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lilac-5ky · 4 months

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The Assistant (officeAU!Geto x Fem!Reader x officeAU!Gojo)

based on this request, tumblr hates me.

Plot: Senior Partner at the prestigious Gojo Group's legal department, Geto Suguru never expected to fall for his newly-hired personal assistant. But when his lifelong best friend and boss takes an interest in you, Suguru fins his own feelings rapidly escalating into an uncontrollable obsession.

Tags: Office!AU, Geto POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Secretary!Reader, Lawyer!Geto, CEO!Gojo, Office Sex, Oral Sex (m.receiving), Doggy Style, Degradation, Praise, Pining, Jealousy, Obsession, Sexual Coercion, Abuse of Authority, don't get your hopes up; this isn't a threesome, MDNI obviously.

A/N: Number one bestie, you still owe me Gojo smut. But here, 14k words to quench your thirst for Suguwu.

Masterlist | AO3 | Requests

“How about this one? She’s pretty hot, don’t you think, Suguru?” Satoru waves yet another paper in Suguru’s face, his excitement wearing off the moment he catches his best friend pinching his nose bridge between his fingers.

“Satoru, we are picking associate candidates, not swimming-suit contest winners.” Suguru chides in a calm tone, crossing out the woman’s name from his list with a red line that’s identical to the line above and the ones that rank above it too.

This is the 78th candidate whose CV is rejected by the two men, their task of finding Suguru the perfect assistant turning rather daunting after five emptied cups of instant coffee.

Suguru insisted he could’ve done it alone—similar to how he’d insisted he could’ve kept handling his own affairs by himself and argued against a congratulatory party in honor of his promotion. But certain wishes outweigh others, and in the legal department of Gojo Enterprises, Satoru’s word is as good as the law—one of the many perks that come with being the president’s only son.

“What’s wrong with swimming suit contests?” The white-haired man sulks, long limbs hanging gracelessly from over his chair’s backrest. He zooms in on the woman’s picture one final time before crumpling the paper into a ball that’s flung straight into the garbage bin by the door. "Hey, that was a three-pointer!"

Sigh.

Even though the two of them have been friends since Suguru can remember himself, sometimes it feels as if only one of them outgrew their fourth-grade selves. It’s nothing new for Satoru to confuse play time with work time, yet as the man who will come to inherit the entire Gojo empire, he should at least focus on how to better the company, not tear it apart.

“Nothing wrong with swimming suits or gravure models, but we should choose someone based on their skills. Remember what your father always says: a business is only as successful as—”

“‘Its team is,’ yeahyeahyeah , spare me the preach. My ears are tired of that old man’s nagging.” Satoru spins around in his chair, the rollers squeaking under his weight. “Just because someone’s pretty doesn’t mean they can’t be competent. Take me for example.” His thumb and forefinger shape an angle below his chin.

A quiet chuckle evades Suguru as he sorts the files before him and slides the next batch across Satoru’s side of the table. “Fine, if we don’t find someone who checks both criteria, then you can be my assistant.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Satoru rips another instant coffee packet open. “My hands are full already.” Throwing his head back, he empties the powder into his mouth and washes it around until the sugary substance dissolves.

“I can see that,” Suguru murmurs, masking his distaste by returning to work.

The stacks of paper soon decline, with Satoru needing a cursory look to dismiss the candidates and Suguru meticulously processing their accomplishments down to their high school extracurricular activities. Work at the firm is hard enough as is. He’s seen far too many young, ambitious interns crack under pressure and pop pills into their mouths like candy just so they can keep up.

Narrowing down his options, Suguru gets a decent idea of what he’s looking for: adaptability, flexibility, and drive. Those traits are common to all three finalists, with two of them having touched a variety of fields and the other having a background in volunteer work.

He’s all but decided on candidate number 99 when a paper plane crashes into the side of his head.

“Oops!” Satoru’s shoulders scrunch up coyly, though both he and his partner know it was very much intentional.

Suguru catches the plane, appreciating the craftsmanship behind the carefully folded wings, before he sets it on the table.

“Satoru.” His voice gains a slight edge after he spots candidate 42’s face decorating the underside of the aircraft, a comically large mustache drawn on top. “Was anyone else to your liking, or did the rest become fodder for your fleet?”

He watches his friend fish a paper crane out of his jacket, clearly pleased with himself, and he has every right to be, considering the paper is seamlessly trimmed without any scissors. Cute. Suguru smiles, withholding his praise lest it become another point of distraction.

Rolling his chair away, Satoru jumps up and slams the desk with enough force to break it. “Number 98!” He declares.

“98?” Suguru asks, and in seconds, Satoru is found hovering above his shoulder, one hand drumming against the leather chair and the other covering the (presumed) woman’s picture.

“Good grades, prestigious papers, and all that education shit you’re so fond of.” His forefinger trails between the lines. “University of Tokyo, Department of—blah blah , Essex something something, worked three years as a paralegal for the Kamos. Whole damn package, and the best thing?” He draws his palm away, slowly enough to build anticipation. “She’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Satoru, I told you—”

Whatever was supposed to complete that sentence withers at the tip of Suguru’s tongue, amber irises blown as they take in every detail of your face, animating your features as if you’re truly there with them, and for a moment, he tricks himself into thinking you are.

He sees your lips—those pretty lips he swears taste like honey without kissing them—drawing away from your teeth, the mellifluous sound of your laughter coating the rumble of prints being made somewhere in the background. He knows that a picture can’t possibly hold such power, and yet the subtle floral notes in your perfume reach him, prevailing so easily over the stench of ink and coffee and enchanting him into agreeing with his friend.

She is gorgeous. Perhaps the most gorgeous woman he’s laid eyes on.

You are.

“Come on, Suguru. This one’s super cute!” Satoru argues in your favor, his jaw piercing his friend’s shoulder. “Seriously, if you’re not hiring her, then I am. I can always lay off one of my—”

“Looks like you are off the hook, Satoru. This one will do.”

“And this is the kitchen. I recommend making the most of our espresso maker or heading to the cafeteria on the first floor—unless you don’t mind your coffee tasting like watered-down sugar.” Suguru nods toward the pyramid of instant coffee boxes stacked in the corner, conscious of the doe eyes that track his every gesture.

The picture barely did you any justice. You are so much prettier in person with your well-fitting two-piece suit and the pocket notebook you carry, penning down everything he says, down to the locations of kitchenware and the names of employees you meet along the way. He can’t tell whether you’re not confident enough in your ability to memorize things or simply overzealous. No matter the case, he finds your little habit endearing, but then again, the opinion of a man who endeared himself to you ahead of your acquaintance is not to be taken at face value.

“What’s the matter?” He cocks his head to the side, gaze drawn to the pen stilled in your grasp. “Too much info?”

“More like too many handles and blinking lights. One wrong button, and the whole building detonates.” You glance at him over the pages, your tone delineating a smile he cannot see.

He returns it, piecing the bang that typically never bothers him behind his ear. “Sato—I mean, Senior Partner Gojo received this as a gift from Zen’in Naobito when we moved to this building.”

“Is that so? I thought Zen’in Group was notoriously at odds with Gojo Group.”

“Oh, they are. But it’s common business tactics to trade one overpriced gift for another to see who breaks bank first.” Suguru hums, grabbing a clean mug from the rack and initiating the twelve-step process required to brew a single cup of coffee. “If I remember correctly, our side sent them a private sushi chef. His work hours were paid; the fish, not so much. Sugar?” He smirks, stirring the amount you call in your coffee.

“What happened after? Off the record.” You tap your notebook shut, and the smile he thought he heard is there, seen on your lips and felt in his heart, warmer than the beverage his hand offers.

“They kept him around for about a month before politely declining our generosity. I guess there’s a limit to how much bluefin tuna the rich can stomach.” His narrowed eyes crinkle fondly while he watches you blow the steam from your face and take your first sip. “Hope it’s to your liking.”

“The coffee or the story?”

“Both. But mostly the coffee.”

“It’s really good.” You nod appreciatively. “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.” Suguru disposes of the used coffee beans, failing to, however, rid himself of the soft smile perching on his lips. “It’ll take a while to get used to it, so feel free to come to me whenever you need more coffee. Or another story.”

“I could never disturb you for something like that.” You shake your head along with your hands. “What kind of assistant asks her boss to make her coffee?”

The word “boss” carries a negative connotation coming from your lips; the few inches that keep you apart rapidly expand into miles, and he hates that. It’s a gap he doesn’t want to see widened any further.

“How about you think of us as partners, then?” Suguru takes a leap while the distance’s short. “None of us gets paid to make coffee either way.”

You seem hesitant to agree, holding the weight of his stare until your determination crumbles. “Fine. But only till I get the hang of it. Then you’ll be greeted with a cup of freshly brewed espresso on your desk every morning.”

“That’s very thoughtful, but I’d rather be served tea instead. Red with one sugar?”

Overzealous , he decides as you hurriedly flip through the pages to scribble his order.

He wonders what your handwriting is like. Whether it’s scrawled and stumpy or eloquent and delicate, which isn’t the most fascinating thing to wonder about a person, but he can’t help himself from trying to pierce through the hardcover for a glimpse at your thoughts, unwittingly attracting your attention.

You share a look that flourishes over a second and withers within an eternity, its remains scattering into an airy chuckle as the machine cuts in with a sudden choo .

“I’m s-sorry!” You bow your head, bottom lip sticking out while you fail to suppress your amusement. “I didn’t expect it to sound like this. It’s just like—”

“Mhm, it does resemble the bullet train to Sendai a bit, doesn’t it?”

Suguru doesn’t necessarily think of himself as a funny man. But witnessing the little dance your fingers perform as you struggle to keep the cup steady, he might as well be the funniest man in the whole wide world.

“Shall we get going?” He prompts. “I still haven’t shown you to your office.”

“Please lead the way. Partner.” You add, unaware that the man who cruises you by almost trips over his feet. In his mind, at least.

Walking among the cubicles where various paralegals have their noses buried within tower-height stacks of memoranda, Suguru goes over your shared schedule and what is expected of you in the upcoming days, silently praying that you don’t question his insistence to wipe his sweaty palms against his slacks. He hasn’t been this stressed since he and Satoru were studying for the bar exam, and even then, it wasn’t him he was stressing about.

He recites, and you diligently take notes, up until the compact desks lessen and you find yourselves standing in front of an open space with its own reception. The senior partners’ offices—or, in other words, your boss’ and his boss’ offices.

“Hey, Shoko. Got anything for me?” Suguru asks the disinterested brunette seated at the front desk.

The woman’s eyes dart between the two of you. She acknowledges your presence with a curt bow, hardly bothering to put out her cigarette in the tray behind her. “Just this.” She pulls a yellow folder from one of the drawers and hands it to him, smoke wafting when she speaks. “It’s a letter of intent; Nanami brought it himself. Says it’s important.

“How much longer do I have to keep this up?” Shoko asks, a red imprint from where her wrist was previously propping her cheek against her elbow.

Suguru takes out the papers, skimming through the lines before stuffing them back inside and giving her a tiny smile.

“Thank you for your service, Shoko. You are fired.”

“Yay!” The woman excites in the same deadpan tone, grabbing her bag and almost knocking you down with how quick she is to flee the company premises.

“Is she—”

“Don’t worry about her.” Suguru’s attention returns to you. “She’s just a friend filling in for us.”

The way he uses the term friend is deliberate. Normally, he wouldn’t care what people make of his and Satoru’s relationship with the third member of their group, but he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

Tucking the folder under his armpit, Suguru proceeds to lead you to your office, situated in the same open space although much closer to the wooden door that spells his full name and title in capital gold lettering—another of Satoru’s fanciful insistences.

Your desk is half as wide as the reception’s, yet twice as spacious as the cubicle ones. The company’s logo bounces across an idle computer screen, dust particles dancing amidst the glaring light of high noon. There is a telephone and some stationery that’s either sorted in a silver pencil holder or frames the hefty planner at the center, though it’s the sticky notes dangling from its pages that end up piquing your interest.

Suguru suffered through the teasing of a lifetime for spending his entire weekend summarizing case files just so your first days wouldn’t be hectic.

(“Good for you, Suguru.” Satoru snickered from his sumptuous recliner, a tennis ball bouncing from the wall back to his hand. “Getting your first crush at the age of 28. What’s next? Drawing your initials in little hearts for her to see how well your names fit together?”

“Shut up." Suguru clicked his pen against his head, stretching his feet below the workbench-turned kotatsu. "Some people happen to function better in organized environments.”

“Mhm , all I’m hearing is Suguru and Y/N sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Satoru sang at an annoyingly gleeful pitch.)

“This,” you reel him back to the present. “You did this?”

Your eyes gleam like twin stars in their sockets. Clear, brilliant, and bright, but most importantly, boring into his.

Good for you, Suguru. Getting your first crush at the age of 28.

Suguru nearly waves his hand over his face to disperse his friend’s voice. It’s not a crush. He doesn’t think it is. Admitting to what is beautiful and reacting to it is a natural human response that has nothing to do with feelings of any kind. This is ephemeral.

“Y-yes.” A dry cough clears the hoarseness in his throat. “Thought it’d make your life easier if you knew where to focus instead of running around like a headless chicken.” He shifts through the pages in your hands. “Naturally, the indicators attached to closer dates are more urgent than the ones pushed further back, though they’re also sorted by color. Green means you can do it at your leisure, while bright pink means—”

“Danger, death, don’t skip?” You smile, and he nods eagerly. A bit too eagerly. Just like a schoolboy who was praised for giving the right answer, even though you were the one who answered correctly.

Maybe kissing on a tree wouldn’t be so bad.

“Thank you for doing this. And for hiring me.” You suddenly grow timid, bottom lip trapped in a shy smile as you extend your hand to him. “Working for this company is a great opportunity on its own, but working under—with ,” you correct yourself, “someone who values their juniors and goes the extra mile for them is like hitting the lottery.” A chuckle slips. “Apologies, the different colored sticky notes got to me.”

Soft. So damn soft. Your hand is so fucking soft, enveloping his own, that he curses himself for not coming up with the idea of a handshake when he first welcomed you at the lobby. It is a problem because he doesn’t want to let go, and when he does, he does so begrudgingly, his rougher finger pads dragging over your smooth skin and lingering above your polished fingernails with such delicacy as if they were freshly bloomed rosebuds.

“There are more in the drawer.” He nods toward the first drawer, a smirk coming as an afterthought. “Paper clips too.”

“Don’t tell me there’s a stapler in there too!” You gasp dramatically.

“Guess you’re gonna have to see for yourself.” His head droops to the side, and he smiles.

Your head droops to the side, and you smile back. You. Smile. Back.

The notion settles in his heart before registering in his brain, nestling where nothing can pry it off and inking itself as an indelible memory that’s bound to haunt him throughout the review of the Tengen shares redistribution, on which he better get started.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it.”

He manages about three steps away when your voice has him stopping in his tracks.

“Mr. Geto, you shouldn’t have!”

There are quite a few things he shouldn’t have done. For starters, waking up two hours ahead of his alarm, mixing the salt with the sugar in his morning tea (though something tells him that was the work of someone else), wearing his watch on the wrong wrist, and letting himself be smitten with his brand new assistant, whom he’s barely known for half a day. But you don’t know about any of those things. At least he hopes you don’t.

So, which one is it?

He turns around slowly, jaw almost dropping at the flower field spanning between your arms, roses redder than the blood boiling in his veins and peonies pinker than the tinge rising high on your cheeks—an arrangement bound with ivory wrapping paper.

“How do you like your welcoming gift?” The harbinger of disaster, conveniently known as his best friend, boss, and apparent competitor, makes his entrance.

“You are—”

“Gojo Satoru—local entrepreneur of the year, number one in Forbes’ 30 under 30, featured on the cover of Times magazine, most eligible bachelor in the world after his highness, the Archduke of Austria, and ringleader of this establishment—in the flesh!” He introduces himself like a certain character from Game of Thrones would, taking an excessively dramatic bow and rushing to your side with a wolfish smile that sharpens his otherwise gentle features.

“And you must be Y/N, right?” Without hesitation, Satoru hops into first name basis, cerulean eyes casting an indiscreet look over his sunglasses as he bends forward, hands kept on his knees. “My, you are even more beautiful in person! The picture did you no justice at all!”

And just like that, every single word that’d steadily been brewing in Suguru’s mind is taken away from him, Satoru praising you with the same ease and unparalleled confidence he bought the extravagant bouquet in your embrace, one that befits a lifelong lover more than a newly acquainted colleague.

“Mr. Gojo, I—I don’t know what to say.” Your eyes remain glued to the flowers, tense shoulders slightly squirming.

“Hmm, how about you start with dropping the honorifics? I hate having barriers between me and my employees.” He didn’t seem to hate barriers when he made Ijichi address him as Grand Emperor Gojo for a month straight as punishment. “We are all the same age here. Call me Gojo unless,” he smirks playfully, tilting his head to where you can no longer escape him, “you feel bold enough to call me Satoru.”

“Satoru.” The monotone intonation of his name carries a warning the white-haired man heeds, sparing you in favor of using his friend’s shoulder as an armrest.

“Suguru! Are you done with showing our”—our?—“lovely new assistant around?”

“What’s with the flowers?”

“The flowers?” Satoru chuckles boisterously. “What are you talking about? That’s how I welcome every new member of our team!”

“I don’t remember receiving any flowers when I signed my contract.” A mumble is met with a light elbow to his neck.

“You get paid enough to afford your own.” Satoru huffs, switching back to his amicable persona in the blink of an eye—your watchful eye that’s been studying them without daring to interfere. Another chuckle, accompanied by a poke to Suguru's cheek. “Tulips or dahlias? Name it, and I’ll turn your office into a greenhouse.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Are the two of you close?” Your voice forces the two men to break from each other, a furtive glance shared among them.

“Suuuuper close!” Satoru squeezes his friend’s shoulders into another unwanted embrace. “Been best friends since—third grade, was it? Hah, remember the time you called principal Yaga mom during morning assembly, and he started growing out his beard ‘cause he thought he wasn’t manly enough? Hilarious.”

Anger seethes in Suguru’s guts like a shaken can of soda about to combust, fizzling out before it can reach its boiling point. “Satoru.” He grits his teeth. “Weren’t you supposed to be at the shareholder meeting?”

“The shareholder—” He repeats, almost surprised, laughing awkwardly to himself. “Oh, turns out I wasn’t needed much. Left Ijichi in charge; he should be fine. Probably .”

A caricature of Ijichi suffering a mental breakdown while trying to placate those senile, cymbal-hitting monkeys plays in both their heads, barring yours.

“Ijichi is President Gojo’s personal assistant.” Suguru explains, pinching Satoru’s sleeve away from his body—except he doesn’t budge. “He’s been working under Satoru for the past four months as his secretary, reporting directly to his father since his only son wasn’t so good at budget handling and had his allowance cut. Isn’t that right, Satoru?”

“Let’s not talk about such tedious subjects in front of Y/N.” The man pulls away at once, running a hand through messy strands of white.

“I actually don’t mind—”

“Measuring up to all your quirks and abiding by your crazy filing system should bore her enough on its own.” He cuts you off, speaking behind his palm as if his words are meant solely for you. “Has Suguru shown you his little planner? Took him two all-nighters to put it together, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

He rests assured in his victory, not counting on you being the one who knocks him down a peg.

“Mhm, he already did, and I already thanked him. I’m a firm believer that a clear desk means a clear mind, and a clear mind means efficiency.” The flowers are at last unloaded upon your desk, their lengthy stems covering about two-thirds of the furniture. “Cluttering your workspace with a bunch of unnecessary items will only stagger your progress and make you fall behind. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Gojo?”

It’s rare to catch Satoru at a loss for words, yet there he stands, completely still and utterly speechless at your mercy, his expression akin to that of a wrongfully sprayed kitten.

The two of you turn to Suguru, seeking some sort of recognition that would settle the score. Any other person in his shoes would side with the authority in the room, but your referee decides to sit this one out.

He knows what Satoru is thinking. Substance is dull without style, and tri-colored dango tastes best in spring. He never had to choose one over the other, but giving you a piece of his mind would make him look indecisive—or worse, shallow—and he doesn’t want that. He wants to look good in front of you, or else he wouldn’t have worn his most expensive suit and bailed out of the most important meeting of the month.

He dug his own grave, and unexpectedly, the helping hand that pulls him out belongs to the one who first cast dirt upon his casket.

“Thank you for the flowers, Mr. Gojo. They might not have a place on my desk, but they’ll sure make a lovely centerpiece for my table at home. Peonies, right?” Your smile is effortlessly disarming. “I don’t know much about flowers, but I hear they symbolize good fortune.”

“They do?” Satoru asks, slapping the stupefied expression off his face. “I mean, yeah! Of course they do!” He bounces back, soft dimples obliterating a deep-carved frown. “I hope your time here brings you lots of good fortune. I know the place already seems more fortunate with you around.”

You chuckle warmly, locking eyes with an impressed Suguru. No one’s ever made Satoru both lose face and helped him save some over the span of a single five-minute conversation. No one but Suguru himself.

He made the right choice by hiring you.

“The rumors about the future head of the company were true. You really are everything they make you out to be.”

“Huh? What rumors? What do they say about me?” Satoru chases you to your desk, an imaginary tail wagging behind him as he watches you pick up your notebook and flip to a blank page.

“How do you drink your coffee?” A tap of your pen. “I know it’s not much, but...I’d like to repay your kindness.”

Oh no. Here we go again.

“I’m pretty easy. I drink my espresso with six sugar cubes, my cappuccino with nine pumps of caramel syrup, sweet condensed milk, whipped cream, and caramel drizzle on top—and, of course, the six sugar cubes. In the summer— oh crap, I almost forgot, I also like mocha, both white and regular, again same toppings—I usually go for iced lattes with—”

Two minutes into taking his order, and about twenty seconds after your pen stops moving, you glance at Suguru for help. The man simply shrugs, amusement hinted in his cat-like eyes.

There is a good reason why the kitchen’s loaded on instant coffee, and that’s because it’s the only thing that can quench Satoru’s sweet tooth on the spot. You’re going to have to figure that out on your own, just like every other unfortunate soul in this company did when they stupidly offered to treat him.

“That reminds me!” A finger snap concludes his monologue. “Suguru, you know what day it is?”

“Tuesday?”

“You mean one-plus-one Tuesday. Ah, you have no idea how much I've been looking forward to my weekly croquette sandwich; wouldn’t have gotten out of bed if it wasn't for it. Erm , and you ,” he says, again running his fingers through his hair as he bestows you with another laid-back smile. “The two highlights of my week.”

Suguru sighs, convincing himself it’s the prospect of leaving so much work behind that doesn’t excite him and not the sight of Satoru’s affections being subtly reciprocated.

“So, you coming?” Satoru asks.

“I’m gonna have to pass.”

“What?” He gapes, hand clutching his chest like a child who just found out they’re adopted. “Why?”

“Because we are meeting with Tengen’s representatives at the end of the week and they’ll withdraw their investment unless we have a clear model for their merger.” Suguru reminds him. “Besides, Satoru, you don’t need me to buy lunch when you can literally buy out the place with one of your cards.”

Fixing his glasses higher over his nose, Satoru opens his mouth to complain, deciding against it at the last minute. He shoots a haughty look in Suguru's general direction. “Well, if you’re really that busy, then—ah, guess it can’t be helped. Least you can do is be responsible and send a replacement. And who could that replacement be—hmm, if only there was an available candidate.”

He scopes the place with a palm horizontal to his eyes, stopping once he supposedly detects your presence. “What do you say, new girl? Perhaps this could be our chance to get to know each other. I bet there’s so much you’re dying to ask me.” He says with a stare far too playful to be deemed salacious.

Round glasses come off as Satoru leans against your desk and plays up his charms. You are drawn to the blue spirals in his eyes, mesmerized by their sublime beauty, and in a way, it’s nature’s will for the stars to seek the skies, but Suguru can’t stand for it. Not when such bitterness floods his palate, spreading into his bloodstream like poison that prompts his body to move against every volition that isn’t his own.

“Let’s go.” He rasps in a nearly menacing tone, claw-like fingers closing around Satoru’s shoulder. “Your treat.”

"She is scary!" Breadcrumbs fall from Satoru's mouth as he takes another bite out of his lunch, tonkatsu sauce overlining his cupid's bow. "Terrifying even."

"I thought you said she was hot." Suguru states wryly, still in the process of peeling the fifteen layers of wrapping paper that encompass his sandwich, when he pauses to offer Satoru a couple of napkins.

He mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like thank you, and wipes his lips clean, only to dirty them with another sloppy bite.

"She is," he agrees after gulping down, snowy eyelashes fluttering shut to a moan that has people from different tables turning heads to theirs. "Both scary and hot. Scarily hot. Mmm, so damn good~"

Another obscene sound vibrates in his throat, and this time, Suguru fails to hide his disgust, staring at his friend like a disappointed mother at a parent-teacher conference.

"What?" Satoru asks, the blue in his eyes expanding as he touches his cheek. "Is there something on my face?"

"Satoru." Suguru shakes his head, speaking in a quiet voice all the while pleading with him to stop acting grossly in public.

It's safe to say his request isn't received well, although it takes just one mention of your name for Satoru to let go of his grudge and perk up again.

"Did you see how mean she was to me?" The giddiness in his tone fails to match his words. "Ready to walk all over me with those heels. Bet she would have if you weren't there."

"And? Giving up already?" Suguru teases.

"Who said I am?" Satoru chugs his coke. "Just hafta try harder."

Any joy Suguru might have felt at his friend's misery ends up parching in his throat, squinted eyes casting an inexcusably hard glare on the sandwich he grips with malice.

"God, did ya see her smile? Bet her lips taste like heaven."

"And what does heaven taste like?"

"Probably as good as this," Satoru says, nodding to his half-finished meal, "but sweeter. Infinite times sweeter. I'll let you know once I find out for myself."

Every word that comes out of Satoru's mouth causes Suguru's fingers to clutch tighter and tighter until the croquettes explode out of his sandwich, splattering the table and his hand with bits of potato and sauce.

"Ah. Sorry, I wasn't—" Suguru drops the remains on his plate, cleaning his fingers one by one. He isn't even sure what he's apologizing for.

"Want me to get you another?" Satoru offers. "I could go for seconds."

"It's fine. Not hungry anymore."

Gardenia or tuberose?

The same question repeats in Suguru's brain, begging to distract him from the slew of paperwork he's been asked to sign, but not from the actual distraction that is bent over his desk, making him question not just his sanity but also his self-control.

Tuberose.

He doesn't think much of either is left when he breathes in the perfume dabbed around your shirt's open collar, alluring to the point where he catches himself chasing after your neck like a hound dog—heavy breath hitching in his chest.

Gardenia.

He doubts he has any left when his amber eyes peer into your cleavage, tracing the contour between your supple breasts down to the first popped button of your shirt—large palms aching to seize them.

Tuberose.

He realizes he is not half the decent man he was about a month ago when his cock twitches at the sight of your pencil skirt riding higher on your thighs, the black seams of your sheered stockings promising a fast track to your tight little cunt—and how he’d love to gain access to that.

Gardenia or tuberose; who cares?

Figuring out the notes in your perfume is about the last thing Suguru cares about when every inch of his body urges him to blow your back against the lavish mahogany, signing the rest of these documents in a mix of your spit and tears. But it's what helps keep those intrusive thoughts from spilling out.

"One more signature here." Ignorant about his dark impulses, you shuffle through the papers and point at another blank place of signature he needs to fill. "It's a referral agreement for Miss Mei's services. She said the terms were verbally agreed upon, but feel free to go over them again and suggest any adjustments."

"That won't be necessary." With a few quick flicks of his pen, Suguru jots down his name. "Thank you for your hard work."

He struggles to meet your eyes without first halting at your tits as you collect the documents and hug them (regrettably) close to your chest, pulling away from his desk to stand before him.

"Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Geto!" A sweet smile is plastered on your face, and he can't help but wonder whether you'd continue smiling at him if you ever caught a whiff of the filth festering in his brain.

He doesn't like what his feelings have matured into. He's not proud that every time your eyes cross, he muses over what they'd look like rolling to the back of your skull or how sometimes he'll lock his office door and beat his cock to the thought of your pretty nails digging in his thighs while he bullies his length into the heat of your throat.

He hates that those aren't even his own thoughts but were rather instilled in him by Satoru, who couldn't be more vocal and descriptive of his own fantasies if he wanted to. He's the same way about his advances, and it drives Suguru insane to see his friend making such quick headway because he remains Mr. Geto while he gets to be Satoru.

It's all because of that damn merger...

The first time Suguru heard you address Satoru by his first name came right after a business meal he was forced to sit out of. Someone had to deal with the last-minute amendment Tengen requested to their already-filed and approved work plan, while another entertained their prospective investors. Seeing as Satoru was the face of the company, he couldn't possibly miss such an important meeting, and so they divided responsibilities.

Suguru stayed back to deal with the crisis, but not without sending you on his behalf—all pretty and dolled-up in your navy halter dress and black pumps, shining like the evening star by Satoru's side, only to come back completely drained of light with the worst shoe bite known to man.

Ever the observant gentleman, Suguru ran to the nearest drugstore, returning to the office with his heart in his mouth and a bag full of supplies that dropped from his hands the moment he saw his best friend kneel before your feet, tying the shoelaces of a newly bought pair of sneakers.

Thank you, Satoru.

The same scene repeated itself many a time, his lesser romantic gestures outdone by a price tag he couldn't match and words he couldn't brace himself to say just yet.

A fluff of white hair orbited around your desk at a constant, like a bumblebee who'd discovered an inexhaustible source of nectar, and you grew close enough not to swat it—him—away. You'd answer his jokes with mirthful chuckles, and he'd answer your “Here's your stomach ache of a cappuccino, Satoru” with platinum-coated Mont Blanc pens and luxury Moleskine agendas. Plural.

Light touches, flirty smiles, and heart-eyes in both your voices, whose volume bypassed his closed door as an irritating buzz that had Suguru wondering whether there had been a change of offices.

The breaking point came two nights ago, when, in the spur of jealousy, he heaped you with enough work to keep your desk lamp burning all night long. He regretted it as soon as he got into his car, and then he stepped on the pedal, driving to that one Chinese place he and Satoru frequented while they were still students—driving again like a maniac to ensure the food reached you hot.

But great minds think alike.

By the time Suguru made it back into the office, a proper candle-lit dinner was held over the scattered papers on your desk that then doubled as coasters. A second chair was drawn near yours, two silhouettes huddled together. Shoulders nudging, chopsticks lifted—and he refused to stick around long enough to watch his best friend feed dumplings directly into your mouth, along with whatever was bound to follow.

Which pulls him back to the current reality of his foggy windows and the cold tea on his desk, with present-you staring at him, oblivious to his dilemma.

He knows he has no right to feel this way. You aren't his property, and contrary to what the media wants the world to believe, Satoru isn't some heartless womanizer who changes girls the same way people change socks. In fact, Suguru can't remember the last time he saw Satoru this invested in a person. You hitting it off is a good thing. He should be happy.

He should be.

He really should.

But he isn't.

He really isn't.

And he doubts he'll ever be, because in his whole life, he's never envied anything that Satoru has. Not his money, not his status, not his prestige—not anything. You're the first thing he's ever envied—the first he's ever wanted. Because you are his assistant, and within the wretched spiral of his desires, that should amount to something.

You should be his.

"So.” Suguru takes a sip of his tea, trying his hardest not to cringe at its unpleasant, lukewarm taste. "Any special plans for the holidays?"

You shake your head slowly and then with more confidence again.

"That's good." He blurts out, masking his relief with a low chuckle. "I mean—"

“I get it.” You chuckle back. “Not a big fan of the holidays, are you?”

“Not a hater either. Satoru,” he mentally curses himself for bringing him up now, “is the one who gets all excited about Christmas. Gives him the perfect opportunity to put on a show without being chastised by President Gojo. Hard to argue back when he brings up the morale of the team."

“Well, everyone seems to be excited for the party." You add. "Especially the interns; heard them gushing about it with Assistant Manager Haibara."

"I don't suppose Intern Fushiguro was with them, was he?" Suguru smirks as you confirm his suspicions. The boy might be Satoru's protegee, yet the two are like night and day when it comes to means of entertainment.

"It's Intern Kugisaki and Intern Itadori's first Christmas at our company, and the press always finds a way to glorify anything related to the Gojos." Suguru continues. "The annual Christmas party isn't an exception. Outsiders need a special invitation, and only a select few make the cut."

"We should consider ourselves lucky, then." You point out.

"Mhm," he hums. "Come think of it, it's your first Christmas with us too. Are you excited?" A teasing lilt colors his voice.

"Definitely am!" You humor him. "Especially after hearing about the ugly sweater contest."

"Fan of the sport or the prize?"

"Both. But five days at a deluxe resort in Okinawa do sound enticing."

"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you." Suguru folds his arms over his chest and tilts back against his chair. A condescending look spreads over his features.

You mirror his stance, sticking your right heel out. "And why is that? Are you competing perhaps?"

He snorts as if the notion alone is plain ridiculous. "I'm not, but Nanami is."

"Nanami? Manager Nanami?" You blink in disbelief, trying and mostly failing to contain your laughter. Not like he can fault you. A man as practical and square-minded as Nanami sporting sweaters that feature 3D reindeer heads is a sight one must see in order to believe.

"He's oddly passionate about this." Suguru explains. "He's won every contest for the past four years, just to enjoy a little time off."

"I should give it my best then."

"I'll be cheering for you." He promises with a wink, picking up on the faint blush that dusts your cheeks. A small victory.

You bite your lip and cast a gaze to the floor before lifting your head in search of the clock on his wall. He sighs internally.

"So." You return to the beginning of your discussion.

"So." He repeats with a softer tone.

"I guess I'll be seeing you at the party?"

"Guess you will." He nods, gesturing toward the door. "You may go. I need to finish these first.

You nod back and hold onto the door knob, turning around one last time to bow at him. "There's an extra umbrella on my desk. Feel free to take it."

Before Suguru can even consider his answer, you turn into smoke, leaving him with a hopeful smile he scolds himself for. A thoughtful gesture can't possibly undo all the sorrow and anguish he experienced over the course of a mere month.

And yet he still finds himself skipping to your desk, grinning now at the little piece of paper that dangles from the umbrella's handle. It's not a spare, that's for sure.

As lightning cracks the gloomy skies above, Suguru faces toward the window, tracking the thunder's tail down to gray cement, where colorful umbrellas dance around like anemones. Yours twirls like the most beautiful flower of all, vivid petals drawing into themselves as you're ushered into a white SUV by a hand belonging to a man he knows all too well—driven away while Suguru stands there watching, feeling as if cold rain pours over him instead.

He sets down the umbrella and returns to his office.

After the fifth replay of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" blasts over the speakers, Suguru begins to reconsider the answer he gave you less than 24 hours ago.

He hates Christmas—the buzz, the fuss. The forced happiness and the self-inflicted festive glee. The repetitive songs and the continuous camera flash. The stuffy atmosphere and the nausea-inducing blinking lights. How every snack gets labeled with an ambiguous "Christmas flavor," as if a holiday can have a taste in the first place; he hates all that.

But most of all, he hates not being the one to stand beside you under that damn mistletoe—a spectator among spectators and an outcast even among them.

Champagne trembles in his hand as he watches the crowd gather around you and Satoru, smothering you with cheers that sound a beat above the music, excessive clapping synchronized for the sake of a four-letter word chanted like a prayer. Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

You don't give in to their demands. Not immediately, at least. There is some awkward fumbling, a hand weaving through semi-combed strands of white, and the pointy end of a heel dragging incomplete circles. You shake your heads in unison, giggling, making a very weak effort to get yourselves out of this predicament, though the people know exactly what they want. Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

It's quick and painless. Chaste, as Satoru leans forward and pecks your cheek, grinning a shit-eating grin from one ear to the other when he pulls away and waves off the jeers. Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Louder this time. His lips move soundlessly, wordless speech bubbles emerging in faux protest as if he isn't dying to kiss you, as if you aren't dying to be kissed by the most important man in the room, as if this poorly executed play isn't staged.

Suguru finds himself wishing you'd get it over with, yet he can't bring himself to turn away. Much like everyone else, his gaze is fixed on you, enchanted by you since day one, and imprisoned in a dismal spell that continues to wring his heart for all its worth, threatening to leave him shattered.

You take initiative this once. Stepping in front of Satoru, your fingers seek the hem of his cream-colored cashmere sweater. You pull him to you, reeling and reeling and reeling, and—

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Geto!" A pair of impressionable eyes widen before him, stretched arms springing from the man's body as he jumps before Suguru like a jack-in-the-box.

"Haibara." He acknowledges with a sigh, uncertain of whether he should be thanking him or scolding him for blocking his view.

By the time his junior pulls aside, the spectacle is already over. Everyone has returned to their previous positions, resuming their conversations away from you and Satoru, who are left gleaming like Christmas ornaments, tinged red from head to toe.

"Mm, these taste so good! Mr. Geto, you need to try one," Haibara says, lifting a platter of canapés from the buffet behind them.

Suguru forces himself to smile as he throws a salmon spread into his mouth. He swallows without understanding any flavor, washing the crumbs away with some more champagne, the buzz of alcohol promising to dull out his affliction.

"Are you enjoying the party?"

"Very much so!" Haibara answers full of excitement. "So many new faces have gathered since last year; I'm so glad to be a part of this. Nanami even let me help with his sweater design!"

"Is that so?" Suguru chuckles wryly, scanning through the guests for the blond.

He spots Nanami loitering by where your desk is normally stationed (the majority of furniture relocated for the sake of opening up the space), and while he cannot see the front of his burgundy sweater, he can easily make out the antler headband sitting on both his and Itadori's heads, the two men seeming to have joined forces.

The discussion between Haibara and Suguru soon turns stale, with the former gushing about the inner happenings of the sales department and the latter absently nodding in approval, his attention monopolized by the exchange between you and Satoru.

Even when the occasional guest butts in, you remain inseparably bound to each other through your clothes (both of you dressed to the nines despite your intent to partake in the contest), your gestures, and the hands that gain familiarity over time. His slips around your lower back as he whispers in your ear; yours throws a playful punch at his shoulder, while you giggle at whatever he just said.

Probably some crappy Christmas pick-up line, Suguru decides. Something like, Wanna pop by my apartment later? No need for any mistletoe when we're both under my sheets, followed by a Satoru! Not here; people are watching .

"Mr. Gojo and Ms. Y/N sure look friendly." Haibara's observation comes as the final nail in the coffin.

Suguru murmurs in a low tone. "Think she's interested in him?"

"Hard to find a person who isn't interested in Mr. Gojo." Haibara earnestly replies.

“Right…”

"But the same goes for you too, Mr. Geto." Haibara's voice prompts Suguru to face him. A soft smile plays on the younger man's lips, his cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink. "I've been looking up to you since I first started working here. All of us do, even Nanami."

"You do?" Suguru draws confidence from his junior's timidity, enough to bestow him with a lopsided smile. "Why is that?"

"Because you are a hard worker!" Haibara declares. "Mr. Gojo is brilliant, but he was born into it. For us to reach him, that's impossible. You, on the other hand—you built yourself from the ground up. You are not only meticulous and good at your job, but you are also immeasurably kind! Both before and after your promotion, you've cared for us juniors and made the company a hospitable place for everyone. You are the goal we aspire to reach; you are our role model."

Working with someone who values their juniors and goes the extra mile for them is like hitting the lottery.

A role model, huh...

Your words mix with Haibara's, swirling round and round at the languid pace of alcohol in his brain, inebriating enough for him to not reject them like he otherwise would. He knows what needs to be said. I'm the one who's grateful. I wouldn't have gotten this far if it weren't for such capable juniors. Satoru is the one you should be thanking instead.

Satoru, Satoru, Satoru .

It's all him; it's always him. Everyone and everything in this room is here because of him, yet for the second time, Suguru is thanked for his efforts. For the nights he spent reviewing reports, fixing typos, and making overseas phone calls. For buttering clients up and spending every waking minute of his life networking. For talking people through their breakdowns and promising them their work makes a difference; that they matter.

It's almost enough to make up for all the unconditional praise his best friend received since birth, though Suguru refuses to let that be his consolation prize. Not when the perfect winning prize lies right ahead of him and waltzes into his office. Alone .

A glassy sound is produced as Suguru drops off his champagne and smiles at his colleague from over his shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Haibara."

The door creaks softly behind Suguru as he enters his cloakroom-turned office, the faint click of a lock muffled out by the fading party music, its people fading with until it’s just you and him, away from distractions and interruptions, but more importantly, away from Satoru.

You haven’t noticed him yet. Your back’s turned on him, the golden threads of your sweater twinkling in the dark while you rummage through the coat racks, feeling out every texture with your fingertips. Wool, nylon, leather, and finally, cotton. The dark-colored jacket is slung over your arm, with your other hand digging into each pocket for… something .

Something that falls to the wayside once you become aware of the man’s presence and let out a tiny shriek.

“Mr. Geto!” There you go with that damn honorific again. “What are you doing here?"

"Am I not allowed into my own office?" Suguru sneers as he paces farther inside, his palms clasped behind his back.

"Y-you just scared me, is all."

He settles against his desk to study your startled features. You look even more beautiful when there's no one to steal your shine—a modern-day princess Kaguya, beckoned by the moonlight to return to its cratered land, although he’s made up his mind. Unlike the emperor in the story, he won’t let you escape him.

"Wasn't my intention." Drowning out his adoration, he cocks his head to the side and nods at your jacket. “Leaving already?”

“No, uh.” You fidget awkwardly, shoving whatever it is that your fingers caught back in your pocket. “Satoru asked—”

“Satoru, huh?” His tongue clicks in distaste. "You do anything Satoru asks?"

“What?” You question your own hearing, though he knows you heard him just fine. He sees it trembling in your eyes—feels it fanning against his jaw as he pulls away from his desk and stands before you, looking down on you in more than one way.

"I said, you'd do anything as long as Satoru is the one asking?"

"I...I'm not sure I understand."

"You don't?" His tone is syrupy, yet not sweet—a smile too condescending to be compassionate. "Allow me to rephrase, then. If Satoru asked you to spread your legs for him, would you?"

"Mr. Geto, I think you had too much to drink.” You chuckle nervously, gesturing toward his shoulder while simultaneously avoiding his stare. “Should I call you a cab? I don’t think you’re in a condition to drive.”

“No.” Suguru snaps, swatting your hand away. “No, you don’t get to play good assistant now. I asked you a question. Answer.”

He doesn't miss the hesitant bow of your head, which only confirms his suspicions. You want his best friend, and for once, he doesn't care that you do. It doesn't upset him. If anything, it offers him greater incentive to keep going without regard for your feelings or his own.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" The last vestige of bitterness follows him to the coffee table, where he grabs a seat by one of the two chairs, wood screeching like nails across a blackboard. Mounting one leg atop the other, "Can't say I blame you. President Gojo is growing too old to be running things, and Satoru already handles the majority of his affairs. Won't be long until he assumes office, and when he does, whoever is on his side will benefit the most."

Your silence encourages Suguru to continue. "But as things currently stand, you aren't all that important to him, are you? And if you were to suddenly lose your position, his interest in you would probably diminish."

"What do you want?" Your voice is meek when you speak—a pitiful sound begging to tug at his heartstrings.

Except he has no pity left.

Suguru leans forward and spreads his thighs over the cushion. His elbows prop against them, with his intertwined fingers providing a seat for his clenched jaw—dark eyes ever drilling holes into your fragile skull.

“It’s not about what I want, but about what you want. You said that working at this company is a great opportunity, and you’re right. It really is. I’d hate for you to lose it over a simple matter of allegiance.”

“Allegiance?” You echo.

He nods. “Don’t you think an assistant should be loyal to the one who hired her? You get paid to do what I say, not whore yourself to Satoru. If I tell you to jump, you should jump, and if I tell you to drop on your knees and stick your tongue out, that’s exactly what you must do. Getting the picture now?”

“Is that…so?” A hum answers your question. “Very well.”

Amber irises harden below knitted eyebrows, their transparent warmth giving way to opaque desire as he watches you approach with steady strides, his cock stiffening in his pants from the sharp intonation of your heels alone.

Something has shifted within you, though he can’t pinpoint exactly what. It’s like he sees you for the first time, confidence emanating from your very being as you drop off your jacket and gracefully sink on the floor before him, pleated skirt pooling around your bent knees—cherry lips licked together as your hands trail up his slacks and undo his belt, zipper next.

Is this really happening? Was it really that easy?

“Could you lift your hips, please?” You ask demurely, in the same considerate way you’d offer to refill his cup every morning.

A moment passes before Suguru obliges, part of him failing to separate fantasy from reality. He’s dreamed about this so many times that if it weren't for the soft palms rubbing up and down against his thighs, he’d be pinching himself awake. But you are definitely real, and you’re definitely there, and despite his conscience screaming that this is all wrong, he doesn’t let a future regret hold him back.

Shimmying out of both underwear and pants, Suguru’s cock springs free, already hard and twitching in anticipation, its slight curve pointing at your agape mouth. Your warm breath sends tingles up his spine as you inch closer, your lips rounding and then puckering hard around the fat tip. It's almost enough for him to lose composure, kissing his teeth when he feels your tongue drag a teasing circle on the underside of his shaft, wet and hot and far more skilled than he's ever imagined.

You let go before any praise evades Suguru, studying his lustful expression with a complacent smile that ends up rubbing him the wrong way. How many smiles have you offered Satoru while looking up at him like that? How many times have you practiced your technique on him to hone it to perfection? How many laughs have the two of you shared at Suguru's expense, knowing he's hopelessly wrapped around your dainty little finger?

Quick to wipe the hubris from your face, he takes hold of his cock and delivers a derogatory smack across your cheek.

"Test my patience one more time, and you'll be crawling out of here." His voice retains its smoothness even as he rubs the leaky slit against your lips, smearing a thin coat of glossy precum before he pushes his way back inside. "Better give me a good reason why I should keep an ungrateful slut like you around."

Suguru takes his time to explore your mouth, mapping out the wet cavern in its entirety. Your teeth are tucked behind your lips, their gentle firmness complementing the expert strokes laid by your tongue. Your cheeks hollow to accommodate him, air sucked and drool wetting his throbbing cock, some of it trickling to your chin. It's an extremely tight fit that grows tighter with every inch he stuffs you with, hitting the back of your throat long before he's wholly sheathed.

"Fuck." His head tips back in pure bliss. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

Doe eyes flick up, their lecherous innocence holding him captive. He thought he'd forsaken all affection held for you, yet his heart begs to differ, lurching at the sight of your bare knees bruising against the polished marble.

He's tempted to call it quits and pull you to his lap, praying that the sweet words piling in his brain seep into your ears like poetry and register as an apology. That, somehow, you forgive the selfish arms cradling you and excuse the greedy lips drinking from your mouth as if it were a chalice; that you allow a heathen like him to express his reverence with deep thrusts and profound pleasure that will make you worship him as much as he longs to worship you, names tangling in a breathless mantra.

He's about to do just that when suddenly he's reminded of how moments ago you were locking lips with his best friend in front of a live audience, and the resentment within him swells anew, expanding like a black hole set on devouring him. He shouldn't hope for more, because you won't be coming back for more. After tonight ends, you'll go running back to Satoru, and he'll be lucky if his attorney's license doesn’t get revoked.

So much for being a role model.

Might as well enjoy himself while it lasts.

Brushing the sticky strands of hair away from your face, Suguru pulls them into a makeshift ponytail that he uses as leverage to drive himself in deeper, letting out a stuttered groan once he bottoms out. Tears well in your eyes as he holds you completely still, heavy lashes blinking rapidly to filter them out.

"Lookin' so pretty with my cock in your mouth." Suguru rasps in a candied tone, his thumb rubbing against the apple of your cheek with tenderness before he forces your head to bob back and forth on his length. "Wonder what Satoru would say if he saw you like this. Perhaps we should call him in, mm ? Have him see what good that little mouth is when it's all plugged and can't talk back. Maybe he'll want to take turns using it. Maybe you’ll walk outta here with a bonus. My capable—ngh—assistant promoted to office slut."

There’s no way for you to respond. Even if he pulls back this instant, the wit he fell in love with will still be gone. Right now, you’re nothing more than a hole for him to take out his frustrations—no better than an average whore choking on dick.

The party music continues to blare strong in the background, your soft gagging barely enough to mute the rounds of applause that still reverberate in his gauged ears—so he fucks your face faster and harder, his hips slamming forward in tandem with the mean fingers gripping your skull, each thrust producing a sound more sinful than the one before.

He’s hellbent on erasing that kiss from his memory, keen on replacing his friend’s taste with that of his cum, and he’d be damned if he didn’t feel amazing in the process, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your jaw purely addictive.

And when he catches you rubbing your thighs together, he almost busts on the spot.

“You—hah—you really don’t care who it is, do you? Whether it’s me or him,” Suguru stammers, his tone whinier than he’d hoped. “As long as there’s cock in your mouth, you’re satisfied, aren’t you? Be honest; you aren’t even doing it for the job. You just get off on being used.”

He’s slowed down enough for the pleasurable vibrations on his cock to be felt, your eyes screwed shut with a hand lost between layers of skirt, searching for some sort of relief—relief he decides you don’t deserve.

“Ah-ah-ah! Who said you could cum, hm ?” Suguru chastises you by yanking you off his cock, a string of saliva chasing after your jaw as you stumble backward. “Told you to give me a reason not to fire you, and you did what exactly?” He tilts his head curiously. “That’s what I thought. Absolutely nothing. Not even worth the trouble.”

“W-wait!”

Before he has the chance to leave you high and dry on the floor, you scramble across your garments and tug at his pants in a pathetic attempt to get him to sit back down. He indulges. Not like he was serious about leaving anyway.

Your palm wraps around the base of his cock as you lean closer, licking a sloppy stripe from the base to his tip, and then all the way down again, sucking one of his balls into your mouth while simultaneously jerking him off.

“Fuck, you’re nasty.” Suguru breathes out, grabbing at the arms of his chair—his hips bucking into your palm. “Such a nasty little slut. Must really want this cock, huh? Come on. Show me how much you want this.”

Your eyes shine as though he praised you, and this time, you hold nothing back. You moan like you’re the one who derives pleasure, humming and even mewling as you switch from one ball to the other, your nose nuzzling to his warmth.

You pump him without a break, furiously rotating your palm over his cock head and squeezing right below with a ring shaped by your thumb and forefinger. Only he knows how he manages to hold back, pleasure so dizzying that his head spins, rearranging the furniture in the room.

“Th-that’s enough.” He voices amidst a broken moan, gently prying your wrist away—your mouth unlatching soon after.

Everything falls back into order as Suguru provides you both a much-needed reprieve, which you spend soaking in each other’s expressions. Dark strands of hair have fallen from his bun, clear beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. The shadows cast by the blinds conceal his flushed complexion, whereas the contrasting light exposes yours. Your chest heaves with every labored breath you take, mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and lipstick transferred from your lips to his cock, painting the pink tip scarlet red.

You look utterly debauched, but it’s not enough for him to call it a day. He wants more of you on him and more of him on you—more evidence that tonight wasn’t a figment of his imagination, taking place in the men’s room in between insufferable business meetings. Rather than keeping things a secret, he wants the whole world to know what transpired behind the closed doors of his office, and that sparks an idea.

He needs to put more of him in you.

With a small smile playing on his lips, Suguru helps you up, steadying you against his arms until you're able to stand on your own. You thank him with a hoarse voice and wobble on your heels as you're made to follow him to his desk, assuming position without him needing to speak a single command. You bend over the hard surface like you did the previous day and all the days before that, except your skirt's now rolled well over your thighs, and nothing obscures his view of your panties.

“How eager,” Suguru murmurs as he caresses the curve of your bare ass down to your clothed cunt, parting with a sigh when his pointer traces over the drenched fabric and prods it into your slit. “So wet from sucking my dick? Sure you weren’t thinking of someone else?”

“N-no.”

“No?” A smirk rings in his tone. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“Y-yes. I mean, n-no—oh fuck, r-right there!”

Your hips push back against Suguru’s hand, grinding against the long fingers that tug your panties to the side and slip into your wet hole.

He lazily works you open, each thrust concluding with his fingertips curling right into your sweet spot, coaxing soft whimpers to spill from your lips.

He pulls out once he feels you're sufficiently stretched, taking a second to admire the thin essence that dribbles down his digits before he uses it to lather up his cock, fighting back moans of his own whilst fisting himself to the lewd sight of his assistant offering herself to him.

Under different circumstances, he would've taken things slow. Under different circumstances, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and sitting where you could comfortably watch him disappear between your thighs. You'd call out his name, and he'd lap at your juices until you're unable to hold yourself from cumming all over his face. Only then would he pepper your trembling thighs with kisses and tell you how well you did for him—what a good girl you are; his good girl.

“Doesn’t matter.” Suguru says for himself to hear, and it really doesn’t. Those ideal circumstances he dreams about are a thing of the past.

With a firm hand pressing on your back, he straightens you against the desk and runs his swollen cock head through your folds, voice laden with desire when he whispers, “Let’s see whose name you moan now, mm? ”

His thoughts hush as soon as his girth catches into the tight entrance of your cunt—a sigh gritted through his teeth as he finally sinks in.

He gives you a second to adjust, when in reality, it's him who needs the breather. All the longing and desire, the frustration and despair that'd been pooling in him for the past few weeks, culminate in this one perfect moment where your velvet walls hug his throbbing length, constricting around every inch he feeds inside you.

It's cathartic.

He remains breathing through his nose for a good while, too scared to open his mouth, lest he say something embarrassing enough to want to smack his head with the silver name plate on his desk right after. He's aware of how ridiculous it'd sound if he suddenly blurted out that he loves you, yet the warm feeling coursing through his veins can only be described as such.

Luckily, his final choice of words ends up being far more sensible.

“S-so fucking tight—”

“For a whore?” You interrupt, your droopy head lifting from over your slumped shoulders to bestow him with yet another winsome smile. God, you’re pretty.

“Never called you a whore.” Suguru's lips crack into a smirk of their own, while his fingers knead the fat of your ass, spreading your cheeks for him to see the point where you connect. A pearly ring has formed at the base of his cock from your fluids combined, his balls snugly squished between your hips. God, this is so hot.

His gaze shifts away. If he keeps looking, he just might cum without getting to even fuck you properly.

“You didn’t? My bad. Must have been someone else.”

"Aren't you cheeky?" A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest, escalating into a loud groan as his hips pull back and jerk forward in a thrust that knocks both the wind and smugness out of you, the recoil causing your body to jiggle against the desk. "That fucking audacity of yours is what got you in this place to begin with."

You try to say something that he doesn't care to hear, muting your words with a sharp thwack across your ass. You whimper in response, clenching so hard around him that he repeats the motion on the other cheek for good measure, your pathetic whines going straight to his cock. It's scary how much he enjoys this.

"Talking about other men," Suguru begins his recital of your crimes, his hips rutting in time with the smacks inflicted on your reddening flesh. "Accepting gifts and whatnot, letting yourself be paraded around like a fucking trophy"—the hardest slap yet—"guess that really makes you a whore."

Your body doesn’t know how to react, whether to moan from the pain or cry from the pleasure, with your upper half squirming and your lower half stilled against him, taking everything he gives you without complaint.

He pounds into you like an animal, wrapping strong arms around your waist to bring you closer, his cock barely withdrawing before being slapped back inside, fucking straight into your pulsing core.

“D-don’t worry.” Suguru sounds delirious when he talks, with more and more ebony locks cascading from his disheveled bun down his face and shoulders. “We’re gonna fix that, mm? Gonna be mine from now on. Mine to kiss." His weight is held against your body as he leans forward, large frame dwarfing you as he plants his lips on your nape. “Mine to touch,” his arms squeeze even harder, “and—ngh, all mine to fuck. My. Fucking. Assistant.” He growls, punctuating every word with another thrust.

Suguru feels himself nearing his release, his balls tightening the longer your pussy grips him, until a knock on the door causes the sweat on his body to go cold and forces him to sober up.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

With quick reflexes, Suguru slaps a hand on your mouth, concentrating every bit of his willpower on figuring out the best course of action, all the while the knob rattles at Nanami's attempts to break into the room, complementary pangs echoing against the wood.

“I just need my coat; open up!”

Whatever took over Suguru seems to have vanished into thin air, leaving him to fend for himself. It’s only then that the severity of the situation becomes apparent. Not only did he coerce his assistant to fuck him, but he did so at a company event where reporters from every major news agency have gathered for a chance to dig up dirt on the Gojos. If word gets out, they're all done for. Suguru, Satoru, the company—every person’s livelihood that depends on the Gojo name will go to waste.

He's hit rock bottom, drowning in self-deprecation, when your fingers curl around his hand and drag it away from your mouth, your thumb squeezing the inside of his palm in a motion that compels him to trust you.

"Manager Nanami?” Your voice sounds so worn out that it's barely recognizable, but it's good. It makes your next sentence more believable. "I'm so sorry for the holdup, but I wasn't feeling too well. Could you, um, give me five to ten more minutes? I promise to bring your coat out myself."

For what feels like an eternity, silence reigns both inside and outside the room, the two of you holding your breaths while the man on the other side of the door decides your fate.

“Fine.” Nanami finally speaks. “Please don’t take too long. I have a train to catch."

"Thank you so much!" You sigh in relief, your forehead pressing forward against the furniture.

A few moments pass before Suguru braces himself to talk, feeling too flustered to let relief wash over him just yet. "Why did you do that? Why would you—"

"Because I'm your assistant." Only half of your smile is visible from that angle, yet it somehow appears more genuine than the previous ones. "You said it yourself. An assistant should be loyal to the one who hired her. It's my duty to look after you."

Your words make Suguru come face-to-face with a realization that, for the longest time, he's conveniently ignored. You aren't equals. You never were. No matter how hard he's tried to bridge the gap between you, it's still there, paralleling the one between him and Satoru, except in both cases, the sore loser remains no one but himself.

"Now, let's hurry up." Your ass rubs impatiently against his pelvis, reminding him that his cock is still snuggled in your cunt. "We don't have much time."

Postponing soul-searching for as long as he can, Suguru picks himself up and slips a hand between your thighs, easily spotting the neglected nub that throbs above your abused pussy lips.

His thumb swipes over your clit, testing a combination of short circles and light flicks that have you seesawing back and forth between his hand and hips, soft moans of pleasure playing like music in his ears. He much prefers them to your sobs.

"F-feels so good, ahh."

"Such a good girl. Learned her lesson, hm?" He hums, lusciously massaging your insides with his cock, his pace far more forgiving.

He gets to relish everything this time. From the intimate way you hold onto his free hand while pushing back to meet his thrusts, to the stuttered Mr. Geto's that complement your pretty whimpers. He feels himself burning up, the heat from your core circuiting his own body and permeating the deepest parts of his soul. He's drunk on you, feeling more heady when inhaling your perfume than he did sipping champagne all night long.

"Mr. Geto, I'm gonna—" The rest of your sentence is cut off, sharp nails digging into his flesh while your shoulders tense up.

"Gonna cum, sweetheart?" Suguru asks, adrenaline rushing to his thick cock that insists on kissing your cervix while his fingers continuously assault the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "Go ahead. My pretty assistant worked hard for it, didn't she? Proved how much she—f-fuck, she deserves her boss' dick. Cum on this dick, baby. Wanna feel you cum all over me."

"Please, Mr. Geto, pleasepleaseplease , right there, ahhh , please fuck me." Your begging has him losing his mind, the dam between his thoughts and his tongue breaking as he goes on to praise your very existence, no filter whatsoever.

"You were worth the wait. Wanted to do this since d-day one," Suguru pants out, shaking his head with a faint smile. "No, even longer than that. Been wanting you since I saw your picture, fuck—" He bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "Feels like I've been waiting on you forever."

His confession overlaps with your release, your walls spasming and contracting while the rest of your body goes limp. Suguru knows he won't last much longer, his pace growing sloppier by the minute as the aftershocks of your bliss reel him in, sculpted abs clenching in sync with his heavy balls until his hips come to a complete stutter, ropes upon ropes of his creamy seedy sputtering into your warm cunt.

A string of curses is unleashed as he groans your name, and he's still shuddering when he pulls out, staring wide-eyed at the mess he made. His cum flows out of your hole in a steady stream, trickling down your thighs as if taunting him to plug it back in. He doesn't think he's ever finished this hard in his life, and yet his cock insists on twitching even in the comfort of his palm.

Mesmerized by the sight of your spent pussy squirting out your shared fluids, Suguru makes no real effort to dress himself until his eyes spot the sparse drops that have dribbled from his weeping tip to the carpet below, and panic rings in his head like an alarm.

Frantically, he scans the dimly lit room for some paper—a cloth or a towel; anything that'd help him clean up—only to be struck with disappointment. He keeps none of these items around, and while he's mostly proactive about emergencies, he doubts plowing his assistant qualifies as one.

He's off to find the light switch (not without awkwardly tripping in his pants like a penguin first) when you sneak up behind him, your outfit put back together, with a tissue hanging from your open fingers.

"Whores always clean after themselves." You smile sweetly as Suguru accepts the offering.

The dark-haired man crouches to pick up his pants after wiping his cock clean. A smirk is plastered on his face as he tucks himself back into his underwear and crumples the used paper into a ball that gets tossed in the bin beside him.

"Gonna keep holding that against me?" He asks once he's gone back to looking somewhat presentable.

"Hmm, probably until Monday." Your chuckle placates his heart, only to make it thrum against his chest a second later. "Unless...you don't mind speeding up the process."

Your eyes pierce through him, shining brighter than the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. He almost wishes the room were kept in darkness, for the sole reason that his surprise remains hidden, hope lumping in his throat.

"What are you suggesting?"

You clutch onto your jacket while pacing around the room, halting in front of the stacked bookshelves mounted on one of the four walls. Your head tilts slightly as you explore his collection of hardcovers and attempt to read the cursive characters on one of his certificates, your smile losing its vibrancy as you go back to facing him, your eyes focusing anywhere but his.

"Rather than neither of us doing anything special for the holidays," you finally speak, "how about we do nothing special for the holidays together?" You lick your lips together, cringing at the way your voice cracks over the last syllable. "Say, outside Meiji Memorial Museum around 6 p.m. tomorrow?"

Suguru catches himself holding his breath, nitpicking your words even when they leave no room for ambiguity. "Are you asking me out?"

Your head is held low as you nod. "I figured after what just happened, you might be interested."

The lump in his throat dissolves only to recur immediately after.

"What about Satoru?" He asks in a hushed tone, prepared for disappointment.

"Satoru is," a small smile creeps up, "he's the most amazing person I've ever met, and will probably meet in my entire life. But," you gnaw on your lips, briefly meeting his eyes, "I have a preference for dark-haired workaholics." He nearly disputes the color of his own hair, relying on the reflection in your eyes to confirm his identity.

"Is that how you see me?"

"That's how most people in the office see you. If you were to ask me, I'd add kind to the list. Generous. Warm. Sly," you giggle before whispering the next word, "sexy."

Heat rises to his cheeks as Suguru wordlessly gawks at you. To say he's taken aback is an understatement. Part of him feels so ecstatic that he could grow wings and fly off into the night sky, while another part wants him to fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness.

He's such an idiot. No, more than an idiot, he is an irredeemable bastard who deserves none of your sympathy after what he did, and yet you don't seem to blame him one bit. If anything, you gaze at him with more affection than you've ever shown to either him or Satoru, affection that obliterates any doubt.

It's him. For once, and for all, and against all odds, it's him who gets to stand under the mistletoe beside you.

"If you're gonna reject me, please do it now." You squint in the cutest way imaginable. "I don't want to ruin my make-up."

Suguru smiles, allowing himself to openly fawn over your concerned expression.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that. Might wanna," he says, vaguely gesturing at your face.

Your knuckles turn black after rubbing below your eyes. Horrified, you dig another tissue from your pocket, hurriedly scrubbing wherever you deem necessary. "Better now?"

"I'd still dash straight to the elevator if I were you." Suguru chuckles at the face you make, taking a step forward. He runs his tongue along his lips, his voice reduced to a purr when he speaks. "You're right. Don't think I can wait until Monday to see you again." The proximity between your heads begs to be nullified, and he's made up his mind. He can't afford to lose you. Not as an assistant, and certainly not as a woman. He's shameless like that.

Bringing his palm to your cheek, Suguru pulls you toward him, planting a soft peck on your lips that tastes like finally.

By the time he draws away, you're both smiling—breathless, despite the kiss lasting less than a second. His hand glides from your neck to the curve of your shoulder, caressing tenderly, while yours rises to his forehead, having mustered enough courage to tuck the the loose strands of hair behind his ear.

"I should probably go first." Your announcement prickles his heart like a thorn. Walking into this room, he'd braced himself for losing you, yet now he can't even stomach the idea of spending a minute without you. "Don't want Manager Nanami to lose his train."

Not being left with much of a choice on the matter, Suguru nods, sighing softly as he watches you grab Nanami's coat and loop it around your arm, heading for the door. Your goodbye is postponed as you turn around with a jewelry-sized box in hand, the same item you were caught fumbling with when he entered the room earlier.

"This is from Satoru." You explain. "I don't know why or what's inside, but he said I should be the one who gives it to you."

When Suguru accepts it, you smile again and bow your head. "Merry Christmas, Suguru."

On second thought, he's so happy he could die.

Suguru is tinged red from head to toe as he sends you off with the same wish, undoing the silver ribbon that holds the box together after the door closes behind you. It's too small to contain an explosive mechanism, that's for sure, but he doesn't hear much of any rattling as he shakes its contents. His confusion grows tenfold once he lifts the lid and is greeted by the folded piece of paper within.

Unfolding it, the note reads a single sentence whose meaning registers in waves that crash over him along with the memories of the past month, the truths and the lies debunked with every repetition of those seven pesky little words.

Now you know what heaven tastes like.

A/N: I know what y'all wondering, and yes. Nanami did win the competition. Oh, and Satoru totally didn't plot behind the scenes for Suguru to make the first move. totally.

Hope you enjoyed this, and I'd love to hear your thoughts, since this is my first time writing for Suguru.

Disclaimer: He did nothing wrong and he remains a pookie.

Somehow.

#geto suguru #geto x reader #gojo x reader #geto smut #jjk geto #getou suguru #getou suguru x reader #getou x reader #getou smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru

603 notes · View notes

supernaturalgirl20 · 2 years

Note

Cardan x Reader request: Reader is from a high status family and is arranged to marry Cardan - both Cardan and Reader hate eachother. High sexual tension with a possible slutty ballroom scene???

A Twisted Kinda Love

Pairings: Cardan Greenbrier x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, oral (female receiving),cursing, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, jealousy, a lot of sexual tension.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

This wasn’t happening.

It couldn’t be. There was no way your father - who treated you better than any son he might have had - had agreed to this. Your body shook as a rage slowly spread its way through your veins. “You can’t be serious about this? Father, daddy, you know how I feel about them. About him. And now, what? I’m expected to marry him? Never. I won’t do it.”

Your father, who was currently seated at the head of the table sighed deeply, his shoulders slumped, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Y/N, you know I love you dearly and if there were any other way I would take it, but there isn’t.”

“Ugh!,” you shout as you stand, pushing back the chair and storming over towards your father. “This isn’t fair. I always thought I’d have the opportunity to marry for love, not political gain.”

With a roll of her eyes, your mother finally spoke up. “Oh enough of this Y/N. You should count your blessings that the Greenbriar family has agreed to this union. You will be Queen one day. Ruling the entire kingdom of elfhame.”

“A title I do not want. I would quite happily live my days on a pig farm mucking up shit for a living.”

“Watch your language, you ungrateful little…”

“Enough!” Your father shouts as he stands abruptly, his gaze flickering between you and your mother. “You will marry Cardan. You will become Queen and you will fulfil your duty and give him an heir.”

“Fine.” You bark angrily through gritted teeth. But like hell I’m making this easy.

***

The following day you’d spent your time out in the training grounds, letting out some of that pent up anger from last night. You take a deep breath in and exhale as you swing your sword, feet moving in synchronisation as if you’d been doing this all your life.

There’s a shift in the air and you turn quickly, blade pointed to the neck of your intruder. “Nice to see you too, future Mrs Greenbrier.” Cardan jeers as he looms over you, lips curving into a smile and his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Your eyes trail over his form, taking in his tall stature and slightly disheveled hair. His features are accentuated by the outfit he's wearing. Black leather slacks that hug his thighs perfectly and allow his tail freedom to move, paired with a white shirt that cuts into a V exposing his chest. The black jacket he wears has flecks of silver running through its seams. His fingers - which are currently running along the length of your blade - are adorned with silver rings.

He’s quite handsome, you think as you finally meet his gaze. Not that you would ever acknowledge it publicly. You’d rather die first. “Don’t call me that,” you growl as you pull the blade away from his touch. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Standing mere inches apart you can feel the heat of his gaze and sure enough, when you look up at him his eyes are roaming the length of your figure. “Believe me,” he says, his eyes finally meeting yours once again, “I’d rather be anywhere else, but unfortunately my brother thinks we should spend some quality time together. So, here I am. And now I’m leaving.”

With that he turns abruptly and leaves. You are standing watching as he retreats from the grounds and an unexpected anger takes root, urging you to run after him. “What?” You shout, stopping him in his tracks. He doesn’t turn to face you and so you move around him until you are face to face.

A devilish smirk edges its way onto his face, a single eyebrow quirked in amusement. “You must be hard of hearing, I said I’m leaving.”

“Yes I heard you just fine, what I meant was why?”

“Missing me already? I suppose I do have that effect on people, especially humans like you. Your kind seems to always be enamoured by me. It’s flattering really, but I have no time for your kind. I prefer my women of the Fae variety.”

Your nostrils flare and you stomp your foot as you grip the hilt of your sword. “My kind? The only reason you and your family of inbreds have anything is because of my kind. My father has helped you politically and financially and without him and his contributions you’d be nothing.”

Your breathing raggedly, trying to quell your anger and all he does is stand there towering over you. And then he laughs. He fucking laughs. “What are you laughing at?” He stops laughing then but the smile is still spread wide across his face as he begins to circle you. He watches you like a predator does his prey and a shiver runs down your spine as he stands behind you.

His breath is hot on the skin of your neck causing your skin to pimple. His tail wraps around your leg and he slides an arm along your hip and around your waist, pulling you back into him. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Oh Y/N, I’m going to enjoy being married to you, even if I despise you. Now, look up and smile won’t you.”

His thumb grips your chin, lifting your head to face the window in your father's office. There, gazing down at you both is your father and Cardan's older brother Dain. Through gritted teeth you smile up at them hoping they will turn away.

They don’t. They continue to stare and so you decide to give them a show. Turning around in his arms, you don’t miss the look of shock on his face when you reach up on tip-toe and press your lips against his. God I hate this.

Cardan does nothing at first, too stunned to do anything but then, oh then, he slips his other arm around your waist and moves his lips in sync with yours and he kisses you like a man dying of thirst drinks water. Like you somehow hold all the answers to the questions in the world.

He’s really good at kissing. And you can feel a heat beginning to build and a moan slips out. His tongue runs along your bottom lip and you shudder. The taste of him on your lips is intoxicating. It’s too much.

Pulling away you leave the grounds and rush inside leaving Cardan flustered. You don’t notice but he touches his lips with his fingers as he stares after you.

Turning a corner you lean back against the wall trying to calm your breathing and racing heart. You touch your lips, dazed, the feel of his lips moving against them, his taste, lingers. What was that?

***

“I think this was a mistake,” your father says as he watches you and the Prince of elfhame squabbling. “Nonsense,” Dain mutters as he takes a sip of wine. “They will grow to love each other. If not, at least to tolerate one another at best. Besides, my baby brother needs a woman like Y/N, keep him in check.”

“If you say so.” Dain’s gaze is fixed on you both, a smile spreading as he sees you both kiss. He turns away then with a clap to your fathers shoulder. “See. Nothing to worry about.”

***

The following week you spent the majority of your time avoiding Cardan at all costs. He was a cruel prince and you needed to remember that. Not that his chest was firm beneath your touch, not that you liked the feel of his tail wrapping around your leg or that he tasted of wine and honey.

No. You were definitely not going to remember that.

You wandered into your home library - likely for the last time - and ran your fingers along the edge of the books. So many stories, so many happy memories. Most of course you’ve read at least ten times. “You do realise that we have a library at the palace? No need to look so miserable.”

The book you’d been holding drops out of your hands, startled by the appearance of your betrothed. His tail whips around him, catching the book before it hits the ground, carefully placing it back on the shelf. “What do you want now, Cardan?”

He smiles. That devilish smirk plastered across his face and it takes all your strength to look away. “Someone’s been avoiding me and I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

“Well, darling, you will have years to get used to my coldness. Unless perhaps you’ve decided to marry someone else? Jude perhaps?” The smile falters and is replaced with a wicked scowl. “Don’t. Mention. Her. Name,” he snarls as he stalks towards you, pushing you back against the bookshelf. The air shifts and an unspeakable tension rises as he cages you in with his arms.

His eyes bore into you and you gasp when you feel his hand grip your hip pulling you close. There is a heat in his gaze that has a wetness pooling in your panties and oh gods the feel of his hand on your hip and the smell of him is intoxicating. I think I could get used to this.

His eyes flicker to your mouth briefly and then his lips are on you. Your body is being pulled and then your right against the firmness of his chest. He groans into your mouth and you begin to lose yourself to him once again. What the fuck is happening?

You can feel his hardness against your thigh and that ache only intensifies. No. This can’t be happening. I can’t allow it. Suddenly you're pushing him off you and he stumbles back slightly. “How dare you. Do not touch me again. I despise you and I wish my father hadn’t agreed to this.”

“How dare I? You were very much into that kiss, little human. And you forget, it is I who despises you.” You both stand mere meters apart, chests heaving, sexual tension sizzling between you. Then you’re on him. Lips crashing together, tongues fighting for dominance. “Oh,” you gasp when he lifts you, his arms holding your thighs as he carries you towards the dais.

His mouth devours you. Kisses a path along your neck and across the tops of your breasts. You pull at his shirt, inching it off him when the door to the library swings open. “What are two doing?” Your mother asks as she takes in your disheveled appearances.

Cardan doesn’t move. His body is still very much pinning you down and you try to push him off but he doesn’t budge. “Leave.” He commands, his gaze still set firmly on you.

“How dare you tell me what to do in my own home.” His gaze is fierce as he turns to stare your mother down. “How dare you speak to your Prince like that.” He stands then, his lean frame towering over your mother as she begins to cower. “I should have you imprisoned, it would serve you right. Now leave. I won't ask again.”

She rushes out the door - no doubt on route to inform your father, and when you look up at Cardan he is standing beside you, hand reaching out towards you. “Here, let me help you up.” You rest your hand in his and he gently pulls you up, wrapping an arm around your waist as he holds you.

He stares down at you for a moment, his gaze intense and then without a word he removes his hand and leaves. Leaving you shocked and seriously frustrated. What game is he playing?

***

It’s strange looking at yourself in the mirror all done up for the ball. Your hair is curled dropping over your shoulders in ringlets. The light grey dress fits snuggly on top and flows at the waist. The lace detail travels down the sleeves and stretches to your fingers and you feel like a queen.

Tonight is your engagement ball. Most if not all the kingdom will be in attendance and you haven’t set eyes on your future husband since the incident in the library. Maybe he has changed his mind? The thought of marrying Cardan is less repulsive now than when your father first shared the news. As matter of fact, the thought of being his wife and maybe even queen, excites you.

“Y/N, we are leaving, the carriage is here,” your father shouts from the bottom of the stairs. With one last check in the mirror you take a deep breath and make your way downstairs and out towards the carriage. “You look beautiful, darling.”

“Thank you daddy,” you say with a slight hint of nerves in your tone. Your father clasps your hand in his. “No need to fret. He will think so too.” With a smile and a wink he turns his gaze outwards to the passing trees. Am I that obvious?

***

The room is full of people - some human, mostly Fae - and yet you still haven’t spotted the one person you’ve been looking for. “Well look at you playing dress up.” With a roll of your eyes you turn around to face a sneering Nicasia. “I’m not in the mood for…”

A hand slips around your waist startling you a little. Your eyes flicker to the figure beside you and there he is. Your future husband. Staring at you with eyes full of adoration as he takes you in. The warmth from his hand permeates your skin as his fingers squeeze you slightly. “What was it you were saying Nicasia? That my fiancé is playing dress up?”

“Oh no I….I was just….”

“You were just insulting my future wife. Do I have to remind you of your place?” She cowers under his intense stare and apologises quickly before rushing off into the crowd. His hand runs along the curve of your ass before resting on your lower back. Cardan turns to face you. “Shall we dance?” Words fail you as you take in a shaky breath so you simply nod your head.

The music and the noise from the crowd filters away as you take in your future husband. The outfit he’s wearing fits him snuggly and the colour brings out his eyes. He looks regal. Of course the crown on his head adds to that. He holds you close as you move around the room, all eyes on you. The Prince can move, you think to yourself.

His tail has wound its ways around your leg, the tuft of hair on its end tickling slightly. His eyes trail over your form and a devilish smirk plays across his face. “They are all jealous.”

“Yes yes, of me because I’m with you,” you say sarcastically with a roll of your eyes. “No. They are jealous of me.” He says it so matter of factly that you almost trip over yourself, his arm tightening around you. When the music stops you both just stand there staring at one another.

You release a shaky breath when he reaches out his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brush gently against your skin and you shiver at the contact. “You look devastatingly beautiful tonight.”

“I…thank…” Then his lips are on yours and it’s soft at first. Two shy lovers embracing for the first time until he runs his tongue along your bottom lip and you have to control the moan that threatens to slip from your mouth. It’s hungry. It’s raw. It’s so full of passion and you both stay like that until your future brother-in-law clears his throat.

“Hmm, sorry,” you say as embarrassment creeps up your neck and settles on your cheeks. “We’re leaving,” Cardan says as he slips his hand in yours and pulls you along behind him out of the ballroom and into the hall. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.”

***

His room is huge, not that you get to take much in before he pushes you back against the door, his hand grabbing hold of your leg and lifting it over his waist. His mouth is leaving a trail of wet kisses along the bare skin of your neck, travelling down to the tops of your breasts. Oh, you gasp when he bites the soft flesh, marking it, marking you.

You hear the click of the lock before his hands grab hold of your thighs and lift you towards his bed. “I don’t want to be interrupted this time,” he breathes out, his hands working the dress off your figure to lay in a heap on the floor. “You truly are beautiful.” His mouth is on yours again, devouring you and in this moment you want nothing more but to give him everything. Give him all of you.

He kisses down your body, pulling the buds of your nipples into his mouth, suckling and biting until they pebble from his touch. His mouth moves down over your stomach and straight to your aching cunt. Ooh! You moan as your back arches off the bed, hands finding purchase in his hair. He moves your legs over his shoulders and buries his tongue inside you. Fuck he knows what he’s doing. He alternates between licking and sucking and shoving his tongue inside you that you are a complete and utter mess on the bed below him. Writhing in pleasure. That heat begins to form and you can feel yourself getting closer to that edge and you shout his name as the pleasure from your orgasm consumes you.

“Cardan.”

His tongue licks around his lips as he moves above you completely. You reach up and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He pulls back quickly to shed his clothes before his body lays flush against yours. You can feel the tip of him nudging at your entrance but you push him onto his back. He looks up at you in awe as you lower yourself onto his thick length.

Oh! His hands grip your hips as you begin to move above him - hips rocking over him. Sitting up he pulls your nipple into his mouth as he grabs you tight, pushing you down onto him. His tail wraps around you as he fucks up into you.

“Oh Cardan I’m…I’m gonna..”

“That’s it my beautiful little human…come on my cock. Want to feel you soak me.” Fucking hate when he calls me that.

“Fuck oh fuck!”

You shudder in his arms as your cunt clenched around him - his trusts becoming erratic- sending him over the edge. “Where?” He groans into your breasts.

“Inside…please!”

“Ngh! Fuck…”

He comes hard coating your walls with a cry of your name. He brushes hair off your face and captures your lips in a soft kiss before laying back - pulling you with him. His soft cock slips out of you and you nestle into his side.

“That was amazing,” you breathe out as you run your fingers along his sculpted chest. “I aim to please.” You hit his chest playfully and he laughs before grabbing your chin gently, turning your lips towards him. The kiss is soft and you think - not for the first time - that you could live the rest of your life like this. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says as he sits up and reaches over to something behind you. “This,” he says as he opens a small box, “is for you.”

You gasp at the sight of a beautiful ring sitting inside the velvet box. It’s copper looking with intricate designs twisting around the band in the shape of moons and stars and a beautiful diamond sits in the middle. “Cardan, it’s beautiful. I…”

“It just reminded me of you and I saw it I thought, this is your ring. Do you like it?”

“Cardan, I love it,” you say through tears as he slips the ring onto your finger. “I guess this is actually happening.”

“Oh it’s happening. And I’m going to despise you for the rest of our lives.” He kisses you again. “I despise you too.”

“Hmm,” he says with a wicked smile, his eyes slowly closing. He pulls you close, his arm and tail wrapping around you, then he drifts off to sleep. You stare at the ring now sitting on your finger and smile as you snuggle into him. “I love you,” you whisper into the night. He says nothing - you assumed he wouldn’t, being asleep - just squeezes you tight and then you let sleep consume you.

Everything: @amneris21 @nembees @allthe-ships @lama-0511

#cardan greenbrier x reader #cardan x reader #Cardan greenbrier x f!reader #the cruel prince #Cardan x f!reader #Cardan greenbrier x female reader

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shadows-of-almsivi · 8 months

Note

For the writing prompt list: 18 & 15

18: Autumnal

The old ostler put out a notice for a horse trainer, when the Rorikstead crops were coming into their height. A small room for my boarding built into the stable, a meal and ten septims a day were, apparently, enough to buy me, to my own surprise. Still, it is only until the ostler’s son returns from some wedding or other, and I’d grown tired of sleeping on stony ground.

It’s been rather a delight for me here, truth be told, though the pay is poor and the work leaves my body numb with exhaustion. Horses are a fondness of mine, and even the meanest and foulest-tempered of the beasts passing through the ostler’s yards can kindle a little tenderness from me. I’m tasked to breathe a little spirit back into these worn-out old carriage drafts, to take wild-eyed Reach ponies and make them fit for the smallest child’s first saddle, and by and large I do succeed by some measure. Having no friends here to speak to nor inclination to find any, I spend all of my time with the horses, and the training goes all the swifter for the closer attention. The ostler seems pleased with my progress, as am I.

Is this what it would have been like, to have held more conventional employment?

The mare I’m working today is a lively young Chorrol Red, near leaping out of her skin with excitement to be out of her stall. I can feel, in the shiver of her flank against my calves, how badly she wants to canter headlong into the open field, kicking free the stiffness of those long and boring days in the stable. Her previous master ought to be ashamed, to have let such a high-natured beast molder away indoors before trading her to us.

Her hooves churn the dirt as she dances anxiously in place. The brass bells about her bridle and breastplate, the training-tack for horses prone to flight or nerves, chime at every restless step. I hold her reins just firm enough to let her feel me; I prefer the more subtle touch of directing from the knee, but she’s liable to bolt without the extra guidance. Her breed is known more for racing and courier work than for level-headedness, more spirit than sense perhaps. She sees open grass before her and nothing else, and I’d best not let her have her head or else she’s likely to throw me at once, or snap a slender leg on some hidden stone outcrop.

But still, how beautiful she is, how uncommonly fine for this place. That rich chestnut coat shines so lovely in the pale sun, bright as a new-minted copper flashing between a street-magician’s knuckles. Her restlessness is infectious; I find myself, too, looking over those rolling plains with sudden, aching longing. There’s a crispness to the morning air that would feel wonderful raking through my hair, a sluggishness to my blood from my days here that I can’t wait to shake loose. Honest labor has its sweetness, but precious little thrill has stirred me since taking up the old ostler’s offer.

Perhaps a sprint down the road to the bridge would let us both focus a little better…

15: Soup.

I’d had such hope for a good fish soup for tonight. I should know better than to think of cooking before the catch, it’s bad luck to fish with a certain recipe in mind. My nets came up in empty tatters, gnawed through and picked clean. I’d thought slaughterfish, of course, until I heard those bellowing, ugly barks from a ways past the shoreline. I was surprised to see one in a lake; Skyrim’s fauna continues to astound me the longer I stay here.

But, regardless, curiosity does not fill the stewpot. No fish soup tonight, but my recipes adapt.

Tonight, then, it is seal.

I have heard horker is best treated like pork, and a seal shouldn’t be much different, I imagine. With this in mind, I selected a shoulder, diced middling-sized, and one fin to enrich the broth. The skin I set aside; its fur carries lovely marbled markings, and should be a fair trade for a new net at the tradehouse.

The raw meat was a deep red, less like an apple and more like wine, almost the same as the wine I poured into the hissing iron pot to steam and spit. Some cabbage I added next, some garlic, a little mora tapinella from the morning’s walk. Finally, a couple of bees, finely ground, just for alchemical safety-- I don’t believe the mushrooms’ poison to survive a long cooking, but you can never be too careful.

Now, the house smells quite delightful, and I can put my feet up for a while. The soup will want a few hours over a gentle fire, and I have some reading to catch up on.

#anonymous #asks #askmemes #Moraelyn “Horse Girl but Transmasc Edition” Ithren #Moraelyn has been forcibly thrust into Cozy Pleasant Times whether he likes it or not #I can't help imagining Morry writing one of those unbearable 'please get to the point already' cooking blogs #where every recipe is preceded by like 3k words of rambling #but I've butchered carcasses before I know how exhausted he is rn #let him read his trashy romance novels by the fire #I'm hungry now

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juanmecanico · 29 days

Photo

"¡Increíble! Así será la impresionante adopción de vehículos eléctricos en EEUU para 2024 que no puedes perderte!" "¡Vaya! He estado viendo esa gráfica de adopción de automóviles eléctricos en los EE.UU. que publicó Autoblog... ¡Increíble! Lo normal es que ponga los ojos sobre un coche único y peculiar, y el número de 'peculiares' (léase EVs...) está aumentando. ¡Se espera que el 34% de los coches nuevos sean eléctricos para 2024! Particularmente estoy emocionado... Pero ese no es el caso de todos. Un tercio del paradigma automotriz cambia y los que verdaderamente respiran dióxido de carbono por amor al rugido del motor están teniendo un ataque al corazón ahora mismo. Pero, ¿acaso no siempre hemos valorado la innovación y el progreso? SÍ, ciertamente conducir un V8 tiene su encanto, pero también tiene su parte de calentamiento global. ¡Es el fin del mundo como lo conocemos, y me siento bien! ¿Por qué no darle una oportunidad al futuro? Inteligencia artificial, autopilotaje, superchargers y...¡Silencio, dulce silencio! En lo personal, me alegra que no tengamos que preocuparnos tanto por los precios del petróleo en el futuro. A los puristas les rompe el corazón, estoy seguro, pero ya es hora de que nos demos cuenta de que los coches eléctricos no son el futuro: son el presente. ¿Mejoras en el rendimiento? Hechas. ¿Reducción de precios? En curso. ¿Mayor autonomía? ¡Sí, señor! Es difícil no subirse al carro de los VE con todas estas ventajas. De todos modos, aún hay interrogantes a considerar. Infraestructuras carga, reciclaje de baterías... ¿Qué pasa con ellos? ¿Y qué pasa con esos lugareños que aman sus camionetas de gran tamaño y nunca las cambiarán? Lot of 'peculiar' stuff por analizar! Por cierto, ¿opción obligatoria o libre elección? ¿Qué opinas? #EVolution" Translation: "Wow! I've been looking at that U.S. electric vehicle adoption graph that Autoblog posted... Incredible! Usually, I put my eyes on a unique and quirky car, and the number of 'quirkies' (read EVs...) is on the rise. 34% of new cars are expected to be electric by 2024! I'm excited... But that's not the case for everyone. A third of the car paradigm is changing and those who truly breathe carbon dioxide for the love of an engine roar are having a heart attack right now. But haven't we always valued innovation and progress? YES, surely driving a V8 has its charm, but it also has its share of global warming. It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine! Why not give the future a chance? AI, autopilot, superchargers and... sweet, sweet silence! Personally, I'm glad we won't have to worry so much about oil prices in the future. It breaks the purists' hearts, I'm sure, but it's about time we realize that electric cars aren't the future: they're the present. Performance improvements? Done. Price reduction? Underway. Longer range? Yes, sir! It's hard not to get on the EV bandwagon with all these advantages. Anyway, there're still some questions to consider. Charging infrastructure, battery recycling... What about them? And what about those country folks who love their huge trucks and will never trade them in? Lot of 'quirky' stuff to examine! By the way, mandatory choice or free choice? What do you think? #EVolution"

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adelleandlaura4ever · 5 months

Text

youtube

Y'a d'la joie

Y a d'la joie bonjour, bonjour les hirondelles

Y a d'la joie dans le ciel par dessus les toits

Y a d'la joie et du soleil dans les ruelles

Y a d'la joie partout, y a d'la joie

Tout le jour, mon coeur bat, chavire et chancelle

C'est l'amour qui vient avec je ne sais quoi

C'est l'amour, bonjour, bonjour les demoiselles

Y a d'la joie, partout, y a d'la joie

Le gris boulanger bat la pâte à pleins bras

Il fait du bon pain, du pain si fin que j'ai faim

On voit le facteur qui s'envole là-bas

Comme un ange bleu portant ses lettres au bon dieu

Miracle sans nom à la station javelle

On voit le métro qui sort de son tunnel

Grisé de soleil, de chansons et de fleurs

Il court vers le bois, il court à toute vapeur

Y a d'la joie, la tour Eiffel part en ballade

Comme une folle, elle saute la seine à pieds joints

Puis elle dit "tant pis pour moi si j'suis malade

J'm'embêtais toute seule dans mon coin "

Y a d'la joie, le percepteur met sa jaquette

Plie boutique et dit d'un air très doux, très doux

"Bien l'bonjour pour aujourd'hui, fini la quête

Gardez tout messieurs, gardez tout"

Mais voilà qu'soudain, je m'éveille dans mon lit

Donc, j'avais rêvé, oui car le ciel est gris

Il faut se lever, se laver, se vêtir

Et ne plus chanter si l'on n'a plus rien à dire

Mais je crois pourtant que ce rêve a du bon

Car il m'a permis, de faire une chanson

Chanson de printemps, chansonnette d'amour

Chanson de 20 ans, chanson de toujours

Y a d'la joie bonjour, bonjour les hirondelles

Y a d'la joie dans le ciel par dessus les toits

Y a d'la joie et du soleil dans les ruelles

Y a d'la joie partout, y a d'la ah ah ah

Tout le jour, mon cœur bat, chavire et chancelle

C'est l'amour qui vient avec "je ne sais quoi"

C'est l'amour, bonjour, les demoiselles

Y a d'la joie, partout, y a d'la joie

(Songwriter: Charles Trenet / Michel Emer / Raoul Breton)

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

There is Joy

There's joy, hello, hello swallows

There is joy in the sky over the rooftops

There's joy and sunshine in the alleys

There's joy everywhere, there's joy everywhere

All day long, my heart beats, capsizes and staggers

It's the love that comes with je ne sais quoi

It's love, hello, hello ladies

There is joy, everywhere, there is joy

The baker's grey beats the dough with full arms

He makes good bread, bread so fine that I'm hungry.

You can see the letter carrier flying over there.

Like a blue angel carrying his letters to the good god

Nameless miracle at the bleach station

We see the subway coming out of its tunnel

Shaded with sun, songs and flowers

It runs towards the wood, it runs at full steam

There is joy, the Eiffel Tower goes for a walk

Like a madwoman, she jumps the seine with both feet.

Then she says "too bad for me if I'm sick.

I was bothering myself in my corner".

There is joy, the taxman puts on his jacket

Folds store and says with a very soft air, very soft

"Good morning for today, no more quest

Keep it all, gentlemen, keep it all."

But suddenly, I wake up in my bed

So I had dreamed, yes, because the sky is gray.

It is necessary to get up, wash, and get dressed.

And no more singing if you have nothing more to say

But I believe that this dream has some good things in it

Because he allowed me to make a song.

Spring song, love ditty

Song of 20 years, song of always

There's joy, hello, hello swallows

There is joy in the sky over the rooftops

There's joy and sunshine in the alleys

There's joy everywhere, there's ah ah ah ah ah

All day long, my heart beats, capsizes and staggers

It's the love that comes with "je ne sais quoi".

It's love, hello, ladies

There is joy, everywhere, there is joy

(Songwriter: Charles Trenet / Michel Emer / Raoul Breton)

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

My Love, my beautiful Sunshine!

It's the weekend! Beautiful sunny fall days are waiting for us impatiently and we long for it and suddenly joy and love spreads around us. In your heart, in my heart. Everywhere! I feel like dancing and laughing. Come, hold me, kiss me, and once more and then let's dance!

I love you deeply Adelle ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🌈

@adelle4ever

@adelleandlaura4ever

#adelle&laura #Youtube

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outarou-mikado · 5 years

Text

Gods do I know how to get my sister interested in something. She wants to read Aurora Rising now after I asked her to take the squad personality quiz and sent her the character intro page from Underlined. And all that got her interested and I'm like...gurl pls read let me cry on you I will buy u a copy??

But yeah for the quiz she got Tank (I cry) which is like a perfect fit for her:

#I got Gearhead which ?? but i really dont fit into any of the squad roles so #and I love my son Fin so its fine #anyways aurora rising the only thing I'm gonna talk about for like a year so ignore me #at least my sister listens to me blab about my current obsession and is fine with it

0 notes

bibliocratic · 3 years

Text

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

Martin is happy.

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

Jon is happy.

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“… you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

#tma #the magnus archives #cw racing thoughts #cw anxiety #tw eating disorder #tw ptsd #ask to tag #cw nightmares #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tma spoilers

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plaidbooks · 3 years

Note

I get SO EXCITED when your fic requests open up!!!!! I would love to request some mutual pining/yearning between Dodds and one of his SVU detectives. Prompt "I'd do anything for you," maybe where his dad has noticed them eyeing each other secretly and gives Mike the old "WE've worked too hard to get you to this position." (Idk, maybe those should be 2 different requests? You can choose whichever you prefer!)

Every request i send in gets more and more long-winded 😅😳

Exchanging Glances

A/N: This was a fun prompt! I'm sorry it took me so long to write it, but I hope you enjoy it!

Tags: shootings, otherwise none

Words: 1918

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas @qvid-pro-qvo @averyhotchner @imalostredheadinablondeworld

Mike being assigned to SVU was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because the squad was short staffed, and he more than pulled his weight. He was also a great detective, and a great leader. The curse was how goddamn attractive he was.

He was your superior; there was no chance of a relationship with him. But you couldn’t stop the butterflies in your stomach when he smiled at you or complimented your work. The worst was when you walked into the locker room one day and found him in his undershirt, his dress shirt hanging open. The soft, white shirt left nothing to the imagination as he stretched against his broad chest, and it was a struggle to not stare…or drool.

He hadn’t even seemed embarrassed about it, talking easily with you as he slowly buttoned his shirt, his long fingers moving deftly. You had quickly made an excuse and practically fled the room. But after that moment, you couldn’t help but picture those strong arms holding you against his broad chest.

You often caught yourself staring at him while at your desks, before you’d look back to your computer screen, hoping no one noticed. Though of course, both Rollins and Carisi saw, and they teased you relentlessly for it.

“Why not ask him out?” Carisi asked you one day during lunch.

You choked on your egg roll. “A—absolutely not! He’s our boss,Carisi!”

“For how much longer?” Rollins chimed in. “I heard daddy’s tryin’ to move him.”

That made you pause; if Mike left SVU, you wouldn’t see him anymore…but maybe you could ask him out then. “Well, I’d rather wait until he’s gone before asking,” you replied, picking at your food.

“Come on, he’s a good guy,” Carisi said. “I bet Mike would love—”

“Love what?” Mike asked, coming into the break room and snagging a takeout box.

You felt how hot your face got, and you ducked your head, pretending to eat. Thankfully, Liv came into the break room, saving you all.

“We have a hostage situation. Let’s go,” she ordered before leaving. You all glanced at each other, fun times fading, before you were up, scrambling for your things in your desks.

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

You were huddled outside the door to the kitchen, gun in hand. Mike was on the other side of the doorframe, eyes locked to yours, gun in his hand as well. You were both flanked by the squad and officers, waiting for the go ahead from Liv. You knew she wanted to be in there with you, but as Lieutenant, she had to be outside, calling the shots for everyone involved.

“Green light,” she said into your earpieces. Mike nodded at you, and you nodded back. Then he took a step back and kicked the door in. You cut in front of him as he caught his balance, heading into the kitchen, eyes scanning. You had your gun up, and once you found your perp, you swiveled to aim at him. But he was faster; he fired before you even had the chance.

You grunted as you took a bullet in the ribs, your vest absorbing most of the impact. You still stumbled, though, the wind knocked from you. You being off balance turned out to work perfectly, as Mike was able to get a shot off, clipping the guy in the shoulder.

Both Carisi and Rollins headed for the perp while Fin checked on the woman who was being held hostage; she was shaking in a corner, hands and mouth duct taped. Mike, however, went straight to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, face full of concern. He helped guide you towards the door, hands on your hips to help you walk.

You nodded. “Fine, fine. Got the vest,” you grunted, hand on place you were shot.

Mike led you down and out of the house, out onto the street. Liv read the situation and quickly came over, but you waved off her questions. Both of them guided you to a waiting ambulance, and the paramedics helped you get the vest off. They gently lifted your shirt to inspect the spot, which was already deeply bruised, a small bit of dried blood there from where the bullet broke skin.

Your face heated as you caught Mike’s eyes glued to the injury. “I’m fine, really. Just a bruise,” you muttered, trying to pull your shirt back down.

“We should take you in, make sure you didn’t break anything, or have internal bleeding,” one of the medics said.

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t argue. They helped you in the back, and you sat on the gurney.

“I’m riding with her,” Mike said to Liv. He handed her his gun before he climbed in, sitting next to you. You ducked your head in embarrassment as the doors closed and the ambulance pulled away.

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

You sat on the hospital bed, and Mike was outside the room while you were patched up—mostly because your shirt was off. Once considered decent, though, he came in, giving the nurse a smile and nod in thanks.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, that concern still in his eyes.

You smirked. “Like I was shot.”

Mike shook his head, grinning. “Glad to see you still have your sense of humor…. Thank you, though.”

“For what?”

“I was going to go in first, but you ran in front of me before I could stop you. In a sense, you took that bullet for me,” he explained.

You blinked at him, then blurted out, “I’d do anything for you.” Your face heated, and you dropped your eyes to the floor. “I mean, y—you’re my sergeant; of course, I’d take a bullet for you….”

“Well, I’d do anything for you, too, including taking a bullet, if it came to that,” he replied softly. At first, you thought he was just saying that. But the meaningful look he gave you made you pause. Was he saying what you thought he was?

Slowly, timidly, you reached out and took his hand in yours. He didn’t pull away; in fact, he stepped up close to you. His free hand came up to your face, and he cupped your cheek lovingly. You leaned into the touch, and his face got closer and closer—

“There you are, Mike! Benson said you were at the hospital with a detective,” a voice called from the door. Mike quickly moved away from you, dropping your hand, and you swallowed in fear as Deputy Chief Dodds stood in the doorway to your room.

He gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and you wondered how much he had seen. Then he strolled into the room, fixing his gaze onto his son.

“Uh, yeah, sorry dad. She got shot during our raid today—”

“Oh no,” he lamented, though it almost sounded sarcastic. “Well, it at least looks like you’re fine. Listen, Mike—” his eyes went back to his son’s— “I need to talk to you about an opportunity. If you’ll excuse us,” he said to you, then turned and strolled from the room.

Mike gave you an apologetic look before following his dad, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone.

***

“What the hell were you thinking?” William asked as he headed out of the hospital. “Getting close with a detective.” He said the word like an insult, and Mike flinched.

Once on the street, Mike replied, “she’s a fantastic detective, and I like her a lot. Why does my romantic life involve you?”

“Because we’ve worked too hard to get you to this position," he responded, poking Mike in the chest.

He rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to ask “we?” Instead, he said, “If I follow your plan, then I’m leaving SVU anyways. Why can’t I date her?”

“You need someone on your level, someone who’s as eye-catching as you are,” William explained. But Mike knew the truth; his father wanted him with a trophy wife, one who knew how to keep her head down and attend to her husband’s wants and desires. In other words, someone Mike wanted nothing to do with.

“With how good she is, she could make sergeant in no time,” Mike countered. He wasn’t just saying that, either; he believed it. You were incredible. He almost wanted you to go to Joint Terrorism with him, be his number two. But then, you couldn’t have a relationship together.

“Who cares about sergeant—”

“I’m a sergeant, dad.”

William waved his hand dismissively. “That’s just a placeholder until you’re lieutenant. Come on, Mike; do you really want someone with the same profession as you? Where you work late nights, weekends, holidays?” Translation; do you want someone who won’t be home to cook your meals or run the household?

“We’d have the same life experiences, we’d understand each other on a deeper level because of it,” he shot back.

William rolled his eyes. “Deeper level—”

“And I’m not going to stand here and defend her or myself from you. I’m sorry dad, but I don’t really care what you think about her. We haven’t even started dating or anything. But I’m going to go back upstairs and ask her out. I hope you can find it in yourself to come to terms with that,” Mike said before turning on his heel and marching back inside. William was too stunned to say anything back.

***

You collected all your items and were just about to leave the room when there was a knock on the door.

“Uh, come in?” you called, wondering if the nurse had more info outside of “it’ll heal on its own, but it’ll be sore for a while.”

But your stomach dropped when it was Mike peeking his head in, giving you a sheepish smile. “Uh, hey, sorry about that.”

“O-oh! No, it’s, um, it’s fine. Hopefully that was nothing too important,” you replied, laughing nervously.

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a mumble of, “no, no, it’s nothing…” before trailing off. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at you intently. “Would you like to go get dinner with me? Tonight?”

You were stunned; true, you were both off after the raid—you to heal and pass a psych evaluation, and him while IAB investigated the shooting—but you never expected him to ask you out. “I—I would love that…but could we? Unless the Chief just transferred you, you’re still my boss.”

“He didn’t, but I don’t care. I’ll be leaving the squad soon enough as it is. Plus…I know you’re not seriously injured, but the thought of you being shot on the job…it worries me. I’d rather shoot my shot now, while we’re both still alive and well,” he finished.

You nodded slowly, your mind swirling. “Well…as long as neither of us will be fired over it…. I’d love to have dinner with you, Mike.”

You noticed how his eyes narrowed when you mentioned getting fired, and you wondered if the possibility never crossed his mind until you said it. He quickly masked his face with a smile, then held the door open for you.

“You won’t get fired; I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, and you wondered if it was a legit possibility. Either way, a date with Mike Dodds seemed like a good payoff. Plus, if you were fired, you could continue dating without the fear of 1PP.

#mike dodds x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfics #fanfic #my writing

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meltwonu · 3 years

Text

47. “Shut up.”

“Why don’t you come over here and make me.”

39. “You taste like fucking candy.”

notes; AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES… lord i just love the idea of fucking an annoyed mingyu kdsjfhkds, cocky!mingyu, dirty talk, using panties as a gag, a little oral(fem receiving)/fingering, a little cum eating. Also forgive me bc im trying a different formatting of my drabbles and rly im just turning them into 1k-ish word fics?😭😭 I JUST CAN’T SHUT UP and these get so long so theyre not rly drabbles anymore sorry but also ive gotten so far without renaming the entire drabble game thing so… ye. Should i rename this drabble game? Or is it okay? Sorry that i cannot write short things…😭😩 should i include a word count?😅 I’m a mess and this is longer than 1k so the rest is under the cut!! Thank you for requesting!!! Enjoy!💕

“Fuck, Mingyu, you left your shit in the washing machine again! Can you just get your shit together so I don’t have to wait on you all the time!?”

You prop a hand on your hip, watching as the male raises a brow from his place on the sofa when he turns his attention to you.

“Why don’t you go clean the bowl you left in the sink then, huh? I can say the same thing!”

Your lips press into a firm line; annoyance clear on your features. “My one fuckin’ bowl isn’t deterring you from using the sink but your shit in the washer is preventing me from washing my damn clothes!”

The tall male gets up from his spot on the sofa; annoyance obvious on his face as well. “You’re just so…”

“Just so what, Mingyu?”

He grits his teeth as he makes his way to leave and deal with the laundry. “Forget it.”

You watch as he moves his things to the dryer before shooting you a harsh stare and beelining straight for his room across the hallway.

You finally manage to put your things in the washer once Mingyu retreats to his bedroom and it beeps once when it finally finishes, 45 minutes later.

Except now Mingyu’s clothes are just sitting in the dryer.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you storm over to Mingyu’s bedroom, flinging the door open with the intent of giving him a piece of your mind again.

“Mingyu, you fuckin’----”

“Fuck!”

Your eyes flit all across the tall male with his back against the headboard and you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his large hand wrapped around his thick cock; throat going dry at the view. “Uh---”

“Don’t you fucking knock!?”

The words die on your tongue the longer you stand his doorway, and he, too, makes no effort to move from his place on his bed. “M--maybe if you fucking moved your shit from the dryer on t-time!” You retort; already losing the fight in your voice the longer your eyes fixate on the leaking tip of his cock.

Mingyu’s at a loss for words himself and he’s unsure of what to even do to make the situation less awkward.

But he will admit; your flustered expression might’ve made his cock twitch.

He clears his throat, “I don’t see you leaving. Finally owning up to the fact you wanna fuck me?” Mingyu grins; cockiness replacing the awkwardness he was feeling moments prior.

“Shut up.”

His grin falters momentarily before it’s back; his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Why don’t you come over here and make me.”

Mingyu is meticulous. You have to admit.

He cleans while he cooks and makes sure his utensils and prepping station are absolutely spotless before the meal is even done cooking.

He’s apparently also just as meticulous with his tongue when he eats you out; fingers knuckle deep and curling into your g-spot just as he uses the tip of his tongue to tease your clit for the umpteeth time. “Ngh, fuck---fuck you, Mingyu!” You lock your hands into his permed hair, tugging on it slightly when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard.

“God, fuck y-you!” You grind against his tongue and fingers as you get closer and closer to the verge of an orgasm.

Mingyu pulls away slightly, lips glistening and wet. “You taste like fucking candy. It’s a shock considering your sour nature.” He mutters quietly, only loud enough for you to catch it as the heat blooms on your cheeks. “Just shut up and eat me out.” You mumble back.

Scoffing, he thrusts his fingers into you harshly one more time. “I think you’ve had enough actually.” He wiggles his fingers inside of your wet cunt as you moan out. “It’s time for you to give me what I want too.”

He pulls his fingers out, popping them into his own mouth as he licks your wetness off of them. Your grip on his hair loosens as he starts to sit up between your legs; his long hair falling into his dark eyes when he looks down at you. “Get up, we’re switching places.”

“Fine.”

It takes you a second to maneuver around the tall male on his small bed; huffing when he lays down against the pillows. “I ate you out and fingered your ‘lil pussy so now you can ride my cock and pull some of the weight around here.” He snides.

A smirk paints its way onto his features as you clench your jaw and sit down onto his thighs. “You’re lucky I needed to get laid or I wouldn’t be this willing to ride your fuckin’ dick.”

“Oh please, you probably dream about my cock. I see you eyeing me when I’m just walkin’ around in my sweats. I bet I’m who you fantasize about when you’re getting off with that vibrator of yours. Which, by the way, is fuckin’ loud. I hope you realize I can hear it when I pass by your bedroom. You should really---mmph!”

You quickly stuff your soaked panties between his lips before he can say anything more; gritting your teeth. “You really need to shut up. You’re cuter with your mouth closed or eating me out.”

Mingyu wasn’t… technically wrong. You just didn’t want to hear it right now.

You quickly shimmy your body up until you can reach down and wrap a hand around his cock and Mingyu places his hands on your waist to steady you as you slowly start to sink down onto him. “O-oh, fuck…”

A garbled moan spills from your lips as you feel him filling you up inch by inch; already wanting to start a quick pace as you chase your own orgasm.

Mingyu groans from around the panties between his lips and he tosses his head back as your tight, warm walls clench around his cock.

He thought about you sometimes too. Not that he’d admit it either.

It takes a few tense seconds and a few stuttered breaths before you’re completely seated on his cock; the tip of it already curving into your g-spot as you give yourself a moment to adjust to his size. “Y’know, if you w-weren’t such a cocky son of a b-bitch, I wouldn’t be so, ah, opposed to fucking y-you… G-god, I’d probably even, ngh, d-date you..”

You slowly start to swivel your hips as you mewl; Mingyu’s cock fit inside your cunt so perfectly. “But all y-you do is, hah, c-complain about m-my messes when you’re m-messy too…”

Mingyu’s blunt nails dig into the skin of your naked waist as you alternate between bouncing in his lap and swiveling your hips. And in return, his harsh breaths are all you can hear as you fuck yourself on his cock. He knows he could easily flip you onto your back and fuck you into his bedsheets until all you knew was his name, but he plays nice for now and lets you have your fun while you could.

“What were you t-thinkin’ about, huh? Before I walked in h-here. Were you thinkin’ about, ah, me? Do I get you s-so heated that, mmh, you g-get hard? Are you t-that easy?” You shoot him a cocky grin of your own as you clench around his cock. He narrows his eyes at you before he plants his feet firmly onto the bed and bucks his hips up into you; effectively jostling you and making you bounce harder in his lap as he starts to fuck you.

A sharp whine escapes past your lips as he starts a quick pace and you're quick to meet his movements as you slam down onto his cock with each of his thrusts. The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm as you both unload all of the sexual tension that’d been brewing for the few months that you’d been roommates.

Your saccharine moans and whines mix in with Mingyu’s harsh breaths and muffled groans as you both feel yourselves inching closer and closer to the edge. He can already feel his cock twitching and he can already feel the way your walls tighten even more around his cock with each passing second.

You reach a hand between your body and his; fingertips on your swollen clit as you race towards your orgasm. “Fuck, I, ah, w-wanna cum…” You mumble.

Mingyu bites down onto the fabric in his mouth as he tosses his head back again, his forehead covered in a sheen of sweat as he starts to feel his abdomen tightening with his impending orgasm.

And he doesn’t warn you when he cums, but you can feel his cock twitching and his cum filling you up as his thrusts lose their rhythm. You let out a choked moan at the feeling and you rub quicker circles on your clit as you throw yourself over the edge and into your orgasm as well.

Mingyu lets out a muffled groan as he feels your walls fluttering around him and for a moment, he tells himself he could get used to fucking you.

“Oh, g-god, you’re, ah, fu--fucking cumming so---so much inside of m-me…” Whimpering, you slam down onto his cock as you both ride out your high and Mingyu’s eyes fixate on the way his cock slides out of your wet pussy covered in his cum and your wetness.

Mingyu moves a hand from your waist to pluck the soaked material out of his mouth; tossing it to the side as he gently massages his jaw.

“Look at you, still fucking yourself on my cock. Want more already, huh?” He watches as you reach down and scoop up some of the cum that settled onto his skin, lips parted slightly as he lets out a soft moan. You continue to swivel your hips atop his lap, waiting until your orgasm completely ebbs off before you come to a full stop.

You pop your wet digits into your mouth, keeping eye contact with him as he commits to memory the way you suck on your fingers and swallow down the cum.

He grits his teeth as he watches you repeat the action. “Such a good girl cleaning up your mess, huh? That’d be a first for you, wouldn’t it?” His eyes twinkle with an almost evil glint when you finally pop the clean digits from between your lips and move to straddle his thighs again; this time, globs of cum dripping from your pussy as his cock slides from inside of you.

Images of you in different positions flit through Mingyu’s mind as he smiles.

“Say, do you really want to know what I was thinking about before you walked in?”

#mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fic #seventeen fic #mingyu #kim mingyu

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corneliastreetapartment · 2 years

Text

Feels like part 7

Niall Horan x Y/n swift

i know i haven't updated in a looooong while but here you go!

hope you like it!

Story Masterlist

In todays shit show: " It better not be something stupid like, don't bully harry or something" "I'm calling the police on you"

family chat: we share genes

Andy - Andrea

Woody - Taylor

Buzz lightyear - Scott

Bo peep - Austin

Forky - y/n

Andy: y/n remember to pack sunscreen

Forky: There is literally no sun there. It's like forever winter

Buzz Lightyear: Taylor, forever winter is a nice song title.

Woody: right!

Forky: ffs its about ME now

Andy: then why don't you pack it?

Forky: cuz I don't need it

Andy: you do you really do your skin starts to crisp up and then there's sun burns and rashes and then diana and I will have to FaceTime so that I can tell her how to remove them

Forky: FINE FINE ILL PACK IT

Woody: mom always gets her way, idk how but she just does

Bo peep: oh yeah

Forky: Hello TrAiToR

Bo peep: I didn't even do anything now

Bo peep: I'm literally in bed all day like a sick person

Woody: which Is a really unhealthy lifestyle you know

Forky: your not the sick person

I'm sick

Sick of your bullshit

Andy: Y / N!!!!! CONTROL THE FUCKING LANGUAGE

Forky: hypocrites

Forky: YOU TEXTED OLIVIA ABT THAT!

Buzz Lightyear: Son, She is too young for you.

Woody: ffs

Bo peep: i wanted to get revenge

Forky: for what??

Woody: you have to be kidding me

Andy: what tell olivia about what

Bo peep : lemme think, the relentless bullying maybe?

Andy: TELL ME NOW

Forky: I do that put of love

Woody: sure yes plausible

ANDY : you have 3 seconds to tell Me

123 go

Woody: y/n's been talking to her crush niall

Andy: horan?

Forky: yeah....don't make a big deal

Andy: fin fucking ly

Forky: what even is that word?

......................................

messages

The Lads

Public enemy - harry

mother hen - Liam

Zippy - zayn

Lola - louis

Irish princess- niall

God - y/n

God : hey yall are invited to my house warming party in my new london aprtment

Public enemy : you seem chipper

Zippy: something is wrong

mother hen: Im confident this text was only sent here to subtly invite niall

Public enemy: lets be honest he's the only one if us you like

Irish princess: I dont mind that

God : *le gasp* UNTRUE

Lola :YEAH!

Lola :Your just jealous

God : TELL EM LOU

Zippy : AGAIN, disturbing as hell

Lola :ALSO just to rub i got a proper invite in the mail btw

Lola : while you got a crappy text

mother hen: WHERE'S MY INVITE???

God : Your? My? parent? you ? don't? need? one?

mother hen: oh yeah i forgot abt that

God : s'cool

Irish princess: I have a condition

God: what?

God : It better not be something stupid like, don't bully harry or something

Public enemy : can you not

Irish princess: I get added to the super super super cool groupchat you have

God: the one with no harry?

Public enemy: Im calling the police on you

Irish princess: yeah that one

God : sure thing

God has added Irish princess to a group chat

group name : Y/n stop threatening to take out Shawn's kneecaps

zendaya

Diane

Taylor

claudia

billie

Conan

louis

millie bobby brown

Ryan reynolds

Selena gomez

Ed sheeran

Shawn mendes

Lou: NOOOOOO

Niall: Thanks mate

Selena: He's just having his daily barbie doll fit

Lou: fuck off Gomez

Selena: No u

Lou: No u

Diana: TIS I

Diana: OH WELL WELL WELL , MR. NIALL JAMES HORAN

Selena: No u

Lou: No u

Niall: Miss/mr Unkown Number

Diana: WHAT INTENTIONS DO YOU HAVE WITH MY BEST FRIEND WHO PPL SHIP US TOGETHER?????

Niall: hi Diana

Shawn: tf howd you know

Selena: No u

Ed: more importantly, ppl ship them?

Billie: I do

Claudia: i do

Zendaya: yess totally, have you been living under a rock

Millie: its all on the comments of her YouTube channel, spaghetti princess

Ryan: Seriously man, GET ON OUR LEVEL!!!!

Y/n: wtf, you got viewers chubby!

Diana: ENOUGH PLAY

Diana: I ASKED YOU A QUESTION MISTER HORAN

Lou: No u

Diana: SHUT THE FUCK UP BOTH OF YOU

Conan: *gasp*

Ryan: You awakened the beast, she finally cursed.

Niall: Im jared 19 and i never fucking learnt how to read

Diana: A MEME MAN? I ACCEPT THIS RELATIONSHIP

Y/n: wasn't really your s to decide but

Diana: I SAID I ACCEPT IT, HAG.

zendaya: moving on.....

Niall: ah yes, what is the name of the chat?

Selena: Oh yeah Shawn said something

Shawn: which was completely justified

Y/n: your on thin fucking ice buddy

Claudia: and as you can imagine Y/n resorted to threatening....

Ed: we're not even scared for shawn at this point

Shawn: come on ed i thought you were on my side

Ed : IT WOULD BE A SUICIDE MISSION TO BE ON YOUR SIDE!

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mushroomkwan · 3 years

Text

Beauty and the Beast (M)

Pairing: Johnny Suh//Seo Youngho x Female! Reader//Soulmate/Hybrid AU of sorts this fic was a trip to write

Words: 3,186

Warnings: porn with some plot(idk how to just write a smut anymore oops), tiger hybrid!johnny, deer hybrid! reader, amateur writing(I haven't written in a year or two so it might be shit sorry y'all) size kink, praise kink, and some degradation but its miniscule, big cock johnny bitch let's be honest 😳👀, oral (female receiving), fingering, technically panty sniffing too, minor mentions of blood, unprotected sex (wrap it up y'all), breeding??

SYNOPSIS: Being in heat when you meet your mate is both ideal and horrific. Johnny shows you the latter isn't a possibility with him.

It's past the midnight hours, the sky a swirl of pale yellows and pinks filtering through the trees and startling you as it peeks through a sliver of the curtains in your den and onto your face. You wheeze as you stretch your body, your hands searching for the clothes you had laid out the night before, tucked onto your dresser along with the accessories you chose. Today was the day you had been looking forward to for weeks, and your nerves were all over the place. Hybrid society, separated from the very humans who created them, was ruled as a hierarchy, the first hybrid to become exiled had become Queen, and her children onward reigned. And today, you crowned the new King, Queen Seo Myeoryun's son Youngho, who had been a pillar of the community since he was born. And everyone likes a good coronation ceremony, so what was not to love? Well besides the fact that it fell onto the same day your heat should have started. It would be fine though, it only really hurts or is bothersome when you've found your mate, and you've yet to find yours. Without your mate, heats were just small cramps in your side and your sex drive goes up. It may seem cliche, but part of you wished it to be Youngho. He's a gentleman, he's ethereal visually and conceptually, and he makes you feel included at every social gathering, sending you drinks, and smiling at you from across the room. He had yet to come up to you though. And perhaps it was right of him to. There was still that stigma of predator and prey among hybrids, and you were a deer, timid, small, and a tiger's ideal meal. And Youngho unfortunately was a tiger. A very very....very attractive tiger.

With a sigh you pull the top around your body, a lilac mesh puffed sleeve thing, and throw on a pair of loose jeans as to complete it. To top it off, you put on a flower crown, smiling shyly at your reflection in the mirror beside you. You go out the door, surprised to find someone already waiting for you, his face frustrated and his striped tail flicking back and forth, annoyed.

"Ah f- Doyoung you scared me!" You pouted and hit a hand against his chest, him not sparing you a wince or pained expression, instead laughing at your feeble attempts to hurt him.

"We're late Y/N, they already introduced the host, which by the way we all knew would be Jaehyun he's the MC of every event ever." He sassed, but you grabbed his hand and ran toward the venue a block away, which was still quite the run. Jaehyun stood on the stage in a black and red velvet suit, smiling as he talked about the upcoming ceremony and how it would play out. You settled into a spot between Doyoung and Donghyuck, a pudu hybrid who was too busy on his phone to mind you sitting next to him.

"Do you think he's nervous for his coronation?" Doyoung turned his head and you looked at him for a moment, your gaze flickering to the stage every now and then as Jaehyun spoke.

"Please, he's Seo Youngho. He's probably known about this since he was a child, and is ready for it. He's confident too so I don't think he'll have a problem with being shy either." You blushed as you spoke, your ears turning down against your head as you thought about it. Doyoung eyes you and smirked, laughing as he came to a realization.

"Oh my God you do like him. That's literally so cute. You realize he'd probably snap you in half in bed though, right?" He made the dirty comment and you went completely red, stuttering as you tried to come up with a response, until Haechan cut in.

"You guys missed his speech, they're about to crown him." You gasped lightly as you looked to the stage and sure enough Youngho's mother was holding the crown, finishing up her own speech, and there he stood. Well shit. His hair was parted and his bright yellow eyes scanned the crowd with a smile. Such a charismatic smile, and those lips were just sin themselves. His suit clung to his body and he was wearing a damned corset vest over it. You were staring for too long, and he caught your stares. He looked at you fondly and smiled, his eyes twinkling as he waved. You smiled back and waved enthusiastically, cheering as he was crowned and the celebratory party began. Doyoung was no where to be seen, and you were hoping to find some time to finally talk to Youngho. You made your way to the bar, where you were surprised to find he was already there standing, him gesturing for you to come over. You gulped and walked over, your tail stood up in alarm. He was there in front of you close up, and for the first time you noticed he was blushing. You went even redder than before and he giggled, his hands fumbling with the glass in between them.

"How can I help you?" You giggled nervously, settling against the bar as he still messed with his glass awkwardly, his tail swinging back and forth uneasily.

"You know the whole thing with mates and first touches? How you'll know when you first touch?" He asks and you go still, nodding and trying to ease your rising emotions. He looked into your eyes and his hand extended.

"I need to know...if you'd allow me." He spoke again and you could feel the nerves radiating off of him. His eyes searched yours and you smiled back, your cheeks burning.

"I'd like to know too." And then you did it. You laced your fingers together, and a spark ricocheted from your fingertips to your toes and you gasped as a thousand emotions passed through you at once. His eyes glossed over and he pulled you into his arms.

"I always fucking knew it was you. Now so can tell Jaehyun I was rightfully obsessed." He joked as he sniffled, and you laughed wetly as some tears fell, burying your face in his chest. You heard a whistle and Doyoung stood there, a drink in his hands and finger guns pointed at both of you. You went to smack him but a dull ache in your underbelly stopped you, biting your lip as you settled for glaring at him, your tail and ears still moving angrily.

"It's not like I totally knew this whole time." He sassed and you smacked his chest, your cheeks turning red. Doyoung smirked and blocked your attacks, turning to Youngho, whose nose was turned into the air, curiously sniffing. He whispered into Youngho's ear and Youngho's eyes darkened with an emotion you could only describe as lust, his gaze falling up and down your body. You turned to Doyoung in confusion but he just pushed you toward Youngho, who ran an arm up and down your own. You shivered at his touch and keened into it, your body beginning to sweat feverishly.

Authors note: for the smut I changed the time-tense without realizing so sorry about that.

"Follow me? There's something I'd like to tell you." Youngho smiles and you nod, skipping along with him away from the celebration. It's only a ways away, his den, and you blush as your thoughts race with images of you and him together, your pulse seemingly moving to in between your legs. He invites you in and closes the door, suddenly against you. You yelp in surprise and he buries his head against your hair, sniffing down your body. You clench your legs together as his nose presses against your thighs and breasts and his scent runs through your own nose, your body immediately reacting.

"I wanted to tell you that your scent right now...it's sweeter than usual. Oh God you're in heat aren't you?" He practically growls the words and you whimper as you nod, your core throbbing with need as his body pressed against you.

"Please Youngho I need something." You whine against him as your hands rake at his neck, pulling him into a kiss. It's slippery and your tongue circles his fangs as he holds your hips in his hands and sucks on your lower lip, pulling away to put his forehead against yours.

"Johnny. Call me Johnny, baby." You wiggle impatiently against him and he picks you up, your body already bucking towards him as your core tightens around nothing. To best describe, it's a burning feeling, like every synapse in your brain is screaming at you to get something, anything.

"Such a needy girl, you're falling apart in my hands and I haven't even began to touch you." He kisses you and you're only just aware that you're pressed against the doorframe of what you can only assume is his room.

"Johnny, please take my clothes off. It's too hot." You pant breathlessly and he laughs, elated to get you out of your clothing, his ears up and at attention. His claws trail the fabric of your top, pulling roughly upward. You raise your arms and the top comes off with a swift motion, leaving your bra in it's place. You blush under his gaze, a hungry stare that makes its way to your pussy, the ache becoming more. You tug at his corset vest and he pulls it off and his dress shirt as quick as he did your own shirt, his abs on display. You ogle at his stripesnand press your hands against his chest as he attacks the side of your neck with his mouth, his tongue and teeth marking every surface area of your skin.

"Do you have any idea how good you smell right now?" He swipes his hand against your denim covered core, and you whine as you grind into his touch. With the sharp nail of his ring finger, he separates the metal from it's buttonhole and pulls your pants down. You step out of them and he scoops you up as soon as your feet hit the floor, pushing you against the bed. You gasp and moan as his fingers trail your sides, his claws leaving marks against your skin. The pain is nice though, and it drives you crazy with how gentle he scratches you.

"Johnny, I want you to...well won't your claws hurt?" You trail off in embarrassment and he presses his lips onto yours, staring fondly into your eyes as his arms cradle you.

"Don't worry baby, they retract. I would never hurt you. But fuck, was that the cutest way you could ask me to finger you." He speaks gently, a growl ripping from his throat as he presses his mouth back onto your own. You moan against his lips as his hands pull your bra off, his kisses trailing down as your breasts spill from your bra, which he quickly tosses aside. His hand, with claws now retreated into the nail beds, rubs you through your panties. He's amazed with how wet you are, your underwear almost sticks to you with how wet you are, and your small tail stands stiffly despite being laid on. Looking at you as he presses his nose against your breasts, licking the middle of your chest and teething against your skin. His fingers hook under your panties and he revels in how warm you are, pressing the heel of his palm to the very top of your entrance. Johnny begins to circle his fingers around your clit, as you shake under him. With one hand busy teasing you, the other kneads the flesh of your left tit, whines and moans spilling past your lips. You press your own palm against his cock, which strains against his slacks. He makes a guttural sound as you rub at the head through the cloth. He pulls his hand away and growls at you, and you suddenly feel so much smaller. So dominated.

"I have a new idea baby. You smell so good but I bet you taste even better." Without warning his nose presses into the very top of your panties, his fangs nipping at the cloth. You yelp in surprise and shudder as his tongue swipes across your panties, moans leaving your mouth as you bite down on nothing. Johnny gives a satisfied moan himself and peels your panties away from your body and down your legs, tossing them haphazardly as he sniffled once more, the tip of his nose brushing against your clitoral hood. Whimpering, you spread your legs shyly and he takes it as invitation, his mouth wrapping around your pussy as his tongue prods against your hole, which throbs for his touch. His tongue was long, you knew this from just his smile and him talking, but you weren't prepared for how helpful it would be until now. Johnny's tongue works against your clit, kitten licking as his one of his fingers comes up and separates your lips, his tongue picking up speed. You're a mess of moans and whines, your eyes looking reverently toward him as he tongue fucked you with determination and his finger enters you to the knuckle. You wince once, but the feeling is immediately replaced with curiosity. He brings his finger out and back, until he's created a pace that has you keening for more. He curls his finger and rubs against a spongy surface within you that you never realized felt so good. You arch away from the bed and sigh out breathlessly, a mewl wheezing out of you. Johnny sees this and knows he's found it, propping both of you into a better position. You lay on his left thigh, one arm supports you and the other is busied between your legs. He returns his middle finger to where it once was, curling in and out of you at the same pace before. Soon his ring finger too prods at your entrance and he ducks you with both of them, your hips bucking against his wrist. A pressure in your lower abdomen makes you bite your lip, gasping when Johnny curls his fingers and once again hits your g-spot. He prods at it for a little while more, but stops before you can fully come undone. Kicking his slacks off, he returns to you and hovers over your body, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You can feel his tail swipe against your legs as he speaks.

"I want to fuck you properly, but I need to know if you're okay with it. I'm...well endowed and don't want to hurt you." Your heart swells at his words and you nod as you bite your lip, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"My heat has made me slick enough and you've stretched me. I feel safe enough for it. Now please, fuck me." You take a deep breath as you look down between your legs at him, and he wasn't lying. It's harder than a rock, standing against his stomach with a bead of precum sliding down the side of it. He's cut, which you can't say didn't surprise you, and it definitely has girth to it. Perhaps it is five or six inches soft, but hard it looks to be seven inches. He pulls your hips closer to his and massages your sides as he positions himself.

"Be gentle with me? This isn't my first time but you're bigger than I'm used to." You blush embarrassed but he nods, pressing into you slowly. You grunt painfully as you're stretched, the tip of his cock almost touching your cervix, but not close enough to fully make contact. Johnny bends down towards you and kisses you hungrily, his tongue curling around your own.

"You can move now." You say quickly as you pull away from the kiss, and he feels his hips back, before pushing in again. You moan louder than you ever have, his cock prodding against every surface of your pussy, making you feel so full. Both of your bodies rock together and he growls out a low moan, gasping breathlessly with you as you both make noises as if no one can hear. Your arms wrap around him and scratch, your mewls bouncing off the walls of his room and the bed creaking back and forth.

"Fucking hell." He moans as he sighs out, his hips snapping into yours. You're close to tears with how good you feel, and those tears finally spill over when his fingers circles your swollen clit, his dick still sliding in and out of you.

"F-fuck cum in me Johnny. Please." You please as you cry from overstimulation, all your senses going haywire as you feel the beginnings of climax take you. Johnny bites into your shoulder as he fucks you, and you cry out in pain as his fangs break through the flesh of your shoulder. You quickly moan as he picks at the wound, breathless apologies spilling from his mouth. You kiss him to shut him up, and he happily kisses back. The coil in your underbelly becomes taut and you keen away from the bed and into him. It snaps suddenly and you're clenching down on him hard, practically screaming as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. You're shaking, but you ignore it as you use your legs to pull Johnny closer, deeper into you. He rubs soothing circles with his thumb against your cheek as he cradles your face, his orgasm nearing. His thrusts are becoming sloppier and your name is spilling from his mouth with other curses and gibberish.

"Are you sure you want me to cum in you Y/N?" Johnny falters and you pull him in for a kiss, biting his lower lip and waving your tail side to side.

"Please." You whimper and he bottoms out, a couple more thrusts before he is burying his face into your neck with broken moans spilling past his lips. Warm cum seeps into you, and he's making the sexiest noises you've heard come from a man. Johnny's forehead knocks against your own and he removes his cock from your womanhood, slumping against the covers and next to you. Both of you say nothing, catching your breaths as both your chest heave up and down. His arms wrap around you and pull you in, a small peck pressed everywhere over your face. One of his hands pets at your tail soothingly and you use your own hand to scratch behind his ears as you both become more and more relaxed. Your eyes are closing, but before you sleep you kiss him again and thank him.

"Thanks for being the best mate a girl could ask for." Your ears fall flat against your head as you blush and he chuckles, kissing your forehead.

"Same goes to you. I'd wish for no one else." And he pulls you closer, both of you tangled. And just like that you sleep, ready to tackle your heat again in the morning.

AHHH sorry I don't know how to end smuts but this is the first thing I've written in a while so please tell me if there were mistakes. but here you go!!!

#johnny suh #kpop imagines #johnny seo #nct smut #nct x reader #youngho x reader #johnny x reader #nct reactions #seo youngho #nct u #nct 127

184 notes · View notes

moonbeamsung · 3 years

Text

Sink or Swim

You plunged deep into an ocean of love for Huang Renjun, the boy who had already fallen for the sea itself.

member: renjun

au: sailor!renjun x gn!reader

word count: 2.7k

genre: angst, fluff, slightly dystopian

warnings: character death/drowning, mentions of water (one passing mention of a typhoon and a very heavy focus on the ocean), light profanity

recommended song: when i was older by billie eilish

author’s note: Not only did the lyrics to the above song inspire this fic, but so did the general mood and sound of it :) I would recommend listening while you read, since I think it really adds to the atmosphere. My creativity took quite a while to cooperate on this one but I like how it turned out and hope you do as well, feedback is highly appreciated as always. Thanks to @astroboy-lele for her help beta-reading this (like 2 hours ago), and enjoy!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @hunjins

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet

The sleepy little fishing village you call home seems to sigh with the tides, waves lapping at the shore in a rhythm not unlike that of steady breaths. It’s the world’s way of inhaling the salty air, sometimes laced with the pungent scent of a fresh catch.

The sport itself is a life force here, the key to any sort of contact with the rest of civilization. Without it, the hill that the small town is nestled into might just swallow up the dozens of small brick buildings, reducing them to nothing but a memory. The murky waters would carry minuscule traces of its existence far and wide, but not even a name could break the surface.

Unfortunately, the village’s dependence on exporting fish leaves little room for the personal aspirations of its residents. At some point in your life, you’ll be called to assist with a certain aspect of the product’s distribution. The elders in charge find ways for even the most unskilled of hand and mind to participate, but they always save the hardest work for those who were born into it: the sailing families.

Quite literally, a love of the sea is in Huang Renjun’s blood.

His great-grandfather was around to see the beginnings of the seaside community, and he became the most famous fisherman known to the village by returning to the docks with large nets in tow, just bursting with sharp fins and thrashing tails. Those were the glory days, and generations later, the Huangs want their young son to follow in his footsteps, to become just as well-known for legendary angling expeditions.

But... he’s not really interested.

He would much rather take to the waves in a boat and chase the horizon, not bothering with casting a net or even a rod. To him, the ocean air is beyond suffocating, like a poison meant to expel any wanderlust from his lungs, to rip it from his soul. Renjun is a fiery spirit, and not even the crashing, slate-colored waters can dampen the adventurous spark burning bright and warm inside of him. It would take more than a typhoon to do so.

You admire that about him, too. How he holds a strong but steady resistance to the traditions of the village, the limited and meager expanse of the world that you’ve both lived in—no, been confined to—all your life.

Just think of the endless possibilities that await, beyond the hazy fog obscuring the fine line between land and sea. The faint shapes that loom in the distance, perhaps a trick of the eye but perhaps another sign of life besides you, seem so close but are still just out of your reach, teasing you both with what could lie outside this languid, ashen realm. Your heart races at the mere notion of such a thing.

The waves are impossibly blue when their image is reflected in Renjun’s dark eyes; you notice this one dreary afternoon as you let your feet dangle above the gentle ripples, sitting at the edge of one of the many docks that tangle through a mess of sailboats and fishing gear. The burnt orange of his threaded sweater stands out against the rest of the scenery, so monochromatic you sometimes swear the world is black and white.

He’s a splash of color, a splash of adventure and determination among a colorless mass of villagers who wouldn’t trade the way things are right now for anything. The dull, scuffed toes of his boots drag along the wooden planks as he trudges towards you, settling down at your side with a small gust of wind. Both anticipating and dreading the impending day when his father would teach him how to take to the seas and steer the boat that’s run in his family for generations, Renjun finds himself at the humble and rickety marina often. Anticipating because that knowledge would enable him to change the course of his own life on his own terms, and dreading because he knew of the harsh disapproval those actions would receive.

But still, Renjun stays right there on the dock next to you, diving past the shallows of his conscious mind and into the darkest, deepest abyss of his own thoughts, letting them bubble and sputter up and puff into the air like sea spray. If both your hearts are oceans of their own, they collide in this moment, as his ambitions and aspirations spill over into yours and settle on the seabed below. He’s chosen you to entrust these secrets with. You, the only other resident of the village with a familiar restlessness in your eyes when the sun disappears below the distant horizon, gaze wistful and longing to do the same.

And as if they’re the precious riches of a mythical swashbuckling pirate, you keep them there, each word a golden coin or sparkling gem hidden away in a long-lost treasure chest. The twilight sky that evening is the most vivid you’ve ever seen it, and daylight is fading fast by the time Renjun finishes telling you everything.

“I never knew there was someone who felt the same way I did about all this.”

The realization sets in late, just as the weathered surface you’re both perched on sways in the wind. You fear for a second that you might slip forward into the icy water; that’s how strong the breeze whipping through the air around you feels. That, or it’s due to the sheer force from your heart as it swells at finally meeting someone you’ve admired from afar for what feels like an eternity, ever since you understood what life was like and what it meant for you here.

Sure, Renjun’s grandfather may have been well-known in the past for one reason, but to you, Renjun is creating a legacy of his own for another, one of more than just adolescent rebellion and defiance. It’s one of undoubtable self-awareness, of an adamant refusal to conform to an existence he hadn’t chosen, and he’s finding a way to alter what he’s been seemingly destined for all his life.

“Me neither,” you shake your head, still in a small fraction of euphoric disbelief. “All that’s left to do now is stow away on a ship together in the dead of night, I suppose.” The comment is joking, but he takes it more seriously than you anticipated. The cloudy sky above brightens with his eyes.

You convene in shadowy alleys when no one’s looking, wasting away the hours as you mutually yearn for just a sliver of knowledge of the unknown, enthralled by the waves in the distance and what lies below and above and beside. Renjun sometimes whisks you away to a steep overlook that provides a panoramic view of the beach, the powdery sand so far beneath your bare feet gray enough to pass for finely packed pebbles. You find yourself melting into his embrace like the sea melts into the sky, blurring the already thin lines between air and water and between friendship and love. The way his fingers encircle your wrist with a curl like that of a cresting wave is telling enough on its own. His heart belongs to two bodies now.

You can’t help but notice all the similarities he bears to the element you’ve never lived a day of your life without seeing, without hearing the undulations of, without smelling or tasting the salty tang it brings to the air. Always moving, a force to be reckoned with, and evidently a possessor of the ability to travel far and wide on even the most fleeting of whims.

He’s utterly himself around the water, too. You’re almost positive he could effortlessly duck beneath the surface, take a breath, and his lungs would drink it in as if it was air. The only place he doesn’t feel like drowning is below the waves.

“Look!” Renjun points out an unfamiliar vessel tied down at the far end of the pier one day, sails torn in jagged lines as if they had been slashed by a larger-than-life creature. Upon closer examination, you find that the wooden bow of the sailboat is splintering and the windows into the cabin are shattered. The name carved into the hull is simply too faded for you to decipher the letters.

“This boat must’ve gone through hell and back,” you comment, your response delayed like an echo. “Who do you think it belongs to, anyway?”

He’s lost within a symphony of thoughts before he answers, “No one.”

Both incredulous and doubtful, you whip around to meet Renjun’s assured gaze. “No one ever comes and no one ever goes, it’s that simple. These same boats have been docked for years. They’ve belonged to the same families one decade after another.” The boy sighs, scanning the horizon for anything that might appear the slightest bit unusual. “The real question is where it came from.”

You have no answer for him.

“Regardless,” he speaks up again, quite matter of factly, “It’s ours now.”

“Ours?”

“Yes, ours. You said you’d sail away with me, right?”

It certainly isn’t the aspiration you would have envisioned yourself pursuing. You could have chosen to quietly obey, to live and work exactly as you were told by a community so rigid that you felt frozen to the bone. Not like the pleasant chill of the ocean, rather a restrictive pair of icy shackles, ever-tightening around your limbs and subduing your mutinous thoughts. But here you are, longing for a little something more both in life and with the only person that understands your heart’s deepest desires like they’re his own. And at their core, they are.

Without fear, Renjun takes a confident stride onto the boat’s deck, turning back to you and offering his hand as you mimic the action. “What are you waiting for?” He asks, eyes twinkling.

A warm thrill courses through your veins, growing hotter with each small preparation you make towards your inevitable departure. It’s an affair of many weeks, but at last you’ve gathered all of the necessary supplies and courage to carry out your plan.

The day finally comes, the day you’ll spring into action and take hold of your futures by the ropes, no one but yourselves telling you how or where to steer.

On the most moonlit night you’ve ever been alive to witness, you and Renjun both slip out from underneath your fraying comforters, unbeknownst to the rest of your households. Save for your two restless souls, the entire village is sound asleep, the unceasing lullaby of the tides casting its steadfast spell on bodies and minds like clockwork. Wooden floors so hollow and dusty that they barely creak under your weight, you successfully glide out your respective front doors in silence like translucent spirits.

No one else in the village had even acknowledged the foreign ship’s presence, but this shouldn’t surprise you, not in the slightest. The thick, colorless fog of life had long since settled around the shoulders of anyone and everyone who allowed it to, ensnaring them in a mind-numbing, monotonous routine. It blocks out the sun and the rain, the light and the darkness. It’s all so sickeningly the same. Empty eyes can’t pay any mind to their surroundings. Meanwhile, yours are full of hope, the brightest in the land.

In the distance, Renjun appears as vibrant and sprightly as ever. His form cascades down a flight of stone steps, leading from the sheer hills clustered with homes onto sea-level ground, and glides over the small dunes of sand separating you. He reaches the edge of the beach and your side a minute later, the thump of his heart keeping time with the tides. A nod, and you’re sprinting towards the docks, fingers trembling in excited anticipation.

It isn’t until after you’ve clumsily set sail that you see the ominous shadows of dark clouds laid out ahead, directly in your path. Even in the dead of night, a flash of distant lightning illuminates the world in a harshly jagged blaze for as far as the eye can see, as it strikes some unknown location out in front of the sailboat.

You’re certain the repairs you’ve spent days and nights working on with Renjun will be enough to keep the ship intact, despite the weather you’re sure to endure if you continue on this route. So you press on, missing the apprehension furrowing his eyebrows.

But because every force of nature has decided to convene against you both for reasons eternally unknown, the harsh winds weave their way in between the threads your careful hands had stitched on the canvas, meant to catch the breeze but being torn apart by it instead. Suddenly you’re struggling to hold on to your balance and you feel as flimsy as a leaf in a blustering current of cold, crisp wind.

Perhaps you should have practiced first. Renjun had not yet received a single ounce of training from his experienced father, and it was far from wise to leave the only life you’ve ever known without any knowledge of how to get to your next one. He’s trying to hide his panic now, wavering between the steering controls and warily glancing up at the gloomy midnight sky. One more flash of lightning, and all goes awry, all at once.

The water around you surges, as if physically drawn to the heavens, and more falls from above. Raindrops pelt down onto your arms and soak your hair, drenching the sails and filling the shallow hull almost instantly. Wave after towering wave crashes down, hard, and you’re no longer certain which way is up. About to lose your footing, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your middle like the snug hold of a life preserver.

Before all vitality can be lost and smothered by the raging ocean, a desperate Renjun holds fast to you, your thin clothes clinging to the damp skin of his hands. The storm is just too much, and there’s no way you’ll see the journey through like you had hoped. It’s difficult, excruciating even, to accept, and even more difficult for Renjun to let go of you like this. He’ll fight until the end, fight the fates and the invisible forces that life entails to hold you for just a few more seconds.

He won’t be able to live with himself, even in whatever afterlife may or may not come after the darkness he already sees, feels closing in on him, if he doesn’t sacrifice his last breath for a final moment of bliss, of you.

The sensation of Renjun’s wan lips pressing into yours overwhelms and surpasses all others, his palms tracing the edges of your figure like the tides trace the sandy shore. Urgently he draws you close up against him, trying his best to shield you from the inescapable terror of the sea. A lifetime’s worth of energy and emotion and passion is expended, making up for all the time in the world he wouldn’t and couldn’t have. The tang of saltwater meets your tongue, and you’re not sure if it’s the taste of him or of the ocean.

A weak tug on your palpitating heart, an internal scream in your ringing ears tells you that you should resent him for this, for propelling you forward in your apparently unachievable fantasies of living the life you wanted for yourself. But you don’t, you can’t. It’s no one’s fault, really. With this thought, a peaceful stillness washes over you amidst the chaos, and your awareness of the boy in your embrace fades steadily, slowly, then rapidly. Reality is getting paler, more black and white than ever, and you’re sinking further and further down towards the ocean floor miles below. The faint light of the moon becomes distorted from underneath the water, blurring with your failing vision. It all slips away, and then there’s nothing.

It’s a shame no one in the village takes notice of the two extra stars that blink into existence on that moonlit night, but yours and Renjun’s souls take their place among the rest, both a warning and a calling to anyone who dared attempt what you did. Two guiding lights pointing any other dreamers towards the hope of a better, brighter future.

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madpanda75 · 3 years

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“Taking Chances Part 12: The Aftermath”

See how everyone reacts to Theo’s attack on the reader. Feelings get hurt, relationships are exposed, people shout. This chapter is ALL ANGST and FEELS! 😭

Trigger Warning: This chapter mentions assault and rape.

One thing at a time. That was all you could only focus on. Otherwise the reality of what had just happened would overwhelm you. Just one step at a time as you walked into the precinct with your family, Fin, and Amanda.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Amanda asked.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, having barely spoken since Theo ran out of the gallery that morning. The metallic taste of blood still lingered on your tongue from where he had smacked you.

Liv walked out of her office to greet you and your family, but before she could say anything, your father spoke up. “Please tell me you’re gonna get this bastard.”

“Dom!” your mom scolded

“No! Don’t ‘Dom’ me. That monster assaulted my baby. I could go out there right now and take care of it.”

“Dad! Please!” Bella interjected. “Let the cops do their job!”

“Ok, everyone lets calm down,” Olivia said over the bickering.

Your eyes darted between your sister and parents, arguing over what was best for you in this situation. You felt like a child, small and helpless. You also felt partly responsible for the unnecessary stress and worry your family was feeling right now.

Mustering as much strength as you could, you reached into the darkest depths and found your voice. “I should’ve fought harder!” Your words reverberated around the room. Everyone halted and turned their attention to you. “I should’ve followed Phoebe to the front door. I know how she forgets to lock the door.”

Olivia gently squeezed your shoulder. “You did exactly what you had to do. You survived.”

“She’s right,” Bella chimed in and wrapped her arm around you.

Your mom nodded and ran her fingers through your hair. “I’m just so grateful to God that you’re ok.” She sniffled and kissed you on the cheek. “My patatina.”

Just then a slightly sweaty and out of breath Rafael burst into the precinct. It looked as if he had run all the way from his office. “Y/N!” He pulled you into a tight embrace before realizing that bum rushing you after you had just been assaulted was not the best idea. Wanting to respect your personal space, he immediately jumped back. His eyes scanned your body for any injuries. “Are you ok?”

Tears welled in your eyes. “As well as can be expected.”

With a tentative hand, he reached out and cupped your cheek. You trembled under his touch and wrapped your arms around him. Rafael enveloped you, silently praying to God, the Devil, or whatever Deity existed that kept you safe.

The squad looked at each other in total shock while witnessing the public display of affection between you and Rafael.

Fin subtly turned towards Amanda. “Did you know these two were--”

“Nope,” she murmured. “And from the looks of it neither did Liv.”

“Let’s talk in here,” Olivia said, gently leading you away from Rafael and towards an empty interrogation room.

“Why don’t I get everyone a real cup of coffee other than that sludge they have here,” Rafael offered.

Your mother smiled. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

“I’ll take a latte,” Fin teased only to receive a deadpan stare from Rafael.

While everyone went their separate ways, Amanda and Fin got to work on getting an arrest warrant. “Wow. Barba and Carisi’s younger sister.” Fin shook his head in disbelief.

“That explains why Carisi’s been acting the way he has,” Amanda said while searching on her laptop for Theo’s office building.

“Think Barba gave him the shiner?”

“I don’t know.” Amanda glanced up and saw a frantic Sonny bounding into the precinct. “But here’s your chance to ask him.”

“Where is she? Where’s my sister?” Sonny demanded.

“She’s in there talking to Olivia,” Amanda said. Sonny looked to where his partner was pointing. It was the interrogation room used to talk to victims. Victim. His sister was a victim. He couldn’t even wrap his mind around the concept. Through the window, he could see you sitting in between your mom and Bella while your dad paced back and forth in the background.

He barged into the room without even knocking. “Son, why don’t you wait outside,” your father said, trying to lead Sonny out of the room.

But he side swept him and knelt down in front of you. Tears were streaming down your cheeks. “Y/N, I’m so---”

You pushed Sonny away before he could finish. “I’m going to be sick,” you whimpered and ran to the bathroom. Your sister and mom trailed after you, each giving him a severe look.

Sonny stepped out of the interrogation room and plopped down in his chair, slamming his fist down on the desk so hard the metal rattled beneath his quivering hand.

“Hey,” Fin said. “Don’t sweat it, Carisi. We’re gonna get this creep.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled and reached into his drawer for the Pepto Bismol. The Carisi nerves reared its ugly head. He felt green. His stomach churned with guilt, grief, and whatever was leftover from breakfast.

Rafael stepped back into the bullpen with coffee and bagels from your favorite deli, knowing you probably hadn’t eaten a thing all day. Unfortunately for him, it was another Carisi he found. He brushed past Sonny towards Fin and Amanda. “Where are we with Theo?”

“Just finishing up this arrest warrant. Although it’s gonna be hard to get a judge to sign off on it with so little evidence,” Fin said. Rafael shuddered at the thought of you undergoing a rape kit. Having a SANE nurse poke, scrape, and prod you, searching for DNA, fingerprints, skin, and semen.

“That’s SVU for ya’.” Amanda sighed. “A victim’s word is never good enough.”

Rafael whipped out his cell phone. “I’ll call in some favors at the office. Give them a heads up about the warrant. And for the record, I’m glad there wasn’t a lot of evidence.” He glared at the back of Sonny’s head. “This could’ve been a lot worse.”

Feeling Rafael’s eyes on him, Sonny turned. “What?” he snapped. “Ya’ got somethin’ to say. So just say it.”

“You just couldn’t leave us alone could you?” Rafael shook his head in disgust and started towards the interrogation room to dole out coffee and bagels when Sonny’s voice stopped him.

“What the hell does that mean?” he sneered

Rafael scoffed. “Don’t play naive now. Grow up and realize your actions have consequences.”

Fin watched as the two men provoked each other. “Hey, fellas. Chill.”

Sonny ignored Fin and walked over to Rafael, getting right in his face. “If you think for one second—”

“Guys c’mon,” Amanda chimed in. “ Don’t do this.”

Rafael held his ground. “I think that when you invited Theo you were stupid enough to believe that she would crawl back to him. And because of you that monster almost raped her.”

Sonny’s blood boiled. “How dare you! I love my sister more than anythin’ in this world.”

Rafael let out a mirthless laugh. “Got some way of showing it!”

Everyone stopped their work and began inching closer towards the two men to get a prime view of the potential fight. Some of the junior officers had their phones out ready to capture the action. All eyes of the precinct were on Rafael and Sonny.

Sensing this was seconds away from coming to blows, Fin stepped in. “Barba, that’s enough!”

Rafael eluded Fin’s attempt to keep the peace and continued, “I don’t care if she is your sister. I love that woman more than anything in this world and I will do anything to protect her. Especially since her brother doesn’t know how to.”

“Stop it! Both of you!” Your voice pierced the air, causing everything and everyone to come to a screeching stop.

Rafael took a step toward you. “Y/N, I’m--”

“No!” you interrupted. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take this fighting. If you can’t behave like civilized human beings then get out!” You pushed past the small crowd that had formed and went back into the interrogation room with your mom and sister.

Amanda clapped her hands. “Alright, guys. Show’s over.” As the crowd dispersed she went back to her desk, raising her brow in a manner that said, ‘Serves you boys right.’

Rafael cleared his throat and sat in an empty chair while Sonny went over to his desk. The two men were silent with Rafael staring at his phone and Sonny chugging more Pepto Bismol. Being scolded in front of the entire precinct was enough humiliation to suffer through for one day.

One hour later and the interrogation room door opened. “Is she ok?” Sonny asked Bella.

“She was just assaulted by her ex. How do ya’ think she is?” Bella snapped.

“Bella!” your mom reprimanded before turning to her son. “Give your sister some time. She’ll come around.” She kissed his cheek and left.

The minute you came out Rafael popped up out of his chair. He had been acting like an expectant father, pacing the floor and waiting. “Do you need anything? How’d it go?”

“Ok,” you said with a shrug. “I’m gonna go home with my folks. I’ll call you later.”

Rafael nodded. A cocktail of terror, relief, and anger etched into his face. You gave him a half smile. It was the most emotion you could muster. As you walked away, both of you knew that after today your relationship would never be the same.

****

The hours may have ticked by, but for Sonny time stood still. While Rafael and the others had left, he hadn’t moved from his desk.

“What are you still doing here?” Olivia asked when she stepped out of her office, surprised to see him alone and staring off into space rather than at home.

“My family hates me,” he softly said.

Olivia sighed and pulled up a chair. “No they don’t.”

“I didn’t...I mean when I invited Theo...I never thought…” He couldn’t finish his train of thought, a lump rising in his throat which he bitterly swallowed back down. The words that Rafael spit at him earlier still stung. Although it was nothing compared to the guilt and shame he felt.

“Hey, this is not your fault,” Olivia sternly said. “You can’t think like that.”

Sonny studied his scuffed shoes and nodded his head when he heard Theo’s voice. “Watch it will ya’! That’s police brutality!”

“Keep moving,” Fin said, leading your ex-fiance into the precinct with Amanda following behind.

In an instant Sonny lunged at Theo, gripping him by the collar and shoving him against the wall. “You sonofabitch!” he growled. “You attacked my little sister!”

Fin tried to separate the two men, but he was no match for Sonny, who’s anger gave him almost superhuman strength.

“Hey! Get off me, man!” Theo exclaimed and tried to wrench free from the vice-like grip his friend had on him.

Sonny slammed Theo’s head into the wall again, so hard that it practically vibrated around the room. “I trusted you with her!”

“Someone help!” Theo shouted. It took several officers to get Sonny off him.

“Ya’ know, I could sue the NYPD for this,” Theo said as he was led to the cage.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, go ahead and try that after you’re found guilty of assault and attempted rape.”

Before Olivia or anyone else could reprimand Sonny for his behavior, he grabbed his jacket and left, unable to stand being in the same room as your attempted rapist.

****

Not wanting to be alone in your apartment, you ended up spending the night at your parents’ house. As you laid in bed in your childhood bedroom, staring up at old boyband posters, you thought of Theo. How many memories you had shared in this room. From endless games of Bop-It when you were kids to sneaky makeout sessions during your teen years, always ready to split apart in case your mom came barging in.

It was amazing how much life had changed since then. How much Theo had changed. From the sweet innocent boy next door to a conniving monster. Perhaps that evil streak was always in him, kept well hidden in the darkest corners of his being, but over time became more difficult to conceal. Until today when that mask he wore so well, fell and revealed his true self.

As hard as it was, you tried not to waste too much energy thinking about the happenings of today, especially when you had Rafael. You tried to call him several times that night, but every attempt ended with your thumb hovering over the call button before eventually giving up.

You didn’t know what to say, and in reality you didn’t want to say anything. You wanted to go back to when life was simpler. To when life was easy. But there was no going back, so instead you shoved your phone under the pillow and tried to sleep.

*****

Since you had never called Rafael, you weren’t too surprised to find him standing outside your apartment building the next morning when Teresa dropped you off. “Want me to go in with you?” she asked.

“No, that’s ok. I need to speak to Rafael in private.”

As you stepped out of the car, Teresa smiled and waved at your boyfriend. “Poor bastard,” she muttered to herself.

“Hi,” Rafael said,

“Hi,” you replied. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t call last night so I came to check on you.” He followed you inside and into the elevator. You wanted to scream at him to stop being so damn nice, to stop making this harder than it had to be, but instead you were silent.

When you got to your door, you hesitated. What if Theo was in there. Of course, you knew that was nonsensical. Fin and Amanda had arrested him last night; however, that did nothing to quell your fear.

Noticing your reluctance, Rafael spoke up, “Do you want me to check?”

“No,” you said before sighing in defeat. “Yes, please.” You waited outside for several minutes before he came out and gave you the all clear.

Rafael had intended to spend the day doing whatever you wanted to do whether that was to sit and talk or just to hold you while you cried. Instead, he followed you into your bedroom and watched you pull out a suitcase and begin to pack.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Packing,” you replied. Rafael crossed his arms and arched his brow, not in the mood for your sarcasm, especially since he was up all night worried sick. “I’m taking off work for a while so I’m going over to my sister’s place. I can’t stay here alone right now.”

Rafael followed you around the bedroom like a lost puppy as you moved from the dresser to the bathroom and back. “You can stay at my place if you want.”

“You have work,” you said.

“I know, but I can easily work from home right now if you need me.” He sauntered up behind you and started to massage your shoulders only to have you jump a mile high and flinch away from his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said and immediately stepped away from you. As you continued to stuff your suitcase, Rafael began to get a funny feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. A premonition that something was coming. “Are you ok?”

You began to shake and it was only after a moment that Rafael realized it was because you were laughing. “Am I ok?” Your laugh grew stronger until it was maniacal. “I was just assaulted! My family is falling apart! My life is falling apart! I am not ok!”

You grabbed a photo of your family from your nightstand and threw it as hard as you could, watching it hit the wall and fall to the ground, the glass shattering. It felt good to unleash your anger, addicting almost. Your hand trembled from the adrenaline. Soon you were tearing apart your bedroom: throwing clothes, tugging the curtains off their rods, knocking a vase and art books off your dresser. Rafael stood there in silence while you had your tantrum, figuring you needed to release your pent up emotions after such a harrowing experience.

Once you had exhausted yourself, you collapsed on the bed out of breath. “I think we should take a break.”

At your admission, Rafael’s heart stopped. “Excuse me?”

“I think we should take a break,” you repeated.

Rafael felt completely blindsided. He had expected there would be some tough times ahead given Theo and the assault, but he was not prepared for this. “Why?”

You let out a breath and hoped Rafael would understand. “I need to be on my own right now,” you explained. “I need space to clear my head and battle my demons. I need to learn how to take care of this myself.”

“We take care of each other. That’s what a relationship is.”

“What about work? I saw the looks of the squad’s faces when they realized we were together.”

Your words sliced through Rafael, exposing his deepest insecurities. “I thought you didn’t care what people thought about us,” he quietly said.

Unable to face him and see the pain in his eyes, you focused on tugging a hangnail instead. “I don’t, but I don't want to ruin your career and if we’re together that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

There was silence between you both as Rafael tried to process your words. He ran a hand over his face and braced himself against the wall before kneeling down in front of you. “This is just temporary, right? Things will calm down and then we’ll be back together.”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure. To be honest I’m not sure of anything right now.”

Rafael scoffed. “Let me guess, this is one of those ‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you’ kind of things, right?”

“That’s not fair,” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry. I just...I was willing to fight for us. To fight for you. I thought you felt the same way. But I was very very wrong.” Having nothing more to say, Rafael stood up and left.

You remained sitting on the bed, listening to his footsteps move down the hall, farther and farther away. It was only when you heard the door close that you gave yourself permission to cry.

Not wanting to be in this place another minute, you grabbed your suitcase and left, leaving your bedroom a disaster. Teresa was waiting for you outside. You stuffed your suitcase in the back of her car and hopped into the passenger seat. “Wanna talk about it?” she asked when she noticed you crying.

You shook your head and looked out the side view mirror as she drove away. Through your tears you could’ve sworn you saw Rafael walking down the street, his figure getting smaller and smaller until he blended in with the crowd and then there was nothing.

Tag List:

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years

Text

Soulmate September - Day 9

Day 9 - When you write something on your own skin it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well. (Pirates and Sirens AU)

Pairing(s): Romantic Dukeceit, Background Romantic Prinxiety

TWs: Swearing, murder mention, Remus being Remus, semi-detailed leg and fin injury

–

Those who ran afoul of The Witch’s Serpent rarely lived to tell the tale. Many a foolish young sea-farer - far too inexperienced and overly cocky - had met their end at the hands of the galleon’s captain long before they could even hope to make their mark on the open seas.

Captain Remus Gaspar was an impulsive, enigma of a man; capable of great feats of bravery and reckless daring do, alongside acts of cold blooded murder and remorseless torture inflicted upon those who crossed him. The sea choked on the bodies of his victims while he and his crew sipped the finest stolen wines with nary a hiccup. The naval officers of the mainland cowered in fear while Remus decimated their trade routes and sent their men to the depths to keep the fish company. In fact, only one man had faced the Captain and lived to see another day, but kept coming back for more.

Commodore Logan Callows.

Remus would have admired him - in all senses - if not for his fanatic loyalty to the crown and it’s laws. Make no mistake, Remus very much wanted Logan’s head for a bow ornament with every fibre of his mortal being, but outside factors forbade Remus from fatally wounding the man. Namely, Logan’s first mate and closest friend was his brother-in-law, Virgil Giordano. Why did Roman’s soulmate have to be a man who could rival any opponent in a knife fight, despite being the sort to panic over the smallest change in weather conditions? Remus had no goddamn idea what fate was playing at, but he knew for certain that killing Logan would result in having to run from Virgil’s swift and immediate crusade for revenge. And if there’s one thing Remus Gaspar refused to do, it wold be spending his life in hiding.

Remus loved his brother dearly but all the familial loyalty in the world wouldn’t save him from Virgil’s wrath. He’d learned that much from his last encounter with Logan’s ship, The Inquisitor. Too many cocky remarks and attempts to stall while his men pillaged the lower decks of the ship in secret had earned him a close encounter with the business end of Virgil’s dagger. Naturally, the Captain had made things worse by uttering a rather salacious remark for which he was gifted a shiny new slash mark along his cheek.

“As a warning.”, his brother in law had hissed.

When forced to retreat, Remus had lamented the size of their haul at first. Not nearly enough sugar and spices as they’d been hoping for, but a small crate of flintlock pistols ripe for sale more than made up for the loss once they’d been discovered among the spoils.

Thus we come to the present moment; Captain Remus, sat upon the docks with a bottle of expensive rum, staring out into the ocean blue. His men had been more than happy to give the Captain his space while they spent their time merrily drinking in the local tavern. Once he was sure he was alone, Remus removed his black leather bracer and rolled his white sleeve to stare at the message written upon it. The Captain had seen many an alphabet in his day - either scrawled upon the foreign exports stolen from trading vessels, or within his memories of home, being tutored alongside his twin as children - but Remus had never laid eyes upon the letters that adorned his skin in a shimmering golden cursive.

Naturally, ever since he’d first been written to, Remus had made an effort to search for the script, but the only ‘lead’ he had been given was an old woman selling wares a couple of ports prior who had raved on and on, claiming it to be the language of the sirens. He’d scoffed at the idea and decided it likely wasn’t worth trying to work out in the first place.

Remus had never been one to buy into this whole soulmates arrangement. Even the day Roman had shown him the violet cursive that had appeared like magic, Remus had rolled his eyes and sworn off taking such a thing seriously. After all, acknowledging that kind of thing brought about some rather unpleasant thoughts he would rather not think about. The fierce Captain liked to play remorseless, but in truth, Remus simply knew that life at sea demanded blood, and it was up to him whether it’d be the blood of his enemies, or his crew and himself. But that didn't stop his mind wandering into territories he wished it would stay out of. How many men lay on the sandy shores of the depths with messages from soulmates unaware of their beloved’s fate? Did severing the connection hurt? Would fate allow those whom he’d unknowingly widowed to love again? Or had he doomed them to a life alone with no one to share such a connection with ever again?

… More rum would be needed it seemed.

A clattering from the nearby rock shoal drew Remus out from his own mind with a couple of curses leaving the Captain as he knocked over the rum bottle and watched a good portion of it pour away before he could right it again.

“Son of a bitch!”, he hissed, corking it and casting a glare towards the rockpool where the clattering had come from. Whoever had just cost him a good amount of rum was in for the brawl of their life. Remus threw on his coat and cursed his inebriated steps over the craggy rock face, swearing once again as he nearly rolled his ankle when his boot sunk into an unseen rockpool. He wrenched his leg free and crested the large flat rock in his way.

The second his eyes could focus, Remus made a mental note to find that old woman on their round trip and apologise.

Sprawled on it’s side nestled in the sand was an honest to god siren. The Captain was mesmerised by the creature; it’s long golden hair flowed over it’s scaled shoulders and torso, complimented by it’s black and yellow streaked fin-like ears that fluttered angrily each time it hissed. It wasn’t hard to work out why it was so angry. The creature’s left leg fin had been hooked in a rather nasty mess of fishing line and barbed hooks. The Captain had seen the technique used before to ensure a plentiful haul, who knew it could catch such a creature of legend so easily?

Perhaps Remus was succumbing to the creature’s charms, or maybe he was just too drunk already to think things through, but he found himself whistling to the creature to catch it’s attention. The way the creature’s panicked, beautiful eyes met his own momentarily knocked the wind from his chest as he wheezed out, “Need help?”

It let out a strangled sound and scrambled backwards, only to let out a cry of pain as it’s injured leg dragged along the sand. The Captain dropped down from his rock perch and made his way over,

“Woah there! Unless you want that fin ripped out you should lemme unhook you-”

Despite the excruciating pain it must’ve been in, it still managed to hiss dangerously at Remus in a voice that felt like a million tiny hands groping around in his brain with every syllable,

“Stay back!”

Remus’ halted momentarily, the voice in his head warning him, “Come any closer and I won’t hesitate to eat you alive!”

In spite of any semblance of common sense, Remus impulsively shot a cocky grin the creature’s way, “Kinky!”

The siren wasn’t amused.

It lunged forward to swipe at Remus, but the Captain caught it’s arm, making sure his grasp wasn’t painful, but firm.

“Watch it, you’re gonna take someone’s eye out! Or maybe these beauties will just gouge a couple chunks outta my face-”

Remus’ rambling was cut short as he saw the siren’s expression shift from a ferocious snarl to one of immediate fear.

“Please don’t kill me-”, it murmured quietly, slapping it’s free hand over its mouth. It tried to change back to a more aggressive persona but Remus refused to be intimidated,

“The last thing I wanna do is hurt you. Now are you gonna be a good lil fishy and let me unhook you?”

The siren scanned his face with those enchanting eyes once again, scrutinising every inch of Remus before it huffed and turned away from his gaze. The Captain took it as a sign of an indignant ‘do whatever you want’ and sat on the sand next to the siren, already beginning to carefully remove the hooks as best he could. Each wince the creature gave was met with an apology until Remus got the hang of it.

“.....What’s your name?”, Remus mused to the surprised siren, “Might as well get to know each other, right?”

The creature mumbled something Remus couldn’t understand under it’s breath but relented reluctantly, “My name is Janus. At least, that's how you humans would pronounce it.”

“It’s a beautiful name. Mine’s Remus.”, the Captain mumbled, too hyper focused on removing the hooks to see the way Janus’ cheeks flushed a dark ochre colour. Once the last hook had come loose, both of them let out a shared sigh of relief; Remus admired his job well done but grew concerned as Janus went to stand up. “Hey, you’re going to hurt yourself doing that.”, he warned, to which Janus scoffed, attempting to hide his emotions once more.

“I’ll be fine, Remus, I’ll heal quickly-”

“The salt water’s gonna sting like a bitch.”, Remus cut in.

Noting the wince Janus gave in response, he continued, “At least let me take you to my ship so I can bandage you up proper-“

“No!”, Janus declined fiercely, though he softened right after, letting Remus know it was likely a reflexive reaction, “I apologise. I… I’m rather wary of that kind of thing. Please understand.”

Remus sighed and stood up, taking off his coat to place it around Janus’ shoulders. The siren stiffened, though curiosity got the better of him and he softly touched the warm material. Janus inhaled and immediately was hit with the smell of the garment; a mix of body odour, dried blood, sea salt, and countless food-like smells. Not to mention the reek of old alcohol.

“In the name of Uranus, do you never clean this ornate rag!?”

Remus cackled, taking Janus’ hand to lead him to The Witch’s Serpent, noting that his fingers were webbed. Adorable.

“Nope! Not since I hauled it off the guy I ran through to get it!”

Janus’ nose crinkled at that yet the siren kept following Remus towards his ship. With a proper glance in the light of the port, Janus piped up, “Oh. That’s an interesting coincidence.”

“What is?”, Remus questioned, making sure no one was aboard yet so he could lift a flustered Janus on deck despite the embarrassed glare he received from the siren.

“I’ve been following your ship for months.”, Janus elaborated, trying to regain his footing on the decks, “With the scraps and bodies you leave behind in your wake, I rarely have to bother hunting for new prey.”

Ah. Remus wasn’t sure what to make of that yet, simply shrugging, “Good to know you’ve been freeloading this whole time.”.

Once more taking the hand of the siren, Remus led him towards the Captain’s Quarters; the room was just as gilded and ornate as the coat keeping Janus warm, with various trinkets, maps, paintings, and oddities given their own place within the room. Taking the opportunity to snoop around while Remus was rooting around in his desk drawer for bandages, Janus allowed his eyes to lead him on a journey around the room. A telescope, a star map, family photos, animal bones, even a goblet made from a man’s skull connected atop a metal stem, Janus had never seen so many interesting and macabre items. His interest peaked when his gaze landed on a beautiful topaz necklace resting on a book of fairytales.

Janus’ fingers traced the jewellery adoringly. It was rare for such trinkets to end up on the seafloor unless a storm had sent an unfortunate vessel to the depths. Not that Janus was ever lucky enough to get at the spoils; the boisterous captain may be sweet on him, for who knows what reason, but his own kind were never too fond of Janus’ standoffish nature and biting remarks. Of course, Janus didn’t care if he was lonely. He didn’t. Not at all. “You can have it if you want.”

Remus’ voice startled the siren who nearly tripped over the end of the Captain’s large coat. He chuckled and slowly lifted the necklace off the book to carefully let it loop over Janus’ neck.

“It suits you. Really brings out the scales.”, he complimented. Without giving Janus a second to process the act of kindness, Remus led him towards a wooden armchair in front of his desk. He guided Janus to sit down in the chair while Remus sat on the desk itself. To his side was a roll of bandages and a cloth, ‘for the blood trail’ he’d explained, gesturing to the droplets patterning their route. Janus watched the captain remove his bracers and sink to the floor to tend to his wounds. By the gentle way the Captain held and bandaged him, Janus assumed the man had sobered enough for the siren to pose the question,

“Why?”

Remus frowned, looking up to lock eyes with the siren, “Why what?”

“Why’re you...”, being so kind? Treating me so sweetly? Not trying to kill me to sell my skin? “.... treating me like this? You realise I threatened to eat you earlier, right?”

The Captain shrugged, his expression as blank as before, “Yeah. But you didn’t. And you got all fucked up in some moron’s fishing line, so it wasn’t like you posed much of a threat-”

“Exactly.”, Janus interrupted in frustrated confusion in his tone, “My voice is out of practice, if you wanted to, you could’ve slaughtered me for my skin. Any human would be a fool not to. But here you are, treating me like I’m worth more to you alive than dead. Adorning me in such… expensive trinkets.”

Remus’ brow furrowed at that. “For someone who threatened to eat me earlier, I figured you’d practice a little more self preservation.”

The siren scoffed, “I didn’t say I wanted to be slaughtered, I’m merely trying to work out why you wouldn’t take such a chance. Doesn’t your species enjoy monetary gain? Like I said, any human would be a fool to miss such an opportunity- oW!”

Janus fixed Remus a glare as the Captain flicked the abused tip of his leg fin, “First off, yeah, I like money but that's not what I do this shit for. Secondly, most humans think your kind aren’t even real. If I waltzed into town claiming I had siren skin to sell, I’d be run outta town as a conman. Besides, if I’m nice to you, I’ll have an ally in the water, and that's far more valuable to me.”

As he wrapped up the calf area for good, Remus grinned up at the siren, “You’re also really handsome, so that helps.”

Janus’ face crinkled in a flustered surprise, “Remus, I’m part fish-”

“You’re still handsome as fuck.”

“I’m not even using my human glamour-”

“And? You’re hot.”

“I’m literally covered in fish scales-!”

“Still hot!”

Janus couldn’t think of another rebuttal, so Remus counted it as a win for him. He rolled his sleeves to tackle the rest of the injuries when he caught Janus’ eyes tracing the fresh scar on his cheek.

“Wondering how I got this scar?”

“I may be interested.” came the coy reply.

Remus smirked, “You could call it a gift from my brother-in-law. I got a little too up close and personal with his best friend and found up with this beauty. It’s a shame, said bestie’s pretty fun but he’s the biggest pain in my ass since this one time I ate some bad eels-”

“That’s charming,”, Janus interrupted in disgust, “Why don’t you simply dispatch this ‘bestie’ and be done with him?”

“Can’t. If I did that, Virge-”

“Who?”

“My brother-in-law.”

“Ah. Continue.”

“Virge would hunt me down to the ends of the Earth and the last thing I wanna do is trade away my freedom to do whatever the fuck I want.”, he averted his gaze to Janus’ leg and kept bandaging it; whoever had put that line into the ocean had no idea the damage it’d caused to such a beautiful creature. “Besides, if I hurt Virge like that, my brother Roman would be miserable. Even if he probably hates me, some dumb bitch part of me really doesn’t want him to feel like shit just ‘cause I went and upset his soulmate.”

Janus scoffed quietly. It lacked the venom he no doubt intended it to have but the disdain was enough to draw the Captain’s attention. “You humans are far too sentimental. My kind have no qualms treating even close family like scum if we so desire. Even our soulmates it would seem..”

Remus caught the darting glance Janus sent towards his scaled wrist, noting the sigh he suppressed. “.... They’re a damn fool to not want you.”, the Captain murmured thoughtfully as he finally finished the upper shin bandaging. He wiped his brow with the heel of his palm but stopped as he felt smoothe fingers wrap around his wrist. His confusion was answered as the siren bore holes into the sliver of writing on his arm with those mesmerising eyes.

“You’re not the only one having soulmate trouble,”, Remus began answering, “Never really cared much for this shit, but now I got a message, I can’t make heads or tails of it-”

“Help me. I need you.”

Remus locked eyes with Janus, the siren’s own eyes wide with realisation and looking ready to bubble with tears, “That's what it says. It’s in Aquan. I wrote that to my soulmate while I was feeling…. rather vulnerable.”

Unsure of how to react to this turn of events, Remus stood and sat on his desk once more. He was too stunned to reply at first. A million questions swelled and crashed upon the shores of his brain, all fighting to be asked, but Janus beat him to the punch.

“Why did you never write back?”, the hurt in his voice stabbed at the Captain’s heart, “I mean, even if you couldn’t understand me, why didn’t you just...”

Remus wasn’t sure himself. No, that was a lie. He simply never fathomed that the message had been a cry for help.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.”, he began, looking to Janus - no, his soulmate, and asking in return, “What happened?”

Janus sucked in a breath through his teeth, “.... It was a moment of weakness but….. My family had cast me out. Not that it was all too surprising, nor could I stand most of them anyway, but… being left alone to wander by yourself is a rather terrifying thought no matter the situation. I’d reached my breaking point. I felt like I’d been abandoned by my kin entirely. I thought perhaps my soulmate would be there for me. I never imagined you were human.”

“Makes sense. I’m sorry your family sucks ass.”. Eloquent as always. But hey, the snicker that got from the siren was worth it in Remus’ eyes. “And I’m sorry I didn’t write back. But I guess it’s good we finally crossed paths.”

Remus gestured for Janus to join him on the desk, to which the siren accepted the offer, being careful not to catch the coat he was still adorned in on anything on the way up. With his soulmate seated by his side, Remus wrapped an arm around the siren and held him close. Janus gave a lop-sided, fond smile, leaning into the act of comfort and gently resting a hand on Remus’ chest.

“What now then, my Captain?”, Janus’ voice was as soft and sweet as a ripe peach. Remus knew it’d require a lot of explanation where his crew was concerned, but he wasn’t about to let Janus slip away from him. He pressed a kiss to the siren’s temple, relishing the blush that spread over Janus’ cheeks. With a grin, Remus cackled,

“Simple, we make good on this alone time we’ve got ‘til my crew get back!”

Sorry this one’s so late TTvTT I miight need some time to finish days 10 and up, but I’ll get things written asap. @tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom

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