#it might be kind of unprofessional to ask

[jackles010378]

Love Beyond the Badge ❤️

Beau Arlen x y/n

No warnings needed just pure fluff! 🥰

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of orange and purple as Beau Arlen leaned against the hood of his truck 'pedro', the metal cool under his arms. The day had been long, the kind that tested a man’s spirit, and it was in these quiet moments that his thoughts drifted to his deputy, Y/N.

He heard the crunch of gravel and turned to see Y/N approaching, her silhouette framed by the fading light. “Evening, Sheriff,” she greeted, her voice steady as ever.

“Evening, Deputy,” Beau replied, pushing off from the truck. He hesitated, a battle raging within. The dream he had the night before flashed in his mind, vivid and stirring. It was unprofessional, perhaps even foolish, but the truth clawed at him with an urgency he couldn’t ignore.

“Y/N, can we talk? Off the record?” he asked, his tone more serious than she was used to.

She nodded, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Of course, Beau. What’s on your mind?”

He took a deep breath, the words he’d rehearsed suddenly clumsy on his tongue. “I had a dream last night,” he started, “about you. It was… it was more real than any dream I’ve ever had. And when I woke up, I realized that it wasn’t just a dream. It was how I truly felt.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and something else Beau couldn’t quite place. “Beau, I—”

“I know we have our duties, our responsibilities,” he continued, cutting across the space between them. “But I can’t shake this feeling. It’s not just respect or camaraderie. It’s more than that, and I think… I think you might feel it too.”

There was a pause, the world holding its breath. Then, softly, Y/N spoke. “I do. I’ve felt it for a while now, but I never thought—”

“That it could be mutual?” Beau finished for her, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

She nodded, stepping closer. “We have a lot to figure out, Beau. But yes, it’s mutual.”

The confession hung in the air, a fragile truth that promised to change everything. Beau reached out, his hand brushing against hers, an electric connection that felt like the first piece of a new beginning.

Flashback:

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the promise of winter. Beau Arlen had been the sheriff of Helena for just over a year now, a position he took with a mix of pride and solemnity. The town was small, but it had its troubles, and Beau was determined to be the steadfast hand that guided it.

It was on a day like any other that he first met Y/N. He was at the local diner, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, when the bell above the door jingled. In walked a young woman, her posture confident, her gaze scanning the room like she was taking in every detail.

Beau’s curiosity was piqued. He watched as she approached the counter, exchanged a few words with the owner, and then turned to survey the diner. Their eyes met, and Beau felt a jolt of recognition, though they had never met before.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” Beau called out, standing up.

She walked over, her hand extended. “I’m Y/N, the new deputy in town. I was told I could find Sheriff Arlen here.”

Beau took her hand, the firm handshake speaking volumes of her character. “That would be me,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to Helena.”

They sat down, and over cups of coffee, they talked about law, order, and the quiet life of a small town. Beau was impressed by her experience, her insight, and the way she seemed genuinely interested in making a difference.

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Sheriff,” Y/N said as they parted ways that day. “I think we’ll make a good team.”

Present day:

And they did. Over time, they became a unit, a duo that the town came to respect and rely on. But as they worked side by side, the seeds of something more began to take root, something that went beyond badges and duty.

After the day they acknowledged their mutual feelings, they decided to step beyond the boundaries of work and explore the possibility of a personal connection. Beau wanted to make their first date special.

The Montana sky was a canvas of stars as Beau picked up Y/N from her modest home on the outskirts of Helena. The air was filled with the scent of sagebrush and anticipation. Beau had chosen a quiet spot by the lake, away from the prying eyes of the town, where they could talk freely.

Y/N stepped out, her usual uniform replaced by a simple dress that fluttered in the evening breeze. Beau couldn’t help but notice the way it made her eyes shine brighter than any star above them.

“Ready for an adventure?” Beau asked, offering his arm.

Y/N smiled, taking his arm. “With you? Always.”

They drove in comfortable silence, the familiar hum of the engine a soothing backdrop to their thoughts. When they arrived, Beau led Y/N to a clearing where he had set up a picnic. A checkered blanket was spread out, and candles flickered in mason jars, casting a warm glow.

They sat down, and Beau handed her a plate filled with homemade sandwiches, apple pie from the local bakery, and a thermos of hot chocolate. They talked about everything and nothing, laughter mingling with the soft sounds of the night.

As the night deepened, Beau took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’ve been a sheriff for a long time. I thought I knew what it meant to protect and serve. But being with you, it’s like I’m seeing the world anew.”

Y/N reached across the blanket, her hand covering his. “Beau, I’ve always admired you, respected you. But this,” she gestured around them, “it feels like we’re discovering a new part of life, together.”

They leaned back, watching the stars, their hands entwined. The night was peaceful, a gentle reminder that sometimes the most significant moments come when you step out of your comfort zone and into the unknown.

2 year time skip:

The morning of the wedding dawned clear and bright, the sun casting a golden glow over the town of Helena. The ceremony was set in the open expanse of the countryside, where the mountains stood as silent witnesses to the union.

Y/N stood in front of a full-length mirror, her wedding dress a masterpiece of lace and love, tailored to echo the strength and grace she carried herself with. Her badge was pinned close to her heart, a symbol of her commitment to her town and her soon-to-be husband.

Beau, dressed in a suit, waited at the altar, his heart full. The guests were a mix of townsfolk, family, and friends from near and far, all gathered to celebrate the love that had blossomed in the most unexpected of places.

As Y/N walked down the aisle, the world seemed to stand still. Beau’s eyes locked onto hers, and in that moment, they knew that every challenge, every shared glance, and every quiet support had led them here.

The ceremony was heartfelt, with vows that were more than just words. They were promises etched into their very beings, pledges of partnership in life and in the pursuit of justice.

“I, Y/N, take you, Beau, to be my partner in life, to stand by your side, to share in your laughter and your silence, to always seek the truth with you, and to uphold the law of love above all else,” Y/N vowed, her voice unwavering.

“And I, Beau, take you, Y/N, to be my partner in life, to honor our badge and our bond, to face each day with you with courage and compassion, and to always keep our love as my guiding light,” Beau promised, his words a solemn oath.

The exchange of rings was not just a formality but a sealing of their fates, intertwined and unbreakable. And when they were pronounced husband and wife, the applause that rose was not just for the union of two souls but for the hope and strength they represented.

The reception was a lively affair, with dancing, laughter, and stories shared under the starlit sky. The couple’s first dance was to a song that spoke of enduring love, their steps a dance of unity and mutual respect.

As the night drew to a close, Beau and Y/N stood together, looking out at the faces of the people they protected, served, and loved. They knew that their journey was just beginning, but they were ready to face it together, as partners in every sense of the word. "I love you Sheriff Beau Arlen", "and I love you Deputy Y/N Arlen".

Awww don't you just love Beau 🥹🥰 hope you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it ❤️

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @nescavaneck @angelbabyyy99

#jensen ackles #jackles #jensen ross ackles #beau arlen #beau arlen x yn #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen fanfiction #beau arlen fluff #beau arlen fan fiction #beau arlen fan fic #beau arlen fanfic #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x y/n

[kincallfightclub]

cracks my knuckles. hi daryan crescend. dingus creshit. daryan cucksend. yeah you

how about i grab a (broken, dirty awful) guitar and beat you over the head with it. how would you feel. what if i smashed a guitar on ur head. or dropped a piano on you looney toons style. what about that

Meet me in the parking lot of your local Taco Bell, ja? See you there! Toodoloo! (glaring daggers into your head)

-klavier <3

go get him man i’m rooting for you - mod singularity

#Mod Singularity #source call #ace attorney #ace attorney kin #it might be kind of unprofessional to ask #but get a hit in for me if you can

[moonastro]

your future career

pick a picture

left to right(top)-> 1,2,3

°DO NOT take this as literal, take everything with a grain of salt as this is purely and intendedly for entertainment purposes.

°Don't be afraid to give feedback and opinions about this post (as i would entirely appreciate it).

° This is a GENERAL reading, take what resonates and leave and pass on what does not!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

pile one: I'm seeing connections related to your career. what i mean about that is that you will have close relationships with very high status people that will help you along with your journey. I'm getting the vibes of when you ask someone about a goal of yours and they tell you that they know someone that can help you with your goal. It feels very prosperous and fortunate.

A career that you worked very hard for and stayed consistent in. like I'm feeling you studied, research and looked at every aspect of the career. Very knowledgeable about what you know. I also feel that you knew what you wanted to do from a very early age and it might have been your dream/goal to pursue that path. And to say the least, you will!! This is the literal definition of aiming high and achieving it. Sidenote- this career will be very unexpected for people when you tell them your status. You probably worked quietly and that's what got you to success.

This is also a career that may consist of you being very independent and thinking for yourself. This will enable you to help your family here also. I see you being the first in your family to achieve something very big and successful. This will allow you to take care of your family and help them out financially and giving them what they deserve for all the hardships that they supported you through.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

pile two: You may be unsure of what you are truly wanting as a career. you may be overthinking or just taking some time off and planning what might be suitable for you. (take this lightly please).

Anyway, i see money coming from overseas, very much investing and saving vibes. You take risks with this career, and take opportunities that are available. You also give a lot so this convinces me that it is investing. You reach for the impossible and you keep moving. some moves that are risky and out of context will also be a theme here, so the job may require toughness and risk overall.

there is a lot of consciousness about your surroundings. there is an instant reflex that you have when it comes to making quick and instant decisions. that actually may be your specialty. people come to you to get opinions and kind of like permission?? this convinces me that it may be a boss career OR a leading position that you take care of.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

pile three: Wowww. This career will be full of success and alignments. you will be very liked in your space and it will truly feel so destined that you will stay at the job for a very long time. you will go through lots and lots of other jobs before finally settling to the one. It may feel like you are very un grounded but trust everything, do not doubt your journey!!!

Somehow i feel like this career will be a luck thing. like i see you getting offered something and you accepting or you going out of your comfort zone only to get the best results from it. This job is somewhat of a surprise to you but you will be good at whatever you do.

I feel like the career will consist of lots of speaking and thinking. Very much office vibes (not saying it is). It will allow you to stand your ground and be able to express your opinions freely. I also think that you will become more confident with this career. like it will definitely change you for the better. Also, there will also be lots of connections like pile one, but for this pile it is more like unprofessional, unlike pile one it is very structured and professional connections. like it is more of you will meet lots of new peers and generally know lots of people by just being friendly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

that's all for this post! thanks for reading, it is most appreciated💗🤍

#tarotblr #tarot #tarot cards #free tarot #kpop tarot #pick a card tarot #tarot pac #tarot pick a card #tarotcommunity #tarot reading #divination #tarot witch #tarot deck #career #futurecareer #free readings #free tarot reading #free reading #intuitive readings #pick a card #pick a pile #pick one #pick a picture #pick a photo

[madschiavelique]

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : after the mission, all you can think about is Miguel, up to the point where you can't sleep because of all your thoughts. so you go to the strength and conditioning centre to try and exhaust yourself. but miguel pays you a visit there, and the training takes another turn...

content warnings : mentions of blood, (if there are any others please do tell so i can add them !), reader is obsessed, no use of y/n word count : 3,9k

note : this is dedicated to the beautiful @gollygothgal , with tension and hot miguel hehe. here's the 2nd part of the miguel 3shot thingy ! i hope you'll enjoy it. i am currently thinking about opening up requests for miguel, so if anyone has got a juicy idea they'd like to see written, don't hesitate to send it !! <33

chapters' list : 1 - lovebite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission (nsfw) 4 - shameless (nsfw)

One punch.

He did it to help you, nothing more, there was nothing behind it, nothing unprofessional, nothing at all.

Two punches.

No, nothing, not even when you pulled on his hair and the moan in his throat vibrated into the bullet that was lodged in your flesh.

Three punches, the bag rocks.

Surely you're not the first person he's done this to, right? Dealing with this kind of wound in the middle of a mission must have been part of his daily routine after all.

Fourth punch, the impact spreads across the knuckles of your hand.

What if it wasn't? What if he'd deliberately decided to give you the special treatment of losing his time on the mission to take care of you?

Fifth blow, you were breathing hard. You stood back, your hands aching as they sponged your sweaty forehead with their backs.

It had only been a week since the last mission, and all you could think about was Miguel. Every five minutes the whole thing would start up in your head, sometimes so strongly that you felt it defined you. The spadassin of your logic kept chasing your imagination brazenly, it was trying to foam hollow ideas about him.

Was this scene really intimate? Or in your cruel lack of physical and sentimental affection had you simply imagined meanings for certain gestures that were pure delusion?

After the mission, while the anomalies were being properly stored, you went to the infirmary. There, you were asked questions that were still stuck in your head.

"What's that bite?" they asked about the two incisions Miguel had left in your skin, "and why is it all blue here? There's more ruptured blood than there should be..."

Apparently, the nurses had very rarely seen incisions of this kind on the bodies of other spider men or women, the only cases so far being on Miguel himself. The news had a strange effect on you. As for the clouds of bruises Miguel had left around the impact, the mere sight of them turned you into a red poppy.

So Miguel had never bitten anyone else on a mission to administer his painkiller... nope, let's not jump to conclusions!

Maybe gunshot wounds just weren't frequent on missions, haematomas or cuts were commonplace here.

After that, you were brought together with the others to report back. You hadn't been much help to the mission, apart from freeing Miguel from that foam. And after that? Too little contact and far too many thoughts.

The few times you saw Miguel, you only had time to say hello before he went about his business. The few words he'd say were "How's your wound?", and then he'd be off, busier than a minister.

And every day, as if you were watching the sky for a shooting star, you hoped. You hoped for a twinkle, a smile, just the possibility that your eyes might meet.

And every night, you would go over and over these tiny things that seemed gigantic in the eyes of your heart. And tonight, the same thing.

It was the hour when memories flood back, just when sleep goes on strike. You were trying to sleep, but you were tossing and turning, your mind replaying the whole scene like a power-point with multiple explanations attached to the images.

Just an focus, on the too pale clichés of a love story, on the state of mind of a woman without an alibi who dreams every night of a man whose existence you didn't even know existed until recently. Just a focus, for a little wink of survival, for all the fools, the love-sick, for all the victims of romanticism. Just a little wink, a focus.

You were tired of this perpetual propensity of your thoughts to redirect themselves to Miguel. There was nothing you could do, it was like trying to stop the sun from rising and setting. Because even with adamantine force, you can't stop the natural from happening.

You're more insignificant than the dust under his fingernails, you thought. Pull yourself together! Miguel has to look after a company of at least seven hundred people like you.

And it was true, Miguel had much better things to do than have anything other than a professional relationship with you.

You huffed and puffed in bed, sleep really not coming, so you put on your everyday clothes, prioritising comfort, and headed for the Strength and Conditioning centre.

If sleep didn't come, you'd wake it yourself. And so you found yourself boxing a sandbag. And honestly? It was harder than what you'd seen in the movies. Or at least, you felt some pain in your fingers as you punched, knowing full well that something was wrong, but not knowing what. The job of Spider Man wasn't new to you, but you had to admit that when it came to hand-to-hand combat, you missed some of the basics.

You glanced down at your hands, their knuckles reddened, and for a few seconds you remembered the ridiculously large size of Miguel's hand resting on your waist, then how it had felt when he had held your thigh in place, and you could have sworn that at that moment his claws had come out, sharper than a quarter of a strawberry.

If only it were possible for your mind to go on holiday, just to get away from the real Miguel City that had settled in your mind a little too quickly. You let out a grunt of frustration.

But your hair stood on end for a second - someone had just come into the room.

"What's wrong?"

You immediately turned your head towards the entrance, Miguel coming towards you. Your heart skipped a beat and you froze. For pity's sake, was this a dream?

The terrible thing about this mental affliction was that, although you visualised him more often than you should because you found that you spent less time with him, when the time came for you to interact as you would have dreamt of, the image of his red eyes went straight to the edge of your heart and you had the sudden feeling that you wanted to leave immediately.

If you come at any moment, I'll never know what time to dress my heart. Perhaps it was the extent of your desire that made you feel ashamed, and for fear that he would see it, hear it, feel it, you preferred to leave. But you stood your ground, giving yourself a mental slap in the face to pull yourself together as he came within a reasonable distance of you. There weren't enough moments with him, so you were going to make the most of them.

Your eyes widened slightly, because you'd never seen Miguel in normal clothes before. A hoodie with cut-off sleeves and loose jogging bottoms, simple and relaxed, but how could Miguel be relaxed? After all, he was Miguel.

He didn't look upset, which was a first. You were so used to seeing him frustrated, with that invariable weariness that accompanies him everywhere. On the other hand however, he was looking at you quizzically, and it was only then that you remembered that he had asked you a question.

"Oh, um," you said, resting the side of your fist on the bag, "I've never fought a war this tough, and to think that my enemy is just a sandbag," you smiled.

A sneer stretched his cheek, the thin crack between his lips letting a flash of light shine on his faintly glistening canines, and for a moment the image of them tracing your thigh came back to mind. It had left its mark on your mind, like a stain, and it won't wash off, no matter how hard you scrub your mind.

But a frown settled on his forehead, his eyes lowered to your fist.

"Hmm..." he said simply, crossing his arms over his chest.

You had to stop yourself squinting at them and keeping your eyes on his.

"Show me how you hit," he said.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Training with other spider-men and women was something you were comfortable with, the pressure was off, everyone learned a little from each other without judgement. But training in front of Miguel? The bar had been raised, the pressure of the stare oozing seriousness and criticism weighed on your shoulders.

Timidly then, you stepped away from the bag, and struck a blow with little confidence.

He nodded, the same retentive tt-tt being heard.

"Your fingers are in the wrong place," he raised his to show you, and as you mimicked his pose, he moved closer to you and took your hand to place your fingers correctly.

It was the first time you'd felt his hands naked against yours. They were far from soft, but they were warm, callused by time and effort. It seemed to you that he could lock your fist in his hand with ease, and the vision of his hands rearranging yours gave you the impression that every bit of skin he touched lit up and sparkled with little stars.

It must be that you couldn't mithridate your desires for him, your body and your thoughts returning to the charge to drink it all in, to take any crumb of his presence and his touch that you could get.

His annoyance seemed to return for a moment, his knuckles running over your reddened and cracked joints. He blew out a breath, and the frown disappeared.

"There, try it again", he said, barely moving away.

You came down from your little cloud and struck again. You were almost tempted to disturb your fingers again if it meant he'd put them back into place.

"Keep going," he said, taking a step forward and starting to circle around you.

You swallowed, continuing the task, taking great care not to look too ridiculous. You punched a few more times, Miguel having made an arc and stopped on your other side.

"Your posture is not right," he remarked, and you shivered as his hand came to rest on your waist.

Sliding gently over your belly, applying a minimum of force to better guide you to perfect your posture. You felt his hand come up and pull slightly on your shoulder, putting your arm back in a more favourable position at the same time.

"You need to find a balance in your body when you strike; if you put everything you have into your fist, the rest can be used too easily against you" he said, his tone calm.

But it was a little too complicated to follow his instructions now, especially when you felt his breath landing on your ear and the back of your neck. Every brush of his fingers and skin against yours made your cheeks flush and gave you a real peony look.

His other hand came to rest on your hip, on that famous protruding angle of the pelvic bone, to reorientate your body. You inhaled sharply, but tried not to make it too noticeable. All that was missing was...

"Is everything all right? Your heart rate seems to have increased."

... the same question as last time. This time, there's no way to pretend you're worried about your team-mates who are on a mission. So what's the excuse this time?

"I ate a cereal bar before I came here, must be the sugar, no doubt."

Wow. Beautiful. Brilliant. Fantastic.

You crossed your fingers that Miguel didn't pay any more attention.

"Hm," he exhaled, "just spread your legs a little... there you go, like that," he said as his hand lingered lightly on your waist before moving away from you again. "Show me," he asked, confident that his modifications to your position would prove useful in your training.

Already more confident, you began to strike again. And after half a dozen blows, you turned to him, a satisfied smile adoring his face.

"Much better," he said. He raised his hand to the level of his head, index and middle fingers together, wiggling them, indicating for you to move forward as he stepped back slightly, "Now, show me how you'd do it in real life."

Wait, was he really offering you combat training? The great Miguel O'Hara, who had no time but for the great multi-dimensional organisation of spider-men and spider-women, had just offered you training?

Hesitantly, you moved forward.

"So you want me to fight? With... you?" you asked.

"Who else," he replied, opening his arms to encompass the room, completely empty apart from you two.

"I'm going to get crushed," you smiled as you reached him.

"I'll do my worst," he offered, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

"No, otherwise I'd let you destroy your hands on the bag a bit more," he said, pointing at them, "you'll have to remember to put some ice on it.

Touché.

You felt a little guilty for taking up his free time, he who must have had so little leisure, so few opportunities to settle down without having to worry about anything. But at the same time, what did you have to feel guilty about, when it was he himself who had offered to help you? After all, it was he who had come to you. Was it simple pity then? No, let's not think about personal sabotage, let's just enjoy it.

"Come on, show me how you do it, I'll do it with one hand behind my back if you prefer." He says, not even pretending to get into a fighting stance.

"What an egalitarian spirit," you say, your voice coming out with a half-sigh, half-laugh.

Coming from one of the most capable and experienced Spider-Men in the society, how could you not shudder at the thought of fighting him?

So you positioned yourself, trying as best you could to put in place the investments he had just taught you. The thought of disappointing him was gnawing at the back of your mind.

Once you found your position sufficiently adequate, you dived towards him. With a move that seemed as simple as that, he dodged by leaning to the side while placing his foot against your ankle, so you fell pitifully to the ground.

Well, it wasn't going to be any fun after all.

"Remember what I told you," he said, coming towards you, holding out his hand, "if you put everything you have in your fist, the rest can be used against you too easily.

You looked at him for a moment, his brown eyes slightly crinkled by his little smile. Your cheeks warmed as you took his hand to stand up.

"Do it again," he said.

You breathed in, trying to concentrate and not think about the fact that you'd had more physical and vocal interaction with the object of all your thoughts in the last few minutes than you'd had in a week.

So you tried to balance your strength in your body, and came back to the charge, but you tried a surprise. You knew he'd probably see it coming a mile away, but why not try? So you gave him the impression that you were attacking him from your left, when at the last moment you deflected to the right.

And then you punched him in the cheek. The impact surprised you both, and Miguel took a meagre step backwards, bringing his hand to his cheek with eyes wide with surprise.

"Shit shit shit! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" you moved towards him in a panic, as if to check him out.

You'd just punched Miguel O'Hara in the cheek. But then, just as you were expecting to be shouted at and slammed into a wall in the next few seconds, he smiled, and the smile became a soft laugh.

You looked at him, completely stunned by his reaction. No anger, no exasperation, no threats or insults in Spanish, just a little laugh.

"That's much better," he said. "Don't worry, I can handle punches, but I recognize this is a correct hit."

You fluttered your eyelashes a few times in surprise before just puffing out your nose, a little laugh taking hold of you as well.

"Come on, let's get on with it" he said, this time getting into a fighting stance. He sweated authority, while you sweated... period.

You nodded in agreement, and the two of you began a battle of successive dodges and punches that went wide. He was holding back, you could feel it. He didn't strike a single blow, just tiny smacks with the back of his hand. So you thought for a moment, you were going to surprise him like he had surprised you with his kick. Could you take down a man the size and width of a fridge? Doubtful, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

It's as if, in the middle of the nettles, you'd found a patch of grass where you could put your foot down without stinging yourself. So you placed your leg correctly behind his knee, which surprisingly succeeded in throwing him off balance, and just as he was about to fall with a small stranglehold of his voice, his hand grabbed your wrist and dragged you down.

The shock was less, because you had fallen onto Miguel himself and his body had been used as a landing mattress. Out of breath, and not exactly aware of the situation you were in, you placed your hands on the ground on either side of his body to at least straighten yours and not crush him, your back bent like a wilting flower.

"Hey, is everything all right?"

Miguel grunted slightly, his eyelids reopening. Your breath caught in your throat as you realised the position you were in, and especially how close you were. Your faces only a few centimetres apart, your breaths colliding.

"Mhm," he said simply, "you did well, I must admit."

And as the simple feeling of victory took your heart by storm, Miguel grabbed you by the waist with both hands and rolled you onto your side, reversing your positions with lightning speed.

"But you're going to have to keep practising," he smirked, one of his hands separating from your waist to rest on the ground next to your head.

And your strength turned to water. Your gaze scanned his, and you wished you could see your own eyes just to know how much they betrayed you, especially when they inevitably drifted to his lips. You didn't need to lie to yourself, you wanted to, they looked so soft... It was the sensation of his thumb making a single, simple circular movement on your stomach that brought you out of your reverie on his lips, regaining his eyes.

"Distracted?" he asked, his eyes a little darker than before.

Sure enough, you had metamorphosed into a big red tomato. So your reflex was to bring both hands up to your face to hide it.

"Uh huh," Miguel prevented, removing his hand from your waist to move your hands away from your face, getting even closer. "What's there to hide, hum?"

His eyes seemed very observant of what was being said in yours, and you wondered if he could see all the emotions rumbling in your heart. You could feel the strands of his hair tickling your forehead and cheeks. The tension was so heavy and pervasive that you could have cut it with a knife.

"My desires," you whispered as an answer, clearing your throat and moistening your lips, your eyes moving tirelessly from his to his lips.

You gasp, the closeness between the two of you acting as a veritable truth serum.

"Tell me about them," he murmured.

You bit the inside of your lip, breathing softly. The inner battle was powerful. To remain silent and regret, or to say something and hope? What if it all stopped? What if it bothered him so much that he couldn't look at you any other way than uncomfortable? And what if... what if... And if I don't try anything, I'll never know.

"A... A kiss," you managed to say.

"A kiss?" he repeated, as if testing the taste of that word in his mouth. "Tell me, where."

You squirmed slightly, perhaps you'd be more successful in speaking your thoughts with your eyes closed? But when you shut them for a moment, you felt his nose brush against yours, his thumb on your hip again making circular movements.

"Where?" he asked again, both of you reduced to whispers. Still hearing no answer, he moved to kiss your forehead, "there?", but you shook your head. Then he kissed the top of your eyelid, "there?", and went on to kiss your cheek, "there?", his voice barely a whisper.

He brushed against your nose again, his lips barely grazing the corner of yours.

His eyes had a tender sparkle as he kissed them tenderly. His lips tasted of wood and rain, pulling back : "There?”

"Yes," you sighed, your eyelids half-closed, "there". You moistened your lips.

"I think I heard you wrong," he murmured. "Say it again."

You swallowed, trying to raise your head to kiss him again, but understanding your tactics, he buried his face closer to your neck, his lips brushing your ear.

"Say it again."

A shiver ran through you as his breath spread a wave of heat down your neck, straightening slightly to face you again.

"Kiss me, again."

And he came to kiss you once more, softly, dark and silent as the night. His hand ran down your body, up your side and over your back to push a little more of your body against his. Your hands came to rest on his cheek and back, your fingers snaking through his hair, nails lightly grazing his skull.

A moan bubbling up his throat reverberated on your lips, just like on the mission.

" If only you wouldn't make me want you..." he whispered between kisses, his mouth growing a little hungrier as his fangs nibbled lightly at the skin of your lip.

He came to kiss your jaw, your neck, drinking in your skin, breaths of ease escaping from your lips.

But suddenly, a small cluster of orange pixels appeared not far from your heads.

"Miguel we got a- oh hi there!" said Layla in a tone that was a mixture of playfulness and surprise.

You immediately turned your head to the side to avoid her, your cheeks flushing red. Your heart was pounding in your chest like a bird trying to get out of its cage.

"Go away Layla," he said though, his hand coming to take your chin, his eyes half closed, kissing you again.

"But Miguel it's-"

"It's very important for your future that you don't finish your sentence," Miguel growled as he moved from your mouth to your throat again, letting his canines lightly trace along your pulse line.

"And the situation is just as important for all our futures," Layla insisted.

Miguel grunted, sighing, and murmured softly:

"I'm sorry."

You kissed his cheek and he raised his eyebrows.

"It's okay."

He kissed your lips quickly.

"This is not over," he warned, sitting up and helping you to your feet. "Go and sleep now." Looking at your hand in his, he added: "And take care of this," pointing to your knuckles.

You nodded as he began to walk away.

"Oh yeah, Miguel has been keeping an eye on you!" said Layla, a small smile wrinkling her nose.

"What?" you asked, confused.

"Layla ?" Miguel called dangerously.

"Okay okay gotta go, goodnight!" she said, vanishing into thin air to come and stand next to Miguel.

The two of them left the room, and you looked at the exit.

What had just happened?

next part >> unexpected mission (nsfw)

#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎ #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #astv miguel #miguel astv #spiderman astv #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o hara x reader #romance #fluff #miguel o’hara x you #spiderman 2099 x you

[strawberrysturniolo]

someone older pt 2 // chris sturniolo

summary: after chris and his new photographer have a successful first shoot, they struggle with the idea of them being able to have a professional relationship. teasing, degrading, spanking, rough sex, age gap, daddy kink, secret relationship.

part one

The long awaited Fresh Love drop was a success. So much so that Chris called me, thanking me profusely for my addition to the project. He went on to say that he “hopes we can work together again,” but part of me knows there’s something more to it. 

The last time he was here, we made out and took a variety of photos during the act. 

He wound up getting a phone call from his manager, putting a hold in our activities. 

I’m not sure where that would have led us, had she not called and he had to leave. I don’t think it would have gone further. I don’t know if I would have allowed it.

It was fun in the moment, and I certainly don’t regret it. The only issue is that now with me staring at a new message from Chris about a future shoot, I have to make sure that we’re in agreement of this being simply work, not pleasure in any way.

Chris

Thanks again for the last session. I got amazing feedback from everyone. I wanted to send a message and ask you if you had time this week to do another shoot? That was kind of a test run of what pieces people might like, but now that we have more colors I need to get some more shots in them. Lmk when you’re free 

Me

Call me.

I set my phone down on my kitchen counter, trying to let the memories of him sucking my jaw flee my brain. He paid really well, but he was really great to work with, so if kissing him a little while I have fun working with him helps… then what’s the harm?

No, there’s so much harm in this. 

My phone rings almost immediately after the message is sent. I hesitate answering, but realize how bad it would look if I didn’t pick up the phone after I just sent a message asking for him to call.

“Hey,” I greet him casually.

“Hey. I assume this is to follow up my message?” he asks. 

I find myself pacing around my kitchen, trying to find the right words. “Yeah, but Chris–”

“But?” he cuts in. “There’s but’s now?”

I pause. “What’s wrong with there being a but?”

“This isn’t a work type but,” he goes on. “This is a ‘there’s an issue between you and me’ type but.”

I don’t respond. 

“Is there?” he asks, noticing my silence. 

“No. Maybe? I don’t know Chris. What I do know is that I did enjoy working with you and I’m glad the drop was what you hoped for–”

“More than what I hoped for,” he interrupts me again. “That happened because of you.”

“Maybe that’s true but if you want to keep working with me then what happened last time can’t happen again,” I say confidently, really trying to convince myself of the same. 

I can picture him searching for the words to say. He settles on, “Why?”

I wish I had a better answer. “Part of it just feels wrong.”

“What about it feels wrong? I kissed you. You kissed me back. We did that together. We talked about it afterwards. We said it was good and we were glad it happened.”

“I know,” I nod to myself. I got myself in too deep. “I’m five years older than you, and this is a workplace relationship. This shouldn’t have happened. It’s highly unprofessional and it makes me look bad as an artist.”

“This relationship is also two sided,” he refutes again. “Why do you get to make the calls and decide what’s right and wrong if I was involved in it too?”

Okay… This guy might be more mature than I was led to believe. 

“I mean,” he continues. “I could get in trouble too, you know? If my manager found out I was kissing all over my new photographer, I’d be toast. She’d insist on me finding someone else no matter how successful our shoots are. So if you don’t want to shoot with me anymore then fine, but if it’s because you can’t handle a little tension here and there then there’s something deeper that you need to resolve on your own.”

Part of that cuts deep until I’m suddenly stitched back up and determined to prove a point to him. Maybe this Chris Sturniolo is a fling kind of guy. Maybe he has the power over his own feelings to be able to disguise when he’s into someone, but I’m not able to do the same. It’s written on my face, and the last thing I need is for this guy five years younger than me to win this argument. 

So game on. 

“Come over tonight. Bring your gear and I’ll start setting up now.”

His voice is laced with a cocky tone. I can picture the smirk on his face. “I thought you’d say that.”

The rest of the day passes as I set up my studio with backdrops I spray painted a few days ago. This time, decorated with dark blue splatter designs and graffiti. In a daze and my mind wrapped around all things Chris, I graffitied the words ‘Fresh Love,’ which he went on to compliment upon arrival.

“I’m glad you came around,” he added. “They liked the shots of us together, and I didn’t want to have to search for another model for it if you were right here.”

I nod, trying to have my best poker face as if my eyes aren’t following his every move. “Stand on the X.”

He goes to his place with a smile, knowing my routine now. “Ah, test shots, huh? You do these every time?”

“Wouldn’t miss them,” I respond shortly.

He must have noticed that I’m trying to keep this as business as possible, seeing how he started making every fucking face he could to somehow turn me on. The most seductive smirks, hands in his hair, pulling his shirt a certain way so some of his skin would show more on his stomach.

I hate him.

I need more. 

“The lighting is good,” I say as I stand up straight, setting the camera to its flush settings. “Do what feels natural, just like last time.”

He smiles. “If I wanted things to be like last time then you’d be in front of the camera with me.”

I suck in a deep breath. “If you behave then maybe I’ll join you.”

That shuts him up as he starts posing for me. Eventually he asks, “Can I take this sweatshirt off now? Or are we still looking for a good shot?”

I shake my head. “I think we got it. We can do some without now.”

He peels his sweatshirt off, letting it stay stuck to his shirt he wears below it, allowing it to peel up in unison and reveal his stomach and chest. The minimal but dark hairs that decorate his lower stomach give me far too much to imagine as I stare at him. I want to see more of him, and I want those clothes gone. I’m aching for him, and he’s using it to his advantage.

“You taking pictures of my clothes or my body, baby?”

I snap out of it, brought back to him at the sound of the pet name. 

The name ‘baby’ leaving his lips almost has me buckling at the knees. 

He pulls his bottom lip between his lips, then glances between me and his own shirt. He peels his shirt off, standing bare from the waist up in front of me, dressed now in only his gray sweatpants representing his brand. Even those hang lower and give me too much to think about. 

“Put this on and stand in front of the camera,” he instructs, tossing me the shirt as he switches positions with me. “Don’t worry… I’ll turn around while you change.”

For some stupid reason I find myself listening to him. I swap my shirt for his brand, standing on the center point of the camera and allowing him to get comfortable behind it. 

He looks through the viewfinder at me, studying the shot before he snaps the moment. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, standing up straight again and smiling. He cocks his head to the side. “Now lose the pants.” 

“Chris…” I start to say, but he has more.

“It’s just me and you,” he assures me. “Plus, this is your camera. I have no access to this. If you really don’t want to then fine, but I promise, no one will see these besides me.”

His eyes stare into mine with a determination that says, ‘You know you want it.’

And I fucking do.

Maintaining eye contact, I unbutton my jeans and pull them off my legs slowly, tossing them to the side and standing in front of him in his own shirt and a pair of dark red panties, a thong that hugs my hips in the right way and makes my ass look like his new favorite thing. 

He licks his lips, swallowing as he steps back in front of the camera, trying to bite his tongue to keep from making a certain sound or saying something foul.

I want to know what’s going on in that head of his, but I refuse to ask and act interested even if I am. 

I start to take control, letting myself feel more comfortable standing in front of him half naked. I start lifting the shirt little by little as he takes more photos, the click satisfying me even more when my back is to him, my ass on full display.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “That’s it.”

My stomach is turning in the best way at every compliment, every look, every sound that leaves his mouth. He isn’t doing his best at hiding his physical reaction either, seeing that his dick is now pressed to the sweatpants around his waist. 

“You okay back there?” I tease, now smiling.

“Shut up,” he warns.

I let my body relax. “Business professional, remember?” 

He scoffs. “Yeah, fuck that.”

I give him a glaring look. “Chris.”

“Don’t say my name.” My stomach almost falls until he continues. “Not when you look like that and I’m trying to keep it in my pants. Do not say my name.”

My smile grows as I step closer. “So you don’t want me, Chris?”

His eyes fall shut.

“You’re saying you don’t need me, Chris?”

He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and grits out, “Fuck. This.”

He pulls me aside from the camera, his lips finding mine as I take my hands to his hair, finishing where we left off. A soft moan leaves my lips as his dick presses against my thigh. 

“Yeah,” he nods. “You did want me.”

I nod desperately back at him. “Really bad.”

“Mmmm,” he hums, kissing my neck. “You can have me right now, you know?” 

I have a mental battle with myself while I’m in his arms, and then without thinking clearly I’m pulling him to my bedroom despite the voice in my head shouting for me to leave this alone. 

I need relief, and he is exactly the painkiller I want. 

He follows me blindly, refusing to detach his hands from my skin. I can’t get enough of him. He’s grabbing my ass, feeling my everywhere, teasing his leg in between mine. His thigh presses against my core, earning a gasp from me as I sit on the edge of the bed.

“Poor baby,” he pouts, pushing me back onto the mattress. 

I lift my arms for him, giving him access to the underside of my shirt, lifting it off with ease. My hands find the desperation he is trying to satisfy, a pleased groan leaving his throat at my touch. 

“Looks like someone was struggling too, huh?” I notice. My hand makes soft movements over his length, stopping when his hand juts out and grabs it. 

He lowers his gaze to meet mine, our faces now level as I sit on the bed and he kneels in front of it. 

“I’ve fantasized about you touching me and sucking me off, but I haven’t gotten a clear idea of what you look like with your ass up, or what your pussy feels like around me. So you wanna show me what it’s like?” 

I’m ready to do anything he wants no matter how eager it makes me look. 

Yet I can’t find the words that convey this. 

I nod again. His hand grips my jaw as he pushes his mouth back to mine, shoving my body back onto the mattress in the process. He pins me down, grinding his hips into mine and teasing me with his cock before huffing out a breath and flipping me over. He lifts me by my hips, keeping my ass in the air for him. 

“You gonna be able to take me with no foreplay? Nothing but my dick fucking you senseless, baby?” he whispers, pushing my shirt up – his shirt – and kissing down my back in between words. 

“Yes, Chris,” I give in.

He tsks. “Don’t say my name. You know what you want to say. It’s on the tip of your tongue.”

Is he serious?

Because if he is… fuck this business relationship. I’ll need him in my bed every night. 

I must have taken too long to respond. His palm smacks against my ass, demanding a response. 

I wince. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he says softly as he rubs his fingers where I was just spanked, soothing the pain. 

He kisses over the spot as he pulls my thong to the side. He then dips his head between my legs from behind, licking a harsh stripe on my folds. He hums in pleasure. 

“Fuck, you taste so good.” His finger rubs over that same spot. “Gonna have to taste you after I fill you up and see how good we taste together.”

Without realizing, I back my ass up to him, so much so that he smacks my ass again. 

“Needy girls get nothing,” he warns, and I find myself apologizing profusely. 

There is no way this kid five years younger than me is having this much control. There’s no way I put myself in this position. 

The tip of his dick teases at my slit, swiping it a few times before pushing in and pulling right back out. “So tight.” He does the same motion a few more times before shoving in completely, moaning loudly as he lays his chest on my back, tucking his head in my neck. His lips suck on the spot that has me gripping my sheets as he fills me up. His hips start thrusting into me, his hips railing into my ass as he fucks me mercilessly. The sound is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. Me dripping wet while he fucks himself deeper. His skin slapping against mine while my bed shakes, trying to hold us.

“Taking it so good baby,” he mumbles in my ear. He slaps my ass again, keeping his mouth close to my ear so he can talk me through it. “You like it rough, huh? Don’t you, you fucking slut?”

I whine at the name. “Uh huh.”

His fingers dig into my sides as he drills himself as deep as he can. 

“FUCK– Yes, daddy,” I correct myself. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re so bad, baby,” he shakes his head in my neck. “Bratty as hell.”

I lower myself to my elbows, now unable to keep myself propped up the way he wanted me originally. He brings himself back up to his knees, fucking me at this new position. He speeds up, smacking my ass every so often, enough to where I can feel heat radiating off of it from the friction of his hand on my skin. 

He continues to mock and degrade me, talking me through everything before his hips start thrusting erratically.

My hand reaches behind me, clinging to his wrist as I look at him over my shoulder. The nerves building inside of me are struggling to hold on. I feel like I’m going to break. “Daddy, I’m-”

His eyes go wide as my mouth drops. Watching my face as I cum, Chris’ hips still, his dick deep inside of me as my pussy grips him. His lips part, eliciting a loud whine. I cum around him, and it’s only a moment later that I can feel him filling me up.

I lower my face to a pillow, trying to regain my breath and any strength left in me. Chris pulls out after a few seconds, fulfilling his promise and cleaning up our mess between my legs. I let out a few weak moans, too wiped to make much noise. 

He lays next to me, sweat on his forehead causing a few hairs by his ears to stick out straight, losing the natural curl in them and replacing them with a spiky style. 

“So,” he says, his breath lost. “Business professional from now on?” 

tag list: @freshloveforthefit @lacysturniolo @mattitties @floofparker @javalakers @creamoncreamoncream2 @heebiejeebiezz @sturnswrites @runupthathillgirl @gdsvhtwa @666hellokitty420 @runupthathillgirl @oliviasturniolo21 @keira324 @sstvrnioloo @sturnitup @sturnsvoid @theyluv-meee @therewilljustbereputationts13 @ilovedasturniolos @dancemomsfanee @rootbeerworshiper @sturn3ol0 @swaggygirlboss123 @lustfulslxt

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo #sturniolo smut

[bratphilia]

exposure (w. afton x reader)

note: as promised, it's here. also fun fact i have ocd and exposure therapy is one way used in my treatment. so i turned it into porn. enjoy! i will most definitely write a second chapter

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: corrupt therapist!william, innocent virgin!reader, manipulation, oral sex (f receiving)

your thoughts are interrupted as you hear a voice call your name. "hi," your therapist says, smiling kindly at you.

"hi steve." you return the smile and follow him to his office.

he opens the door for you and closes it behind him. you take a seat on the couch while he situates himself in the chair across from you. "so tell me, how are you doing? how are the meds working out?" 

"well, um," you start apprehensively. "that's kinda why i'm here to see you so soon. it's been a month and i don't think they're working."

steve gives you a faux look of concern, as if to say "oh no" and clicks his tongue. of course the meds aren't working. he handed you a low dosage of tylenol, a pain medicine, in an orange bottle without a label. any smart person would've found that suspicious — even more suspicious considering the fact that he's a therapist, not a psychiatrist. 

there's nothing wrong with you, either. you're just an innocent — rather dumb, in his opinion — girl with repressed sexual thoughts. thoughts he's been working his way up to helping you through them. 

"and the ache in your stomach is still there?" steve asks, just to make sure. 

you mumble an "mhm" embarrassed to look at him. he bites back a grin. "well, i have an idea."

you perk up at that. "ever heard of exposure therapy?" you shake your head 'no.' "it's a kind of therapeutic exercise that stresses the importance of facing the things that are giving you anxiety."

you stare at him blankly. of course you don't understand what he's saying. you're his dumb little girl, after all. 

"tell me, what are the symptoms you're having?" he asks. he wants you to say it — say that the root of your problems stem from overwhelming horniness, just as you've danced around saying in every session you've had with him.

you look down at your shoes. "well, uhm, there's this... tingle in my stomach. and the thoughts i'm having are... concerning to me. it's like i'm obsessed with..." 

you trail off and he raises an eyebrow. "...i guess what i'm trying to say is... i'm having really dirty thoughts. sometimes... they're about you.. or some men i see staring at me." 

steve tries his hardest to keep up the facade of a concerned therapist, but he can't deny how your words are going straight to his dick. "i see." 

"can you help me, steve?" you look at him with the most innocent, doe eyes he's ever seen. 

he cocks his head and smiles at you. "of course i can." he refrains from calling you 'sweet girl' — too unprofessional.

steve takes his spot on the couch next to you. he helps you situate your self so that you're leaning back. "can you spread your legs for me? you might want to take off your shoes for the sake of your own comfort."

your brows furrow and you do what he says hesitantly. you're wearing a cute, pastel blue sundress. when you bring your knees to your chest, spread just like he asked, he reaches to fold your dress over and reveals your white cotton panties. he could come in his pants from the sight alone.

you make a resistant noise when he reaches for your panties. "no one's ever touched me there..."

he already knows that. he can tell. but still, something about being the first one to break open that sweet cunt of yours fills him with even more desire. "i'll be gentle, okay?" he promises.

you nod your head and allow him to slide your panties down your legs, leaving them stretched near the bottom of your calves purposefully. it provides as a small restraint to you in case you squirm away from his touch. just as he expected, your pussy is red, swollen, and shiny with your slick. poor thing, he thinks.

steve brings a hand to run up and down your cunt, wanting to collect the slick gathered there. you moan and he feels you shiver. "th-that feels funny..."

"yeah?" he says before thumbing your clit. you let out a high pitched whine. his eyes move towards your face, fascinated with the way your eyes are fluttering.

"does that feel good?" he inquires, earning a "mhm" from you.

he picks up the tempo, rubbing the sensitive nub in circles with the rough pad of his thumb. you try to buck against his hand he brings his free arm to sling over your waist, halting your movements. "this won't work if you're moving like that. just let it happen, okay?"

"okay..." you murmur. it's easier said than done.

he stops rubbing at you. he has an even better idea. he leans down on his knees and kisses the spot his finger was just on. you let out a shocked "ah!" much to his dismay.

"gonna have to keep quiet or i'll stop," he says sternly. you promptly bring a hand to cover your mouth.

steve licks long, slow stripes up your cunt, flattening his tongue to cover as much as he can, gaging your reaction. your legs squirm but you can't move them much from the restraint the placement of your panties provide. he takes your bud into his mouth and suck at your clit, humming a little and shaking his head. you squeal against your palm and he pulls away, slapping your cunt.

"i told you to fucking stay quiet! you'll get us both in trouble," he scolds. it's a side of him you've never seen before. usually he's just so sweet to you. however, despite that, his tone sends a tingle in your tummy. you nod in obedience and allow him to continue.

he sticks his tongue inside you and it takes everything within you not to scream. he knows what he's doing too. the best part for him is watching you struggle. you wriggle around, desperately grasping at the firm fabric of the couch. he pulls his tongue out and kisses your clit once more.

"s-steve, i feel.. weird," you tell him, moving your hand for a moment.

"'s okay, just let it go. you'll feel better," he promises gently. his mouth encloses around your clit again and he slurps, flicking it rapidly with his tongue.

"ah, ah." you throw your head back and do what he says: release.

"mmm," he hums, lapping up what you give him.

"that was nice," you say once you catch your breath. "i really liked that. what kind of therapy is that called again?'

"exposure therapy," he lies. "how are the thoughts? are they still there?'

"no," you say in astonishment as you notice. "it's like my mind is all foggy right now? will it stay like that?"

"temporarily, we'll have to explore this some more at your next appointment. i'll make sure to bring something you can take home with you whenever those thoughts are disturbing you, alright?"

"alright."

next appointment. your heart soars. and the thoughts are back once more.

#fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #william afton #steve raglan #william afton x reader #william afton smut

[my-castles-crumbling]

Whoops. - AU Jegulus oneshot

(This isn't the smut, guys! That's next on my list!)

Regulus is a TA for Professor Monty Potter and Monty keeps trying to set Regulus up with his son. Regulus always refuses, of course. But what happens when, at the end of the term, he goes to the Potter Christmas Party? Just a fun oneshot based off this post! Thanks to @sebbianas for the idea and @heartshiii for the request!

“I think he’s shown up to class a grand total of three times,” Monty murmurs, jerking his chin towards the last of the students exiting the auditorium.

Regulus chuckles and continues picking up the exam papers from the desks. “Still want to go with your ‘progressive-no-attendance-policy’ next semester?" he asks lightly as he brings the pile towards the Professor.

“Eh. If he aces the final, he obviously didn’t need my help, did he?” Monty shrugs, flashing Regulus a grin.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then maybe he’ll show up a bit more often when he has to retake the class,” Monty finishes, laughing in earnest, now.

Regulus chuckles again and surveys the empty room. “Need anything else before I go?”

“No, Regulus. You’ve been an excellent help. Best TA I’ve ever had, but don’t go telling anyone I have favorites,” Monty says, smirking a bit.

“Thanks, Professor Potter–” Regulus begins, only to be cut off.

“Monty.”

“Monty,” he agrees, still feeling a bit nervous using first names even after all these weeks. He’s been trained in etiquette since birth, after all.

“And since you’re now officially not my TA,” Monty says, smiling, “You’ll come to my house tonight for my holiday party? My son will be there,” he waggles his eyebrows comically at this, and Regulus rolls his eyes.

It’s been an ongoing topic ever since he and Regulus had talked about it earlier that term:

“That’s a nice bracelet,” Monty said absentmindedly as they corrected papers together.

“Ah. Thanks. My brother gave it to me,” Regulus said of the black and rainbow bracelet on his wrist.

But Monty was looking closer at the bracelet, now. “Can I ask-?”

“He gave it to me when I came out,” Regulus supplied, looking at the Professor hesitantly.

Monty seemed unsurprised at the admission, but he also seemed like he wanted to ask something. “Can I ask something that might be seen as unprofessional?”

Regulus felt a bit nervous at this. It had been years since he’d left his extremely unaccepting parents, gone to live with Sirius in a tiny little flat by themselves. They didn’t live together anymore, but those years had been difficult, and it'd taken a lot of work to accept himself. He still had a fear of people, specifically adults, being cruel about his sexuality. But he was also curious. “Yes?”

“My son…my son recently told my wife and I that he’s pansexual. Could you possibly be kind enough to give me some advice? About how to show him that I still feel the same about him?” Monty’s face was so genuine that Regulus almost burst into tears.

But instead, he began to talk. To tell about all the things he wished his parents had done.

Of course, ever since that day, Monty had been casually bringing up his son, and how he and Regulus might get along. But Regulus had always refused, trying to respect the boundaries of the TA-professor relationship. Also, he'd never admit it, but he likes Monty, and worries a bit about losing him as a mentor if things went wrong on a potential date.

But he can't exactly refuse to go to the party tonight. Not after everything Monty has done for him.

“I’ll be there,” he says with a small smile, and bids Monty goodbye.

-

He feels a bit nervous knocking on the door of the Potters that evening, but also reminds himself that he knows how to deal with a party. He knows how to small-talk and kiss up to people and make a good first impression.

He hates it all, of course. Hates everything that reminds him of the way he was raised. But he can do this.

So, when Mrs. Potter answers the door and pulls him into a hug, he’s quite surprised- he’s never been hugged at any fancy dinner party his family has ever thrown. But he still thanks her kindly for the invitation and hands her the bottle of wine he brought.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” Mrs. Potter gushes, leading him inside.

It’s- crowded. There are a lot of people, all dressed nicely and drinking from fancy glasses. Some look to be closer to his age, while others are older. And in the middle of one of the rooms is-

“Sirius?” Regulus asks incredulously.

“Reggie!” Sirius cries, bounding forward, dragging a boy with him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Monty invited me…” Regulus murmurs, looking around for the man in question.

“Oh, Monty is around somewhere!” Mrs. Potter assures him, waving her hand carelessly. “Sirius, dear, you know Regulus?”

“Only for my whole life,” Sirius says with a wink. “Reggie’s my brother!”

Mrs. Potter gasps loudly. “This is your brother? Well, Regulus was Monty’s TA this semester!”

“He never tells me anything, ever since he moved on campus,” Sirius complains, leaning against the boy he brought along with a dramatic sigh. Then, he turns to Regulus. “The Potters are James’s parents.”

James. Regulus has heard of him. He and Sirius became friends at the start of University. Sirius has said a lot about him on their weekly phone calls, but they’ve never met.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then!” Mrs. Potter says, leaving Regulus with Sirius and his friend to answer the door again.

“Thanks, Mrs. Potter,” Regulus murmurs, only to be told, “Effie!” by both Sirius and Mrs. Potter.

“Can’t believe you’re here, Reg! Let’s get you something to drink, eh?” Sirius says excitedly, dragging the tall-but-quiet buy he’s still attached to with him.

“Now would be a good time to run,” Regulus murmurs to the boy.

“We share a flat. I can’t run far,” the man says with a grin as Sirius shrieks about seeing another friend.

Ah. So this is Remus. Well, this will be interesting.

-

Regulus was imagining a proper party. With suits and ties and a five-course seated meal and six different types of silverware and lots of networking.

Well, it was a party, alright. And people certainly had suits and ties. Or they did, about six drinks ago.

Because this party has drinks. Not just a few, but an everlasting amount. And people are enjoying them.

“Never been to a Potter Christmas Party before?” Remus asks him with a smirk as he stands in a corner and nurses his fourth- fifth?- drink, the room spinning just a tad.

“Didn’t realize I’d need a designated driver,” Regulus murmurs back, though he’s safe, as he took a cab.

“Sirius told me that last year he threw up in the bushes,” Remus admits with an evil grin.

“Charming,” Regulus laughs.

But the conversation seems to stutter to a halt.

Because he sees someone across the room. A boy.

Alright, it’s not just a boy. It’s– it’s the most beautiful human Regulus has ever seen. His dark hair is tousled and he wears the nerdiest circular glasses. His tan skin is almost caramel-colored and his grin is jaw-dropping. He’s dressed in a navy suit and tie, but Regulus can see his muscles rippling just a bit under his clothes.

And then Regulus loses his breath.

The boy is looking at him.

He stares back, unable to tear his eyes away.

And then the boy, very purposely, looks Regulus up and down. Slowly.

And then he grins. And turns away.

And Regulus feels all…fuzzy. But in the most pleasant way. “Shots? I need shots,” Regulus hears himself say in a hoarse voice.

It’s going to be a long night.

-

The man is everywhere. When Regulus goes with Sirius to get another shot, he’s there in the kitchen chatting with Mrs- Effie. And he looks Regulus up and down again, his expression hungry.

Regulus almost spits out his shot.

When Regulus moves to a dining room, he’s there, too. He just has to squeeze behind Regulus to get to the plate of cookies. And as he does so, his entire chest brushes against Regulus’s back.

“Excuse me,” his low voice whispers right into Regulus’s ear.

Regulus almost drops his plate.

When Regulus moves to a sitting room to continue talking with Remus, he sees the man there, too. He’s speaking with Sirius. Regulus is too far away to hear what they’re saying, but the man keeps looking at him.

And Regulus looks back.

-

At some point throughout the night, someone puts on Christmas music. It blares through a speaker and some of the guests are tipsily dancing. Sirius is trying to lead Effie in a waltz as they both giggle hysterically and Remus takes pictures from the side.

And the boy is there. Again.

Except now, he’s walking directly toward Regulus.

“Care to dance?” he murmurs, his gaze almost piercing through Regulus, to his very soul.

Luckily, he’s taken dance lessons before. “Alright,” he agrees a bit nervously.

The boy leads him to a quieter spot in the room, away from Sirius’s insanity, and Regulus tries not to react to how it feels to just hold his hand. He’s not in middle school, after all. He shouldn’t feel so giddy. It must be the alcohol.

They begin to do a sort-of waltz that involves mostly just turning in a circle to the soft music in the background. As they do so, the boy’s hand rests on Regulus’s waist, his thumb moving back and forth slowly, making Regulus’s toes tingle a bit.

“You haven’t been here before,” the boy murmurs softly, looking almost desperately into Regulus’s eyes. “I- I’d remember you.”

Regulus can’t resist. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, pretending to be upset.

“I- no, I-”

“I’m joking,” he says with a smirk, and he feels the boy relax a bit.

“You’re…beautiful. That’s why,” the boy says, answering his earlier question.

And beneath the obvious attraction between them, Regulus senses that this boy is being genuine. And he almost melts right there. Nobody’s ever called him beautiful before. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“How am I doing at this dancing thing? My best friend says I’m terrible at it,” the boy asks, clearly trying to ease the tension, grinning wryly.

To be honest, he’s not great. But Regulus is just enjoying the way the boy’s hand is resting at his waist, making his skin there all hot. “You’re doing fine,” he allows, laughing, trying to resist the urge to pull the boy closer, so their bodies touch.

The boy shrugs, laughing, and Regulus is again stunned by his smile. “Well, I guess we all have our weaknesses. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, really.”

And then they stare at each other, all attempts at conversations gone. And It’s cliché and ridiculous, but it’s like they’re the only people in the room. All Regulus can feel is the boy’s hand on his waist, the other clasped in his own. All he can see is the way the boy is staring at him- almost adoringly.

And then, they’re kissing.

And if Regulus liked the feeling of the boy’s hand on his waist, it’s nothing compared to the feeling of their lips together. It’s heat and perfection and desire but also somehow warm and gentle and caring. Regulus feels the want building in the base of his spine as suddenly, the boy’s hand lets go of his own and comes to the back of his neck to pull gently at his hair.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe Regulus is going crazy, but suddenly, he wants more. Fuck the fact that this is his Professor’s Christmas party.

But at least the boy seems to be on the same page, because as they separate, he grabs Regulus’s hand and drags him along yet another hallway, up some stairs, and into a bedroom.

And before he can really contemplate what they’re doing, he’s slammed up against the wall of the bedroom, the door closes, and the boy’s lips are all over him.

“Is this alright?” the boy murmurs gently, grabbing hesitantly at the hem of Regulus’s shirt, and he only has to nod once before his shirt is ripped off his body, followed quickly by the boy’s own jacket, tie, and shirt.

And God, his hands. They’re everywhere. Cool against Regulus’s hot skin, tracing against his pale chest as lips and teeth move along his neck, and he lets out a moan that is quite embarrassing, but it only seems to spur the boy on more.

He feels like he’s floating, the way the boy worships him, kissing seemingly everywhere at once- his neck and jaw and lips and shoulder.

And then two things happen simultaneously.

The boy’s hands start to move. It’s as if they’ve read Regulus’s mind, because all he can think is Fuck, lower, lower, yes, damnit, touch me lower.

But just as the hands are finally drifting over his waistband, the door opens.

“Jamie, you’re supposed to be sociali- oh!”

And to Regulus’s absolute horror, it’s Monty. Walking in the bedroom. To him and a half-naked boy.

He wants to run. Or hide. Or throw up.

But it all gets decidedly more confusing when Monty, who previously just looked dumbfounded, bursts out laughing.

He and the boy look at each other and back again, and Regulus is a bit relieved to see he looks confused, too.

“What-?”

But Monty finally catches his breath and says, “Well…I’m glad you two have, erm, met! James, this is Regulus, the TA I told you about! And Regulus, this is my son, James!”

Well. Whoops.

-

“Remember last year?” James murmurs into Regulus’s ear as they set out what feels like hundreds of bottles of wine for the annual Potter Christmas Party.

“Vividly,” Regulus says, but he hides a smile.

“Suppose we should do that again this year, but finish what we start- ow!” James shrieks, trying to turn away from Regulus’s light punch.

Regulus just rolls his eyes at his boyfriend. “Shut up, Potter.”

Leave comments and kudos here <3

#marauders #harry potter #marauders era #fanfic #marauders fandom #harry potter marauders #sirius black kinnie #regulus black kinnie #jegulus #the marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #the marauders #james fleamont potter #james x regulus #james potter #james potter is a simp #james potter x regulus black #james and regulus #regulus arcturus black #regulus black #regulus deserved better #james loves regulus #my fic #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #ao3fic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

[dotster001]

Hi. You can react the characters to the fact that the MC kissed the little Cheka?

A/N: I did it with the dorm leaders because I thought they would have a wide range of reactions. If you want more let me know.

C/W: discussions of Riddle's trauma and what it means for the future of your relationship, germaphobe Vil, and I think that's it

Little Cheka has come to visit his beloved uncle! But his beloved Uncle is tired. Luckily, he knows a certain herbivore is always willing to babysit. While you're playing with Cheka, your s/o looks over at you just in time to see you laugh and kiss his cheek.

Riddle is conflicted. Cheka is cute, like the hedgehogs he loves so much. So he understands the urge to give him kissies. In fact he'd probably give him kissies too if he felt closer to the kid.

But also, it makes him think about the lack of love he had in his own childhood, and it kind of sends him to a dark place. 

Now he's wondering, if you two ever raise kids together, if he'll be able to break the chain. He's spiraling quickly, which means his temper is shorter, and, oh look, Grim just got collared again.

Probably tries to avoid you and Cheka until he goes home. He doesn't want to think about it more than he already is, and doesn't want to take his temper out on two innocent sweet hearts.

When you come to see him after Cheka goes home, he'll ask you to sit down like you're about to have some business meeting, and you'll discuss his fears for the future. You do your best to assuage his fears. After all, you haven't even graduated yet, and neither of you is even sure you want kids. This isn't something he should worry about right now. 

But you assure him, as you press a kiss to his cheek, that should you both decide to take that route, you know Riddle will be better than his mother.

Oy! That's his herbivore!

He's lucky he woke up from his nap just in time to see that. He's immediately up and walking over to you, wrapping his arms around you so that yours are pinned to your sides, and pressing kisses all over your face.

Cheka, being a child and not understanding this is a show of dominance, thinks this is a fun game! So he climbs up on the nearest object so that he can reach your face and start giving you kisses too!

He's played this game with his dad before! What usually comes next is his dad starts to tickle him, so now he's tickling you and laughing hysterically.

Leona sees his nephew is onto something here, and starts to tickle you as well. It's a trap you didn't even realize you fell in. And now you're wriggling as much as you can to escape the barrage of tickling.

Good luck, herbivore. You're gonna need it.

Azul is not into PDA. It interferes with his sauve business like persona. So when you kiss Cheka's tiny, little, squishy cheek, he feels a surge of envy.

He immediately berates himself. It's not the same. That's a child. Children are allowed to be given love in public. It wouldn't be the same if you kissed his cheek. 

But he's thinking about it all day. He's unknowingly tapping his pen loudly on the desk as he pretends to listen to what clients are asking him for. Luckily, Jade is always on top of things, so it still looks like everything is normal to outsiders.

Would it be so bad if he were to express his love for you in public? It wouldn't be unprofessional, right? Heck, it might strike more fear into people considering he has won the love of the Ramshackle prefect. (In thinking these thoughts, he's forgetting that he's ready to melt into a puddle when you kiss him in private)

When you slide into his lap to get his attention at the end of the day, he asks if you can try giving him a kiss on the cheek in public every once in a while.

He does, in fact, die the one time you're able to try it.

Let's be real. He's giving Cheka kissies with you. When he found out you were babysitting, he was so pumped! He loves to play with littles! 

Probably brought snacks and all sorts of toys that he thought looked fun at the Mystery Shop. 

Little Cheka loves Kalim and Y/N! He wants to play with them forever! But, alas, he has to go home eventually. And when he's giving a tearful goodbye, both you and Kalim start pressing kisses all over his face, and promise you can play again soon.

Once Cheka leaves, Kalim is just as sad, and missing his siblings a little. You know how to fix this, right?

That's right! Press kisses all over his face until he's laughing and smiling again!

He has Rook keep an eye on you from time to time, since he's very busy and wants to feel like he's part of your life. (Yes, he knows it's a little creepy, that's why he doesn't tell you. 🙄)

He's at a club meeting when he gets sent a photo from Rook, of you kissing Cheka on the cheek. And his first thought is…gross.

Potato! You have no idea where that child has been! Imagine all the germs and diseases he is putting onto the skin that he has worked so hard to help you get perfect!

His second thought is about whether or not he should have you quarantine before you can touch him again. He's too busy to get sick, and whatever dirt you now have on your skin will for sure upset the delicate balance of his own skin.

Well, his club members see him furiously typing what is looking to be a long paragraph to someone. I wish you the best.

Ortho and the tablet float over to find out where you are, and after you kiss Cheka, you see the tablet go on mute.

What you don't see is Idia having a meltdown about how absolutely adorable it was to watch his S/O kiss a human cat thing! He's giggling and squealing before getting it together and unmuting the tablet and asking in a super chill voice, "what's up?"

He later finds the footage in Ortho's database and screenshots the moment. He makes it his wallpaper on his phone. 

Starts searching the web for cats you can raise together (real cats, not human cats) he wants to see his favorite human kiss all the cats!!!! He knows he'll OD on cuteness, but he doesn't care! 

Melts a little every time he thinks about the cutscene he's working so hard to unlock. But it's worth the wait when the three kitties he bought are approved to stay in his dorm, and he gets to take all the pictures he could ever want.

*Fights fae urge to kidnap the child*

You have clearly chosen this child as one to be celebrated! He materializes on the scene and immediately begins bestowing blessings on the child. Cheka will now live a long life, beloved by all his subjects, and will only know happiness to the end of his days.

Malleus is about to start bestowing extra blessings, like the ability to know every language, when Leona comes on the scene and starts yelling about how his nephew stinks of lizard. Honestly, what did he expect, the "lizard" is your boyfriend.

He scoops Cheka up and leaves, and Malleus is fighting the urge to kidnap for the second time. By now Lilia has shown up, and is not helping.

Just kiss his cheek though, and he'll forget all about it. His child of man just kissed him! Huh? What child?

....

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #cheka kingscholar #twst cheka #twisted wonderland cheka #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #twisted wonderland riddle #twst riddle #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #twisted wonderland leona #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #azul x reader #kalim al asim x reader #kalim al asim #twst kalim #kalim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia

[danikamariewrites]

Meant to Be

Mob!Azriel x reader AU

A/n: I’m so excited to start this little series! I hope you all enjoy this and thank you for being patient with me. I know I’ve been all over the place lately lol. Also I might change the pov I use in the next fics but we’ll see.

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

As I’m just about to shut the front desk computer down, the glass door to the gallery swings open. Holding back rolling my eyes, I lift my head ready to tell whoever it is that we're closing. I stop, my lips partially open as my eyes meet the most gorgeous, soft hazel ones. On a beautifully sculpted face with a sharp jawline and soft raven hair. The words died in my throat. Changing to, “How can I help you?”

Gods I need to stop staring. If Feyre was still here she would be making fun of me for ogling the poor male while using my stupid customer service voice. He gives me a bright smile before speaking. “I’m looking for a new piece for my office. The walls are feeling a little bare.” Mother above he sounds like an angel.

I froze again. I’m technically not supposed to be selling paintings to clients, especially walk-ins and new ones. But my boss left me in charge for the rest of the day. It’s Gavin’s own fault he blew off work for a spa day. And I had to help Gavin list all the paintings, so I can absolutely sell one of these bad boys. I was amazed by how much Gavin didn’t know when these paintings came in. And he has the audacity to call himself an art collector.

“Absolutely. Are you looking for anything specific or I can show you a few of my favorite pieces if you’d like.”

As I stand I look around the room to see if anyone else is in the gallery. Two males with similar tan skin and dark hair stand by the door. The more muscular one slightly smirks at me before staring ahead again. I look back at the male in front of me, taking in his suit, the expensive watch, and the thick silver signet ring on his index finger gleaming in the light. Staring at the ring closely I can make out a family crest engraved on the flat surface. Morwood.

The male standing in front of me is notorious mob boss Azriel Morwood. Recovering quickly I smile up at Azriel, burying any kind of fear that was working its way up my spine. He isn’t here to hurt me. He’s here to buy art. Harmless.

Relaxing, I walk around the desk, gesturing to the left of the gallery. “This way then.” Azriel holds out his arm for me to take, that bright smile never once leaving his lips. Although it might not be the most professional thing to do, I loop my arm through his.

As we go from painting to painting Azriel seems to relax as well. We fall into easy conversation. At times it feels like we were childhood friends catching up. His flirtatious comments made me blush and fumble over my words. At the risk of being unprofessional again, I flirt back. There’s no denying the male is beautiful. I’m sure he’s kind under all of those dangerous layers. I can’t help the pull I feel toward him, to know more about Azriel. I should feel ashamed of this attraction. Azriel has done awful things but that feeling isn’t taking over.

“And that’s it for this collection. Is there anything else that’s caught your eye?” I ask, regretfully pulling away from Azriel as I snap back into my customer service voice. A stark contrast to the normal flirty tone I was just using. He seemed to take his time thinking. Azriel’s hazel eyes seem to twinkle as he looks at me. “That Blanch piece, I loved the two you showed me.” “Of course.” I lead him to the middle of the section where the two paintings hang side by side.

He looks at the two trying to decide between the two. “Which is your favorite?” I look at him, taken aback by Azriel Morwood asking for my opinion. “Well…I can’t choose between the two. Truthfully, I believe Blanch created these pieces to complement each other. They’re from two different collections but you can tell by the edge of the scenery they are meant to be together.” Azriel let out a thoughtful hum as he crossed his arms.

I try not to stare at him too blatantly but I just can’t help myself. His thinking face is cute. I can tell he’s concentrating. “I’ll take both.” My eyes widened. I'm so shocked I took half a step back. “I’m sorry?” I realize that it came out harsher than expected. “Sorry, I just - really? You want to buy both?” A half smile tugs at the corner of his lips as Azriel turns to face me. “If they are meant to be together it would be a crime to separate them.” There was something insinuating in that seductive tone of his. The hopeful look in his eyes gave it away. Something told me Azriel rarely let something like that slip. I give him a genuine half smile of my own. “Of course.”

Fifteen minutes and one giant check later Azriel had bought his paintings with the promise to come pick them up after they were framed tomorrow. Finally closing the gallery I went home and dreamed of him that night.

——

Walking down the sunny streets of Velaris I’m lost in thought about Azriel. How I want to run my fingers to see if those raven locks are truly as soft as they look. Those hazel eyes and how I never want them to lose sight of me.

My phone incessantly buzzing in my bag pulls me from my thoughts. I groan as I search for it in the clutter of stuff I threw in this morning. Fifteen texts from Feyre and more incoming light up the lock screen.

Girl get here soon

Gavin is piissseeddd

What did u do lmao

He won’t tell me, plz tell me so I know before him. I wanna taunt him with this secret info

Oh boy. He must not be pleased about the new client. I quickly type out a text telling her I’d be there soon. Shoving my phone back in my bag, my pounding heart seems as loud as my footsteps. I’m practically jogging by the time I enter the gallery.

Feyre looks up at me from the desk. A wild and confused look is on her face like she was just handed the winning lottery ticket. “He’s been on the phone with Benny all morning. I could hear him screaming, what did you do?” A nervous laugh sounds on the last word.

As I open my mouth to answer the door to Gavin’s office flings open, hitting the wall inside with a violent thud. “You!” He seethes. “Why didn’t you call me about the client last night?!” He screeches as he stomps over to the desk like a child. “What was I supposed to do? Say, sorry, come back later? It was Azriel Morwood.” Feyre lets out a dramatic gasp leaning back in the spinny chair. Her eyes bounce between us, waiting to see what wild statement her ears will be blessed with next.

“I know damn well who the client was, and you’re not supposed to make sales! Remember? Or has your sense of self importance around here made it hard for you to remember that you're a fucking intern! And you have no right —” a throat clearing makes Gavin stop his berating. His face went pale as his eyes landed on Azriel and the two males flanking him.

Azriel raises a brow giving Gavin a quizzical look. Gavin puts on a fake smile striding to greet our guests. “Hello Mr. Morwood! How can I help you today? Is there a problem with your purchase that I can fix?” He shoots me a glare that I don’t notice. All I notice is Azriel. It feels like the whole world has melted away and it’s just us.

“No.” His tone cruel and cold. “I would like to talk to y/n. Alone.” He emphasizes the last word by pinning Gavin with a look that would send anyone running. The shock on Gavin’s face is fucking priceless as he backs away murmuring an apology.

I slowly approach Azriel trying to suppress my grin. He watches me with a gentle gaze. That charming smile pulling on his lips again. “Hi,” Mother above that deep, gravelly voice gives me chills. “Hi.” I whisper back. “Your paintings should be ready soon. I saw the framer when I came in.” Azriel slowly shakes his head. “No, not that. Well, yes, I’m here for the paintings. But I wanted to ask you something.” I blink up at him curiously tilting my head. What could he possibly want from me?

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #azriel #azriel au #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader

[luveline]

hey lovely! <3 can i request a little something for aaron hotchner? maybe something where he’s being jealous/protective? i adore the way you write him! :)

this is like a very mini fic it's all over the place ♡ thank you for your request!! fem!reader cw weird guy tries to kiss you

You're in New Jersey of all places trying to find a serial killer, and in your opinion, Hotch is being entirely unprofessional. 

You're also really enjoying it, but that's not the point. 

There's a police officer that isn't flirting with you, really, more like he's a touchy guy in general. You're working as the conduit between the team and the police force, and so every time you tell this touchy guy something, it's an opportunity for him to say thank you.

This guy says thank you with a quick shoulder touch. 

You feel guilty, admittedly. While Hotch isn't quite your boyfriend, he isn't not your boyfriend — you're working it out. Or rather, he's working it out. You'd walk into the middle of the road if he asked you to, but Hotch has hang ups about interwork relationships. He's hesitant because he worries about the inherent power imbalance between you. 

It's fine though. You're hoping he'll come around eventually. And eventually might come sooner rather than later, with the way he's glaring holes in this guy's head. 

"Is he making you uncomfortable?" Hotch asks you. 

The door closes behind your guilty police officer. You'd prefer it if the police officer didn't touch you at all, but he isn't necessarily making you uncomfortable.

"It's alright," you placate, feeling the eyes of both Spencer and Rossi on you like laser beams. 

Hotch nods and goes back to work. A small tell, and huge in the eyes of profilers. 

You get further into the case and forget about the guy's touches, but you don't think Hotch can. He sits next to you at every opportunity, and insists you ride shotgun on the way back to the hotel. You have separate rooms, wouldn't dream of ever sharing one with him, so it shocks you like lightning when he invites you in for 'coffee'. 

You sit on the end of his bed. 

"Are you mad at me?" you ask, a moment of weakness. 

He's very tense. Less so at your question, he pulls his weight off of the closed door and sits beside you on the bed. "Of course not." Then, because he's too smart and too himself to avoid the issue, "I'm sorry if I'm being forward." 

"I like you, Hotch. You know I do," you say. In lieu of, Be forward, please. You don't speak with any particular inflection. It's the stone cold truth, and you aren't mad at him for anything. Not his hesitancy to be with you, or his jealousy. 

"You don't think it's arrogant?" he asks. 

"I think it's kind of nice. It's reassuring," you amend softly, "to know you want me to yourself." 

That sounded better in your head. Thankfully, all Hotch does is nod. "I do." 

"Okay, good. You can keep glaring at Officer Paulson, then." 

He smiles at you, half defeat, half fondness. "His name is Poulton." 

"Is it?" 

His smile doubles. He places his hand across the sheets, palm up. You place your hand in his. 

"You really need to get it together," you joke lightly. 

"I know," he says. 

The next day, you're back in the conference room of the Cherry Hill police department, hand pretty much on fire still from his touch where its resting on the desk as you jot down notes. Each time you remember how he'd held it, you'd fingers curl in on themselves, looking for Hotch's hand and not finding it. 

You write down notes, not to be selfish, but because it really helps you connect the dots. You're not like Spencer, you can't store an infinite amount of knowledge up in your brain. You need space and time to work it out. 

A cup of coffee appears to your right. A hand presses flat to the space between your shoulder blades. You beam at the tiny thumb movements and turn in your seat. "Oh… my god. Officer Pauls-ton." You laugh awkwardly, shrugging out from under his hand. "I thought you were someone else." 

"I noticed you in here all by yourself and figured you could use some company." 

Even if you'd been alone, and you had wanted company, and this was a dimension where Hotch didn't exist, Poulton's hand absolutely should not have been where it was. Now you're uncomfortable. 

"Oh, no, that's alright. I'm just trying to make some connections here while everyone's out." 

What a terrible thing to admit. You can practically see the excitement on his face. 

"Yeah? They always leave the pretty one behind?" 

You laugh without meaning to. Usually, Spencer is the one running point, so he's technically right. "You could say that." 

"This all seems pretty boring."

You lean away as he leans forward. You're surprised — you've never been cornered like this, whether he means to do it or not. 

"It's my job," you explain. 

"Now why would a girl like you do something so gruesome?" 

"Uh-" You laugh clumsily, wondering how the fuck you're gonna get out of this situation. You start by standing up and turning to him completely, the backs of your thighs pressed against the desk you'd been working on hard enough to ache. "A girl like me? I love the work we do." 

"You don't find it boring?" 

"Sometimes, but-" 

"I can think of a few ways to liven it up in here." 

This is the kind of thing your girlfriend's have told you about, over-imposing creeps who use a facade of niceness to get close. Officer Poulton has known you for all of three days, and while you've been friendly, you've never given any indication that you want to be seduced in a public work space.

"No, I don't think so." 

"Come on, baby." 

He steps toward you, hands moving to take your waist. You side step around him, eyes on the door, and he follows. 

His fingers close around your wrist, and he says, "Where are you going?" 

You yank your hand away and glare at him, other hand behind you and opening the door. You close it between you. You want to call someone. One of your friends, your team. Your heart races. 

You can't tell if you were in danger or not. 

You make your way through the bullpen to the women's restroom and hide in one of the stalls, typing a quick text to Garcia, who's most likely to respond. 

Weirdo just tried to kiss me at CH PD. Hiding in the bathroom. Swear some guys see a polite smile and take it as enthusiasm. :[ 

You don't want her to panic, so you add, It's fine, though. How are things back home?

You spend a little time in there, as much as you can allow, hoping desperately that Officer Poulton has left the conference room so you can get back to work in peace. 

he did wt? R u ok??? wts his address?

The bathroom smells like bleach, and the toilet tank behind you drips. It's cold, and you feel an odd mixture of embarrassed and ashamed, though you don't have any reason to feel either. 

I must have said something to him, you think scornfully. Something that made him think- 

You shake your head. That guy's just an oddball. He saw signals where there weren't any. You didn't do anything wrong. 

After some mild internal debate you stand up to face the music. You're barely a step outside of the bathroom when you're bumping into Emily, who's expression floods with relief. 

"What happened?" she asks urgently. 

"What?" 

"Garcia said some guy came onto you? Officer Touchy?" Her eyes are sympathetic, her lips pinched into a friendly, pitying pout. 

You gawp. "She told you?" 

"What did he do?" 

"Nothing awful, he just- he put hid hand behind my back and I- he was leaning over me so I tried to leave and he grabbed my wrist. It wasn't anything more than that." 

"He grabbed you?" she asks. 

You look up to find Hotch a few paces behind. His expression is unreadable. His tone, less so. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, all the airs of someone taking pre-measures.

"I'm perfect. He barely touched me. I only told Penelope because I-" Why did you tell Penelope? "I don't know. He surprised me." 

"I'm going to speak to the Chief of police," he says. "If you'll be alright?" 

"I'm fine, there's really no need."

"It's disrespectful," Emily says, fiercely protective over her friends no matter what. "We're here to help them and you've got officers acting like frat boys." 

Hotch says your name, pulling both of your attentions. "You're sure you're okay?" 

You smile at him softly. It's good of him to be so concerned, but unnecessary. "I'm fine, I promise." 

He takes your word for it and turns around. Emily lets out a low whistle. 

"Someone's in for it," she says. 

You don't know how right she is until you hear his raised voice. Chills run down your spine at his tone, so formidable, so sternly contained.

"Touch my agent again and you'll be working desk jockey for the rest of your career. Do I make myself clear?" 

You can't hear it, but you imagine the answer is, "Clear."

That night, laid like two twin commas invested toward one another, you ask, "'My agent'?" 

"You're one of mine, aren't you?" Hotch asks quietly.

"But am I yours?" you ask. 

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, the bulk and curve of his bicep firm against your neck, and smiles, lips resting at the crown of your head. 

"Do you want to be?" he asks. 

You curl into his touch and embrace, warmed by his body heat and the blanket he's taken care to pull up to your chest. He smells like toothpaste and eucalyptus body wash, his hair still damp from the shower. You breathe him in indulgently, and you close your eyes to sleep without responding to his question. He already knows the answer. 

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds

[grimm-writings]

Can I request something (I leave the format up to you) for Chilchuck x reader where the reader genuinely asks Chilchuck for his opinions and thoughts on things? (dungeon related things, union stuff, that sort of thing) Since he mentioned how he would like to be taken serious/respected like Senshi.

Basically reader respects Chilchuck and might have developed a little crush on him as well but doesn't want to make him uncomfortable by being unprofessional so they don't act on it. Maybe it's mutual.

Chilchuck is skilled as fuck and it would be nice if he got some well deserved genuine praise and appreciation for it.

mutual

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, headcanon format, some very very lightly implied maturity difference, marcille #1 wingwoman, reader is taller than chil

…wc! 992

…notes! YOU ARE SO CORRECT he’s genuinely such a valuable asset to the team!! every bit of praise here is well-earned!!!! 

You joined the party along with Senshi at the very start of their journey.  The group was rather small and you’d fear something might happen if they traverse the dungeon on their own.  You felt as if it were your duty to help out, eager to please as you are.

You realised fast that despite the dysfunctional way the group decided to acquire their food, they’re actually much more competent than you thought!

Though this is really you generalising your admiration for the picklock of the group.  Being more combat oriented, the ways in which Chilchuck easily bypasses puzzles and open doors left you rapt with his skill.

Before you knew it, you had acquired a notebook and pencil of your own (that you deliberated on robbing from orcs for a while before caving), and you were jotting down notes like nobody’s business!

(Only when alone or on night guard.  If anyone knew, you’d be so embarrassed…)

When Chilchuck offers a piece of advice about the social behaviours of adventuring parties, you notice.  When Chilchuck offhandedly mentions a tricky aspect of the dungeon, you notice.

When Chilchuck scolds Senshi for treating him like a child, you notice.

You had a feeling he wasn’t a child.  You were sort of observing him unendingly, and he seemed the image of a jaded, experienced adventurer.  You can’t help but feel your admiration for him grow upon realising that. 

It’s difficult not to come across too eager as you’re imploring him for more knowledge.  You’re just curious!  You’re expanding your dungeon knowledge!  He’s happy to tell you anything you need to know, as casually and calmly as any good teacher.

But you know deep down that you’re just really attached to the half-foot.  Maybe too attached…

When someone (Senshi) makes a comment about Chilchuck, even before he could retort like usual you’re standing in front of him telling him what’s what!  Chilchuck is too taken aback to make much of a comment about it afterwards, but he seems… pleased.

(It’s giving “his pronouns are they/them!”)

Marcille and Laios give each other a look whenever this happens.  Not saying you’re being judged, but…

Your earnestness to be the pinnacle of dungeon exploration gives Chilchuck pride in being your mentor.  He’ll make a comment about it occasionally but deep down…

You kind of wish it could be more.

You’re not young necessarily.  You’re years into your adulthood, but even with that in mind, Chilchuck already made it quite clear that inter-party relations are strictly a no-no.

And you just had to go and break rule number one!

It does leave you staring longingly at the half-foot’s peaceful expression when you’re supposed to be on night watch, wishing for a different reality.

It would be part way through your adventure, long after you’ve given up hope on your feelings being reciprocated, when Chilchuck gives you a spot of hope.

Just a run-in with a bicorn can really change your perspective…  Chilchuck actually asked if he could talk, just one-on-one, with you.

You had to contain yourself from exploding when you accepted, following behind him into a nearby corridor.  You pretend to ignore Marcille’s giggles and Izutsumi’s sigh and eyeroll. 

Just had to hold your breath…

Chilchuck turns to you, looking apprehensive.  You do appreciate his progress of trying to be a bit more open to people.  You’re always his number one supporter without even being coddling…  He takes a breath looking up at you.  If you only knew what you did to him with each round of praise and appreciation. …Well, only one way to get there, yeah? He says your name with a weight.  One you’re not able to put to name.  “I haven’t been… entirely honest with you,” he tells you. Your chest tightens and you feel your blood run cold.  “What… What do you mean?” “Nothing bad!”  He’s quick to ease your fears with a desperate wave of his hands.  He’s still working on this, and you can tell from how red his face gets that he’s definitely struggling with this.  You watch his Adam’s apple (small, but noticeable if you stare long enough) (not like you have) bob as he gulps. His gloved hands take yours.  You try your hardest not to blush. “You know how I keep telling you that you should get ahead?  Promote yourself to join the parties of more experienced adventurers?” “Yeah…?” “I was trying to push you away.”  He looks away from you, ashamed.  “So you don’t get any closer.  I also know… how you feel about me.” You’re back to feeling horrified beyond your wits. He's definitely going to reject you.  “I thought you said this wasn’t anything bad!” “I’m getting to it!”  He shoots back with the same increase in volume.  His nerves are getting the better of him. “Then by all means,” you say, “get to it!” Chilchuck’s hands over yours are shaking.  His mouth opens once more, but only a silent quiver of his vocal cords comes out.  He isn’t even looking at you anymore.  You probably think the worst of him by now, after all this time of trying his best to look his best, the image of professionalism. You know what?  Fuck this heart-to-heart stuff.  Marcille’s advice was shoddy from the start. The action is sudden.  Chilchuck unlaced his fingers from yours, and before you could process it, his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down to his height. And he’s kissing you.  A bit feverishly and you really would have thought he’d be a bit better at this considering his experience– But you kiss back, easing into it after your shocked “mmph!?”  He still definitely owes you for putting you through the five stages of grief twice though. Chilchuck breaks apart, and as you recover from your shock, he sighs and smiles slightly.  His face is nearly glowing from the heat; you can feel it quite plainly. “The feeling’s mutual,” he whispers.

#✮ grimm's fics! #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon imagines #dungeon meshi imagines #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #chilchuck imagines #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims imagines #chilchuck tims x reader

[wosoluver]

Healers got to date protectors - Headcanons

Misa x physio!reader

First time sleeping at her house

It was after your first date.

You two had unofficially hang out many times, until she actually mustered up the courage to ask you out. At first you refused her offer. Knowing that was very unprofessional from both of you. But as time when on you could no longer run from it, and decided to take up on her offer.

"You can't beat me at fifa, love" - She said daring you.

"I so can! You have no idea what it was like to grow up, with a brother addicted to it."

"Is this a bet?"

"I think it is."

"Fine, let's go." - She said while simultaneously asking for the check.

"What? Where?"

"Home."

"Couldn't even wait for the second date to bring me back to your apartment?"

"What can I say? I take my competitions very seriously."

And with that you both got back to the goalkeeper's apartment.

"Okay what are we betting on?" - you asked.

"Anything the other wants." - She said wiggling her brows suggestively.

"Absolutely not! We're already crossing to many lines!"

"Exactly, we already crossed them!"

"Fine."

You played a few rounds, and ultimately you lost.

"Be kind with your wish."

"You're staying the night."

"Okay, but no one at work can hear about this. Not even about the date. They already give me a hard time, for being friends with the players."

"They are just jealous, because you're young, hot, good at your job, kind, has a beautiful smile-"

"Woah calm down, sounds like your about to get on your knees and propose."

"I might." - She said coming closer to you a giving you a kiss.

Since that night you two had shared a few stolen kisses, but nothing more. Not that you didn't want to. On the contrary, you were fighting your desires hard.

But you would always bring up the fact that you were coworkers and this wasn't right. You couldn't lose your job, you were so lucky to be there in the first place.

"If they want to fire you, they'll have to fire me too." - She said reassuring you.

"Don't you dare say that! You can't put your career on risk."

"I could tell you the same. Plus they won't fire me. I'm a world champion. They can't find anyone more qualified to take my place. Or anyone who can manage the pressure."

That was in fact true.

"But first, I have a question." - She said on a serious tone that kind of scared you. - "Did you let me win on purpose?"

"Of course not." - You said it quickly, but giving her a small smile.

"Y/N!"

"You had to see the way your eyes twinkled when you won! I didn't want to take that away. That's when you look the prettiest!

And I don't regret it. I will lose every time if I have to."

She couldn't wait for you to finish, so she could clash her lips onto yours.

You made her feel a type of way she couldn't explain. She had never met someone quite like you. If she was a cloudy day, you were the sunshine on a spring morning. If she was grumpy, you had the biggest smile on your face and if she was Buttercup, you were definitely Bubbles.

I love this series very dearly. This was the last part I had planned, so if you have any other idea, let me know!

By the way we are 10 followers away from 200! 🩷

#woso #woso x reader #misa rodriguez #misa rodriguez x reader #real madrid femenino #espwnt

[notbecauseofvictories]

My best friend and I had a call recently---she’s back with her family for a bit helping out with some hometown stuff. As part of the stuff, she’s been going through a (deceased) relative’s scrapbook, compiled in the American Midwest circa 1870-1900 and featuring mostly cut-out figures from the ads of the day.

She talked about how painstaking this relative’s work was. (Apparently the relative was careful to cut out every finger, every cowlick; this was by no means carelessly or hastily assembled.) But she also she talked about how---the baby on the baking soda ad is ugly, it is so ugly, why anyone would clip this heinously ugly illustrated baby and paste it into a scrapbook? Why would you save the (terribly told, boring) ghost story that came with your box of soap?

(Why include these things in the first place? we asked each other. ”There’s a kind of anti-capitalism to it,” she mused.)

And we discussed that for a bit---how most of the images, stories, artists, and ads were local, not national; they’re pulled from [Midwestern state] companies’ advertisements in [Midwestern state] papers, magazines, and products. As a consequence, you’re not looking at Leyendecker or Norman Rockwell illustrations, but Johann Spatz-Smith from down the road, who took a drawing class at college.

(College is the state college, and he came home on weekends and in the summer to help with the farm or earn some money at the plant.)

But it also inspired a really interesting conversation about how---we have access to so much more art, better and more professional art, than any time in history. As my bff said, all you have to do to find a great, technically proficient and lovely representational image of a baby, is to google the right keywords. But for a girl living in rural [Midwestern state] of the late 1800s, it was the baking soda ad, or literal actual babies. There was no in-between, no heading out to the nearby art museum to study oil paintings of mother and child, no studying photographs and film---such new technologies hadn’t diffused to local newspapers and circulars yet, and were far beyond the average person’s means. But cheap, semi-amateur artists? Those were definitely around, scattered between towns and nearby smallish cities.

It was a good conversation, and made me think about a couple things---the weird entitlement that “professional” and expensive art instills in viewers, how it artificially depresses the appetite for messy unprofessional art, including your own; the way that this makes your tastes narrower, less interesting, less open.

By that I mean---maybe the baby isn’t ugly! Maybe you’ve just seen too many photorealistic babies. Maybe you haven’t really stopped to contemplate that your drawing of a baby (however crude, ugly, or limited) is the best drawing of a baby you can make, and the act of drawing that lumpen, ugly baby is more sacred and profoundly human than even looking at a Mary Cassatt painting.

And even if that isn’t the case....there was this girl in [American Midwestern state] for whom it was very, very important that she capture every finger, curl, and bit of shading for that ugly soap ad baby. And some one hundred years later, her great-something-or-other took pains to preserve her work---because how terribly human it is, to seek out all the art we can find that resonates with us, preserve it, adore it.

It might be the most human impulse we have.

#I of course went on a tangent about henry darger because I love darger and he was also pulling/tracing/finding inspiration in local ads #I was also thinking of the scenes in banshees of inisherin where gleeson plays the fiddle in the bar and the woman sings #clearly not professional! nowhere near mozart. #but you know what? those people are making art. they are engaged in the most human thing you can possibly do #my mother once talked about how when she was growing up in the chicago area the irish immigrants would sing and play at parties #and her mother (one generation removed from immigration) would scoff #because who did they think they were! they weren't professionals. they were making a spectacle of themselves. #''and then it died out. no one sings and plays at parties anymore'' she said quietly #celestial emporium of benevolent knowledge

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xxv

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: Nurse Rosario gets a little too familiar for Tara's liking.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of violence.

word count: 3k

a/n: get ready for a chapter of *angry pookie noises*

You manage to sleep through the night with little disturbance.

Tara attempts to sleep (what looks somewhat uncomfortably) sprawled across your lap, the plastic hospital bed barrier jutting into her stomach before you pull her up and into the bed on your good side.

Sam makes a bed for herself near the side of the room by pushing two chairs next to each other.

You’d tell her to go home and get a good night’s sleep but you know better than to suggest she leaves Tara. And she knows better to suggest Tara leaves you.

So you leave her be. Maybe, when you’re moved over to Woodsboro General, you’ll ask them for a pull-out bed for her. It’s the least you can do, after all. She had, in all essence, saved your life. 

Nurse Rosario knocks a little while later.

Tara’s still a little drowsy against your shoulder when she enters.

“How’s my favorite patient?” Nurse Rosario asks, twinkle in her eye and a spring in her step.

“I’m okay,” Says Tara before you can respond. She lets out a sleepy yawn, “Could have slept better, these beds are awful.”

You share a look with Nurse Rosario.

“I don’t think she was talking to you, babe,” You say. She blinks, then blushes. You ruffle her hair, fondly, “I’m alright. No pain.”

“Then, the morphine is doing its job,” Says Nurse Rosario with a quiet hum. She checks your chart.

“Looks like you’re being transferred today, around 11am. I’m going to redress the bandage, and then we’ll give you a bath. Sound good?”

Tara sits up.

“A bath?” She asks, brow furrowed, “Like a naked bath?”

Sam sighs, heavily.

“I’m going to get some coffee.” She mumbles, offering you a ‘good luck, you’re on your own’ kind of glance.

The Nurse puts down your chart, nonplussed.

“What other kinds of baths are there, Tara?”

You bite your lip, rub Tara’s back. Gone are the heart eyes she’d had for Nurse Rosario last night. Now, it looks like she might leap across the bed and punch her.

“I don’t need a bath,” You say, hurriedly, trying to get ahead of the problem, “It’s fine. I’ll have one when I get back to Woodsboro.”

Nurse Rosario looks between you, a little confused. But she doesn’t protest.

“Alright,” She says, “Your call. I’ll go get some fresh gauze and I’ll be back in five.”

Tara’s seething when she leaves. 

An all too familiar darkness settles behind her eyes. 

She hops out of the bed, leaving you wincing at the way the bed shakes.

“That was so unprofessional,” She says, with indignation on her face as she looks over to you, “Did you hear that, baby? She wanted to get you naked.”

“She wanted to give me a bath because she’s a nurse and that’s her job.” You correct, but Tara isn’t listening to you.

She glares out the window, looking over to Nurse Rosario who’s compiling medical supplies at one of the nurses stations.

“A bath? Right before you’re about to be transferred to a new hospital?” Tara says, “It’s outrageous.”

“I’m sure it’s standard procedure, babe.” You say, voice tired.

It's too early for this. You don't have enough morphine for this. 

She bites her lip, then looks over to you.

“She’s not touching you,” Tara tells you, voice hot, “Who knows what kind of perverted pleasure she’s getting out of it. I’m changing your bandages myself-”

“You are not." You say immediately.

Tara whirls around.

“But, babe-” Tara whines.

“No, Tara.” You say, voice final, “Go sit over there and be quiet. If you say anything rude to Nurse Rosario you’re not sleeping with me tonight. You’ll have to make yourself a bed in the waiting room.”

Tara stares.

Her eyes narrow, like she’s about to call your bluff.

“Don’t make me call Sam.” You threaten.

That does it.

Tara’s bottom lip juts out in a pout, but she does what she’s told. With all the energy of a toddler being told they can’t have their favorite snack, she stomps over to Sam’s vacant chair and sets herself down.

For good measure, she offers you a glare to signal how unhappy she is.

“Alright,” Nurse Rosario says, fresh bandage in hand, with all the pleasantness of someone who didn’t have to partake in the last thirty seconds of conversation, “Let’s get you fixed up, sweetie.”

When Sam comes back, coffee in hand, Nurse Rosario is wrapping a fresh bandage around your torso.

Tara’s glaring at her, arms crossed.

The tension in the room is palpable, and you’re a little concerned Nurse Rosario feels it too.

“Sam, why don’t you and Tara go get some breakfast?” You suggest.

Sam looks over at Tara.

“No.” Says Tara, teeth clenched.

Sam sets her coffee down on the table. There are bags under her eyes, no doubt from her makeshift chair-bed.

She looks far too tired to deal with her storm-cloud sister.

“Come on, Tara,” Sam urges, quietly, “We’ll go get YN a blueberry muffin or something. The food here looks awful.”

She shoots a look at the nurse.

“No offense.”

“None taken,” Chuckles Nurse Rosario. She makes the finishing touches on your new bandage, “There we go, all done.”

She squeezes your hip, lightly.

Tara doesn’t miss it. Her eyes go wide in outrage, as if Nurse Rosario has just leaned in and planted a kiss to your lips.

“Thanks, Nurse Rosario.” You say, hurriedly, racking your brain to think of something for Tara to do before she stands up and tackles the nurse, “Baby, can you get me some water, please?”

“I’ll get you water.” Says Nurse Rosario, helpfully.

“I’m her girlfriend, I’ll get it.” Growls Tara. She all but snatches the carafe from the nurse's hand.

You close your eyes and sigh.

“Thanks, Nurse Rosario,” Intervenes Sam. She all but pushes the confused Nurse out the door in an effort to get rid of her, “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

Sam turns back into the room.

You look mad, almost as mad as Tara.

Sam purses her lips, and decides within seconds she doesn’t want to be part of this conversation. If you could walk without wincing, you'd do the same. 

“I’ll… go get some more coffee.” Sam mumbles, sounding resigned. She sees herself out before you can get a word in.

Tara circles your bed like a shark in bloody water.

“Baby,” You say, voice pinched as she leans in and presses a possessive kiss to the top of your head, “That was so not cool-”

Tara leans back, her eyebrows furrowed. She looks confused.

“Are you mad at me?” She asks, disbelievingly, “You’re mad at me for defending your honor?”

“You weren’t defending my honor, Tara, you were being jealous and possessive-”

“Protective.” Tara corrects. She blinks, hurt rising behind her eyes, “You’re mad at me for protecting you?”

You sigh, pinching your nose with your fingertips.

She just doesn't get it. 

“Are we seriously going to fight right now because of her?” Tara asks, voice high, “Is this because you think I have a crush on her? You’re punishing me?”

“No, Tara,” You say, voice hot, “You were rude. For no reason. Possessive. For no reason. Do you seriously think that married woman in her forties is interested in me?”

“Everybody else is,” Tara says, voice sharp, “Chase, Aaron, Sadie, Amber, Wes. I feel like I have to fight off the entire town just to keep you.”

“Baby.” You sigh.

The anger drains out of your body.

You know it’s not her fault, it’s just the way she is. But sometimes, times like these, it’s like she’s not even trying.

It’s like she’s just letting The Rage take over.

You sigh.

“Come here.” You murmur, gesturing to the spot next to you.

She doesn’t give you time to change your mind. She climbs into the spot next to you, settling her head against your chest, big brown eyes wide as they look up at you.

You press a kiss to her forehead and tangle your fingers in her hair.

“We talked about this,” You say quietly, “I told you, Tara. You’re the only person I want to be with.”

“But what if you change your mind?” Tara says, voice small, “What if one day I’m not looking and you decide you want to be with someone like her? Someone normal. Someone… not like me.”

She blinks. Her eyes swim with fear.

You lean down and kiss her, softly. Her eyes flutter shut.

“That’s not going to happen,” You say, voice firm.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that, or I wouldn’t say it.”

“But what if you change your mind?”

She’s staring up at you, eyes flitting between yours, searching for reassurance.

“Do you think I would put up with all your bullshit if I wasn’t sure?” You say, trying to keep your tone light. She’s impossible when she gets like this. Needy. Antsy. Searching for validation in your words that’s never good enough.

Usually, you’d use your body to console her.

That always seems to work.

But now, in a hospital bed with a three inch stab wound in your stomach, you’ll have to talk. Like a healthy couple.

A couple that has never been the two of you.

She frowns, slightly. You watch as her guard draws up.

“You seem to like my bullshit when it suits you.” She snipes, the tips of her ears turning red in anger, “You seem to like me being possessive when I’m fucking you. But what? You don’t like it in real life?”

She sits up and pulls away from you.

“Tara-”

“No, babe.” She says, climbing back out of the bed, “That’s just not how it works. I can’t turn it off, don’t you understand?”

Her eyes are wide, desperate.

“I do understand, baby,” You say. You sit up, wincing as it tugs at your stitches, “I know and I’m trying to help you. Please, come lay back down.”

But her arms are crossed.

Her anger has been redirected towards you.

It’s not the fiery kind of anger she reserves for everyone else. It’s pouty. Cold.

Silent treatment for hours kind of cold.

You lean across the bed and try to grab her hand but she pulls back.

“Tara.” You groan, “Honey, please.”

“I think I’m going to go find Sam,” Tara says, “I don’t want to subject you to anymore of my bullshit.”

She sits down, angrily shimmies her feet into her converse.

“Don’t leave mad, babe, please-” You beg but she’s committed to her dramatic storm out.

She does this sometimes. Through and through a drama queen. 

And you do the only thing you know will stop her from leaving. 

You swing your legs over the bed and try to follow.

A sharp pain ripples through your body. You can't muffle your gasp. She whirls around, stormy eyes widening as she sees. 

“What are you doing?” She hisses, hurrying back over, icy façade melted within moments, “Get back into bed.”

Her arms are around your shoulders, trying to lift you back into the bed. You let her resettle you, clinging onto her bicep.

“You’re not getting out of this conversation,” You tell her, “Either you come back into bed and we talk or I’ll follow you down the hall and bleed all over the floor.”

Tara huffs.

“Your little girlfriend would love that,” She says, under her breath, “Give her another chance to put her hands all over you.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, babe.” You say. She tries to withdraw, but you grip onto her tighter, “You’re jealous and there’s nothing to be jealous about.”

“I can’t help it-” She tries again, sounding aggravated.

You grip her hand, touch soft, “I know, baby. I know it’s not your fault.”

She eyes you suspiciously, like she’s not sure why you’re suddenly on her side.

“Don’t be mad at me, Tara,” You say, reaching out to touch her cheek, “I don’t want to fight. We don’t fight. We’re too in love, remember?”

“You started it.” Tara says, voice gruff, like she has to have the last word.

You let her have it.

Try to pull her down once more. This time, she doesn’t resist. She lets you settle her against your chest, careful not to touch your wound. You press a long kiss against her head and scrape your fingers under the hem of her shirt, just wanting to touch her skin.

You watch her for a quiet moment.

Her heart is pounding, you can feel it through her shirt. Her skin is clammy, her cheeks still red. She’s in fight or flight mode, the way she always is when The Rage gets bad like this. You rub her back gently, trying to soothe her.

“When I passed out, I had a weird dream.” You murmur. Her breathing is ragged, and you know she’s still a little upset, but she looks up at you anyway. Gives you her full attention, the way she always does.

“What kind of weird dream?” She asks, eyebrows knit.

“I saw Chase,” You say. You grip her a little tighter, “And Wes. I talked to them.”

“Oh.” Says Tara. She’s blinking, like she’s not sure where this is going, “What did you talk about?”

“My subconscious.” You say, weak smile on your face, “I think he was my subconscious. I think they both were.”

You press another kiss to the top of her head.

She’s calmer now, her heartbeat slowed to match yours.

You thread your fingers through her hair, scratch her scalp fondly.

“I’ve been trying to work out what it meant,” You admit, “Dreams always mean something, right?”

“Not always,” Says Tara, nose crinkled, “I had a dream last night I turned into a bee and you thought I’d died.”

You snort.

She whacks you, gently, but a smile blooms on her face.

“It’s not funny,” She says, “You had a funeral for me and everything. Sam was inconsolable.”

“Do you often have dreams like that?” You ask, a little curious, “Dreams that separate you from me?”

She’s quiet.

“Yeah.” She says, quietly, “They’re usually more violent. But they’re all the same.”

She blinks up at you, pretty brown eyes mournful, “I lose you and you move on without me.”

“Babe,” You say, touching her cheek, “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

She closes her eyes at your touch. For a moment, she looks a little sad.

You lean down and press a kiss to her lips.

And then pull back, a little hesitant.

“My parents want me to see a therapist,” You say, biting your lip, “At first, I said no because I didn’t think… I didn’t want to say too much, but now I think they’re right.”

She stares up at you. You half expect her to get mad again. Withdraw from you and leave the room in a huff. But she doesn’t, she just watches, quietly.

You swallow.

“I want you to come with me,” You say, softly, “It might help. We can put The Rage to bed for once and for all.”

Her lips tilt.

She offers you a sad smile.

“There’s no getting rid of The Rage, babe,” She says, “Don’t you think my parents tried? I’ve been to every therapist within a fifty mile radius. But it doesn’t help. I’m just… bad. Wired wrong, that’s what my Mom always said.”

She looks so small.

You tilt your arms around her, protectively.

“Your Mom’s a self-obsessed idiot,” You tell her, “She doesn’t know you. Not like I know you. You’re not bad, you’re just…”

She quirks an eyebrow.

“Misguided,” You settle, “Your intentions are good, baby, you just… need some help.”

“You’re helping me,” She mumbles into your chest, “I don’t need anyone else. Before you knew I would have killed that nurse for what she did just now.”

Your heart flips. Not in a good way.

You hate when you’re reminded of the things she’s done for you.

“The killing is only half the problem,” You say, and she furrows her brow, looking up at you again, “Okay, maybe seventy-five percent of the problem. But it’s just a symptom. A manifestation of the source.”

You rub her back.

“And I need it too, babe. I need to process everything. What you did. What I did.”

“And how are you supposed to do that without revealing everything?” Tara asks, quietly, “Babe, this isn’t like talking about depression or something, we’re talking about murder.”

You rub your eyes, suddenly tired.

“I don’t know,” You confess, “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’ll talk to someone and it won’t help. But I have to try. And I want you to try too.”

You kiss the top of her head once more.

“Will you do it, babe? For me?”

You look into her eyes, searchingly. She’s hesitant, you can tell by the way she’s frowning, only slightly.

But then she softens, snuggling back into your chest.

“I’d do anything for you,” She admits, quietly, “Surely you know that by now.”

Your heart soars.

You curl your hand around the back of her neck.

Her heart has slowed to a steady pulse. Her eyes are closed. The Rage is gone. You press a final kiss to the top of her head, scratch your fingers lightly along the back of her neck.

You know her moods better than anything. Better than the tides of the moon or the intricate weave of the stars. In her eyes, Nurse Rosario is a villain she’s fought and conquered. She’s won, just by being here and having you under her. By having you whisper words of reassurance to her lips.

Nurse Rosario is a non-factor.

So you decide to keep the mood light.

“Anything, huh?” You murmur, eyes sparking with mischief, “I guess this is a bad time to ask for a threesome with my new favorite nurse?”

Her head jerks up.

Her eyes spark, but they settle the moment she sees the smile on your lips.

Her eyes narrow and she huffs, dropping back down to curl into your chest.

“You’re a fucking jerk,” She grumbles.

You kiss her once more.

“We’ll talk about it in therapy.” You smile. 

#all hers #tara carpenter #ghostface!tara #jenna ortega #scream vi #jenna ortega x reader #scream #mine #fanfic #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you

[jamiewintons]

All in a Day’s Work (Felix Fickelgruber/F!Reader)

Summary: Being Mr. Fickelgruber’s personal assistant involves a lot of duties that one might not expect, but you’re willing to go that extra mile.

Tags/Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY!), Oral Sex (M!Receiving), Desk Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Implied Exhibitionism, Unprofessional Behaviour, Boss/Employee, A little bit of degradation, softness towards the end.

A/N: Hope you enjoy 😘 The idea of Fickelgruber asking you whether you prefer the taste of chocolate or something else (😉) was inspired by @reluctantjoe

Word Count: 1922

Fickelgruber Tag List: I don't have one yet!! Send me an ask (off-anon or with the blog you want me to tag noted in the ask) and I'll make sure to tag you anytime I write stuff for him ❤️

~~~

Things like this certainly hadn’t been in your job description, but at this point, you weren’t really complaining. For starters, the pay was amazing, and Mr. Fickelgruber gave you all kinds of perks when you did a good job. He wasn’t the most generous man you’d ever met, but he always appreciated your hard work.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice strained as he tangled his fingers in your hair. You moaned softly at the praise, and the vibrations sent bolts of pleasure through his entire body. That made him moan too, and tug gently on your hair.

Your knees were beginning to ache where you were kneeling, but honestly, you didn’t mind too much. You were far too focused on the task Mr. Fickelgruber had assigned to you to think about the pain, because you were nothing if not efficient.

Your tongue swirled gracefully around his shaft as you took him deeper into your mouth, the movement making Fickelgruber’s hips buck upwards slightly. It almost made you gag, but you were used to it - you’d been his personal assistant for nearly two years, and you’d been fulfilling his… non-professional needs for just under half that time.

And because of that, you could read him and his reactions quite well. You could tell from the sound of his breathing and the way his fingers were rubbing against your scalp that he was getting close. Any moment now he would either cum down your throat or pull out of your mouth - sometimes he’d cum on your face, while at other times he’d want to fuck you properly (and that’s how you knew when you’d done a particularly good job).

Then, like clockwork, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off of him. He hadn’t cum yet, so you knew that meant your work was far from finished. His free hand grabbed for the box of chocolates that he always kept in his desk drawer for these exact occasions. Your mouth was still open, and Fickelgruber placed the little treat on your tongue once he’d removed it from its wrapping.

"There you go, my dear," he said in a tone that was almost affectionate, but it was offset by the nearly painful grip he still had on your hair. The chocolate was absolutely delicious, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and moan while you savoured the taste. This made him smirk, a quiet, dark chuckle escaping him. "Tell me, which do you enjoy more? The taste of my cock, or chocolate?"

Once you’d swallowed the chocolate, you spoke. "I can’t decide, sir," you said softly, staring up at him with your eyes wide. "I like both too much. I don’t think I could pick one over the other."

"Well, I suppose that’s an adequate answer." Fickelgruber smirked, finally letting go of your hair. Whether it was his cock or his chocolate that you were tasting, it was all him, wasn’t it? He pulled his chair back slightly so that you could stand up, and once you had, he reached out to idly play with the hem of your skirt. "Now, you know what to do, my dear." He held his finger up and twirled it around - a silent order for you to turn around.

You did so, and anticipating what he would ask next, you bent forward over his desk. Your skirt - which was scandalously short by professional standards, though Mr. Fickelgruber had called it your 'special uniform' - rode up so that Fickelgruber could get a glimpse of your panties beneath.

Fickelgruber snickered. "Oh, I am so glad to have an assistant that takes the initiative." His hand trailed up the back of your thigh until he reached your skirt, which he then pushed up. Now that he had a proper view of your undergarments, he let his finger brush over the wet spot that had formed there. "So wet already, dear, and I haven’t even touched you yet," he told you in a teasing voice. "You really must love having my cock in your mouth."

"Yes, sir," you moaned, trying to push your hips back against his finger in an attempt to get some more friction. In response, Fickelgruber laughed softly and gently swatted you on the backside. You whimpered slightly at the sting, and immediately ceased your movements. "Sorry, sir."

His fingers found the waistband of your panties, and he slowly began to pull them down your thighs, savouring the sight of you bent over for him. Fickelgruber loved how obedient you were, how needy you always were for him. But most of all, he loved that you were all his, and that he was the only man who had the pleasure of having you like this.

You heard Fickelgruber stand up from his chair, and then you felt his warm fingers teasing your pussy, moving from your clit down to your entrance and then back again. It took all of your willpower to not squirm. His finger dipped into your wetness for a moment, before he pulled it back out. He leaned over you to whisper into your ear. "I think you’re more than ready. Isn’t that right, my dear?"

"Mmm, yes, sir… please…" You nodded frantically, bracing yourself for him to finally enter you. He stood back up straight behind you, and you felt his cock against your entrance. He didn’t push inside right away, however - instead taking a few moments to tease you. You didn't complain, because you knew that it would be more than worth the wait.

You let out an almost pathetic whimper - which you tried to cover up by clapping your hand over your mouth, but you weren't quick enough - when you felt him sink inside of you. Though you couldn't see, he smirked at the noise, and placed his hands on your hips.

Fickelgruber let out a deep sigh, giving the both of you just a few seconds to adjust before he began to move. He moved slowly but deep and hard, making sure you felt absolutely everything with each thrust he made inside of you. You were sure that your brain had switched off already, resting your cheek against the surface of the desk beneath you. If you weren’t careful, you’d probably end up drooling. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You didn’t even realise how much noise you were making, but your curses and pleas of "sir" and "Mr. Fickelgruber" were echoing throughout the large room. Fickelgruber loved it - the idea that he could turn such an intelligent and hard-working woman into an absolute mess who could think of nothing but him and what he was doing to you. He valued the power he had over you more than anything else, though he’d probably never admit such a thing out loud.

When he pulled out suddenly, you whined in annoyance, but Fickelgruber simply tutted before flipping you over so you were laying on your back. Before you could even open your mouth to say anything - if you were even capable at this point - he’d already grabbed onto your thighs and thrust himself deep inside you once again.

"You’re being so noisy, my dear," Fickelgruber said with a somewhat mocking tone, leaning down over you so that he could whisper in your ear as he sped up the pace of his hips. Then, he brought his mouth to your neck so that he could suck bruises into the sensitive skin, which you’d have a lot of fun trying to cover up so none of your coworkers saw it. Of course, this did nothing to keep you quiet, only making your moans louder, but that was exactly what he wanted. "If you’re not careful, someone might hear you, and come in here to check what’s going on. Is that what you want, hmm? For everyone to see what a little slut you are for me?"

Having locked the door yourself before you went down on him, you knew that there was no chance of someone walking in and seeing what was happening. But the thought of it alone, combined with the way Fickelgruber was whispering in your ear, made your pussy clench around his cock. He laughed, loving how easy it was to affect you, but it quickly turned into a moan.

"Oh, you like that idea, do you? I suppose you’re even more naughty than I thought." Fickelgruber’s words were scolding, but you knew very well how much he loved having you like this. "That’s what you want, is it? For people to see you getting fucked over my desk like a whore? Maybe next time I’ll take you up against the window, and let everyone on the street below see that you belong to me."

That was it. That was what pushed you over the edge. The combination of possessiveness and degradation that made your head spin. You let out a loud sob as your climax hit you, writhing helplessly beneath him as he continued fucking you through it. Fickelgruber shifted so that he could kiss your lips to quiet you down a little - you really were getting loud enough that it might draw attention now, and he liked keeping you as his little secret. For now at least.

Eventually, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer - not with how your warm, wet walls were squeezing him for dear life - and he came as well, buried as deep inside you as possible while his warmth flooded you. He moaned against your lips, and the way your name sounded when he uttered it in such ecstasy made you feel like you could finish again. But thankfully, you didn’t, which was probably a positive since you were already exhausted after one orgasm.

"Good girl," Fickelgruber mumbled breathlessly, pressing kisses against your neck and jawline as both of you slowly recovered from your highs, and there seemed to be a genuine softness in the way he spoke to you that hadn’t been present the first time you’d done this. Now that you thought about it, it almost seemed as if he’d become more and more fond of you each time you had sex, and he’d certainly become more possessive as of late. Almost as if he actually had feelings for you. Maybe. Your stomach fluttered at the possibility.

He gave you one last kiss on the lips as he slowly pulled his softening cock out of you, gazing approvingly at the sight of some of his cum leaking from your pussy. Fickelgruber quickly pulled your panties back up for you, keeping any more of it from dripping out. That was quite the contrast to your first tryst also - he’d been somewhat dismissive then, and this was the first time he’d ever helped you redress, even if it was just helping you put your underwear back on.

"I suppose we had better get back to work, hadn’t we, dear?" Fickelgruber told you with a smile as he fixed his trousers and rebuckled his belt, before sitting down in his chair once again. With shaking legs, you stood up from his desk, intending to walk back to your own workstation, but he grabbed you by the wrist to stop you before you could get too far. Then, he gave you another quick kiss before letting you go.

It’s safe to say that you found it difficult to concentrate on your work after that, but you powered through, as you always did. Fickelgruber was glad that he'd hired you, for oh so many reasons.

#fickelgruber x reader #felix fickelgruber x reader #wonka x reader #wonka 2023 x reader #felix fickelgruber imagine #felix fickelgruber fanfiction #felix fickelgruber smut #wonka 2023 imagine #wonka 2023 fanfiction #wonka 2023 smut #x reader smut #x reader fic #x reader fanfiction #mari's stuff

[blueparadis]

+ cw.—› yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru x fem!reader, headcanon format, needles and piercings, possessive behavior, fantasies, fellati0, $mût | word count — 0.5k.

+ notes.—› yes. im in my yan love era as put by my beloved ari | redirect to blog navigation.

yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru who sees y/n for the first time walking into his tattoo parlor with a somber look on her face yet smiles heartily while interacting. He talks like he usually does with his other customers yet he is in awe of how she is not afraid of needles and does not even flinch when he starts doing his handiwork.

yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru who sees y/n again in his shop, this time in a long top, a skirt, and boots feels undeniably jealous for thinking for whom all this dress-up is for? He can not seem to shake the feeling that she might have a date later on, or maybe it is the date's influence for her to get another tattoo near the belly button. So, he does something that he should not do; so unprofessional of him.

yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru who frowns and turns grumpy if he sees some inks on her body other than his. So, he decides to put his signature on every tattoo on her body from now on whenever she revisits, blending it so perfectly that it is hard to see, and generally declines the customer if they do not remind him of y/n in one way or other. His Instagram is now full of her videos lately and tattoo designs that remind him of y/n.

yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru who draws a heart sign near his collar bone along with her name in cursive, in such a way that it blends with the design, in such a way that it catches her attention, in such a way that his liking towards her is very obvious yet so subtle about it when she asks about the tattoo.

yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru who tells y/n that a back-waist tattoo or a sternum tattoo will look good on her so that he could check how much is she responsive to his touches. “easy girl. easy girl. i'm not gonna hurt you.” he utters so lowly so boldly that he can see goosebumps igniting her barely clad body.

yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru who explains her thoroughly about the aftercare, the precautions she has to take and how: touching her midriff, massaging the oil and telling in which direction and what way . . . and when she releases a soft moan all his hard work is all paid. He is so hard that he wraps up the rest part with her as quickly as possible so that he can relieve himself of the pain, this pain of longing.

yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru who tells her what kind of dresses and material should she put on that reveal her body like a painting on an art exhibition with such a warm and easy-going smile that on her next session, he is blessed with the sight of his influence on him. It makes him so dizzy, so warm just seeing her in that particular outfit he merely slipped as a suggestion.

yandere!tattoo-artist!geto suguru who goes to the washroom as soon as y/n leaves jerking off at the thought of marking her all over, while pushing his cock deep inside her; touching himself at the thought of having her tattooed body underneath him, wanting to see her buck naked and only covered with his inked tattoos with his special signatures.

@tokyometronetwork

#geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto suguru smut #geto smut #jjk smut #suguru smut #suguru geto smut #suguru x reader #suguru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen hcs #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs #geto headcanons #geto hcs #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #geto x female reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x y/n #smut headcanons #smut hcs #cw yandere #cw piercings #tw yandere #tw piercings #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere geto