#I hope a paralegal notices this
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envy-of-the-apple · 1 year ago
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Sun Eats Moon
Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader
Word count: 9.1k
Part two: Earth Kills Moon
Part three: Moon Starves Sun
Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.
(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)
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You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 
You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 
It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 
You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?
It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 
"Is everything alright?" 
You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 
Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 
The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 
He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 
Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 
It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 
You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 
He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 
"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."
His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 
Nothing. 
Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 
"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     
𖤓
If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 
He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 
But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 
Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 
"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.
Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 
"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 
"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 
You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 
𖤓
The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 
You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 
He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 
You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 
It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 
Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 
𖤓
You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.
Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.
He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 
You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 
It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 
"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 
"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 
You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 
You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 
"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 
He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 
Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 
Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 
𖤓
It was something minuscule. 
Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 
"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 
The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 
"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 
He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 
When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 
Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 
Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 
Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 
Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 
He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 
You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 
"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-
"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 
Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 
The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 
When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 
𖤓
You don't have proof it was him. 
It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 
But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 
In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 
At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.
There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.
Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 
You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.
Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.
Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 
“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.
You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.
“That's good,” he says anyway.
You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 
You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.
“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”
He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 
“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”
Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.
You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 
Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.
Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.
Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 
You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 
It's worse than anything you could think of. 
Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 
This wasn't bullying. 
This was abuse. 
Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.
You were so tired. 
Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 
"Why?" 
Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 
"Get lost." 
They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 
"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 
"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 
It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 
"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 
You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 
"Anything, right?" 
You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 
"Get on your knees." 
You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 
"I-I-Gojo you-" 
"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 
He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 
To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 
You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 
"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 
"Gojo I-" 
"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 
You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 
"Satoru." 
His eyes flash in satisfaction. 
"Open up, pretty girl." 
The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 
You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 
"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 
"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 
If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 
"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 
You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 
"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 
But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 
"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 
If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 
He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 
He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 
Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 
So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 
"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 
His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 
(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)
"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 
 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 
"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 
"My laptop...it's broken." 
You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 
Satoru only scoffs.
“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 
(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)
“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”
He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 
The sunset is pretty today. 
𖤓
It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 
You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 
"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 
You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 
"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 
She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 
"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 
Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 
"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 
Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 
Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 
You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-
"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 
The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 
It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 
𖤓
By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 
You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 
Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 
He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 
"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 
"Thank-" 
"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 
He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 
There are theories that the Moon once had color. 
It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 
When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 
Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 
Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 
You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 
Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 
"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 
You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 
You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 
"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."
On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 
Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 
"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 
You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 
He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 
Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 
"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 
He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 
Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 
Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 
He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.
You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 
Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 
"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 
He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 
"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 
You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 
"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 
He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.
You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 
"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 
"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 
His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 
"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 
"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 
You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 
You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 
"I love you." 
You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.
"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 
Fuck three weeks. 
You needed to get out, now. 
𖤓
The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 
His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 
Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 
Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 
And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 
His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 
"You're off the clock, Ijichi," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 
His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 
The door shuts with a click. 
"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 
You take one back. He puts his hands up. 
"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 
He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 
"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 
He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 
When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 
"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 
"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 
"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 
He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 
"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 
 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 
You go to move. 
Satoru's faster. 
Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 
"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 
It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 
"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 
"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 
You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 
Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 
When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 
You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 
"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 
He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 
"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.
 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 
"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 
"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 
"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 
"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 
"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 
His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 
He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 
Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 
"That's-"
"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 
He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 
"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 
It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 
"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 
Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 
Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 
He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 
"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 
You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 
"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 
You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 
Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 
It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 
"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 
"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 
"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 
"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."
"No-I-I-can't-" 
He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 
"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 
Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 
He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 
You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 
He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 
"I love you." 
You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.
Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 
"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 
"Not ever again."
There are theories that the Moon once had color. 
It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 
If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 
How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 
6K notes · View notes
miyukisu · 4 months ago
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Talk Like That .ᐟ
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❤︎ | Who would have thought that your quiet and stoic boss had such a dirty side to him? (2.7 wc) ╰ feat. hiromi higuruma (jjk) x afab! reader
kinktober entry no. 3 | kinktober masterlist
tags - degradation, office sex, semi-public sex, hiromi is very mean, paralegal! reader, spanking, punishment, p in v, blowjob, pussy eating, doggy, protected sex
minors do not interact
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H I R O M I H I G U R U M A
You passed by those bold letters plastered across the matted glass of his office almost everyday. After all, your office was a little bit down the hall from his.
Everyone in the firm knew who Hiromi Higuruma was. For one, he was perhaps the most talented man working there. But also because he was the finest man you have ever laid your eyes upon.
Hiromi always came to work looking sleek and prepared for the day. You would never catch him dead with tousled hair or his suit disheveled.
In fact, people slowly became jealous of his secretary. She spent all hours of her working day right in front of his office, relaying calls to him, and accompanying him in several errands.
It was ridiculous. His secretary probably had grandchildren at her age. But you understood why anyone would be jealous.
Part of you wanted to spend time with the stoic and brooding man too. But it was tough. Too fucking tough.
He wasn't the type to engage in pleasantries or make himself available for too long at office events. You've been working at the firm for so long, yet you barely knew anything about him outside of his achievements. It was almost impossible, you thought.
That was until you, as a paralegal, were requested by him.
────────────
All those years of hard work finally paid off now that the biggest shot at the firm took notice of you. It was your chance to prove yourself at work and to Hiromi. Of course, it was a primary goal to impress him.
The case was demanding, a high-profile one at that as well. It was no surprise that you had to spend many sleepless nights at the office. But you weren't alone—Hiromi was often left to work late hours too.
Sometimes you'd drop off a file or two and discuss a bit. Ordinary stuff, all things considered. However, tonight was different; tensions were high.
You had made a mistake earlier today. You missed a detail and the client had to know about it. There was a whole scene in the office that afternoon. Hiromi had to clean up after your mess. None of it was his fault and he had to embarrass himself for the sake of some paralegal he probably only learned the existence of recently.
Usually, you'd be ecstatic to catch a glimpse of him so late at night. But right now, he was the last person you wanted to see. Hiromi didn't show it, but he was definitely angry.
────────────
You knocked slowly against the open glass door of his office. You were sure it was just the two of you in the building at this hour. At least, if he decides to reprimand you for your shitty performance—no one would have to hear a thing.
Hiromi didn't bother looking up; he knew who it was. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and you let yourself in.
"Here are the files you were asking for earlier," you say as you hand it over to him. Hiromi uses the pen in his hand to point to an empty space of his desk.
It takes you a few seconds too late to understand, but you place the documents neatly before taking a step back. He continued skimming over the document he was currently holding, a bored expression painted on his face.
"Learned your lesson yet?" he asked flatly.
You were hoping not to go over this again, but it was inevitable. "Yes, sir... I'm terribly sorry for what happened earlier. It won't happen again."
"Words... always just words, but it never gets reflected in your performance," he retorts. Hiromi sets down the document in his hand before grabbing the papers that you brought. Still—he hasn't spared you a single glance.
Despite the impartial look on his face, you could tell that he wasn't exactly happy at the moment. You nervously awaited for a comment or critique from him about your work as he proceeded to go over it quickly.
"Are you sure I won't find another mistake in here?"
"Y-yes, sir. I'm certain."
He hummed lowly. "Then I better not see one. You know what'll happen if I do."
Right. You were going to be removed from the case and some other paralegal would take your place. Then, Hiromi would never ever look your way. That fact in particular made you the most anxious you've been thus far.
You watched as his weary eyes scrutinized your work. The black orbs darting quickly from one side to another, his lips still pressed into a thin line.
If you had hoped he would dismiss you without another scolding... oh, you were dead wrong.
Hiromi's eyes squinted at a particular line before dropping the documents on his desk and running his large hand over his face. You felt the blood drain from your face and your heart drop to your stomach. This wasn't good...
He finally looked at you, but with that kind of expression—you'd rather that he not looked at you at all. His dark eyes bore into your skull. No words were spoken yet, but you knew the thoughts running rampant in that head of his.
None of them were good.
"You were certain you made no mistakes—yes?"
"I'm sorry," was all you could mutter. What else was there to say? Nothing would soothe his wrath.
He slammed an open palm against his desk. "What the hell do you do all day in this office? Hm?"
Hiromi stands up, not letting you reply. "Come here," he commands. You had never heard me speak or had seen him look this way. But the stress and frustration at work—coupled with his personal affairs—simmered within him. He was only a man; he too had his limits.
You sheepishly shuffled closer to his desk, head hung low.
"Look at me."
And you do.
Your eyes meet and it stirs an emotion in you that you can't quite put a finger on. He leans in, his smell permeating your nostrils and down to your core. Hiromi smelled good, of course, that much was to be expected.
"Tell me—what the hell do you do all day in this office?"
"I don't know what..."
"You don't know what that means? Can't even answer a simple question?"
He grabs your jaw slowly, applying just enough force to make your lips pucker. "Do you know how humiliated I was earlier because of your mistake?"
You mutter another apology, albeit a bit muffled. Hiromi scoffed in response. "Is that all you can do? Say sorry for every stupid mistake that you make?"
"I'm starting to think all you do here is prance around in your tight clothes, batting your eyelashes at anyone who'd look at you. You like their attention, don't you?"
Hiromi lets go of your face, giving you a chance to speak. "I don't... I don't want their attention... I don't do the things you just said... I..."
"I only want your attention."
His taut expression seemingly softened, though traces of anger were still evident. You added, "Maybe I was trying too hard because I wanted to impress you and in the process I kept messing up more because... because..."
You were a stuttering mess; you weren't even sure why the hell you were telling all of this to him. It was pathetic and unprofessional. But it hardly mattered in an odd situation like this.
"You wanted to impress me?" he asked.
Everyone did; everyone wanted to look good in the eyes of the Hiromi Higuruma. You were no exception to that.
"Yes, sir..."
He takes a step back from his desk, sitting back down on his leather swivel chair. "Come over here," he says as his finger makes a come hither gesture.
You gulped down hard before going around his desk, standing right in front of him. Hiromi still had a bored expression plastered on his face. "On your knees."
Your eyes widened ever so slightly. There was no mistaking his words. He was actually asking you to—
"O-okay," you replied shakily. You dropped down to your knees, but before you could get any closer, he leaned down and grabbed you by the hair; your messy bun became messier. He only did so—not to hurt you—but to make you look at him and to make sure you'd hear him loud and clear.
"You really want to make it up to me?" he asked lowly and you nod.
His fingers slowly detangle from your locks as he leans back in his chair. "You know what to do then. I'm sure you've been waiting to do something like this."
You'd be a fucking liar if you said you haven't dreamt of doing something filthy like this with the hottest man in the office. It only made it better that you were actually doing it inside his office.
You crawled closer to him until your head was between his thighs. It thrilled you straight to your core. Your fingers lightly traced the seam of his trousers before pulling his zipper down. After undoing the button, you slowly tugged the pants and boxers that were in the way. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of his cock—though it was only half hard.
Seeing how it was now—it made you wet thinking about it at its biggest. It was overwhelming now it was actually in your hand. Warmth radiated from it as you brought your face closer.
"You look famished. Fantasized about this before haven't you?"
In response, you simply kissed his tip—earning a hiss from him. You spat on it, letting the glob of saliva trickle down his length before your hand spread it all over. In one go, you took as much as you could in your mouth.
His girth made your eyes water. He relaxed in his chair as if he found peace in your warm mouth, a soft groan slipping from his chapped lips. You made sure to go at an excruciatingly slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm yourself. This might just be your last chance to impress him; you weren't about to fuck it up.
"Guess there is something you can do properly hm?"
A familiar set of fingers tangle in your strands again, slowly guiding your head. "Sucking it so enthusiastically—maybe paralegal work isn't your calling."
All the dirty talk went straight to your sopping cunt, making you moan around his length. He hisses again, "Fuck... you're enjoying this way too much."
He pulls your head away from your cock, taking the time to admire the fucked out expression on your face. Saliva dribbled down your chin as your half-lidded eyes stared back at him.
"Don't wanna cum in your mouth. Stand up," he orders again.
He stands up along with you. Before you could even gain your footing, he had bent you over on his desk—knocking over the stuff that littered the surface.
A gasp escapes you as he roughly pushes your black pencil skirt, bunching it up at your waist. He marveled at your stocking-clad ass. A harsh slap surprised you.
"O-ouch..."
He leans against you, his chest pressing into your back. Hiromi's hand snaked to your front, lightly gripping your neck. You could feel his minty breath against your neck as his nose jabbed your cheek. "That's for the first fuck up."
Then, another slap. "That's for your fuck up now."
Another slap. "And that's just for my own pleasure."
He pulled away, the abrupt absence of his warmth making you feel restless. Your senses were flooded by a plethora of things that you didn't notice how he knelt down in front of your heat. Hiromi wasted no time and ripped the barrier that was your black stockings.
"Fucking slut. You should see how drenched you are right now."
He presses a kiss over your clothed cunt, his nose poking at your hole. You let out a breathless groan, finally nearing some much needed stimulation.
His finger hooks into the gusset before pulling it out of the way. He found it pitiful how you clenched over nothing. He'd give you something to clamp on soon anyway.
Hiromi dove right in, lapping at your folds. He took his sweet time, much like you did with him. His tongue teased the length of your slit first before thrusting it into your neglected hole.
A desperate moan echoed through his office as you squirmed. But Hiromi held you by your ass, making sure you would stay still for him. He went faster and faster, not allowing you to adjust. And in no time, he had you cumming on his tongue.
God, it was unfair that an attractive and talented man like him had to be good at sex too.
The last bit of strength that held you up had disappeared, leaving you slumped over his desk. He reached for his drawer, looking for a condom. As much as he wanted to fuck you raw—let you know reaaaal well the consequences of your actions—Hiromi was still a rational man.
He'd have his fun, safely.
Hiromi wasn't in much of a hurry as he idly rolled the rubber down his cock. Besides, time was probably going slower for you right now. Who would've thought just a little bit of pussy eating would get you undone so quickly?
Pathetic. But Hiromi secretly liked it.
He lazily rubbed himself as he lined his cock against your dripping entrance. There wasn't a chance of him going slow now. Hiromi plunged his entire length into your cunt. Your soft moans came out in unison as the lawyer threw his head back a bit.
It had been a while since he let off some steam... and maybe the first time he had a cute little paralegal bent over his desk.
"Finally got what you wanted? Tell me how much you wanted this."
"Wanted this so much," you blabbered. You could hear yourself and even you were surprised by how shameless you were. Hell, if dick as good as this was going in and out of you—maybe it's not that surprising that he could coax out even the most deprived thoughts in your head.
"Fucking slut. You wore this pretty skirt for me, didn't you?"
"Y-yes. I did."
"Fuck right you did," he says. Hiromi takes your arms and crosses them behind you, grabbing it so he can slam harder into you. His grip was bruising, but the pain was easily overlooked by how good he was making you feel down there.
"Maybe I should keep you on this case—not as paralegal, but as my stress reliever. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
His question was only meant by a strangled moan, but it sufficed. The way you eagerly took him in was more than enough to let him know. "Such a perfect slut," he whispered under his breath.
The relentless snap of his hips had you clenching down and he was definitely feeling it with the way he would suck in through his teeth. He knew you were close and so was he.
"Fuck," he drawled out. "Pussy so good... making me cum too quickly for my liking."
Hiromi let go of your arms, letting them fall to your sides. Instead, he grabbed on to your hips, pulling you into his. The lewd squelching sounds along with your moans were certainly heard from beyond his glass office.
"Sir... I'm so close... shit."
He took that as a sign to keep up his maddening pace. Your orgasm came crashing and white spots flooded your vision. If it weren't for him holding up your hips, you would've been completely slouched on the wooden desk.
"Fuck... take it all," he says before his thrust become sloppy. Eventually, he released into the rubber. Hiromi rode out the last few seconds of his climax before slipping out of you. As he took his hands off your flesh, his hand prints were left as a souvenir.
He took the rubber off his sensitive length, tying it up and chucking it into the trash bin. Hiromi sat back down, exhausted, while you were still bent over his desk. Perhaps it'll be a while before you'd gain your strength again.
Until then, he'll admire your pretty pink pussy.
©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms
╰ author's note 100% of my knowledge on law comes from Suits so don't come for me
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devilw-rites · 4 months ago
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Behind Closed Doors and Paper-Thin Walls
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Tags: switch!Matt Murdock x switch!Reader, Reader is being horny and fantasizing a lot (bondage & pegging), Matt is a voyeur, Foggy is an innocent bystander. (2,767 words).
Being a paralegal under your husband's and his best friend's law firm seems like a dream come true, but sometimes the close proximity gets to you and Matt. (Read on ao3!)
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The only thing that separated you and your husband, Matt Murdock, was a papery-thin wall and a cracked window.
You sat at a desk in the main room in the office, prepping Wednesday’s case file for Matt and Foggy. With every trial the law firm only got bigger and bigger, and they desperately needed help planning cases. In the other room, Foggy’s office, the duo were on the phone with some-such or another. It apparently wasn’t going well because you could hear Foggy slam close his desk drawer. You huffed yourself, not exactly in the mood to deal with two very grumpy men, no matter how professional they maintained.
Matt walked out of the office, hands running through his hair. He made a beeline to the coffee pot, hoping to drown his woes into a cheap brew. Of course, it had been emptied by the three of you in the morning, so he went to work looking for the ground beans.
“Sounds like you guys are dealing with a nightmare,” you said. You stood from the desk to help him find the coffee, fetching the bag from one of the top shelves. “Let me make your coffee so you can breathe for a minute.” You knew you didn’t have to do this, Matt was capable of making his own drink no matter his mood, but you wanted to alleviate his stress in any way you could.
“You don’t have to do that, honey, I got it,” Matt objected, going to take the bag from you only for you to snatch it from his reach.
“I know, now go sit down. I love you,” you said, throwing out the old filter and putting a new one in the brewer.
Matt obeyed, quickly accepting a chance to be doted on. He sagged into one of the chairs by the entrance door, loosening his tie and leaning back with a sigh. You glanced over for just a second to check on him, but stopped all movement when you saw him. Disheveled hair from running his hands through it, loose tie, head leaned back… it was a position all too familiar to you. You coughed to keep yourself from whining, a blush rushing to your face and running down your neck.
You tried to keep your thoughts from trailing off the task, telling yourself that you were at work, Matt was in a bad mood, and Foggy is literally right there. Like playing tug-of-war with a team of oxen, you quickly fell down the horny rabbit hole. Your mind flashed with images of all the times the two of you had fucked at work–when you were still the newbie, after a date night that turned into a work night, the week before your wedding–there were definitely a dozen more examples, but those stood out to you the most. Your thighs squeezed together, suddenly so desperate to touch yourself. You hoped Matt would be too distracted to notice your sudden change in mood.
Matt didn’t notice at first, too caught up in his own whirlwind of thoughts, only none of them were anything like yours. It was only when the coffee pot beeped, alerting that it was finished, that the two of you were ripped from your trances. With shaky hands you filled a mug. Still oblivious, not paying attention to anything beyond how the hell he was gonna get his client to cooperate, he took the cup from your hands. It was when he felt the small tremors in your fingers that he perked up.
At first he thought you were upset, considering that he’d let his bad mood rub off on you, but that possibility was almost instantly eliminated when he took in the rest of you. Your hands had been abnormally warm, your heartbeat stuttering and speeding up, and that smell he knew all too well. You were needy, for whatever reason, and he knew you were already wet.
You gulped, fiddling with your skirt. “Anything else I can do to make it easier?” You asked, trying your hardest to keep your tone appropriately concerned and not desperate. Matt’s eyebrows were furrowed together–god fucking damn it, he was so hot–like he was still frustrated from what happened earlier. No, little did you know, he was trying to figure out how you got so aroused in between the time he left Foggy’s office and now, unless he’d somehow missed it even earlier.
Matt hummed an indication of no, taking a drink of the coffee to ground himself for totally different reasons. “Thank you, I really appreciate this,” he said.
You bit your lip, deciding to lean down and give him a chaste kiss to his lips. Just a taste, that’s all you wanted, all you needed, you told yourself. He eagerly returned it, reaching up to rest his hand on the side of your neck to let you know he didn’t want you to pull away. He was trying his hardest to control himself, but you were so tempting, and you always knew all the right ways to destress him.
An awkward cough echoed in the room and you jumped, pulling away from Matt despite a quiet huff from him. There Foggy stood, clearly still annoyed, but definitely not at you two. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but I heard the coffee. Matt, hands to yourself, buddy,” he said lightheartedly. He’d walked in on much worse in his three years of knowing you.
With a blush, you licked your lips, trying to savor the lingering taste of your husband. You glanced one last time at Matt before you walked back to your desk and pretended to get back to your work. He definitely knew.
“How you holding up, Fog?” You asked, flipping between the same two pages in the case file like that would exorcize your brain.
“You do not want to know, this guy is probably as big of a nightmare to work with as Castle. He’s not telling the truth about something, I just know it, and it’s making this a whole lot harder than it has to be!” Foggy freely ranted, pouring his coffee much closer to the top than was safe for your floors.
You tried to be sympathetic, you really did, but your will was not that strong and your cunt was soaking your panties. You thought back to last night, when Matt’s cock hitting the back of your throat satisfied every part of you. He was so thick, stretching your lips more than you ever thought you could handle before you met him, and the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue had you whining around his cock. When you finally had him cumming down your throat, it was your turn, Matt throwing you back on the bed so he could worship you between your legs until you couldn’t stand to cum anymore and then some.
“Okay, I know the first two pages aren’t that interesting,” Foggy teased. “If you’re bored you can do something else, you’re not bound to this case forever.”
God, he really should’ve said anything else, because now you were picturing tying Matt’s wrists together, riding him and taking care of him after a long day of bullshit. Leaving scratches down his chest, feeling his hand wrapping around your neck, and forcing his cock as deep as it can go inside of you... The warmth in between your legs exploded into tingles and your face got hotter with each passing fantasy.
Matt tried his hardest to keep himself together, focused entirely on tuning in to your body. He sensed every little reaction, could hear your thighs rubbing and squeezing together behind your desk. He wished Foggy was anywhere but here right now so he could touch you in all the ways you so desperately craved.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, guess I’m not all the way here right now,” you said, brushing off Foggy’s comment, “maybe I need some of that coffee for myself.”
“I got it!” Matt rushed, all too eager to serve you. Foggy rolled his eyes at how lovestruck Matt always seemed to be for you, but deep down he found the pair of you adorable. You were like the power duo, a classic Romeo and Juliet–minus the family feud, the weird age gap, and the suicide.
You slyly stared as Matt poured you a cup. Your eyes trailed up and down his body, taking your time when they landed on his ass. A shiver ran up your spine as you pictured him bent over for you, maybe over your very desk, presented and waiting for you to fill him up. It was a fantasy you’d discussed before, even planned to try out soon, because recently he’d been obsessed with the idea of you fucking him. Using one of your dildos, stretching him out, and filling him up in ways no one else ever had, touching him in ways he’d never let anyone else even think about.
“Thanks, hon,” you said when Matt brought you your coffee. “I’m gonna go finish these up in my office, okay? Let me know if you guys need anything.” You were hoping with a little more privacy you could ease the ache a little bit. You pecked Matt on the cheek and entered your little sanctuary, adorned with a cat calendar and a couple dying succulents.
You closed the door and plopped the small stack of files on your desk. You sat in your rolly chair and leaned back with a sigh that was somewhere between relief and frustration. You pushed your lap all the way under the desk to ensure a little more modesty. You ran your fingers over the front of your skirt at first, letting the small tingles run their way through your body. There was no way Matt couldn’t hear you right now, but part of you was hoping that he was getting as riled up as you were.
Meanwhile, Matt was trying his best to split his attention between you and Foggy, with you clearly dominating. Even with Foggy’s loud ranting and raving about the woes of their client, all he could hear was your shuddering breaths and the rustling of your skirt. The picture was almost crystal clear: you leaned back against your chair, skirt hiked up to your waist, and hand shoved down your panties. He could feel a warm flush of his own traveling lower and lower.
“You know what I mean?” Foggy finished, almost out of breath after his long winded soapbox. Matt quickly snapped out of his trance.
“Hm? Yeah, this guy’s a nightmare, Fog. Hey, why don’t you go on a walk to clear your head?” Matt suggested. He was hoping and praying to every Saint above that he would just leave the office already so he could get his hands on you.
“Maybe later. Let’s just get this done today, I’m sick of this case,” Foggy said.
Deep down, Matt was crying on the inside.
You were too, but for a totally different reason.
Your skirt was well up past your hips and your panties pulled down to stretch across your thighs. Your fingers are slowly stroking the length of your clit to really tease yourself. A shiver reverberates across your body and you let out a small moan. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as Matt’s fingers, but you’re still left melted against your chair.
Matt’s legs are crossed in a desperate attempt to hide his erection from his best friend. He gulps when he can hear a shaky whine slip past your lips. He has to grip the arm of his chair to keep himself grounded.
You’re not oblivious to the effect you’re having on Matt, though you can’t actually see or hear him. Instead you use your imagination. He’s probably fiddling with his tie, one of his nervous habits. His breathing is probably getting heavier, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and hard cock straining against his dress pants–you throw a hand over your mouth the stifle a moan. Your fingers start rubbing tight circles against your clit, sometimes dipping down to tease your hole every once and a while.
Matt felt like his skin was on fire at this point. How Foggy hadn’t noticed him dying in his chair was beyond him. He was barely able to grit out brief answers to whatever bullshit was being discussed. He could practically taste you from across the office.
You were using both hands at this point, one hand fingering your cunt and the other stroking your clit. You could feel the orgasm building up as your clit pulsed and throbbed from your touches. Flashes of Matt danced across your closed eyelids. Memories of him fucking you up against these very walls, his cock impossibly deep inside of you while you scratched at his back. Him dropping to his knees to tongue fuck your pussy from under your desk while you completed work. You teasing your poor husband as he begged you to finally let you cum after denying him for the third time.
Your heart was pounding against your ribs and you could hardly catch your breath. Your fingers pounded against your spot relentlessly. You were surprised you could stay as quiet as you had been, yet Matt could still hear everything. Your labored breathing, your racing heart, the wet noises of your cunt. He was gripping his knee, so desperate for you, he could hardly stand it. He could tell you were close and that made it all the more painful. He should be the one driving you to the edge, not your hands.
It hit you suddenly, the first wave of your orgasm. The hand rubbing your clit flew up to cover your mouth once more while you fingerfucked yourself through each and every wave of euphoria. You whimpered Matt’s name under your breath as quietly as you could, knowing that it would rile him up even more. It worked, Matt’s cock leaked precum into his boxers.
Once the final wave passed, your muscles collapsed and you sagged against your chair. You pulled out your fingers and limply laid your hand against your thigh. You took deep breaths to ground yourself. You wished Matt was here to help you clean up.
Matt could hear that your breathing had slowed and the wet sounds of your fingers slipping in and out of you had ceased. He matched your slow, deep breaths to bring himself down as much as possible. His cock still painfully throbbed and the flush on his neck refused to go away.
The sound of your clothes rustling, then your office door opening, alerted Matt that you were going to the bathroom to clean up. He lamely excused himself from Foggy and rushed to meet you on your way there. When he stepped out into the main room, you stopped just at the bathroom door and waited for him. He made his way over to you and stood close, nearly right up against you.
“You know I heard that,” Matt breathed into your ear. You couldn’t resist shivering.
“I know, baby. I’m surprised you were able to keep yourself together,” you teased back.
“You know you’re paying for that when we get home, right?”
Your heart jumped at the implication. What did Matt have in store for you? Would you fuck you the minute the two of you passed the threshold, shoving you against a wall and taking what was his? Or would he take you to bed and tease you, going tortuously slow. Would he deny you, making you wait to cum the way you made him wait? Would he refuse to stop, making you cum over and over again until you were shaking and couldn’t cum anymore? Your cheeks burned bright red from all the possibilities.
While you were stuck in thought, Matt gently took the hand that had been inside of you. He raised it up to his lips and slowly took them in his mouth. His tongue swirled around each finger to catch any of your cum that he could. You whined without thinking, definitely too loud to be discreet. Matt slowly pulled your fingers out with a quiet ‘pop’ and dropped your hand back down.
“Just needed a taste, sweetheart,” Matt teased through his grin. “Go clean up and I’ll let Foggy know we’re going home early.”
“Fuck, okay Matt,” you replied. You rushed into the bathroom and all but slammed the door behind you, nervous and excited for whatever your consequences might be.
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roxygen22 · 2 months ago
Note
The Beautiful Boy Bus Stop Story was so cute! Would it be too much to ask for a part 2? The interactions between the pair was adorable! Love your stories. :)
Ask and ye shall receive! What do y'all think?
Bus Stop (Part 2)
Catch up on Part 1 here
Ever the gentleman, Nic held the door to the diner open for you. Once he stepped in after you, he scanned the room.
"Wow, it's like straight from a 50's TV show," he mused. Before you could respond, a voice rang out from the kitchen.
"Hey, [Y/N]! Have a seat, honey, and we'll be right with you," one of the servers called.
"Sooooo, do you come here often?" Nic joked as he followed you to your usual booth and sat across from you, facing away from the kitchen.
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You shrugged and put on an innocent face. "Sometimes, I get tired of my own cooking." He didn’t need to know [yet] just how domestically challenged you were.
Cheryl, who often waited on you when you stopped by after work, appeared at the end of the table. "I was wondering if I would see you this week! And I see you brought a friend this time." She grinned and winked at you as she set down the menus in front of each of you. "What can I get you two to drink?"
You blushed at her lack of subtlety, hoping Nic wouldn't be put off. "I'll have a Coke."
"I'll just have some water, please," Nic responded politely.
"One water, one Coke, coming right up. I'll give you some time to look over the menu." As she stepped toward the kitchen, Cheryl turned on her heel and waved to get your attention. She pointed at Nic with one hand and signaled a thumbs up with the other. "Nice!" she mouthed.
You dropped your chin to hide the smile pulling at the corners of your lips. Luckily, Nic didn't seem to notice as he browsed the options. Not needing the menu, you took the chance to study his face up close. The way his dark hair curled into perfectly tousled ringlets. The light dusting of freckles across his cheekbones. The small scar just to the left of his no-
Your investigation was cut short when he set down the menu and looked back at you with those gorgeous eyes framed by lush lashes.
"So, uh, do you work downtown? I assumed since you're already on the southbound route when I get on the bus," he inquired.
You shook yourself from your stupor. "Oh, yes, I do. I'm a paralegal at Warner, Fitzgerald, and Associates. But, I'm studying to be a lawyer, though."
"A lawyer, huh? Impressive. How much lo-"
Before he could continue, Cheryl returned and set the drinks down on the table. "Alright, are we ready to order?" Nic gestured for you to speak first.
"I'll just have my usual," you said, handing the menu that you never opened back to her.
"And you, dear?" Cheryl asked, turning to Nic.
"I'll, uh, have the same." He flashed a smile at you before handing over his menu. "Thank you."
After Cheryl turned away, you leaned forward toward him. "You don't even know what my usual is."
Nic shrugged. "Perhaps not, but everything on the menu looked good."
You giggled and sat back. "Well, prepare to be amazed, then." He smiled that gorgeous smile in return that caused you to glitch again. Was there anything not perfect about this guy?
Realizing you were probably all but drooling at this point, you cleared your throat to break the brief awkward silence and regain your composure. "So what about you?"
"Hmm?" He tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. An adorable one.
"Sorry. What do you do for work?" you clarified.
"I'm, uh...I'm a writer."
"You don't seem too sure about that, Nic," you teased, but then quickly froze, realizing that he probably wasn't yet ready for your brand of humor. To your relief, he chuckled and clasped his hands on the table.
"I am putting it out into the universe that I will be an accomplished author one day. But in the meantime, I am working downtown at the news station while I am going back to school."
"Back?" you ask curiously.
"Well, I didn't finish the first time due to some, uh, complications. I had to figure some things out about life first."
You could tell by the way Nic cast his eyes down to the table that there was more to the story than could be unpacked at present. Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on top of his.
"A winding road makes for a much more interesting story than the straight and narrow, Mr. Writer," you replied reassuringly.
Nic glanced up at you and half-smiled before looking down again at your hand. "I suppose you're right." He rotated one palm up to hold yours.
A tiny gasp escaped your lips. ::Is this really happening?:: you thought to yourself. Nic's thumb grazed your knuckles, leaving a trail of fire from his touch. Much to your chagrin, Cheryl cut the moment short by walking up with your plates. Nic cleared his throat and pulled back to make room on the table.
"Here we go," she announced. "Two open-faced cheeseburgers with a fried egg on top and a side of curly fries. Enjoy! I'll check on you again in a bit."
"Wow," Nic exclaimed. "Can't say I've ever had an egg on a burger before."
"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," you responded before unabashedly taking a huge, ungraceful bite of your own burger, leaving a bit of mustard on the corner of your lip.
"You've, uh, got something right...," he paused to point at his own cheek to demonstrate.
"Oh!" You hurriedly grabbed your napkin to wipe it away, bringing attention to your deep blushing.
Nic laughed. "Hey, it's cool, it's cool! Now, where do I even start with this burger?" He joined the halves and brought it to his mouth, manfully taking a big bite to match yours. He chewed a moment before his face lit up. "Oh man!"
"See?! And you dared doubt me," you teased.
"I vow to never doubt you again." Nic locked eyes with you and blushed with his own admission. He laughed it off, and the two of you continued to chow down, occasionally taking a break to talk about classes, what the other likes to do for fun, and other enjoyable small talk.
Cheryl stopped by to check on you as you both picked at the last of your fries. "Can I get you two anything else? Maybe the usual milkshake?"
"Oh, no, I'm stuffed," you admitted.
"Maybe next time," Nic added as he retrieved his wallet.
::Next time?!:: Your heart raced. Cheryl picked up on it, too, and winked at you again when she returned his card.
Check closed, you and Nic slowly walked out of the diner. "I had fun tonight. Getting asked out on a date was not how I pictured today going, but I'm here for it," he said, hands in his pockets as he walked alongside you down the street toward your place.
"Same. While there was some premeditation on my part," you replied through a laugh, "I didn't dare speculate what would happen after I said hello."
"I'm glad you did. Say hello, I mean."
"Me, too." You slowed to a stop, forcing him to stop and turn back to you. "As much as I don't want this evening to end, this is my street." You jutted your thumb at the street sign at the intersection. "Will I see you on the bus tomorrow?" you asked, hope evident in your tone.
"I have a, uh, standing meeting after class on Wednesdays."
"Oh, right." You visibly deflated. "I forgot today is Tuesday, not Monday. You never get on the bus on my commute home on Wednesdays."
"You notice when I'm not there?" Nic asked in disbelief.
"Always." You smiled as you looked up into his eyes, following his movement as he stepped in closer.
"[Y/N]?" he breathed.
"Yes?"
"Can I kiss you?"
<><><><><>
Part 3
Masterlist
@croatianprincess @bluizh @groovy-lady @pmak2002
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maroonshirt81 · 13 days ago
Text
Am I No Joke to You?
9k carcar os
Carlos also knew Oscar didn’t hate him because he had asked him outright, and the answer had been, “Yes, Carlos, I have a dartboard with your face pinned to it right above my desk. You never noticed?”
(He had secretly checked. There wasn’t one.)
Unfortunately, the only conclusion left to draw was that Oscar simply didn’t find him funny. And Carlos refused to believe that.
---
or: 5 times Carlos failed to make Oscar laugh and 1 time he succeeded
___
(extract:)
“Maybe you just rub him the wrong way,” Lando suggested, sitting on the edge of the table in their office break room like he had never before heard of the concept of chairs.
“But you always make fun of him, and he’s all ‘heeheehee!’” Carlos objected, scowling at the new coffee machine, which looked more like an airplane dashboard, with random blinking buttons and different levers.
“Maybe,” Lando continued, “you have to learn to rub him the right way, yeah?”
“I do not plan on rubbing my paralegal in any way, Lando,” Carlos huffed.
“Maybe you should?”
Carlos turned away from the futuristic machine to throw Lando an incredulous look. “I hope you are joking.”
“Dead serious,” Lando said, looking—in fact—dead serious. “I actually think he likes you.”
“I think it’s time to take you to the vet again,” Carlos mumbled, turning back to the coffee machine, which unfortunately hadn’t magically turned less complicated in the last five seconds, even though Carlos’s need for coffee had just skyrocketed.
“Look, mate—some people are just like that,” Lando continued cheerfully. “When they have a crush on someone, they become all mean and playfully judgy. He probably wants to look cool in front of you—can’t really do that when he’s giggling like a schoolgirl at everything you say.”
Carlos decided the best course of action was to ignore Lando and his crazy conspiracy theories that no one but his therapist should ever hear spoken out loud.
“This thing should come with a robot barista!” he said, pressing a few random buttons. Thankfully, he heard Lando dissolve into giggles behind him, so any further advice was successfully silenced for now. “What did they expect, putting this into a lawyers’ break room? Intelligent people? I get paid to talk for a living, not push buttons. We even have an elevator guy!”
Lando’s giggles evolved into a full-mode laughing fit, which Carlos knew he would not recover from for the foreseeable future, so Carlos was free to fall into his rant for an appreciative audience. The shrieking laughter was already attracting other people—the door to the break room opened to reveal Alex and… Oscar.
Perfect.
“Hellooo?” Carlos sing-songed, knocking against the coffee machine’s top. “Maybe it is voice-activated?” He grabbed one of the random handles and spoke into it like a microphone, “One espresso, please, Mr. Machine.”
Lando let out a howl. Oscar was stone-faced as always.
“Look at this!” Carlos ranted, pointing at a temperature gauge. “Why does it have a speedometer? Am I supposed to regulate the speed of the coffee flow myself?” He yanked one of the levers and blanched when it actually came off, turning to give Alex and Oscar a guilty look, as if he had just realized they were witnesses to his crime. “You saw nothing!” he said, hiding the lever behind his back. “I am serious! If you rat me out, I will bring you down. I know some good lawyers!”
Alex laughed, like any normal person would.
Oscar looked like Carlos had just recited a bad rendition of Hamlet in front of the class. But not only that. He was also coming closer, until he was standing right in Carlos’s space, reaching around him to grab the broken lever. And then, as if he had done nothing else his entire life, he pushed the lever back into its place, grabbed a clean espresso glass from the cupboard, put it under the machine, and pressed a button, upon which a stream of delicious-smelling espresso flowed into the glass.
Carlos, too stunned to speak, had kind of forgotten to give Oscar some actual space to work his magic and was now standing so close, he could count the moles on his cheek.
Oscar turned to look him straight in the eye and said, “You see. There’s a button that says ‘espresso’ on it. What you want to do is—you push it.”
Carlos silently gawked back until the machine stopped whirring. Oscar held his gaze. When Carlos didn’t say anything, he finally turned back to the machine. “You know what?” he said, pushing the same button again. “Let’s get you a double.”
Lando’s laughing fit was reaching the stages of teary breathlessness, squirming on the floor red-faced and weak, and Oscar looked way too proud of himself as he pushed the espresso glass, filled to the brim, into Carlos’s hand.
“Maybe you’d understand the coffee machine better if you actually got your own coffee from time to time instead of making your paralegal get it for you?”
Carlos grabbed the almost overflowing cup and shuffled over to the table, sinking down into his chair with a thousand-yard stare into the warm brown of the espresso foam.
“Anyone else want anything?” Oscar asked the room. Carlos assumed Alex shook his head because all he could hear was Lando wheezing, followed by the whirring of the machine as Oscar made his own coffee.
“All right, back to work,” he announced a minute later. When Carlos finally looked up, he saw that Oscar had stolen his #1 Boss mug and was silently toasting him before walking out of the room.
“Oh my God,” Alex snorted as the door closed behind him. “He is hilarious around you, Carlos!”
“Yes, you two should have your own show!” Lando agreed from the floor, still wheezing for air. He started to pull himself up by the table leg, his flushed face appearing over the surface. “Are you seriously making him get your coffee?”
“It was one time!” Carlos said darkly. “By accident.”
“How do you make someone get you coffee by accident?” Alex inquired.
“He was getting chummy with Verstappen, so I needed him to be busy.”
“Ah,” Lando coughed as he plopped his ass back onto the table’s edge, continuing his boycotting of chairs. Then, out of nowhere, he turned to Alex. “Hey, do you see Oscar’s Insta stories every Sunday?”
Alex looked just as confused about the sudden change in topic as Carlos. “Huh?”
“Yeah, every Sunday, he posts the same picture of the view from the lookout at the top of the mountain with the caption #cyclinglife or something equally lame.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve seen it,” Alex said. “Why?”
“Yes, why are you telling this story to Alex like it’s not clearly aimed at me?” Carlos asked, frowning.
Lando shrugged, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a grin. “Just to have plaulsibl—uhm. Pausible—shit! Plaulauli—fuck, it’s getting worse…”
Carlos gravely shook his head. “How you finished your degree, I will never understand.”
“Oh, shut up,” Lando snorted. “That’s why you’re the one talking in front of big audiences, and I’m the one holding the clients’ hands and making them laugh. Who needs to know how to say ‘palausible denybility’ anyway?”
“This is why I keep my accent,” Carlos declared. “Because it makes me pronounce English better! Listen!” He took a deep breath and moved his hand like a conductor as he slowly spelled it out for Lando.
“Plau-si-ble De-nia-bibli—FUCK!”
Lando collapsed right back onto the floor.
61 notes · View notes
newtonsheffield · 1 month ago
Note
Hey UK paralegal here 👋🏼
Our laws are probably different but it would definitely be worth a check if you have anything similar.
In the UK we have something called constructive dismissal which is basically when your employer has treated you so poorly you have no choice but to leave without notice. It sounds to me like you have grounds for this already so definitely look into whether you have a similar process.
Also if they don’t pay you for your agreed notice that’s an obvious breach of contract (unless there is a written agreement where you’ve agreed to forfeit the pay and leave early)
Either way review your contract and remind them of their contractual obligations e.g to pay you for the agreed notice period
I would also suggest approaching a solicitor yourself. In the UK employment lawyers usually do 30 minute free consultations so it’s worth knowing whether you can get compensation for what you’ve been put through.
Hope this unsolicited advice helps 🩷
Blessings and riches for your advice. Funnily enough, a “typo” was found in the email sent to the staff. Even though the day and date were fully typed out as “Saturday the 15th February” instead of “Thursday, the 27th of February.”
An easy mistake to make I’m sure.
Anyway, I emailed my boss and asked for an exit interview with our third party HR firm. After I found out my coworkers have been engaging in speculation about whether or not I’m having a “nervous breakdown”. Which is now being scheduled.
I shall be preparing.
In times like this I think of a coworker I had maybe two years ago now for six weeks. She was a disaster. Never showed up to work, started drama. And on her last day when they fired her at the end of the day (which i knew was going to happen) she stormed past me and said
“This place is a joke.”
My friend and I now refer to her as the Prophet Donna. The most unlikely people are the most powerful 😂😂
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minervadashwood · 1 month ago
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Wait For It: The Art of Living (part 3)
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daryl dixon x fem!reader
Catch up here.
Dividers: @firefly-graphics Here and here. Word Count: 4.2 K Warnings: outdoor, intimate shenanigans Notes: I became inspired to write a third part to this story. If it's been a while since you read the first 2 chapters, you might want to reread them. Hope you enjoy!
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Part 3: The Art of Living
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“Mr. Schafer, there’s a guy out in the parking lot…just sitting on the back of his truck and staring at us,” Andrea, the new intern said.
You didn’t bother to look up; you were scrambling to finish everything before the Labor Day weekend began. 
Your boss, Bill Schafer, Jr., got up from his desk to join Andrea at the front office window. 
He sighed. “It’s one of those Dixon boys. What in the devil is he doing here?” 
You stood up so fast that your office chair rolled out behind you and hit the wall with a loud clatter. “He’s here for me!” you announced, perhaps a little too loudly.
Both Andrea and Junior glanced at you, out the window, and back at you.
Junior said, “If he’s giving you trouble, I’ll talk to him.”
“No!” you blurted, face growing hot. “He’s here to take me home. Because…because…”
Just then, Thelma, the senior paralegal, came out of the kitchenette, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Oh, look at your face, honey. You finally making an honest man out of William’s youngest?”
“I-I-well, you see--”
At the window, Junior laughed. “What I wouldn’t give to have seen your momma’s face when she found out!”
You glared at your boss, the class clown who graduated high school a few years ahead of you. “If you must know, she and Daddy are fine with it.”
Frowning, Andrea said,“That’s your boyfriend? But he’s so…and you’re so…”
Thelma squeezed your elbow. “He’s a good boy when his brother isn’t around. You get on out of here. I’ll finish up.”
“I couldn’t do that to you, “ you protested.
“Nonsense,” Thelma replied, scooping the work off your desk and taking it to her own. “You’re only young once, after all!”
You looked to Junior.
He shrugged, “We all know Thelma runs this office, not me.”
You tried to hold back your smile as you quickly grabbed your things from your bottom desk drawer.
Outside, Daryl’s tailgate was down, and he was sitting on it, eyes narrowed at you. The weather was still warm, so he was wearing a tanktop and work pants. He was putting in extra hours at the plant nursery before colder weather set in and he couldn’t make as much money.
“Hi,” you said, grinning.
He hopped off the tailgate and swaggered up to you until he was less than an inch away.
“Ya ready to get outta ‘ere?”
“Yeah, but where? You can’t go to Cleo’s.”
Daryl stared at the ground and kicked a pebble with his boot. “Thought I could take ya out near the deep end of Willow Creek. I mean, if ya want.”
You looked behind him to see the bed of the truck half full of camping equipment.  “How long are you plannin’ to keep me out there, Dixon?”
He shrugged, a bashful smile gracing his lips. “As long as you’ll let me.”
You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Take me home to pack, please.”
Daryl slid one hand around your waist, his touch so light that you barely felt it. “Ya sure, sweetheart? If this is too much, we can just go to the park or somethin’.”
“I’m sure, Dare.” You paused, “I mean, if you’re sure.”
He nodded, his face turning red. 
“Okay, then. Let’s go.”
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You hadn’t been off-roading since you were a kid, and boy howdy did it feel different as an adult. Your body bounced in the seat of Daryl’s truck as he drove it through the wilderness of the state forest. Calling the dried up path a “road” would be generous. It was full of pot holes and had downed branches the truck had to dodge. But Daryl seemed to take no notice of the rough terrain as he plowed on.
The path--and the truck--ambled on until the trees and foliage increased around it. This late in the summer, the trees and vines were thick and green. The hot sun dappled everything in a kaleidoscopic array of light. You caught the way the light and shadows danced over Daryl’s features, his sharp jaw and kissable mouth looking determined as he wove the old pickup deeper into the woods. 
It’d been a couple of months since you’d kissed him for the first time, and every time you were with him, you had to pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. 
The truck stopped, and the sudden stillness made your bones feel like jelly. You let out a long breath and released your death grip from the Jesus handle on the passenger side door.
Daryl shifted the truck into neutral and pulled up the parking break. His arms were magnificent. Strong from the manual labor he did at work, fluid from the familiarity he had with this beat up vehicle. Warmth swirled in your belly. More than once had you been wrapped up in those arms as Daryl kissed your mouth or hugged you close. You couldn’t help but imagine how they’d feel holding you other ways, too.
“Ya alright?” Daryl asked, peering at you with concern.
Feeling flushed, you nodded. “That was a rougher ride than I expected.”
Daryl nodded and turned off the engine. He stuck the keys in the sun visor and said, “Com’on. Wanna show you somethin’.”
Once you were out of the car, Daryl started walking ahead of you, weaving through the woods like it was his second home. You hurried to catch up with him and grabbed his hand.
“Not so fast, Dare. Let a girl catch her breath.”
Daryl chewed on the thumbnail of his free hand. 
Normally he wasn’t this wound up when it was just the two of you. In fact, over the past couple of months you’d seen Daryl ease into this relationship like a newly adopted puppy. Cautious at first then feeling right at home.  You weren’t much better. Every moment with him made you giddy, and it seemed like you could only stop smiling when he kissed you. Of course, after that, you smiled even more.
“Come on,” he said again, tugging you along by your hand. This time he went a bit slower, taking you to what you assumed was Willow Creek. You heard what Daryl had to show you before you saw it, but then the woods opened to a small pool with a waterfall feeding into it. The pool gave way to a little stream going in the opposite way of the falls.
The waterfall was loud, but not deafening, and you grinned, soaking up the sensory smorgasbord of sound and beauty before you. After a few minutes, you looked over at Daryl to see his reaction. Instead of taking in the view, he was staring at you, chewing the inside of his lip.
You smiled at him. “It’s beautiful.”
“What?” he shouted.
“It’s beautiful!”
Daryl ducked his head and put his lips to your ear. “So’re you.”
Before you could react, Daryl straightened up and walked toward the pool, still holding your hand.
The last of the summer wildflowers grew in patches near the pool of water, and hasty insects buzzed and flew around, collecting their last bit of seasonal pollen and summer food. You wouldn’t say no to a dip in the water if you’d brought your swimsuit. You were about to say as much to Daryl when he started walking straight for the waterfall, with you in tow.
When you got close enough, Daryl toed off his work boots, and you did likewise, taking off your practically new hiking boots (that you’d bought soon after the two of you’d started dating).
That done, Daryl paused, raised his eyebrows in question. You nodded and he took your hand.
He got under the water first, and you tiptoed your way along the smoothed rocky surface until the water pounded over your entire body. Cool, refreshing, and with the strength of twenty-some showerheads, the falls soaked you instantly. You could barely keep your eyes open through the downpour.
But with Daryl, it didn’t seem to matter. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing  his hands solidly at your waist and holding you close. Then, as the  sound and strength of the waterfall clouded your senses, Daryl kissed you.
After that, you kept your eyes closed. Sight and sound cut off, you could only feel him holding you close and claiming you with his mouth. Whatever shyness Daryl had during conversations vanished when he kissed you, especially like this.
You pressed yourself into him, craving the safety and strength only his body could provide. As the cold waterfall began to chill your skin, Daryl warmed you right back up. Your own hands roamed his back, sliding over his water-soaked tank top as your fingernails sought purchase. Your body slotted against his like it was meant to be there, and you wished you’d taken off more than your shoes before kissing him like this.
Daryl must have felt it, too, because he suddenly stopped kissing you and pulled you out from under the water. One look at him, and you knew what was on his mind. Forgetting your shoes, you pulled him away from the waterfall and to a patch of grass where the insects were less dense. Your hands grabbed his shirt and pulled it off him before Daryl could even think to stop you. In fact, he did the same to you, taking your soaked t-shirt and getting it out of his way. You kissed again, this time skin to skin. Daryl growled and moaned into your mouth. Your hand snaked its way down his front until you cupped the hard outline in his pants.  He gasped against your lips, but didn’t stop you.
Until today, there’d been nothing below the belt between you, barely below the neck. Now, for whatever reason, this was happening. And fast. 
His pants were undone quickly, and you grasped him in your palm. He was full, thick, and rigid in your hand. Mouth watering, you squeezed and stroked him. Daryl buried his head in your neck, kissing you there and gasping as you worked him. It wasn’t long before he started to tremble and tried to pull away. But it was too late; he exploded in your hand with a hoarse groan.
Daryl grabbed at his pants, trying to pull away without looking at you. Touching his hands gently, you stopped him and said in his ear. “Dixon, that was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Daryl stopped panicking and finally looked into your eyes. You kissed him softly and rested your forehead on his until you were both taking deep breaths together.
You gave him some time, and after a while, Daryl started kissing you again, holding you tenderly, his damp hands roaming the equally damp skin of your back.
You didn’t want to push him, but the ache between your own legs had only increased since you’d stepped out of the waterfall. Just when you were about to ease the ache yourself, Daryl wedged his knee between your legs. Without thinking you moved your hips, pressing your bundle of nerves to the denim on his thigh.
Daryl, with a tentative hand, pressed against you just where your apex met his thigh, and though it felt good, it wasn’t exactly right.
You felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Using both hands you cupped Daryl’s jaw and said, “Have you not been with anyone before?”
“No,” he whispered. It was silent compared the roar of the waterfall, but you understood him well enough.
Letting go of him, you undid your pants and guided his hand where you wanted it.
“Gentle, Dare,” you said in his ear, but you hardly needed to ask for it.  He’d only ever been gentle with you. Gasping you held onto his shoulders, and you started moaning when he figured out how to touch you just right.
“That’s it, Dare. Please,” you begged.
“Do…does it feel as good as it did when ya touched me?”
“Yes,” you moaned, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Better.”
“Ain’t possible,” he said, reacting to each of your breathy moans to perfect his rhythm. In no time at all you climaxed with his hand between your legs and his head buried against you.
“So warm,” he said. “Fuck, honey, I just wanna feel ya and touch ya all over. This just ain’t enough.”
It wasn’t enough for you either, but you weren’t about to lay down in the grass, no matter how much you wanted him.
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By the time you walked back to the pickup truck your belly was growling. You told Daryl as much, and he left you to change your clothes while he “rustled up some grub,” as he put it. He came back with two fattened rabbits and in no time had them stewed up on his propane stove with a couple of cans of vegetables tossed in. 
“A girl could get used to all this pamperin’,” you said, earning a squinty-eyed glare from Daryl as he put the stew into bowls.
“I wasn’t bein’ sarcastic, promise,” you told him.
“I could pitch the tent,” he mumbled. “But the stars’re gonna be out an’ I thought we could watch ‘em.”
You took your bowl from him, warmth in your chest. “I’d like that.”
“‘S not a fancy hotel or nuthin’.”
You pressed your hand to his chest. “You’re what makes this special. I don’t need anything else. Promise.”
Daryl nodded and cleared his throat. “Best eat up ‘fore it gets cold.”
You sat on the tail gate beside him and after eating a few spoonfuls of the stew, you said, “I take that back. I might you need to make this stew again. It’s amazing.”
Daryl didn’t reply as he slurped up his portion like a man starved.  He always ate like that, as far back as you could remember. Of course, sometimes he was half starved when he showed up on your family’s doorstep asking to spend the night.
It made you proud to see him now, a strong, dependable man. Able to take care of himself and nothing like his father. 
You pinched your arm just to make sure. Yep, still real.
After supper, the sun started to set, and the night was full of promise. Daryl made up the truck bed into an actual bed with padding and blankets and pillows. When he was done, you sat side by side on the tailgate, drinking a couple of beers and waiting for the sun to go down all the way. Daryl didn’t talk much, but you were full of nervous--or more accurately, sexually repressed--energy, and talked about work, an upcoming bake sale for your parents’ church, and a concert in Atlanta you wanted to go to.
Then, finally, you worked your way up to talking about something else.
You scooched closer to Daryl, leaning against him until he put his arm around you. 
“I’ve been savin’ up to get a place of my own,” you said.
“Mm,” Daryl replied.
“In town, maybe closer to the bus stop,” you rambled. “I thought about rentin’, but that’s like throwin’ money away basically, and I figured between you and John if I needed any repairs, it’d be okay. Thing is, I don’t know how many bedrooms I should get or if someday I might need a a garage to park a motorcycle in, or a place to work on cars. Not that I want to assume I’ll need all those things. After all, my life’s had a lot of change recently, and I could always sell the first house--I guess--and get another one. And I don’t wanna get somethin’ too big ‘cause then it’d feel lonely--”
“I dun want kids,” Daryl said softly.
“You don’t? I just assumed.” Up until now you thought you’d have kids if Daryl wanted them. But a suddenly a huge weight felt like it’d been lifted. 
“I don’t really want kids, either. I’m supposed to want them, right? But it’s never really mattered to me either way.“
“You sure?”
You snuggled closer to him, “I have all I need already.” 
“Me too,” he said.
Daryl already had his arm around you, and he slipped his hand under your shirt, and soon enough your clothes were coming off again. Daryl stood up and shuffled out of his damp jeans, then he rejoined you on the bed of the truck, grabbing your waist and kissing you at the same time you scooted back onto the padded bedding. You laid down and Daryl followed you, kissing you and pressing his body against yours.
The encroaching night was full of sounds, from the rustling leaves to the crickets and cicadas, to the hoot owls and whippoorwills. But the only sounds you noticed were Daryl and your ragged breathing. Your lips parted , and Daryl framed your face with his hands. He held your gaze as the last of the sunlight dipped below the horizon.
“Dare,” you whispered, in the safety of night. “I love you. Always have, but it’s different now. Bigger. Fuller. Do you feel it, too?”
“Yes,” he replied, a slight crack in his voice.
You leaned up off the pillows and kissed his forehead and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 
Then all hell broke loose. 
He fumbled a little, getting your pants off your legs, but by the time you were both lying there in just your underwear, you were grabbing for each other: your hands and mouths were just as starved for the other as you had been for the stew. Your bra disappeared, your panties, his boxers. He palmed and suckled your breasts, you left love bites along his neck and shoulders. His hand found its way between your thighs, but more confident now, fingers caressing and stroking, dipping inside of you and making you squirm and mewl with pleasure. You stroked him only a few times before he stilled your hand and bit your bottom lip in warning.
“Wanna put myself inside ya. Wanna feel ya come on my cock, honey.”
“Yes, please,” you whimpered. 
He arranged himself between your legs and eased into you carefully. Something caught in you throat as he bottomed out inside of you and whimpered in your ear.
“‘You okay, baby?” he asked, smoothing hair away from your face.
“I’m okay,” you eked out, feeling so full and stretched around him. “Are you?”
“Feels so good, so fuckin’ good.”  Holding himself  on his elbows, Daryl buried his head against you as he started moving slowly, his hips gently thrusting.
“Yes, Dare, that’s it. Feels so good,” you encouraged, meaning every word. 
He moaned; sweat from his body dripped onto yours. “Touch yourself, baby. Wanna feel ya come.”
One of your hands gripping his hair, the other touching your clit, you moaned as Daryl moved inside you, picking up his rhythm. He kissed your jaw and the nape of your neck. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in closer with each thrust. You came, moaning his name and riding out an orgasm so strong that it made your whole body convulse.  Daryl thrusted a few more times and he came too, groaning in your ear and finally kissing your lips as he came to lay down beside you.
Dripping in sweat, he pulled you against him, entangling your legs to get even closer.
You pressed your palm to his chest as your breath evened out and you came back to yourself. For the first time this evening you were silent as Daryl held you in his arms.
After a while, Daryl said. “No one’s said that to me before.”
“Said what?” you mumbled, deep in afterglow.
“That they love me.”
Tears stung your eyes, and you held onto him even tighter.  It was fully dark now, so you couldn’t see him. Perhaps that’s why he’d been strong enough for that confession. You could never replace the love he should’ve had from his family, but laying with him in the dark you wanted to give him the world. He deserved it.
Daryl found your hand in the darkness and held tight. “I love you, too.”
The stars twinkled overhead, the night clear and moonless. You made love again, once you both had rested some. Then you cleaned off your bodies as best you could with baby wipes from your purse.
The air grew chilly, so you got under the covers with Daryl, both of you still naked and holding onto each other.  
After a time, Daryl said. “We won’t need a real big garage if there’s a driveway.”
“Two bedrooms or three?” you grinned.
“Two oughta be enough ‘less you need one of them craft rooms.”
“As if,” you muttered. You never met a crafting project you didn’t wreck in less than an hour.
“There’s gonna be talk,” you sighed. “Livin’ in sin.”
Daryl didn’t say anything to that. He just found your lips in the dark and kissed you for a while.
“I’ve been savin’ up too,” Daryl said when he was done. “Won’t be much. It’s small. But I can add to it later. Guy said the setting would hold more.”
“Setting? Do you mean a ring setting? You wanna get me an engagement ring?”
“Wouldya wear if I did?”
“Dare,” you whispered. “Are you sure?”
“Does that mean yes?”
You kissed him and said, “It does.”
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Epilogue
John had more than enough grandchildren to keep your mother happy. And as your parents got older, everyone else in your family moved to Florida. You and Daryl stayed in the same small town you grew up in. In the same house you bought as newlyweds.
You had the occasional houseguest when Merle stopped by, and after his third time in the slammer, you sent him to rehab with your Christmas bonus from work.  Took him three stays over the next few years before it stuck. But it finally did.
Daryl became co-owner for the plant nursery he worked at when the owner died and his kids wanted to sell the business. By the time you and Daryl were in your forties, you were happy and more in love than ever. 
Then the virus hit. First the cities, then everywhere.
You lost Merle early on. The dire circumstances caused him to relapse, and he sealed his own fate after losing his temper on a rooftop.
It took nearly five years of surviving, of struggle, of loss and grief. But you finally found a new home. Once a year, you and Daryl mourn everyone you’ve lost by drinking moonshine and going over old memories. Even the night Daryl found you crying on a bathroom floor with blood pouring from your nose.
You have graying hair; Daryl doesn’t. You live with him in the basement of your best friends’ house. Date night usually means dinner with Carol and Tobin or Aaron and Eric. You find time for yourselves when you can. Every moment is precious. You never miss the chance to tell Daryl you love him. 
However, these days, you’re not the only one.
Glenn and Rick both give Daryl side hugs after fighting off walkers or returning from runs. “Love ya, man,” is commonly uttered as a matter of principle.
Judith is wiley with her “I love you, Uncle Daryl,” because she has learned that’s all she has to say to get her way. Your husband knows this. Yes, it still works.
Carol is quick with a joke, a barb, with an insightful but unnerving observation. She gets Dary frazzled with her teasing and finishes it off with, “Love you, pookie,”once Daryl is good and worked up.
Every time you leave Aaron and Eric’s house, they hug you both and say, “We love you guys. Come back soon.”
It took over a decade for you and Daryl to finally admit your feelings for each other, it took even longer for him to find a family--and for you to find a new one. Despite the losses along the way, your lives are filled with love, both for each other and the all the people around you.
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The End
Thanks for reading!
23 notes · View notes
way2gowillow · 5 months ago
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Toshinori couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. He knew exactly how high Midoriya’s academic standards were. The memory of being buried in challenging schoolwork himself wasn’t a fond one, and he didn’t envy the poor boy at all.
   “I’ve got 36 pages left. Then I’ll eat,” Izuku muttered, his voice tinged with determination but also fatigue. Toshinori furrowed his brow in concern.
   “That… that might take quite a while, don’t you think?” he ventured gently.
   Izuku sighed deeply, his frustration evident as he let his head fall onto the desk with a thud of resignation. 
Dadmight week has ended officially, but I managed to squeak out one last submission before the deadline. :') wish I could've submitted more honestly, if I had more time. @dadmightweek
Day 2: Homework/Take a Break
   Midoriya flipped through his assigned reading for what felt like the umpteenth time. He’d been buried in the book since 4 p.m., and his weary eyes drifted to the clock on his desk—8 p.m. He’d endured much longer study sessions before, but this particular assignment seemed to drag on endlessly. The book, Hero's Jurisdiction and Quirk Responsibility, wasn’t exactly riveting, and Snipe’s assignment to read chapters 3 and 4 had turned into a tedious slog when he realized he was falling behind.
  Only thirty… no, thirty-five… wait, thirty-seven pages left. He sighed, his tired eyes struggling to focus on the dense text. The letters blurred together as he tried to absorb each new piece of information, but the words felt heavy and lifeless, his mind drifting as he mechanically read on.
   “As discussed in chapter 2, Amendment 47 faced significant challenges in passing through the judicial system, with numerous quirk users staunchly defending their right to obtain licenses. The rejection of Amendment 23 and its subsequent impact on…” 
   Izuku’s eyes glazed over as he read the dry, lifeless text. He flipped through the remaining pages, his hope dwindling as he counted them. Thirty-six and a half more to go.
   He sighed in frustration, the words on the page blurring together, lost in a storm of paralegal jargon swirling in his tired mind. Footsteps echoed from the hallway, but he didn’t bother to check. He’d left his door open for a bit of fresh air, though even that seemed to do little to revive his focus. He was usually good at tuning out distractions, but now his eyes were so dry, he was half-tempted to ask Aizawa for his special eye drops.
   Come on. Just thirty-six more pages.
   He forced himself to read another paragraph, but his mind refused to stay focused. 
   What did I just read?
   Shaking his head, he tried again, managing to get a bit farther before the dense terminology tripped him up again. His thoughts drifted, and by the time he reached the end of the page, he realized he hadn’t absorbed a single word.
   What??
   With a frustrated groan, he let his highlighter slip from his fingers and dropped his head onto the desk in defeat.
   “At this rate, Kaminari’s gonna have to shock me back to life after I die of boredom,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the wood.
   A familiar, warm chuckle from the doorway made him lift his head, turning toward the sound.
   His mentor stood there, casually leaning against the doorframe in house slippers and sweatpants, his eyes filled with amused sympathy.
   “Bored to death, huh?” he echoed with a smile. Izuku perked up at the sight of him, grateful for the distraction from the tedious assignment.
   “Hey, All Might,” Izuku greeted, doing his best to muster up his usual chipper tone. “Didn’t notice you there.”
   “Well, the other boys mentioned you didn’t come down for dinner, so I thought I’d check on you,” All Might replied with a teasing smile. “I could hear the gears in your head grinding from the common room.”
   “Yeah, sorry about that. I must’ve lost track of time,” Izuku admitted, turning back to his book. He picked up his highlighter and dragged it half-heartedly across a few words. Stress practically radiated off him in waves, and he scratched his head in frustration. 
   Toshinori couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. He knew exactly how high Midoriya’s academic standards were. The memory of being buried in challenging schoolwork himself wasn’t a fond one, and he didn’t envy the poor boy at all.
   “I’ve got 36 pages left. Then I’ll eat,” Izuku muttered, his voice tinged with determination but also fatigue. Toshinori furrowed his brow in concern.
   “That… that might take quite a while, don’t you think?” he ventured gently.
   Izuku sighed deeply, his frustration evident as he let his head fall onto the desk with a thud of resignation. 
   Toshinori moved closer, laying a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder. The boy shifted slightly, his head rolling to the side, green curls spilling over the edge of the desk, obscuring the text beneath.
   “Come now,” Toshinori urged softly. “Take a break and have some dinner. You need to take care of yourself before you can tackle your work.” 
   Izuku stared up at him, eyes wavering as he debated whether to give in to his mentor’s advice; the pull of his stubborn determination warring within.
      His stomach answered for him with an embarrassingly loud grumble.
   Toshinori raised his eyebrows, a sly smile playing on his lips. He opened his mouth, ready to deliver the final nudge.
   “I haven’t eaten yet either. I wanted to wait for you.”
   Izuku’s resolve crumbled instantly. With a dramatic sigh, he slammed his textbook shut and rubbed his eyes in mock exasperation. “You can’t do this to me, All Might…!” he protested, his tone light despite his words.
   He quickly moved away from his desk, making a beeline for the door. Toshinori chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, as he joined him outside the dorm room.
  The udon noodles simmering in a miso umami broth were exactly what Midoriya needed. As he took his first bite, the savory flavor of the pork mingling with the rich broth seemed to melt away his lingering headache. With each satisfying slurp, the weight of his stress lifted, replaced by a comforting warmth that spread through his chest. Across from him at the table, All Might quietly enjoyed his own bowl of miso and noodles.
   “Wow,” Midoriya exclaimed between bites, his eyes lighting up. “Who made this? It’s amazing!”
   All Might’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Ah, well… thanks,” he replied, a touch of bashfulness in his voice. “I’ve been picking up cooking lately, you know. Figured…” I want to feed you and care of you and sit down and spend time with you- “...with all this extra time on my hands, why not?”
   Midoriya sits at his bar chair, his legs swinging, kicking back and forth as he eagerly slurped down another helping of soup.
   “Mmmmm!” he hummed in contentment.
   So cute.
   The thought made Toshinori’s heart swell. If cooking for him was this rewarding, he decided he’d definitely make it a regular thing. Rather than reaching out to pinch his freckled cheeks, he simply smiled into his bowl, savoring the last of the broth.
“Don’t mention it,” Toshinori replied warmly.
   With a final, satisfied swallow, Midoriya set his bowl down with a content clink and let out a pleased sigh.
   “That was delicious, All Might. You’ve gotta show me how to make this next time. Maybe even my mom could try it?” he suggested, a bit bashful.
   Taken aback, Toshinori’s eyes widened in surprise, but a genuine smile spread across his face at the thought.
   “Of course! That would be great. I'm sure maybe your mother would rival my cooking.” Toshinori said with a smile.
   Izuku stood up, gathering the empty bowls and chopsticks. “Well, it’s a bit hard to beat Mom’s cooking,” he replied, noticing the fleeting wistfulness in Toshinori’s expression. He must miss Master Shimura, he guesses. Izuku couldn't even imagine the heartache of losing his doting and loving mother any time soon. Shaking his head to dispel the somber thought, he finished gently washing the dishes. Once he was done, he dried his hands and approached Toshinori.
   With a deep bow, he expressed his gratitude. 
   “Thank you Sir. I really needed that tonight. Thank you.” He says earnestly.
   Somehow Toshinori's eyes go wider, and he doesn't know exactly how to respond at the simple gesture of a homecooked meal for his boy.
Even with his head still bowed, Izuku’s growing smile was evident as he leaned into the comforting touch. The small gesture seemed to rejuvenate him, and he dashed back to his studies with renewed energy, making swift progress compared to his earlier sluggish pace.
  With their stomachs and hearts full, both Master and Successor went to bed content, their minds drifting into a peaceful sleep, each wishing sweet dreams across the dreamscape.
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satansapostle6 · 6 months ago
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I Left The Light On And The Back Door Open For You | Robert Chase
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From the moment he first saw Margot Lange from legal, Dr. Robert Chase knew he was in for a wild ride that he never wanted to end.
Warnings: Mature themes/language. Sexual content. Bondage. Food play. Slight D/S dynamic.
Chapter Three
Chapter Four: Past Lives
After picking Margot up at seven for sushi, Robert Chase quickly found that he was running out of talking points. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to talk to this woman about, it was just that he didn’t know what was acceptable. His relationship, of whatever nature, with Margot was still very new to him, and he had no idea what level of emotional intimacy was appropriate in accompanying the literal intimacy. So far, things were very casual and physical, although Margot wasn’t necessarily like any other hookup.
She was very unique in that she had a way of being extremely hospitable without being vulnerable at all. Apart from the sex, she and Chase would have deep conversations, and share the same bed, and the same food, but somehow none of it felt very intimate at all. For Chase, his stay at Margot’s felt more like a hotel with sex than just a woman’s house. He felt he had to tread very carefully as they dined together at what he felt was one of the nicest restaurants he had been to in a while.
Margot’s palate, he realized, was both immaculate and specific.
“I didn’t realize they have full-sized portions of things,” Chase remarked casually as he watched her eat her large serving of rice, uni, and lemon.
“They do for me,” she said pleasantly as she sipped on her strong cosmopolitan, “The chef noticed I like uni, so he lets me have as much of it as I like.”
“I’ve never had it before,” Chase confessed as he helped himself to the tiny servings that were mostly for him. “It’s delicious,” he said after a moment.
“Some people think it’s weird, but it’s amazing,” Margot stated.
“Do you come here often?” Chase wondered.
Margot smirked at the question before answering.
“I take a lot of lawyers here,” she explained, “Settling House’s cases isn’t exactly easy.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to be,” Chase remarked.
They were both silent for a moment before he continued the conversation.
“Can I ask you about yourself?” he said finally. “I feel like I don’t know too much about you.”
“You can ask,” Margot offered, “I might not answer.”
“That’s your prerogative,” he supposed. “What did you do before this?”
“When I was in law school, I worked as a paralegal for this one firm. I was also an escort,” she said casually.
Beer almost came out of Chase’s nose.
“Sorry?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being rude.
“I was an escort,” Margot repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her properly. “I went on dates for money.”
Chase was once again completely thrown, unsure of how to proceed not just because this was a very delicate sort of situation, but also because he’d never even imagined any first date scenario even close to this. He was struggling to even come up with an appropriate reaction.
“Don’t worry, you won’t get the clap,” she assured him with a passive wave of her hand, “I just went on dates. I never slept with any of those men.”
“Oh,” Chase murmured, silently cursing himself for not having anything better to contribute. “How… did you get into it?”
“This girl I went to law school with,” Margot explained, “She was from Florida. She was a yachter. You have to have sex for that, but she also just had a lot of other connections. She knew a lot of girls who just went on dates. And, she knew a lot of potential clients, too.”
“That’s how you got through law school?” Robert Chase asked.
Margot nodded. “Mmhmm. I made a lot of money. I could do it now, if I really wanted to, but I have better things to do.”
“Fair enough,” he shrugged.
“We all have our crazy shit in the past,” she said coolly. “I’m sure you have your own stuff.”
“I certainly do,” Chase agreed. “I slept with the groundskeeper’s wife in seminary training.”
It was Margot’s turn to almost laugh.
“Wow. Maybe you do have a bit of an edge to you,” she grinned, sipping on her cosmo.
“Maybe,” Chase smiled at her from across the table. “Can I just say, you look stunning tonight?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m sleeping with you either way, right?”
Even now, her crass sense of humor made Chase blush.
“That’s good to know,” he said quietly, a goofy grin on his face as only she could hear.
There was a long silence between the two of them as Chase snuck glances at Margot while she ate and drank. He wondered how such an angelic woman could be so feared.
“You know, I feel like you’ve lived a hundred lives,” he expressed.
“You’re not exactly boring yourself,” she reminded him.
“But you’re different,” Chase insisted. “I feel like you’ve seen everything. Like you’re in witness protection, or something.”
“Well, I wasn’t born Margot Lange,” she shrugged.
Once again, Chase was thrown for a loop.
“Were you… born Max Lange?” he asked cautiously.
Margot genuinely laughed. “No, genius. My real name’s Sydney Bettencourt,” she confessed.
Chase stared at her in disbelief. “You changed your whole name?”
“I had to,” she explained with a bored sigh, “I had a stalker.”
“Wow,” Chase remarked, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Yeah, it’s whatever,” Margot shrugged indifferently.
“Can I ask, er… How it happened?” he wondered.
“From my escort days,” she explained, “He was pretty persistent. Came to my apartment without permission, sent stuff to my job… Wilson kinda reminds me of him,” she remarked, clearly using humor as a deflection.
Chase just chuckled as they moved on with their dinner. He decided that if Margot was intent on not letting the past ruin their dinner date, he might as well comply with her wishes. Once Chase had requested the check, Margot offered her card before the waitress set the bill in front of them. Chase had initially protested, wanting to pay for his date, but Margot had told him to save it for the next one, reminding him that he didn’t want to see what the bill for an entire entree of uni looked like.
He had eventually decided she was right, and allowed her to pay for their dinner. Naturally, Margot had informed Chase that she simply expected him to make it up to her later, which he fully intended to do.
“Can we make a stop on the way?” Margot asked once they reached the parking lot.
Chase looked at her in disbelief. There was nothing he wanted less.
“…Do we have to?” he asked her.
“No, I guess not,” she shrugged, looking away coyly, “We don’t need whipped cream…”
Chase could’ve sworn all the hair on his body stood up as he was instantly swayed.
“Well,” he stammered, “I suppose we could make a quick stop at the store…”
He found himself extremely impatient the entire time he drove. He and Margot ran as fast as they could into the local grocery store, startling many late night shoppers. Chase was genuinely amazed by how flawlessly Margot could run in four-inch heels. Due to the unfortunate issue with all of the self checkout machines in the store, he and Margot found themselves standing in line behind a woman who, for some reason, was doing her usual grocery shopping.
As the conveyor belt eventually moved the whipped cream up to the cashier, the poor cashier, a man whose name tag read ‘Emilio’, who was forced to pick up a pack of condoms and a singular can of whipped cream. Emilio picked up the items and stared blankly at Chase, who could only offer an awkward smile. The two shoppers behind them hid grins and stifled chuckles as Margot smiled proudly, as if this were perfectly normal. Emilio said nothing as he rang them up.
*****
Margot and Chase couldn’t get inside the house fast enough. The moment they were in the door, Margot took off her shoes and tossed them across the room.
“Isn’t that just making a mess?” Chase questioned.
“It’s my house,” Margot huffed.
He just nodded at the valid point.
“Last one up gets the furry handcuffs!” Margot called, just as she took off running up the stairs.
Chase’s eyes widened at the threat as he raced upstairs after her. Margot reached the top of the stairs only about a millisecond before him.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, as she ran into her bedroom with the whipped cream and condoms in her purse.
He panted softly as she sat down at the foot of her giant Alaskan King bed, setting her purse down and taking out what she needed. She turned to see Chase entering the room, a rather happy smile spread across her face.
“What are you waiting for?” she grinned, getting up and walking towards him. “Take your clothes off.”
He nearly blushed. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”
Within a couple of exciting minutes, Chase found himself lying back against the pillows, completely naked, his hands comfortably handcuffed above his head. He felt a few different sensations washing over him at the moment, but for right now, he was completely focused on the dark-haired woman whose mercy he was at. It was now confirmed that she’d had nothing on at all under her dress. Chase could’ve sworn he was about to go insane as she sat beside him on the bed, teasingly checking the handcuffs.
“Looks like you’re not going anywhere,” Margot pouted sarcastically.
“You don’t see me complaining,” Chase breathed.
He was trying to keep his cool, but he knew that Margot definitely noticed how desperate he looked, naked and handcuffed. She decided to tantalize him even further, sitting just above where he needed her most, making a show of it as she grabbed the whipped cream.
“Room for dessert, Robbie?” she teased.
He grinned as she playfully pressed on the nozzle, showing him the whipped cream on her finger.
“Always,” he said huskily.
“Hmm.”
Margot smiled as she slowly licked the whipped cream off her finger, eyes still trained on him as she sucked it off. Chase had to calm himself down as he watched her, letting out an involuntary groan as he got even harder than he already was. Margot was fully aware of her hold on him, and continued with the torturous display. Chase felt his blue eyes watering as he watched her eyes rolling to the back of her head. He felt like a feral cat as he watched her tilt her head back, spraying a mouthful of whipped cream and swallowing it.
Margot giggled mischievously as she sprayed more whipped cream into her mouth, crawling toward him until their faces were inches apart, making sure he saw the whipped cream on her tongue.
“Want a taste?” she offered.
Chase’s head bobbed up and down vigorously as he was rendered useless, barely able to get out any words. He hummed gently into the kiss as Margot allowed him to lap up the whipped cream in her mouth, desperate for any sort of physical contact. She laughed coldly as he began to subconsciously thrust upward, frustrated by the fuzzy handcuffs around his wrists. Margot pushed him down as they kissed, and he sat obediently. She pulled away much to his chagrin and reached for the can again, this time spraying all over the side of his neck.
“Margot…”
Chase whined loudly as she kissed his neck, closing her mouth around the sweet dessert. He was losing his mind as she licked harsh stripes, her hand closed around the bottom of his throat. Chase didn’t want to admit it, but he enjoyed submitting to Margot. He loved being at the mercy of her every whim. He let out quiet, but still audible mumbles of pleasure as she harshly sucked on his neck. At this point, he didn’t care if she visibly marked him up. This was more than worth bragging about, even if it had to be anonymously.
“Margot…!” he whined, sulking the moment she stopped.
He watched as the evil woman licked whipped cream off her fingertips, wholeheartedly enjoying how needy he was being. She left a small amount on her middle and ring fingertips as she took pity on him, raising her hand to his lips.
“Open.”
Chase was beyond willing, and opened his mouth as she slipped her fingers in, watching with arousal as he gladly sucked on her fingers, innocent eyes locked on hers.
“Good boy,” she cooed as he nearly finished right then and there.
Margot admired him as he licked her fingers clean, making a show of it as he finished with a soft pop. She seemed more than entertained as she put more on her hand, this time moving it somewhere else. Chase moaned sweetly as she began stroking him up and down, throwing his head back with relief. He had to force himself to concentrate just so he wouldn’t finish. He observed her with the utmost fascination as she bent down and swirled her tongue around his tip, making him gasp.
“Oh, fuck,” he whined, encouraging her even more. “Please, Margot, please!”
He watched in disbelief as she swiped her tongue up and down, leaving nothing behind. He moaned loudly as she finally took him into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down as he felt the warmth of the inside of her mouth. Chase sighed eagerly as she continued, feeling himself twitch. He was so relieved at the simultaneously relaxing and exciting sensation that he let his eyes shut and forgot about everything. He completely lost track of time, practically falling asleep.
He had completely forgotten what he was doing until he felt himself reach a strangely soothing climax. His eyes widened as Margot stared up at him, grinning as he came down her throat. In that moment, he thought he had never felt more vulnerable as he watched her swallow with pleasure, completely unfazed. He was still in shock as he realized he could still go another round. Margot popped back up again, picking up a bit of whipped cream with her fingers, hungrily licking it off.
Robert Chase was in awe as he laid back, wondering in the back of his head what was next. He smiled up at her, eyes full of bewilderment as she slipped her fingers back into his mouth. He sucked for as long as she let him, almost disappointed as she pulled her fingers out, trying to decide what was next in store for him.
“That was amazing,” he panted, still hard as he waited patiently.
“I’m sure it was,” Margot remarked, looking somewhat envious. “You know… You’re not going anywhere. Why not treat myself for a job well done?”
Before he knew what was happening, she allowed him to suck on her fingers one last time before she separated her knees. As Chase lay helplessly watching, she gradually inserted her fingers. His eyes went so wide, he looked as if they were about to pop out of his head altogether. He struggled frustratedly against the handcuffs around his wrists as he watched. Margot, in a cruel exhibition of her control over the situation, hardly spared him the theatrics as she threw her head back groaning loudly.
If there was one thing Chase could say about Margot, it was that she knew how to put on a show.
“Please, Margot!” he begged her, “Please, I can’t take it anymore!”
Margot’s laughter rang throughout the room as she took pleasure in his desperation. The begging quickly turned into groveling.
“Please, please, please, Margot, I’ll do whatever you want!” Robert Chase whined. “Please… Just let me touch you! Just let me feel, please…”
He was painfully hard as he watched her getting herself off, without any consideration for him. Never before had Chase been so attracted to someone’s blatant selfishness. He knew just how pathetic and desperate he must have looked, begging her incessantly, but he didn’t care anymore. He would’ve told the world that he belonged to Margot like some sort of deviant sex slave if it meant he got to touch her for even a second.
Miraculously, Margot seemed convinced by his relentless begging.
“Oh, alright,” she said mockingly, reaching for the keys to the handcuffs. “Since you’ve been such a good boy…”
Chase looked up at her with relief, eyes lit up with a beautiful wholesomeness as she freed his hands. He watched her patiently as she tossed the handcuffs aside, waiting for her to command him. She noticed this, and commended him.
“Look at you! So nice and sweet,” she beamed.
“Do I get to touch now?” he asked hopefully.
His mind was racing as he tried to decide what to do next with his newfound freedom.
“Go nuts,” she permitted him.
Chase wasted absolutely no time. Margot squealed with laughter as he grabbed her greedily, fondling her as he quickly pulled her body over his. He kissed her harshly, panting like a wild animal as he positioned her on top of him. Margot was almost startled as he scooted down on the bed, pulling her hips toward his face. She gasped aloud as he sat her down right on top of his face, hands forcing her thighs down. She nearly screamed at the rush she felt when she sensed his lips wrapped around all her most sensitive areas.
It was an intense and almost sinful sensation. She laughed out of sheer pleasure as Chase swiped his tongue up and down, as if he’d been starved all his life. She pulled at his sandy blond hair for support. He sucked harshly on the bundle of nerves, savoring the sound of her moans.
“Fuck!” Margot exclaimed, laughing as he worked as hard as he could.
She knew it was going to be a long night.
*****
Hours seemed to pass by until Margot and Chase were both lying beneath the covers, waiting until they fell asleep. The two of them were lying facing one another. Chase felt he was staring at her, trying to understand her in all her complexities, while she just seemed to be gazing comfortably.
“Margot,” he began.
“Robert,” she mocked his formality.
“If I’m being honest, I find you kind of terrifying,” Chase confessed, hoping to learn more about this strange woman.
“Why’s that?” she asked in turn.
The revelation didn’t seem to surprise or offend her at all.
“Are you in the mob or something?” he questioned.
“Am I in the what?” Margot referenced cheekily.
“I just meant… I don’t know. You seem to live such an unorthodox lifestyle for a malpractice attorney,” he tried to explain.
“Are you talking about my money?” Margot asked him.
He seemed guilty upon hearing it stated that say.
“No, I’m sorry, that’s rude to say—”
“I made a lot of money in my escort days,” Margot cut him off in an attempt to assuage his guilt, “Like, a lot. I hustled, and I saved. That’s what paid for this house. And as far as the clothes, and all the other nice things in it, I bought almost none of it myself.”
“Right,” Chase said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.
He still felt horrible for questioning her about her financial situation.
“I did a lot of strange, unconventional things to get to where I am. And some of those things were pretty sketchy,” she admitted with a deep sense of self-awareness. “But you’re not doing anything sketchy by being around me.”
Chase said nothing for a moment, reassured by her logic. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but that was the question he’d been wanting to asking her.
-
Chapter Five
43 notes · View notes
starsstuddedsky · 2 years ago
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Chapter 2 - What Happens in the Closet...
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reader x jihoon
Chapter 1 | masterlist | Chapter 3
summary: when you're caught in a simple lie, the best solution? dig in and stick to your guns until everything inevitably goes wrong and everyone gets hurt
or, a serial dater and a pessimist fake a relationship in the vain hope that nothing will go wrong
genre: fluff, angst, non-idol au, lawyer au, coworkers to lovers??? friends to lovers???? fake dating!!!!!
warnings: cursing???? i think that's it???
wc: 5.2k
a/n: tysm for reading!!!! school is kicking my butt this week lol so there's a solid chance there's typos, i'm sorry :(
taglist: open! send an ask or comment!
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Jihoon has always trusted his gut. It’s never led him wrong; the schools he chose, the law firms he declined, the clients he advised, they’ve all been good choices. He knows better than to ignore the little feeling deep down in his stomach that doesn’t sit right, warning him that something is wrong. 
Unfortunately, this morning he convinces himself it’s just because he hasn’t had his coffee yet. 
He multitasks, typing a furious reply to Mark from accounting (who has apparently lost the ability to read, since the information he is asking for is in the first e-mail that Jihoon sent) while also heading toward the pretty wall of expensive coffee makers that played a significant role in his decision to accept the job offer here. That’s why he doesn’t notice you until you practically bounce off his chest. 
“My bad, I—” You freeze when you meet his eyes. 
I’m sorry, Jihoon tries to say, except the words don’t come out, and now he’s stuck looking at you with the same wide-eyed stare you are giving him. It’s not often that Jihoon finds himself speechless, but there’s so much he needs to say, to explain. Too much. He hasn’t had the chance to even think about telling you the absolutely idiotic things he said on Saturday night, even after he spent all day Sunday staring at his ceiling and imagining how to explain. The only proof it wasn’t all a nightmare is the texts blowing up his phone this morning from Seungcheol and Joshua who managed to find your Instagram (apparently they approved, though it was tricky to explain why he wasn’t following you). 
“We need to talk,” Jihoon finally says. 
“I really am sorry,” you respond. You lean back against the counter and Jihoon catches a glance of a cup of coffee behind you, a mug decorated in bright letters that spell out your name (Fact #5: you like colors?). 
“Not about that,” Jihoon says. “Well, I guess about that, but not really, it’s complicated, and—” 
“Morning,” a familiar deep voice says. Jihoon turns around to find Wonwoo behind him. His eyebrows are raised well over his round glasses, forming shapely arches. He slings his arm over Jihoon’s shoulder, glancing between Jihoon and you. 
A sudden thought crosses Jihoon’s mind. Even though Wonwoo was shipped off on a last minute “emergency” work trip over the weekend, there is no way that news as inconceivable as Jihoon finally losing his lifelong title of ‘bitchless’ wasn’t the first thing Wonwoo saw the second he turned his phone off airplane mode. Meaning that the side eye he is giving him now is because he’s about to call Jihoon out on the worst lie he’s ever told and turn him into the biggest laughing stock the world has ever seen. 
He really should have listened to his gut. 
“So,” Wonwoo says, “How long has this been going on?” His grip on Jihoon’s shoulder tightens. 
You frown. “What are you talking about?” 
“You and him,” Wonwoo says, gesturing between you and Jihoon. 
Jihoon elbows Wonwoo, pushing the taller man off. “Not here,” he mutters. 
Before he can say anything else, you gasp. “It’s not what you think!” 
Jihoon grabs your hand before you can say anything else, pulling you past a bewildered Wonwoo. He ignores the stares of the paralegals and lawyers in the halls as he pulls you past the peering eyes, into the nearest open door, which, unfortunately, is the janitor’s closet. There goes any chance at subtlety. 
“Jihoon?” You ask as he fumbles along the wall trying to find the light switch. He’s still holding your hand, which he only realizes when you lightly tug it out of his grasp. 
He finally finds the switch, flipping it on to find that it connects to a solitary lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that flickers and is definitely a safety hazard. You’re standing directly under the light. Because the light is tinted yellow, Jihoon gets the faint impression that you’re glowing. 
You glance between Jihoon and the door behind him, which he realizes he is accidentally blocking. He steps to the side, not wanting you to think that he’s trapping you in here, though he doesn’t have a contingency plan if you run away now. Not that he has any actual plan right now; none of his Sunday-morning-imaginary-conversations took place in a room that smells like bleach and has lighting that hasn’t been touched since the ‘80s. 
“I swear, I have no idea how Wonwoo found out,” you say quickly. “No one knows other than my friends, and I told them we’d both get fired if anyone at work found out, so I really don’t know how he found out, but I swear, I’ll tell him it was just a rumor and it isn’t true at all. I’m really sorry, I know you said you wanted nothing to do with me, so, whatever I can do, I’ll do it, just please don’t report me to HR.” 
Jihoon felt bad before, but now if guilt could build a time machine, he’d go all the way back to elementary school and beg his mother to take him with her when she left. Maybe then you wouldn’t be looking at him with actual tears threatening to fall. 
It wouldn’t be the first time he’s made someone cry, but somehow it’s not nearly as satisfying when he’s the one at fault.  
“So the thing is,” Jihoon says. “I think it might have been me.” Thankfully your frown doesn’t send the tears tumbling down, but your confusion means that he must, unfortunately, continue to explain. “I sort of told a few of my friends that I was dating someone from work.” He can’t bring himself to say it all, not with his own words echoing in his ears berating you for doing something so foolish. “It’s a very long story, but they believe that I am dating you, and I let them believe it.” 
“You let them believe…” you repeat softly, as though you still aren’t understanding. Jihoon can’t blame you; he hardly believes it himself. 
“Well, believe isn’t really the right word, because they didn’t see any evidence.” Jihoon had also spent a lot of time on Sunday trying to explain why he didn’t have any photos of you, let alone with you. “So I may have told them that you are coming to my friend’s thing on Saturday. As my date.” 
You stare at him. If you keep looking at him with a frown that deep you’re going to get wrinkles, but he figures now is not the time to mention that. There’s nothing he can do now but wait, (most of) the truth now out in the open. He holds his breath as you open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. 
“Are you asking me to fake date you?” You finally ask. 
“Yes?” Jihoon says. 
Fact #6: You have a ridiculous laugh.
He discovers this as you burst into laughter, smile finally breaking the frown as you gasp for breath, clutching your sides. It sounds like something between a machine gun and a dying deer, not that he’s heard either of those sounds in real life before. 
“Are you okay?” He asks, because it seriously doesn’t look like you can breathe, and he’s starting to worry that he’s actually broken you. 
“You told them you’re fake dating me?” You manage between gasps. 
Jihoon sighs. “Yes. Look, I know an apology is overdue—”
“Way overdue.” 
“Way overdue,” Jihoon says because you’re mad enough at him already and he can survive appeasing you at least a little. “So I do apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and threatened HR, and I should have talked to you before I did anything as dumb as telling my friends that we are dating.” 
“Obviously,” you say.
“Are you okay?” Jihoon asks now that you’ve mostly stopped laughing, wiping a few tears from your eyes. 
“I don’t really know how to answer that,” you say. 
Jihoon nods. “I don’t blame you for being mad.” 
“I’m not mad,” you say quickly. “Shocked and stunned and a lot of other words, but mad isn’t one of them. Mostly, it’s funny.” 
“Funny.” 
“Funny!” 
Jihoon frowns as you burst into giggles again, though you stifle them quickly at his glare. 
“Seriously, I mean, who goes off on their coworker and then not even a day later does the same exact thing,” you say. “I’ve always known you were a little… But that’s beside the point, because you are, in fact, asking me to fake date you?” 
“Wait, a little what?” Jihoon asks. 
You shake your head, leaning against a metal pole, then immediately straightening when you almost knock over a shelf of toilet paper. “I don’t think I’m obligated to answer that.” He opens his mouth but you raise your eyebrows. “If you ask again I’m going to answer something that you won’t like.” 
“Is it the truth?” 
You shrug. “Do you want me to come to the thing on Saturday and pretend to be ridiculously in love with you or not?” 
“You don’t have to be ridiculous,” Jihoon mumbles. He takes a deep breath, trying to convince himself that this is still a good idea somehow (eventually he settles for the conclusion that it’s much too far to turn back now). “Yes, I would like you to please be my date on Saturday.” 
“Can you say that again so I can record it?” You ask a little too innocently. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please.” 
“You’ve barely heard me say five words,” Jihoon says. “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.” 
“With the exception of literally three days ago when you yelled at me. And the presentation you gave in eighth grade on the importance of fish in the ecosystem of the creek by the school and you were so excited because you brought your fish except it died on the way to school and you were so upset you locked yourself in the bathroom and they had to call your dad to pick you up.” You look a little too smug. 
“If you tell anyone about that, I’m telling them about the time you wrote an entire essay on symbolism in the Harry Potter series over the summer, and then it wasn’t even accepted because they said extra credit was unethical.” 
“You remember that?” You frown at him. “Look, I was a different person back then. J.K. Rowling was a different person back then.” 
“Pretty sure a TERF is always a TERF,” Jihoon says. It’s easy to fall into banter with you. He finds himself wondering why he’s never spoken to you like this before, until he remembers Fundamental Fact #3: you are an idiot in love. 
More than anything, he wants to leave this closet. Run away and lock himself in his room and dive into his work (and tell Mark that he’s an idiot who can’t read) and forget all of this. But you still haven’t said yes. 
“I will do whatever you want,” he says, quickly adding, “within reason,” because your eyes light up a little too brightly. “You can tell your friends that we’re fake dating. We can actually fake date. I can write a contract and everything, just, please, come with me?” 
Jihoon has always thought that your kindness made you weaker, but he’s grateful for it now because you smile at him and say, “Yes.” 
He hopes his sigh of relief isn’t too obvious. He thinks you might say something else (“You have to pretend to be my date to my friends in return,” or “I was just kidding, you’re insane and I won’t do it,” or “Don’t fall in love with me”) but before you can open your mouth, there’s a knock at the door. 
“Hey,” Wonwoo says, voice muffled. “I hate to interrupt, but yn, we have a meeting in like two minutes.” 
You glance at the time on your phone and curse, pushing past Jihoon and practically bursting out of the closet. He loses sight of you sprinting toward your office as the door swings shut. Jihoon seriously considers staying here for the rest of the day (possibly the rest of his life), but the door creaks open again to reveal Wonwoo, pinstripe suit and all. He folds his arms and leans against the door. 
“We need to talk.” 
Jihoon has never been scared of any of his friends, but fear is the only word he can use to describe how he feels now. The final beats to Jihoon’s life sounds a lot like Wonwoo’s footsteps as they echo while he follows the tall man to his own office. This is it. The jig is up before he even shows you to his friends. Well, it was an idiotic plan in the first place and at least he didn’t embarrass you alongside everyone else. 
Wonwoo has the decency to wait for the door to shut behind him. 
“I can’t believe you,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. “I leave for one weekend, and you tell everyone that you’re dating yn?” 
“I know, I—” 
“I mean, seriously, we’ve been friends for how long now?” Wonwoo pauses to count on his fingers. “Eight years? Nine? We work together! I know yn better than any of them, and I had to hear from Mingyu that you two are dating?” 
Jihoon frowns. Did Wonwoo actually believe him? 
“Honestly, I’m offended,” Wonwoo says. “Seriously, how am I not the first person you think of? I’ve been saying for years that you and yn would be perfect together.” 
“I didn’t mean to tell them,” Jihoon says. “They were just being annoying about it, so it slipped out.” 
Wonwoo shakes his head. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Right under my nose and I didn’t see it.” 
“Well, you are like a point away from being legally blind,” Jihoon says. 
Wonwoo glares at him. “You owe me details.” 
“Don’t you have a meeting?” Jihoon says. 
Wonwoo’s phone rings. He answers in a hushed tone, shooting Jihoon a look that clearly says this isn’t over. Jihoon breathes a sigh of relief as Wonwoo exits, resting his head on his desk. What just happened? 
A small part of him had hoped that Wonwoo was going to call him out and this entire mess would be over. But he believed him? Jihoon, who had only ever scoffed at you, despite Wonwoo constantly talking about how well you would work together. Well, he’s clearly having the last laugh now. 
Jihoon takes a deep breath and sits up. He still has a job to do. Though his life is clearly falling apart, he should at least make sure Mark from accounting doesn’t mess up his paycheck (again). And he has a contract to write. 
.
.
Objectively, Jihoon has to admit you look good. It has nothing to do with opinion; it’s a fact (fact #8: you look good in formalwear, though he makes a mental note for an addendum that says that’s the whole point of formalwear). Jihoon spends a normal amount of time looking at you (counting to five seconds before looking away), then ushers you into the backseat of the limo because for some reason you aren’t moving. 
“Do I get to know why we’re in a limo or why I had to buy new clothes?” You ask, taking care to make sure none of the flowy garment got stuck in the door. 
“I told you I’d cover that,” Jihoon says. 
“No, it was kind of bad that I didn’t have anything this nice, and now I have something to wear to the end of the year gala,” you say. “Way to dodge the question though.” 
Jihoon grimaces. It’s difficult to judge how people react to finding out about his friends (given that he has “little-to-no” experience introducing anyone to them), and he isn’t entirely certain that you won’t jump out of the car when he tells you the truth. But apparently you can’t sit in silence for long. 
“Okay, well, if you won’t tell me, then I’m going to guess,” you say. “Are we going to a wedding?” 
“No.” 
“A funeral?” 
“Why would I wear a tux to a funeral?” 
“Hey, I don’t judge,” you say with a shrug. “It looks very good on you, by the way.” Jihoon glances at you but you’re twisting your face into a strange frown as you think, so you don’t notice the way his ears tinge pink at the comment. “Prom?” 
“We’re grown adults.” 
“Prom needs chaperones,” you say. “Besides, you never went to prom.” 
“Yeah, well, I didn’t catch my date making out with someone else either, so, it wasn’t that bad of a night for me.” 
“Ouch,” you say. “That was low.” 
Jihoon remembers that you are technically doing him a favor today (if saving his life counts as a favor), so he says, “Well, there’s no way you could know I was in my pajamas watching anime all day, so, it wasn’t fair. Sorry.” Maybe around you he’ll get used to apologizing. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. 
Luckily, you accept his peace offering, flashing a smile that is quickly becoming familiar. Your face twists into that strange frown again, and Jihoon determines Fact #9: you are unwaveringly stubborn. 
“Oh!” You gasp. “Are you secretly rich?” 
Jihoon snorts. “What makes you think that?” 
“Well, you picked me up in a limo wearing a tux, after telling me to dress in fancy, expensive clothes,” you say. “Plus you are super secretive about your personal life, and, I don’t know, you give off rich guy vibes. Unless I’m totally wrong?” 
“I’m not rich,” Jihoon says. “I mean, I guess I have a decent amount of money saved since I mostly just work and go to the gym and the only thing I really buy is groceries.” Jihoon realizes just how boring he sounds. “I mean, I do go out. Just not often, and I buy… things, anyways, I’m not rich.” 
“Sure,” you say. You turn to look out the window, but Jihoon doesn’t miss the laugh poorly disguised as a cough. 
Luckily (because Jihoon is absolutely positive you would have continued interrogating him), the limo stops and you don’t have to guess anymore. 
“You’re joking,” you say, whipping around in your seat to stare at him. 
Jihoon can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy seeing you speechless. You look back and forth between him and the chaos on the street. 
“You said you weren’t secretly rich!” You say. “How did you get tickets for a literal red carpet event?” Your face is centimeters away from pressing against the glass, breath quickly making it too foggy to see. “This is the Eternals sequel!” 
“You like Marvel?” 
“No, actually I think the franchise has a lot of issues.” 
Jihoon gasps, but you’re already climbing out of the limo, turning back to face him with a smile. It’s so bright Jihoon forgets why he was mad. 
“Come on,” you say. You hold out your hand, and after a moment, Jihoon takes it. He doesn’t let go when he gets out of the car, tightening his fingers around yours, anchoring you to his side. 
It’s chaotic, but not nearly as chaotic as he knows it will be soon. Half the press haven’t even arrived yet, and the theater is mostly surrounded by the scatter of crew members and invited guests that aren’t celebrities. Jihoon spots Mingyu first, his tall head standing out in the crowd. 
“You ready?” Jihoon asks, turning to look at you. You’re still staring at everything, unable to hide your grin. Maybe he should have warned you, but it’s kind of fun to see you like this. Bright. 
Mingyu literally shouts when he sees Jihoon. He watches as Mingyu’s eyes practically lock on to you, and he starts pushing his way towards you, Wonwoo and Seungcheol in tow. 
“The tall, overly excited one is Mingyu,” Jihoon whispers. “You know Wonwoo, and—” 
“Seungcheol, right?” You glance at Jihoon. 
He frowns. “How did you know that?” 
“We did go to the same college, you know.” Right. Because this wasn’t complicated enough. Jihoon starts to think that all of this is a mistake, but it’s hardly the first time today, and as Mingyu approaches, all he can do is tighten his hand around yours and commit. 
“Jihoon!” Mingyu says as soon as he’s close. His voice carries, more than a few people casting a glance at him. He takes another step, but his foot gets caught on something (knowing Mingyu, it’s nothing), and he’s sent tumbling to the ground. Neither Seungcheol nor Wonwoo attempt to catch him, letting the tall man collapse on the ground. 
“Oh my god, are you okay?” You ask over Seungcheol’s giggling. Wonwoo helps Mingyu up, but he’s laughing as well, and even Jihoon’s nerves aren’t enough to stop him from breaking a smile. 
“I’m used to it,” Mingyu says, walking much slower. His hair took the worst of the fall, now a disheveled mess. Jihoon wonders how long it’ll take for him to notice. 
“Mingyu, Seungcheol, this is yn,” Jihoon says. “My real, living, breathing, human date.” 
“Nice to finally meet you,” Mingyu says, shaking your free hand. “We’ve heard so much about you.” 
“Really?” 
“No, this is Jihoon we're talking about, we were lucky to get your name.” 
“That sounds more like the man I know,” you say, turning to flash a smile at him before facing Mingyu again. Mingyu glances at your other hand, fingers still intertwined with his, and Jihoon thinks he might actually believe it. 
“We’ve met before,” Seungcheol says. “Though there was a lot of alcohol, and I don’t really remember it all that well.” 
“Georgia’s Bar, right?” You say. It takes all of Jihoon’s self control not to react. Surely he would have remembered seeing you at the only bar his friends could drag him to during college? 
“Probably,” Seungcheol says. “I was getting my MBA, and there were a lot of bars. Very few that we could get Jihoon to go to, though.” He raises his eyebrow. “That’s why we're all a little surprised that someone actually managed to get him out of his apartment and away from his work.” 
Jihoon glances between you and Seungcheol as you think about the answer to what is obviously a test. “I don’t think I really got him away from his work.” You turn to Jihoon with what can only be described as a warm, loving smile. You’re really good at this. “But I’m pretty much married to my job too, so it works.” 
Seungcheol nods but Jihoon can tell he doesn’t believe fully, at least not yet. “We should go inside before everyone else gets here and this turns into a mess.” He turns to head into the cinema, leaving everyone else to follow. Mingyu and Wonwoo start chatting about Mingyu’s (alleged) drama at work that has something to do with a secretary, the CEO of the company, and his famous but estranged brother. Jihoon doesn’t bother to listen, turning to look at you. 
Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “He doesn’t believe us.” 
“Not yet,” Jihoon whispers. “Give him time, he’s just particular.” He pauses, then says, “The detail about Georgia’s was good.” 
You nod. “It was true.” 
“How many times have you met him?” 
“Just once,” you say. “You were there too.” 
Before Jihoon can ask anything else, Wonwoo calls, “Hey, lovers, are you coming or what?” They’re already inside the cinema, waving for you to catch up or get left behind. You flash Jihoon a determined smile and squeeze his hand, jogging to catch up to the rest of the guys. 
Jihoon can’t help but wonder how long your lives have been like this, the roots of two trees that brush against each other but never tangle. Until now. 
“Do we have an ETA on the kid?” Wonwoo asks as you settle into the theater seats. You’re doing a good job of acting natural, or at the very least, not gawking at every other detail of the (admittedly stunning) theater. 
“You’re not calling him that now, too,” Jihoon says. “He’s a grown adult. Also, he should be here soon.”
“How’s the kid?” Seungcheol asks, folding his arms. Jihoon rolls his eyes with the emphasis on kid. “No nervous breakdowns?” 
“He was fine when I called him earlier,” Mingyu says. “As soon as the cameras are on him, he’ll put a smile on.” 
Seungcheol grunts but still looks worried. Jihoon would tell him that he cares too much, but he knows Seungcheol will just say that it’s to make up for Jihoon not caring at all, so he doesn’t quite see the point. Besides, it’s Seungkwan; Jihoon is pretty sure all his friends have a soft spot for the younger man, Seungcheol especially. 
“He must be here,” Mingyu says when screams erupt from outside. He checks his watch. “A little early, isn’t he? Doesn’t he normally make a grand entrance?” 
Jihoon doesn’t miss the way you frown at him, clearly aware that you’re missing something very important. He studies the lights and pretends not to notice your glare. 
Most of the commotion is at the entrance, though the bulk of the press aren’t allowed into the theater. Jihoon hears more than he can see, but he knows it’s Seungkwan and the rest of the star-studded cast that are used to being the center of attention. He doesn’t miss you craning your neck to catch a glimpse of why everyone is staring. 
Seungkwan’s blonde head appears from the crowd, but he makes the rounds first, checking in with every staff member, shaking hands and taking pictures. Ever the perfect celebrity. 
Still, he doesn’t miss how Seungkwan locks in on you, grabbing a tall skinny man and whispering a few words before striding across the theater to where the entire group sat. 
“That’s Boo Seungkwan,” you whisper. “And he’s walking over here.” 
“I didn’t tell you we’re friends?” Jihoon says. 
If looks could kill, Jihoon would be dead, but it’s worth it because even with murder on your mind you (objectively) look good. Maybe it comes from being a divorce lawyer—Jihoon wonders if this is the glare you use when the to-be-divorced couples bicker, then wonders if he’s thinking a little too much about your glare. 
The rest of his friends greet Seungkwan as if this is normal, which, technically, it is. Except this is a blockbuster movie premiere and Jihoon is using it to soft launch his (fake) relationship to his world famous best friend. To your credit, you manage to shake his hand and greet him normally. 
If Jihoon is being honest with himself, Seungkwan is the only one he really feels guilty lying to. It doesn’t sit right, even though Seungkwan is partially to blame for thinking Jihoon’s happiness is reflected directly onto his love life. It doesn’t help that Seungkwan knows exactly how to guilt him, smiling and greeting you as if this is normal. Jihoon knows him too well, seeing the suspicion behind his friend’s eyes. As if convincing Seungcheol isn’t hard enough. 
“So are all of Jihoon’s rich and famous?” You ask after he introduces himself. 
“Hey! We have the same student loans,” Wonwoo says. 
“I’m not rich,” Seungcheol says. 
“Yeah, but your family is, so basically the same thing,” Mingyu says. 
“Not the same thing,” Seungcheol says, glaring at Mingyu, who, honestly, should have known better than to bring that up. But because it’s Mingyu, he laughs it off, and soon enough Seungcheol is smiling too. 
“Joshua’s pretty broke too,” Minghao says. “He doesn’t make a million dollars for crying in front of a green screen.” 
“I told you, my character has grown since then,” Seungkwan says. 
“You cry on an actual different planet?” Seungcheol asks. 
“I’m convinced none of you actually pay attention to the movies,” Seungkwan says with an overdramatic sigh. “We were on Earth for the entire movie.” 
“Wasn’t there a bit where Gemma Chan yelled at someone in space?” Jihoon asks. 
“Nerd,” he’s pretty sure he heard you whisper through a fake cough. 
“I don’t know if that counts, she wasn’t actually there.” Seungkwan rounds on you. “I don’t suppose you remember?” 
“Weren’t you technically in space right at the start?” 
Seungkwan cocks his head, thinking back. “Huh, oh yeah. I forgot that.” 
Jihoon has about a million questions that he wants to ask you, mostly related to Marvel movies and the fact that you’ve seen them all, even though you clearly don’t like the franchise. He curbs them because he knows you’ll call him a nerd, plus Seungkwan almost looks like he approves. 
“Do I have a lot to look forward to today?” You ask. “Someone didn’t tell me where we're going, so I couldn’t look up any critic reviews.” 
Seungkwan winces. “I don’t like looking at those.” 
Jihoon rolls his eyes. “I saw at least three headlines talking about the prodigy dropping another masterful work of acting, or whatever they say about people like you.” 
“Not a prodigy,” Seungkwan mutters. 
“Either way, whatever Seungkwan is in, it’s good,” Seungcheol says, patting Seungkwan on the back. “And he gets paid.” 
“That’s the most important part,” Wonwoo says. 
Seungkwan looks like he wants to say more, but the director of the film waves him down and he’s forced to say a hasty goodbye, promising to meet with them later. 
Jihoon feels your hand squeeze his tight enough to cut off his circulation. He turns to face you in the dim lighting, finding you with a disarmingly sweet smile. 
“When were you going to tell me?” You ask, voice so sweet he almost believes you aren’t upset. 
“I thought it would be fun if it was a surprise?” Jihoon says. 
You lean in close to him, your breath mixing with his, smelling faintly like clementines and something else citrusy. For some godforsaken reason, Jihoon thinks you are about to kiss him. “You’re going to regret this.” 
He opens his eyes and you are gone, laughing at some joke Mingyu made about PDA. Jihoon is vaguely aware it’s at his expense, something to do with how red his ears are, but he’s too busy trying to get his heart to at least pretend like it isn’t about to explode out of his chest. Why the hell did he think you were going to kiss him? Why is he disappointed that you didn’t? Jihoon wonders for the thousandth time if it’s not too late to call the whole thing off, but the lights in the theater are dimming and a spotlight is put on the director, who gives an unnecessarily long speech about what a labor of love this movie was to make, and then the movie is starting, and it’s too late to run away.
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attorney-anon · 5 months ago
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The last four weeks have been hell on earth at my firm. In the past month, the following things have happened (in order):
An associate got fired for threatening to file a grievance against the firm owner.
Said associate proceeded to publicly melt down and reach out to SEVERAL other firms to complain against the partner.
One of our cases exploded. Several times. I have written, on basically no notice, several emergency appeals and emergency motions in the hopes of putting out fires. The case is actually STILL exploding. Police are involved, several state and federal agencies are involved. The UN was involved at one point (and may still be involved?). A local news network ran a story about it.
The other associate at the firm got COVID.
I also got COVID, and in fact I got the worst case of COVID of my life. Seriously, it hit me worse than literally any of the five times in my life that I have had pneumonia.
The paralegal got COVID.
I have three other appeals with briefs due in the next month.
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envy-of-the-apple · 1 year ago
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Hello! I just reread “sun eats the moon” for the 12th time now and I cannot get enough of it. The way you write is just incredible. The way you wrote Gojo and his obsession with the reader was just so horrifyingly fascinating to read. Every time I go back to read their interacts I keep noticing different layers between them and it’s just amazing!!
Though, I think my favourite parts was the scenes between hiromi and the reader. It’s clear that he could tell something was going on, but he didn’t exactly know what (And the foreshadowing of him urging the reader to leave before it’s too late amazing amazing amazing).
And I loved your “lame solar system analogy” (your words not mine 😝). Maybe I’m overthinking it but there’s this one part in the last scene where the reader describes Gojos smile as bloody, and then when she looks up at the moon, she realises that it’s a blood moon. Just the foreshadowing of that??? Amazing, I love love love rereading your work and just finding little things like that!!!!!
I’m so sorry for the long message, but one last thing I promise. I just love how much of a mystery Geto is. Till the end of the fic, I could not understand whether he supported his best friend or the readers (maybe a bit of both?). Did he care about the reader, or was he more concerned about gojo? He did stop Gojo’s plan to baby trap her but now that I’m reread their interactions I’m wondering if it was more for Gojos sake than hers….
Again so so sorry for the long message. I hope you have a great rest of your day!!! Can’t wait to see what you come up with next!!!!!
omg omg omg omg the smile on my face as I read this??? and on my BIRTHDAY as well???? ty ty ty ty best birthday present ever!!!!!!!!!
I've never written Higuruma before, but Im so glad I added him in that fic because clearly so many people enjoyed his parts. I'd actually written a scene where Higuruma is finally breaking away from the private sector and asks if the mc wants to be his paralegal even though he won't be working at the firm anymore. The reader would agree but then right after that gojo would come in and ruin EVERYTHING (because he is Gojo Satoru). But I didn't know how to fit that in, so I had to leave it out. But I did enjoy writing their camaraderie with each other. You can interpret what he knows as whatever you want, but I tried to imply that Higuruma thinks there is something weird going on between the reader and gojo but he can't put his finger on it. At first, he assumes you're uncomfortable with him solely because of how much Gojo flaunts his wealth, but the more he observes you, the more he realizes you're....afraid of Gojo, you barely want to be in the same room as him. I think he'd try to put some distance between you and him, but obviously, in the end, it didn't work out.
I just love repetition and symbolism so so much so im so sorry in advance if I annoyed yall with the 'sun' and the 'moon'. And yes!!! ahhh!!! im so happy you caught that foreshadowing with the blood moon cuz that's exactly what i was going for!!!!!
Honestly, the moon itself is such a great metaphor for womanhood but im gonna get off my soapbox before people start throwing things at me. I am definitely not allowed to speak about feminism considering what I write is like 96% pure misogyny.
Oh, Geto Suguru. Hes not on the reader's side, nor is he on Gojo's side. He's on Geto Suguru's side;)
one thing i will note tho....he noticed the reader before gojo satoru did. that's all i can say tee hee.
AHHHHHHH BUT THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THIS SWEET MESSAGE AND thank you for giving me an excuse to ramble for 15 minutes.
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kjs-s · 2 years ago
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Put on an act
Pairing: Foggy Nelson x reader
Summary Foggy panickly introduced you as his partner to his ex.
Prompts :“Can’t believe I let you drag me into this” and “Act like we’re dating, I see my ex”
Word Count: 1300
Warnings:  none I can think of
A/N: This is my entry for @locke-writes 2k celebration. Congats again Noah and I hope you will like this
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''We need to pick something meaningful. Which ones do you think will say 'thanks for sticking around' and ' we appreciate you'?'' Foggy asked you looking around the flower shop a little lost. Karen's ten-year anniversary working for Matt and Foggy was coming up.  The little celebration was your idea after Karen narrated how she came to work with them when you were first hired as a paralegal. You couldn't believe how fortunate you were to be employed by such terrific people.
''I know that, pick pansies, sunflowers, and yellow roses. We actually had a botany and flower meaning class in my university.'' Your tone was so sincere that you could fool anyone that didn't know how fond of sarcasm you were.
''Really?'' Foggy sounded enthusiastic hoping he wouldn't have to stay any longer in the shop and he could just return to the office and the case he was working on.
''Of course not. I have no clue, my botanic skills and non-existent. Let me look it up.'' You searched for the right choices while Foggy was trying hopelessly to locate someone to help you.
After about ten minutes you looked up from your phone.
''Ok, I think I have a decent bouquet picked out. We just need to find those four flowers and ask one of the florists if they go well together.'' You tried to show Foggy your phone but he panicky turned toward you and asked you to follow him out of the way.
''I'm sure those are great but right now I need a favor. Please act like we’re dating, I see my ex over there.'' He nodded towards the entrance where a couple was browsing the potted plants.
''The blonde one, with the cute red coat? She looks like a nice girl.''
''She is but we broke up because she was offered a job in Chicago and I wanted to stay here. And you know me, I couldn't deal with having a long distant relationship. So, please pretend to be my partner if she notices us.''
You didn't get the chance to respond before Marci was right behind you without her company excited to see Foggy again.
''Hi, I almost didn't see you there. How have you been?'' Marci greeted her ex and you couldn't help but admire her confidence. She had a way of talking and could make everyone around her stop to listen to her.
''I'm great. Still working with Matt and the business is doing fantastic. Oh, and that's my partner (Y/N) who also works with us.'' You shook her hand.
''So you are Marci. I knew Foggy's ex was a brilliant lawyer that helped him on cases and I am glad to finally meet you.''
''It's great to meet you too. I am happy that he found such a sweet person as you.'' Then the man who was with her earlier approached you.
''That's my husband Trevor. We got married five months ago and we just moved back to New York. Honey, these are Foggy and (Y/N).'' Trevor knew who Foggy was surprising you about how civil this random meeting was being. You could never imagine being that cordial with any of your exes due to the fact that you broke up because they were either immature or totally arrogant.
Marcia and Trevor had already placed their order and began to leave but not before they invited the two of you to dinner at their new house the next day. An invitation that Foggy accepted without a second thought.
''Are you out of your mind? Couldn't you lie and say we are busy or that Matt needs you for a case?'' You tried so hard to not raise your voice at him.
''I'm sorry, I didn't think this through. I can make something up to try to avoid this. Sorry, I honestly didn’t think it would bother you that much.''
''It's not bothering me. I just believe I would feel bad lying to them during the entire evening. They both seem so friendly. But it will be fine. I don't mind pretending to be your date or your partner. Now let us go see about those flowers. I picked daises that symbolize loyal love, arborvitae for unchanging friendship, and lastly for affection zinnia, and morning glory. I believe Karen deserves the best bouquet for her party.'' Foggy agreed with you and ordered the bouquet to be made and delivered to the office in the afternoon.
Later that day during your little celebration you informed Matt and Karen about your encounter earlier. They found it hilarious that you pretended to date and hoped you at least have a good time during dinner the next day.
You decided to get together before dinner to come up with a story about your relationship just in case they ask.
''We don't have to come up with a complicated story. I have been working for you for a while now and I liked you from the moment I met you. We will just say that after a while we decided to act on those feelings and hopefully, we will be together for a long time since we already see each other all the time. Simple enough?''
''Yes, I like it. I will say that I asked you out before the holidays so if you rejected me at least the office would be closed and I would only be humiliated and heartbroken at home.''
''I would never humiliate you. But, sure let's say that. I just can’t believe I let you drag me into this'' You playfully complained to him before making your way to Marci's home.
She and her husband were delighted to see the two of you, especially Foggy since he hadn't met any of Marci's other friends from when she used to live in New York.
As you predicted, you were asked about how long you are together and how your relationship started.
''I liked (Υ/Ν) since the first day we met. Matt was the one who decided on adding a new employee to our team and we were blessed with this angel. The first thing I noticed from our interview together was the approach to Matt's crazy questions. I hadn't seen anyone else answer him with such intelligence and creativity. And on top of that, we got lucky to find someone with a charming personality. I found the courage to ask (Y/N) out after working together on an extremely tough case. I can't hide that I was a little surprised that such a wonderful person agreed to date me.'' You mentioned that you were the lucky one. And indeed you always felt delighted to have met him. In addition, you hoped there was some truth to his words.
After dinner, he drove you home thanking you for everything and making small talk about work. However, you couldn't get his words out of your mind.
''Did you rehearse your little speech about how we started dating beforehand? Because it was really sweet.'' You asked him while still in his car.
''I didn't, I just honestly find you amazing.'' He couldn't bring himself to look at you right this moment.
''I find you amazing too. And I hope I could do this in a more romantic way but would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? Just the two of us this time.''
''You mean it? Because I would love to.''
''Of course, I mean it. I will text you the details tomorrow morning after I make a reservation.'' You smiled at him and after giving him a peck on the cheek you left the car. The moment you entered your home you took notes of all the things you had to do the next day in preparation for your first real date.
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americanrecord · 1 year ago
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Hi Kelsey!! How was your weekend? I hope today has been lovely!!
good morning, ashley!! happy tuesday!!
lol, i quit my job 🤭 which you already knew, but i have an interview today that i’m tentatively excited for!! i did end up sending a text (he never reads his email and i wanted to make sure he got it) & he was unexpectedly so gracious about it, but i felt SO terrible to the point where i had to send a much longer email explaining myself, but…idk, it wasn’t a fit. i was just thrown into the deep end, which i don’t mind, but i was asked to keep track of all of his stuff — stuff i don’t even know how to do for myself yet — and…yeah, idk. it was only gonna get worse. i normally wouldn’t quit a job on such short notice or without another job lined up, but i (knock on wood) have gotten every job i’ve interviewed for—so i hope that carries over!! the lesson here is that i cant be a personal assistant (esp when that wasn’t the job description—i was a paralegal, which is…not that.) anyway! so today’s interview is with a really big firm, like 10+ attorneys, so i’ll probably just be another cog in the machine, which is honestly fine until i figure out how to do everything.
my weekend was nice! i just tried to decompress and get some writing done, which i did. i also watched the first three twilight movies because…yes <3
how are you? how have you been? i hope today is great!!
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aurorabayrpg · 3 months ago
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Welcome to Aurora Bay [VEX]! We hope you enjoy your stay! Please send in your account within 24 hours to secure [ELLIE BAMBER AND JORDAN GONZALEZ] as your faceclaim, and please be sure to review our checklist and make sure you read our guidelines! **Castillo Aaragon's son wc is now taken
[cis woman and she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [HOLLAND BRIGHT]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [ELLIE BAMBER]. You must be the [TWENTY-SIX] year old [ATTENDANT AT HIDDEN GEMS THRIFT SHOP]. Word is you’re [HONEST] but can also be a bit [GUARDED] and your favorite song is [PAIN IS COLD WATER BY NOAH KAHAN]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS]. I’m sure you’ll love it! 
 [trans man and he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [BASILIO AARAGON]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [JORDAN GONZALEZ]. You must be the [TWENTY-THREE] year old [LAW STUDENT/PARALEGAL]. Word is you’re [CALM] but can also be a bit [BLUNT] and your favorite song is [DISASTER BY CONAN GRAY]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [AURORA BAY TOWERS]. I’m sure you’ll love it! 
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Hi!! I would like a match up if there still open. Take your time with this and all the other rq those :33
I have like chest length blonde hair, green eyes, and extremely pale skin. Also I stand around 5'4. Clothing wiseI don't really have a style I just wear alot of flannels, ty die, and band t shirt with jeans and cargo pants. I also tend to wear alot of jewelry, usually rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces.
My personality type is INFJ, and I'm a ambivert. My friends / family often describe me as quiet before you get to know me where I'm more loud, funny, and overall act more like myself, (I mask my true personality around new people so they won't judge me .. social anxiety lol). I do have a habit of spending alot of time alone though and I usally spend my weekends writing, reading, drawing, or playing video games. When I'm not alone though I'm always spending my time with family and friends. School wise I have good grades and quite enjoy studying. I'm not very popular but I have alot of friends and nobody really bothers me lol.
My hobies include writing, music (I can play the ukulele and piano), sculpture, drawing, painting, and playing video games. In the summer I often participate in more physical hobies as I go hiking every week and do fencing over the summer.
More about me is that I collect vinyl records and have around 60 or 70 of them. I listen to music ever day since I stand being everything being quiet. My biggest fear is being alone. And when I grow up I want to be a either a lawyer or a paralegal. And I really like comedy, coming of age, and horror movies / TV shows.
I hope that's enjoy :) take your time and thank you
Thanks for saying to take my time because I had a really rough day today and I really appreciate you making me not feel guilty for not being able to complete it right away seriously means a lot.. you didn’t say which found him he wanted so I’m just assuming that you want me to pick fandoms for you, never mind I looked at your profile and saw that you were with the outsiders. But next time just let me know whenever you want and outsiders request specifically because otherwise I would’ve just paired you with a random fandom unless that’s what you want in the first place and I misread you.
Your Fandom Ship: Darry Curtis
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Explanation: starting officer appearance I think that he would be very attracted to you from your height which he loves. He can just easily spin you around or pick you up to your pale skin and green eyes that he thinks are beautiful in contrast so well with your light complexion. You guys dress pretty similarly and I think you guys both have the ideology of throwing on whatever is clean and a somewhat professional/cute format. as soon as he notices that you wear a lot of jewelry and how much you love wearing it I think he would save up and work a lot of shifts so that he could get you some really nice or really pretty jewelry and I think it would just light up his entire world if you smiled and we’re very thankful for the gift and because of how much money he makes he can’t often get you what he wants to get you or as much as he wants to get you, but I think that he does really well with his limited resources. As for your personality, I think that you starting off as quiet would be perfect for him as he is pretty serious and then once you get to know him more, he becomes less serious and a little more funny, which I think you guys would go perfect for each other because you’re more shy and he’s more serious the beginning and I think by the time you guys get past that awkward phase you would be in love with each other’s personalities. I think he would respect your time alone and understand your social anxiety. I think that he has social anxiety too. It’s just less obvious. You remind him a lot of pony boy with your creative activities, and I think even though he’s not that much of an artist himself, and would prefer to go outside and play sports he would support you in whatever you would do and definitely always make sure to give you a compliment on your art. He would love listening to music and studying with you and having chill dates like that or I think he would love going on hikes. I see him as a pretty outdoorsy person who would just love to go camping go on hikes, go mountain, biking, anything like that I think Darry would be into it. I think he would also buy you vinyl records if he saved up enough money and I think that he would totally love a movie night date with you. I think you guys would be a pretty good healthy and uplifting couple for each other and you both love doing outdoorsy things together and I think that his music taste is pretty bland and you could definitely widen his variety quite a bit because I feel like he’s the type of guy the only really like you know what kind of popular, and not really pay that much attention to music in general but I feel like it would make it a bigger part of his life, and he would be forever grateful for that. 💚💚💚
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