#sometimes he will get his assistant to throw them at him so he can catch them

[ssahotchnerr]

hellooo, i hope you’re doing well! would you want to write a fic where at some point aaron steals readers gum out of her mouth? this is such a random thought and i’m so sorry if this sounds weird (now that i’ve written it down and not only thought about it, it seems very weird, sorry!!!!!!), but i kind of feel like this is something he’d do when making out lol and it obviously catches her off guard the first time he does it 😁

according to plan

omg i'm putting a jealous!aaron take on this 🤭 cw; suggestiveness, established relationship, bau!reader, detective being a creep, heavy on the kissing, possessive/jealous!aaron 🦋

aaron's just about had it.

it started out as lingering stares, beginning at your face before sweeping all along your form. next, the insistent eagerness to partner up with you. and now the detective, who's name wasn't worth remembering, was at your backside, itching to get as close to you as he possibly could. any closer, he would have you pressed against the bulletin board in front of the two of you.

you were politely trying to explain the physical, common characteristics between the victims, how unsubs sometimes had a specific type and that's why they chose to acquire them. naturally he had asked you the most stupid, simplest question; just another excuse to speak to you.

all day, aaron had been silently seething, a mere bystander. but as he joined and saw the sight before him, his fists clenched so tightly his fingernails were digging into the palms of his hands. enough was enough.

"do you understand now?" you naively asked, a pleased expression forming on your face when the detective nodded in confirmation. unlike aaron, you had been unaware of his ongoing actions.

"is there any way i can repay you?" he questioned smoothly, his eyes yet again dropping. this time, the attentiveness is drawn to your lips.

"no," you shake your head, your focus already directed on readjusting one of the displayed photos, the gum in your mouth producing a pop. "i'm just glad i could be of some assistance."

it's a bad habit of yours, snapping your gum too loudly. it's hard to not notice it. but fortunately, the brought focus is about to work completely in aaron's favor.

aaron calls your name, tipping his head to the side as a signal for you to come. you abide, leaving the detective right where he is and as a result, he subtly glares at aaron for interrupting his time with you and his advances. aaron steps aside to let you pass, and as soon as you do, he shoots daggers right back.

truthfully, he's extremely lucky that's all aaron did.

you follow him to one of the empty interrogation rooms, a small trek away from everyone else. once inside, aaron swiftly shuts the door behind you.

"what's-"

aaron's lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence, causing you to gasp slightly in surprise, throwing your arms around his neck and instantly kissing him back.

it's all too easy to submit to aaron, allowing him to guide you and push you back against the door. he crowds you against it, his breath hot and heavy in your mouth, his hands exploring every curve of your body and more. every inch of you, is consumed by him.

the kiss is heated, desperate, and in the back of your mind, you distantly wonder why the suddenness - what has gotten into him? but with the pure vigor he's kissing you with, your brain had gone fuzzy; you were too consumed by the kiss to dwell on the potential reason why, or did you care.

aaron's large hands slide down your back, landing on and promptly squeezing your ass - hard. you gasp again, and aaron uses the sudden part of your lips to push his tongue into your mouth, sliding against your own. he can taste it - the flavor of your gum - and it only encourages him further, deepening the kiss.

you can't help let out a small moan, which aaron immediately swallows up from you, mindful of your volume within the current setting. your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving and gripping onto his hair tight.

the kiss itself is wet and sloppy - all according to plan. and once the mint flavor fully invades his mouth, aaron forces himself to pull away.

and before it becomes impossible not to.

your eyes are wide as you look up at him. your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. you let out a breathless laugh, chest heaving up and down. "wow. i..."

you trail off, your tone leading into more or less a question. aaron leans in once more, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your lips this time. "just missed you."

you take instant note of the slight, new shift of his jaw, which prompts you to realize something from your mouth is missing.

you gape at him, jaw dropping a bit in astonishment. "wait, did you take my gum?"

aaron's way of a response is opening the door, a small nudge of his head gesturing for you to exit. "after you."

you give him a confused look, yet your eyes are still dark and lined with arousal, before heading back to the others. a deep exhale leaves you as you walk away, an attempt to cool down before facing anyone else.

this time, when the detective's stare returns to you both, aaron's the one loudly snapping the gum.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

[lilac-5ky]

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

based on this request, tumblr hates me.

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

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

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

Masterlist | AO3 | Requests

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

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

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

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

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

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru, I told you—”

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

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

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

You are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The coffee or the story?”

“Both. But mostly the coffee.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is she—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it.”

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

“Mr. Geto, you shouldn’t have!”

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

So, which one is it?

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

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

“You are—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s with the flowers?”

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

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

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

“Please, don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I actually don’t mind—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He made the right choice by hiring you.

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

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

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

Oh no. Here we go again.

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

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

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

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

“Tuesday?”

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

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

“So, you coming?” Satoru asks.

“I’m gonna have to pass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And? Giving up already?" Suguru teases.

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

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

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

"And what does heaven taste like?"

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

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

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

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

"It's fine. Not hungry anymore."

Gardenia or tuberose?

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

Tuberose.

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

Gardenia.

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

Tuberose.

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

Gardenia or tuberose; who cares?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you, Satoru.

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

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

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

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

But great minds think alike.

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

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

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

He should be.

He really should.

But he isn't.

He really isn't.

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

You should be his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fan of the sport or the prize?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I should give it my best then."

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

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

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

"So." He repeats with a softer tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sets down the umbrella and returns to his office.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you enjoying the party?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right…”

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

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

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

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

A role model, huh...

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

Satoru, Satoru, Satoru .

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

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

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

"Merry Christmas, Haibara."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except he has no pity left.

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

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

“Allegiance?” You echo.

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

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

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

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

Is this really happening? Was it really that easy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for being a role model.

Might as well enjoy himself while it lasts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needs to put more of him in you.

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

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

“N-no.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's cathartic.

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

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

“S-so fucking tight—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello? Is anyone in there?” 

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

“I just need my coat; open up!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"F-feels so good, ahh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you suggesting?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that how you see me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now you know what heaven tastes like.

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

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

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

Somehow.

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

[sonder-paradise]

𝐁𝐮𝐭, 𝐎𝐡, 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦 — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭

◊ ft. kazuha, cyno, wanderer, gn!reader

◊ genre. fluff, infuriating love, accidental confessions

◊ a/n. based off that tik tok audio that goes “oh, i hate him! but, oh, how i love him”

— 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚

oh there was something just so infuriating about kazuha sometimes. he runs through your mind in a wafting haze and despite his sweet, charming smile, you see the way he teases you. the way he brushes his fingers against your cheek, asking with an innocent smile if you're alright.

"are you sure you wouldn't like some assistance?"

you can see the laughter in his perfect eyes and you pull back. he's just so charismatic, just so lovely, just so... so annoying!

the one night you're not with him, you're speaking with the wind. it combs back your hair with whispy fingers and tells you to spill your secrets.

"oh, i can't stand that man sometimes!" you sigh, "he's too charming for his own good!"

kazuha smiles to himself, sitting in the branches above. he sends a flickering leaf down to you, but you pay it no attention as it kisses your head.

"but i suppose that's why i love him..."

with that, he tumbles from the tree's lofty wooden arms and stands before you. your eyes widening before he's reaching out to seemingly cusp your face.

"y/n... you've got something in your hair."

his hand flickers to the leaf settled on your head and you stare at him in vast awe. oh, he truly is just so annoying!

— 𝐂𝐲𝐧𝐨

bursting into your bedroom, you flung your items from your travels to and fro. frustration pulses through your mind before you settle on the sofa nearby, plopping down and clutching a throw pillow.

that bothersome general mahamatra! you stared at the pool of items you had thrown onto the floor. everything you carried during your brief travel with him.

"how can one man be so oblivious?!"

from the shadows of the doorway, cyno peers inside. he questioned your odd behavior early this evening, but never had he thought he was the root of your problem.

"ooh! i hate him! i hate him!"

cyno's stunned; frozen to his feet. you dislike him that strongly? the throw pillow in your hands flies towards the door behind which he stands and for the first time in a long time, cyno flinches hearing its impact.

"but, god, i can't hate him," you sigh, "not when he's so..." the words drift away from you but cyno catches them. he wants to, anyways.

and he feels his cheeks warm.

he peeks in through the doorway, watching as you stand to pick up the pillow. you're a mere couple of inches away from him and his heart races in a way he's never felt before.

and suddenly, he's staring into your eyes and—

"...cyno?"

ah, could a heart potentially stop this way?

— 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫

you could not believe that such a horrific nuisance of a man claimed a piece of your heart. you stared at the white handkerchief Scaramouche had handed you earlier.

how pretentious he sounded whilst clicking his tongue and wiping away your scratches and wounds after a rather nasty fight. his scolding felt like acid against your skin.

yet, the way he gently wiped your cheek and dabbed away the caked-up blood embedded on your fingers...

you crumpled the clean handkerchief in the palm of your hand. you wouldn't... you couldn't...

frowning, you held the handkerchief to your face, trying not to remember the way he stroked back your hair just so he could get a better look at you.

"fuck...!"

"what's got you in such a shitty mood?"

the very man you were cursing arrived at your side, smirking somewhat at your rather erratic behavior.

"what're you doing here?" you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at him.

"i'm here for you."

your eyes widened, your breath got caught in the back of your throat, your mouth opened and you—

"Not literally you though. Just to get back my handkerchief."

This little...!

Taglist: @xo-cuteplosion-xo @planetxiao @nonsense-corner @ireallylikehamsters @eccedentesiast-sapphic @rebeccka @the-lost-anime-dad @lettucecabbage-kun @irethepotato @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @niverine @ajaxstar @plinkuro @shizunxie @kiraisastay @lilia-sspouse @straymoon96 @coquettemaiden @leweird @ash-astrophel @uchihaeirin @lemontum @willburzone @rocambolescomargot @fpyura @cerisearan @rosemary108233 @abvolat @thenightsflower @sammybeefangirls @goldenglow149 @aestellia @killmewithafanfic

#[🖋] writing #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara x reader #cyno x y/n #cyno x reader #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x you #kazuha x y/n #cyno x you #cyno x gender neutral reader #wanderer genshin #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff

[wttcsms]

fault / lines , ominis gaunt ;

[ prologue ]

pairing ominis gaunt x f!reader word count 1.5k content contains arranged marriage, summer before first year, scenes involving throwing up 

[ series masterlist ]

Ideally, you would not be throwing up in the second floor lavatory of your family’s home on the day you are to meet your betrothed.

Your mother is horrified, naturally. How absolutely unbecoming of her young daughter to represent the esteemed Malfoy Family in such an undignified manner. In her eyes — a shiny silver that resembles that of a steel blade — you’re acting no better than a filthy Mudblood.

Her disparaging comments, however, do nothing to stop you from dryheaving over the basin, and all she can do is make an irritated noise from the other side of the door before calling for one of the house-elves to assist you.

“Young Mistress Malfoy,” a squeaky voice appears from your left side, but you don’t bother turning around to acknowledge Lucky, the young house-elf who had been practically assigned to you since birth. “Lucky is here to get her young mistress all cleaned up so’s she can prepare to meet her—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Lucky.” You shut your eyes, fingers curled around the basin so tightly to the point where your knuckles are beginning to turn white from the pressure. “Please.”

In the world of Pureblood society, early engagements that have been contracted since childhood — sometimes even before the births of the children — are as a common as grains of sand on a beach. It’d be more of an anomaly not to have one, and as a daughter belonging to the Malfoy family, it was only a matter of time before the inevitable marriage contract would be formed. In just a few weeks’ time, you’ll be heading on a train to begin your first year of school with a fiance by your side.

Engagement. Betrothed. Fiance. Each word only makes your stomach feel weaker, but after refusing to eat breakfast this morning, there’s really nothing left for you to hurl.

Your older sister, Venus, is about to enter her fifth year. She’s set to marry one of the Rosier sons, and as a result, has been stressing over French lessons this whole entire summer. Apparently, he finds the weather in his family’s hometown in France much more agreeable than the perpetual grey clouds that hang over Wiltshire. The eldest and only son, Orion, is entering his final year at Hogwarts. He already has a Ministry job waiting for him upon his graduation, and your mother has been running around the manor, obsessively making sure that the estate is ready to accommodate the high volume of people who will be coming over to what will surely be the most anticipated wedding of the summer. Orion’s betrothed, the oldest daughter in the Greengrass family, is in Venus’s grade.

Somehow, the idea of entering one school year a teenage girl and entering the next as a wife is a very frightening concept.

Perhaps it’s your young age that makes you so opposed to the seemingly restrictive nature of marriages. You know that some students, students whose families are not a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, have the freedom to court whoever they please. What fun it must be, you think, to catch the eye of a stranger and know that you could pursue them if only you have the courage?

Your parents would be quick to remind you that courage is just praised stupidity. There is no reward here for being brave.

Which is precisely why you’re fine with locking yourself in the lavatory. If you had an ounce of bravery in you, you would find it easier to stand straight with your chin held up high and the strength to walk out of here and boldly look your future husband in the eyes.

But you are not brave. You are eleven years old, and you don’t quite want to face the harsh realities of entering a society that praises tradition and reigning supreme above all else.

If it isn’t courage that is praised, at least your family values duty. Venus surely is not in love with the Rosier boy, but she is absolutely committed to bringing pride to both families by being the best wife she could possibly be. Orion has never once been outwardly affectionate to anybody, and yet, you know deep in your heart that he will at least be kind to his wife. If your siblings can face these respnsibitlies without letting so much as a grimace slip through their perfect, Pureblood masks, then surely you can, too.

And so, like a dutiful daughter, you allow Lucky to clean you and fix your dress before you stand straight, head held up high, ready to face your future.

He would surely never hear the end of this.

Standing in the foyer of the massive Malfoy Manor is not on the list of things Ominis Gaunt is particularly happy to do. Nearby, his father is speaking to Aleksander Malfoy, the man set to be Ominis’s father-in-law.

That is, if you ever decide to make your appearance.

He can hear the familiar low cadence of his father’s voice, and the deeper still, rumbling tone of what must be your father. They’re too far for Ominis to catch the specifics of their conversation, which is saying something since Ominis can hear much better than most. The feeling that he shouldn’t even be here only continues to fester in the pit of his stomach and the cracks of his heart as he hears a woman’s voice — presumably your mother — speaking to his own.

“She’ll be out in just a minute! The poor thing’s agonizing over making a good first impression. She wants to look her best for your son!”

Ominis wonders if that’s true; if so, he feels awful for all the supposed extra effort you’re exerting on his behalf. If your goal was to impress him by looks alone, you’re going to be vastly disappointed in him.

Perhaps it’s for the best, then. Maybe his family can just head back home, and this can all be some sort of sick memory that he spends the rest of his life trying to forget. Let the Malfoys send off their daughter to someone more deserving, someone who will be able to appreciate your beauty.

“Terribly sorry for the delay.” A soft voice cuts through the growing tension in the foyer. With his keen sense of hearing, Ominis can nearly pinpoint from what direction the speaker is standing, but he doesn’t make an effort to face you quite yet. “Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt, please forgive me for my lack of punctuality. I see that in my efforts to ensure I would not disappoint you, I only became an inconvenience.”

His parents both laugh off your formal apology, probably just relieved that there’s a strong chance of this marriage still going through. Not many families would be too happy about marrying off their daughter to someone like Ominis, but it appears that even a family as prestigious as the Malfoys has a price. A side effect of being a Slytherin, no doubt.

You make your way to the young boy standing closest to the front door. Neatly parted hair. A bit taller than you, so at least you’ll still be able to wear your heeled loafers. But the most interesting observation you make of him is his eyes — a stunning shade that fuses blue and green together yet is covered by an almost milky film. It makes him no less handsome. You think he might even have a shot at being one of the most handsome boys in your year.

He senses your presence and waits until you come to a standstill before introducing himself.

“I’m Ominis. Ominis Gaunt. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

You give him your name in reply, unsure of what to make of the boy standing in front of you.

“I apologize for the lengths you felt you needed to go through for our meeting. I’m sure you’re very beautiful.”

There’s a high likelihood that this Ominis boy does not mean a single word he’s saying. Chances are, he’s every bit his parents’ puppet as much as you are with your own. Still, he’s not an absolute oaf, and with both your families watching the two of you interact, you swallow back any teasing remarks and remain polite.

Your future is right ahead of you, and it takes the form of a boy just barely older than you with beautiful, cursed eyes. As you allow him to take your hand, you come to terms with the fact that this is the day everything changes.

The official binding contract is created; your fate is essentially signed, sealed, and delivered in blood in its purest form and wrapped with ancient magic that ensures this vow cannot be broken.

From this point forward, your life is now tied to Ominis Gaunt.

#ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x mc #one shot #drabble #imagine #hogwarts legacy #arranged marriage au #fic series: fault / lines

[eeveebitches]

e-mail. || Roman Roy || smut

Pairing: Sub!Roman Roy x F!Reader

Summary: You're roman's assistant, and after delivering breakfast something clicks.

Word count: 2.154

18+ only! More under the cut

Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, mommy kink, praise kink, hand jobs, come eating,

A/n: tysm @prettywordsblog for the request!! :DD i love your writing so it was a pleasure to get requests from you (my requests are still open, fyi)

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You've been wearing pencil skirts and heels a lot these days.

It's not that you particularly enjoy wearing them. Running errands like "get me a bagel" and "actually, I want a cinnamon roll instead, so get me one of those" do not become easier with red bottoms, and the cold of New York in autumn nips at your barely clad legs with ferocity. 

But when you wear them, Roman becomes... docile.

Maybe it's the fact that the heels make you taller than him. Or shit, maybe he has a sexy assistant fantasy, who knows. All you know is that when you dress the way you now do, he hesitates when he snidely asks you to write his e-mails for him. Instead, he carefully suggests you should do them, not a singular perverted comment slipping in.

So now, as you walk out of the elevator, you hear the clicking of your heels echo. It's far too early to be in office, evident by the lack of your peers in the bull pit.

You huff as you approach Roman's office and see him lounging around, legs on his desk as he leans back, staring at his phone. You don't even bother knocking, simply swinging the door open. "I know it's like, three in the morning, but can you at least try to pretend you're being productive?" 

He lets out a huff, dramatically rolling his eyes as he flops his legs down. "Yes, mommy," he mockingly whines out, staring at the plastic bag swinging from your arm. "What's in the bag?"

"A gun, so I can finally kill you," you casually throw out as you place the bag on the glass coffee table, throwing off your long jacket onto the leather chair he has. Roman stands up, amusement twinkling in his doe-like eyes as he walks over to sit on his couch. "Y'know, I could totally report you for saying that. That's like, a legit death threat. I could SWAT you." With a tiny jump he hops on the chair, shoes still on as he crouches on top of the couch's pillows.

You can't help but frown. Sometimes you feel like he isn't a total nepotism baby, but instead some kind of orphan child raised by wolves. "Don't do that with your shoes on, Roman, it's unhygienic." With another eye roll he lets himself fall onto the chair, resting his one leg on the thigh of the other. He leans back, arms reaching over the couch's back cushions. 

You grab the contents of the bag and place them on the coffee table as you hum a random tune. The smell of a breakfast spread makes you hungry as hell, but you don't have another break until six hours from now. Silently, Roman watches as you place the various foiled up plates down and remove the foil. 

Roman eyes the dishes-- an omelette, some sausages, bacon, hash browns, and a paper cup of coffee that he's sure is from his favorite café. "Okay, this is fuckin' weird. What's the catch? Did you get a chef to make all of this arsenic-infused? Because as my assistant, you're also my taste tester, so I'm not eating until I see you poison yourself first," he rambles, cautiously watching you place napkins, a fork and knife down.

"This is a congratulatory breakfast, so just shut up and be grateful." 

He raises his brows at you. "The fuck are you saying congrats for?" With the tiniest smile you could stomach giving him, you throw the plastic trash in the bin. "The Oplex deal, Roman. You were the one who ended up buttering the guy up," you explain. 

His eyes widen for only a second before returning to their neutral, lidded state. "Oh please, all I did was give him a verbal fuckin' blowjob. Kendall did all the business-y shit," he mumbles out, picking up the cutlery with a solemn expression.

"I'd disagree, and I think Mr. Roy would, too," you mumble out in return. You watch Roman as he takes the first bite of his omelette and moans, quickly scurrying to get another bite. "Fuck, this is good. Is this laced? I'm gonna fire the shit out of you if this is laced," he says in between bites.

You grab your coat from the chair and hang it up, smiling as you continue watching him from the corner of your eye. "I'm flattered, but no. I'm just a good cook." You fight back a laugh as he very clearly chokes on his food. Professionalism and all that, if there's even any left between the two of you. 

"You're fucking with me." You plop down on the leather chair across from Roman, grabbing your thermos from your bag and taking a sip of tea as you shake your head. Wide-eyed, Roman gawks at you, then the food, and then you again. "You made me breakfast?"

You simply nod before pulling your laptop out. "I wasn't expecting you to be surprised by that. You're the one who always calls me mommy," you mumble out as you watch e-mails and messages immediately start to pop up. "Now finish up your food and get to work, before you upset mommy."

With a teasing grin you wait for Roman to shoot something back. Maybe something about you getting reported to HR, or about you wanting to suck his dick. Maybe even one of those jokes he makes about how his dad only hired you to be his personal babysitter. 

But instead, you simply get,

"Yes, mommy."

Confused, you look up from your laptop to see Roman quietly eating his food. His cheeks are dusted a ripe shade of red as he struggles to cut his food up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

Something that should've clicked ages ago, clicks. So carefully, you stand up and walk to stand next to the couch he's sitting on. Roman's head looks up at you, eyes large and lashes fluttering. His bottom lip stutters, as if he wants to say something, but it doesn't successfully form itself.

"Do you need me to help you with your food, baby?"

Your heart pounds in your chest as you await his response. Nervously, he scans your face, licking his lips as he mulls over his options.

"Yes mommy," he yet again mumbles out.

You take a seat next to him and wordlessly grab the fork and knife from his hand. "I hope you know I'm proud of you for landing that deal, baby," you tell him as you put a piece of the sausage on the fork. He doesn't hesitate to open his mouth for you, obediently letting you feed him in his office, in a building his dad owns. 

"You made mommy so proud. When we finish up here, can you go sit at your desk for me?" He nods as you continue feeding him, which continues for another silent fifteen minutes.

After wiping his mouth for him, he quickly scurries to his desk, staring expectantly at you as you slowly make your way over. You place one hand on his chair, and the other on his desk, leaning over to stare at his computer screen. 

Roman lets out a soft groan as your tantalizing perfume overwhelms your senses. All he can do is look up at you as you start up his computer for him. "You have an e-mail you need to write regarding a contractual agreement with a production studio. Can you do that for me?"

It's like he's possessed by you, charmed into a spell of utter submission as he can only mutter another 'yes, mommy'. He opens his mail, and right as he starts typing you tut.

"Mommy wants to hear you say what you're typing, so I know you're doing well," you tell him, hand moving down from his chair to instead rest on his shoulder. Wordlessly, he nods, clears his throat and with a shaky voice reads aloud to you. 

"Dear Mr. Spruce, attached is a--" his voice dies in his throat as you let your hand slither down lower and lower, testing the waters as you fully bend over to reach his lap. "Keep going, sweetheart," you tell him, watching his twitchy hands hover over his keyboard. 

As he continues where he left off, you carefully unzip his trousers, loosening the top button and successfully revealing a dark imprint showing through his white Calvin Klein boxers. "Attached is a, uhh, a copy of the contract, fuck." 

The moan roman lets out as you pull his briefs down, allowing his erection to spring free and slap against his covered stomach, is whorelike. "Keep going, baby," you hum in his ear as you unbutton the bottom of his blouse a bit, wanting to avoid his pre-cum staining a perfectly good shirt.

"Please, mommy, fuck," he whines out as you let a singular finger drag over the tip of his cock, already causing his hips to rut up. "This e-mail needs to be sent today, Roman. Keep typing if you don't want me to get angry."

He nods fervently, shakily continuing to type as you carefully take his erect cock into your hands. He stumbles over his words, moans and hiccups filling your ears as you stroke him at a slow pace. You let your hand squeeze the base before going up, applying the perfect amount of pressure before rolling your thumb over his leaking slit. 

Roman's eyes quickly turn glassy with welled up tears as he's made to endure your slow, torturous movements, and as much as he wants to please you, writing the e-mail would be the actual death of him.

His hands shoot away from his keyboard to clutch onto his seat's armrests. With a wanton moan he throws his head back, eyes screwing shut as you slightly pick up your pace. "You've been such a good boy for mommy, Roman, haven't you?" you ask him, voice dangerously low and dangerously close to his ear. 

"Ngh-- yes, so so good f'r you, mommy." You kiss his forehead, earning yourself a cute whine. "W'na kiss you, please, mommy," he moans, head struggling to reach yours. "I'll give you a kiss after you finish the e-mail, alright sweetheart? For now," you tell him, grabbing his hand and leading two of his fingers into his own mouth, "I want you to be nice and quiet for me while I take care of you."

With a lack of hesitation he accepts his own fingers into his mouth, immediately sucking on them as his eyes flutter closed, and his moans grow strained. "Do you like it when mommy takes care of you, Roman?"

He nods, writhing under your every touch. He gasps around his own fingers as you pay extra attention to his tip, instant over stimulation taking over his body as his hips twitch up to meet your touch. "Mmh, would you let mommy fuck you?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," he groans out, removing his own fingers to instead find hold in his chair's armrests again. "W'na feel you around me, feel you-- fuck, feel you squeeze my cock." You increase the speed of your strokes, watching your boss fall apart in front of you. His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his lips are as rosy as they are glossy with spit.

The veins on his forehead and neck look like they're about to pop as you whisper in his ear. "You wanna feel mommy's cunt as she milks you dry?" All he can manage to let out is a desperate 'uh-huh', clearly close to reaching completion.

"'M gonna cum, mommy, I'm g'na-" Roman gasps out, cutting himself off with a drawn out moan.

"Cum for me, baby."

With a moan so slutty you could confuse it for porn, Roman finishes, thick ropes of cum shooting onto your hand as you stroke him through his orgasm. Even when he's emptied out you continue relentlessy, earning you a teary-eyed Roman as he begs for you to stop. 

Hiccuping, he grabs your arm. "Too sensitive, mommy," he groans out, trying to catch his breath. You decide to have mercy on him, removing your hand and instead hovering it in front of him. "Clean mommy up?"

He simply nods before licking your hand clean, tongue lapping between your fingers as he practically sucks off his own semen from your fingers. With your hand clean, he lets himself sink deep into his chair.

"That was, uh," he mumbles as he mindlessly stares at you as you wipe his saliva off on your pencil skirt. You don't say anything, simply walk back over to your laptop. "I'm gonna finish up scheduling for next week, alright Roman?"

He blinks a few times, processing your words before awkwardly agreeing with yet another nod. "Oh, and make sure to write that e-mail," you add, turning to now fully focus on your own work.

"...yes, mommy."

#female reader #roman #roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #romulus roy #succession #succession hbo #roman roy smut #roman roy x reader smut #succession fanfic #succession smut #hbo succession #assistant reader #boss roman x assistant reader

[kaulitzhotel]

HEY POOKIE!!:D could you do hcs or fic bill kaulitz x fem!reader (2005/2006) where they were childhood friends to lovers (reader is not from Germany) and Tokio Hotel is getting more and more popular and Bill is starting to catch more and more attention from other girls and the reader is getting more and more jealous of all the attention from other girls, I mean it gets irritating and sad to hear them squeal at the sight of him, sexualize him and daydream about him? and one time just one girl fawns over him and literally she makes me feel so bad that she's just pissed off but she doesn't want to butt in so she keeps quiet (she's the type to stay silent and isolate herself) and she starts isolating herself and won't say what but in the end he says he's afraid she's not enough and she's afraid he'll leave her and replace her and that in truth she's jealous of all these girls and it annoys her when they fawn over him (such a slight agnst and fluff / sorry 4bad engilsh, I used a translator!)

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

Synopsis: The more time you spent with Bill as a kid you both grew unexpected feelings. But the fame is overtaking him which means no attention for you while random girls do. But Bill thinks he is no longer worthy of your time. (2006)

Content: Sad and Fluff.

Notes: Hi my love! Thanks so much for requesting and I hope you like it. Everything was so cute about this request.

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U and I

You locked yourself in the bathroom making your hands into fists. You and the guys have just gotten home from a fan signing. You weren't a part of the band but you were always the assistant to them and childhood Friends. The fans made you envious. You hated seeing them adore Bill and touching him with the chances they got. It was ridiculous. But you had to support him no matter what.

Bill on the other hand was worried about your actions. He knew something was up. Sometimes he would think you are mad at him. There was a sense of guilt when you talked to the other members but not him. He would think, “Did I do something?”

...

I leaned against the bathroom door and pulled on my face, “Wake up Y/N. Don't do this to yourself. Bill is your best friend nothing more. Right?” I talk to myself, “Now, I’m just sounding crazy.” I sneak out of the bathroom and try to go back to my hotel room.

“Y/N?”

I stopped in my tippy-toe position. I felt hands rest on my shoulders. The expensive cologne hit my face. “Bill?” I said timidly. “Look at me.”

“No, I got to go now.” His hands gripping my shoulders now, “Are you mad at me?”

He put his chin on the top of my head trying to hug me. The front door opened and Tom stood there, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Help me.” I mouthed giving him the signal for Bill not to look at my mess-up face.

“Oh! I stopped by because the manager is looking for Y/N downstairs.” Tom lied.

“Right! Bye guys.” Bill let go of his hold of me and I pushed Tom out of the way to leave. “You're welcome.” He said for only me to hear.

I went back to the room moping around. “What can I do?”

I can't gaslight myself anymore. I love Bill. And I can't deny it. I sighed at myself for remembering we have one more fan signing. Which means suffering.

The next day

It was the last day of the fan signing in Mexico. I almost didn't go till Bill started spamming my cellphone, “Where are you?” “You should be here right now.” “Are you okay?” “We can cancel if something happened.”

I just ignored him though. I felt ashamed of myself. I'm failing my friend. I ended up going. Watching girls screaming and throwing things was overwhelming me. One girl, in particular, caught my attention when she was getting her poster signed by Bill. She touched his hand and poked the strand sticking out of his hair. He just smiled at her the whole time. When she left he looked over at me probably feeling my eyes concentrate on him. He put a thumbs up and down asking if I was okay. I gave him a quick thumbs-up and looked at something else.

A guy came up to the table staring at me and he gave a little wave. I waved back and he smiled. He went through saying hello to the band members and left. Now I felt eyes on me but I didn't want to look.

After the event

I was helping the staff members put stuff back in the van. The guys were planning to get on the bus but someone tapped me on the shoulder making them halt.

I turned around to see the guy from the event. He was handsome up close. “I know I'm not supposed to be back here but they thought I was part of the crew.”

I looked at his clothes and he did kind of dressed like us. “No worries! Is there something you need?” I asked kindly.

“Yeah, I was wondering if you want to exchange numbers. You caught my attention when I was getting my poster signed.”

“Sure!” I blushed. In a way I wanted to say no but maybe it would be good to distance my feelings from Bill.

We both exchanged numbers and he smiled at me again. “I'll text you soon, bye.” And he left just like that.

“What the hell was that?” Bill came up to me looking down at my face. “What's wrong? I just gave my number that's all.”

“Why?” He seemed kind of pissed as he inched closer making me hit the back of the van. “Bill, what are you doing.” He didn't say anything but hovered over me making me nervous.

“Let's head back to the hotel. This doesn't matter Bill let her be.” Georg stepped in.

Bill scrunched up his nose as if he smelled something bad.

Back at the hotel

I was in the band member’s suite laying on the couch on my phone. An unknown contact messaged me. { Hey it's the guy you met earlier, I was wondering if you want to eat out tonight. I saw a place on my way back driving. }

I giggled and texted back yes and to send directions. The boys around me looked at me, they were snacking. “What was that about?” Gustav questioned first.

“I'm going on a date tonight I think.” I said about to leave the room.

“A date?” Bill sipped his cherry slushie. I nodded and left the room.

When I went back to my room I already knew Bill was behind me. “What do you need Bill?”

“You.” He closed the door behind him. His face flustered. I paused when I took out dresses from my closet.

“Huh?”

“I don't understand. I try to talk to you but you leave in a rush and isolate yourself with the guys and not me. I want that to be me. Tom told me that he's been covering up for your actions.”

“Damn him,” I whispered to myself. I felt uneasy now.

“Bill I love you, and I've been loving you since middle school or elementary. But I think it's best to not mess up this friendship and your career.” I frowned laying out the dresses on a chair.

Bill fidgeted with his rings and didn't blink. “I'm sorry. This is humiliating for me. Just forget this all.”

“I won't forget that,” Bill spoke and took my hands in his. “I'm not sure to explain myself but I want to further our friendship into something special. You know you make me feel like I'm not worthy to be with you.”

“How could you think that? You have so many fans that admire you--”

“It's not like that though. You're not my fan. You're my best friend. And I don't want to call you my best friend anymore. I wanted to be your first kiss.” He started playing with my pinky.

“I forgot Tom was.” I giggled as Bill stepped closer making the tip of our shoes touch. “But we were like 12 years old that doesn't matter.”

“It did matter for me. You and I are like Peanut butter and jelly or however, Americans say it.”

I laughed at him, “Well, you can be my first true love's kiss.”

“I'd like that.”

He carefully held the side of my face and leaned in pressing his lips with mine. His free hand went to the other side of my face. Both of his hands held my face kissing me softly.

“Please don't go on that date.” He paused the kiss. “I won't just keep going.” I kissed his lips again wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down. The taste of his tongue was the slushie he had earlier. Unfortunately, he pulled back.

“Are you going to try on those dresses for me?” He looked at me wiping the lipstick I had on the corner of my lips.

“Mm, yeah but no funny business.” “I'll take you on a date then.” He blushed a bit.

“We will leave in a bit then.” I hugged him and pushed him back on the bed.

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#tokio hotel #tokio hotel fanfic #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill x reader #bill kaulitz fanfic #fluff #x reader #boy bands #imagine #romance #2000s #2006

[jazeswhbhaven]

AmonxMC (MC's POV) Oneshot Thighfucking/Reverse Somnophilia (auto smonophilia?) Spice Level: 🔥🔥🔥🔥

His arms wrap around me, a soft murmur and mumble from his lips as the covers surround us in warmth. After a patrol, a nice quiet meal together, and helping him organize his Beelzebub merch and memorabilia, Amon was exhausted and ready to sleep.

It didn't take him long to hit the pillow and close his eyes, but it was going to take me a while to lull myself to sleep in a new environment. I wasn't sure how he could sleep through the distant noises of crash cars, nightlife, and occasional gun-shots, but having him here next to me was easier than sleeping alone in the quiet castle of Avisos.

I felt myself get groggy, after what seemed for like an hour or so. Amon has tossed over to the other side of the bed, a quiet snore alerting me of how deep of a sleep he's in.

I scoot over to press my back against his, and feel comfortable enough now to sleep. That is...until seconds later the devil stirs and groans uncomfortably shift over and throwing his arms over me to pull me close like a pillow.

I ignore this sudden act and try to sleep again but I notice Amon's body tempature is rising, his breathing heavy and something below...his crotch swelling. His hips rut into mine, I play it off as him trying to get comfortable.

Then his hands, roam over my chest, kneading and searching for my nipples, his hands are usually covered with gloves uncovered and soft to the touch.

"Amon? Are you awake?"

He doesn't answer me coherently, but instead mumbles. I feel his lips nuzzle the back of my neck, his teeth trailing over my skin with soft nips. He moans again and twists his hips his pants slowly slipping down his waist.

"Nnnn...MC..." He groans and pushes his chest against my back. "...It's hot..." Perhaps it was a fever dream he was having, though he didn't seem sick from before. Bael did mention sometimes Amon may have some strange habits and behaviors that would catch me off guard. Maybe this was one of them.

I turn over, assisting the devil with removing his uniform he was too lazy to take off. I remove his vest and shirt, (his tie already hung on the doorknob) and my hands gently touch his choker. He moans again humping my thigh, his pants sliding down more to reveal the base of his shaft peeking from the waistband.

"Touch. Me." He pleas and bites into my shoulder, I trace my fingers over his body, right down to his pants and fumble with the seam. He whimpers and urges me to keep going.

"More..."

I freeze for a moment, unsure if I should continue. Though he decides this for me. I'm pulled into his chest, my body facing his. His pants slip all the way down to his calves as I feel something heavy smack against my thighs.

"Amon..." I gently whisper when I have sight of his erect cock twitching and oozing pre-cum from its rosy tip. The veins are visible from this angle and my thoughts run amok wondering how it feels having that inside me. He groans and seeks stimulation, positioning himself to where he slips between my thighs just below the hem of my shorts. My core trembles when he starts thrusting, using the slick from himself to coat the tight area of flesh that met.

"Ah!" He cries out, his face contorted to pleasure, his eyes are still closed but I can tell he's enjoying every moment of it. I feel my arousal build watching how he pleases himself by just rubbing against my body, how his shaft violates my thighs and rubs my entrance only separated by a thin layer of fabric.

I want to undress myself but he doesn't allow me to leave his arms, holding me close, sucking and biting on my neck, milk dripping from his horn that wets my shirt. "Fuck...MC...you feel so good...so warm...so tight..."

Though he's still murmuring I can understand every word he says, my heart beating fast and my breathing erractic with each thrust and love bite.

It's when I see one eye slightly open but close just as fast before I can call out his name, he speeds up, his hips fervent as sounds of wet flesh being smacked fills the room. With two more pumps I feel the tip of him kiss my entrance through my shorts and I moan, my orgasm only seconds away if he just...used more-

His growl is low, rumbling, and filled with ecstasy as he cums, hot sticky cum staining my clothing and my thighs as his fingers dig into my waist.

I whine, knowing he's finished but I watch when he stirs, his eyes opening to stare at me with a half-lidded gaze and a scratchy, sleepy tone. "MC? I'm sorry, you didn't finish..."

I stare in surprise. "What? you-you were awake this whole time?"

He leans to kiss me and pulls back with a soft smile. "No, but remember, I'm aware even when I'm asleep. But I'm awake now." His hands slip into my shorts using his cum that's coating my skin as makeshift lube to stimulate my sensitive parts. I shudder with a breathy moan as we meet eyes and he smiles again. "...Let's finish you off..."

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb amon #7daysofbeelzeluv<3 #thigh fucking #somno k!nk #somnophilia #character x mc #minors dni

[thoughtswordsandnonsense]

Helping hand

Writing to deal with post-Iron Flame depression. This is a loose Idea I had while not feeling good. (I don’t have EDS, but I do have chronic pain + vertigo so bear with me if this isn’t 100% accurate.)

Concept: Tairn snitches to Xaden that Violet is bedridden from pain + dizziness when they thought she had recovered from almost dying. Takes place after the ending of Fourth Wing. 

Violet Pov: 

Opening my eyes was a mistake. After days of trying to take it easy (mostly due to Brennan’s hovering) you’d think I’d be fine, but no. A slight slip down some stairs yesterday and the events of the past week are finally catching up with me and my traitorous body.  

“Silver one, do you need assistance?” Tairn's voice rattles my brain as my eyes try to focus on the room I’ve been sleeping in. Attempting to sit up, pain lances down my arms and back as the room spins like I’m practicing barrel rolls on Tairn. “I’ll be fine.” I mentally shoot back, trying to throw my feet over the edge of the bed, but swaying back, steadying my breath I try to focus on getting on my feet, though it feels like the smallest breeze will have me falling. 

“You need not lie to me, I feel what you feel.” He all but grumbles back, his grumpy attitude only further annoying me. Standing I grimace, the contents in my stomach rolling as I sway. Biting my lip I make my way to the wardrobe on the other side of the room and grip the door of it tightly, trying to steady myself. “You should stay put,” Tairn demands and I roll my eyes. “I have things to do today, why don’t you go eat some sheep or something.” Taking some steady breaths and opening the wooden door shouldn’t take all my energy. I wasn’t this laid up when Barlow tried to kill me, so why my body decided a simple fall and almost dying yet again is too much to handle, is beyond me. Though it’s never predictable when I do get laid up, there’s no real pattern as to what injury or sickness will leave me bedridden and which one won’t.  

A small creak has me turning to the door, the one person I’ve been avoiding standing there with his beautiful eyes all concerned. Wearing black flight leathers and a tight lip, he gives me the look that says he knows something’s up. 

“Tairn told Sgaeyl you needed me.” I glare. “He’s just in a mood and being overbearing, I’m fine.” He leans against the door, leather-clad arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, really Violence? Then stop white-knuckling the wardrobe and come over here.” His cocky tone only irritates me further. “I’m sure whoever is walking the halls doesn’t want to see me in only my nightgown. Now leave.” 

Xaden shakes his head and pushes off the door, coming further into the room as he shuts the door. Now cockily leaning against the wall. “Come over here and then if you can manage that I’ll let you go back to ignoring me.” He huffs and I glare. “Fuck you.” I spit at him, though my wavering tone doesn’t make me look any better. “Maybe another time when you don’t look white as a sheet and I’ve earned your trust back.” He sighs, his tone not leaving room for questions. “I’m fine,” I say as I let go of the door, taking small steps as the room angrily spins around me, head pounding as I try to concentrate.

“Let the wing leader help you.” Tairn all but growls in my head as I stumble, throwing my hands out to try and catch myself, but warm hands grab onto my arms, standing me upright. “Violence, let me help you. Please.” His voice sounds soft, lulling me into a sense of calmness even if I’m still angry with him. Pulling me against his chest his arms circle my waist as I lean into him, his leather jacket cold against my exposed skin, goosebumps rising though it's more than the cold causing them. “Let me help you Violence, do you need Brennan? Are you hurt?” His soft words are laced with a slight edge of panic. “It’s just the my joints come out of place, bruise easily thing. Sometimes it’s this. It’ll pass, Brennan can’t do anything for me, I just have to wait it out.” One of his hands wanders up and down my back, softly tracing my spine as his other lies circled around my waist. My legs ache as we stand there, eyes fluttering shut as I inhale his scent to distract me from the nausea the dizziness is causing. 

Before I can say anything Xaden moves, one arm is under my legs and the other is sweeping under my arms. Quickly, I wrap them around his neck even though it hurts to do so but I still manage to swat at the back of his head. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to do this, I can take care of myself.” I say as we move, softly he lays on the bed with me in his lap. Pulling back I do my best to stare him down, trying to get him to leave. He’s seen me weak enough as is, I don’t need him to see me like this. Tucking hair that’s fallen in front of my face gives a small smile, soft and tender as his now warm hand lays against my cheek. “Just because you’re used to taking care of it alone, doesn’t mean you have to do it alone, just let me take care of you.” He pleads, my head swims as I drop it back to his chest, adjusting myself to lie on top of him. Xaden’s hands move and then puts a blanket on top of us, tucking it closely. One arm going to rest on my waist as the other begins to wander through my hair. “How can I help?” He whispers softly as I let myself relax into him. My head still swimming but his gentle hold helping ground me in the ever-spinning room. “Just, stay for a bit please,” I mumble out and feel him squeeze my waist softly. “I’ll stay for as long as you need me Violet.” 

#booktok #booklr #writing #fanfic #violet and xaden #xaden x violet #fourth wing fanfic #empyrean series #fourth wing imagine #iron flame #violet sorrengail #violence sorrengail #imagines #short fanfic #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #soft fanfic #comfort fanfic #chronic illness writing

[unkat]

chilaios medical au idea i have been bouncing in my head (will not be written until after my current one is done)

i am thinking of a like firefighter/paramedic story for these guys. where laios is a new shift commander/chief at a small middle of nowhere station and chilchuck is a medic from a big city who keeps getting reassigned because he is trying to recruit for a union and the company is trying to make his job unworkable/find a reason to let him go.

laios was promoted because of his work ethic and ability to teach other people about the ins and outs of emergency medicine, not because he wanted to be in charge. he is too new and disinterested in the company politics to throw him under the bus for other people, and by the time someone explicitly says he needs to fire him, he has gotten attached.

"he's reliable, does good work, and catches things nobody else here would have. i know he cussed out the family trying to get into the rig, but he had already told them no and they should be grateful he saved their daughter instead of filing a complaint! even if i were to discipline, he deserves a verbal warning and not dismissal. You were not there, and i am his direct superior."

(wins the argument and walks away trying not to hyperventilate)

also falin is a surgeon and marcille is a research fellow who abandoned her big-city super-focused projects to come out into the country and work with subpar equipment and an incompetent assistant. im not thinking like full rural hospital here, but closeish to it. could be an academic satellite hospital and she switched from like gene therapy trials to studying exposures/population/histology stuff.

shifting the touden hyperfixation from monsters->medical fascination i think would still get across the same vibes. falin is very nice and pleasant but she treats everyone nicely and pleasantly without actually empathizing with them. shes one of those surgeons who went to shadow a heart transplant in college and cried because it was so beautiful and then got a bunch of scholarships plus student loans for med school.

laios hunts and has a big appreciation for the lives of things he kills and butchering/using everything he can. then it translates to him being fascinated by the human body as an object more than as a being that is different and special from other animals that he is a part of. he is a fantastic emergency responder because of this- people are a pile of flesh that is broken somewhere, and he wants to figure out why. (this is something that I'm like. not sure if it is okay for me to include because it can be squicky/triggering. but i feel like when I'm unsure if I'm going too far that is when i am reaching the line i want to?)

the touden siblings still go hiking and mudding and spend their time off in the woods (marcille wears white shorts and sandels on a hike leaving laios to be very explicit and offering clothes to chilchuck when he offers him to join. chilchuck borrows his shirt and it is way too big, but he keeps it for a while.)

chilchuck is extra divorced. he facetimes with the girls a couple of times a week and gets them on rotating holidays. sometimes ex-mrs. tims invites him over for dinner because she feels sorry for him and her new boyfriend is also there. it's awkward but they both know he's harmless, just annoying and closed off. he smokes but has tried to quit 7-8 times. started when he was an emt and couldn't shake it because it helped him destress. he only knows how to drive well enough to pass his vehicle license renewals and still doesn't know what the buttons in his car do. the ac has been "broken" for a week before a station mechanic pushes the button to turn it back on (they should put a subway around here, stupid cars).

laios respects his experience and history of being at a constantly busy station that saw a variety of crazy shit. chilchuck initially resents him for being so out of touch, but grows to respect his leadership abilities. laios also always follows up on cases at the hospital to figure out the outcome and reflect on best practices.

he is the first person to get chilchuck to actually debrief after a shitty call and chil cries and never wants to talk about it again. but its like a seal in a dam has been breached, and opens up when they are cuddling on the couch. they spend more time off shift with each other. chilchuck crashes on laios' couch and initially feels like he needs excuses to do it until laios says he really likes talking with him and having him there. he tells him about the company's EAP coverage and that he encourages everyone to take advantage of it.

in the end, they hit that threshold of basically living together, and one of them would need to change their station (superior/employee romance) after they go from making out off shift in secret to seriously considering having laios meet his daughters in person. (they already think they're married because laios is always there when they call now)

#unkat rants #i cant stand them #chilaios #dungeon meshi filter #...i updated the tag for folks who saw this directly already #sorry for the confusion

[morgana-ren]

Morgana if Bailey and Leighton DID become love intrests, how do you think it would look like?

Also, wpuld they use pet names? If so, what pet names would they use?

I think it would be pretty interesting, actually!

They'd present the opportunity to do something entirely different than the rest of the love interests!

Not talking shit on them, but a lot of the love interests are pretty... stereotypical. You've got the stalker, the bully, the sugar daddy old enough to be your daddy, the sweet religious boy, the best friend, etc.

And they're great, actually. I love them.

But can you imagine doing something a little... different with it?

Bailey

I think Bailey's is the most unique. It wouldn't be a stereotypical Love Interest ordeal. It would very clearly be a love/hate thing, which would probably take some insanely high checks with a secret trigger, same with seducing him in his office. Kind of like a secret path you can take after the right amount of choices.

Maybe trying to seduce him multiple times results in a strange encounter. He hates it, and he has a serious problem trying to resist. So, he does what Bailey does and thinks about how he can turn a problem into an opportunity.

He can fuck one of his orphans. If it benefits him. Free stress relief and the like. He's already done it once, so what's done is done.

He'd have a love meter, but it doesn't quite... work in the same way it does with everyone else. He never gets gooey or mushy. He doesn't take you on dates or have nice dinners with you. The higher it goes, the more he just seeks you out-- maybe without even meaning to. There'd be more 'encounters' available.

Maybe something akin to a dominance meter, that if you pay your bills on time, stay out of trouble with the police and other threats, making his life easier, do what he wants in bed without whining and basically just not being a problem for him, it goes higher. You can be his little pet or helper, if it's high. He'll trust you on errands and ask you to drop off sealed paperwork or attend small meetings for him. Kind of like an assistant. He won't pay you, but he'll be a bit more lenient in the future— for a price.

Maybe some encounters similar to Whitney, where he puts you under his desk to uh.... entertain him while he works. Just walks in when you're in the bath. You'd occasionally run into him in town, where he'd save you from an assault.

"No touching my orphans-- for free."

He'd never say he loves you or anything like that. Nothing so touching. But you'd catch him staring sometimes, and he'd immediately look away. Maybe he'd stroke your hair offhandedly when he's finished with you rather than just throwing you out. You become someone he reluctantly cares for, but you'd never see it. He's still an antagonist. You're just bedding him, as far as you know. Lots of trauma. Stockholm syndrome type shit.

Maybe during an assault, you'll get out of it for free (similar to the one in school with Whitney) and they'd say something like "Isn't that Bailey's special orphan? Shit!"

He'd have some rotten encounters with the other love interests. You run into him on date night with Avery and they have the most awkward, tense conversation of all time, and Avery says something along the lines of "Is he your guardian? I don't like the way he looks at you. That's not the way a caretaker should look at their wards" or the like.

He'll actively throw Whitney out of the orphanage if he catches him, and tells him to quit sniffing around you. He couldn't afford you.

Same with Kylar, except maybe he sees Kylar as an active threat and pulls the gun out to threaten him. Tells him that if he harms a single hair on your head, he'll pay in more than just cash.

He'll come and get you if you're gone for too long. Send goons after you if Morgan has you trapped in the sewers. Show up at Eden's place for you. Same with the farm. He'll drag you back home to the orphanage and ask you exactly who the fuck it is you think you belong to. Have you hard against the desk (consensual if you're into it, nonconsensual if you ask him to stop) and warn you to stop disappearing. it wastes his time to go and look for you, so you had better stay close.

When his meter falls too low (dominance, that is) he quite literally chains you to the desk. Tells the school that you've fallen ill and won't be there for a while, and just... keeps you there until he's comfortable enough to release you. It's sort of like a soft bad end until you regain his trust.

He cannot be dismissed. This is permanent. Once you've got his attention, you have his attention. You wanted it so badly, and now you'll deal with the consequences.

Something along that vein is what I picture for Bailey without getting too OOC.

Leighton

Leighton is a little bit more straight forward. Triggered by consensually sleeping with him at the brothel enough times and making him cum in detention and picking flirty options rather than bitchy ones. Basically, you catch his attention, and he decides he wants to keep you around. He notices your 'little crush' on him and decides to take advantage.

So he makes some sort of excuse to keep you around more often. Maybe gives you an optional afterschool job in the office until it closes when he goes home so that you can be close. You can go to his office to trigger some events. Sorting files for him, sitting on his lap as he works, consensual photoshoots for him, letting him eat you out as you try to focus on his extra paperwork.

Detention is still detention, but there's a more sexual spin on it. Er— more of one than there already is. Instead of "I will obey the rules" over and over on the blackboard, he has you strip and write "I will obey my headmaster" over and over. Your spanking punishments turn into raw dogging. He 'helps' you wash his car, awfully hands-on. Puts it in your ass raw if you've been particularly naughty.

He's super into the power dynamic, and the headmaster/school girl thing gets him off, so a lot of your encounters are education themed. He's 'teaching' you. Showing you how to please a man. Health education lessons. Will spoon his seed into your mouth while rattling off the benefits of swallowing cum.

At the brothel, he'll still occasionally invite another student to join you, but he'll also just do single encounters with you, and he'll pay you more— or not at all, depending.

You basically become a literal teacher's pet.

He can't really take you out in public for obvious reasons, but sometimes he'll take you to a restaurant outside of town and call you his daughter or his niece to anyone who asks. He might try to sneak you off to a hotel on the weekends, making some excuse about a student conference or special project. Sometimes he'll let you stay after school and drink with him in his office. Once his love is high enough, he'll unlock the school during the weekend and you can find him there during the day and do some... 'Roleplay' with him.

(does it count as roleplay if he's actually your teacher and you're actually his student?)

He'll start coming to your around town performances, whether it's at the sex shop or the museum. Always takes photos. He will 'reward' high grades and 'discipline' delinquency.

Does not get on with your other love interests. He's arguably the creepiest. Will deliberately separate you and Robin, and make crude remarks to Whitney about you. Won't spank Sydney anymore, and will just send them out as he uhh disciplines you, making a lewd comment as he does.

If he meets Avery, he calls you his 'best little student' in a way that has his skin crawling, and winks at you as he leaves. Calls you into his office if you've been missing at another place too long— and calls Bailey regarding you, which can lead to some interesting conversation if you're romancing them both. Gives Kylar detention for circling you, telling them to stop 'harassing his top student.'

He's still a pervert, but the higher his love is, the more he fixates on you to the point it can be suffocating and extremely unsettling.

I think if I really put more thought into it, I could come up with something more comprehensive and in character. It could be a really cool little offshoot from the typical love interests and leaves some room to experiment.

As for pet names, I think Bailey tries to avoid them, but in the heat of the moment, will let something along the lines of 'daddy' slip. He's your caretaker, after all. Can't resist it. Talks a lot about how he 'owns' you and how you 'belong' to him. Says you will always belong to him as he marks up your neck. Maybe you should get it tattooed.

Basically giving you a pet name is admitting he thinks of you in a special manner, so he really tries not to. Something something 'dirty little orphan bitch' and 'my little orphan whore.' They'll be slightly kinder if he has high love, but never outright cute or kind. His best orphan, his top earner, his naive little brat. Often claims ownership of you shortly after saying it just to reassert dominance. It's just how he is.

Leighton strikes me as a complete creep. He genuinely likes when you call him headmaster or professor, but will start to slip into 'uncle' territory once he trusts you. Possibly even daddy. He gets off on the age difference and the power imbalance. Really gets off.

You're little girl, his darling student, his precious pet. His loving niece, so attentive to uncle's needs. He gets really eerie with it is what I'm saying. During sex, he's still demeaning. Filthy little whore, headmaster's personal dirty slut. Makes up scenarios about you fucking him to get your grades up, even if that's not the case. Like gets real weird with it.

Like "Do you like when Uncle Leighton's cock makes you to feel good, little girl?" And "you're headmaster's dirty little secret." Territory.

A real winner, he is.

#morgana and friends #degrees of lewdity #this is just sorta rattled off the top of my head #always open to suggestions too #i think with time and love and care i could make a legitimate mod layout for it #i know its ooc but like they arent technically love interests so i gotta push it #may also be letting my personal creepiness shine through here #but i mean... they ARE creepy and awful

[heartshapedbubble]

Okay, I am a little bit nervous, hope that this request won't make you uncomfortable!

Antonio, Luchino (Hunter, please) and Alva with a S/O who is engaged in equestrian sports? Like, they have their own horse, equipment and even whip!

Thank you if you'll accept, and I understand if you'll decline!

no worries nonnie!! here u go<3

antonio paganini, luchino diruse and alva lorenz with an s/o engaged in equestrian sports🎻🦎🌩

antonio paganini🎻

equestrian sports, huh?

he saw his fair share of noblemen riding their well groomed stallions and duchesses feeding their ponies sugar cubes, yet he didn't really pay much attention to it

upon mentioning it for the first time he's gonna be like 🤨 immediately associating it with the nobles and their pretentious version of the sport, only to realize it isn't as black-and-white as he made it out to be

i wouldn't really call tonio a person who's rlly good with animals tbh

like? it isn't that he hates animals, in fact it's quite the opposite, he just isn't made for taking care of them

will still bring some apples or carrots for your horse(s) okok‼️

although he mostly leaves you at peace while you do horseriding, considering it your way of relaxing and calming yourself, sometimes he'll come by the fence and watch you

will help you get on your horse if needed and assist you as much as he can with equipment and getting ready!

also thinks you look really hot attractive in your equestrian uniform ,, he's gonna discreetly whisper it into your ear as he helps you mount your horse and enjoy watching you turn red every time you two make eye contact as you ride... hehe.....

luchino diruse🦎

aight listen this man is a herpetologist. he spent minimum 4 years inspecting scaly little creatures. petite marble eyed beasts, if you will. everything but a four legged man sized mammal

not to mention horses are scared of him considering how HUGE he is (which makes him sad :c)

he has no knowledge on horses or anything horse-related but he's more than willing to drop his reptile studies for some time

he finds them cute tho c:

he's a man who's naturally brimming with curiosity, if he finds something interesting enough he's going to pull an all nighter just to research it

at this point his initially small research on equestrian sports & horses became a little hyperfix of his just bc of you <3

he would definetly sprinkle in some horse biology/anatomy facts as you two spend time near the stables

enjoys watching you ride around as he takes notes

100% would be interested in helping you feed your horse and groom it!!

alva lorenz🌩

alva is (suprisingly... or not?) a big fan of animals, and horses just happen to be one of his favourite ones

he finds them so majestic and graceful, yet most horses run away from him since his presence is quite intimidating (especially considering his body is quite literally a fully-charged electrical conductor) and throws them off guard

if you get lucky and your horse doesn't run away the second he gets near he'd gladly pet it if you let him!!!

he is NOT riding them though. no way in hell he's too tall + he'd just make the horses even more nervous

so he's just going to stay aside and enjoy watching you spend your time doing what you love :))

you'll find him visiting the stable(s) self-initiatively, bringing in snacks for them and such !!! he can't help it ok !!!

this man often has an unreal urge to baby you (not in an infantilizing way or something - he just does stuff for you which you could easily do yourself, it's kind of his love language) he's going to insist on buttoning up your blazer and helping you mount the horse, doing such mundane activities with/for you makes him feel better and more present in your life

here and there you'll find him silently inspecting your equipment, slowly twirling and folding the whip and touching the leather surface of the saddle

he never goes with you when you have training, but as you ride you'll often catch a glimpse of him watching you train from the shadows

#identity v #idv #idv headcanons #identity v headcanons #idv fanfic #idv imagines #idv scenarios #idv x reader #identity v x reader #identity v x you #antonio idv #idv antonio #idv alva #idv luchino #luchino x reader #luchino diruse #antonio paganini #alva lorenz #identity v luchino #antonio identity v #identity v antonio #identity v hermit #idv hermit #violinist idv #idv violinist #idv evil reptilian #evil reptilian #identity v alva #identity v violinist #identity v evil reptilian

[alt-2077]

Hiiii, good night, morning or evening, could I ask U for David Martinez with a(if u can)male reader who's kinda caothic, playful and mischievous?

Thnks for reading, feel free to take your time or decline(srry if it's badly written)

David Martinez w/ a mischievous m!reader

chars. david w⚠️. male!reader, spoilers, violence, swearing genre. fluff, headcanon wc.  520+ note. i didn't know whether you wanted headcanons or not so i'm just gonna make it headcanon.

David

David finds it cute, not gonna lie.

He enjoys your playful nature plenty but tends to have his guard up around you even if he's not usually a victim to your actions.

You could pull tricks on anyone and everyone, and you usually do. He'll always end up apologising to the person for you after you pull something.

He seems to usually get a cold stare before he walks away and tries to pull you with him.

It's a whole different story if you're cheeky during fights on jobs though. He finds it really attractive.

Seeing you toy around with the enemies is possibly one of the sexiest things to him. Usually you or whoever's came to assist has to snap him out of it.

Tries to prevent you from doing to much damage to buildings and so on but he quickly realised it's not exactly something he can control. Sometimes if he's angry enough, he'll join you on fucking things up and rain hellfire.

When the job's done or you're just bored, you pull him along to a shooting range or a secluded place to just destroy things. It takes a lot off him and it quickly becomes one of his favourite ways to cool off.

if there's moments where you're exhausted and a little calm, he takes a moment to bask in the calmness of you and it's one of those little moments he cherishes. That's not to say he doesn't love you chaotic side, he just doesn't have enough energy to catch up with you sometimes.

If this is Timeskip David we're talking about though, he'll have more than enough energy to catch up with your personality and he loves it.

He's tries to have a little bit more by going a little bit crazy with you and honestly? You two are the hottest couple.

Crazy and crazy goes great together, I suppose.

Loves to do little moves with you when you two are fighting side by side.

Those may include but not limited to:

Throwing you onto enemies so you can just tear them apart, throwing you into the air to hit a snipe(idk lmao), mainly things that include throwing you.

He's strong enough to do that now but if that's not something you're into, you two may use things that can act like shields and block bullets.

Basically, you two fighting together can initiate some very fun and interesting combos.

Enjoys massages from you but isn't surprised you tug his hair or put something really cold on his back whilst he's just trying to relax. He does giggle a little bit from the small things you pull out of your sleeve.

I mean, he signed up for it the moment you both started dating, no?

He'll never ever get mad at you though. Not then, not now, not ever. He really, really loves you and holds you close to his heart because despite you being batshit crazy sometimes, he knows you'd do anything for him and you know he's the same for you.

Honestly, you're both an absolute powerhouse together and it intimidates anyone who you fight. They know they won't leave alive.

#cyberpunk edgerunners #david martinez x reader #netflix #cyberpunk 2077 #x reader

[ghoste-catte]

What is the "Lee wins" au? Lee wins the chuunin exam fight against Gaara? Lee wins everything? Lee wins at life? /j

LOL it's Lee wins the chuunin exams.

If you want a more detailed summary, TW for suicide attempt and nasty injuries below

Basically, the premise is that Gaara faints during their fight due to a combination of Lee crushing his ribcage with a kick and the sight of his own blood, letting Shukaku take over. Lee gets injured, but not as profoundly as in canon. The "4th Kazekage" (Orochimaru in disguise) declares they have to kill Gaara, but Gai intervenes and Kakashi becomes suspicious when he recalls that Gaara is the Kazekage's son. Matters get even more suspicious when Orochi-kage isn't able to use the magnet release to subdue Gaara. The invasion gets stymied as a result. With a joint cooperative effort from multiple nations' worth of shinobi, Gaara is eventually taken down - severely injured, but not dead. Some experts are able to stabilize his seal a bit, but not quite permanently and to excruciating pain.

And while jinchuuriki do have healing powers, the powers are imprecise and basically just focused on keeping the vessel alive. Gaara recuperates in the hospital in Konoha, after undergoing - under great risk & extensive seal work - a surgery that removes several dead organs from his body and reconstructs his ribcage. Lee visits him from time to time. Ultimately he is told that he will no longer be able to fight (in his mind - protect himself & assert his existence), so he throws himself off the roof of the hospital. The sand catches him, of course.

Suna attempts to transfer Shukaku to Kankuro, but the sealing fails because Shukaku insists on staying bound to Gaara.

Years later, both of their paths have been utterly altered: Lee remains a taijutsu specialist but has become a special jounin with a focus on assisting wounded shinobi through rehab and physical therapy. Gaara has become an avid gardener and agricultural scientist, though severely limited by his physical disabilities. In addition Temari has become Kazekage and is constantly dodging assassination attempts by the Council, who consider her a traitor's daughter. There are several attempts to marry her off to control her, one she almost goes through with until Kankuro walks into the council chambers and announces his intentions to kill Temari's intended and his family, at the risk of war.

Lee and Gaara stay in touch by mail, though Gaara's mental health is perhaps as poor as his physical health, and he spends much of his time researching a seal that wil lock Shukaku away for good. The story is mainly epistolary from here.

Ultimately, Lee and Gaara reunite in Suna when Lee is dispatched as support on a mission, realize that the feelings that have been growing between them are more than a lasting friendship, and ... well, you can probably guess the rest :)

Anyway, this fic is SO SO plotty, so I will probably never write it, but it's fun to think about sometimes!

#answered #anonymous #gaalee

[im-a-wonderling]

What a Sham ~ Tony Stark

I’ve never written for Tony Stark before this, so it was a fun exercise, even if I don’t love how it turned out :)

Summary: Y/N is getting fed up with being Tony Stark’s assistant. (Takes place during Iron Man 2)

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: none?

Sometimes, being Tony Stark’s personal assistant was only slightly preferable to getting shot and just as painful. 

At least with a gunshot wound, one was allowed time to rest and recover. 

When I walked into Mr. Stark’s office on a regular Saturday afternoon to see not one, not two, but three women dressed in lingerie crowded around my boss, I could only cringe and avert my eyes.

I’d been in his office not fifteen minutes ago, which was when he’d told me he wanted a grand party at his house tonight. The only person in Tony Stark’s office then had been Tony Stark. How on earth had he managed to get three women in his office and out of most of their clothes in less than fifteen minutes?

It was like some perverse magic trick. 

I cleared my throat. 

When none of the four looked over at me, I tried again, louder.

No response.

Running out of patience, I rapped loudly on the door with my right hand, not stopping until the women looked over with irritated expressions.

“What is it?” Mr. Stark slurred, his cloudy eyes very obviously trained somewhere indecorous.

“Sir, city hall gave the special license for the party, and the waiters have all been informed of the…Iron Man themed dress code.” He didn’t respond, and I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was almost done for the day. “Is there anything else you need, sir, before I leave for the day?”

“Yes,” Mr. Stark said, getting to his feet and nearly lurching over, his unbuttoned shirt flapping to show off the glowing arc reactor in his chest. “These three lovely ladies need cars to take them home.”

The women all looked insulted, clearly expecting to have the great Tony Stark’s attention for longer. One of them folded her arms.

Mr. Stark attempted to prop himself up on his office chair, but thanks to the wheels on the bottom of the chair, the chair slid away from him, causing him to nearly lose his balance. “Now, now, Jennifer–” he started to say to the woman pouting.

“My name is Courtney,” the woman snapped. 

Mr. Stark looked confused for a moment before turning to the second woman. “Then you’re Jennifer, right?”

The second woman folded her arms. “Wrong.”

Mr. Stark clapped a hand on the third woman’s shoulder. “Jennifer!”

“I’m Alice,” she replied, shrugging off his hand. 

“Then who is Jennifer?” Mr. Stark asked, spreading his arms wide, the motion nearly causing him to fall off his own feet.

All three women scoffed as they started gathering their clothes off the floor. Not one of them bothered to start getting dressed as they stalked towards the door, throwing dirty looks at Mr. Stark as they passed. Courtney, the last to leave, shoved Mr. Stark’s chest with a pitiful amount of force before stalking away. 

Unfortunately, alcohol didn’t like to share with good balance, and at this point, a gust of wind could blow Mr. Stark off his feet.

He flung out his hands to balance himself against the wall. But no wall or piece of furniture was nearby to catch him, and he finally slammed down on the floor. “Y/N.” His voice stumbled around the syllable(s) of my name. “Come help me up.”

I very nearly curled my lip at him. “I’m going to arrange confidentiality agreements for your disgruntled hook-ups.”

My boss waved the statement away. “Someone else can do that.” He held out his hands, like a toddler does when asking to be picked up. 

I debated leaving purely out of spite. Mr. Stark was likely so inebriated, he wouldn’t remember that I left. I could get the ladies out of Mr. Stark’s building and go home to my almost unused Netflix subscription and uneaten ice cream in the freezer. My last day off, I’d ended up taking care of my nieces in the morning and going on a blind date in the evening. 

Not only was the date a total wash, but an introvert could only have so many days without alone time before they became a danger to society. 

Yet I knew I’d have to be heartless to leave my boss looking so pathetic and alone. I grit my teeth, preparing to walk over to him, already annoyed that he’d once again succeeded in getting what he wanted.

But the arc reactor in Mr. Stark’s chest flickered. 

I let out a soft gasp, staring at it.

Ever since Mr. Stark came back from that cave of terrorists, that thing had been keeping him alive. And in all that time, I’d never seen it flicker. If something were wrong with it, Mr. Stark would know, and he would do something about it. Which meant that I would know. I didn’t understand much about science, but alcohol couldn’t have that effect on it…could it? 

I stared at it, but it shined as brightly as ever.

Had I imagined it?

I crossed the room, warily watching the reactor. When I got close, I noticed the odd vein-like dark streaks stretching from the arc reactor. They were so distractingly distinct, that I nearly forgot why I was this close to my boss in the first place until Mr. Stark waved his hand. 

I took hold of it and heaved him up.

I meant to let go of his hand, but his grip only tightened after he got to his feet. For a moment, my heart zipped around in my chest, doing dangerous loopty-loops…until I realized he was just trying to stay upright.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I clock out today?” I asked, trying to ignore the observation of my boss’s hands dwarfing mine in favor of staring at the technology embedded in his bare chest. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mr. Stark said, before seeming to lose track of what he was going to say at the end of his ‘whoa’s.

I waited, giving him a moment.

But his eyes just started sweeping back and forth, like they were incapable of lingering anywhere. Perhaps he was trying to find the railroad tracks of his train of thought. 

The reactor still looked normal. 

I pulled my hand out of his, stepping away. “I’ll alert the kitchens to send up some Advil and water before I leave. So you can sober up before your party.” 

The moment my back was turned, fingers clumsily laced themselves through mine, causing me to inhale sharply, stopping, but not turning around.

“Don’t leave me,” Mr. Stark said in a pitifully small voice, making something unpleasant twist in me.

“If you didn’t want to be alone,” I said over my shoulder as nonchalantly as I could, “you shouldn’t have made those ladies leave.”

“I didn’t want them to stay,” he whined, gently tugging on my hand.

I allowed him to spin me, opening my mouth to give him a lecture about boundaries in the office. “Mr. Stark–”

“Stay for the party.” His eyes were clearer now, but I could’ve sworn the strange vein-like streaks on his chest were darker. 

“My shift is already over–”

“I’ll pay you time and a half,” he offered. “Come on, you’re needed. You’re the one that makes these events go off without a hitch. I’ll feel better if you’re there.”

“And I’ll feel better if I’m at home,” I grumbled. “Parties aren’t my scene.”

“Tell you what, if you’re not at the party tonight, I’ll fire you.” Mr. Stark grinned as if he’d just told me he was giving me a birthday present. 

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have taken them seriously. Or I would’ve filed a complaint with HR. 

But this was Tony Stark. 

Tony Stark was unlike anyone else. 

And if there was ever anyone begging to be judo flipped, it was Tony Stark.

I groaned, wishing I knew how to judo flip people. “Fine.”

“Yay!” He clapped his hands together, looking pleased. “Now how do you feel about wearing an Iron Man costume?”

-

In the end, despite Mr. Stark’s insistence that I was needed at the party, everything was running smoothly. 

As I watched the serving staff from my secluded spot in the corner of the bar, I thanked my lucky stars I’d managed to bypass his desire to have me dressed in a red and gold spandex suit like theirs. I made a mental note to send tips to all the waiters and waitresses for this. 

I glanced at Mr. Stark, who was surrounded by partiers doing every possible variation of drunk dancing there was. Whatever happened with his arc reactor earlier, he seemed more than fine now, but that didn’t stop me from keeping an eye on him. 

Babysitting my boss would never appear on my bucket list, but at this point, not only had Mr. Stark given me a direct order, he also very clearly needed a voice of reason. I wouldn’t put it past the man to do something more impulsive and stupid than my neices, one of whom this past weekend had wrapped the string of a balloon around her neck because she thought it’d be fun. 

“Do you want something to drink?” the bartender asked, loudly to be heard over the music, drawing my attention away from the dance floor.

“Can’t partake, I’m afraid.” I lifted my phone. “Technically on duty.”

“At least I’m not the only one working then,” the bartender said with a smile.

I took a moment to study him.

A jaw strong enough to rival Superman, broad shoulders, nice smile, crooked nose, and a forgivable amount of gel in his hair. I couldn’t recall him having bartended any of Mr. Stark’s parties before, and the party planning had been so frantic on my part that I couldn’t remember where I’d hired the bartender from. 

“What’s your name?” I asked, hoping it would jog my memory. 

The bartender extended his hand, which looked even stronger than his jaw. “I’m Kaleb.” The name didn’t ring any bells.

“Y/N,” I said, putting my hand in his and giving it two strong shakes. 

”You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.” Kaleb rested his forearms on the counter and leaned towards me. “Either you’re an Uber, or your boss is here somewhere, which is it?”

I propped my chin on my hand. “I don’t have the car to be an Uber.”

“Personal assistant, then.” Kaleb flashed me a smile that made my heart tremble like leaves in the wind.

“You got it,” I managed to say without looking like an idiot. Maybe this party wouldn’t be an absolute waste of time. “How long have you been bartending?”

“Since before I was legally allowed to drink.” His mouth quirked slightly to the side, and I suddenly was content to sit there and stare at his lips. “What do you normally drink?”

I cocked my head to the side, slowly fluttering my eyelashes at him. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you can tell a lot about a person by their usual drink.”

Pursing my lips, I considered him for a moment. “I usually drink a french 75,” I finally revealed.

“Ahhhh, the drink a beautiful woman drinks when she wants to forget.”

“So everyone that orders a french 75 is beautiful?”

Kaleb’s eyes sparkled. “No, but I don’t need your drink order to notice that.”

I chuckled, unable to stop myself from teasing my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“So, my dear,” Kaleb said with a grin, “what are you trying to forget?”

I leaned in conspiratorially. “When you have a boss like mine, you want to forget every day.”

Kaleb slid his hand across the bar to lightly grace my pinkie with his pointer finger, a decorous touch appropriate for someone working. “So,” he jut his chin out towards the dance floor, “which of those hooligans do you have the unfortunate pleasure of calling your boss?”

I looked over at the crowd, expecting Mr. Stark to be in the center of attention, like he always was.

But he wasn’t there. 

Kaleb might as well have tossed the bucket of ice over my head. 

Standing up from my chair to get a better vantage point, my eyes searched the room, praying he hadn’t done something humiliating in front of the paparazzi or illegal in front of anyone. 

I didn’t have it in me to face the headache of corralling the press or going to court. Especially not going to court. 

A hand clapped down on my shoulder, and I spun to see Mr. Stark, who’d materialized on the stool next to me. 

“Get my assistant a drink please!” Mr. Stark said to Kaleb, who looked extremely taken aback. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated my boss to be the host of the party. 

“Uhh, of course sir, right away.”

“Y/N!” Mr. Stark shouted, and I was grateful for the loud music mostly drowning out the sound of his voice. “You came!”

“Yes, sir, you told me my attendance was mandatory.” Mr. Stark didn’t answer, leaning forward and resting his head on my shoulder. “How much have you had to drink?” I asked.

“Not enough,” he said decidedly as Kaleb set a glass down in front of him. He still didn’t lift his head from my shoulder. 

“How much longer until you pass out and give me the unmitigated privilege of dragging you off to bed?”

“Maybe another hour or so.” I closed my eyes, trying to steel myself for the next hour. Mr. Stark lifted his head slightly. “Don’t look now,” he said directly into my ear, “but I think the bartender is sneaking a picture of us.”

I opened my eyes to look at Kaleb, who quickly shoved his phone into his pocket and started wiping at an imaginary spill on the counter. 

I slumped in my chair. “Great. By this time tomorrow, all of New York will think your assistant is your newest fling, and I’ll be fending the paparazzi away from myself as well as you.” 

Mr. Stark finally straightened, laughing. “Gotta love fame.” The enthusiasm with which he chugged his drink seemed to suggest the opposite. 

Kaleb gently set a champagne glass in front of me, and I immediately recognized the color of a french 75. Then, he stepped back, trying to seem nonchalant, even though his phone was still visible. It seemed all the sparks between us had died the moment Mr. Stark had come over here. 

“Excuse me,” I muttered to my boss, grabbing the drink and walking away from the bar. I crossed the room, heading for the one place in Mr. Stark’s mansion I actually liked.

The balcony on the top floor. 

I could still feel the bass of the music rattling in my cheekbones, and if I looked down, I’d be able to see the party below me. Instead, I studied the beautiful view of the water, cherishing the moment alone except for the stars. 

“You should be able to ride out the bad press within a week or two,” said a voice from behind me.

Almost alone.

I simply shut my eyes and took a large gulp of my drink. “What a sham,” I muttered.

“What, me?” Mr. Stark asked, leaning against the railing, facing me as he lifted a glass to his lips.

I shook my head. “Love. Some people can just trip and meet their soulmate, and clearly I’m not one of them.”

Mr. Stark tilted his head, reminding me of my lame attempt to flirt with Kaleb, lowering his drink without so much as a sip. “Maybe you just haven’t tripped enough times.”

I scoffed. “I put myself out there, over and over, I’ve seen what the dating market has to offer, and when that didn’t work, I even attempted the atrocities of online dating.” I sighed, staring down at my glass, as if it were a crystal ball that could give me answers. “It seems some people aren’t meant to find anyone.”

For a few moments, the only sound between us was the pounding beat of the DJ’s chosen music, and as more of those moments passed, I started to wonder if Mr. Tony Stark, my demanding boss who couldn’t ever remember to eat breakfast, was starting to empathize with me. 

“So you’re a sad drunk,” Mr. Stark said with a smirk. “Good to know.”

I rolled my eyes, making sure Mr. Stark saw it. “I’m not drunk,” I hissed at him, more than a little irritated by the assumption. “This is my first and only drink of the night, because unlike someone else I know, I know when to stop.” 

Mr. Stark rested his hand on his chest in mock offense. “I know when to stop! I just choose to ignore that knowledge.”

“Of course,” I muttered. “Because the great Tony Stark knows everything.” I didn’t know why I was suddenly allowing my hostility to surpass my professionalism, but Mr. Stark didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looked delighted. 

“You can stroke my ego any time you like,” he purred. “It certainly beats you drowning your dating sorrows in your drink.”

“Trust me, alcohol is not a necessary precursor to loneliness.”

“Maybe not,” Mr. Stark said, raising his glass, “but it sure makes it easier to handle.” He finished the rest of the drink in one gulp. 

“A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down,” I grumbled. Mr. Stark shot me a funny look. “Sorry. My nieces watched Mary Poppins twice on Saturday while I was babysitting.”

Mr. Stark’s lips protruded to form a pout. “But Saturday was your day off. Didn’t you do something for fun?”

“I went on a date, which I hoped would be fun, but apparently my expectations were too high.”

Mr. Stark didn’t respond, and when I glanced at him, his frown had deepened. “You went on a date?” I tried to hold back my surprise. In over a year of working for Mr. Stark, I’d learned that while I dealt with his personal life every day, he didn’t have any interest in mine. 

“Why did you think I was so upset about Kaleb?”

“Kaleb?” Mr. Stark asked, his forehead pinching. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“No, it’s the bartender. The one who took the picture of us?”

My boss stayed quiet, lowering his head. I wanted to believe he was contrite, but I knew him too well to think that. 

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

Mr. Stark grunted. “I’m not drunk out of my mind.” 

“That’s not what I was asking.”

“Then what are you asking?” 

“I thought I saw your arc reactor flicker today. In your office.”

While nothing in Mr. Stark’s face changed, I could’ve sworn there was a ripple in the air. 

“D’you know,” Mr. Stark’s eyes were fixated on the people jumping up and down on the dance floor, “that I never feel more alone than I do at these parties?”

“Then why do you throw them?”

He laughed humorlessly. “Because that’s what Tony Stark does.”

“It’s not what Tony Stark has to do.”

My boss snorted. “Tony Stark is a playboy inventor who inherited a billion-dollar company. I’m not sure Tony Stark is qualified to do much except party.” His face would’ve seemed impassive to anyone else, but I knew him too well for that. 

“You’re not just your money,” I argued, surprising even myself. “You’re a genius.”

Mr. Stark’s expression didn’t lift. Obviously he didn’t believe me. 

“The amount of lives you have saved with that suit of yours isn’t insignificant. And you built that suit and power it off of clean energy.”

I thought that would’ve lifted his spirits, but the mention of his arc reactor brought a sour expression onto his face.

“Even if we are just looking at the money,” I said, trying again. “Do you know how much money you donate to charities and people in need? I do, I handle those finances every day.”

That got his attention. My boss turned his back to the party, giving me his complete and utter focus. 

“It’s your narrative,” I said quietly, feeling suddenly shy under his scrutinizing observation. “Change it.”

Mr. Stark eyed me. “You surprise me sometimes, Y/N.” 

The compliment hung in the air, and panic suddenly coursed through me as he seemed to mull over my words. 

“Is that why you demanded I come to the party tonight?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “Because if so, I can afford to be a lot less surprising in future if it means I don’t have to work extra hours.”

“No.” Mr. Stark shook his head, getting to his feet and leaning in. “Don’t change a thing,” he said into my hair. 

And for some reason, as Mr. Stark took his drink back to the dance floor, I felt my face flush. 

It was only after I made it home that I realized he’d never answered my question about his arc reactor.

-

If you enjoyed, please reblog and check out my masterlist for other fun things!

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#tony stark #iron man #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #tony stark fanfic #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #iron man fanfic #iron man fanfiction #iron man x y/n #iron man x reader #iron man x you #stark

[hiemaldesirae]

Tis Thorn:

After The 2nd extermination and battle with Heaven, the Hotel gets another sinner. Everyone is extremely happy with this (well Alastor couldn't careless, except for how entertaining this sinner could be--and how he could use them to bug his Muse).

However...once VOX catches sight of this sinner...it's over. This sinner is his killer after all, and while Vox did leave a mortal blow on him as well (multiple blows, to be exact--Vox had poisoned his knives, during their fight. But the sinner had still popped Vox's head like a grape, so while Vox's death was quick the new hazbin's was an agonizing's six month long ordeal.)

So the Vees start ignoring the hotel and everyone in it. Angel Dust doesn't get called in--which at first he likes and is happy about. Until he starts running out of money. Which has never happened before with Val--the cash has always flowed, but so has the texts and calls...now, theres nothing.

Vox isn't following Alastor around at all, or paying him any attention either. He's hurt and pissed off. How dare Alastor help redeem his killer? Fuck the radio demon. Fuck the hazbin hotel. But especially Fuck Alastor and everything they ever had together.

OH. oh.... thorn your brain... humongus. ginormous. i endorse this idea 100% im crying screaming throwing up puking at this.genuinely tweaking rn what the hell

thinking... in the case that vox and husk had a familial relationship before he got contracted to alastor, he probably feels even MORE betrayed because now his pseudo father figure is also supporting his killer. fuck can you imagine. the horror that morphs into rage and anger when he realizes just who the new sinner at the hotel is

alastor probably doesnt understand why vox has been avoiding him at first, so he probably tries to send his shadow to go see why at first but when that gets turned away, he turns to angel, who for all intents and purposes is both elated to be left alone by valentino but also completely banned from the whole of the entertainment district for some reason. when they show up to ask why, charlie in tow, theyre informed by voxs quivering assistants that everyone associated with the hazbin hotel has been banned from the premises, before valentino and velvette come bursting through the doors and chases them out. alastor *almost* gets into a fight with them, but velvette manages to snatch him by the lapels and scream at him and call him a heartless bastard- at least, if youre fed up with voxs attention just tell him to fuck off like a normal person, you dont need to fraternize with the man who butchered and murdered him

and suddenly it all clicks with the fact that the new sinner at the hotel's stories, why he said he wouldn't be going with them to the entertainment district-- but then alastor, with his (sometimes annoyingly so) keen nose smells the scent of said sinner in the vees building and knows nearly instinctively that the bastard is headed for *his* vox's office, and without even a second thought he gives chase

#ran rambles #hazbin hotel #radiostatic #general asks #i do ramble a lot which is why its good that my tag says i ramble #because i really do ramble for a very long time. im sorry u guys have to read my yapping #but again thorn this is wonderful!!! i endorse this concept fully and tbh. if i find the time i might write a oneshot for it. #that is if u agree ofc #thorns killer au

[artzychic27]

Anymore Class of Heroes headcanons?

Adrien has a gallon of conditioner and shampoo that usually lasts a person with waist length hair up to two months. He uses them up in a day

Denise has all sorts of jewelry inspired by retro video games. Their PacMan earrings are their favorite

Nathaniel has no idea that he snores loudly

Nathaniel: *Skips gracefully into the classroom with songbirds flying behind him* I had the best sleep. How about you guys?

*His classmates all have bloodshot eyes, heavy bags, and appear to be twitching*

Kim: … Is he mocking us?

The star on Aurore’s wand actually comes off. It’s just for decoration

Again. Do NOT. Throw Jean off his groove

Jean: *In the middle of a lavish musical number when Kim walks in at the wrong moment*

Kim: Oh. Sorry, did I-

Jean: Kiiim! You interrupted! Now I have to start all over. Okay, people! From the top!

Cosette is the opposite- They will keep performing no matter what. Some heckler throws their shoe on stage? Cosette chucks it right at their head while nailing that high note

Reshma has a secret love for Indian rock and purple and black clothing, but is terrified of her grandmother finding out

Whenever parents and legal guardians come to visit, it’s always hectic with the students making sure their rooms are pristine, or they’re hiding stuff they don’t want their parents knowing about

Kim and Denise not so subtly show off their biceps just to get Ondine and Simon to simp

Once, Marinette dressed as a guy just to see how everyone would react, and the reactions were not what she expected

Chloé: … Who the fuck is that handsome man?

Jean: I saw him first!

Max: I normally don’t give in to such emotions, but… He’s is so fucking hot!

Alya: *Subtly taking photos* I can’t believe Marinette is missing this.

Every shoe Zoé owns is made of glass- Sneakers, boots, flats, crocs, sandals

Chloé and Cosette are desperately trying to get her to wear some normal shoes before she cuts her foot

Lions are still cats. And as such, Mireille freaks out whenever she sees a cucumber

Mireille: Hey, guys, I- OH, FUCK! WHAT IS THAT THING?! *Points to a cucumber in Alya’s hand*

Alya: … Hon, this is a cucumber.

Mireille: C-can it see me?! What’s it doing?!

Never leave windows open in Aurore, Nino, Lacey, and Simon’s rooms. They sleep float

If you find Ismael’s lamp, wear gloves before handling it. He doesn’t want it smudged

Nathaniel is the only one who dares to brave Marc’s ice storm and ask who upset him

Myléne only loves SOME of her stuffed animals, and the guilt is killing her

If they focus enough, Denise is able to glitch from room to room

Alya sometimes has to chase her friends out of her kitchen when she cooking, like they’re a bunch of strays

Alya: *Notices Adrien reaching for something* Hey! No!… *Taps the counter with a spoon* Go on! Get!

Adrien: … *Slowly reaches again*

Alya: Bad! *Sprays Adrien with a squirt bottle. He hisses and runs out of the room* I swear to- *Sees Kim and Marinette* Hey! Don’t make me use this spoon! I will use it!

Sabrina can’t watch trees getting cut down without feeling sick

Kim does push-ups while Max sits on his back and reads

Kagami can and will shoot any of the asshole royals with her arrows if she catches them messing with her friends and partners

They once slipped an apple into Myléne’s lunch, and Kagami went feral

Juleka will not hesitate to kick your ass with you toss rings onto her horns. And if she won’t, Rose will

She also has a regimen she follows in order to keep her horns from getting too long and too dull at the ends

Alix is a regular down at the village orphanage, often lending her assistance with fund raisers and reading to a few of the kids

It took Adrien seven hours to figure out why his hair felt heavier than normal… Nath fell asleep in it

Lila’s plots to kill of Cosette and steal its music are always thwarted by its classmates. And none of them are amused, especially Zoé

Denise: *Cracks their knuckles*

Marc: *Summons stalagmites*

Reshma: *Summons a carnivorous plant*

Jean: *Whips out his staff*

Zoé: *Hits her glass shoe against the wall, sharpening the end to a fine point* Run, bitch.

Ivan, Denise, Mireille, and Marc are the only ones able to fall asleep on hard surfaces without having back pains when they wake up

For the short time Jess was at DuPont, she became fast friends with Myléne, Adrien, Reshma, and Nathaniel since they liked being outside so much

Also, for reasons unknown, her hair blows perfectly in the wind with a strand never getting in her face. Adrien wants to know her secrets

Reshma HATES the word ‘useless’ with a burning passion. She heard her little sister get called that ever since she didn’t get her gift, and will not put up with anyone using that word against someone else

Chloé may or may not have a slight crush on the village baker’s apprentice, but that doesn’t stop Zoé and Sabrina from teasing her about it

Max does the anime glasses thing whenever he senses something off. It scares people

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #mlb au #science kids #akuma class #mlb ocs #class of heroes #Disney heroes #Disney au #answered ask #ask me stuff