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animator1229 · 1 year

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greysarchitecture · 2 years

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Miniclip istunt 2

#Miniclip istunt 2 full#

#Miniclip istunt 2 Pc#

#Miniclip istunt 2 free#

#Miniclip istunt 2 full#

If you're tired of just tapping games away embrace the full gaming experience.

#Miniclip istunt 2 free#

Hit the slopes in the most extreme FREE snowboarding game. Achievements and leaderboards - show you're friends who's the stunt king in these deadly slopes! iStunt 2 l Version: 1.0.6 Size: 20.40MB Developers: Language:English. Tagged under Istunt 2, Miniclip, Video Games. ★ 88 insane levels + more levels added regularly to keep all your extreme snowboarding needs satisfied! Hit the slopes for some serious shredding in the most fun snowboarding. IStunt 2 Miniclip Video Games Gravity Guy Fragger PNG is a 512x512 PNG image with a transparent background. ★ Fast paced gaming with perfectly balanced tilt controls! "iStunt 2 is full of clever and surprising levels that remain exhilerating all the way through. "Pulling off a twisting move, a couple of grabs, and tilting just right, and just in time, for a perfect landing is what makes iStunt 2 a blast." - PocketGamer "The sense of being just enough in control is cool, and adds to the overall thrill ride element of iStunt 2." - IGN There's lots here to love, even the music is funky enough for me to smile at it.Get ready to hit the slopes in the most extreme snowboarding game on the Google Play Store!Įscape deadly buzz saws, keep you balance through gravity shifts and speed boosts, grind your way to victory in this fast paced and insanely addictive snowboarding game! That's another reason to give iStunt 2 a thumbs up. So making sure you have a good idea at all times is smart programming and design. Istunt 2 Recreation, Miniclip, Video Games, Gravity Guy, Fragger, Android, ONLINE GAME, Snowboarding Video Game, Istunt 2, Miniclip, Video Games png PNG tags.

#Miniclip istunt 2 Pc#

I also love that the graphics keep moving so you always have a good idea where your snowboarder is going to land - and that's important because if you don't land your board flat to the ground. iStunt 2 is a helpful, free game also available for iPhone, Windows Phone that belongs to the category PC games with subcategory Sport and has been created. Given that most players will judge their progress simply by how many levels they can complete, this is a smart way to keep them in the game and playing a little bit more. That means you can easily take six or seven goes at a tricky jump in a minute of playing. Throughout the level you have checkpoints, and if you crash or wipe out, you'll be taken back to just this checkpoint with very little delay. Throw in some arcade power-ups to give you extra speed, bigger jumps, and the ability to switch the direction of gravity, and you have a fun gaming experience, and thanks to the replay system, one that's perfectly suited to snacking like playing on the move. In short, the design of this game has extended what players can expect, and expanded it in a good way. They're not needed to complete the level, but if you're in any way competitive then the extra points and multipliers for chaining tricks together while in the air will be manna from heaven for you.īy adding in these extra choices, Miniclip have extended the life of the game - they've made it different to the other balancing style games out there, they've increased the choices available while playing the game, and given the level designers more options to create wickedly complicated, albeit short to play, levels. The other two, grabbing the nose or tail of your snowboard, help boost your points total, assuming you can land the jump and trick move safely. Two of these are going to be needed to complete a level - the "duck" move, by sliding your finger down on the screen, lets you slide through smaller tunnels in the landscape, while the "jump" (slide up) gives you a bit of a boost to reach different parts of the sky. Alongside the rotating of your smartphone clockwise or anticlockwise to change the orientation of your courageous snowboarder, you have a few extra controls to provide more flexibility to the level designer (and a bigger challenge to you). Cue the moment of reckoning and either a progression to the next level, or if you're like me, replaying the same level to try and get all the stars and "complete" what's on offer before moving on.īut here's the thing that lifts iStunt 2 out of the regular accelerometer powered balancing game. A simple stunt-performing, snowboarding title, British developer Miniclip’s iStunt 2 is comparable to older apps like Crazy Snowboard, only 2D and absurdly more extreme.Using tilting as the core. IStunt is based around snowboarding around an ever more complicated landscape, capturing stars and performing tricks to maximise your score while you 'board around the world and reach the end of the level'. It's time for another, but the good news, at least for my sanity, is that iStunt 2, from Miniclip, is one of the better ones. Like any genre, there are good and bad examples, and we've reviewed a few of them here on AAS.

#Miniclip istunt 2

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elysianslove · 3 years

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shameful lust; suna rintarō

synopsis; he’s off limits in every way, but that only makes you want him more. based off of this, this, and this. the smut is inspired by my bunny anon’s birthday idea :) bunny, you know the one :)

pairings; brother’s bsf!suna rintarō x fem!reader

genre; porn with kind of plot lmfao

word count; 5.5k what the fuck??

trigger warning; age gap (not specified, & everyone’s 18+), masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, humiliation, praise, mini panic attack, link for the lingerie (slight nsfw warning)

it started off innocent, as most things do. you were sixteen when you first felt the butterflies nestled deep in your stomach, the drop of your heart, the heat of your cheeks, only around him. you’d thought it was a natural reaction; after all, you’d known suna rintarō since, quite literally, forever, and you were a growing girl, hormones imbalanced and thoughts as confusing as ever. it was normal, completely ordinary to feel as nervous as you did whenever his hand so much brushed against yours, or whenever he’d barely glance your way to offer a small, teasing smile.

it meant nothing, of course. you were just a young girl, sixteen, desperate to lose yourself in some sort of fantasy. a silly crush on your brother’s best friend was nothing strange, and definitely inevitable.

it would go away.

you’re eighteen when the feelings don’t go away, and when they begin reshaping into more— impure thoughts. the more you see of him, the more hyperaware you grow of everything that he is. suddenly your eyes easily find the small strip of skin revealed when he stretches his arms up, and suddenly you can’t help but constantly think about the way he sits, legs spread so wide as if to... accommodate something. suddenly your thoughts always find their way back to the way he’d hugged you goodbye, arms squeezing you so tight to him, allowing you to feel every ridge and ripple of his muscles, and the way he had ruffled your hair and his hand, so large, so easily sinking into the strands— and you’re left wondering what else his fingers could do in your hair, to the rest of your body—

it’s bad. it’s really bad. every day you try and convince yourself it’s innocent, and every night you prove yourself wrong when you find yourself on your stomach, face buried in your pillow and teeth biting down on it, mouth dampening the cloth as your fingers rub harshly at your clit and sink into your dripping cunt— all with his name falling off your tongue as you heave and cry. every night you think about how much thicker his fingers are in comparison to yours, how much longer, how they’d feel inside of you, curling within you. you know he’s dexterous, insanely good with his hands. you’ve seen the way his fingers fly across a keyboard or tap urgently at a gaming console. you know it, and it in no way helps in calming your frustration.

it’s bad, of course, but you live with it. after all, he is in every way off limits. a lot older than you, and much more experienced, suna would have to lose his mind before he ever thinks of you the way you think of him. what would a girl like you have to offer a guy like him anyways? your shaky hands and clumsy mouth? your tight cunt that can barely fit two of your fingers? you’d only leave him unsatisfied, and leave yourself utterly humiliated.

worst of all, however, you can’t imagine how devastated, how betrayed, your brother would be if he’d caught you fooling around with his best friend.

so although you’re yearning to say fuck all and fuck him, you don’t, because it doesn’t make sense in the slightest for you to do so. you continue to make due with what shirtless image of him or that time he slept over and went commando, waking up at the same time you had and his — his dick was hard— you could see—

fuck.

you need to grow up.

as you sit with your back to your headboard, your knees bent up and swinging slightly, two simple knock erupt on your bedroom door. it’s late afternoon, the sun’s brightness dimming slightly, casting your room in an orange glow. in all honesty, it’s soothing.

looking up from your phone momentarily, you call out for the person knocking to come in, your eyes returning to your screen once more.

“hey.”

at the sound of the awfully familiar voice, your head snaps back up and you lock your phone, looking up with newfound excitement at the man standing at your doorway. “hi,” you return with a smile, sitting up and crossing your legs.

suna smiles back, walking into your room with one hand tucked behind his back. “your brother said i’d find you here,” he explains, walking towards you.

you quirk a brow, curiously and amusingly smiling as you ask, “whatcha got there?”

he’s quiet for a moment as he walks over to your side of the bed, maneuvering in a way that doesn’t reveal what he has hidden behind him. you twist around on your bed, leaning on your knees to face him properly, and it’s just when you lift up slightly to settle comfortably that he leans down, bends over to get close enough to whisper, “happy birthday, pretty girl.” he gives you not another moment to process how close his face is — how close his lips are to yours — before the hand behind his back comes around between you.

tucked in his hand is a medium sized bag, not related to any sort of brand, so you assume it’s a simple bag he’d gotten from a convenience store. that would really only mean one thing— that he’s gotten you more than just one gift. you can’t see what’s in it since there are colorful papers stacked within it, obstructing your view, but you’re still flustered at the mere thought he’d even considered to buy you a gift. it’s not unusual; suna, every year on your birthday, has gotten you a gift, yet it’s usually more so a gag gift than anything. some inside joke of yours, maybe he’d pay for your dinner, things like that. never a full on, thought out gift.

“you didn’t have to,” you say, settling back down on your knees and hesitantly taking the bag from him.

he waves you off, disagreeing. “course i did; you’re nineteen now.”

you roll your eyes. “wouldn’t eighteen be more special?”

“fine,” he decides, playfully taking the bag from your grasp and pulling it to him. “guess i’ll just give this to someone else then— maybe your mom—“

“suna!”

at your reaction, he laughs boisterously, and against all odds, you find yourself smiling too. quickly, you reach out for the bag again, pulling it back to you.

“open it when you’re alone,” he disclaims, almost as if in warning.

warily, you eye the bag.

“sure.”

you try to be quieter when unboxing suna’s gift, but the paper’s scrunching is just so damn loud. after cursing it out, you finally rid the bag of its first layer of paper, and are met with a scented candle and some lotion. basic, expected. there‘s a card there too, and when you open it, there’s a note in his messy handwriting, reading out a simple happy birthday— and a good couple of yens too. money, a candle, lotion.

so basic.

there’s still more paper beneath, but you don’t expect it to be for anything except decoration, not for—

what the fuck.

What The Fuck?

your two hands dip into the bag, reaching out for the final gift, grabbing it by its straps and—

holy shit, he got you lingerie.

it’s so— sheer? you don’t think an inch of you will be properly covered, even with the lingerie on. it’s properly transparent, with only the intricate lace designs to modestly cover you. when you dig into the bag, you find the panties to match the bra and— well, it’s pretty, you can’t lie. there are dark, almost flowerlike designs all over, and it’s a deep black, nearly blue or green. there’s also a garter belt, but there aren’t any stockings in the bag to attach to the clips. maybe he’d expected you to take care of that?— ah no, you stand corrected. there are stockings.

fuck, he thought of everything didn’t he?

but more importantly, what the fuck does all of this mean?

burying the lingerie deep inside the bag again, and making sure to cover it up with the paper, thoroughly, you place the other gifts and the card back in and on top, before putting it aside on your bed.

and now, to gather your fucking thoughts.

you had to text him to thank him for the gift, obviously. but there was no way he’d accidentally misplaced the lingerie there. it was deliberately placed, with the way it was folded and tucked neatly, underneath an extra layer of paper above and beneath it? yeah, definitely on purpose. but— why? had he taken notice of your feelings towards him? was this his way of making fun or... reassuring you they were mutual?

god, what the hell are you thinking.

snatching your phone from your bedside table, you check the time.

2:01 a.m.

okay, everyone‘s bound to be asleep by now. hopefully. you eye the bag, so cautiously one would assume there’s some sort of killing machine within it. you contemplate. shake your head. no. the gears twist. yes.

no.

yes. no. yes. no—

fuck it, it’s yours anyways, isn’t it?

you snatch it loudly, rushing off to lock your bedroom door, then rushing to close the blinds, tightly, surely, then rushing to turn the lights off and turning the small lamp by your bedside on instead. what else are you meant to do with lingerie other than, well, put it on? it’s rational, you think, obvious.

it’s fine.

stealing one last, deep breathe, you dump the contents of the bag again, and pick out the lingerie.

it fits.

it fits perfectly.

the bra is snug against your chest, pushing at your breasts but not digging in uncomfortably. your nipples peak through what‘s revealed of the mesh, and when they stand perky and hard, you blame it on the fact that you‘re half naked. the garter belt wraps tightly around your waist, not squeezing to the point of discomfort and pain, but not loose that it’s a nuisance, and the clips that hang from it are attached to a pair of stockings that stop mid thigh, squeezing at the flesh. finally, a pair of panties rest on your cups, cupping your ass perfectly. it too is sheer, and god— you can see so much of you.

is this— what he would‘ve wanted?

you can’t deny that you do look good. it shows your figure off appealingly, and coupled with some dark lipstick, your messy hair, and the slightest smudge to your day’s eyeliner— would— would he have wanted you like this? all dolled up for him?

is this what suna likes?

doubting the fact that you’ll ever have the courage to put this set on again, you grab at your phone, clearing the area before your mirror, then sitting down at the edge of your bed. might as well enjoy it while it lasts, shouldn’t you? posing in the mirror, you appreciate the way you look, the way the dim lighting complements the atmosphere, the way the piece hugs your body and shows you off. you look so good.

so good— for him.

reveling in this surge of confidence, you snap a good amount of pictures, posing differently in each of them, taking them at different angles. your camera roll overflows with them, and as you fall back on the bed, hair splayed out on the mattress, you smile proudly at the pictures.

do you look good enough for him to see?

the thought strikes you suddenly; it tickles at the pit of your stomach, makes your knees bend and your toes curl.

should you?

the messenger app is open at the text messages between you and him before you can think, a picture of you uploaded and ready to send.

should you?

you tuck your lower lip between your teeth, mulling it over anxiously.

no, you most definitely shouldn’t.

quickly, you swipe out of the messenger app, and onto safari. porn it is.

you should‘ve turned the ac on. fuck, it’s hot.

3:10 a.m. 45 minutes since you’d put the lingerie set on and had your mini photoshoot, ten minutes since you’d started masturbating. everything’s still in place except for the garter clips, which have snapped off of your stockings at some point in the past few minutes, but you pay it barely any mind as your legs spread wider, one hand dipped beneath your panties, the other pressing hard against your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet.

it’s not that you generally had a problem keeping down your noises. your home was constantly filled with people, and you’re almost always sexually frustrated at the most inconvenient times. this time, however, it’s different. it’s different because you’re wearing a lingerie set that suna picked out, that suna bought for you, that suna gave you himself. would he have wanted to watch you touch yourself like this, dressed up so pretty? or— would he have wanted to fuck you while—

shit, you’re gonna cum.

you let out a broken moan, bleeding into a desperate son, muffled barely your hand. your fingers fuck into your cunt faster, squelching lowly as you arch your back, pressing your palm harshly against your clit.

“ugh, hngh,” you whine, squeal, wrist aching. “fuck, rin— please—“

you’re so loud, shit, shit, shit.

beside you, your phone dings! loudly, alerting you of a message received, but you can’t stop, not when you’re so close. it dings again, and again, but you continue to ignore, chasing your own high so desperately, faster, faster, faster. the coil tightens, your body tenses, mind hazing over and eyes rolling back— so close, so fucking close.

“well aren’t you a doll.”

your eyes snap open, and you only manage one second to process who the fuck and what the fuck before your hips are trembling and twisting, and your legs are shaking so awfully as your back arches deep. the moment you hear his voice, so deep and clear, looming just by the edge of your bed where you lay spread, fucking yourself, you cum— and you’re convinced you have a humiliation kink. you didn’t cum because you’d simply been close— you came because you heard him catch you.

in your post orgasmic daze, you pant deeply, chest heaving, rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. your fingers pull back from your panties, falling to the bed, sticky and wet, while your other hand falls from from your mouth, drool and spit dripping from the corner of your lips.

“aw, you ruined the set.”

you sigh. “rin.” the way you say his name isn’t in a way that’s calling out for him, but neither are you scolding him nor brushing him off for teasing you. you’re just simply trying to process the fact that he’s here.

“i like it when you call me that,” he admits, and in a second he’s falling over you, hands bracing and steadying him beside your head, keeping himself hovering at a small distance. “why do you always insist on calling me suna?” he wonders, head tilting curiously.

blinking slowly, you breathe in, and out, and ask, “what are you doing here?”

above you, he shrugs. “you were the one that sent me those—”

immediately, you’re pushing him off you, sitting up all too quickly as you reach out for your phone. you shakily unlock it, typing in your password and opening the messenger app. he’s right— shit. you could’ve sworn you’d deleted the photo, because you’d explicitly decided just how stupid sending it would’ve been.

well, look at you now.

“that wasn’t— oh my god, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you stutter, turning your body towards him once more, but avoiding his gaze, your body, only barely having just cooled down, heating up once more.

“oh?” he tests. “was it not meant for me?”

“no, i—“

he’s smiling all too wide for him to not be getting off on your embarrassment. at the thought of that, your eyes unintentionally snap up to him, to his crotch, where beneath his sweats is a bulge, and god, it’s like all those nights ago where you’d seen his dick through his sweats and he’s big, he’s so big—

“just where do you think you’re looking?” he sneers, hand all of a sudden gripping your chin, tilting your head back up and forcing you to finally, for the first time, meet his eyes. they’re dark, almost sinister, as they narrowly glare at you, begging you for explanation.

your mind’s no longer clouded over, all pleasure dissipating from your veins, pathetic humiliation replacing it. “i’m sorry,” you mewl, eyes tearing up at the look on his face. of course he was disgusted. just as your stupid crush on him was natural, so was his reaction. “i’m sorry, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg, lower lip wobbling.

his grip on your chin tightens as he furrows his brows. “tell anyone?” he questions. “about what?”

had he not— heard you?

he says your name, firmly, deeply, in a way that has you stifling your sobs and biting your bottom lip to stop its quivering. patiently, you wait for him to speak, to say anything, until finally, he asks, “do you want me to fuck you?” and your heart stops. “yeah?” he continues, his other hand reaching for your wrist, your hand, the same one that’s still sticky with the evidence of you. slowly, as he brings his lips closer to yours, fingers slipping so that he’s squishing your cheeks tightly, he leads your hand to his crotch, to where his dick is painfully hard beneath his sweats. your initial touch is featherlight, and he doesn’t fully press your hand to his clothed cock, but still, just the smallest, tiniest feel of him has the lust in your veins thrumming alive. “you think you’d look pretty—” he pauses, lips hovering by yours, eyes searching for any sign of hesitance or resistance, “sitting on my cock?”

“i’m sorry,” you apologize again, but he swallows it by finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. his lips are so soft, softer than you’d imagined and fantasized a thousand times over, as they press against yours, managing to pull the softest moan of surprise and pleasure from you. you’d forgotten, in your moment of shame, just how much you’d craved suna rintarō. just how often you thought about him, those same fingers gripping your chin to be buried inside of you, those pretty lips sucking on your tits and clit. “want you so bad,” you hiccup, kissing him back. “so bad.”

he hums, amused, pulling back. licking his lips with a grin, as if tasting you, his hands leave you entirely, reaching for the hem of his shirt as he lifts it up, freeing himself of the piece of clothing. “don’t you think i know, sweetheart?” he teases, daringly. at the sight of your eyes widening, he nods with a dramatized serious expression, tutting as he adds, “so dirty, thinkin’ ‘bout me like that.”

you whine again, hands lifting up to obstruct your face from his view as you fall back on the bed, body bouncing slightly. “stop,” you plead, not for him to pull back but for him to stop reminding you of just how wrong it is to feel the way you do. still, you spread your sticky thighs for him when he presses his hands to your knees, and you shiver at the feel of his fingers tickling at your skin. “i’m sorry.”

“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he reassures you, faux sweetness dripping like honey off his tongue. he leans in, carefully slow, hands following the curve of his body and yours. “i want you too.” he smiles mischievously, leaning close once more. “so bad,” he mimics you, lips hovering right above yours before he kisses you once more. you want to pinch his arm for outright mocking you, because really, how infuriating can he be? but it’s impossible to want to do anything but desire him in every possible way at the moment, especially when he presses himself harder against you, hips slotting between your legs and clothed cock brushing against your dripping panties.

“rin,” you plead, hands clawing at his back, grasping at his shoulders. god, his skin is so warm.

“yes?” he drawls, wet lips kissing the corner of your mouth, trailing easily to your jaw, and down to your neck. patiently, he waits for you to speak.

with a trembling voice, you ask, “be quick. please.”

a little stunned, suna pauses his ministrations at your neck, but it’s barely for a second. because moments later, he’s grinning sinisterly into the crook of your neck, sucking hotly as he replies, “sure thing.”

you do want to take your time. you want him to stuff his face between your legs and sink his fingers so deep inside of you. you want him to force your mouth down on him, want to bury your face in your lap till you’re choking and gagging on his cock. you want him to take his time stretching you for his cock before he sinks inside of you, letting you feel every single inch and ridge of his dick until he bottoms out. you wish. you wish.

but you’re desperate, and needy, and frustrated, and most of all, you’re not even sure if this is real. you’re scared to blink and have him disappear all of a sudden. you’re scared to wake up with soaked panties and no gift from suna, no suna above you, hard cock pressing against your cunt, only the same suna from all these past years, the same suna you pine over at a distance, wanting but never having.

so you whimper so quietly, “be quick,” again, because he’s still too slow for your liking.

his fingers grasp the sides of your panties, pulling as quick as he can, sliding them down your thighs, watching as the cloth rolls at the urgency as it slides past your knees, your shins, your ankles, legs lifted high up. at the final loop around your right ankle, as suna flings it off, he kisses at your ankle, gripping it tightly and using it to spread your legs.

as your legs spread, your pussy, soaking from both your past orgasm and this unbelievable build up, spreads too, glistening and dripping for him. his eyes easily fall to it, and, with that same glint in his eyes, he grins, and licks his lips again. “wish i could have a taste,” he admits to you, shuffling closer and bending your legs closer to your chest with one hand. the other hand frantically pushes at the hem of his sweatpants, tugging it low, beneath his balls. “god, i’d have you sit on my face for hours.”

he’s going to kill you.

he’s going to fucking kill you.

at his words, your cunt pulsates and clenches tightly, hole glistening as you moan. you hope he doesn’t notice, but he does, somehow, and he laughs, too fucking loud. “you liked that, hm? bet you’d look so cute,” he spurs you on, and your entire body trembles.

you wish to say something, to find the courage to belittle him, degrade him, remind him that if you’re in the wrong for wanting this then so is he, but it’s so hard to find your voice. it’s like he’s stupefied you completely, reduced you to this dumb, wordless, horny mess. god, fuck, it’s embarrassing. you can only watch with wide, tearful eyes and quivering lips and trembling legs as he spits on his hand and fists his cock, quickly, getting himself all nice and slick for you. his cock is— he’s so big, fuck. if you’d been shocked feeling him beneath his sweats, well, your entire body’s rigid with anticipation now.

just as promised, suna’s quick. with one hand pressing and steadying firmly at your lower stomach, right by your hip, he guides his cock to your cunt with the other, wasting no time by pushing in. no way, no way, no fucking way.

how is he fitting?

“ease up,” he orders sharply, forcing more of himself inside of you.

in response, you bring both hands up to your mouth, clasping them tightly above your lips. you remaining quiet is as impossible as ever, with the way he’s stretching you so wide for him, so you press down harder with your hands and throw your head back as he sinks in deeper, and deeper.

“aren’t a good girl?” he praises sweetly, his other hand mirroring the one on your hip. he watches as you lower your head again, lifting it up slightly to look between the two of you at where he’s fully bottomed out, buried deep inside of you. “feel good?” he wonders, even if he knows the answer. your head falls back again and you nod with your eyes squeezing shut. “feel so full, yeah?” you’re glad he’s speaking for you, because you doubt you could find your voice at the moment, even if you tried.

you nod again instead, urgently, just as he pulls out until only his tip remains inside of you, before pressing back in quickly, thrusting into you suddenly. the sight of him above you is better than anything your mind has ever made up, hands squeezing at your hips tightly, both ensuring you keep your legs spread for him and keeping himself up, steadying himself as he fucks into you. his arms bulge and the muscles in his abdomen tighten and tense with every thrust. his chest, so flushed red; his hair, a little sweaty, a little messy; his brows, furrowed deep in concentration; his lips, wet and red, so fucking red, his tongue jutting out slightly as he picks up the pace, as he thrusts faster, harder.

and best of all: the noises he makes. he’s shameless, fucking into you with abandon, moaning and grunting and whining for you, like he’d been the one yearning, pining, and not you. and, you suppose, with the way he’s fucking into you right now, that there might’ve been some truth in his words, that he’s wanted you just as bad, that this wasn’t some pity fuck— poor little girl, his best friend’s sister, sending him lewd and inappropriate photos because she’s so desperate, she can’t help but lust after him, every single day.

his hands squeeze even tighter and he grunts, gritting his teeth sharply. “fuck, m’already close,” he grunts, and somehow, that makes your heart swell, pride deepening. “cunt’s so fucking tight, shit.” you’re making him say those words, you’re going to make him cum so quick, it’s you. you.

when his hands crawl up to your breasts, squeezing and kneading through the bra, your hands fall to his forearms, gripping so tightly and digging your nails into his skin. “please, please, please, cum inside,” you beg, trying to be as quiet as you can. “please rin, please.”

the bed creaks with the effort and speed of his thrusts, your body bouncing as his cock fucks deep into your cunt. his head bows in, smooth hair swinging forward as he curses. “are you— hm..hngh—sure?” he asks, and you nod so rapidly you feel dizzy, arching your back as much as you can to get him deeper inside of you. he’s a mess of curses and pants as he fucks you even faster, one hand remaining at your breast, grasping tightly, the other lowering to your wet clit, rubbing furiously, messily, clumsily.

no words are exchanged as he desperately circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing and kneading your breast as he angles his hips, trying to get you to cum before he does. and just as as before, just as he’d caught you earlier, your body starts to tense up, shaking in anticipation as your orgasm draws closer and closer.

but there’s something— different.

“rin!” you yell out, still half-whispering in an attempt to keep quiet. your eyes well up as you call out for him again, your orgasm unbearably close. “rin, feels weird— oh m—”

he only just barely manages to shove his hand against your face before you’re screaming, throat aching and scratching as you thrash beneath him. around his cock, your cunt spams and clenches down tightly, cum splashing and spraying all over his lower stomach and past his cock to his balls. you’re still thrashing, still squealing and screaming, and he’s spilling inside of you, filling you up impossibly, his cum splashing and dripping as it mixes with yours.

“holy shit,” he breathlessly marvels, hips still rocking and grinding against yours as he helps the both of you ride out your highs. “you ever—“ he steals in a breath, steadying himself slightly, “—cum this hard?”

you’re sobbing, hiccuping and mewling and whining and crying, your body impossibly sensitive. tears stream freely down your cheeks as you sink into the mattress, feeling quite literally like jelly. slowly, suna pulls his cock out, trying not to get distracted by the way your cunt squeezes out some of his cum, and instead focuses on you, his hands cupping your cheeks softly.

“hey, hey, eyes on me,” he encourages, kneeling above you as his thumbs brush at your tears.

“m’sorry, ri— suna,” you heave, hands grasping his as your eyes water again, fresh tears joining ones that are yet to dry.

“what for, sweet thing?” he asks gently. when you start to lift yourself up, he leans back, sitting on your bed, giving you space to get comfortable. he watches with worried eyes as you furiously rub at your eyes with your palms and the back of your hands, as the tears never stop flowing. shit, did he fuck up somehow? he calls your name again, cautiously reaching out for you. when you don’t reject his touch, his heart settles, just a little. “tell me what’s wrong?” he offers again, and you sniffle.

“are you not disgusted?” you ask, voice wobbly and cracking.

his brows furrow, and he cocks his head. “because you... squirted?”

you slap at his arm with a roll of your eyes. “no, suna.”

“when did i lose my first name privileges?” he asks, dramatically shocked. again, you roll your eyes. well, at least the tears have ceased. softening slightly, suna sighs. he’s shit at this. he’s worse than shit at this. talking in general? awful. talking about his or someone else’s feelings? he’s sure the devil would be better comfort. still, he can’t just— leave you. he’s sure that would make things a thousand times worse.

and honestly, neither does he want to leave you.

“i can’t read your mind, pretty girl,” he reminds you, and momentarily, you look away.

until you inhale sharply, and meet his eyes again. “it’s okay...” you begin, trailing off as you attempt to gather your words, before continuing, “that i feel this way for you?”

at your words, at the much needed clarity, suna sighs in relief. so that was it. “more than okay,” he promises you.

you nod in understanding, before prodding further, “not weird?”

he thinks it over, before answering. if he’s honest with himself, the most he’d felt with you was sexual attraction. he liked the way your tits bounced when you ran to greet him or the press of your ass against his crotch when you passed by him to get somewhere. he liked— he liked thinking about your body, your lips, your hands. it’s why he sent you that lingerie set, the one that sits so pretty on your body right now. not that he’d been expecting you to send him anything, and he’d even anticipated that you might feel disgusted, might throw it in his face and slap him too. but he knew you better. suna was observant. he knew more than he let on, more than anyone could imagine. if he hadn’t realized your eyes on him in the past years, he must be blind.

still, he’s not sure if it was ever more, or if it is more. but, he supposes, it’s not an unimaginable feat. he thinks that maybe, there is a chance. he likes you, sure; you make his belly twist and his heart jump. but is he going to risk leading you on?

he doesn’t know.

he settles for, “good weird.”

your face is the definition of a question mark. “what the hell is good weird?”

“your face is good weird,” he retorts. it’s a bad comeback, terrible actually, but his face is flushing a dark red, and he needs to get away. you’re flustering him and it’s pissing him off.

“that’s so mean!”

yeah, the devil would’ve been better comfort. he wasn’t around though, so he made sure suna had been sleeping over that night instead.

worked in your favor didn’t it?

end note; my godddddfhksfhbskjbsb ,,, sorry if you found mistakes this took me all day and im not assed to proofread <//3 but i hope you liked regardless!!

#suna #suna smut #suna rintarou smut #suna x reader #haikyuu smut #suna rintarou x reader #rintarou smut #suna rintaro smut #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #hq smut #sal's thirst tag <3

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cheri-translates · 3 years

Text

[CN] Victor’s Business Trip Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 出差之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Note: This date features S2 Victor, but contains no main storyline spoilers!

[ This date was released on 13 May 2021 ]

"This flight will be reaching its destination soon. Please fasten your seatbelts...”

Hearing the announcement, I shift my gaze away from the notebook laptop, rubbing my slightly swollen eyes.

The company recently took up an important collaboration, which is why I had to make final amendments to the proposal even in the middle of a business trip.

Drawing up the window at the side, what enters my vision is a patch of deep blue. Above the vast water, the small islands are reminiscent of dark emerald gems.

MC: So beautiful...

It’s as if I’m able to sense the greenery from across the window, and it adds a tinge of anticipation to this trip.

Even though the reason why I’m here is to attend an international meeting spanning three days.

The moment I step out of the airport, I see the apologetic expression on the staff’s face.

Staff: Hello, are you Miss MC?

MC: It’s me. Did something happen?

Staff: I’m incredibly sorry. Because of our negligence, the car that was supposed to pick you up is scheduled to arrive only in the afternoon. However, another guest has agreed to share a car with you to the venue.

MC: That’s fine, as long as the other party doesn’t mind.

When we reach the carpark, my brows arch at the sight of a long Bentley. I can’t help but criticise silently that the host would use a car with such high specifications.

The staff steps aside to pull the door open. I bend and enter the car, prepared to thank this important guest whom I have disturbed.

MC: Hello, thank you...

Lifting my eyes, I meet an indifferent face.

MC: ...Victor?!

In the spacious car, Victor is wearing a black suit as he typically does, a thin picture album in his hands.

Since Victor, who should be at another end of the earth, has appeared before my eyes, I’m unable to react immediately.

MC: ...what are you doing here?!

Victor: Why can’t I be here? LFG receives an invitation from the host each year. This year is no exception.

He glances at the time on the television screen installed in the car. He taps his knuckles against the picture album, his tone calm.

Victor: Also, who else would be willing to wait fifteen minutes for you.

I clear my throat hastily, displaying a brilliant smile.

MC: I have to give CEO Victor a proper thanks for waiting patiently then! But I really didn’t expect you to attend the meeting personally. Didn’t you always refuse in previous years?

Victor looks at me with slight surprise.

Victor: You remember these things really clearly. I happen to have time this year, and...

He pauses, his gaze landing on me.

Victor: I wanted to see if a certain acclaimed producer is just as skilful and at ease when faced with an international collaborative partner.

Hearing the mildly teasing tone in Victor’s words, I can't help but crinkle my eyes into a smile.

MC: In that case, I definitely won’t disappoint CEO Victor. This meeting is really important to our company. I’m bringing out one hundred percent of my fighting spirit, which I haven’t done in a very long time.

While speaking, I scoot backwards into the soft chair. With Victor at my side, the tension that I’ve been experiencing is finally alleviated slightly.

MC: Fortunately, the host arranged for the venue to be at a resort. We can have a good rest too. I heard the scenery on that small island is pretty good. And there are lots of kittens...

Victor: I’m guessing the reason why you came here to attend the meeting was for the resort.

Hearing this, I stare at the picture album in his hands. The page which has been flipped open happens to be the view I saw from the plane. It’s clearly a brochure for this place.

MC: CEO Victor, aren’t you looking at a brochure?

Victor: It was to while the time away while waiting for someone.

Even though I’ve exposed Victor, his expression remains unchanged. He closes the brochure composedly, which has a few images of cat paws on it.

Victor: Do you want to look at it?

MC: No need. Actually, the main reason why I came here isn’t for the resort.

Victor: Then what is it?

The expression in my eyes changes, revealing a smile.

MC: My reason is very obvious. It’s to expand our company’s influence internationally, and obtain a few more million dollars’ worth of LFG’s investments.

Victor doesn’t refute my words. Instead, he folds his arms in front of his chest and leans against the wall of the car, meeting my eyes calmly.

Victor: What do you plan to do?

MC: Before coming here, I noted down the organisers and brands, then wrote proposals based on their preferences and styles. But from the looks of it, there seems to be a faster method.

I smile while facing Victor, speaking unhurriedly.

MC: For instance... getting close to an extremely important guest at the meeting.

Victor arches his brows, the upward curl at the corners of his lips softening his well-defined features.

Victor: I’ll look forward to it then.

The meeting that spanned the entire afternoon finally comes to a temporary end. After politely turning down an invitation to the dinner banquet, I leave the venue, standing outside and taking in breaths of fresh air.

Victor: Why are you hiding here?

Turning my head, I see Victor who appears to be leaving as well.

MC: I’m heading back to rest and prepare for tomorrow’s main event. What about you? What are you planning to do?

He glances at the insuppressible fatigue on my face, then continues walking.

Victor: Like you, I’m heading back to rest.

He doesn’t walk quickly, as though waiting for me to chase after him. Curling the corners of my lips, I speed up my footsteps and follow him.

In this resort surrounded by water, exquisite glass houses sit among the elegant scenery, reminiscent of illustrations from a fairytale.

Two small wooden signboards with cats drawn on them attract my attention, and I continuously turn my head around to peer at them.

Victor: What are you looking at that has left you unable to walk properly?

MC: There’s a story written on these wooden signboards, and I find it interesting.

It’s a simple yet heartwarming short story: a mysterious kitten knocks on the door of guests, giving them a secret, warm gift.

MC: Do you think a kitten will knock on my window tonight?

I turn to Victor, saying this jokingly. However, he’s the same as always, shattering my imagination with his words.

Victor: It’s just an advertising tactic by the resort.

Kitten: Meow~

Before he finishes speaking, a soft sound drifts from the thick clump of grass at the side. My eyes brighten instantly.

MC: See? The Cat Resort lives up to its name.

Very soon, a calico cat leaps out from the thick grass, its black eyes seeming to scrutinise the both of us.

I squat down, wanting to reach out to play with it. However, it’s incredibly proud and aloof.

MC: ...what a cold cat.

The “cold” calico cat avoids my outstretched hand and goes to Victor’s feet, circling him in a clingy manner.

MC: Why is it only warm towards you?

Victor: Your earlier enthusiasm probably gave it a scare.

Kitten: Meow~ Meow meow~

The kitten lifts its tiny head, raising a paw and “condescendingly” leaves two paw prints on Victor’s trousers before leaving in a leisurely manner.

Victor: ...

Watching it jump back into the grass, I retract my gaze, continuing forward with Victor.

MC: I didn't expect you to have an affinity with animals. Whenever I want to get close to the stray cats below the company building, I have to “give offerings” of cat food first.

The gentle evening breeze brushes past. In this leisurely atmosphere, Victor’s tone is casual and relaxed.

Victor: Maybe the cat food you bought doesn’t taste good.

MC: I buy high quality cat food, okay?

Engaging in idle chatter while walking, we soon reach the houses that have been prepared for us.

Detached glass houses scattered in a disorderly fashion appear before our eyes. What surprises me is that the small house Victor is staying in happens to face mine.

The two windows aren’t that far apart, and they face each other, conjuring a carefree atmosphere.

MC: I didn’t expect our residences to be so close by. This way, we could start chatting just by opening the windows.

Victor: ...I won’t do such a silly thing with you.

MC: I was just kidding. See you tomorrow! Rest early, CEO Victor.

Waving at him happily, I turn around and push open the door to the small glass house.

Everything in the small house is as exquisite as the exterior. Through the transparent ceiling, I can see the glow of sunset.

Now that I’ve returned to the residence, the exhaustion from the journey immediately spreads through my four limbs. With a “plonk”, I fall onto the soft bed.

It is only after releasing a huge breath that I think about shutting the curtains. When I walk over to the small balcony, I see the person standing opposite.

Victor is holding a cup of coffee at the window, and is currently meeting my gaze.

He has removed his outer jacket and has his sleeves rolled up, making his entire person seem much more relaxed. I can detect a smile from the expression in his eyes.

Recalling how I looked sprawled on the bed earlier, my face instantly heats up.

MC: [whispering] That’s so embarrassing...

Pretending to be calm, I shoot Victor a smile, then tug on the thick curtains firmly.

The room instantly descends into dimness, and also covers the slight tinge of red on my face.

Buzz buzz - at this moment, my phone vibrates.

Victor: There’s a meeting tomorrow. Sleep early, and don’t get overly excited.

Upon waking up, the room is so dark that there doesn’t seem to be any light coming in. Drawing the curtains, I realise that the sky’s almost dark.

Warm yellow lights from the opposite house enter my vision, reminiscent of tender candlelight in twilight.

At some point of time, it had started raining outside.

And behind that curtain of rain, there’s an indistinct figure.

Victor seems to be reading documents while sitting by the window.

MC: He’s still busy with work at this time?

After thinking about it, I put on a coat and sneak out of the door.

MC: Thanks for your help.

Carrying the congee I purchased as a take-out, I walk down the glass-roofed corridors. Falling rain patters outside the corridor, embellishing the night with even more coldness.

Kitten: Meow~

At this moment, a calico kitten suddenly appears at the side, and it’s clearly the same cat Victor and I met before.

With the same happy and contented gait, it comes up to me, then lifts its head to stare at me.

After being confused for a few seconds, I lift the congee in my hand, and the kitten’s line of sight slowly shifts upwards too.

MC: Turns out you’re just a little greedy cat despite your aloof appearance. But I can’t let you eat this. I still need to feed a “big cat”.

Despite me leaving mercilessly, the calico cat follows behind me all the way.

MC: Fine, you can visit Victor with me then.

It lets out an excited “meow”, though I’m unsure if it understood what I said.

MC: I’ll take that as an agreement.

When I walk to the small glass house, Victor’s room is still lit. I pick up the cat and lean towards the window, tapping on the window with a thud.

The figure sitting in front of the window pauses. The curtains which weren’t closed completely are pulled open.

Victor’s face appears in the window clearly. When he sees me and the cat in my arms, he’s slightly stunned for a moment, obvious surprise flashing across his face.

Warm light illuminates the room with a soft and comforting glow. Even Victor, who is sitting amidst the warm colour, seems to become much gentler.

Lifting the kitten’s paw, I wave it a few times in greeting.

MC: Hello Mr Victor. We’re here to give you a present.

He chuckles in resignation, the word “dummy” leaving his lips silently.

Victor sets the documents down neatly, then gets up to open the window. While supporting the window frame with a hand, he looks down at me with a scrutinising gaze.

Victor: What are you doing outside this late instead of sleeping?

MC: I should be the one asking you that. Why are you still working this late!

Hearing this, he lifts his hand and rubs the space between his eyebrows, but the veins in his eyes can still be seen faintly.

Victor: There’s an issue related to an acquisition by LFG. Goldman called and asked for my opinion.

MC: Is the issue serious?

Victor: It’s manageable.

He sets down his hand and brings it to me. I stare at this unfurled hand, blinking in confusion.

Victor: Didn’t you say you brought something for me?

Only now do I remember my official business, and I hide the thermal bag with the congee within it in my arms.

MC: Victor, are you going to take my congee and then ask me to leave?

Victor: ...when did I say that. It’s just that a certain someone has a “tough battle” to fight tomorrow, and has to maintain her vigour.

MC: I’m fine. I just took a nap and feel so much better.

While we’re talking, the kitten in my arms suddenly meows impatiently. Then, it leaps out of my arms.

It jumps into Victor’s room deftly, then stands on his desk, licking its paw calmly.

MC: ...it really likes you. It doesn’t even want my congee now.

I grumble, and Victor suddenly chuckles softly.

Victor: Didn't you buy the congee for me? I don’t intend to share it.

Hearing this, I recall the serious matter I came to attend to by making this trip.

I scan my surroundings. It’s still raining, and there’s quite a distance to the door. And this window happens to be sufficiently low.

After giving it some thought, I roll my wrists, then speak.

MC: Victor... move a little to the side.

Victor: What are you planning to do now?

Victor arches his brows in a lack of comprehension. However, he follows what I said and shifts away from the window.

In the next second, I support myself on the window frame, hopping across smoothly.

When Victor sees the faint footprints on the windowsill, he’s silent for a few seconds.

Victor: ...

Victor: Looks like you truly had sufficient rest. You’re full of energy.

MC: This is a special situation. Scholars in the ancient times would leap over walls to meet beautiful women. Today, I’m leaping over the window to bring you congee.

I retrieve the piping hot congee from the bag, placing it in front of Victor.

MC: For you. Have some supper before continuing work.

Victor lowers his head to look at the congee, the corners of his lips curling upwards indistinctly.

Victor: Is this what you called “catering to my tastes”?

MC: That’s right. So I hope CEO Victor would help me out tomorrow in preventing awkward silences.

Victor: It depends on your performance.

He picks up a spoon, stirring the slightly solidified surface of the congee slowly. The fragrance of rice makes my stomach grumble uncontrollably.

Smelling the fragrance, the calico cat circles our feet, meowing coquettishly.

MC: It seems hungry. The congee I ordered is pretty bland. Why don’t you share some with it?

Victor: Looks like it isn’t the only hungry one.

Victor gives me a meaningful glance, then splits the congee into three portions. The portion that he blows cool is placed in front of the kitten, and another is pushed in front of me.

Victor: After you’ve finished eating, go to bed.

MC: I didn’t even say that I wanted to eat...

I can’t help but mutter to myself while happily taking a spoon and sending a scoop of congee into my mouth.

Victor: The proportion of water and rice is wrong, it wasn’t cooked long enough, and it doesn’t bring out the taste of congee.

Hearing VIctor’s comments, I pause in my movements, then release a soft ‘hmph’.

MC: I wasn’t the one who cooked it, so your words don’t hurt me.

Ten minutes later, three completely clean bowls convey the greatest gratitude towards the chef’s hard work.

The satisfied calico cat has long since found a space on the carpet and rolled into a ball, snoring and sleeping soundly.

Victor: It’s also time for you to return and sleep.

MC: I still don’t feel like going back. I just had a nightmare, so I don’t feel drowsy at all. Why don’t I stay behind and accompany you while you work? I could wait for tomorrow’s sunrise too.

Victor: ...seems like you just want to use my room to watch the sunrise.

Seeing that he remains unmoved, I raise my hands, looking at him with a face filled with sincerity.

MC: I’ll definitely keep quiet throughout, and won’t disturb your work!

Victor doesn't say anything, returning to his documents. He seems to have tacitly allowed me to “run amok”.

I sit on a sofa chair at the side obediently, supporting my chin with a hand while sneaking peeks at him.

Beneath the warm lights, the side of his face seems to become much gentler. However, his slightly furrowed brows reveal a faint sharpness.

Rain patters down outside the window, a stark contrast to the tranquility within the house.

Looking at Victor’s figure, my eyelids grow heavier and heavier...

Victor suddenly senses a weight on his shoulder. He turns his head, only to see that the girl who claimed that she wasn’t drowsy is currently sound asleep, eyes shut tightly.

Victor: MC?

The girl wrinkles her nose, as though she’s having a beautiful dream, or feeling nostalgic for the delicious food from earlier.

He recalls the story written on the wooden signboards earlier in the evening about the kitten which taps on windows and sends gifts. A soft chuckle rises from his throat.

Along the horizon, a hazy ray of light sneaks in through the window in front of them.

🐈 Phone call: here

🐈 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #HE'S SO SOFT

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absolute-eyesore · 3 years

Text

[image ID;

Four gifs that are largely laid out the same way; a pastel holographic skeleton with horns, a beanie, metallic jacket, and headphones around their neck, to the left of the screen on a pixelated background in blue, green, and purple tones. The skeleton is turned to face the viewer, a dark green speech bubble with bright green text hovers up and down beside their face.

The text is all that changes between these images, and reads as follows:

"Hey, you there. My name is Hollow and I'd like a moment of your time if you don't mind." 1/4

"I'm unemployed due to pandemic reasons, and my previous source of income has been completely tapped. Looking for remote work... Pretty abysmal as well." 2/4

"To try and make ends meet to some degree, I come to you offering my services as an artist. I specialize in digital illustration, photo editing, and I have some basic animation skills as well." 3/4

"Let me show you what I have on offer... " 4/4

/end iD]

[image ID;

The same skeleton from before, now in front of a semi-transparent blue background with pink trim overlaid on top of the pixelated background. The hovering text bubble has moved up to beside their horns, and has become slightly smaller.

To the right of the scene, a squared image cycles through five stages of a piece, starting with a basic sketch then going to color, inked, full render, and ending in render with background.

The text in the speech bubble reads

"Shot from the shoulders up, either front-facing or 3/4 view. Alternatively, a 1600x1600 piece of your proposed concept."

The text on the price table reads as

"Basic Sketch: $6 (+$5 Extra Character)

Color Sketch: $12 (+$10 Extra Character)

Inked: $20 (+$15 Extra Character)

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The same format as before, with a mid-body art example cycling through where the portraits had been previously, with the title "Mid-Body" in pink text above it.

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further examples of my art skills can be found on this blog. 100% of the glitch content that comes from here is original content, including the photos being edited. the images in this post are an example unto themself. as well. as you can see, i put a lot of work into the content i produce. contact me for something and you're sure to get your money's worth.

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sgtjbbhasmyheart · 3 years

Text

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Six (part 1)

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3293

Warnings: ANGST, bad language words

A/N: Tumblr sucks. It forced me to split this chapter up because I exceeded the text block limit. That’s just how I write! Link to part 2 at the end.

A/N 2: Thank you again to everyone for showing this story so much love! And thank you to everyone for your patience and support as I struggled to put this out. As you can tell from the multiple parts, it was a doozy. 🥰 divider credit- @firefly-graphics

In case you missed the update, I will be publishing a new chapter every other Saturday from here on out. Schedule is in the Masterlist in my header.

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

Monday morning rolled around, and your good mood from the weekend followed you into the office. Spending all of Saturday and the majority of Sunday texting James had lent to this early morning cheerfulness. You couldn’t help the smile on your face. You had even managed to arrive before most of your team.

You hummed a sweet melody as you booted up your computer and organized a few files for Timmons to peruse. They were statements intended for the press needing his approval about a particular prominent CEO or A-list celebrity client. The firm was not confirming nor denying any knowledge of said client’s whereabouts the previous week or why there was photographic evidence of them coming out of FlashDancers NYC. Other files included those seeking rebranding approval for existing companies looking to revamp their image.

Most importantly, today was contract signing day for Stark Industries.

You had compiled the document from a generic template the company used for all its clients, manually plugging in Stark Industries’ information in the correct spots and changing or omitting any services rendered or not. E-signing contracts were not only environmentally responsible, but they also saved a lot of your time from printing out numerous copies of a single agreement.

All you needed now was Timmons’ go-ahead to email the contract, and Pepper Potts could plug in her Jane Hancock.

Seeing Timmons enter the workroom, tweed coat draped over his forearm and attaché in hand, you rose from the seat behind your desk. You shuffled into his office after him.

He hung his jacket from the coat rack in the corner near a bank of expansive windows and placed the small, leather case he’d been carrying on the sturdy oak desk. He pulled out a stack of papers and tapped the pile against the desktop to straighten them before setting them down. Looking up at you briefly, he tugged out his laptop next.

You positioned a mug of coffee on Timmons’ desk, turning the handle just so, making it easier for him to grab. You cleared your throat gently. He glanced up at you again.

“Here’s the media statements for today,” you said, handing him a group of manila folders. You smoothed down the hem of your cardigan, smiling at the reminder of Bucky. You wished there had been a way to apologize to him again. He had left your apartment with such a pained look on his face. Maybe you could ask Peter. “And the Stark contract pdf is ready to go. I can email it over to you for final approval.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Timmons replied absent-mindedly, lifting the organized piles on the desk as if looking for something.

“Oh, okay,” you returned, nodding your head diminutively. “Do you want me to forward the contract on to Ms. Potts, then?”

“Ah-ha!” Timmons exclaimed, plucking a pen from underneath a stack of envelopes. He twirled the writing implement in his hand and peered at you, finally taking in your presence for the first time that morning.

An uncomfortable feeling washed over you as he evaluated you from head to toe. What was he looking at? Your hands tensed into fists as you continued to wait for his answer, growing impatient.

“Should I go ahead and do that, then, sir?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest like a protective suit of armor to deflect prying eyes.

“Yes, yes. That should be acceptable,” Timmons answered.

It threw you off balance. What had gotten into him? Timmons always had to have the final say on everything. It was so unlike him!

“Just so we’re clear- I will be sending the Stark Industries contract via email to Pepper Potts to e-sign,” you said, seeking clarification. You wanted to dot all i’s and cross all t’s because you weren’t going to lay your ass on the line for a misunderstanding. Especially not with something as crucial as the Stark Industries account.

“What? No, there’s been a change of plans,” he corrected.

You stared at him dumbfounded. Was he purposely trying to give you mental whiplash?

“Change of plans,” you affirmed. “Has Stark Industries decided not to use the firm, sir?”

“Oh, no. They’re still going with us,” Timmons said, rearranging the clutter he’d made on his desk.

You dropped your arms to your sides, although inside, you felt like throwing them into the air in frustration. Why was he so vague? He was usually wholly transparent with you. “Would you mind explaining it to me, please?” you asked, borderline annoyed. “Last time I checked, Stark Industries’ contract signing was still on the calendar for today’s agenda.”

“And it still is,” Timmons acknowledged. “It’s moved to an in-person signing.”

Your stomach plunged to the floor. Shit! You hadn’t printed out the contract! When was the appointment? How much time did you have? So many questions flew through your head.

How could Timmons keep something like this from you? Your heart hammered in your chest. You practically wobbled on your feet. Were you going to be sick?

I’m going to get fucking fired over this, you thought, trying to steady your breathing.

“Will you be ready to go in twenty minutes?” Timmons questioned, sitting down in the comfy desk chair and opening his laptop.

“Go?” you squeaked, attempting to recall how much you had in savings. You shook your head, trying to understand his words. Was he already asking you to clear out your desk?

“Yes. The car will be here at nine,” he said, keyboard clacking as he typed something.

“Car?” you asked, finding great difficulty comprehending the situation. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Timmons regarded you in bafflement. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? NO!” you declared. You didn’t need that added to “the inability to perform required tasks” as a reason for your firing. “I’m-I’m just really confused, sir.”

“About what?” Timmons asked, sitting back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

“Well…” you started. “What do we need a car for?”

His chocolate brown eyes shone with what you imagined might be excitement. “To drive upstate, of course.” He smirked as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desktop.

Upstate? What was upstate?

Timmons’ smile broadened as realization crept across your face. “Are we-”

“Yup!” he interrupted gleefully. He was like a child in a candy store. “We are headed to the Avengers Compound with a personal invitation from Tony Stark himself!”

You blinked several times at your boss, not entirely computing what he’d said. You were usually a lot quicker on the uptake than this. Why were you having such an off-day?

“We?” you asked, shaking your head clear of the cobwebs. Why on Earth would he bring you along?

“I need someone who knows the ins and outs of these contract signings,” he said, fiddling with his pen again.

Wasn’t that his job?

“I’m just the schmoozer- the people-person,” he admitted, shrugging. “You’re the real brains behind this whole operation.

You nodded your head in agreement. He wasn’t wrong. The office would collectively collapse without you, and it felt good to hear your actual boss say it out loud.

“You better not forget it, either. Especially when my job performance evaluation comes around,” you asserted.

Timmons swiftly saluted you as if he was the subordinate. You huffed a laugh at him while shaking your head with incredulity. You took a step or two toward the office door before looking over your shoulder at him.

Timmons had turned back to his laptop screen already and started typing again. “So, twenty minutes?” he asked with an air of levity.

You faltered, nearly tripping over your feet. “Wait? You were serious about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Timmons wondered, looking up hurriedly from his laptop.

“I need to print out the contract and make copies, for one thing,” you mentioned, almost accusatory. Maybe if he had warned you ahead of time, you wouldn’t be so defensive.

“Already taken care of,” he soothed.

“What do you mean it’s ‘already taken care of’?” you asked, raising your hands to make quotation marks with your fingers.

“I had one of the other grunts do it last night.”

You gaped at Timmons like a goldfish, mouth popping open and closed. Did you hear him correctly? Timmons did something to make your job easier? You could hug him right now! You felt like pinching yourself to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

Once you gathered your wits again, you glanced to your feet bashfully. “Oh,” you spoke, absently fingering the bottom button of your cardigan. “Thank you.” You smiled gratefully.

Timmons returned the smile with one of his own. “You’re welcome.”

“Nine o’clock, then,” you agreed, moving further toward the doorway.

“On the dot!”

Words couldn’t even begin to describe the Avengers Compound. You’d seen it on the news, sure, but that didn’t compare to seeing it in real life. It was grandiose, imposing. You felt dwarfed in size looking up to the high rooftop.

It was almost ostentatious in a way. Much like the man who designed it. Larger than life.

Tony Stark.

Tony had insisted he take you and Timmons around on the tour of the compound. You still hadn’t seen the need for a tour.

“When Tony Stark invites you to tour the Avengers compound, you don’t say no,” Timmons had said in the car-ride up when you questioned why it was necessary.

It was all superfluous, really. Like Tony was trying to woo the firm to sign them, not the other way around.

A headache was forming at the base of your skull as you waited in line at the reception desk to return your visitor security badge.

The tour of the facility seemed to have been drug out longer than it needed. Tony had appeared overeager to show off every little gadget or trinket. Or maybe he just liked to hear himself talk.

When Timmons excepted the lunch invitation after the tour was completed, you felt the urge to run down to the armory, grab a gun, and shoot yourself in the foot. You were kicking yourself for ever agreeing to come on this dumb tour.

As the line slowly dragged forward, the muffled noise of men’s voices caught your ear. It sounded like an argument. Your line of sight followed to where the altercation originated.

Standing twenty feet away was Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, clearly disagreeing.

Your breath stilled as you watched the two super soldiers quarrel in a near-stage-whisper. What could they be fighting about?

From your place in line, you saw Bucky shake his head adamantly, his chestnut hair swishing about his shoulders. He might have even stamped his foot like a child, but you were too preoccupied with the look of abject horror on his face. He turned away as if to flee, but his friend caught him by the shoulder to stop him.

Were you causing this reaction from him?

You looked to your right to see if there was possibly someone else. All you noticed, though, was an empty space. Had you hurt Bucky’s feelings that badly? Your stomach clenched. The last thing you wanted was to be on an Avengers’ shit-list.

Glancing back to the two men, you caught Steve gesturing Bucky forward with short sweeping motions of his hands. Bucky shook his head again, stubbornly.

Even at this distance, you could feel the frustration rolling off Captain America.

Like a sucker-punch to the gut, you suddenly became very aware you were eavesdropping on Captain America and his best friend.

Your cheeks heated instantaneously, embarrassed of your staring. You shouldn’t be spying on them, you admonished. No matter how much your curiosity is piqued.

It was none of your business.

You turned away from them, facing the reception desk again.

As hard as you tried not to pay attention, you could still see what looked like wild gesturing from the corner of your eye.

What if they started fighting? Shouldn’t you be conscious of your surroundings for your own safety? You fidgeted in your spot as you debated your moral compass.

Fuck it, you thought.

As you peered over to the two super soldiers, Steve shoved Bucky forward gently, causing the latter to trip over his booted feet. Bucky glared back at his friend, his hands clenching into fists. Steve shooed him further. You could barely make out the word “Go!” on his lips.

As if in slow motion, you eyed Bucky taking step after step toward you. Was he coming over here?

Once you realized what was happening, your heart plummeted to your knees as your head whipped around to the front of the line.

Bucky Barnes was definitely walking over to you.

Had he noticed you staring?

You tried to stabilize your heart rate with slow, easy breaths, but Bucky was beside you much sooner than you could imagine.

A waft of aftershave hit your nose- woodsy and deliciously masculine. Your stomach swooped.

God, he smelled good.

Without having to turn your head, you could feel his brawny mass hovering near you.

How do you play this?

Perplexed?

“Oh, my gosh! I had no idea you’d be here!” Of course, he wouldn’t believe that. This is where the Avengers lived. He’d probably think you were a stalker.

Apologetic?

“I’m so sorry Peter and I made fun of you! Will you ever forgive me?” Nah, too needy or clingy.

Or--

Before you could think of any other ways to portray the situation, you heard a large gush of air escape from Bucky. Was he nervous?

“Hey-hey, (Y/N),” he said, voice shaky.

You gazed to your left. Bucky looked as white as a ghost. Had his ego taken that big of a hit?

At that moment, you wanted to do nothing more than wrap him in your arms and tell him sorry, and everything would be okay. You couldn’t, of course. You didn’t know the guy. So you settled for the next best thing.

You smiled at him beatifically. “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”

Like a veil had been pulled, his demeanor changed instantly. He returned the smile. “Ja-” he started but scrunched his nose as if he’d made a mistake. “Please. Call me Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you replied.

Timmons turned around, ahead of you in line, and eyeballed you. You gave him a dismissive look, praying he wouldn’t butt in.

“So, you here visiting?” Bucky asked, observing the badge in your hand.

“Sorta. It’s a work thing,” you remarked, waving the plastic fob in the air. “Stark Industries has hired my firm as their PR representative. It was signing day.”

“Ah,” Bucky said, nodding in understanding.

“And I got the tour and lunch courtesy of Tony Stark,” you added.

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky’s eyebrows raised in interest. “What did you think?”

“Honestly?” You watched Bucky shake his head in agreement. “It was extremely overwhelming. How do you not get lost in this place?”

Bucky laughed. Crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes, yet he looked so boyish. He was beautiful.

“When I first got here, I did several times,” he huffed. “Every hallway looks exactly the same!”

“Right?!” you exclaimed. “I kept thanking my lucky stars that I had a tour guide!”

Timmons rolled his eyes and pivoted, facing front.

“Steve had to draw me a map to help me find my living quarters after the third time,” Bucky confessed, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, no!” you empathized, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. “That must have been so embarrassing!”

“Bird brain caught wind of it and gave me shit for weeks,” he lamented.

You gave him a confused look, not understanding who or what he was referring to.

Realizing his mistake, Bucky corrected, “Sorry. Bird brain is Sam.”

“Because he’s Falcon?”

Bucky bobbed his head yes, looking a little sheepish.

“It’s clever,” you grinned. “I like it.”

Bucky reciprocated the smile, and your chest warmed. It was a feeling you usually felt while texting James. Light and airy.

Finally making it to the reception desk, you relinquished your security badge to the pretty blonde in the too-tight sweater set. She handed you a clipboard to initial and fill out your departure time.

While signing, you surveyed the blonde as Bucky stepped closer. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly, and she bit down on her bottom lip. Was she giving him bedroom eyes?

A new kind of warmth flooded your body. It felt a lot like jealousy as it snaked its way up to your ribs and circled your collarbones, which was absurd because you had no claim to this man. You’d met him one other time. Why would you feel this way?

Shoving the clipboard back at the receptionist, you spun toward Bucky. He regarded her politely and nodded, “Ma’am.”

Her shoulders slumped, and a frown slithered onto her painted lips. Somehow you felt triumphant, but not sure why. Bucky hadn’t picked you over her.

Your heart thumped harder in your chest as you walked side by side with Bucky, nearing the exit. You were suddenly overcome with the feeling of apologizing. What had you told James if you ever saw Bucky again? Apologize profusely and ask him to coffee.

You smiled at Bucky once again as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The sound of a throat clearing resonated nearby. It wasn’t until you glanced up did you register Timmons standing so close. You had nearly forgotten about him.

Trying to gather your courage, you glimpsed between the two men. Bucky was squinting suspiciously at Timmons, and it made you chuckle lightly. “Easy tiger,” you assured. “That’s my boss, Roger Timmons.”

Bucky’s blue eyes widened a fraction, and he raised a hand in hello. “Sir.”

Timmons raised his chin in acknowledgment before looking down at his watch. You took it as his way of telling you to hurry up.

Okay, it’s now or never.

“Would you like to go to coffee with me?” Bucky blurted out, cheeks coloring pink.

Your eyes roamed across his handsome face. The boyishness was back, along with a touch of uncertainty. He was sweet, regardless of what the media claimed about him. Your lips curled up into a broad smile. “You read my mind,” you revealed, then winced. “That’s not one of your superpowers, is it?”

Bucky tittered. “No, no mind-reading.”

“Good,” you said, relieved.

“Whaddya say? Coffee?”

You dipped your head in a slow yes. “It’ll have to be after work, though.” You motioned over your shoulder with your thumb. “The slave driver over there is taking me back to the office to put me to work.”

Giggling, as you heard a scoff come from behind where you were standing, you reached into your purse and pulled out a pen and an old receipt. You quickly jotted down your work address. Handing it to Bucky, you began moving towards Timmons. “I get off at five,” you called. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” You waved goodbye.

Bucky smirked. “Don’t work too hard!”

You flashed him one last smile before disappearing through the exit door.

You had a coffee date with Bucky Barnes!

You couldn’t believe it! The giddiness swelled inside you.

You gazed at Timmons’ profile as you walked to the waiting car parked at the curb. He had that look on his face.

It was a long drive back to the city. There was no way you could endure it if he started up now.

You gave a stern look before you stated, “Whatever you’re thinking, keep it to yourself.”

Timmons threw his hands up in mock surrender. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dubiously. Timmons smiled smugly as you both climbed into the town car.

Chapter Five | Chapter 6 (part 2)

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sanghyukstattoos · 3 years

Text

Long-lasting nights

Summary: Chani works not far from where you live and appears at your door when his bereaved and raging colleague Youngkyun falls into a hallucinatory trap, leaving Chani wounded.

Genre: Fluff-fluff-fluff; mentions of violence

Characters: Chani x Reader (Gender Neutral)

WC: 1.6k

A/N: Thank you anon for this request! Read more here~~

His face was scrunched in an expression of pain and he clutched his leg in an embrace so tight that it could stop the dripping blood. He stumbled across a red brick placed unevenly, staining it with red drops. There was a wall nearby, some sort of dirty marble structure resembling a lion and some other animals, that he took a breath against. His pain grew in inflamed streaks, each clouding his vision that shifted between your house and his wound. It had been such a surprise to see Kyun- his colleague from his part-time job at the supermarket, with blood-stained hands and a gun.

The implication of death by a shot to the forehead toppled his imagination. It made him run callously, not seeing Kyun's reflection in the mirror pick up the gun, an escaped chuckle never so incongruous to the lines of blasted milk and food. His breath was heavier when he pushed himself off the wall, almost falling to his knees when he tapped at your door. Hastily he looked around, a resonant thud shaking his inner system as he banged the door on the way down.

Peeling the door open, you had no questions, except for the worry that he would die. It was almost routine for him to knock at the front door and bring the dirty blood on his clothes in intriguing you to the situation he had encountered. You held him under the arms, hearing his soft whines near to volume zero as you carelessly placed him in the tub. Your arms drastically ached when you had to search for your first aid kit, pupils as big as clocks after looking at the beautiful red tint of the transparent water.

It had been much longer since you had gone out like him, partly in need of a break. The images had too much impact, seeing you to sleep and waking you up in the morning, leaving little to the imagination as you had cut up the last strawberry and tossed it into the bowl. You ruffled his hair, pulling his head back, lingering your lips near his ear, asking him to stay awake. ''For me, no?'' you ended, cleaning him up.

Mindlessly you cleaned him up, draining the plug, watching it clear out. In the silence, you wondered nothing, struggling with his sticky clothes until he bent a knee and you looked up to see his eyes. They were staring straight ahead at the whiteness of the tub in that sense of impartiality, mind indefinitely silent as he reeled into his own numbly-filled cries. And that too, this had been his first time being on the receiving end. You washed away the soap from his pink skin, pausing as a sin of the clock passed, waiting for him to say something.

He looked straight ahead again, a certain glare of your sight on him almost impossible to miss. He chose to lean on your shoulder when you went to pick him up, encouraging him to get out of the tub. Your chuckle elicited one from him too, light-heartedness comforting his fatigued self. His mind was fogged of the clear benefit of leaning on you and not falling yet he chose to hold onto random objects, barely making it to the bed.

You let out a deprived chuckle, collecting your kit to treat his wounds. You fumbled to open it, fingers slipping over the smooth silver clasp, hands sweating. Your eyes glared hard, torso still, as well as your legs that pressed against the carpet, creating a temporary rounding. ''It's okay'' Chani breathed out, trying to reach for your hand. He moved much slower than he was thinking, like in slow motion. You smiled, hummed and then wondered if he knew that your expression was not genuine.

He knew, which paused your movements when he touched your hand. Every fibre of your being stood on edge, in alert and for a second, your heart struck so disgustingly hard against your chest that it hurt. It was like a thud, as if someone had knocked on the front- something that the both of you were fearful of. If he would come knocking and you had not prepared- ''It's okay'' Chani said again, but his voice was fading, like a whisper. You could barely hear him now and even his touch would not calm you.

Your heart picked up its pace and so did your limbs. You began to move with extraordinary force, taking out the equipment and trying to heal him, one moment at a time. For every moment that you paused to breathe, you could hear his breath fading away. It pushed you to the edge, almost on the verge of tears. You bent over backwards when it came to him, you always had a soft spot for him.

You went back and forth between your conflicts, each feeling antagonistic of the other. Looking at him made you stop feeling such conflict. You did not give up, rather, you gave in, understood what you needed. For now, you would try and save him before the actual doctor came over. When you were done, you laid next to his naked body, tucking him into the sheets. With never-ending passion or the fear of being taken away, you kissed him on the temple with a force unrivalled, always repeated in a situation like this.

When you closed your eyes, you could feel the ache come to light. You wanted so badly to ask what happened but you reserved your words for when he would be able to reply back. Although he was guarded, his walls slipped away whenever he knocked at your door. It seemed imperative to save him the first time around and every time after that, the two of you never questioned one another.

The clock had disappeared into the background, it's noise unheard to your ears. The first breath that you inhaled was shaky, it made you take in that you could not do this any longer. You could ask for him to quit but somehow, he had made it his livelihood, out of force. As his boss, you knew that every person who walked through the door lived in a prison. Prison like state or hell of the mind, their only torture was purely psychological. To survive, they knew that they had to bear their chains and over time, they grew familiar with it.

The idea of an alternate reality scared Chani, admittedly characterised by his wide, innocent-looking eyes and shaky hands. He could not grow accustomed to the idea that he could lead a better life, a way out because he had grown used to this prison he had been living in. But no one can suddenly change, you knew that and so you thought that it would be better to see him die with you than without you.

You looked at his peacefully knocked-out state and guarded your feet with light steps when you stepped out of the room. The door would not willingly shut; winds created resistance but with the grit of your teeth, you shut it and the windows, locking the front door with friction's animosity.

When he awoke, he came to find you sitting on the sofa, not missing the way the windows were shut and the door absolutely locked. You were watching tv, absorbed in the movements of the characters on-screen, clutching the blanket that covered you tightly. Running his fingertips across the walls, forcing himself to grip onto something, he fumbled onto the sofa and into your arms.

''You're awake? How are you feeling?'' you lightly asked, kissing the soft, tussled tufts of his hair that stuck out randomly. He smiled, drawing a thumb up, telling you what he could not from the blood that had been drawn out from his body. He felt some sort of numbness stem from within, be it what had just happened or the shot that had some sort of trauma attached to it. He had never properly assessed it and now he was left with this.

He chuckled, kissing your soft lips that satiated an innermost desire before plopping onto your chest with a sigh of relief. He felt no stress as he usually did to pick himself up before his team could, especially in situations like this. You could not contain yourself, softly stroking his cheek before placing what felt like more than one kiss upon it. ''I can see you worrying'' you murmured, catching his attention. ''It was so sudden- I didn't see it coming'' he said, out of breath. He wanted to say more but he stopped short, not finding the state of mind to continue.

The tv was paused, its light illuminating the room, the chirping of the birds had gone ransom now. The house stood silent, waiting to hear what Chani had to say next but he couldn't continue. He sighed and fell limp into your arms, eyes dazed with no particular fixation. You wondered what was going through his mind, having seen this many times but like always, you let him be. In your arms and laying silently, staring into space, you knew that he would come out of it.

''Do you want to eat something?'' you softly asked, clutching his face to shift his concentration onto you. He hummed, a small smile gracing him at the thought but as soon as you got up, he groaned and tried to pull you back. In a matter of seconds, you glanced at him and he had picked up the hem of your shirt and tightly clutched it before falling asleep.

As soon as you heard your phone, you answered the call, whispering, ''Yes, he is right here.''.

#sf9 #chani #sf9 fanfic #sf9 writings #sf9 requests #sf9 imagines #sf9 scenarios #sf9 fluff #sf9 fantasy

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simplyemm · 3 years

Text

In the Cards: IV of Pentacles

pairing: Bucky x Reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: meet cute (kinda), little bit of fluff, pet name (solnyshka), mentions of kidnapping, unedited, so all mistakes are mine.

summary: There is a new face around the Tower, and you want to make him feel welcome.

Header image by me.

Series Masterlist

I do not consent for this to be reposted, translated, or copied to any other platform.

IV of Pentacles: stability, control, influence, security, frugality

The ding of the elevator alerted you to the arrival of your somewhat-expected visitor. Steve Rogers had been making the rounds to all of the Tower employees, letting everyone know about the most recent addition to the building, as well as doing his best to allay any safety concerns that people might have. Cause y’know people might freak out just a little bit that the Winter Soldier was now in residence and not-entirely-okay.

“Hiya Cap,” you greeted, looking up from the disassembled Widow Bite you were working on improving for Natasha. “What’s up?”

“So you probably know why I’m here,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yup. Sergeant Barnes has moved in and he’s being given mostly free reign of the place to do a security check so he feels more secure in the Tower, right?”

“Word travels fast,” he muttered.

“Lab gremlins are gossips,” you confirmed. “But I get it, and so do most of the rest of the R+D staff. Everyone knows that they can have FRIDAY change up the access permissions if they get uncomfortable.”

“And yours?” Steve asked, glancing toward the doors on either side of your workshop.

“FRIDAY?” you called to the ever-present AI. She dinged in response. “Please allow Sergeant Barnes full access to my lab and associated spaces.”

“Of course.”

Steve smiled at you. “Thanks a lot, kid.”

“Let Sergeant Barnes know he’s welcome to lurk in my space whenever. I don’t mind the company.”

Steve chuckled. “No kidding, especially with the odd hours you keep.”

“Yeah well, science rests for no one, and someone has to keep up with all the upgrades y’all are constantly needing.”

Steve patted you on the shoulder and left you back to your own devices.

The next morning found you back to work, with only a few tweaks left to make on the improved Widow Bite.

“Good morning, solnyshka,” Natasha greeted as she entered the workshop, holding a steaming mug of tea. “I bring an offering.”

You look over at your for-the-moment favorite Avenger and grin. “Morning Nat. I’m just about ready to test out this upgrade.”

“Already? I just gave it to you like a day and a half ago!”

“And?” you shrugged. “Science waits for no one.” And you had worked all night on it, but you were not about to admit to that.

“You haven’t slept,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

You fight back a yawn. “No rest for the wicked,” you jest. “C’mon, let’s go test this out.”

The two of you head to the weapons testing area and you hand over the improved discs. You headed back behind a clear barrier where the control panel was. You had developed new testing dummies that allowed you to get readouts of possible biological reactions to the new tech, without needing actual people to be test dummies. It was one of the things you were most proud of.

“Ready?” you call. The Widow nods and you hit a button, causing several test dummies to appear and be summarily taken down by Natasha.

“I like them,” Nat says as the last dummy is taken down, twitching from the electrical current. “How are the readings?”

You look up from your StarkPad with a grin. “Fantastic. Will easily take down non-Enhanced without causing lasting permanent damage, enough to incapacitate. Gimme a minute and I can run a simulation to see--” you trail off, brain already moving a mile a minute to put in the parameters for the new simulation. The results make you grin even wider. “Can also cause at least minor inconvenience for super soldiers, provided we’re using Steve as a baseline.”

“Great!” Nat said. “Now go to sleep.”

You grumble good-naturedly, putting all of the testing tech to sleep, before heading out the testing lab door and across the hallway to your apartment. You really didn’t mind that your entire life could be contained in a single floor of Stark Tower, in fact, you actually preferred it that way. Tony had insisted that you move in after the second kidnapping incident, and you didn’t fight him on it...often. Besides, despite the incredibly generous salary Tony gave you, rent in New York City was not an expense you wanted to deal with.

*************

“I thought I told you to go to sleep,” Natasha said reproachfully when she entered the common area a few hours later and saw you sitting on the couch.

“Tried,” you replied. “Couldn’t do it. And I’m locked out of my lab for the next-” you glanced at the display of your StarkPhone, “-seven hours and thirty-four minutes, so I figured I would come hang out here.”

“Can’t FRIDAY unlock it for you?” Steve asked.

You laughed. “Nope, she’s the one who locked me out. It’s a protocol Pepper made Tony put in for himself that he so kindly added for me as well.”

The super soldier nodded in understanding. He looked over towards the elevator, hearing something that the two others didn’t, right before the door opened with a ding.

“Hey Buck,” Steve greeted softly, as the brown-haired man entered the space, looking around and observing everything. His eyes fell onto you and his brow furrowed, not recognizing the strange person in the space. “Oh right, you two haven’t met yet. Bucky, this is Y/N, she’s one of the--” he looked to you for a more apt description of your role.

“I usually go with lab gremlin, but I’m technically the Stark Industries lead mechanical engineer and tech liaison for the Avengers. It’s nice to meet you Sergeant Barnes.” You gave him a small smile and a little wave.

“Bedtime, solnyshka,” Natasha said. “At least try to get some sleep before FRIDAY unlocks your lab again. Please.”

“Ugh, fine,” you groaned, slowly getting up from the couch. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my cave.” And with that, you headed towards the elevator and back to your floor.

“Cave?” Bucky asked after the elevator doors closed behind you.

“It’s what she calls her floor,” Nat explained. “She has an apartment, her workshop, and one of the weapons testing labs all on the 87th floor. She emerges every now and again to socialize. Usually after she gets locked out from working too much.”

He nodded. He had yet to visit the 87th floor on his nightly sulks around the tower, but it had officially moved higher on his list.

*************

It was some obscenely early hour of the morning when Bucky made his way to the 87th floor of the Tower. Nightmares had woken him again, and he found himself wanting to see what your space was like. Steve had told him a bit about you after you had left, expounding upon your sunny disposition (which explained Natalia’s endearment) and your single-minded dedication to your work.

The elevator doors opened, revealing an open sitting area with three doors leading off it. The central doors were made of transparent glass and he could see you staring at a holographic display, moving things around with your fingertips, biting your lower lip in concentration. Unlike Stark, who favored loud rock as he worked, you had smooth jazz going in the background. Bucky could hear the murmur of the lyrics through the glass. To the right was another set of doors, the walls and door itself made of frosted glass. He assumed that led to your personal quarters, given that the doors on the left hand side had TESTING LAB written across them.

You looked up from your holo screen and the schematics displayed there after giving Bucky a chance to get his bearings. FRIDAY had informed you that he was on his way as soon as he had stepped into the elevator, but you hadn’t wanted to make him uncomfortable by immediately rolling out the welcome wagon. You tapped an icon in the corner of the holo screen, causing the doors of your workshop to slide open.

“Hi,” you said with a smile. “Wanna come in?”

He had been expecting something clinical and sterile feeling about the space, but that was not it at all. It felt more like a garage than an actual lab. He looked over to one of the corners, seeing a kitchenette and lounge area, complete with couch and television, which seemed counterintuitive to a work space, but it somehow fit.

“It’s a bit eclectic,” you admitted. “But it works for me.”

His eyes spread across the rest of the space, noting entrances, exits, and the lack of security for the floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall.

“The windows aren’t secure,” he mumbled.

You smiled. “More so than you’d think,” you replied gently. “Virtually indestructible one-way glass. Tony doesn’t want just anyone seeing what I get up to here.” You gestured toward one of the swivel stools you had scattered around your various worktables. “You’re more than welcome to hang out for a bit, if you’d like.”

And so he did.

#em's fic writing #bucky barnes fic series #in the cards #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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starlost-andfound · 3 years

Text

king of hearts // christian seavey

Summary: Y/n, a police officer is assigned to question the notorious criminal, Christian Seavey. Little does she know, she’s in for more than an interrogation.

Warning: fake blood - (just in the image), mentions of crime, violence and murder; use of a gun (as a threat).

W/C: Approximately 1.21 K

“He refused to speak to anyone, but you, Sergeant,” y/n’s co-worker, Amy, explained.

Y/n and Amy stood in a closed room, holding a one-way mirror which revealed the criminal behind their case. Y/n turned from Amy to look through the glass, observing the criminal’s movements. He sat still, staring at his handcuffed wrists. Occasionally, he lifted his head to look at the mirror.

On his end, he could only see a reflection of himself.

“Keep both eyes open, he’s dangerous,” Amy warned.

Y/n nodded with a sigh and picked up the file on the table. She shuffled out of the room, shouting out a “Wish me luck!” before the door shut behind her.

Y/n pulled out her ID card, unlocking the door to the interrogation room as she stepped in. As the door opened, the man immediately looked up, his interest sparked.

“Sergeant y/n,” he grinned, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and pulled out the chair in front of him sitting down. She opened the file, skimming through the contents.

“Christian Seavey, age 23. Two murders, one bank robbery and three cases of car theft and trespassing, each.” she looked up at the man across her who comfortably sat in his chair.

The tips of his lips tilted into an innocent smile, “That’s me.”

“I’ve been informed that you wouldn’t speak to anyone else.”

Christian nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

Y/n checked her watch before straightening her posture, and leaning her elbows onto the table, “Well, be my guest.”

Christian bowed his head slightly, “Thank you.”

It was silent for a moment, the two acquaintances observing each other, noting their body language and movements.

“So,” Christian broke the silence, “How are you, y/n?”

Y/n clenched her jaw, “It’s Sergeant y/n.”

Christian winced, “Sorry...Sergeant. Not much of a talker, hmm?”

Y/n tapped her fingers against the metal table, “We don’t have all day, stop beating around the bush. What are you here for Christian?”

Christian sighed, mimicking y/n’s posture as he leaned his arms against the table, “I don’t know, you tell me.”

“You were spotted on 6th Avenue, two days ago at 6:30 PM, running away from a scene.”

Christian smirked, “Never seen someone going on a run before?”

Y/n glared at him, “With a knife? And blood stains?”

Christian giggled, “Don’t you run with a knife and blood stains?”

Y/n’s neutral unmoving expression pushed Christian to back away, lifting his hands in defense, “It was a joke.”

Y/n sighed, “This isn’t a joke. You have an extensive criminal record and are suspect to a murder.”

Christian grinned, “Didn’t they already solve that one?”

Y/n clenched her teeth, “Yes, but you got out and here we are.”

Christian leaned back, satisfied from the response he pulled from y/n.

“What’s the point in calling me here if you aren’t going to get to the point?”

Christian glanced past y/n at the mirror, “I asked to see you.”

“And? You got that.”

He tisked, “Your coworker is watching us.”

“It’s standard procedure.”

Christian licked his drying lips, “Fine then, have it your way.”

He looked back down at his wrists, like the handcuffs were the most interesting items in the room. A static from y/n’s walkie talkie alerted her and she pulled it out.

“It’s your call, Sergeant,” Amy spoke through the line.

“Let’s give him what he wants,” y/n looked Christian in the eye, “I need answers.”

Amy responded back before the sound of a door shut was closing. Christian watched as the mirror merged into a transparent glass, showing an empty room. He smiled at y/n.

Y/n sighed, flipping through the pages of his file, “Now, that’s settled. Let’s get talking shall we?”

Y/n stopped at a page, which reported the events of the crime scene of focus.

“You have a pattern in the way you work, Seavey.”

Christian grinned, “Is that so?”

“You always leave behind a clue, a card. The King of Hearts,” y/n pulled out a paper of photographs, placing it onto the table and sliding it towards Christian. Christian admired the photographs, captures of his signature card in different crime settings.

“There’s just one thing I haven’t figured out, just yet.”

Christian looked up, puffing a gust of air as a strand of his untamed hair fell onto his face.

“Why? Why all of this when you have so much? You have the money, the experience, the skill for so much more. What’s your intention, Seavey?”

Christian grinned, “I was waiting for that question. Why?”

He looked down at his handcuffed wrists, playing with the chain.

“Everyone’s addicted to something,” he began. “Kids these days can’t get off the screen, some people are addicted to alcohol, drugs.”

Y/n pulled out a pen, twisting it in her fingers, “What are you addicted to?”, she asked.

Christian looked up, a ghost of a smile on his face, “I like playing games.”

Y/n nodded, “What kind? You into Call of Duty? Racing games?”

Christian smirked in response, an underlying sinister meaning behind his expression, “No, not those kinds of games.”

Y/n sat up in her chair, curiosity sparking her next question, “Then what kind of games do you play?”

Christian’s smirk grew wider, as he displayed his wrists, free of the handcuffs, “The kind that gets you into trouble.”

Y/n immediately stood up, in sync with Christian, their metal chairs scraping across the floor. She pulled out her gun, pointing it straight at him, “Hands up.”

Christian lifted his hands slowly, laughing quietly. His hands flashed forward, hitting y/n’s elbow and allowing him to yank the gun out of her hands. He twisted it around, aiming it at her, “Ladies first.”

Christian eyed y/n’s hand as it gently brushed the table, reaching for the walkie talkie. “If you even do so much as think about touching that, it will be the last thing you’ll ever do.”

Y/n smiled, “Who said I was?”. Her fingers gripped onto a hidden pistol under the table and pulled it out, pointing it at Christian.

They remained unmoving, silently, face to face, their weapons pointing at each other, centimetres away from death.

“Put the gun down, Sergeant,” Christian spoke steadily.

Y/n gripped the gun with both hands, “You first.”

Christian sighed, “You and I both know, I’m the more experienced shooter. I could do this all day.”

Y/n remained silent, her fingers pulled the trigger.

Christian smirked, unphased, “How’s your friend, y/fr/n? I heard they’re in the hospital.”

Y/n faltered, glaring at him.

“Avenue Hospital? Near the middle of the city?”

“Stop.”

“Room 374, right?”

“If you even think about hurting them, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

“Follow my orders or start planning your friend’s funeral, the choice is yours,” he grinned cynically.

Y/n hesitated before gently lowering her gun, placing it on the table. The loud clang of the metal hitting the table resonated through the room. She lifted her hands up.

“Good. Now,” Christian gestured the gun towards the door, “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

#christian seavey #christian seavey fic #christian seavey imagines

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

She [7]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series)

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: The reader finds herself busy.

Note: I have these chapters done so I’ll keep posting till the end.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Reader

You met with Rashida at the beginning of the next week. Only three days after your last encounter. Since then, you’d found yourself watching over your shoulder. As you left your building, walked to the station, passed through the broad doors of the tall tower where Motley’s offices resided... You were overly alert and entirely uncertain.

Yet you didn’t see anything more than before. The man in the hoodie didn’t catch your eye and in a subway car full of the same dark sweaters, how would you even pick him out? You felt hopeless. Maybe he stopped. Maybe it was one of Fury’s men keeping tabs on you. Maybe he hadn’t been following you at all.

You shook away all those questions as you hit the buzzer and waited for the crackly speaker. Rashida was quick to let you up and welcomed you into an apartment as small as your own. The space was a cluster of children’s toys and mismatched furniture. You sat at the round table as she offered you something to drink. She brought you a glass of water and sat across from you.

“Maya’s at school til three,” She said as she leaned an arm on the table. “I’d rather she not be here.”

“I understand,” You took out your notebook. “Do you mind if I record this?”

She rubbed two fingers along the plastic tablecloth. “Recorded?”

“For me only. The audio won’t be released. And as before, this will all be on record until you say it’s not.” You coaxed. “We stop when you say.”

“Sure,” She nodded. “I do have a real job, you know. I work breakfast down at this diner.” She pointed at the window. “It’s just not cutting it.”

You set your phone down and hit the red button and took your pen.

“Do most of the women have other jobs?” You asked.

“Most, if not all. Some of them only come around when they finish down at the strip joints,” She leaned back, a little more relaxed. “I… Selene said she’d talk to you. If you wanted. I just don’t know how much she’ll talk. She still hasn’t told me everything.”

“Really?” Your lashes fluttered in excitement. “Yeah, anything she has-- Any other girls you know, I could use anything.”

She exhaled and ran her thumb along her middle finger.

“I wanna help them, you know? Not just me. Because I’m just one of a lot. A lot.” She shook her head. “And they get younger and younger. Used to be I worried about protecting the young ones, now we’re all just thinking about ourselves.”

“I heard about Saturday,” You said. “You know her?”

“No, but I found her. Arm broke, face cut,” Her fingers closed to a fist. “She fought him and he fought back but now she’s marked. Forever.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to redirect for a little bit.” You said gently. “I don’t want you to think about the attacks. I want to know about you. Tell me about your first night there.”

She squinted. “Why?”

“Because...you matter. And if people see that you’re human, that’s how they’ll see all the rest.” You shifted in your seat. “It won’t just be numbers printed beside some add for dry cleaning. It will be people.”

She thought and swallowed. She pressed her lips together.

“It was only supposed to be the one night,” She began. “Just needed to make up the last of the rent…”

🖋️

Poppy sat in her usual spot. Her desk was her throne and you were all just her subjects. He ashy hair was pinned up so only a single curl framed her face. Her structured blouse was a rich fuschia and the bow was much too big and tacky. You looked down at your tweed jacket with the three-quarter sleeves and a moment of doubt took you. You didn’t belong here with her.

You took a breath and approached her office. You knocked on the transparent door and she didn’t look up. She flicked two fingers for you to enter as she kept her eyes on the tablet propped up against her desk.

“What is it?” She asked, still scrolling through the black text.

“I’m… supposed to give you my pitch,” You looked at the clock above her head. “It’s noon.”

“Go on then,” She still didn’t look at you.

You glanced at the chair but didn’t sit. You hated the cold, hard seat. You neared her desk and laid down your single sheet.

“In the last four months, there has been a string of assaults on a block which hosts a slew of prostitutes. The women who have been attacked all bear the same scars; from hairline to chin.” You said evenly. “I intend to write about these women who work there and get their stories and what is being done, or not being done, by the police.”

She slowly looked up through her half-moon glasses. She let the tablet lay flat and sat back in the tall white leather chair.

“Prostitutes? You mean the most common victims of assault? Hardly revolutionary reporting.” She sniffed.

“Think about it. Each woman who has been attacked in this manner has survived but she has been marked. It’s like… Jack the Ripper. He’s circling the block. Don’t you think one day he’ll get bored of just a slice? Saturday, a girl’s arm was broken too. It’s the first major injury beside the cuts.�� You slid your printed pitch closer to her. “It’s only a matter of time before this is the new Whitechapel.”

She lifted a brow and reached to take the paper. Her eyes glossed over the text and she looked up at you again.

“This really what you wanna do?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’ve already have interviews lined up.” You assured her. “I think this could be good. It might even help stop these assaults before they cross that line.”

She chuckled and shook her head.

“We’ll see,” She set the page down. “I hope you don’t miss the mail room that bad.”

You withheld a frown and left her as she shooed you with her hand. Her confidence was disheartening. You wondered if maybe you’d taken a wild misstep. If perhaps you had gotten ahead of yourself.

You sat at your desk and grabbed your phone. You took the folded paper beneath it; the list of names and numbers Rashida had given you the day before. Well, you had to make your shot and if you missed, it could be fatal.

🖋️

You spent the rest of your day calling the women and trying to arrange further interviews. Selene, though she sounded nervous, agreed and only one other; Tess. It was a start and a better one than you expected. Then you put in your earbuds and listened to the recording of your second meeting with Rashida. You transcribed diligently as you tuned out those around you.

You were spooked by a tap on your shoulder. You tore out your ear bud and glanced at Essie. She smiled as you closed out your work and turned to her. She had her Barbie pink purse on her elbow and her phone in her other hand. It must have been later than you thought.

“Hey, Rima and I are going for a drink. We were wondering if you wanted to come. It’s been a while.” She smiled.

Essie had started at the same time as you; she, an intern as you were relegated to the mail room. Still, you shared a sense of comradery as she had been a constant in your time at Motley. You peeked back at your screen and checked the time in the corner. You shrugged. There wasn’t much else you could do that night.

“I could do a drink.” You stood. “I heard you were doing a piece on some new designer?”

“Yeah,” She chimed proudly as you shut off your computer and grabbed your purse. “I’m hoping it can get me an interview at Elle or Vogue. You know this place isn’t really the height of fashion.”

“No, not at all,” You chuckled. “Surprising, given Poppy’s wardrobe.”

“The devil wears fake prada,” Essie snorted. A taller woman appeared at her side; Rima’s sharp bob highlighted the angles of her jaw.

“Hey,” Rima said as she pouted, her lips smooth beneath a coat of dark lipstick. “We aren’t going to that horrible Pop place again. Those lights give me a headache.”

“It was called Bubble and you didn't mind so much after that shot of tequila.” Essie chided.

“No tequila for me,” You intoned. “I’ve got an interview tomorrow.”

“We’ll see,” Essie said coyly.

You shook your head and even Rima’s dour sneer cracked.

“No dancing,” Rima declared. “It’s not even Friday yet.”

“Then you’ll owe me on Friday,” Essie countered as she led the way between desks. “And a shot.”

🖋️

You sipped your gin slowly. You didn’t need a hangover on top of everything else and you weren’t really in the mood for alcohol. Or the chatty New York barroom. As always, you regretted your inclination to be social. You’d rather be at home, hypnotized by a screen as you tried to decide what to order on your pizza.

You didn’t talk much, you didn’t really care about the new pop star or onset romance. Rima barely seemed to stomach it herself but indulged Essie in her tabloid dreams. The night wore on as you found your glass empty and hid it behind your arm as you smiled. You were eager to find an excuse to leave before midnight.

“Ugh, I gotta break the seal,” Essie whined. “Damn.”

“Too bad,” Rima said dryly. “Don’t fall in.”

“Wow, love you too,” She huffed. “I thought this was a girls’ night.”

“You’re a big girl. You can handle it.” Rima teased. “I’m comfortable right here.”

Essie frowned and looked at you. You shrugged. You had been avoiding the smelly bathrooms. She spun around sharply and marched away in defeat. It was quiet for a moment, then Rima’s voice pierced through those around you.

“I read your article. On Captain America,” She said. “Very… interesting. I hear he’s been in hiding.”

“Oh?” You blinked at her. “I haven’t really… been paying attention. Gotta keep up with my new story.”

“New story?” She mused. “You mean… everyone in town is talking about Steve Rogers and you have the scoop and you’re just going to toss it away.”

“What scoop?” You asked.

“Well, what happened off the record?” She snickered. “We are all so curious and our imaginations do get the best of us.”

“It was… I just left,” You said. “Really. It wasn’t that… dramatic.”

“Oh, but we all got a taste of that temper. You must’ve been terrified.” She prodded. “Weren’t you? A man that big--”

“Why are you so curious?” You wondered.

“Just… am.” She grabbed her drink and you glimpsed her phone behind her forearm. She drank and you saw the familiar red dot and ticking timer. “You were right. Those avengers, they need--”

“Are you recording me?” You asked. “What the fuck, Rima?”

“What, oh no?” She looked down. “I must have hit it by accident.”

“Bull shit.” You pushed away your empty glass. “I should’ve… I should go. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Really, it wasn’t--”

“Save it. You can find your own story. I’m not it.” You hissed and saw Essie emerge from the bathrooms. You grabbed your purse and stormed over to her. “I’ll see you at the office.”

“What? Wait? Where are you going?”

“Home. I’m too old for this place,” You stopped on your heel. “Have fun.”

🖋️

The next day, you chose to forego your check-in at the office. Your pitch was approved, you’d sent your transcription to the cloud, and you weren’t so eager to see Rima again. You would see Selene at noon and hunker down back at your apartment, hopefully with even more to work with.

You left at ten. Enough time to stop and grab a bite between transfers. At midtown, you got a bagel and tea and sat in the cafe that smelled of cinnamon and beans. You spread the cream cheese and the door opened and closed. The line was growing longer and longer and you thanked your luck at getting ahead of it.

As you bit into your bagel and a seed stuck to your lip, you were surprised by an unexpected figure before you. You looked up and nearly choked. Steve Rogers wore a navy tee and jeans; much more casual than the captain presented to the world. You grabbed a napkin and covered your mouth as you chewed and swallowed.

“Steve?” You blinked.

“Hey, I know this is…” He looked around. “Weird. I was just coming in to grab a smoothie and I didn’t think it was you.”

“Oh?” You looked at the green drink in his hand. “Yeah, uh, coincidence.”

“Well, I’ve had to kinda change things up lately. Not gonna lie, I had to outrun a man with a camera a few blocks back.” He raised his brow in exasperation.

“Look, what has happened, the reaction, it’s not what I meant--” You found it hard to speak. You imagined your last week and a half had been much easier than his; even with all the chaos. “I was trying to show that you were more than a shield. That you weren’t just the righteous war hero and I guess…”

“Do you mind if I sit?” He asked. “Just for a second.”

“Uh, yeah,” You said hesitantly. You folded the wrapper over the bagel as he took the chair across from you.

“I got angry. That’s on me.” He said and paused to sip his smoothie. “And you’re right, I’m not perfect. I think the world should see that. I’d… like to do another interview.”

“Steve, look, I understand what you’re trying to do but it’s already out there. It can’t be taken back, people have already decided on what they think. I’m sorry but I can’t undo it.” You said.

“I know,” He was on the edge of his chair. “I’m not looking to clear anything up, I know that can’t be done. I just want a second chance. To paint a clearer, fuller picture of myself.”

“I… I’m real sorry but I’m in the middle of something else and I just think it might be too soon for all that.” You rubbed your neck. “Steve, I really am sorry about how it turned out.”

“For me then. You don’t have to promise a story. If you think it’s garbage, toss it.” He pleaded. “But I’d just like to do it for me. For closure. And if it ends up on the newsstand, all the better. If not, well, I know I tried to fix things.”

“I… guess I could… it would have to be tomorrow at the soonest. I have another interview this afternoon and I’d have to prepare.” You explained.

“Tomorrow,” He nodded and stood. “Perfect.”

“Alright. Does one o’clock work?” You asked.

“It works. Um, come in the back?” He said as a wrinkle deepened in his forehead. “There’s a bit of an issue with the front door. It’s a bit crowded.”

“Ah,” You nodded, “Right.”

“If you’re coming from the subway, you want to turn down the little bike path off the street before. There’s a red ornament on my gate, a little star.”

“Alright. I’ll see ya then.” You tried to smile but found it hard.

“Oh, and…” He grabbed his cup. “I’m sorry too. I wasn’t very nice and I knew you’d ask questions. It’s your job. I’m better than that.”

“It’s really nothing. I’ve dealt with worse.” You assured him.

“Okay. Tomorrow.” He tapped the table top. “Thanks for letting me interrupt your breakfast.”

You watched him go and he passed the window without another glance. There was a pit in your stomach. A sudden guilt. You’d caused him so much trouble and you’d been so concerned with yourself. So bad he was practically begging to talk.

You had completely misjudged him. He wasn’t an angry man, he was only human. He made mistakes like everyone else. He should, at least, be allowed that one flaw.

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #she #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #au

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scxrsgxrd · 3 years

Text

Office Hours // Subby!mickey

Part One

Hello there! This idea came to me as I was thinking about the work aspect of Mickey’s girlfriend’s life, and how a very bratty Mickey slots into that. This will be the first of two parts, I hope you enjoy it! Thank you endlessly for reading <3

There were emails upon emails to sort through. Multiple numbers to call. Leery men in their ridiculously expensive suits to set up meetings with. And it was only 9am.

She took in a deep breath and let out an almighty sigh, leaning backwards in her chair and staring at the open laptop on the desk in front of her for what felt like hours, but in reality had only been two minutes. Two minutes. Her hands reached out to the front of her desk, latching onto it as she pulled her chair forward and began to aimlessly scroll through the mountain of emails clogging up her inbox.

Her mind began to wander as her fingers absentmindedly tapped against her keyboard, sucking in her bottom lip between her teeth as lurid memories of the previous evening quickly pushed aside any notions of productivity for the remainder of the morning. A smirk rolled its way across her lips as she remembered the delicious sight of Mickey laid on their bed, legs splayed as his hands fisted the bedsheets while her special gift to him was positioned near the base of his cock.

As if on queue, her phone pinged on the desk next to her laptop. Her hands grabbed the device quickly and her eyes scanned over the text from Mickey. A lump formed in her throat as she glared at the screen, her eyes ticking back and forth over the message as she felt her toes begin to curl inside her heels.

I miss you, mommy. And I miss your gift too😘

The text itself wasn’t what had her so riled up, rather the image that was attached. Mickey was on their bed, mirroring the position he had been in the previous night; his legs splayed apart with his back rested against a few pillows propped up against the headboard. He was naked, fully erect, and had his hand wrapped around his cock. Only this time, he did not have her permission.

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as her jaw clenched. Mickey knew she was booked full of meetings today, that she couldn’t slip off early. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the consequences that would eventually follow.

Another ping, but this time there was a video. She ghosted her thumb over the message, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a few moments before she pressed play. He had scooted over to the edge of their bed with the mirror positioned in front of him, one hand snaked around his cock as the other held his phone. From the reflection she could see a glint in his eyes as he smirked mischievously, cocking his left eyebrow before beginning to stroke up and down his cock.

She silently praised herself for shutting the door to her office earlier that morning as a string of moans and whimpers left Mickey. The volume button on her phone was on the highest level and his moans only increased in frequency as he grazed his thumb over his tip, his hips rolling toward the mirror as he made sure to put on a show for her. She felt her mouth fall open as she watched him collect a string of pre-cum and then bring his thumb up to his plump lips, gazing into the mirror as he began to suck and lick his digit, swirling his tongue over the liquid as he maintained his smirk.

His thumb then left his lips with a quiet popping sound, and Mickey only antagonized her further as he trailed his glistening thumb down his chin and then halfway down his chest before he changed direction. The grip she had on her phone tightened as she watched Mickey’s thumb graze over her his nipple, a drawn out, guttural “fuuuuuck” blasted from her speaker as he used his thumb and forefinger to pinch his nipple gently. And with that, the video ended.

Her chest was heaving and her thighs were clamped together as the video reset to the thumbnail of Mickey staring almost mockingly into the mirror with his hand poised around his cock. Each sentence she typed in response she deleted before she could hit send. She knew the video was meant to provoke her, that Mickey was toeing the line because he knew she couldn’t just leave her office and shoot off home like she would any other day.

“Ma’am? Uh, hey? Hello?”

Her assistant, Kate, stood awkwardly in front of her desk, gazing at her boss imploringly as she anxiously gripped onto the multiple files in her grasp.

“Your meeting with Mr Cooper started ten minutes ago.” Kate’s gaze flicked between the clock and her boss as she sucked in a deep breath.

“What? Oh, Kate. I’m sorry.” She shook her head and locked her phone, whatever response she was searching to give Mickey would have to wait. From the look on Kate’s face she could tell that Cooper had taken out his rage over her tardiness on her assistant.

She grabbed her laptop and began to hastily walk her way over to the glass encompassed meeting room, where Mr Cooper was sat glaring at her through the transparent wall, his fingers tapping on the table as his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Ah, Mr Cooper, thank you for your patience.” She flashed a disingenuous smile and held out her hand as she entered the room. Edward Cooper was renowned for his ill-temper, and was therefore the last person she wanted to deal with today. Her patience had already worn thin, and a meeting with Cooper required a lot of patience.

“Finally, she gets here.” He grumbled and ignored the handshake she offered, instead spreading out various documents onto the table before them as he muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t make out.

Her heart rate was still accelerating as she sat down, the video of Mickey was playing on loop inside her head as the man opposite her droned on about his expectations for his company’s next ad campaign. After less than ten minutes she had zoned out completely, her nails digging into the palms of her hands as her inability to reprimand Mickey for his disobedience ate away at her.

Normally she kept her work and home life separate, focusing her energy on her professional duties during her office hours before unwinding from all of the day’s frustrations once she arrived home. But today was different. Mickey’s texts had thrown her off balance and the thought of the painfully long day she had ahead of her only increased her agitation.

“Are you even listening to a damn word I’m saying?”

Her head snapped towards Mr Cooper as he slammed his hand flat against the table, causing a few members of his team to jolt upright in their chairs as his fiery gaze was set on the woman before him.

“This is what happens when you get an account executive who’s a-” He cut himself off abruptly, flicking his gaze back down to the papers on the table while adjusting his tie.

“Do go on, Mr Cooper. An account executive who’s a?” She pushed her chair away from the table and rose to her feet, watching intently as Mr Cooper’s cheeks began to redden.

“As I was saying, the budget may be a little tighter this time, but I don’t think that’s a problem, given your talent and experience.” He began to fumble with the wad of graphs his assistant handed to him as his voice became more strained, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead as he cleared his throat.

She began to scan over her copy of the figures when she chuckled and set them back down, she was in no mood to deal with Cooper’s internalized disdain for her and the other women he had been delivering suggestive glances to during their presentations. Not today, and not any day after that.

“I think we’re done here, Mr Cooper.” Her voice boomed around the meeting room, interrupting the still red-faced man as he peered over the top of his glasses at her.

“Done? But we’ve barely started allocating funds for the advertising.” His irate tone had returned, and he flicked to the next slide on the screen at the head of the table, opening his mouth to continue when she took hold of her laptop and strode toward the door.

“Excuse me, missy, but I’m the one here making you the money.”

His sneer sent a shiver through her whole body.

“Money is not my concern, Mr Cooper, but if it was I might point out that I have plenty of other clients that generate a lot more money than you do. So if you wouldn’t mind, get the fuck out of my meeting room.” Her voice was calm, and she flashed him another smile, only this time her smile was made up of pure, ear to ear satisfaction. Once he and the rest of his team had gathered their belongings, she held the door open and gestured toward the elevator with her arm.

His roaring voice could still be heard as the elevator began to descend to the ground floor, demanding to be put into contact with HR to file a discrimination complaint. She shook her head and gently kicked the meeting room door shut, blocking out the quiet whispers and wide-eyed stares she received as she made her way back to the peace and quiet of her office.

Once she was in her chair she kicked her heels off and leaned backwards, letting out a small sigh as she relished in the feeling of accomplishment. No longer would she have a reason to dread Tuesday mornings. She grinned and dug into the pocket of her jacket for her phone, there was no way she could wait until the end of the day to relay the news to Mickey. Mickey.

She had completely forgotten about the texts prior to her meeting, but now her initial rage had manifested into something much more devious. She couldn’t get to Mickey, but there was nothing stopping Mickey from coming to her.

I miss you too, baby boy. Why don’t you come over to the office at lunch?

#subby!mickey #mickey stuff #mickey drabble #villains 2019

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someguynamedstevewrites · 4 years

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“My Roommate is an Apparition” Christmas Special

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

—————————————————————

“It was a dark and cloudy evening on the twenty-ninth of November.

The end of a Black Friday the likes few would remember.

In an art supply store that can be found somewhere.

A person named Lily almost pulled out their hair.

With sale after sale, and all the price drops,

Poor Lily was tired. She wanted it to stop.

She dragged her feet one after another, with muscles so sore.

It felt like she walked a thousand miles to fall down at her door.

But now it was over, and at last she was free.

To veg out on her couch, and watch shows on TV.

But before she could indulge in being a couch potato,

There was still the matter of her roommate who...

...

Who...”

Lily tapped the pen against her chin as she tried to come up with a good word that rhymed with potato. Her head rested on a cushion against the arm rest of her couch as she slouched back; crossing one leg over the other. One of her spiral notebooks rested in her lap as she turned her head to look at her roommate.

The ghostly apparition stood motionless with a gaunt expression. Their eyes were wide with tiny pupils that somehow weren’t necessarily bloodshot, but at the same time, also bloodshot... but without the blood part. Their unkempt long hair fell down over their nearly non-existent shoulders and down their back, if you could call it that. Anyone who saw them standing next to them would likely jump out of their skin. If they could see them.

They were watching Spongebob Squarepants on Nickelodeon.

It was a rerun of the first episode, and the falsetto voice of Tiny Tim began to fill the apartment.

“Things that bother you Never bother me!

I feel happy and fine!

Living in the sunlight!

Loving in the moonlight!”

“Hav...ing... a... wonder... ful... time...”

Lily could tell the apparition was trying to sing along with its raspy voice. It sounded more like muttering under their breath, but it was clear what they were doing. It had to be difficult for it since they didn’t necessarily have lungs, vocal chords, or any other body parts usually involved with singing (as far as Lily knew). But despite that, it was still happy, bobbing their head slowly from side to side as they tried to keep up with the song.

Lily couldn’t help but think it was adorable; like a Pre-Schooler trying to sing along with their favorite cartoon.

It was the apparition’s scheduled cartoon time, and Lily had just come home after a very long morning, day, and night at work. As exhausting as working on Black Friday was, Lily was thankful to have a nice place to return to where she could unwind and relax. She was also thankful that the rent was surprisingly cheap too; what with the apartment being haunted and all.

She remembered the look on her landlord’s face when she signed the lease. It was a mixture of horror, surprise, and joy in response to finally finding someone willing to rent the apartment. Previous tenants would often report of strange things happening when they lived there. Their TV’s would turn on by themselves at random times. Sometimes the channels would change on their own, and whenever the tenant tried changing it back, they could hear an ethereal whisper demanding that they change the channel.

But Lily weren’t afraid of no ghosts, and took one of her first steps to independent living with dirt cheap rent.

A spooky chuckle came from her roommate as they watched Spongebob completely ruin Squidward’s day ...again. If not for the fact that Lily could see the pale, see-through entity that made that noise, she probably would have found the laughter rather creepy. But she didn’t, and in the spirit of the season, Lily mentally noted how she was thankful that she could see her specter of a roommate.

This train of thought led Lily back to one of the questions she had been asking herself for the past couple months: Why could she see the apparition when nobody else could?

Several possible answers ran through her head. Maybe she had secret powers that she wasn’t aware of? Maybe she was the “chosen” one, selected by the mysterious wraith to be the only person that could see them? Or maybe there was something about them that made them kindred spirits in a way? And if so, what tied them together?

Lily’s train of thought was derailed by the sudden commercial break on the TV, signaling that Spongebob had ended, and Lily knew what that meant. It was finally her turn to have the TV!

“Okay, show’s over. Now it’s my turn to watch something.”

Lily’s roommate gave a disappointed sigh as Lily snatched up the remote and changed the channel to CBS. It was prime time and time for some Hawaii Five-O. Sure it wasn’t the most mentally stimulating television program out there and one could argue it had the same level of intellect as Spongebob, but it was what Lily wanted to watch and watch it she would!

Or at least that would have been the case if not for a tiny spanner in the works. What greeted Lily after changing the channel was not Hawaii Five-O, but a familiar sight that Lily had not seen for a long, long time. Bongos could be heard as the word “Special” spun around colorfully on the screen before resting in place and showing “A CBS Special Presentation”.

A bright blue background with images of snowflakes falling appeared on the TV screen, accompanied by a calming, familiar, song.

“Fahoo forays, dahoo dorays

Welcome Christmas, bring your light

Fahoo forays, dahoo dorays

Welcome in the cold of night.”

“No kidding...” Lily said to herself in amazement. She hadn’t seen How The Grinch Stole Christmas in years. And it wasn’t the live action remake with Jim Carrey or the newer animated movie with Benedict Cumberbatch either. It was the genuine, original, Chuck Jones animated TV special with Boris Karloff narrating.

Lily remembered watching this on TV with her parents when she was little. It was one of the many Christmas specials that would air instead of the usual TV programming at night, and was just the thing for a 8-year old to enjoy before being tucked into bed for a 9 PM bedtime. Fond memories of the Christmas Tree in the living room, glowing with lights, and a stack of presents underneath it came flooding back to her in a wave of nostalgia.

It wasn’t Hawaii Five-O, but Lily wasn’t about to complain. In fact, she thought it was the perfect way to usher in the holiday season after the shopping turmoil of Black Friday. But as she kicked back to relax, she took a look at her roommate and couldn’t believe her eyes and ears.

“Every Who... down in Whoville... liked Christmas a lot.

But the Grinch... who lived just North of Whoville... did not!” said the apparition.

Its face was practically glowing with a warm smile that stretched almost from ear to non-existent ear on her face. Normally, Lily’s roommate was literally quite clear. Its transparent body made it easy to see right through them. But as it gazed at the Christmas Classic playing on the TV, Lily could have sworn that she saw a faint light beginning to emanate from her roommate.

The apparition’s pale, translucent skin looked like it was becoming opaque. A soft, warm glow radiated from its body as though it had just swallowed a night light. And all the while, the apparition spoke along with Boris Karloff’s narration word for word.

“The Grinch... hated Christmas!

The whole Christmas... season!

Now... please don't ask... why.

No one... quite knows the... reason,” the apparition quoted as it did its best to keep up with Boris Karloff’s pace.

“Wow! You’ve got the whole thing memorized, don’t yah?” Lily said with a smile.

The apparition turned around and smiled back at Lily, but this smile was different from before. Their smiles were usually filled with sharp, pointy teeth with an almost maniacal look to them. This smile, however, didn’t stretch across the whole of their face. Furthermore, while their teeth were still pointy, they looked somewhat smaller; almost human, even. It was a soft, warm, friendly smile.

It turned back around and continued to watch the TV classic, and as it did, Lily sat upright and scooted over to one side of the couch.

“Hey,” Lily called out, “care to join me?” She said while patting the seat next to her on the couch. Without taking its eyes off the television, the apparition walked backwards, somehow, onto the couch and then proceeded to sit next to Lily. “C’mere you,” Lily said as she took a throw blanket resting on the back of the couch and draped it around herself and her roommate.

Despite her roommate’s lack of substance, Lily felt warm and comfortable under the blanket. She could feel the faintest touch as the apparition’s head limped to the side and came to rest on her shoulder. It still quoted and sang along with the Christmas classic, but quietly so as not to disturb the viewing experience of their corporeal roommate.

It was peaceful, calm, and comforting. As they watched, Lily looked at her notebook that was now sitting on the floor. The movement of inviting her roommate to the couch had knocked it off. Looking at it, Lily figured out what to put down to finish her little post-Black Friday stress relief poem.

“... But before she could indulge in being a couch potato,

There was still the matter of her roommate who would not let go.

But as mysterious and weird as her roommate might be,

There was something about it that brought a warm smile to Lily.

And so the two sat on the couch in front of the TV,

Enjoying their time together as it was meant to be.”

Lily made a mental note to write that down once the show was over...

...but unfortunately forgot.

#reddpenn #my roommate is an apparition

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jordanianroyals · 3 years

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Jordan Has Become a Banana Monarchy (Foreign Policy)

By SEAN YOM APRIL 15, 2021

As the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan marks its centennial this month, its citizens are still buzzing about the “Hamzah affair.” The political earthquake began two weeks ago, when security services rounded up almost two dozen prominent figures on charges of coup-mongering. Among those was former Crown Prince Hamzah, one of King Abdullah II’s half-brothers, who was ordered to stop meeting with opposition-minded tribal communities. Angered by economic hardship and rampant corruption, many of those communities had begun to see him as a better choice for king than Abdullah.

Jordanian protesters chant slogans during an anti-austerity rally in front of the Labor Union offices in Amman, Jordan, on June 6, 2018. Ahmad Gharabli/AFP via Getty Images

The British imported the Hashemites from the Arabian Peninsula to rule over their invented kingdom in 1921. Though it lacked wealth and prestige, the monarchy maintained domestic stability by patronizing and protecting its tribes, particularly after Jordan absorbed millions of Palestinians after the 1948 and 1967 Arab-Israeli wars. The bargain was austere, but it worked: bread for loyalty. Since Abdullah’s enthronement in 1999, however, tribal Jordanians have seen many jobs and social services vanish. It was this fraying relationship between the monarchy and its tribal base that Hamzah entered.

While some allege a real conspiracy tied to Saudi meddling, most analysts believe that the entire affair was a manufactured crisis designed to distract a public enraged about the ruling monarchy’s worsening mismanagement over the past decade. The pandemic made the already-stagnant economy worse, spiking unemployment from 15 to 25 percent and raising the poverty rate from 16 to a staggering 37 percent. Fruitless promises of democratic reform from Abdullah have led nowhere. With tribal activists regularly criticizing the king—the ultimate act of transgression—the monarchy is responding not with better policies and more transparency, but by doubling down with heightened repression.

But neither stifling dissent nor palace intrigue is the real story. Like all autocracies, Jordan has little tolerance for popular opposition. Moreover, most of the Arab monarchies suffer from dynastic infighting. Saudi Arabia, Morocco, and Bahrain have all seen powerful hard-liners muffle dissident princes over the last decade. Kuwait’s Sabah monarchy has been rocked by coup conspiracies and succession disputes.

What this crisis actually reveals is the painful demise of a U.S. protectorate in the heart of the Middle East. Jordan has become a banana monarchy whose popular legitimacy is in tatters and that survives only through massive infusions of aid and arms from Washington. It has surrendered much of its sovereignty with a new defense treaty—inked in January without the Jordanian public’s knowledge—giving the U.S. military such untrammeled operational rights that the entire kingdom is now cleared to become a giant U.S. base. All this makes the regime inherently unwilling to entertain any domestic reforms without explicit American pressure.

Meanwhile, the United States remains complicit in the economic bungling and political abuses unraveling the country. Abdullah is currently the longest-reigning national leader in the Arab world, and U.S. leaders routinely celebrate his pro-Western monarchy, framing it as an Arab model of reform and moderation. During the recent crisis, the Biden administration reached out to Abdullah to endorse the arrests and confirm his well-being. U.S. President Joe Biden counseled him to “stay strong,” while Secretary of State Antony Blinken trumpeted the U.S.-Jordanian “strategic partnership.”

This is a sad but familiar story. Think of Iran under the shah or non-Middle East cases such as South Vietnam or Honduras under the Somozas. History shows that when sponsoring a client dictatorship becomes a sacred pillar of Washington’s foreign policy, client rulers become extremely dependent upon U.S. support, prioritizing their relationship with Washington over their own people. In Jordan’s case, the government has preserved U.S. dominance in the Middle East and protected Israel while neglecting Jordanians’ own woes. Such rulers surrender to the worst excesses of autocracy, enriching themselves and alienating society. They ignore the warning signs of revolution, believing that Washington will save them. But it never does.

Client rulers ignore the warning signs of revolution, believing that Washington will save them. But it never does.

This hegemonic impulse to back banana regimes as they self-destruct is not simply a rehash of the Kirkpatrick Doctrine, the idea that even the most corrupt pro-Western dictatorships are preferable to anti-Western democracies. It stems from a more quotidian reality. Once the United States becomes committed not just to defending a regime but also to running the country itself, it cannot get out. Trapped in the trenches, the United States faces a paradox. Policymakers fear that reducing any part of their support will destabilize their client state, which could not survive without it. The only option is to perpetuate the current system, even though that regime’s own policies are clearly destabilizing it. This is why the Biden administration can recalibrate ties with large and wealthy Saudi Arabia on account of its authoritarian overreach, but it can do nothing in small, poor Jordan.

Jordan’s transformation into a U.S. dependency began during the Cold War. Washington replaced the fading British in the late 1950s as its great protector, a logical move given the need to back anti-Soviet regimes everywhere. Jordan had no oil. However, so long as Jordan endured, it could be a geopolitical firebreak insulating Israel and the oil-rich Arabian Peninsula from the radical forces of communism and Arab nationalism.

After the Cold War, Jordan became more integral by helping to inaugurate Pax Americana in the Middle East. It made peace with Israel, facilitated counterterrorism campaigns, and expedited the invasion of Iraq. It hosted the coalition against the Islamic State and funneled guns for Syrian rebels, albeit not without its own intelligence agents skimming off the top. The recent U.S. defense treaty goes a step further, conscripting the monarchy to help wage future U.S. wars in the region.

Throughout this process, Washington helped build the Jordanian state. Foreign aid was one mechanism. In many years, U.S. economic aid exceeded all domestic tax revenues, the only thing keeping “Fortress Jordan” from collapsing into insolvency. While Jordan today receives support from many donors, including the International Monetary Fund, U.S. economic support remains uniquely fungible: It comes mostly in cash, it is guaranteed, and it now exceeds $1 billion annually.

Likewise, the U.S. Agency for International Development began designing and operating much of Jordan’s physical infrastructure in the 1960s, doing the basic task of governance—providing public goods to society—for the monarchy. When Jordanians get water from the tap, no small feat in the bone-dry country, it is because of USAID. Even the Aqaba Special Economic Zone, a mega-project aimed at turning the Red Sea port city of Aqaba into a regional commercial hub, was funded and designed by U.S. technocrats.

Above all, the coercive institutions bolstering the Jordanian regime became symbiotically attached to America. The General Intelligence Directorate, glorified by Western journalists as an Arab version of Mossad, spends as much time smothering Jordanian dissent as battling terrorism. It owes much of its skills and resources to the CIA. The armed forces soldier on thanks to U.S. training and military aid. Most of its armory—tanks, jets, artillery, guns—is made in the United States.

All this explains why as Jordan’s banana monarchy devolves further, from rounding up its royal kin to suppressing its tribal critics, the U.S. instinct is still to give full-throated support. Washington cannot imagine any other kind of Jordan, because it never had to. It may yet learn the hard way. Not only does history show that American support fails to save authoritarian clients from social upheaval, but the governments that replace them are also often tenaciously anti-American. Iran’s Islamic Republic is a canonical case, one that has haunted U.S. leaders for 40 years. Closer to the United States, Cuba’s regime is the historical result of revolution toppling one of the original banana republics, the Fulgencio Batista dictatorship.

Given the unlikelihood of the United States imposing any pressures for serious reform from a distance, the onus of change rests upon Jordan’s shoulders. The monarchy already knows what not just tribal Jordanians but all citizens crave, because they have been loudly protesting for it since the Arab Spring. They want credible, transparent campaigns to end widespread corruption. They wish to replace wasteful public spending with productive, job-creating programs. They desire less repression and more democracy, a pledge famously made by Abdullah himself in 2011.

But time is running out. The Middle East remains a revolutionary place, as six of its autocratic rulers have lost power to mass uprisings in the last decade. Whether Jordan is next depends upon if the monarchy can fundamentally rethink its approach, rather than fall back upon the United States for affirmation. If it does, the Hashemite Kingdom may actually become the model of reform and moderation that Washington proclaims it is now.

#Jordan #article

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