want me to touch you?” yoongi’s hands go to your waist, holding you by your sides.
something inside you is yelling at you, begging you to go back to your room. but you nod at yoongi’s question, earning a smile from him that feels like a reward.
“come with me, sweetheart.” he’s suddenly taking a step back and offering you his hand to hold, waiting for you to make a decision.
you take it.
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to be continued :)
#yoongi x reader#yoongi imagine#yoongi fanfic#yoongi smut#yoongi fic#bangtan fanfic#bangtan fic#bts fic#bts x reader#bts smut#bts fanfic#bts imagines#bangtan reactions#bangtan x reader
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You've been writing to inmates in prison for almost two years now and have helped many feel more at ease with their current situations and possible futures. So it should come to no surprise when the warden of the most notorious prison seeks out your help with a difficult inmate they can hardly contain. The task proves difficult after you receive your first letter back from Bakugou Katsuki. More infamously known as Ground Zero, and you're not so sure you can help a man this far gone.
wc 6.8k warnings: dunno but he's mean and a villain so read at your own risk. MDNI 18+ content
Congratulations!
You've been selected for a special project due to your credentials with previous inmates. Letters exchanged between you and other inmates have had a positive effect on their rehabilitation which is one step closer to getting them assimilated back to the normalcy of society.
We ask that you help us by reaching out to inmate B-001174 Bakugou, Katsuki. He has not had mail correspondence nor a visitor due to his self isolation since his incarceration. We are hoping that a letter from the most well received correspondent begins to pave the way for a brighter future for B-001174. Please see the below instructions on what topics to avoid for inmate B-001174
Family members of any relation to inmate
Previous crimes by inmate or inmate's affiliates.
Current crimes by inmate's affiliates or any such nature of crime
Current events of any kind including natural disasters, diseases, political elections or anything of relation.
Current hero rankings, change of status or death of any hero since incarceration December 18th 2XXX
Any mention of hero(es) who captured inmate listed as follows : Aizawa, Shouta - Eraserhead, Todoroki, Enji - Endeavor, Toshinori, Yagi - Allmight, Usagiyama, Rumi - Mirko
Current known affiliates are listed as follows : Kirishima, Eijirou, Midoriya, Izuku, Shigaraki, Tomura and Todoroki, Touya.
We appreciate your efforts in brightening the dull lives of inmates and hope you pick up your pen and do what you do best, change lives for the better! Please see the following attachments for instructions on how to address the letter and seal inside the pre-paid postage envelope before dropping it off at any post office.
Remember each letter will be opened and read for any sort of criminal activity before being passed along to the inmate.
Sincerely,
Warden of Tartarus Maximum Prison Facility
You flip the letter over and skim the instructions, the same as they always are expect this time there is an extra line to add, maximum security level ten, as if you had to notate some sort of alert to the mailroom for an extra thorough check of this particular piece of mail. You bite the inside of your lip, toeing off your kitten heels before padding over to your computer with letter in tow.
The request comes as a surprise, mostly because they listed a specific inmate instead of your usual list of inmates who wished to receive mail but had ties cut from their own families or needed some semblance of someone on the outside to speak with. Never asking you to address some sort of conversation with someone who sounded like they didn't want to have one at all.
Snarling your lip when you read the affiliates that you needed to avoid as if their government names gave you any idea of who they were, some of them anyway.
Two with whom you were already exchanging letters with weekly.
Your usual routine to wind down from work is lost to your undying hunger of who this person was. Although you had to admit Bakugou sounded eerily familiar.
A quick search brings up his villain name, Ground Zero, captured during a raid of some sort and he alone needed several heroes for his capture. His quirk was dangerous, explosions detonated by sparks along his forearms and palms from his sweat that contained nitroglycerin and it seemed as if his mental health was just as stable as the fuel to his quirk.
Looking at him wrong set him off and he was powerful enough to level buildings from just a few juls of output from his intense explosions. Still curiosity killed the cat and you delved deeper.
Wondering how Izuku, aka Deku, who was quirkless and Eijirou, aka Blood Riot who could harden his skin, which you knew from their letters, got caught up with a living, breathing nuke.
Thankfully most of the documentation and footage involving Katsuki's arrest was released to the public with redactions and edits of course but what you needed was the raw data.
Finding unofficially released footage from Mirko's body cam, the only surviving body cam between the pursuing heroes. It starts right in the midst of the action, sirens wailing and people screaming in the background as the scene unfolds. Ground Zero and Mirko exchange blows evenly while Endevor tries to ambush him from behind. The hulking blonde smirks, as if he had no blind spot, swinging his large arm backward hitting Endeavor right in the mouth, hard enough it sends him flying. Katsuki's bromine eyes flicker to what must be vantage points off camera as if searching for something.
"Got that pesky ass four eyes on me huh? I'm hurt ya don't wanna play with me properly, hops." He dodges a kick to the chest, sliding back and it's obvious his prowess as a fighter is unmatched, even with his quirk silenced.
"Shut the fuck up. Ya talk too much." Shifting her weight to fein a kick that he catches, pinning her thick leg between his sturdy ribs and strong arm as he wears the nastiest smile. One that Mirko wipes off quickly with a swift kick from her free foot straight to his handsome face. Turning his cheek and blood arcs from his mouth, still he does not stagger nor falter.
He even still has her leg pinned as she stands awkwardly, back arched to him and her bunny tail twitches. The viewer can only see the ground and her free leg but the mic still very much catches what he says next and you're sure the smile he was wearing earlier comes back tenfold.
"Careful hops, ya get any rougher with me and I'll cum."
His laugh echoes shortly after and the sound should not cause your stomach to flip the way it does before the footage abruptly ends.
Taking the time to scroll through a few more pictures and articles, trying to find where it all went wrong when really none of that was your business, still it killed you to know.
And when you fail to find anything, fail to find that butterfly effect that puts his whole life askew, it does little to quell the uneasy feeling that gnaws at the pit of your stomach. If anything it fuels it yet still you rummage your desk for stationary and a pen.
Sealing away the envelope once you were done and setting it by your purse to grab in the morning when you think you'll be braver.
Or maybe less brave as you hesitate by the mail drop off box, your train fast approaching the outside terminal before you shove it into the slot quickly.
Too late to take it back now.
Besides what were the odds he'd even send one back?
"B-001174, got mail." The guard grunts as he slips the already open letter under the cell door, finishing his rounds before the doors would open and the inmates could roam about the pod as they saw fit.
Katsuki snarls, he didn't get mail, letters or pictures or even the cult following he once had he'd scared 'em all off. Tired of all the stupid bullshit they spewed at him, the ideals they placed on him or the words they shoved into his mouth. Worst yet were how they justified their actions, their own wrong doings in the name of Ground Zero, too pussy to even own up to their own actions. Katsuki hated that as much as he hated liars.
Besides he didn't ask for all that shit, didn't care. He just wanted to watch the world burn.
Wanted to set it on fire and Katsuki's philosophy was that anything was kindling.
That everything is kindling.
And he thinks he should just ignite the smallest spark despite the quirk "silencing" cuffs and let the letter be devoured by the heat of his palms.
But the return address catches his eye, the name does. It's familiar in a way he can't quite place yet. Pulling the paper out of the envelope in the meantime. The first thing he notices is the faint almost perfumey smell of coconut from the paper, not from spraying the stationary but as if it were lotion rubbing across the parchment as you wrote in long looping letters, for a moment he finds the smell pleasant. His poisonous bromine eyes slide over the letter with ease.
Dear Bakugou,
I heard you don't get letters very often, if any, so I hope this one finds you well. The weather is warming up quickly, the cicadas are starting to scream even though it's barely June, we'll all be sweltering come August. Summer is my favorite season, do you have a favorite? Work slows down around this time and they usually grant us extra leave so we can enjoy the weather, which is quite nice. I hope you're getting to enjoy the sun as well.
I know cooking is one of your favorite things, I can see why. It can be relaxing or make you feel good to nourish someone else. What other hobbies do you have aside from cooking? Any favorite books or authors? Maybe I can send your favorite one in! Just let me know.
Do you have everything you need? Do you need any money for commissary? Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything at all, I'm only a letter away.
Hope to hear from you and maybe soon I can call you Katsuki.
Much Love
He snorts as he reads the last line and it finally dawns on him from where he knows your name. Lifting himself out of his prison cot with ease, the cheap thing groaning from his bulk as he exits his cell. Heading towards the neighboring cell that holds Deku and Riot, shoving his way into the too cramped space for the bulking men.
"Ka-kaachan!" Izuku chirps, surprised to see the hot headed blonde out of his cell and especially surprised to see Bakugou in his own. Lingering by Izuku's half with a quirked brow, his eyes roaming until they found the hidden stack of papers.
"Gonna grab breakfast with us?" Kirishima asks as he watches large hands snatch at the pile. Instantly Izuku stands, eyes darkening as he steps towards Katsuki.
"Put those down, Kaachan." It's that fake polite smile Izuku wears before a fight, the kind that never reaches his eyes and Bakugou doesn't heed the warning, "Please."
It's clipped and now Kirishima thinks to rise, doesn't want either of them to do solitary or to deal with the month long bickering if they do get into a physical fight.
Katsuki looks over the letters, reading them quickly and appreciating that Izuku is meticulous enough to keep them in chronological order, each one signed off the same way. Much love.
Such bullshit.
Izuku shoves Bakugou when he still scowls down at the papers that also smell like coconut. Katsuki drops the letters unceremoniously and Izuku scrambles to keep them from hitting the concrete floor. Bakugou already on Kirishima's side who watches with a confused glare.
"What are you-" But Kirishima doesn't get to say much else as Katsuki lifts the thin mattress from the metal frame to find the hidden letters. Tucked away safely as if the battle worn villain took comfort in the false words in shiny black ink.
Same return address, same name, same bull shit sign off.
"Katsuki!" Kirishima shoves him and the blonde hardly moves, Eijirou's skin half hardening out of habit before he tries to shove again. Katsuki hits his forearm harshly, a soft pop in warning although neither could do too much with the amount of sedation and silencing that came from the collar from around their thick throats. Izuku sans silencing cuffs, has no worries about a part of him being dulled. He was built like an ox with the metabolism of a pubescent teen despite being in his late twenties so sedatives or mood stabilizers hardly have any effect.
Bakugou tosses the letters onto Kirishima's scratchy blanket before he scoffs.
"Tsk, believe that bullshit?" He's rolling his eyes as he leaves the cell with nothing but the rustle of paper as they try to rehide what they act like is their dirty little secret.
God weak hearted fools were so fucking annoying.
Post through the prison system could take some time, especially when it came to newer exchanges. It could be anywhere between two weeks to two months before you saw a reply from Katsuki. If you got one at all.
But the thought of his phantom reply slips to the back of your head what with your current workload and the other correspondents so when you see a sealed envelope the prison's return address you think nothing of it.
Not until you open it to see an open envelope with your address but instead of your name is spelled out Fake Bitch.
Blinking furiously you pull out the letter, unfolding it quickly to let your eyes scan over the page, each word burning into your retinas.
Piece of shit,
Such a pathetic fuckin slut, writing any and every desperate man behind bars you think is hot, hopin you'll get a conjugal visit. Already fucked everyone at surface level ya gotta try prison dick?
Or is it worst than that? Mommy and daddy didn't love ya enough? Didn't give ya enough attention so you look for it in anyone that'll give ya the time of day? Prey on those with no one to talk to knowing you'd get a reply out of desperation.
Lickin knives all ya know sweetheart? Pretty fuckin scummy if ya ask me.
Fuck off and die,
Bakugou Katsuki
Now you've received your fair share of mean and asshole letters but this? This was different.
This felt personal.
It was rule number one you'd given yourself when you were asked to start penning letters while in a shitty place yourself.
And yet here you were breaking it for some asshat who thought the cityscape was his to destroy.
Heart ringing in your ears as you try to calm yourself, counting your breaths until you finally could see straight. Penning up something simple yet effective telling yourself that even if he didn't reply it didn't matter.
You drop it into the mail the next day, two weeks later the same guard is slipping another opened letter under Bakugou's cell door. A snarl to his lip, he didn't expect you to reply and if he was being honest he may have forgotten about you, still the envelope was addressed to his inmate number and no longer is his name written in your cute script.
While you may think you know everything there is to know about life and me, I'd like to point out your position over mine.
Last I checked I'm not miles and miles in the ground, under heavy security, among other things a civilian wouldn't be privy to. However I will put it into lame man's terms as it seems your cognitive abilities have declined.
I'm not the one behind bars, asshole.
Much Hate
Bakugou clicks his tongue, he was used to the insult, wore it proudly most days but he knew his first letter would go one of two ways.
One, you'd cry when you read it and never replied to him again, which was his hope or two there was a very slim chance he'd get under your skin enough you'd feel the innate need to respond and defend yourself.
Bakugou does what he does best and burrows further under your pretty skin twirling the pen he finds in the library with ease as he takes to writing out a delicious reply.
Mail from Tartarus normally came on Wednesday or Thursday as if someone at the facility always forgot to send it out at the beginning of the week. So it became a part of your routine to check your PO Box you set up in a prefecture over in order to preserve your safety should something ever go awry with any of your pen pals or to receive online purchases. Mail day used to be a day you looked forward to, something to help you get through the remainder of your work week but today it was a day you dreaded.
The excitement from seeing the others' responses in the mail is overshadowed by one particular envelope that slips out of the Manila folder that all of the letters to the same correspondent were sent in to save postage.
You should be reading Touya's letter or hell anyone else's for that matter, yet here you stood, going for that obnoxious scrawl as he still refused to spell out your name and instead gave you some horrible insult.
Pathetic Slut
If lying to yourself by writing half ass disingenuine letters to prisoners out of pity makes ya feel like yer changing the world then by all fucking means write away sweetheart.
Just don't be surprised when you get an asshole response from an asshole behind bars.
Cause we both know that's what you think of all of us don'tchya?
Die,
Bakugou Katsuki
It shouldn't bother you, it shouldn't burrow so deep into your skin that his inky words scratch at your bones. Like his fingers could dig around in the marrow like maggots yet still it makes your cheeks heat. Makes your eyes burn from frustration and lack of blinking as your palms sweat.
Soles of your feet burning as you walk further into your apartment to rummage through the drawers of your desk. Uncaring how things topple over as you furiously grab for a permanent marker, pens and books scattering over the hardwood floors.
Heart pounding as it resounds through your body like metal striking a bell. Each beat faster, harder than the last until you think your vision starts to ehb at the edges from how much hatred burns away at any of the kindness you built up over the last decade.
Snapping the marker in half by the time you're done writing your final letter to the asshole.
FUCK
YOU
You don't read it, don't care if it makes it past screening and he never sees it at all. Shoving it into one of your personal envelopes on your desk slapping on a floral postage stamp before stomping down to the express box that sat just outside of your apartment complex.
It takes a full week for you to calm down, another week to stop thinking about it daily, and one more week to even reply to the letters you got almost a month ago.
An email comes in from the post office, alerting you to something being placed in your box. You hope it's the new sun dress you bought as retail therapy after a long week and an even bigger bottle of booze that you'd drained. Spending quite a pretty penny on something you didn't even really have an occasion to wear it to.
More like a nice date, the type of dress you could dress up or down depending on what sorts of accessories you paired with it.
Taking the train three stops past your own to head into the post office. Turning the key to your decent sized box finding within the metal your promised package.
And on top of that a familiar manila folder with the return address to Tartarus.
You grit your teeth, holding onto the mail harder than you should as you take those three long stops back home. Swallowing thickly as you climb your steps, the folder and plastic bag package punctured from your sharp nails as you quickly press in your seven digit key code to get into your apartment and out of the sweltering mid August air.
When your door shuts it closed off the sound of the screaming cicadas and the few crickets that lie in the green space beside your apartment as you try to force yourself to follow your nightly routine.
Remove shoes, take off makeup, eat, shower, sleep.
But that damn folder was burning a hole into your fingers as you go to your desk, rocking your chair side to side before you just rip it open like you'd rip off a bandaid.
This time the letter addresses you in a new way.
Sweetheart,
I dare you to come say that shit to my face. You fuckin better show up Saturday other wise I'll let your precious Izu and Eiji know just how much of a fake bitch ya really are. Imagine what it would do to them? Break their hearts I'm sure.
Ya'd hate to mess with their progress wouldn't ya?
Don't forget to wear something cute, it'd be nice to see some fat tits in my face at the very least. If a shitty woman like you even owns anything relatively sexy.
Fuck off
Bakugou Katsuki
You see red, breathing deeply as you re-read the letter again, who the fuck was this asshole? Black mailing you into visiting him so it wouldn't hurt your other correspondents because Bakugou was so fucking selfish.
So black out angry you don't seem to wake up, not when you put yourself in that sleek summer sun dress that went to your mid thigh, not when you stare at your angry scowl as you apply light make up, and especially not on the hour drive and then two hour ferry ride to Tartarus. Especially not during the twenty minute descent in a cramped elevator box with a guard in front and behind you with AKs clipped to their chests, the sweltering heat seeping down this low in the ground due to body heat and poor ventilation of the prison.
Not until the buzzer of the barred door in front of you screams its demands, that the handle was "live" and could be opened by the guard standing in the cage between the hallway that led back to freedom and the other where you could already see toxic bromine burning into your skin.
This was a bad idea. This was a really fucking bad idea.
You swallow thickly, it was too late to turn back now wasn't it? The door had already swung shut as the guard came closer to you for one final inspection.
"Dress is kinda short." Katsuki can overhear the guard mumble to you, can see how the guard's fingers twitch and for some reason his own do too. He watches how the guard lingers, how the man's hand press against your body and bunches up your dress as he pats you down a little too roughly. How you bite your lip when the man squeezes your ribs and under the weight of your breasts a little too roughly.
Katsuki is starting to see red, sweat begins to collect on his brow. He hasn't even fully seen you at least not without an obstructed view but already he can tell he likes what he sees.
Likes how the dress clings to parts of you you'd favor, the parts you want to really highlight. How the hem flusters higher with each step of your strappy flat shoes.
Loves the scowl that pinches up your cute face when the door buzzes to allow you into the room with him and another six guards. Likes how you straighten your spine as if you've gotten fresh resolve when you come in.
Looking at him like he was trash and he smirks, like how you don't recoil from him despite how he looks now.
Plexiglass spit guard with metal framing afixed to his face to keep more than his salvia to himself, more so to keep his gnashing teeth away from people's skin. How his throat is encircled with a thick black collar with a red light set far past stun and closer to kill that would send an electric pulse if he misbehaved but only if they could reach their remote fast enough.
How the silver cuffs around his thick wrists chain him to the table top, thick forearms exposed from him rolling up his bright orange suit that was harsh on the eyes thanks to the flickering fluorescent lighting overhead. Soft ash blonde hair messy at the top with a self given undercut beneath, iris so bloody red it was as if he was born straight from the calf of Ares himself.
"Hey Sweetheart." He purrs and his voice is pure sin.
Pure fucking sin.
Sending a jolt straight to your clit as his pretty lips curl up into a deadly smirk, showing his sharp canines.
Bakugou can't contain the feeling of triumph that dances in his veins, purposely egging you on in his letter with the closest Saturday knowing you'd be allowed to come on such short notice. See, most visitors needed to have thorough background checks and intensive mental testing before coming to meet anyone in maximum security five hundred meters below sea level.
But the conniving blonde knew you were special.
Knew the warden of Tartarus favored you and would allow you to skip these precautions, especially after what that dumbass thinks you've done. In less than a month of writing to him, that damn Deku finally added Inko-san back to his visiting list, actually came to the visit and cupped her hands. Murmuring on and on that her baby boy with the wavy emerald curls was okay. Inko cried and returned every month since.
No different for Kirishima either, adding Fat Gum, who was like a father figure to him during their shared time at UA, to his visitor list. Surprisingly Taishiro came, still comes, him and Inko car pool together.
Not even a few heartbeats pass between the two of you before you feel your tongue slicing up the sensitive skin of the roof of your mouth. Of the hard bone of your teeth.
"Fuck. You." The words drip with sticky poison that even one of the guards behind him flinches but not Bakugou.
No never Bakugou Katsuki, the Ground Zero himself who leveled a city for the fucking fun of it
He smiles, both sides of his mouth curling up and it should be disturbing how much he obviously gets off on your frustration, on your hate. But it isn't, it's almost mesmerizing how he looks at you. Like you're something to triumph and conquer, something he wants to keep for himself.
With that you turn to leave, skirt fluttering from the movement and Katsuki can see the tattoo on your upper thigh, the ink making his mouth salivate as he wonders if he can find any more you've got hidden on that fine body.
He lunges despite the rattling chains that keep him close to the table, still he has enough leeway to grab onto your arm in one giant hand. Foolishly you try to pull free.
"Oh come on sweetheart. I've got a whole hour of play time for this. Yer not leaving, sit down."
His grip on you is tight, his hand big enough to engulf half of your forearm and it gets tighter still. Hot palm making your bones creak from the pressure as he smiles up at you cruelly. All you can do is glare down at him, bore all of your hate where the two of you are connected, his skin feels electric against yours.
"Ya know, I could probably still blow your arm off." He doesn't bother to say it quietly, chuckles when you look at the quirk silencing cuffs and collar he dons, "They ain't shit against strong quirks."
Your eyes flash, anger spiking your blood and stupidly you strike. Hand stinging as badly as the tears that come to your eyes and threaten to fall past your lash line. Clawed fingers met with the metal framing of the glass spit guard mask that covers his mouth. Still one of your claws cuts his cheeks and he howls with laughter.
"Like I said-" He yanks you down harshly, playful tone from his voice gone as your ribs smack into the edge of the metal table, puffs of hot breath fogging the glass of his spit guard, "Sit."
The awkward angle forces your knees to bend, settling on to the cold metal stool while his warm fingers leave blossoms of black and blue on the skin. As if returning the favor for the cut.
"I can feel your heart pounding princess,yer pussy throbin this hard too?" He licks his lips, laughs when you lean away from him in disgust, "Ya like it. All sluts play hard to get at first."
Your eyes flicker to the guards behind him, all six pretend not to notice, panic shoots through your veins and the realization of just how bad of a fucking idea this was settles over you harshly. Like ice water flowing from the nape of your neck.
He follows your gaze, even cranes his head like he didn't know who was behind him and exactly where they stood.
"Oh them? They ain't gonna do shit. They're too scared of me. Blew a guy's head off last week." He smiles and one of the guards suddenly finds the floor interesting, "Do ya know how drugged up I am right now baby? How much force these cuffs have to use to bring my quirk down to half power?"
Choosing not to respond you let your eyes fall back on his handsome face watching it snarl as you ignore him.
Oh he'd make you see him.
"What cat got yer tongue now ya scared cause I'm so strong? Invincible?" Your eyes narrow as he speaks the arrogance of this man is far beyond your comprehension.
"You bleed like every other man." He loves the way you speak, how you wield that sharp tongue. How he wants it pressed and slashing over his own as he's two fingers deep into your tight cunt, moaning into his mouth.
He brings the thick digits of his free hand parting gift you bestowed upon him. The long thin slash as rough pads bring smeared blood into view so he can lick away the dark red beads.
"Bloody men are usually the most dangerous, you never know if it's his or that of another's." He lets his hot thumb roll over the cut, cauterizing the small wound hoping it scars.
Eyes widening as he blatantly uses his quirk as if there weren't armed guards behind him. You're watching his eyes closely as he does and finally you realize what he said is true. There is a dullness to them that was lacking in the raw footage you saw all those months ago.
Then his eyes were vibrant, sharp and slicing, much more intense then the hazy glare he gives you now. It didn't make him any less of an apex predator.
Still watching you, recording your small movements and committing your soft skin to his memory as he studies you.
"Got a quirk?" He grunts out after a moment, after he collects whatever information he was looking for, "I wanna guess first. Manipulation?"
He smirks at his own joke and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore how his thumb swipes at the underside of your forearm idly. How the motion twists your stomach violently with dizzying emotions.
Rolling your eyes before you scoff an answer, "No. Besides you expect me to manipulate through what? Ink?"
"Ya never know. Went to school with some asshole whose quirk was comic book sound effects." He leans back never letting go but now his hand is around your wrist. His fingers twitch when he looks at yours, fights the urge to roughly lace them with his own.
"Well I don't. Manipulate I mean." You adjust in your seat, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "And I won't disclose whether I have a quirk or not."
"Haaah? Worried I'll like it?" When you don't answer he adds, "Is it compatible with mine?"
Slowly blinking at him trying not to read into what you think he means. He groans at your silence, the higher dosage of his morning meds finally catching up making him a little lethargic. Taking his edge off when all he wants to do is rise over the crashing wave of the pending high he can barely keep at bay and whisk you out of the depths of hell the two of you currently sit in.
"So then what? You just used regular words to manipulate them?" He fights back a yawn.
"Who?" Your ribs still ache from his actions earlier, it doesn't warn you like it should.
"Don't play fuckin stupid, Sweetheart." He's lurching into your space again, hand moving back over your bruise. It makes your stomach clench when it shouldn't, especially not as the chains rattle against the metal table top, serving as a heavy reminder of the setting of this conversation.
Still his breath comes in quick puffs as it fogs up the glass again, "Shitty hair. Deku."
Your brows furrow for a moment, another groan from him.
"For fucks sake." Light squeeze of your arm as he spits their names, "Fuckin nerdy ass Izuku. Eijirou."
"I can't talk about them." Looking away from his darkened eyes that flash with a fury of emotion.
"Who's stoppin ya? Them?" He tilts his head towards the guards, "I told ya-"
"B-001174, you have five minutes left for visitation." A voice crackled over an old speaker in the visitation cell, "Please remove your hands from the guest or we will apply force."
The small light on his collar flashes red and he just smirks, looking up, well above your head. Staring directly at the warden like he knows exactly where he stood behind the two way mirror.
"Yea? You'll apply force? Go ahead. Nothin but a little shock t' me but t' her? She'll die warden." There is no mirth in his smirk, lips twitching as his eyes are shrouded in dark warning, "And we wouldn't want that would we?"
The way he speaks sends a chill down your spine, the haze of whatever sedative they had him on is now gone and you're left sitting across from those vibrant radioactive eyes. Burning through the mirror to sear the warden's skin in a threat, a promise.
A buzz rings out as the seventh guard comes in, he scrunches his nose and it makes his oddly shaped mustache twitch.
"Miss." He grunts holding out his hand for you to take too close in your personal space for your liking. Slapping it out of your face before following your right arm down to where Katsuki held fast. Peeling off his thick digits with your finely manicured claws.
He hisses at the loss of contact, glaring at the guard when his hands hover close and the older man is smart enough not to antagonize a literal monster. Katsuki stands suddenly, a scream comes from the bolts securing metal to metal as he rips the table out of the ground, unable to break the chains for now.
Everyone but Bakugou in the room freezes, guns cocked and aimed at the bulking villain who rose to his full height, sticking his prison issued white shoe onto the seat he just sat on to push down roughly. Thick thigh muscles straining against the fabric of the bright orange pants. A smile to his face when the chains finally snap and he can move his hands more freely before ripping off the plexiglass spit guard letting it clink on to the ground. His large hands run through his hair as if to fix it.
"I'm entitled to a proper fuckin good bye." He hisses at everyone in the room, they keep their guns aimed at him but make no move to pull any trigger.
Katsuki stalks closer, a wall of muscle, broad chest and shoulders, slim waist that leads down to powerful legs and you try not to let your breath catch in your throat.
Try not to let the big bad wolf win by letting him know just how scared you were. Over how impressive it was that he snapped reinforced titanium chains so easily.
He's well within your arms reach now, so close heat radiates from his chest.
"I'll see ya soon, Sweetheart." He bids you a final goodbye, waving his fingers that pop with burning caramel explosions. You're not sure why it sets you off, maybe it was the way he wore that stupid smirk on his face, maybe it was the way he demonstrated his power or his dominance in an attempt to intimidate you one last time.
Maybe it's the way he was arrogant enough to think you'd waste six hours round trip on his ass ever again.
Either way it makes your temper flair, burrows deep into your subdermis to scarpe at your bones one final time before you unknowingly seal your own fate. Not knowing how his body would react to your parting words.
"There won't be a next time. I came here for one thing and that was to say fuck you." Delivered with just as much clotting venom as it was before, middle finger held high.
His smirk turns deadly, blowing out a snort as he leans closer as if to share a secret. You can smell the cheap commissary soap that clings to his skin that's starting to lose out to the rapidly building nimbus of smoking caramel that clouds the air as his lips press to your ear.
"Don't have t'. I'll come to you." He pulls back and winks as you're guided out of the room, glare fixed on him as he stands unbothered.
He's lying, prisoners lie all the time especially if they think they can get the upper hand. He couldn't come to you. He couldn't escape prison for starters and lastly there was no way in hell he'd ever find out where you lived. The prison made sure of that by always including a fresh envelope with their own return address in the top left corner, you should know. You only triple checked each time you sealed away the letter, even a fourth time at the post box staring down at the address on the envelope making sure both were correct.
So fuck Bakugou Katsuki for being a dirty liar, fucking hypocrite.
Shoving yourself into an oversized shirt after your body shower you finally get to plop down into bed. Relishing the feel of fresh sheets and blankets as you sigh deeply. It had been a long, long day and no amount of self care could get his toxic blood red eyes out of your head.
Switching on the TV to pull up some show to numb your mind with familiarity when the channel cuts out. Breaking news flashing across the screen makes your body go rigid.
A prison break from Tartarus has occurred in the late evening hours, several high profile villains are believed to have escaped such as Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Touya, aka Dabi, Kirishima Eijirou aka Blood Riot, Midoriya Izuku aka Deku and Bakugou Katsuki better known as Ground Zero. Please do not approach suspected escapees, please report any suspicious person or activities immediately. Most importantly keep all doors and windows locked at all times. I repeat do not engage with the inmates.
A knock comes from your left, making you jump out of your skin as you fist the sheets. A cold sweat breaking out over your skin in goose flesh as your hearing rings in your ears. Unable to bring yourself to look at the sliding glass door to your balcony just yet as if you could ignore it and the cause of the sound would simply go away.
Another rapt of knuckles pulls your attention once more before you finally dare to peek to see glowing red eyes peering in. The devil himself at your door and you knew better than to let him in.
Knew better that a locked door couldn't keep him out.
Bromine burning in the night like ever fanned flames, orange jumpsuit obnoxiously out of place against the night sky, stained in deep burgundy red and ash grays, the same colors streaking his face before he knocks again. But this time it's in warning, hard enough to rattle the door that you both know he could rip off the track with ease.
"How- how did you?" Teeth chattering that you grit closed still refusing to give in to his tactics until he presses a small envelope against the glass. Your personal envelope with your real home address listed for return.
Panic bubbles up your throat in a scream that dies at the back of your teeth as you sit frozen a minute longer while he gives a predatory grin, large hands pressing against the glass before his palms glow bright orange. Brighter than his jumpsuit before the glass shatters and your scream finally escapes your lungs.
In an instant he's towering over you, palms pressing into biting shards as he cages you against the plush comforter dipping his head low so he can nose at your throat, hot palm at your ribs. Leave a searing bite pulling a strangled yelp from your soft lips that makes him laugh before his mouth is at your ear for the second time today. Finally speaking dangerously low.
"Told ya I'd see ya soon, Sweetheart."
#bakugou x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou x you#bakugo katsuki x reader#kitten writes 🖤🐈⬛ ✍🏻
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safety net [2/2] (BLACKPINK Rosé)
word count: 25.8K
part 1 (14.8K) | part 2 (11K)
(yeah, lol)
Self-loathing has always been something you’ve done. It was likely the result of never being good enough for your parents even when you delivered on every single expectation they’ve had for you.
At this current point in your life, you hate yourself for the situation you blindly agreed to.
It’s been about a month since Rosie disturbed your peace in the library, asking if you’d teach her how to have sex, which translates into having sex with her.
You haven’t had sex yet, but you’ve done everything else a lot. Rosie has been eager to finally do it, but there’s something that always stops you. She gets frustrated, but you eat her out, quickly bringing her to an orgasm, and all is forgotten until next time. You sense her getting impatient, but you’re scared that once you finally do, that’ll be it.
And it’s been nice spending all this time with her. You see her pretty much every day. The only times you don’t is if she has to finish a project or if she has a date with Soohyun. When it’s the latter, you get all broody, but your mood immediately changes when she messages you as soon as she’s home.
Rosie doesn’t tell you much about the dates unless you ask. She has shared that they’ve exchanged a couple kisses here and there, but she often compares Soohyun to you—too much teeth, too aggressive, too… everything she’s not used to. It goes straight to your ego because how could it not.
The physical aspect of your relationship aside, you two are actually getting along. You still bicker, but it doesn’t end with her yelling anymore.
Rosie’s a catch, which is understandable based on the amount of people that want to be with her. She’s funny. She’s kind. She’s driven. She’s sometimes in her own world, that you often get lost with her when she rambles on about her day. She’s someone you could see yourself with if it was under different circumstances.
You hear your name being called, breaking you out of your thoughts as you stare at your computer screen. You see Rosie approaching you with Jisoo, waving as the other woman looks bored already.
“Hey Rosie,” You greet affectionately. “Jisoo.”
Jisoo gives you a wave, smiling, as Rosie walks behind your chair.
“Whatcha working on?” Rosie peeks over your shoulder.
It’s an expense report that your father sent you to look over, but you’ve been swamped with exams coming up.
“Just work stuff,” You answer, stretching your arms and letting out a yawn. “Are you done with your project?”
“Yeah, Jisoo and I were going to grab dinner but I wanted to find you before we left,” Rosie ruffles your hair. “I’ll come by after though?”
Jisoo makes a gagging sound, earning a glare from the woman behind you.
“Sure, I’ll be home around 8. I have a game today,” You inform her, checking the time.
“Oh what? You should’ve told me, I would’ve came,” Rosie sounds disappointed.
“It’s alright, I probably won’t play that much anyways,” You send her an easy smile. “I’ll see you later.”
Rosie nods, blowing you a kiss that has you blushing while Jisoo makes the sound again. She grunts when Rosie hits her arm, a quick bye before getting dragged away.
You watch their figures get smaller, suddenly missing Rosie that you can’t focus anymore on work. You sigh, shaking your head, deciding that you’ll just shoot around before your game.
--
“Why,” Rosie tears her lips away from yours, tilting her head back that you attack her neck. “Won’t you have sex with me?” She pants when you suck on her skin, careful to not leave a mark because he might see it.
“Are you in a rush?” You murmur, hand sneaking underneath her blouse to palm her breast.
“Well—no,” She gasps when you gently pinch her nipple. “I just think I’m ready. We’ve done a lot and I—fuck.”
“You what?” You continue your ministrations on her chest, massaging each breast with equal attention.
“I’ve been thinking about how you’d feel inside me,” You stop and she squirms underneath you.
If you weren’t hard enough before, you’re about ready to bust through your briefs.
You pull back, staring at her. Your mind’s going a mile a minute because you weren’t expecting to actually follow through tonight.
“I want this with you,” Rosie whispers, sitting up slightly to kiss you on the lips. “If anything hurts, I’ll tell you.”
Fuck fuck okay. It’s go time and you couldn’t talk yourself out of this.
“Okay,” You nod, kissing her forehead. “Are you sure?” You have to ask one more time.
“Yes,” Rosie tugs her blouse over her head, leaving her completely nude. “You’re overthinking this.”
You are, but for reasons she doesn’t know. You don’t even know yourself. You’re acting as if it’s your first time.
“Kiss me,” And you do, resting your weight on top of her.
It’s slow and sensual, her lips soft on your as you trail your hand between her legs. You swipe a finger in between her folds to check and she’s wet. She moans at the contact, rolling her hips for more contact. You repeat the movement just to be sure. You’ve been told that you’re above average in the size department, and you don’t want her to be in any pain.
Rosie gets impatient, tugging your waistband down to free your cock. You groan when her hand wraps around you, stroking you gently as you kick the material off.
When you deem her wet enough, you meet her hand with yours, guiding your cock in between her lips. Your body screams at you to enter her, but instead with your control quickly slipping, you run your length in between, moaning at the first contact of her pussy.
“Stop teasing,” Rosie pants, body trembling beneath you as you rock your hips.
“I’m sorry,” You’re really not. You don’t know what comes over you, but you lean back, spreading her legs wider as you grip your cock, spreading the precum over. “I need to get a condom.” You reach over to your nightstand, but she stops you.
“Have you had sex with anyone since?”
“No,” You’ve been too wrapped up in her that any woman that you’ve seen at a party or hooked up with previously hasn’t been on your mind.
“Then no condom, I’m on the pill,” Rosie says softly.
You stare at her for a moment, heart pounding against your chest at what she’s offering. Rationale goes out the window because even though you’ve had a condom rule for the past year, you’d love to feel her without one.
“Trust me?” Rosie bites her lip, nodding, eyes locked at your cock as you rest the head at her entrance. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
You take a breath, more for your sake, as your cock slowly enters her. Her hands shoot to your hip, stopping your movement instantly.
You’ve barely made any headway, but from what you’re feeling so far is too much for you to handle. She’s warm, wet, and tight as her body tenses at the intrusion. You keep reminding yourself to go slow because this is still her first time and going at the pace your body is telling you to would not be fair to her.
“Holy shit,” Rosie gasps as her hands move to grip your arms. “Keep going,” She breathes slowly, catching her breath as you press your hips slightly forward.
Her heat envelops you, applying a delicious pressure the deeper you go. You glance down at where your bodies are joined and you’re barely halfway there.
What you want to do is snap your hips forward, completely, but you’re aware of Rosie’s breathing and expressions for any signs of discomfort.
Though that awareness is quickly getting lost.
“Are you all the way?” Rosie asks weakly, eyes scrunched closed.
“Uh, almost?” You’re able to say as you gently rock back and forth to get your cock inside more. “How are you feeling?”
“It’s—fuck—not bad, but there’s just a lot of pressure,” Rosie breathes out.
Tell me about it.
You distract her by kissing her all over, keeping your rhythm as her body relaxes to take more of you in. Her nails scratch at your arms, but you’d take a little bit of pain any day.
You don’t realize it, but in no time, you’re fully sheathed by her heat, letting out a whimper when you see your cock disappear inside her.
“You doing okay?” You grunt, burying your face into her neck to keep yourself from cumming right then and there.
“Yeah,” Rosie sighs, experimenting by squeezing her inner walls around you.
“You’re so hot,” You murmur, trailing kisses along her neck. “Your pussy feels so good around me, you’re taking me so well.” Her body responds to your words—interesting—as she spreads her legs wider to take you in. “You like hearing how you make me feel, huh?” Rosie can only nod, tipping her head back.
You lean back, slowly pulling your hips back, and watch, entranced, as your cock slides out. It’s covered in her slick, and you’ve never seen anything hotter. You let out a sigh as you feel her contract around the tip. She moans and something snaps inside you that you suddenly thrust back in.
Rosie screams at the pressure, letting out a filthy moan that has you groaning. Your body moves on its own accord, slowly pumping your cock in and out of her pussy that has you seeing stars.
“Fuck, baby,” She moans, pants, as she starts to babble nonsense as her walls accommodate to your girth. “You feel so good.”
You try not to pay attention to the pet name, but it only spurs you on more.
Her walls rhythmically squeeze every time you bottom out. It doesn’t stop you. It makes you chase the feeling, an addiction that you wouldn’t mind having.
You lose yourself in her body, watching her bite her lip and lose her breath as she grabs onto the sheets. Hearing your name fall from her lips wakes something up in you.The sounds she makes drive you to thrust into her, and when you hit a certain spot inside, she demands you don’t stop. You don’t break rhythm as she squirms. You grab her hips, letting out groans of your own as you feel your orgasm coming.
“Chaeng,” Your hips falter as her pussy contracts after a particularly hard thrust, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Inside,” Rosie locks eyes with you, “Cum inside me.”
Your resolve snaps as you thrust wildly into her, chasing your orgasm as you feel the start of hers, walls squeezing your cocks so tightly you feel lightheaded. You feel her nails digging into your skin, holding onto like her life depends on it.
“Yes, yes,” Rosie chants like a song as her head snaps back, showing her neck as her body is wracked with pleasure.
Cum shoots from your cock inside her, painting her inner walls white, groaning as you rut into her. Your brain shuts off as you fall on top of her. She doesn’t seem to mind as she wraps her arms around you, placing soft kisses all over your face. You hear a contented sigh from her as you gasp for air.
When you come to your senses, you automatically kiss Rosie on the lips—a simple, sweet one—as you catch her breath against your lips. She tries to deepen it, but you pull away, smiling softly as you fully take her in. Your heart has never felt so loud.
“Hi,” You say quietly.
“Hey yourself,” Rosie returns your smile.
“You okay?” You glance down where you’re still connecting, hoping—praying—you weren’t too rough.
“A little sore, but never better.”
“ I wasn’t too rough right?”
“Nope,” Rosie shakes her head.
You gently pull out, watching her face wince, but she lets out a quiet moan when your softened cock brushes against her clit.
“Sorry!” You rush out, falling next to her as she chuckles.
“Stop,” Rosie lightly slaps your arm, bringing it to rest on her stomach.
“Sorry,” You mumble again.
“I feel it leaking,” Rosie states simply, sitting up to look in between her legs. You join her and see a dribble of your cum peak through her folds. “That’s kind of hot.”
“Chaeng,” You groan, the image of what’s between her legs etched in your mind forever.
“It is,” Rosie nudges your shoulder, laughing. “I’m exhausted. I hope I’m not too sore tomorrow, I have to carry a bunch of things to the studio.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Like actually?” Rosie sinks back into the pillow, turning to face you.
You nod.
“You don’t even have classes tomorrow?”
“I know, but I’ll take you to school with all your stuff,” You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t help her, knowing that she’ll likely be sore because of you. That wouldn’t sit well with you.
Rosie kisses you on the cheek, smiling before snuggling into you. It all feels very relationship-y, spiking your anxiety because you’re more attached to her than you ever intended.
And that scares you the most.
--
“Thanks Eunbi,” You send a grateful smile to the girl sitting across from you as you’re finishing up the group project that completely slipped your mind.
“It’s fine oppa,” Eunbi laughs. “It’s a low-stakes project anyways.”
“Still,” You roll your eyes, annoyed with yourself more than anything. “I would’ve literally forgotten about it if you didn’t say anything.”
You and Eunbi were assigned as partners for a project that wasn’t worth much towards your grade, but it was supposed to help with the semester project that was worth your entire grade. Eunbi was someone you interacted with frequently, sharing the same classes, but spending the past couple days with her has kept your mind off a certain someone (who you’ve been actively avoiding for the past few days)z
The day after you and Rosie had sex, you did drop her off at school, carrying all her things to the studio so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Naturally, people saw you together, creating a small rumor about you dating. It freaked you out because everyone is aware of her and Soohyun that you needed to distance yourself from her.
Of course, without her realizing what you’re doing. But Rosie was perceptive, so sooner or later, she’ll confront you.
“Are you doing anything right now?” Eunbi asks after she finished packing her belongings.
“Uh no?”
“Did you want to get dinner?”
“Sure why not,” You shrug because you’re not doing anything wrong, but why did you suddenly feel a weight on your shoulders?
Eunbi smiles, and she’s pretty. She knows it too, but she doesn’t let that get to her head. She is someone you haven’t gone out with or slept with, so it couldn’t hurt to spend a little bit more time with her outside of school work.
Right?
Wrong.
The universe has a funny way of making things happen.
As you’re exiting the library, Rosie’s outside. You try to avoid her, but she looks up at the right moment, eyes narrowing, and stomps her way over to you.
“Seriously?” Is all she says, glancing behind you to see who you’re with.
“What?” Your wall’s up, especially with people passing by. You pray to a higher being that she doesn’t make a scene.
“You know what,” Rosie huffs, crossing her arms.
“Uh, oppa,” Eunbi says before you could respond to the woman seething in front of you. “We can have dinner another time.”
You turn your head, and Eunbi has an understanding smile on her face, nodding encouragingly while you feel the metaphorical daggers stabbing the side of your face.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll see you around okay?” Eunbi’s eyes crinkle, nodding politely at Rosie before walking away.
Once Eunbi’s a good few meters away, Rosie tugs on your arm, “Seriously, what the fuck? You’ve been avoiding me.”
Okay so maybe you haven’t been handling this the best. You’ve intentionally missed her phone calls and blatantly ignored her messages. You don’t know if it’s because of how you feel towards her, which you’re still trying to figure out, or if it’s because you thought that it was a one-time thing.
“Can we not do this here?” You offer weakly, and her jaw noticeably clenches.
“Fine,” Rosie relents, shaking her head, cursing you under her breath before walking towards the parking lot.
--
You’re sitting on the couch, watching Rosie pace back and forth across your living room. She didn’t say much to you on the car ride over except that she was playing music. She grunted a thanks when you opened the door for her, opting to change into more comfortable clothes, leaving her some on your bed in case she wanted to change.
Other than that, she hasn’t said anything else.
“Did you want me to cook something?”
No response, the sound of Rosie’s feet continues to shuffle on the hardwood.
“You know,” Rosie stops in front of the window, back towards you as she looks out at the night city skyline, “I spent the last three days wracking my brain over why you weren’t talking to me.”
“I can–” Rosie shakes her head, prompting you to not say anything more.
“I thought everything between us was going well. Yeah we still bicker, but we aren’t arguing like we used to. We had sex. I thought it was great aside from the expected soreness, but then you just ghost me,” Thankfully she doesn’t see you wince. “I was like there’s no way he’s going to treat me like I’m one of his usual fucks, right? He has to have more respect for me.” Rosie turns around, eyes narrowed as she walks towards you.
“Rosie–”
“I thought about it more and I even talked about it with Lisa and Jennie because I needed someone, anyone really, to make sure I wasn’t going crazy,” Rosie stands in between your legs, crossing her arms. “Lisa being Lisa said that I was overthinking it too much, but do you want to know what Jennie said?”
“What?” You gulp, gaze locked on hers.
“Since you and Jennie had a fling, or whatever,” You detect something off in her tone when she says that, but if you point it out, she’ll yell at you. “She said that maybe you had feelings for me.”
Fucking Jennie.
“I called it absurd because it’s you and me. We set the rules, which for what it’s worth, we broke a couple of them, but that’s the one we absolutely couldn’t break,” Rosie’s eyes narrow, searching your face for truth. You hoped you weren’t giving anything away, but you weren’t too sure.
Sentences weren’t forming under her intense gaze, so you could only nod.
“I have to ask, do you have feelings for me?” Rosie asks point blank.
Yes is the short answer.
The long answer is much more complicated for you to put into words because you’re admitting to yourself that you do, and that’s what’s fucking you up more.
“No.”
“No? Then why were you avoiding me? I called. I texted. I had half the mind of just coming over here to curse you out, but Jennie stopped me,” Her shoulders drop, defeated, as the hurt breaks through her façade.
“I figured you were done with me,” You say softly.
“Why would you think that?” Rosie kneels in between your legs, resting her hands on your thighs. Your brain short circuits because it’s a very familiar position that your body has become very conditioned to.
“We had sex, isn’t that what you wanted? To just get it over with?”
“Well yeah,” Rosie folds her arms, cradling her face in her hands as she stares at you. “But I still want to do more things with you. Soohyun and I have gone on a few dates, but we aren’t anything official.”
“When he asks you out, that’s when this,” You gesture between your bodies, “Will be over?”
Rosie nods, “It would make the most sense right? I would be cheating on him if we continued doing things and I called him my boyfriend.”
It stings to hear that more than you thought it would, but you swallow that, pushing it deep down.
“That’s true. You’ll tell me when that happens?” You ask. You need to prepare yourself for a heartbreak you weren’t expecting.
“You’ll be the first to know when he asks me out,” Rosie moves, straddling your lap. “But for now, I want to do things with you,” She grounds her hips down, showing you exactly what she wants to do.
“Yeah?” Your cock starts to awaken, hardening as your hands grip her thighs. “Like what?”
“Ride you,” Rosie brings her lips to yours, murmuring, “I’m not sore anymore.”
You groan, mind clouded with her body bouncing on your cock—a very imminent reality as she pulls her top over her head, leaving her completely nude from the waist up.
“Go ahead, Chaeng,” You whisper against her lips, letting her take control of the night.
And you know you’ll be absolutely fucked out by the end of it.
--
--
Your hand contacts the flesh of her thigh, a loud smack rings through your room.
“Fuck baby,” Rosie moans loudly, rolling her hips back, trying to get your cock where she needs you most.
“Do you deserve it?” You bend forward, kissing her neck sweetly.
“Yes,” She pants, nodding obediently, squirming in your grip as she continues her movement, brushing your cock in between her lower lips.
Another loud smack echoes as Rosie nearly screams when you aim your cock at her opening, entering her in one swift thrust.
“Good girl,” You whisper, leaning back before watching your cock pull out just enough where your tip stays within her warmth.
“Please,” Rosie turns her head around, biting her lip, nodding that she’s more than okay. You feel her walls contract on your tip, a groan falling from your lips before you thrust back in.
You start off slow, wanting to savor this because whether Rosie knows it or not, this is the last time for this to happen.
Another month has gone by and Soohyun still hasn’t asked her out. Everyone knows they’re an item, but it hasn’t happened—yet.
Though everyone—besides her friends—doesn’t know that you fuck her every time after their dates.
The universe still never works in your favor, so you just happened to be in line to get coffee behind Soohyun and one of his friends before you had class. They spoke loud enough for you to hear his friend ask Soohyun when he was going to ask Rosie to be his girlfriend officially. Curiosity got the best of you, and when Soohyun said tomorrow after dinner, you knew you had to see her tonight.
It wasn’t out of the routine for you to see Rosie after school, but it was out of the routine for you to ask. You hardly initiated it because you didn’t want to assume, but the few times you did, it was because of your parents’ pressuring you to join them on an overseas trip to Japan to meet with the Nakamuras. You were overly stressed out and Rosie conditioned you to go to her to release any frustrations you had.
Was she surprised when you walked up to her in front of her roommates? No, because you were friends with them too. Was she surprised when you asked if she wanted to come over tonight? You weren’t sure, but you saw her head tilt, questioning before answering sure. You ignored the smirks that formed on their faces.
Rosie knew something was up the moment you pushed her against the front door as soon as it shut, dragging your lips across her neck.
“Everything okay?” Rosie asked in between breaths, letting out a squeak when you grabbed one of her legs, wrapping it around your waist.
“Yeah,” You answered, ignoring your thoughts as you grounded your hips over hers.
She didn’t ask anything else, moaning softly as you sucked on her collarbone, lifting her other leg to carry her to your room.
Rosie’s inner walls tighten along your cock on every pull out, and she moans, chest heaving as she takes your cock. Her body quivers in your hands as you saw yourself in and out, in and out.
“Baby,” The pet name falls from her lips. She only calls you it when your balls deep in her, and it spurs you on every single time. “You feel so good.”
“You’re a good girl,” You murmured, pressing your chest against her back. You stop your movements, leaving your length fully sheathed inside, “Show me what good girls do.”
Rosie lets out a small whine, squirming as she moves her body along your cock. Her hips gyrating on yours has you seeing stars, moaning in her ear. Her pussy tightens, rubbing itself over and over, and you scoff, knowing she found the special spot inside of her.
One hand slaps her ass, and she stops.
You’ve learned a lot about Rosie this past month. She may mouth off at you a lot in public, but behind closed doors, she’s obedient as ever, tapping into a side of you you hadn’t been since Nayeon. You both soon realized, after a particularly long night together, that it was something you both enjoyed with each other. Whenever she was particularly bratty, especially with her friends there, it would rile you up a lot.
“Good girls don’t cum first,” You say flatly. “Guess we stop now.” You slowly pull out before her hand reaches for yours, stopping your exit.
“No no no,” Rosie whines, vigorously shaking her head. “I’m sorry, you just feel too good.”
“Selfish,” You click your tongue, shaking your head.
“Baby please,” Rosie begs. She squeezes her inner walls on what’s remaining inside her, a dangerous trick she learned quickly, that has you groaning, slipping your length back inside. “Oh shit,” She moans at being filled.
“Fuck fine,” You relent, but you had other plans for her. You stand upright. You reach for her long blonde hair, tugging with enough force to pull her back against your chest. “But I’m fucking your pussy. This,” You snap your hips against hers, “Is mine. Right?”
Eyes widening, Rosie nods enthusiastically, “Yes baby yes.”
“Mine?” You snap your hips again, watching her breasts bounce.
“Yes,” She moans.
“Say it.”
Her hand turns your head towards her, bringing you in for a lustful kiss, tongues dancing as she moans, yours, into your mouth.
You suddenly drop the grip on her hair, her body falling onto the bed, taking you with her. You fall on top of her prone form and start hammering into her pussy.
You hope her screaming doesn’t get you a noise complaint, but if it does, you don’t give a flying fuck. Especially with the pressure her pussy is, squeezing your cock for all you have.
“Fuck you’re so good,” Rosie bites into her lip, eyes rolling back as she grips the sheets, crumpling in her hand. “So fucking good,” She repeats in between moans.
“You’re being good for me,” Her pussy tightens at the praise. “Keep being good for me.”
Your hands grip her ass, drilling your cock into her, and something snaps inside of you when she screams.
“Fuck this pussy’s mine,” You groan against her tangled hair.
“Yours, yours, yours—oh fuck,” Rosie chants, eyes shooting open as her orgasm surprises you both.
You feel your cock get pushed out as Rosie begins to squirt against your body, and she fucking gushes.
You’ve never made a girl squirt before, and Rosie has never had such a bodily reaction. You feel a streak of possessiveness rolls through your body. You shove your cock through her wetness, and you feel another rush of liquid as you wildly thrust in and out of her body.
“Fuck Chaeng,” You moan, your mind screaming mine mine, as your orgasm hits, shooting your load deep inside her. It must’ve triggered another orgasm because her pussy tightens again, knocking the air from your lungs, as your hips stutter erratically.
“Jesus fuck,” Rosie pants from underneath you, her body still quivering from her orgasm. Your chest heaves, hands slipping underneath her waist to hold her tightly. “That was…I don’t even know.”
“Yeah,” You grunt, kissing her hair before gently pulling your cock out. You don’t know either because you’ve taken Rosie roughly before, but never like this. She lets out a quiet moan, sighing, as you glance down to the mess between you. Quite a mess indeed.
Your body collapses next to Rosie as exhaustion takes over, but she quickly snuggles into you, wrapping an arm over your back.
“Are you okay?” Rosie mumbles into your ear, chin resting on your shoulder.
“Are you?” You turn your head to face her. The guilt washing in after you realize how hard you were on her.
“Well I know for a fact I’ll be sore tomorrow, but I’m great,” Rosie kisses your skin, mumbling out, “But seriously, are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask quietly.
Rosie stares at you, peeking her head over to search for an answer you’re scared she’ll find. She looks beautiful, and you’d love to tell her, but with the way she’s looking at you, something else might slip out.
“You called me mine,” Rosie says softly, bringing her fingers to comb through your hair.
“Sorry,” You bury your face into your pillow, embarrassed. “Heat of the moment,” You lie, knowing damn well it wasn’t.
“Don’t be shy,” Rosie scratches your head. “It was cute,” Giggling softly before adding, “Being yours sounds nice.”
--
You’re at a bar with a few of your friends—Jennie and Lisa included. It’s a normal night out with your friends to celebrate making it another week. You couldn’t really enjoy it like you normally would because you’ve been checking your phone every couple minutes, waiting for a message you know is coming your way.
“Oppa, pay attention to us,” Lisa whines next to you as Jennie chuckles on her lap.
“If you want to have a threesome, just ask,” That comment earns you a hard smack on the arm from Jennie, huffing in her now-girlfriend’s lap.
“Oh fuck off,” Jennie spits out, muttering to Lisa about how much of an asshole you are and why she ever slept with you.
You check your phone for any notifications and your heart drops when you see one from Rosie. You casually glance to make sure neither of the girls are peering over your shoulder, while you hear them talking to Ryujin on their other side.
You take a breath, tapping the screen to read the message.
Soohyun asked me to be his girlfriend.
You already knew it was coming, so why did it still hurt?
You lock your phone, shaking your head, as you try to process your emotions.
The time you’ve been spending with Rosie is over, and you couldn’t help but feel sad over it. It feels like when you and Nayeon broke up, but a thousand times worse. It’s not like you two were actually a couple, mere fuck buddies that spent hours together watching shows, eating out with, and a lot of other things in between.
But then why does it feel like it was more than a fuck?
You were aware that you were growing attached to Rosie, but you feigned it off that it was just because of how much you saw each other. She became part of your routine, that you couldn’t remember the time when she wasn’t.
Your attachment clearly was more because you developed feelings, actual feelings that weren’t revolving around lust. So yeah, you like Rosie, hell, you may even be in love with her at this point, but you lost your shot.
And there probably won’t ever be another.
You groan, slamming your hand on the table loud enough that it jolts the girls next to you.
“Oppa, what the fuck?” Jennie asks, concerned with your sudden outburst.
“I gotta go,” Your voice cracks, walking away before you break down completely.
“Wait!” Lisa yells after you, spurring you to move quicker through the crowd.
You turn your head before you exit, but you can’t pinpoint their face in the sea of people. You let out a sigh of relief, knowing you lost them, before the thought of Rosie seeps back into your mind.
You need something—anything—to get your thoughts and feelings off of her. An idea quickly comes to you, one that you regret having, but it’s your only option.
You pull your phone out, scrolling through your contact list before hitting call.
The line rings once before a concerned voice answers.
“Book me a flight to Osaka.”
--
--
It’s been two weeks since you received a message that shattered you.
It’s also been two weeks since you left for Osaka abruptly, deciding to join your parents to meet with the Nakamuras for another business formality.
Your parents were surprised that you wanted to join, especially since the last discussion you had with your father had your mother having to step in between before either of you slammed the other into the wall. Your father was excited the moment you showed up at your childhood home straight after the club while your mother looked concerned. She asked if everything was alright, but you brushed her off, not wanting to get into it with her.
Regardless, they were still happy you joined them. Your father more so as he made the off comment that it would be good to spend some time with Kazuha.
Which you did, and with Satoshi.
You gave Kazuha the heads up that you’d be arriving with your parents. She was another person surprised, but she welcomed you nonetheless. You also met her boyfriend, who you quickly became close to, much to Kazuha’s dismay. She’d tell anyone that she was the third wheel by how much you and Satoshi spoke.
It was only meant to be a weeklong trip, but Kazuha and Satoshi invited you to stay for their school break, to visit Tokyo and Hiroshima. You jumped at the opportunity. Anything that kept you away from seeing Rosie and Soohyun holding hands on campus was what you wanted.
Satoshi brought his younger sister along too, Kasumi. You thought she was a bit of a hothead, but she was pretty and you were in another country trying to get over someone.
When it came down to actually hooking up, you couldn’t. Your body physically shut down from anything you two alluded to. Making out had no effect on you. Her rubbing her hand over your crotch felt nice, but not enough for you to get hard. You felt bad, but you explained that you just couldn’t because you weren’t in the right headspace for it. You were so caught up in your feelings with Rosie that you couldn’t perform, no matter how much Kasumi was interested.
She understood, chuckling because she figured there was someone else, but she thought you were cute so she wanted to at least try. There weren’t any hard feelings, leaving Japan with two great friends. And Kazuha too, you guess.
You hear your mother call your name out from across the aisle, motioning for you to sit next to her as the plane starts its descent.
“How are you doing?” Your mother asks once you buckle your seatbelt.
“I’m fine,” An automated response whenever either of your parents ask, but the difference between them is that your mother has a tendency to prod.
“How was Tokyo?”
“It was fun. Kazuha and Satoshi took me around,” You answer vaguely, knowing that if you shared actual details about what you did, she would have a heart attack.
“That’s great,” Your mother nods, smiling. “How’s Chaeyoung?”
You freeze. You knew your mothers spoke often, but she had rarely ever asked you about her.
“I saw Alice a few weeks ago as I was coming home. She mentioned you and Chaeyoung had been spending some time together,” Your mother continues, noticing your sudden apprehension.
Oh.
That’s news to you because you didn’t think Rosie mentioned you to Alice of all people. The siblings were close, like really close, so if she talked about you, it probably meant something. But you were trying to get over her, and thinking about what it could mean would drive you crazy.
“Oh, uh, Rosie’s doing well. I think she’s going abroad for her internship this summer, she just has to decide where she wants to go,” You say. Rosie had been bouncing ideas off you since she heard back. You were there when she received a couple emails, watching her shock and excitement paint her face. She nearly ripped your clothes off when she got accepted into the one she really wanted.
“Fashion right? Chaeyoung always had an eye for that,” Your mother answers pensively.
You’re inclined to say something else, but another question is thrown your way before you could.
“Are you two dating?”
“Mother,” You roll your eyes.
“That’s not a no,” She quips, chuckling at your expense. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. You’ve always been fond of her ever since you were kids. We, her mother and I, have talked about it before.”
“What’re you even talking about?” You sigh, shaking your head. This conversation has taken a turn for the worse. You thought your mother wanted you to marry Kazuha, but apparently, she has been talking to Rosie’s mother about you two for years.
“You don’t remember? You used to come home frustrated with Rosie, whining and grumbling about why she wouldn’t talk to you,” Her words unlock a box you kept hidden away. “It wasn’t until you hit high school where you pretty much gave up trying to be her friend. Even at that point, Rosie would talk to you, or maybe more antagonize you is a better description. You were beaming after those weekly dinners with the Parks.”
You didn’t comment as thoughts and feelings rushed to the surface.
“Regardless, we thought you two would date at some point,” Your mother shrugged as if what she just said had no impact on you.
Your mother doesn’t say anything else, opening one of her latest novels, signaling that the conversation is over.
It really didn’t matter how you felt before, but then why does it feel like it’s making it a hundred times harder to get over her?
--
You drop your duffel bag on the floor, kicking the door shut, as you’re finally home after two weeks. You plop your body on the couch, yawning from the flight. You have to go to campus tomorrow, which you weren’t entirely excited about. The chances of you seeing her were high, but you didn’t know what she was going to do.
You’ve been avoiding all messages she sent you, which were a lot. She called you too, leaving a few voicemails that you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to. Kazuha caught you staring at your phone one night and made you promise not to open any messages that could derail your trip. It didn’t help Satoshi agreed, saying that it would be like a reset.
You decide that now was the time to check them.
Where are you?
Can you answer the phone?
I’m coming over.
I’m outside, can you open the door?
Fuck it, I know your code.
Where the hell are you?
Did you go to Osaka?
All those messages were from the day after Soohyun asked her to be his girlfriend. You saw she texted you everyday for a week asking if you could call her, but her last message broke you.
I can only assume you went to Osaka. I hope everything’s okay.
It takes everything in you to not reply now. If you do, you’d just be an asshole to her for no contact for two weeks. You’re an asshole either way, but it would rub salt in the wound.
You check your other messages and see a few from Jennie, who rightfully curses you out for being a dick and to just respond so Rosie knows you're alive. Lisa sent one too, asking you where you are, but no threats. Jisoo’s message made you chuckle, a simple reply to her or else, was clear enough.
You sigh, locking your phone and tossing it on the coffee table.
You’ll deal with everything tomorrow.
--
The first person that approaches you on campus is Jennie. She shoves you, letting her when you know you could overpower her.
“You’re a fucking ass,” Jennie pushes you again, enough force to lose your balance.
“What did I do?” You stupidly ask, avoiding her piercing gaze.
“You know what the hell you did, you better fucking talk to her,” Jennie says firmly, poking your shoulder.
“If I see her,” You mumble, rubbing the spot.
“You better,” You wait for her to say more, but the sound of her walking away brings your gaze to her retreating figure.
Sighing as this isn’t how you want to start your day, you decide to be early for class.
The universe doesn’t even want you to be early because Nayeon stops you along the way.
“Hey I need a favor,” Nayeon asks, standing in front of you.
“What?” You didn’t mean to sound irritated, but blame Jennie.
“Can you do this photoshoot for Mina and Sana? Their original photographer flaked, and they’re out of options,” Nayeon explains and you know she’s telling the truth.
“Why me?”
“I suggested you. I remember you taking photographs,” Nayeon smiles softly. “It’s a project that’s worth half their grade and their professor wants quality pictures.”
“What class is it for?” You prod, adding, “I’ve never done a modeling kind of shoot.”
“Their visual concepts class, I think. I don’t know. All I know is that they texted the group chat, stressing out,” Nayeon explains, shrugging since she was a film major.
“Fine,” Nayeon claps happily, “Are you going to be there?” You had to ask, needing the time to mentally prepare yourself to spend, most likely, the whole day with her.
“What? No,” Nayeon shakes her head. “I’ll be in Busan this weekend. Why did you want to hang out with me?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Absolutely not,” You say firmly and her shoulders drop.
“Fine whatever,” Nayeon huffs, hiking her bag on her shoulder. “Anyways, I’ll text you the details about it later. It’s tomorrow. I don’t think you need to bring anything, but bring your camera stuff just in case.”
You nod, thinking about your schedule for tomorrow, which thankfully nothing was planned.
“Oh,” Nayeon turns her head, adding one last detail before walking away, “Chaeyoung will be there too. She’s styling them.”
Nayeon doesn’t wait for you to reply, leaving you speechless and even more irritated.
Fucker.
--
--
“Let’s take a break,” You announce after checking the shots you just took, satisfied with the outcome. “Fifteen?”
“Oh thank god,” Sana sinks to the ground as Mina chuckles next to her. “If we weren’t desperate, I wouldn’t have said yes.”
“Be thankful I care about this, or your project would be shit,” You answer, flicking through the pictures and thinking of how to change the lighting.
“Thanks again for doing this, oppa,” Mina squeezes your arm before walking off to sit with Momo.
You grumble a reply, turning without even thinking, and you accidentally bump into someone.
“Shit sorry,” You look up to see Rosie five seconds away from losing the grip on the clothes she’s carrying. You immediately drop the camera against your chest, reaching for the items and taking it out of her hands.
“It’s fine,” Rosie grabs the clothes back without another word, walking towards Mina.
You sigh, shaking your head, trying not to lose focus on why you’re here.
When you arrived this morning at one of the parks at the Han River, most of the crew was already present, setting up. You greeted everyone before seeing Rosie with Dahyun, discussing the outfits and concepts.
“Hey good morning,” You greeted softly as you stood in front of them.
Dahyun gave you a bright smile while Rosie forced hers, the smile not quite reaching her eyes.
“Morning oppa!” Dahyun was as cheerful as ever at eight in the morning on a Saturday. “You could use the school’s equipment if you want,” She nods towards the table with the camera and lenses, “But feel free to use yours, whichever you feel comfortable with.”
Another woman walked up to Dahyun, asking her to come with her to make sure they were correctly set up. Dahyun excused herself, leaving you alone with Rosie.
“Chaeng—”
“Now you want to talk?” Rosie’s words cut sharply. “I don’t have anything to say to you right now, can we just get through today?”
“Okay,” Was all you could say, nodding. You knew she had a lot to say, but neither of you could exactly hash it out with all these people around.
“Okay,” Rosie nodded, grabbing whatever was near her, and walked away.
Once Sana and Mina arrived, you quickly switched gears. You pushed whatever thoughts and feelings you had for Rosie aside, and went straight into work mode.
You had zero experience taking photographs like this. Sure you’ve taken photos of your friends, and Nayeon would force you to take pictures of her whenever you went out. The last person you took a photo of was Rosie when you walked through the streets of Myeongdong a few weeks back.
That was about as close as you got to taking pictures of people, but working like this was exhilarating.
You and Rosie worked well together too. It made you a lot more comfortable with directing with how seamlessly it went. You asked her opinion on what lighting should be used and she gave feedback that had the shots coming out great. Other than suggestions, your conversations had been minimal.
“You know,” Sana joins you in the empty seat next to you as you sift through the photos on the laptop, “You’re an asshole right?”
“Okay what the fuck,” You break your attention away from the screen to a smirk on Sana’s face.
“Chaeyoung-ah talks to us, and she sort of filled us in about this guy, who wasn’t Soohyun, that she had been seeing,” Sana sinks into the chair, glancing at the picture of her and Mina on the screen. “It wasn’t really hard to put two and two together about who she was referring to, and Nayeon confirmed something was going on between you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You brush the woman off, rolling your eyes as you delete one of the blurry shots.
“Sure you don’t,” Sana chuckles, “But regardless of whatever was going on between you two, you should know—if you don’t already—Rosie didn’t say yes to Soohyun when he asked her out.”
You don’t let her words faze you as you continue to delete shots you don’t deem worthy.
“One could only wonder right?” Sana goes on, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Soohyun’s a good-looking guy, nice enough, and spent a fair amount of time courting her, just for him to be rejected.”
“What are you getting at Sana?” You stop what you were doing, turning to face her.
“Just wanted to figure out why Rosie said no,” Sana shrugs as Dahyun passes by, informing her that it’s time for the next outfit change. “Anyways, Rosie wouldn’t say, but it’s obvious why.”
“And why is that?” You take the bait, preparing yourself for whatever’s going to come out of Sana’s mouth next.
“Because of you,” Sana stands, letting out a small yawn. “Anyways, let’s get this over with. I’m ready to drink. Don’t be a dick.”
You aren’t sure if Sana was referring to herself or to Rosie, and you couldn’t ask since she left to go change into the next outfit.
--
The rest of the photo shoot goes without a hitch. You tried your best to not let the conversation with Sana bleed into your work, and you hoped no one noticed. It was slightly harder than it was already to work with Rosie, but you maintained some sense of professionalism.
There was a minor issue with the zipper breaking on Sana’s dress, but Rosie was quick to fix the problem by throwing a blazer over her. Other than that, everything went well. You thanked everyone for their help today, realizing it was a long day, which everyone was happy to hit the bar once everything was packed up.
You offered to edit the pictures for them, since you didn’t exactly want to go out. Mina said you didn’t have to, but you were adamant about it. Sana shrugged, indifferent if you joined or not.
You see Rosie talking to Momo and swallow your pride as you make your way to them.
“Come on Chaeng,” You catch Momo say as you get closer. “It’ll be fun!”
“I don’t think so Momo,” Rosie shakes her head. “I just want to stay in tonight.”
“One drink?” Momo begs as you stand next to the women.
“Sorry Momo,” Rosie smiles, eyes falling on you before her smile slowly fades.
“Oppa, convince her to go,” Momo pouts.
“I’m with her on this one Momo,” She frowns, shaking her head, muttering something in Japanese that makes you laugh. “I understand, you know that right?”
Momo’s eyes widened, cheeks starting to turn red before walking away.
Once Momo’s a good distance away, you turn to Rosie, a sad smile forming on your face as she looks everywhere but at you.
“Can we talk?” You ask quietly.
“So talk,” Rosie crosses her arms.
“Like in private? Please.”
Rosie relents, sighing. “Let’s just finish with cleaning up and we can go for a walk okay?”
“Okay,” You nod, grateful that she’s giving you the time of day.
You have to be honest with her, and if she rejects you completely, at least you can say you tried.
—
Rosie shivers next to you, the chill of the sunset creeping in. You shrug your coat off, wrapping it around her shoulders.
“Thanks,” Rosie mumbles out as you continue walking along the river.
There are a few people out as well, mostly couples huddled together. It almost makes you want to wrap an arm around her to keep her warm. You won’t though because it’s awkward.
Rosie walks into the convenience store without saying anything, which you follow her into. She grabs an instant coffee before turning to you, asking if you wanted anything. You shake your head, even though the bottle of soju behind the glass screams your name.
When she goes to pay, you quickly swipe your card before she could say no. She scoffs, shaking her head, as she walks out. You follow her, keeping a small distance as you watch her take small sips with every step. She stops, leaning on the railing, and stares out to the river.
Naturally you join her, letting the background noise fill the silence.
After a few minutes, Rosie says, “You wanted to talk, so go ahead.”
“First off, I’m sorry,” You say quietly. You apologize for not replying, and most likely worrying her. You explain that going to Osaka was an impulsive choice, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior.
“Well why? Did I do something?” Rosie turns to face you, lip quivering. You notice her eyes suddenly glossy, and it pangs you to see her like this.
“No, no,” You shake your head firmly, closing your eyes as you choose your next words carefully. “When I got that text about Soohyun, I finally accepted something.”
“What?”
You slowly open your eyes, staring at her features, completely enamored by her. Like you always have been.
“I’m in love with you,” You admit for the first time out loud, and you’re happy it’s to her.
Rosie’s eyes widen, gaze looking away as her whole body shifts to face the water again.
“You’re an asshole, you know that right?” Rosie says quietly. “And an idiot.” She adds, huffing.
Not the response you were expecting, but before you could ask what she means, she tells you anyway.
“I’ve spent mostly every day with you for the past month, then we have a really intense night of sex where you fucking claimed me,” You wince at her words, “Then you just leave for two weeks without any contact to come back and say you’re in love with me because of a text of someone asking me out?”
“Well when you put—”
“I’m not finished,” Rosie huffs, facing you once again. “I’m in love with you, too dumbass. After that last night, I realized that as much as you piss me off, as much as you’re so fucking stubborn, that the idea of being yours felt real. I couldn’t say yes to Soohyun when I unknowingly said yes to you.”
“You want to be with me?” You stare at her, dumbfounded.
“If that wasn’t clear enough, yes,” Rosie rolls her eyes. “We’ve basically already been dating, so if you’d just stop running away after and just talk to—whoa,” She gasps when your arm snakes around her waist, pulling her into you, tilting her head up.
“Say it,” You ghost your lips against hers, moving as she misses.
“See, stubborn,” There’s a sharp inhale when you kiss her sweetly.
“Say it,” You mumble, dipping your tongue in as she lets out a moan.
“Yours,” Rosie wraps her arms around your neck, melting into you as the kiss deepens.
“I love you,” You detach your lips, resting your forehead against hers.
“I love you too,” Tracing her fingers along your neck, “Even though you’ve been a jerk these past two weeks. How are you going to make it up to me?”
“I can think of a few ways.”
--
--
Rosie slams the door behind you, wincing at the frames rattling against the wall. She kicks her shoes off aggressively, barely sparing you a glance as she walks to your room. That door also slams.
She’s pissed.
Maybe it was your fault. Okay so it was your fault, but you didn’t mean for it to happen.
You met up with a few of your friends to celebrate the end of exams and the school year. It was also a small farewell to you and Rosie as you were going to Paris together for the summer. Rosie took the internship at YSL and she was able to get you one too after she sneakily sent over the portfolio from the project.
Your parents didn’t mind, figuring it would be good for you to take this time before you graduate into the real world. They were supportive that if you decided to do it for real, they’d be more than okay with it. That surprised you, but you couldn’t complain. Though the teasing from your mother was enough.
You were at the bar, waiting to get your order when Ryujin sat in your lap. You couldn’t do anything as her weight pressed you down.
“What the hell Ryujin?” You try to get her off you.
“Oppa, come on. When are you going to ditch Chaeyoung and get back to bed with me?” Ryujin grounds her hips over your crotch, stealing a moan from you as the movement catches you off guard.
“I’m not going to,” You grit out as she repeats the movement.
“What the fuck?” You hear Rosie’s voice behind you, gathering the strength to push the woman off your lap.
“I can explain!” You turn to face her, hands up.
“Come on Chaeyoung, share him,” Ryujin trails a finger up your chest. “I miss him.”
“Oh you fucking—” You step out of Ryujin’s hold, lungeing for your girlfriend before she mauls the other woman.
“Let’s go,” You nearly carry Rosie out as she squirms against your hold. A few people stare as you walk by, but she was about five seconds away from causing a bigger scene, that you couldn’t care less.
Once you got outside, Rosie ripped into you. She called you every name in the book for doing that. When you explained that you were pushing her off, she called you an idiot for even allowing it. You had no response, knowing it was a lost cause.
Officially dating Rosie for the past few months, you learned a lot, especially the type of girlfriend she was. She’s more affectionate, tender, soft when it’s just you or with her closest friends. She does a lot for you without even realizing you need help. She acts indifferent to the public about things, but tells you how she feels and what she thinks in private. She shows you in more ways than one just how much she loves you.
But she’s still the same too.
She still argues with you over anything and everything. She mouths off whenever she doesn’t get her way (you give in anyways). She relentlessly teases you any chance she gets.
She’s also very possessive of you. She hates when any girls glance your way. She especially despises any of your past flings (except Jennie) as they boldly ask you to hook up with her right there. She can’t stand it when you say she’s jealous because she’s not. But her use of mine is repeated multiple times as she fucks you to remind you who you belonged to, like you could forget.
She’s still the biggest pain in your ass, but you love her anyway.
You open your room door, surprised to see Rosie already changed for bed. She’s adorable dressed in your clothes, the size just a tad too big on her body. You quietly close the door, ignoring her movements as you grab clothes from the dresser.
When you join her in bed, sliding under the covers, you lay on your side, staring at her scroll through her phone.
“Chaeng,” You pout as she continues scrolling. “Come on, you know I didn’t do anything.”
“Why’d you let her sit on your lap then?” Rosie says sarcastically.
“I didn’t. She just sat there,” You reason, rolling your eyes at her pettiness.
“Cause you just keep your lap available for anyone to sit on?”
“Jesus christ, you know I don’t. You’re acting like a brat,” You huff, rolling onto your back.
“I’m acting like a brat?” Rosie raises her voice, her phone tossed on the nightstand. She hovers over you, eyes narrowing, “I’m not the one letting girls openly sit on my lap when I’m clearly in a relationship.”
“Believe me, everyone knows that I am,” You glare, deciding right then and there you’re going to taunt her. “Not my fault my dick’s just that good they miss me.”
“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Rosie scoffs, “It’s not even that good.”
“What do you have to compare it to? You’ve only slept with me and clearly aren’t going after anyone else’s dick,” It’s a low blow, but she’s starting to piss you off.
In a flurry of movements, Rosie swings her leg over you, cupping your chin rather aggressively before whispering, “Did you want me to? I’m sure there’s still a line of guys dying to get inside of me.”
Your temper flares, hands gripping her waist before flipping her over.
Now if Rosie’s possessive of you, naturally you’re possessive of her. Probably worse.
You find your hands underneath your shirt, and she shivers at your touch.
“Is that a no?” Rosie moans when you pinch her nipples.
You remove your hands, reaching for the hem of your shirt before throwing it somewhere off to the side. You rip the shirt off her body before slotting yourself in between her legs, pressing most of your weight on top of her.
“I guess I have to ask,” You start peppering her jaw with kisses, “Do you want to be disappointed?”
Rosie moans as you gently suck on her sweet spot, smirking against her skin as her hips roll against your crotch. Your cock twitches, but you don’t let your control slip that easily.
“How-how would I be disappointed?” Rosie tilts her head back, granting you more access as you continue leaving marks along her neck.
“You’d be comparing them to me,” You thrust against her, just so she could feel what she’s doing to you.
“Doubtful,” Rosie’s hand slips underneath your waistband, taking hold of your cock as she strokes you.
“I know you would,” You whisper against her ear, “You wouldn’t cum, I know that for sure.”
“What makes you so confident?” Her grip tightens, a groan falling from your lips.
“Maybe cause you’re mine,” You nip at her ear, grounding your hips against hers. Her legs wrap around your waist, an all too familiar move that has you rutting into her, mimicking exactly what you were going to do to her.
“Yours?”
“Mine,” You tear the shirt over her head, whimpering at her hand leaving you. You tug her shorts down to see her bare pussy, wet and glistening under the low light of your room. You salivate, but tuck those thoughts away for later because you need to get inside her more than anything right now.
“Better remind me,” Rosie sighs, breath stuttering, as she stares at the obvious bulge in between her legs. “I could probably walk outside and someone would wanna fuck me.”
Your control snaps, shoving your sweats to free your cock. You miss the gasp falling from her lips, but you hone in as you aim your cock at her entrance.
“Absolutely not,” You snap your hips forward, giving her no time to adjust to the ruthless pace you set on her body. “Only I could do this.”
You spread her legs wider, watching her eyes roll back. Her hips meet every thrust, taking you just like she knows how to. Her long drawn out moans quickly turn into high pitched screams that ring in your ears.
“Baby,” Rosie brings one hand in between her legs, furiously rubbing her clit as her walls clamp onto your length. “You fuck me so—fuck.”
Your earlier irritation bleeds away, suddenly feeling the need to make sure Rosie doesn’t forget exactly who makes her feel this good.
You fill her to the hilt, groaning into the crook of her neck as her pussy contracts around your cock.
“Baby,” Rosie pants, chest heaving against yours as she tries to move. Your hips have her pinned against the bed, so it’s futile as she writhes underneath you. “Don’t stop, please.” She breathes out, her hand still moving in between you, creating a delicious friction.
You want her to beg, but with the way she’s squeezing your cock like her life depended on it has you giving in
“Tell me.”
“Yours-please, please,” Rosie shakes her head, the pressure in between her legs growing.
“Mine?” You draw your hips back, leaving the head of your cock in.
“Fuck, yours,” Rosie screams when you slam into her body, hooking her legs over your shoulders as you resume fucking her with everything you’ve got.
You’re usually not this rough, but a more primal, baser, need takes over. She yelled at you for something that was completely out of your control. Could you have handled it differently? Sure, but she could have handled it differently too.
You’ve spent enough time with Rosie to know she acts like this to rile you up. You honestly have no problem putting her in her place, especially if it’s in between her legs.
Rosie’s orgasm rips through her body, back arching suddenly as her hands hold you close. Her nails dig into your skin, nails scratching down your back, which you know will leave marks.
“Again,” You command, fucking her thoroughly as her pussy spasms around your cock.
Rosie’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out as her lips form a perfect ‘O’ before a gush of wetness drenches you.
You pull out quickly, deciding that she doesn’t get to feel you cum inside her—at least right now. It takes you no more than four pumps of your cock before you explode over her body. You aim in between her lower lips, making a bigger mess of her as your mind shuts off.
You’re both gasping for air, but your eyes fixate on the rise and fall of Rosie’s chest. Moving on impulse alone, you lower yourself, peppering her chest with your lips. One hand lazily drapes over your neck, scratching softly as quiet moans leave her body.
“Okay,” Rosie mumbles after a couple minutes, gently tugging you off. “You made your point. I don’t want anyone else to fuck me.”
“Good,” You roll off of her, but quickly pull her body into yours.
“No one else can fuck you either,” Rosie musters out as threatening as possible. It falls short because she’s still trying to catch her breath, exhausted.
“I know,” You kiss her temple. “Only want you anyways.”
“Good,” She snuggles into your side, slotting a leg in between yours.
You offer to clean up, but she pulls you tighter, telling you five more minutes. You chuckle, knowing her body well enough that she’s going to pass out.
“Love you,” You murmur, lips on her skin again because you couldn’t get enough of her.
“I love you,” Rosie sighs dreamily.
You hear light snores after a minute, eyes rolling fondly. You sink into the embrace, closing your eyes as well.
You’ll clean later, content with the woman in your arms, who will—if you had to bet—want to go again.
--
--
--
#blackpink smut#blackpink rose#blackpink park chaeyoung#rosie smut#park chaeyoung smut#park chaeyoung
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