#and how it is objectively better than coffee

[thearomancer]

tea or coffee?

Tea, definitely tea, 100% tea.

[lipstickontheglass1985]

their barbaric overpriced coffee vs our glorious overpriced coffee

[teleomancer]

.

[novemberheart]

{overview} Another milestone in your relationship with the pack begins, but some members want it to move faster….

{warnings} cursing, mentions of needles and incisions, mentions of sex (nothing really graphic), fem reader, sappy scene, reader being *slightly* objectified, poly141 some smexual smention 😉

Chapter 9 <- Chapter 10 -> Chapter 11

“You're still here.” you smiled, rubbing at your eyes. John smiled at you. He was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.

“Don't mind me.” Simon yawned from the couch. “Wouldn't want to interrupt anything.” you rolled your eyes at him.

“Don't worry. I'll let you know if you're interrupting.” you teased, walking past him to go to the bathroom.

“Her bedhead is rather endearing,” John commented after you left.

“Don't get too excited. Not sure Kyle’s ass can take anymore.” Simon grunted. John just chuckled.

“Or Johnny’s,” John added, causing Simon’s head to snap back at him.

“You bastards said no group shite until I got better.” Simon reminded.

“Think Kyle filmed some of it. I'll have him send it to you.” John smirked.

“Thank you,” Simon growled, turning back around. You luckily missed that conversation, popping back out after you had brushed your teeth.

“Go pick out an outfit, pretty girl. We have some things to do today.” John spoke, causing you to flush.

“Fun things?” you hinted.

“A mix.” He replied not giving too much away. You huffed heading back towards your bedroom.

You decided to finally wear something one of the boys had gotten for you during your shopping spree. It was a flowy knee-length dress with spaghetti straps. They certainly had taste- you'd give them that. You fixed your hair and made some minor adjustments to your face. It was also still a bit chilly outside so you paired it with a cardigan.

A rumble of approval vibrated in John’s chest as you stepped out. He was pleased with how nice you always looked (even when you just woke up) and he couldn't help but stand a bit taller when people did a double take as you walked by. He would blame it on alpha pride, but he knows Johnny and Kyle enjoy parading you around just as much.

Simon stayed quiet on the couch, eyeing you up and down.

“Ready?” John asked. You nodded your head following him out the door. You stopped, prancing back to the couch where Simon was. He stayed still, but you knew you weren't being sneaky. You leaned over the back of the couch pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he could swat you away. You were surprised when he made no move to.

“I miss you already.” you sighed playfully, skipping back over to John, who was thoroughly enjoying himself at the sight before him.

“I do that to people.” Simon gruffed, making you chuckle.

“Got a daredevil streak in ya, hmm?” John smiled down at you as you walked.

“Just a bit,” you whispered, with a smirk.

“Good girl. He could use some roughing up.”

You immediately understood why he didn't share with you where you were going. You frowned heavily as you approached the medical center.

“‘Nough with the face, sweetheart.” John soothed. He ran the back of his pointer finger against your cheek, causing them to raise in a tiny smile. “We’ll get you chipped then I’ll take you out on a date. How's that sound?” he hummed, watching you as you began to soften to the idea.

“Alright.” you drew out, entering the building as he held the door open for you.

The nurse who ended up coming to chip you was the same one you saw in Simon's hospital room.

“Look at you!” She smiled, running her hands up and down your arms. “You look good, hun. How's the big one?” she questions, getting the supplies set up.

“He's good.” You smiled, trying not to look at the sharp objects.

“Glad to hear. Have you ever been chipped before?”

You shook your head.

“Well this is what it looks like.” she shared, showing you a small disk. It was a bit smaller than a dime.

“That doesn't look too scary.” you swallowed.

“Right? And Dr. Hathaway will give you a shot so you won't feel anything.” she soothed. Just then the door opened and a bubbly woman in a doctor's coat entered.

“Alrighty, now I know how nervous you must be so let's get this done.” she sang. Despite her chipper attitude, her accent was very posh. John moved away from the wall and turned your head to face him, using his other hand to hold your hair out of the way. His thumb rubbed against your cheek and you allowed yourself to relax into him.

“Thanks, Alpha.” the doctor praised his actions, giving her the perfect view of behind your ear. The title made your eyes widen. What business did she have calling him that? Maybe it was a cultural thing. Where you were from the only people who called an alpha ‘alpha’ were pack members. You didn't have to dwell on it long.

“John is fine.” he politely corrected. Your eyes peered up at him and the corner of his lips lifted. Your hands reached up grabbing a hold of his wrist and hand, wanting to keep him as close as possible.

“Alright, love. You are going to feel a small pinch.” Dr. Hathaway warned. You weren't too worried about the needle, just about the incision. John continued to rub soft circles against your cheek and you stared ahead at the picture of sailboats on the wall. “Alright, love. You are all done. Great job.” Dr. Hathaway cheered, giving your arm a gentle squeeze.

“I didn't even feel anything,” you said. “Thank you,” you said to both the nurse (whose name you should really learn) and Dr. Hathaway.

“Thank you,” John repeated after you. “Good girl.” John praised, pressing a quick kiss against the top of your head. He let go of you, all the warmth leaving your body.

“Thank you,” you said suddenly. He looked at you with a quirked brow. “For being gentle with me. I really appreciate it.” you cleared your throat beginning to feel tears well up in your eyes. You quickly blinked them back.

“It's my job as your Alpha and it's something I’ll always be happy to do.” He said softly. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment. An understanding beginning to grow between the two of you. In the back of both of your minds, this situation was admittedly a bit temporary. John had you on a short leash, wanting Simon to get better more than worrying about your feelings. If you didn't fit he wouldn't think twice about sending you back. But you did fit. Perfectly. You got Simon out of his shell. Johnny’s smile hasn't left in a week. Kyle had a new air about him, more confident and excited. Hell, the two muppets raced each other home every day so they can be the first one to kiss you on the cheek.

He didn't even want to admit the things you did to him.

And then there was you. Kate had been right. You had been looking for an out since you arrived. You might have had one on the first day, but that felt so far away now. None of them had done anything to prove to you that they were an incapable, unworthy pack.

It seemed both of you were staring the rest of your lives in the face.

John had ended up taking you to the movies. It was a silly lighthearted comedy. About halfway through he worked up the courage to let his hand wander over to your side of the seat. His fingers skimmed against your knee, watching you out of the corners of his eye for any signs of discomfort. Your hands reached down and grabbed his, resting his hand on your lap. You tangled your fingers together, melting a bit when you realized two of your hands could fit in one of his.

You rested your cheek against his arm, trying your hardest to hold onto your purr. He was happy, you could tell by the sudden warmth entering your nose. You breathed in quickly, trying to absorb as much of the smell as you could. He must not have worn scent blockers today. How did you not smell him before? They must've just worn off. You wondered if he did that on purpose.

Fog and campfire, with a slight hint of tobacco. The fog was fresh and light, but then you got the warmth of a campfire. Smoking can change anyone's scent- not by a lot, but there will always be an edge of it. It must be different from what Simon smokes. Johns complements the warm, firey scent whereas Simons sticks out a bit more.

He leaned down and you wondered if you overstepped. “Gonna have a headache if you keep breathin’ me in like that,” he murmured. You looked up at him- a bit hazy from the scent. He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, adjusting in his seat. “Pretty thing,” he grumbled, trying to focus his attention back on the movie.

“How’d you do?” Kyle questioned as soon as you bounded back in. You were excited to see him. You hadn't seen much of him the past two days because he was busy training some ‘FNGs’ as Johnny had called them.

“You were right it didn't hurt,” you affirmed. He was in the kitchen working on his second bowl of cereal. You hesitantly moved a bit closer to him, and he quickly pulled you closer, tucking you into his side. His fingers brushed against your hip

“Can I interest you in some cereal?” he questioned. “It's gourmet, straight from the finest factory in Albuquerque, New Mexico,” he said in a French accent causing you to giggle.

“Yes, please.” He quickly got a bowl, filling it for you before you could even think about doing it yourself. “My legs are cold. I’m going to change quickly.” you excused yourself, darting to your bedroom.

“You smell good on her,” Kyle spoke up, eyeing his alpha.

“Drivin’ me bloody crazy in the theater. If she smells like that normally can you imagine how she smells in her heat? We’re gonna have to get a cabin in the middle of nowhere.” John groaned, leaning his elbows against the counter. Kyle chuckled.

“That might not be too bad of an idea actually. I was looking in the handbook and we are allowed ten days off a year to deal with heats.” Kyle explained. John sighed. He really needs to look over the omega section of the handbook. He wouldn't want you to miss out on something just because he wasn't diligent.

“Something to think about.” John agreed.

“Is it okay if I sleep with my door open?” you questioned.

“Course,” John answered instantly. “You been havin’ trouble?”

You scrunched your face a bit and nodded.

“I've never been a good sleeper,” you explained. John nodded his head in understanding.

“You can always sleep with me, Bonnie!” Johnny called from the couch. You snickered at the enthusiasm in his voice. “Wasn't kidding.” he pressed with a smirk on his face.

“Tell you what, I’ll try with my door open tonight, and if that doesn't work I’ll come hunt you down,” you promised.

“I'll take that.” he compromised. You got your things ready to go take a shower.

“What are you doing?” Simon questioned, leaning over to peer at Johnny’s phone.

“Trying to find spooky sounds off of YouTube,” Johnny replied. “Haunted house, maybe?”

“You are not scaring her into sleeping with you, fucking nutter.” Simon scolded, ripping his phone out of his hands.

“You're right L.T. I've turned into a desperate man.” he sighed.

Helloooooo! Hope everyone liked this choppy chapter! Chapter 11 will be posted in three days! It's a bit of a rough one 😬 Friendly reminder: reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated, and don't be afraid to pop by my inbox and say hi (and tell me your deepest darkest secrets)

[reiding-writing]

hello!!!! could i get a continuation fic for "breaking the ice"? this time it could be like after a hard case and reader actively seeks out spencer for comfort (CONGRATS ON 1K FOLLOWERS!!! <33)

BREAKING DOWN [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˈbreɪ.kɪŋ daʊn/

spencer just wants to be there for you when you need him, but you get overwhelmed by his constant worrying and push him away, only to crawl right back into his embrace when you really need it.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, reader is mean to spencer in the beginning but apologises later, child death, guilt, reader having an emotional breakdown, angst to hurt/comfort

spencer x cold!reader | hurt/comfort | 2.4k | climacteric event

a/n: hit two birds with one stone for this one, god sometimes i forget how much i like writing characters suffering man-

this fic is a continuation of ‘breaking the ice’, but can be read as a stand alone!

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!!

climacteric event masterlist!!

You felt like an idiot the first time Spencer caught you crying, failing to compose yourself in the office bathroom for no good reason and looking like an absolute wreck because your brain had just decided it wanted to ruin your day.

There’d been a few times since then when he’d caught you on the brink of a breakdown, but you’d masked them better the more he tried to look into your psyche.

“It’s okay not to be okay sometimes,” He said those few months ago. “I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

That was all said and good but it didn’t mean that you wanted him to be there whenever you were overwhelmed or emotional. Sometimes you needed the space to work through your emotions on your own.

“Reid. Leave me alone.” You turn to him sharply, impatience written all over your features.

He’d been asking you about your emotions for the past fifteen minutes after noticing you turn down one of the sugary treats Garcia had brought into the office and using the small amount of favouritism you had towards him as leeway in terms of you not getting angry.

But you had your breaking point even with him.

The harshness spilling from your lips wasn’t something that was ever directed at him, so much so that it actually took him a second to register that it was him you were snapping at and not some invisible person standing behind him.

He didn’t even have time to respond to you. You were already around the corner by the time he’d come back to his senses.

He didn’t bother you after that.

At all.

There was no small talk at the beginning of the office days, no conversations on the jet between cases. He stopped waiting for you before leaving the office and picking you up coffee on days he knew you’d be late.

It threw you back in time to the first few years of working with him. And it seemed that the rest of the team was feeling the inherent ‘nostalgia’ as well, and not in a good way.

The small lingering glances and silent conversations you’d engage in had completely disappeared, and not having Spencer has the bridge of proper communication between you and the rest of the team made merging your psychological profile with the main behavioural profile for your most recent case three steps longer than it needed to be.

Because he was basically refusing to speak to you. Following your instructions to a T.

It didn’t help that it was a child case either. You always seemed to have issues with those. You worked twice as fast, but also made twice as many mistakes, and without someone like Spencer to filter your thoughts through to make sure that they were all objective it meant that your profile was lagging behind.

The child you were looking for died before you found him.

And by the time you’d reached the jet to fly back to Virginia, you’d already internalised his death as your fault.

You kept yourself together through the airport, through boarding and take-off and until you watched your team members fall into a blanket of uneasy sleep as everyone tried to brush off the emotional wreckage that they’d seen over the last few days and detach themselves from the child they’d failed to save.

You were usually pretty good at that part.

Separating yourself from your work came naturally for you, and it was something you were extremely grateful for when getting rest after a particularly hard case. But children were different.

They always were. Especially when it felt like you had a personal hand in their death.

With an internal sigh you accepted your fate of staring at the beige walls of the jet’s cabin until you inevitably couldn’t take it anymore and barricaded yourself in the bathroom for the remainder of the flight.

Now’s about the time where you’d probably distract yourself by starting Spencer on a tangent. Getting him to talk about something that was completely unrelated to the case you’d just sat through to drown out the voices inside of your head and allow you to rest peacefully despite yourself.

But you couldn’t do that right now.

Half because Spencer was already asleep and half because you’d pushed him away.

And now you had to lie in the hole you’d created for yourself.

You didn’t even end up making it into the bathroom.

You curled your legs up into yourself in the corner chair you’d bagged yourself, rested your elbows on your knees, and covered your face with your palms as the tears started a steady flow down your cheeks.

It was honestly one of the worst feelings in the world. Curled up into yourself with your hands cupped over your mouth to keep your staggered breathing quiet enough to not wake the other agents sleeping around the cabin.

As you sat there, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like a heavy blanket, you couldn't shake the feeling of regret for pushing Spencer away.

His concern was always genuine, his presence a source of comfort even when you didn't realise you needed it. Now, in the silence of the jet cabin, his absence felt like a void.

Each tear that slipped from your eyes felt like another weight added to the burden you were already carrying.

The familiar ache in your chest threatened to consume you as you struggled to contain the flood of emotions threatening to spill over and wake your teammates.

Despite the exhaustion pulling at your bones, sleep remained unobtainable, lost in the emotional maze of regret and self-blame that you’d managed to lose yourself in to the point where you couldn’t even stand up to give yourself some privacy.

You felt utterly alone, isolated by your own actions in every sense of the word. Each passing minute stretched on for what felt like hours, dragging you deeper into the abyss of your thoughts.

You weren’t quiet enough apparently, and you hear a small shift from the long sofa to your right as your emotional breakdown seemingly catches someone’s ears to the point where they’ve woken up.

“…are-” Spencer’s voice is quiet and mildly groggy as he wakes from the sounds of your internal anguish, and he cuts himself off before getting his whole question out.

You wanted him to leave you alone.

“sorry…” He shifts onto his side until his back is facing you, not wanting to pry if you were uncomfortable with it but also not willing to watch you break down if he knew he couldn’t do anything about it.

“I’m not okay Reid…” Your words are caught in between stunted breaths and shaking movements. “I need help-”

Your words sent an ache right through his heart that made him think it was going to split in two. He can hear the tremor in your voice, the shakiness in your tone as you force yourself to be vulnerable with him. And it makes him want to join you in a fit of tears.

If you were actively reaching out like this, it had to be bad.

“I know…” His voice is barely above a whisper as he slowly turns his body, still hesitant to look you in the eyes but wanting to see your expression.

He doesn’t know if you want comfort or advice, but he knows which he’d prefer to give as his eyes land on your face and take in the sight of you, curled up into yourself with tear stains tracking down your cheeks in the cabin’s low lighting.

“But I don’t know how to…” The silence is the worst part of the conversation from his end of things – a silence that was deafeningly loud. His eyes dart between the cabin door and you.

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t get up, or get closer. He just stays put.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“Tell me how to help you…”

“I don’t-” You barely get the chance to start speaking before your crying renders you effectively mute, your throat filled with sobs that leave your mouth into the palm of your hand as you attempt to silence yourself and not ruin anyone else’s slumber.

He can see your fingers trembling as you hold back the noise. From across the aisle, Spencer watches the way you shake until his stomach ties in a knot just from seeing you distressed.

But there’s nothing he can do.

“Can I try something?” He murmurs his words softly, like he’s afraid of frightening you further as he pulls himself upright on the couch seat to plant his feet firmly on the floor.

You answer him with a nod, too unstable to even think about trying to answer him verbally under the threat of breaking down further.

He pads across the aisle deftly, taking a seat in the chair beside your own and deftly bringing his arm across the back of your shoulders to rub lines against your back.

It’s a somewhat pathetic pat, a mix of fatigue and hesitation mixing in his movements and making his attempt at comforting you feel clumsy and mildly awkward.

But he was trying, and that was the main point.

The awkwardness really held no ground under your inherent need to just feel comforted in the moment, and you take no note of it as you turn your head into Spencer’s shoulder with your hand still cupped over your mouth as you tremble under his arms.

His hand becomes a little more confident once you accept his attempts.

He didn’t know how to help you.

He didn’t know how to soothe you.

And the thought of not being able to save you from yourself was tearing him up inside.

But the least he could do was this.

Spencer’s touch is gentle as he places his other hand onto the back of your head, fingers brushing along your hairline as he encourages you further into his embrace.

There’s nothing he should say right now, nothing he could say right now.

Whatever would come from him would be a string of false assurances he wasn’t sure he would even believe himself.

Instead, he settles for the soft touches, his gentle fingers and trying to soften your breathless sobs into something less heartwrenching.

It felt mildly awkward to be the source of someone else’s comfort — he’d usually been on the receiving end of it — but it was working, and he could slowly feel your shoulders relax under his hands, your sobs reducing to small sniffles as you calmed under Spencer’s influence.

“Breathe…” He whispered the words quietly against the top of your head, making a show of taking deep breaths that you could feel against his chest as a silent instruction for you to mirror.

The rise and fall of his chest underneath your hand was crucial in helping you slowly regulate your breathing to match his, the remnants of sniffles that caught in your throat slowly dissipating until they were non-existent.

The peak of your distress slowly eludes you as you sink down to a gradual calm, and the harsh beating of your heart against your sternum was slowly regulating itself as well until it was soft enough that it didn’t ring in your ears.

Spencer remains quiet as he continues to rub gentle lines over your spine. If he kept you him his grasp like this for long enough, your fatigue might catch up to you and make you fall asleep. And that would be alright with him.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you for trying to help me,” You air out your half-apology once you’re confident enough that speaking won’t send you down another spiral, your words muffled slightly against his shirt.

It’s a sudden break to the small pocket of silence you’d created, and Spencer’s hand pauses for a fleeting second before continuing to trace its path over your back. “You were stressed and I pushed a limit, it was understandable…”

He wouldn’t lie to you and say that everything was alright and he didn’t take it personally. It did hurt for you to be so harsh to him, but hearing you try to apologise made it feel a little better at least.

“I just wanted to help…”

“I know…” You turn your head further into his shoulder until your face is hidden in the curve of his neck. “I’m sorry,”

Your apology, voiced properly this time, elicited a small sigh from his lips, and he adjusted his arm around you to accommodate the new position you were in.

The feeling of somebody leaning on him, relying on him so much for comfort was a rather novel experience. He liked his distance, his personal space, and his preference for not being touched always trumped anything else. But this was different.

“Don’t apologise…” Spencer shakes his head against yours as he murmurs out his words. “Just rest…”

You give him a small hum as your only indication of acknowledging his suggestion, letting out a small yawn into his neck as the consequences of your emotional breakdown catch up to you and riddle your body with fatigue.

You were practically melting into him by now, your weight resting against his side, but Spencer wasn’t complaining.

It made you seem so vulnerable, so small and relaxed and different from how you usually presented yourself to the world.

Once your yawn reached his ears he knew your body was preparing to slip into unconsciousness.

But he couldn’t bring himself to move away from you.

He’d seen you fall asleep before; he’d seen the way your mouth had parted slightly right before a small snore left your lips, the delicate rise and fall of your chest as your breathing evened out and the way your eyebrows furrowed when you fell into a dream.

He didn’t want to interrupt his comfort by moving away. So he didn’t. It wouldn’t hurt to hold you for a little bit longer.

[ja3yun]

Picturesque | P.SH

bf!sunghoon x gf!reader

warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (m&f receiving), pet names, fluff, pornography (? sunghoon takes pictures while they do the deed), multiple orgasms, they're sickeningly cute, not proof read, anything i've missed lmk

wc: 4.6k+

synopsis: it's your boyfriend sunghoon's birthday and you want to make it special. your present goes down much better than anticipated.

a/n: hi! it's my best boys' birthday today <3 i know you're all waiting for the next part of tstab but i couldn't resist to post this. its just a one shot because i love him sm and my brain is always thinking about him but esp on his birthday. hope you like it!

You open your eyes to darkness, the only light coming from the orange streetlight outside. Warmth is felt around your waist and down your back as your boyfriend, Sunghoon, sleeps soundly. Looking at the clock you see it read 3.34am. Perfect.

Today was Sunghoon’s 21st birthday. He said he didn’t want a big fuss, simply to have everyone around to your shared apartment for some dinner and drinks. One thing about your boyfriend is that he was a simple guy with simple needs. That didn’t mean you couldn’t decorate the place for him though.

Planning this was a strategic effort even though it seemed simple. Sunghoon was smart, too smart, and if you slipped up even once about your plans he could easily piece it together. It’s not like you were preparing some big extravagant surprise with fireworks and magicians or something, no, you couldn’t even dream of something so lavish. Truth is with both of you being University students with minimum-wage part-time jobs, you were barely making rent. You don’t regret moving in together, it was the right decision, you just wished the government wasn’t filled with incapable idiots and put everyone in a cost-of-living crisis. So you have to make do with what you have, even if you think it’s not enough.

Peeling your lover's arm from your waist you make haste to start decorating the living room. Your flat was small so you had to be extremely quiet, like don’t breathe quiet, but with you and your lack of ability to produce any noise lower than 120 decibels it is going to be a challenge. Sunghoon loved how loud you were compared to his quieter demeanor, making sure to tell you to be as loud as you want and that he would never complain. He especially made this known in your bedroom.

You put on his white shirt from the night before and gingerly shut the door behind you as you vacate the room, leaving Sunghoon sleeping. In your hall cupboard, you had hidden an Asda bag filled with decorations like banners, balloons, and streamers. Their selection of stuff is to be desired and none of it matches but you’ll make it work. 

Looking around your living room with a sigh of discontentment you place all the decorations out on your coffee table. “Okay, where do I start?” Your voice is a whisper as you speak to yourself. “I should start with balloons. Yeah, balloons.”

The balloons you wanted were the big number balloons so you could have the 21 as the centrepiece but the very bitter middle-aged lady in Card Factory made it very clear there weren’t any 2’s in store. What kind of place runs out of 2’s? You had to settle for black, white, and gold multi-pack.

You shut your eyes tight and swallow your breath down as the plastic rustles far too loudly. “Shhh.” A warning to the inanimate object is wasted but it’s all you can think to do. This is going to take a while.

As the morning goes on you’ve managed to blow up the balloons and group them into 3-a-piece, hanging them up on each side of the big window and in the corners. You thought you were a goner when one of the white balloons almost escaped your grasp and started flying around the room but you grabbed it just in time. Checking the time on the clock you see it’s 4.30am. It really took you an hour for the balloons. Banners were next on your list but they should be easier surely.

Grabbing the automne you’ve been using as a ladder you successfully put 3 banners up in 20 minutes. If you had the time you’d celebrate but you still had so much to do before he gets up. “One more.” You place your hands on your hips and blow some hair out of your face as you smile. It’s ugly, it doesn’t match the others at all. The banner is silver with just the letters ‘Happy Birthday’ held together by a tacky white ribbon. You really wish you could do better than this but alas here you are climbing up to situate it above the TV. This is a little trickier since you have to stretch to reach the wall because of the TV unit that sticks out. 

You fail to notice your boyfriend leaning by the doorframe with his arms crossed and a cheeser of a smile on his face. He wanted to see how long it would take you to notice his presence but he thinks he’ll be waiting a long time. You’re too engrossed in your task to even hear his footsteps coming up behind you.

“Babe?” His deep morning voice scares you and you stumble on the automne, almost falling backward. Sunghoon’s eyes widen as he registers what's happening and rushes to catch you. “Shit, Y/N. You okay?” He places one of his warm hands on your backside and the other on your knee, stroking them both gently to make sure you’re okay.

Only your heart was not okay, thumping loudly as a rush of heat spreads through your chest from the adrenaline of nearly crashing into the table behind you. When you calm down you laugh and lean on his shoulder to step down. “I’m okay.”

Now you’ve properly come to you bring your hands to your mouth as your eyes widen. “You’re not supposed to be up this early!” As if it’s his fault you slap his chest and he chuckles in disbelief.

“Sorry, babe, if I had known you were planning to surprise me I would have slept longer.” Oh. He’s right but still. Not fair.

“I didn’t even get to put up the streamers or that shitty banner.” Dramatically, you wave your arms around and scowl at the devil banner. “It was supposed to be finished so when you walked in I could go ‘Ta-Da!’ and you would be all like ‘Oh my god, Y/N. You’re the best girlfriend ever. This is incredible.’” Sunghoon lets out a loud laugh and brings his hands to your face.

“Okay, okay, let me walk back in and we’ll do it again.” You pout at his suggestion but shake your head as much as you can considering he’s now squishing your cheeks.

“There’s no point now.” Sunghoon sees your disappointment and he matches your saddened expression.

“I’m sorry, babe. You worked so hard on this and I ruined it.”

“Yeah, you did.” You joke while he places a kiss on your forehead and lets you go. 

Sunghoon looks around the room at all your efforts. His eyes are filled with admiration and love, everything you did was his favourite but somehow you top it every time. All that energy you spent wasting on worry because you couldn’t give him more was so silly because he was so appreciative that you would even take the time to do any of this, especially when he said he didn’t want a  fuss.

His eyes meet yours and he sighs, “Beautiful, you didn’t have to do all this.” You are so busy between all your Uni work and grueling shifts at the restaurant that he doesn’t even know when you had time to get any of this stuff. “It’s just my birthday.”

“It’s your 21st! It’s special!” You protest. “I would have done something more extra but,”

He knows. It’s tight right now between bills and time but none of that matters to him, not right now, not when he has you beside him. “Babe it’s perfect, really. I like the uh,” he points between the decorations, “the green and pink banner and the gold balloons, brings a certain class to the room.” He jokes and you hide your face in embarrassment in his chest, mumbling a little ‘It’s all they had’. “Y/N I love it.” He bends down a little until his face is just below yours, “Seriously. Thank you.”

All the trouble was worth it just to see his smile right now. You peck his lips, “Happy Birthday, Hoonie.” Circling your arms around him as he towers back over you, he kisses the top of your head and then pulls away slightly to kiss your lips. Sunghoon feels so loved by you. The kiss is filled with love and desire so when you pull back he audibly groans.

“Do you want your present?” Not unlike you, but you’re nervous. You had been saving up for his gift since February so no pressure or anything. Inside you’re screaming, your brain working overtime in the anxious department. What if he hates it? “Or do you want to wait a bit?”

“If you’re the present then I’ll take it right now.” He captures your lips back into a kiss. If he wasn’t so into this kiss he would have noticed your playful eye roll. Sunghoon had the impeccable ability to make you have butterflies in your stomach while also frustrating you at how horny he is. He truly is still just a man.

“Hoonie I’m serious.” You pull away and he sighs.

“So am I.” His large hands grope your ass to pull you towards him. When he looks at your face he removes his hands from your body and holds them up defensively. “Okay, I get it. But I told you nothing crazy.” 

Sunghoon didn’t care for gifts and that’s why giving this one to him made you feel like you were going to throw up and cry. He was either going to love it or be mad that you bought it.

“Close your eyes.” Doing as he’s told he screws his eyes shut and you turn to dig through the automne. It wasn’t the safest place to leave it considering it took for him to look for one letter or magazine to find it, but it’s better than nothing. The present is perfectly wrapped with glossy white paper, accented with a gold ribbon, you wanted it all to be perfect. “Put out your hands.”

Once his hands are flat you place the box gently in his hands and he opens his eyes. His smile falls a little as he looks between the box and you. “Y/N this is big.” He’s skeptical and his face doesn’t hide it which sends your anxiety through the roof. “Please don’t tell me it’s something exp-”

“Can you just appreciate it and open it please?” He’s hurt by your words. Of course he cherishes anything you do or buy for him, he just doesn’t want you wasting money on him and with the size of this box, he fears you might have.

“Babe of course I appreciate it, you know I do.” You pout and push the box to his chest. 

“Then open it and tell me you love it. And don’t get mad.” When you say that he shuts his eyes. “I promise it’s nothing like mad expensive. Scouts honour.” You hold a hand to your chest and one in the air.

Sitting down on the couch he unwraps the gift and sees a plain black box. His fingertips feel the edges before he opens it and his eyes widen bigger than they ever have before, he doesn’t move. 

He hates it. Obviously he does. You bite your nails looking at him slowly take out the gift and examine it. “Y/N this is..” He trails off, looking intently at it.

Last year Sunghoon had gotten back into photography, just a hobby, nothing major, but he found a real passion in it this year. He carried the thing everywhere, taking pictures of everything he found pretty - most of the memory card was filled with you. Nonetheless, he didn’t have a case for it, and considering it cost him like 2 months' worth of rent, and that was it being second-hand, you felt like he needed to protect it properly. 

So you got him a custom leather case to fit his vintage Minolta TC-1 camera, his initials embroidered on the front lefthand side. The Etsy seller was even nice enough to throw in a strap that matched. You were lying when you said it wasn’t super costly, it did take months to save up for, but as you see his shocked face change into one filled with glee, you know it was worth it.

“Y/N, this is too much.” The smile on his face said otherwise, it was just perfect.  “Babe, seriously, this must have cost you a shit ton of money.” 

Shrugging you play it off, “Nah, got a good deal on it.” 

Like a child at Christmas, he stands up and strides over to embrace you, the hug said everything he couldn’t. There were no words to describe how much he loved it, how much he loved you.

“Let me go get my camera!” Sunghoon was easily excitable and as he ran to your bedroom to retrieve his camera you could only laugh. The pitter-patter of his feet getting faster the closer he got back to the living room was the cutest thing you have ever seen. Struggling to get the camera in the case due to excitement, you walked over and took the case from his hands, “Here, babe.” You slot it in and thank the heavens it fits and in hindsight, you probably should have checked before giving it to him.

“Babe, I love it so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He kisses all over your face. He was such a cutie, you never understood why people were intimidated by him. But then again, with a face so gorgeous who wouldn’t be? And you were the only one that really got to see this side of him.

“I’m glad you like it, Hoonie.” He corrects you and repeats the word ‘love’ which makes you smile.

Turning the camera on he brings it to his face and adjusts it. You take the opportunity of his preoccupied state to clear up some of the mess from the decorations and his present. You contemplate whether you should attempt to finish decorating but you don’t see the point, maybe finish it before the others come over.

A shutter sound echoes in the quiet room and you spin around to see your birthday boy smiling widely as the camera is pointed at you.

“Hoon, stop! I’m not even dressed yet.”

Your words seem to spark a mischievous glint in his eye and you have no clue what he is thinking. Sunghoon slowly walks over to you, “You know,” he wears the strap of the camera around his neck and takes the rubbish from your hands and discards it to the couch, “That’s not a bad idea.” Perplexment shows on your face. When did anything you just say sound like an idea? “I could take your picture.” 

“Babe you always take my picture.” 

“Not while I’m fucking you I haven’t.” 

Your jaw hits the floor. For the first time in your life, you are speechless, utterly gobsmacked. “No way.” You’re a generally shy person despite your loud personality so you would never think to do anything like this.

“Come on, Y/N.” He strokes your hair and uses a lower octave voice to try and persuade you, “They’ll just be for me, literally no one else will see them. You know I would never show them to anyone.”

Evidently he wouldn’t, he doesn’t even like it when you both go out dressed up nice and guys even think about looking at you. This was for him when you were on long shifts or in classes. Something he could use to jerk off to when his wank bank of memories won’t suffice. 

He’s too persuasive because the next thing you know you’re taking his hand and pulling him to the bedroom. Glancing around the surroundings you sigh. “Can I tidy up first?” 

“Why?” He laughs confused.

“I just don’t want the pictures taken with all this mess lying around, it’s un-aesthetically pleasing.”

His quiet almost silent laugh rings in your ears and you smile defeated. “Baby, do you think for one fucking second I am going to be looking at the slippers on the ground or Mr. Giles in the corner.” Mr. Giles, your childhood teddy bear, has seen far too much of what has gone on in these four walls but why is it when Sunghoon mentions his name you want to cuddle him and apologise?

“Mr. Giles is camera shy okay?” Your boyfriend picks him up, places a kiss on his nose, and places him facing the wall. 

“There. See.” He pushes you to lie on the bed, “Now, let me do my job, yeah?” His hands are on your waist in no time, the camera swinging from his neck now lays on your stomach as he bends down. The coldness of the object makes you shiver but you’re soon heating up when you feel his fingers dip into the waistband of your panties and pull them down. You hear him mutter ‘So fucking beautiful’ as his face is level with your core. Thinking he’s just going to get right down to business, you spread your legs but he stands up. “I need to take a before shot.” 

Click

Click

Click

He takes pictures as you lay there in only his shirt, some at a lower angle to get your perfect pussy in focus. His eyes are telling you he’s trying to refrain from just delving in, from absolutely ingurgitating you, it’s a patience he usually doesn’t have. 

“On your knees for me, beautiful.” Being obedient like always, you do what he says. “Gonna get you to suck my cock, okay?” You don’t wait to be told what to do next because your hands are reaching for his boxers to pull them down. Cocks are either fucking beautiful or ugly, and Sunghoon had the prettiest cock of them all. His reddening tip slaps his stomach and you mewl out loud. “Don’t show off for the camera baby, okay? Just do it the way you always do.” 

Sunghoon loves the way you lovingly lap his cock, trying to fit it all in your mouth but he’s so big you can’t take it all the way in without choking. It’s cute to him how eager to please him you are.

You sit your hands on his hips and lick a stripe from his balls to the tip before taking his tip in your mouth. “Fuck.” You hear Sunghoon breathe out and it makes you look up. This is the moment you wish you could take the camera and snap a picture of him. Maybe you need to suggest that at a later date.

Right now it’s Sunghoon’s birthday and it’s whatever he wants. You suck his cock in earnest, grabbing the base to cover the part of his cock you can’t fit into your mouth. He’s like you’re favourite meal and while you used to hate sucking dick there’s something so pleasing about him and the way he tastes. 

Forgetting his original intentions he grabs your hair and tightens it into a tight pony, pulling at it. “B-babe, so fucking good at this.” It’s not until he looks down at you working him up and down he sees the camera. He uses both hands to put you into focus and takes a few pictures. Some are just a close-up of your lips enveloping his shaft, others are simple POV shots. It’s when you look up as you hear the shuttering from the camera that he starts really taking the pictures with determination to capture how beautiful you look in this moment. The eye contact to the camera has his chest growling. “That’s my pretty girl, made for the camera, huh?”

He wasn’t big on dirty talk but right now he felt like a whole different person, and this person wanted you to hear how good you made him feel.

Picking up the pace you start to slabber down your chin, losing yourself in the action. Sunghoon is so close to cumming that when he pulls you off his cock he whimpers. You are both panting and clouded with lust, your plumped-up lips aren’t helping Sunghoon, and his leaking cock isn’t helping you. 

“You’re a natural on this camera, babe.” His hand reaches down to wipe the saliva and particles of his cum from your lips. Click. Another perfect moment. “Can’t wait for you to see it from my point of view.”

“Sunghoon, I love you but I am not looking at those ever.” There is a big part of you that actually would like to see it, but you’re too embarrassed to even imagine what you look like. 

“You’re missing out, beautiful. Nothing more picturesque than you choking on my cock.” Sunghoon says the filthy sentence so casually and it flips your stomach. “Lay down for me.”

Removing the camera from his frame he places it on the bedside table. Is he finished taking pictures? “Hoon wha-”

Sunghoon’s face is in between your legs and licking up your folds before you can ask your question but his actions answer it anyway. If he was your favourite meal, you were certainly his. Fuck, you were his favourite everything. He was sucking your clit so suddenly you arched your back, the action pressing your pussy further into his face which elicited a hum of approval from him. The sucking was harsh, overwhelming, so much so you hadn’t even noticed how his fingers lightly trailed your thigh. 

His palm pushed your right leg open further, his mouth never letting up on your sensitive bud.

“Hoonie,” A moan of his name leaves your lips, your hand grabbing him and pushing it towards your entrance. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing but still listens to your silent request, his middle finger circling your opening. 

The birthday boy wishes he could do this and take pictures because he knows you look so fucking beautiful right now. Even the image in his head of you arched in his work shirt, mouth agape and moaning, could make him cum right now. Instead, it just fuels him so keep going at your clit, throwing in some light nibbles every so often.

Slipping his middle finger into you he curls it exactly how you like it. After 2 years of fucking you, he’d say he could easily get a PhD in how to please you, certainly how to make you cum. And what you like is way more than just one finger, so he adds two more sending you crazy.

“Fuck, fuck, Hoonie, so good.” The moans and profanities leaving your lips make him smirk, knowing you’re close. He makes his tongue rigid and uses it to stimulate your nub, going fast and hard in rhythm with his fingers and within a minute your thighs are clamping his head and your coating his tongue with your cum. “Shit, my god, m’cumming.”

He almost laughs at you because of course you’re coming, he’s tasting it right now and it’s better than any meal or cake he’s going to get today. 

Your trembling thighs open slightly and he peaks his head up to see you, quickly grabbing his camera. “What a fucking sight,” Sunghoon whispers before clicking. Your arm is laid over your face, his shirt is held together by one button in the middle of your torso, and most importantly your cunt is glistening. He wants to blow this picture up on a canvas and hang it in the living room, but you would never agree and his friend would never leave your house. 

As you catch your breath, Sunghoon crawls to hover over you. “Babe you look so fucking good right now.”

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You laugh and finally bring your arm away from your eyes. Your essence still on his lips somehow makes you wetter than you already are.

“You’re so funny.” His sarcastic tone makes you laugh harder. “Now I need to make a decision

“What?”

“Do I want your pussy filled with my cum, or it splattered on your stomach?" 

Oh, you might just have a second orgasm right now. It’s not implausible at this moment. “Well, you have my permission for anything,” You kiss his lips, moaning as he instantly sticks his tongue down your throat. Breaking the moment you bite your lip, “And y’know, if you can cum twice you could get a double shot.”

The camera is pushed back on the table and his dick is touching your entrance, “I’ll make it a surprise what one comes first then, huh?” With that, he’s sliding into your heat, both of you gasping in unison. You’re tight around his cock, your walls dragging themselves perfectly along his hard shaft. 

“Shit, babe, feel so fucking good.” If he could record this moment and make it 4DX he would hire out a Cineworld screen every day and watch it on repeat.

Thrusting into you with purpose, one of his big hands gently encloses your throat, not tight enough to cut off your air but enough to have you roll your eyes back. It’s taking all his willpower not to just fuck you rough and hard because if he does he’ll cum instantly and that’s just not going to happen, not on his watch. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. So perfect.” He brings his mouth to your ear, “My pretty girl, I love you so much.” 

You cry out in love and pleasure as he starts to pick up the pace, his cock hitting your soft spot every time. To him, you were the only present he ever needed. 

Sunghoon nibbles your earlobe, keeping his rhythm steady, continuing to whisper in your ear, “You wanna cum?”

“Yes, fuck yes please, Hoon.” He takes your hand from your throat and places it beside your head to give him more stability as he relentlessly fucks into you, his lips sucking in yours as he loses control, his only thought right now is to make you come undone on his dick. 

From the last orgasm you had it doesn’t take long before you’re cumming again, the aftershocks still buzzing and only adding to the sensation. You’re gripping his arms and crawling down them, legs shaking as you loosely wrap them around him. There’s no energy left in your body so as he fucks you deep, your spent body only moves due to the power of his thrusts. “You’re doing so good, I’m nearly there, babe.” He mumbles into your neck as he nuzzles into you.

You’re getting a tiny bit overstimulated but you know he’s close so you bear with it, mustering up all you have left to whisper, “Come on, Hoonie, don’t you wanna get the perfect shot?” 

His seed fills you instantaneously as your words echo in his ear, his body jittering as he coats your walls, his hips losing their rhythm and coming to a standstill. 

Heavy breathing and banging heartbeats are all you both hear as you compose yourselves. Sunghoon falls on top of you, his softening cock still buried inside you. Rubbing soothing circles on his back makes him smile widely and look at you. “Thank you, babe. For the present.”

“You’re welcome.” Lazily you plant a feather kiss on his nose. You reach over and grab the camera, “Well, you got a picture to take.” 

Smirking, Sunghoon takes the camera and slides out of you, taking in the view of his cum dripping out of you onto the bedsheets. It’s a work of art. “Pose for me, pretty girl.” You open your legs a little wider and try your hardest to look sexy for him.

The camera clicks a few times, each shot more beautiful than the last. You’re his muse, his everything, his best birthday present.

“Now,” He puts the camera away and lays on you once again, “I think for my next birthday I might ask for a camcorder.” 

[benevolentbones]

Hey! Don't know how you prefer requests so i will just send it here. Could i please get hotch x reader where hotch is just a lovesick puppy following reader around at work and at home. Maybe some unashamed staring too? Thank you!

lovesick | aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: none just fluff, gender neutral reader

word count: 0.6k ish

a/n: thank you for the request! this is my first time writing for hotch<3 kind of short but, hope you like it:)

“you’re staring again aaron.” you mumbled, a smile creeping onto your face as you filed away papers at your desk.

hotch stood a few feet away, sipping at his coffee, his piercing eyes not leaving your frame as you worked.

“it’s not a crime to watch my beautiful partner.” he muttered lowly.

a blush formed on your face as you stood up, moving towards the fax machine. you were a secretary at the bau and a damn good one, you had met hotch a few years ago and shortly began dating.

he had recommended you for the job as at the time you had just left your old desk job. this one was far more exciting, and you got to see your boyfriend in action.

“don’t you have a case to be working on, aaron?” you asked, a brazen tone to your voice.

“just paperwork for today. and why do that when i can be with you.” he set down his coffee cup on your desk, slinking his way around to where you were refilling the fax machine with a new roll of paper.

hotch stood behind you, wrapping his muscular arms around your torso. he rested his chin in the crook of your neck, letting out a comforted sigh.

at times like these you were happy to have a separate office to everyone else.

when you met hotch, and first starting working at the bau you noticed he acted very different towards the team than you. he was always very reserved, formal and straightforward with everyone else. but when it came to you, god help him he was nothing more than a lovesick puppy.

he often liked to follow you around the office just to be near you, sometimes he would even get you to join the team on long cases because he just didn’t like not being with you. you thought it was the cutest thing.

he began peppering your cheek with kisses, a habit he often did which you would never object to. you loved any form of affection from your boyfriend.

“when are you off work, sweetheart?” he questioned in between kisses.

you turned around to face him, his hold on you not faltering as you did so. you moved your arms up to drape them over his suit clad shoulders.

“whenever you are, love. did you want me to come over?” he questioned, noticing a small smile appear on his lips.

“i would like that.” he leaned in pressing his lips to yours, you melted into the kiss as you often did, every time you kissed hotch it felt like it was for the first time all over again.

he rested his hands on your hips, while yours ran through the hair at the nape of his neck.

you felt yourself getting carried away, so you pulled back.

“unlike you, i have more pressing work to do. may we continue this later?” you joked, placing your palms against his chest.

you could tell he was slightly disappointed, but he knew better than to interrupt your work as it would cause you to have to do overtime.

“i’ll pick up where we left off tonight, see you later.” he pressed a swift kiss to your lips before he made his way out your office door.

“love you!” you called out as he went, dusting yourself off.

“love you more.” he shot you a grin and rounded the corner, finally out of sight.

taglist: @0108s22m @rainoftearss

[franzivonkarma]

I desperately need people to understand that Franziska's whipping thing really isn't solely a silly character gimmick. Of course it is to a degree, just like Godot and coffee and Klavier and air guitar in court, but so often I see people dismiss Franziska's whipping trait as an annoying feature that adds nothing to her character and I cannot stand it. This is a bit of a rant and I touch on gender inequality and the way I see a lot of men treat her as a character a decent amount within this because I feel like the fact that she is a woman is actually very important to this element of her character, and her treatment is also a lot of the reason why I feel compelled to talk about this in the first place.

Firstly what you need to understand is that not only is Franziska a woman, she is also laughably young when she becomes a prosecutor. She's a 13 year old girl trying to hold the attention of a courtroom of mostly grown men and be taken seriously. It's no secret that misogyny does exist in the Ace Attorney universe of course (see: Godot), but aside from this, maybe it's just because I've been playing Ace Attorney Investigations recently, but she is just very small all around. It's a running gag in Turnabout Reminiscence that she is short, she's small, she can't see things Edgeworth can - although granted Edgeworth is definitely fairly tall, most estimates I've seen linger around 5'8-5'10 (around 170-180cm). And of course, she is only 13 here, she's not done growing, but it's at this age that she actually did begin to prosecute. Naturally, she'd often be underestimated, and we can see a strong desire to prove herself during Turnabout Reminiscence, even just to her father; I can only imagine that this would extend further into her trials as a young girl. Secondly, she's the daughter of Manfred von Karma, whom she idolises to a godlike status and who teaches her everything she knows about prosecuting, and also a lot about life in general - he's her father. There's a lot I could say about their dynamic, but I feel that much of it doesn't need to be said in this specific post if you're already here dedicated to Franziska enough to bother reading this post.

Manfred's courtroom (and often, regular) behaviour revolves a lot around him taking complete control of the entire courtroom, with him even speaking over the judge, overruling objections he does not like and sustaining his own, and instructing witnesses himself. He also often snaps his fingers to direct attention to himself and his point. Franziska learns this, but how does a literal 13 year old girl follow her father in this regard? Well, by force. Whipping someone is a very clear way to get their attention. Not only the person it hits but the people around - whips cracking are loud, they take up a lot of visual space, and they also obviously cause harm to the person they hit. These are all things you can't really ignore - it forces you to look at her and pay attention to her and gives her control of the room exactly like Manfred. I've also been thinking a lot about the end of Justice For All in relation to this. She's lost to Phoenix multiple times and she couldn't beat him even once just to prove that she was better than Edgeworth as she so desperately wanted to. This brings me to another point about her use of her whip. While I think control is a huge aspect and is my main focus here, I think it falls more under the umbrella of Franziska's own perceived shortcomings. We also know that she doesn't believe she lives up to her father's genius, and that she consistently feels like she's walking in Edgeworth's shadow, she says it herself:

I think at least some part of the reason her whip is so important is because she believes she could very well be less than equal to others in the room in terms of certain traits. She sees her father as a genius, knows she isn't equal to him, and internalises this (whether she is actually less intelligent or not I personally don't know what I believe, I haven't played Justice For All in over a year and a half and I would have to replay it to decide my thoughts).

In having to be perfect, there are many expectations she cannot live up to, and this leads to many ways in which she falls short of what she believes she should be. By using her whip, again, she can account for her perceived shortcomings in other areas - control, her intelligence, her ability as a prosecutor. I think this last scene of JFA actually introduces us to the idea that Franziska is somewhat self-doubting in some ways and compares herself a lot with others, not just Manfred, but also Edgeworth, which we see more of in Ace Attorney Investigations during Turnabout Reminiscence, where we see her at 13 attempting to prove that she can "out-logic" Edgeworth for the entire case, and essentially, that she is "more perfect" than he is.

But to come back to her whip, control, and the end of Justice For All.

She is left with little of who she was before and doesn't know how to move on - everything she was taught to be from the moment she was born, she no longer is. She is 18 here, prosecuting for 5 years already and desperate to be prosecuting for even longer. As far as her life was set out, this was basically it for her - become a perfect prosecutor and prosecute perfectly just like Manfred - the ideal prosecutor in her eyes.

A Von Karma is perfect, but she is not - she lost, just like Edgeworth, whom she shamed for the same thing. She gives up her whip here, and I feel that it's truly symbolic of how she feels like she's completely lost control of herself, her life, her relationship with her father and most obviously her occupation as a prosecutor. How could she continue being a prosecutor when she no longer lives up to the idea of it that she's had her entire life? What use is her whip if she will not need to hold the court's attention any longer?

I'm sure a million other people have thrown their coin in the pot on this exact topic, and I'm sure many have said the same thing as me and many have said something different, but I needed to write my thoughts out about it because I couldn't stop thinking about her. This is one big reason why I feel like I see a lot of men who don't understand Franziska and see her as very annoying, gimmicky, and my least favourite - a "female Edgeworth." She is a woman who steals attention and space forcibly; both from characters in-game, and also from the player with her animations that take up time in trials and a lot of the visual space. Of course this makes her unpopular with a lot of men. I'm not saying that if you dislike her or the whip it comes from a place of misogyny, I am saying that I think her whipping trait is reduced to a stupid, annoying gimmick more than, say, Godot and his coffee, because a lot of people don't really care to see that there is intention behind it that reveals a lot about her character, just like how Godot's coffee problem is relevant to his backstory.

[goldenempyrean]

Do you think you could write a fic where we’re sick and our work place makes us show up to work, knowing fully well we are sick because we tried to call in but they denied us. Anyways Nat ends up wondering where we are because she came back from a mission and sees that their are utensils and tupperware around and medication bottles and just in general clues that we weren’t feeling well, so she goes to find us because she wants to see us and make sure we’re fine. Only to walk in on one of our managers yelling at us (in a public area) because we were slacking off at “our job” (a task that they told us to do for them but it’s not in our job description) when we were simply putting our head in our hands for a few minutes because we didn’t feel well. Anyways Nat swoops in, saves the day, and the manager miraculously gets fired, and we somehow have a better job.

If you write this thank you :) and if you don’t it’s fine

Too Good To Me

〚 Notes - Hey anon! God, let's not talk about how long this was sitting in my inbox. I wrote this while rewatching supergirl so I may start getting some of my old Alex requests done soon! :D 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Your boss wont let you take a sick day from work. Natasha isn't going to be happy when she finds out. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1620 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Sorry Y/N, there’s nothing we can do. You’re just going have to suck it up and get yourself into work I’m afraid. We can’t afford any missing staff.” 

“But I-“ Your hoarse objection was rudely cut off by the call clicking off. You stared at your phone in disbelief, a sinking feeling of dread settling in your stomach. The fever was making you lightheaded, and every muscle in your body ached, but you had no choice. You had to go to work today. 

It was ridiculous honestly. Your boss knew you were sick, in fact the whole office was slowly coming down with whatever virus had been circulating. But it was coming to the end on the month meaning deadlines were approaching and it seemed meeting targets was more of a priority than employee wellbeing. 

Dragging yourself out of bed felt like an insurmountable task, but you managed to get dressed and somehow make your way to the office - the only thing keeping you upright was several more doses of DayQuil then the recommended standard. Even though it was short the walk from the parking lot to the front door left you breathless, and by the time you sat down at your desk, a cold sweat had broken out across your forehead. 

“Damn, you look awful.” One of your colleagues looked up over their desk at the sound of a series of sneezes you couldn’t quite hold back. They gave you a sympathetic glance and pulled out a packet of tissues and chucked them over. 

“Thanks,” You mumbled, catching the tissues clumsily. You wiped your nose and tried to focus on your computer screen, but the words blurred together, and your head throbbed with each keystroke. 

Meanwhile, Natasha had been having a fairly good day. Her mission had ended significantly earlier than she’d been expecting meaning she’d get to see you sooner. Of course, the two of you always kept in close contact whenever possible when she had to go on missions, but facetime was nowhere near as good as seeing you in person. 

Nat couldn't wait to surprise you. She had picked up some of your favourite takeout and decided to swing by the apartment. However, as soon as she stepped inside, her smile faded. 

The place was a mess. Not just a few stray cups or plates strewn about. The sink was piled up with unwashed pots. In the living room, the curtains were still pulled closed clouding the room in a dull haze. Meanwhile tissues and cough drop wrappers littered the coffee table amongst several half-empty medicine bottles. 

Nat felt her heart melt a little at the thought of you being sick and alone. Keeping her movements a little quieter now, she crept towards your shared room, pulling open the door carefully. Natasha had expected to see you curled up beneath the blankets, but she frowned and flicked on the light in surprise when all she saw was an empty, unmade bed. 

What the- wait, if you weren’t here then where were you? 

Hunched over, coughing miserably at your desk. That was where. Around midday, your manager approached you with a stack of papers, slamming them in front of you. “I need you to handle these reports. They need to be done by the end of the day,” He ordered, barely sparing a glance to look at you. 

“Sir, I’m really not feeling well,” You began, but he cut you off with a dismissive wave. 

“Not my problem. Just get it done.” He walked off, not willing to waste another moment on you. 

You stared blankly at the stack of papers, the text blurring in and out of focus. As time dragged on, you couldn’t stop yourself drifting in and out of a feverish haze, your productivity taking a swan dive. 

Every so often, you caught your colleagues shooting you concerned glances, but no one dared to speak up. Everyone was aware of the hostile nature of your manager, and no one dared to speak up incase that temper of his was thrown their way. 

Once an hour had passed, you could hardly keep your eyes open. You rested your head in your hands for just a moment, hoping to stave off the waves of dizziness. It was then that your manager reappeared, his face twisted with anger. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Slacking off again?” he barked, drawing the attention of the entire office. Heads turned, and conversations halted as everyone watched the scene unfold. 

“I-I’m just not feeling well,” you stammered, lifting your head to meet his furious gaze. Your vision swam, and you had to blink several times to focus. 

“Excuses! Always excuses with you! If you can’t handle the workload, maybe you should find another job!” 

“Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Natasha’s stern voice cut through the room like a knife. Everyone turned to see her standing in the centre of the room, her posture radiating quiet fury. 

“Scolding an incompetent employee,” Your manager blinked, momentarily taken aback. “And just who do you think you are?” 

“Natasha Romanoff.” She kept a quick pace as she walked towards him, her eyes narrowing, “The Black Widow, Superhero, Avenger and Wife.” 

Your manager's face drained of colour as Natasha's words sank in. He opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. The entire office watched in stunned silence as she closed the distance between them. 

Nat’s voice remained cold and steady. "If you have a problem with my spouse, you'll answer to me." She turned her attention to you when you ducked into your elbow was a stifled sneeze. 

“Bless you sweetheart,” She murmured softly, swiping a tissue from a box on a nearby desk and handing it to you, “Come on, get your things, we’re going home.” 

You stood shakily, relieved and grateful, but still a bit dazed at how Nat could even be here. The redhead wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying you as you stumbled. "Lean on me baby," She murmured gently. 

Nobody else said a word as the two of you made your way out the building. Once outside the fresh air hit your face, and you took a deep breath, feeling slightly more grounded. Natasha led you to her car, helping you into the passenger seat before getting in herself. 

"Thank you," You murmured, leaning back against the headrest before curling into your side with a harsh cough. 

"Don't mention it sweetheart,” She replied as starting the engine, but you didn’t miss the way her brow crinkled as at the sound of you, “I'm sorry your boss is such a dick. How are you feeling?” 

"Terrible," You mumbled, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the cool glass window, “I’ve had a fever all day…. But you- you’re meant to be on a mission-“ Your voice was hoarse and cracked as you spoke. 

“I’m not surprised,” Nat raised a hand to your forehead before gently cupping your cheek, “And I finished my mission early, I swung by the apartment and well, you can guess the rest.” She kept one hand on the wheel and the other lightly resting on your knee as she drove. 

The rest of the drive was fairly quiet, Nat didn’t want to force you to talk, and it was obvious from the way your head kept periodically bobbing forward that you were exhausted.  

By the time she’d pulled up to the parking lot, you had dozed off against the window, small stuffy snores letting her know you were out for the count. Of course, it would’ve been easier to wake you, but she just didn’t have the heart. Instead, Nat carefully made her way to the passenger door, unbuckled your seatbelt and pulled you safely up into her arms. 

Trying her best to jostle you, Natasha carried you up towards the apartment, opening the door with ease and stepping inside. “Mm?” You gave a groggy mumble as you slowly blinked awake. 

“Shh, we’re home sweetheart.” Nat soothed you quietly, keeping her arm around your waist as she lowered you to be standing up by yourself. 

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the light in the room, and you made an audibly confused noise as you took in the surroundings. The place was spotless. The pots from earlier washed and stacked away. The stacks of tissues and wrappers had been thrown in the trash, the whole apartment looked fresh and clean - nothing compared to the absolute mess it had been several hours ago. 

“You cleaned? You didn’t have to-“ You began but 

Natasha cut you off with a gentle smile, her fingers brushing a stray hair from your forehead. “I wanted to,” she said softly. “You’ve been working hard and dealing with that jerk of a boss while feeling awful. You deserve to come home to a clean space.” 

You leaned into her touch, feeling a wave of gratitude and relief. "Thank you," You murmured again, your voice still raspy as you sniffled quietly. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Nat led you to the bedroom, her arm still securely around your waist. She helped you sit down on the edge of the bed, then knelt to untie your shoes, “Now you best believe I’ll have your manager fired for how he behaved earlier.” 

“You’re too good to me,” You murmured, watching her with tired eyes as you tried to hold back a yawn. 

“You’re my world Y/N,” she replied simply, slipping off your shoes and guiding you to lie down. She pulled the blankets up around you, tucking you in with care. “Now get some rest, you need it.” 

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[andshesaidwhat]

Web of Lies - Stephen Glass Smut

Summary: You and Stephen are coworkers and he’s always harbored a secret crush on you. When he finally works up the courage to ask you to hang out with him, he’s elated that you agree. However, after an innocent night of company, you return to the office the next day to find your name as the hot topic of gossip. When you confront Stephen about the matter, he finds himself trapped in a web of his own lies.

Warnings: dacryphilia (he’s so pretty when he cries, i can’t help it), voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation (Stephen receiving), dub-con (kind of? not really, but tagging it just in case), sub!Stephen, nipple play, manipulation, angst, lying, teasing, edging, denial, begging, humiliation, degradation, stephen whines and whimpers a lot because obviously.

Masterlist

The soft material of Stephen’s socks padded quietly across the floor as he made his way into the break room at The New Republic.

He stood by the door, watching with a small smile as you angrily hit the drink machine. He laughed to himself as you huffed, the frustration clear on your face.

This was something he did often. He observed you from a distance. The two of you had never spoken beyond the occasional greeting when your paths would cross in the office or a brief congratulations from you when a piece of his did exceptionally well.

Those were his favorite times. Watching you react to his stories. He’d ride the elation for hours when your lips would turn up in a smile during one of his pitches. He found himself tuning in to what made you laugh, what peaked your interest, warping his tales to accommodate.

He could do an entire write up on you by now if he was ever asked to. He’d studied you, down to every little detail. He knew what made you laugh and what pissed you off. He knew how you took your coffee and what pastries you’d swipe from the bakery you passed by every morning. He knew how you’d worry your bottom lip when you were deep in thought — that was a personal favorite of his. You’d become an obsession of sorts.

He had found his rhythm, watching your life from the outside. He was content that way. Which was why he was surprised to find himself walking up to you now.

“This machine never works,” he said, startling you as he appeared behind you. He grinned, sheepishly, ducking his head. “Sorry, it’s just that this machine gets stuck more than it doesn’t. Besides, the drinks inside of it are all flat anyways. There’s a better one on the third floor of the building. Works every time, honest.”

“Oh, thanks for the tip,” you laughed, embarrassed that you’d been caught fighting with an inanimate object.

“I was actually coming in here to put a note on the machine before leaving for lunch,” he lied, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s this little cafe a few blocks over that’s just to die for.”

“Are you talking about the one on 3rd Ave?” Stephen nodded, watching your face light up. “That’s one of my favorites!”

Stephen already knew that, of course. He’d watched you accumulate new takeout menus every time you’d go there for breakfast or lunch. He was willing to bet that you had upwards of twenty by now in your desk drawer. Still, he raised his eyebrows like this was the first he’d known of this information.

“Really?” Stephen asked, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shrugged. “Well, if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You eyed the blonde curiously. His glasses were perched high on his nose and his cheeks were illuminated with an ever present blush. He had an adorable, naive quality about him. Sure, it was clear to you that most of his stories were more fiction than fact, but who amongst you didn’t embellish every now and then?

You were intrigued by him, by the way his mind worked. He seemed to be nervously awaiting your answer, so you eased his fears with a gentle smile.

“I’d love to,” you told him, giggling at the way his eyes widened before he broke out into a breathtaking smile.

There was certainly a reason why he had the majority of the office wrapped around his finger. He was charming and incredibly easy on the eyes. He was observant, noticing things other people wouldn’t.

Maybe that was why, despite the controversy of his recent article, he didn’t seem to be catching too much heat.

“I’ll grab my things and we can walk there together,” Stephen told you, giving you a shy grin. “I’ll meet you by the front.”

You nodded, noticing the way some of your coworkers were observing your interaction. You brushed it off as typical office nosiness, waiting for Stephen to return.

As the two of you walked through the city, Stephen couldn't help but chat about mundane things: the weather, the noise of the city, your favorite books. He felt an unusual warmth in his chest, enjoying your conversation and company.

You couldn’t help but find his nervous rambling endearing, fascinated by the way he turned everything into a story.

Once you arrived at the quaint little cafe, he led you to a table by the window with a gentle smile.

“This is the best spot to sit,” you said, beaming as you looked out the large window. “You can watch all the people go by.”

He admired you, feeling his chest swell with pride that he had made a good choice.

You continued chatting about various topics, from your hobbies to your favorite TV shows. Stephen found himself opening up more than usual with you — something about you made him feel at ease and encouraged him to share pieces of himself.

By the end of the lunch hour, you had made your way back to the looming office building. You both stopped before returning inside, Stephen turning to look at you with a small smile.

“Thanks for the company,” he said, that familiar blush tinting his cheeks. “It meant more than you know.”

“Of course, Stephen,” you smiled. “Anytime.”

He watched you turn to walk back into the building, reaching out to stop you before he realized what he was doing. He felt a spike of anxiety shoot through his stomach as you turned around to look at him expectantly.

“Would you maybe wanna come over after work?” Stephen asked, breathing heavily. “I have Monopoly, if you like that sort of thing. I also have some left over danishes from that bakery down the street that I simply can’t finish all by myself.”

He watched your ears perk up at the mention of the pastries you’d stop to get before work some mornings. Hope brimmed in his chest as you contemplated his offer.

You couldn’t deny the intrigue. You’d enjoyed his company during lunch, and wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

“Can I play as the top hat?” You smirked, laughing as his face lit up.

Stephen felt a wave of relief wash over him as he responded, “Consider it yours.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you said, genuinely, before returning back to the office.

Stephen watched you walk off, his smile refusing to leave his face. As you parted ways, he couldn't shake off the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Each step felt lighter, as if he was walking on clouds.

The upcoming game night weighed heavily on his mind throughout the day. Every time he caught himself daydreaming about it, he'd snap back to reality and focus on his work. Yet, the excitement lingered, making the hours drag by slowly.

When evening finally came, he rushed home to prepare everything for your meeting. He wanted everything to be perfect — from setting up the game board to arranging the pastries he’d stopped to pick up after work.

You followed the address Stephen had sent you, showing up to his apartment. You couldn’t deny that you were excited to spend more time with him. He fascinated you in more ways than one. There was the obvious about his stories, yes, but there was also the way he seemed to melt when he looked at you.

You knocked gently on his door, waiting for his response.

Stephen stood at the entrance of his apartment, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He had cleaned and prepared everything meticulously, ensuring every detail was just right. As he opened the door, he found his hands trembling.

"Hey," he greeted softly, gesturing for you to enter. The sight of you took his breath away, and he couldn't help but blush under your gaze.

He showed you to the living room, where the Monopoly board lay spread out on the table. Next to it was an array of pastries and a fresh pot of coffee.

"Please, sit wherever you'd like," he said shyly, already feeling self-conscious.

“You’ve got the whole spread, huh?” You asked with an impressed smile, sitting down on his couch.

Your cheeks warmed with a blush of their own when you noticed he’d laid out the exact amount of creamer and sugar that you usually used.

Stephen chuckled softly, glancing around his apartment nervously. "Just trying to make it special," he explained, sitting across from you with the Monopoly board between you.

He poured you both a cup of coffee, watching as you observed your surroundings.

As you began playing, Stephen found himself getting lost in the fun, enjoying the sound of your laughter and the occasional touch of your hand while passing money or property cards. Every interaction sent electric shocks through him, leaving him spellbound.

You had genuinely enjoyed the game night. Both of you winning your fair share of rounds. He knew how to reel people in, that was for sure.

Eventually, you’d consumed all of the coffee and sweets that you could handle and had just bought out the last property on the board.

“There,” you said, triumphantly, winning again. “That makes three for me.”

Stephen couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at losing once again, but instead of sulking, he smiled widely, clapping for you.

"Impressive! Congrats," he said, sincerely. He noticed the time on his wall clock, realizing how late it had become. "Want to order some pizza before calling it a night?" He proposed, hoping to extend your time together.

Despite the losses, he cherished every moment spent with you. Your presence brought him a comfort and joy that he hadn't experienced in years.

You also weren’t in any rush to end the night, enjoying the time you were spending with him.

“I like pizza,” you smiled.

Stephen grinned, elated that you’d agreed.

“Fantastic,” he said, grabbing his phone to order the pizza. “It’ll be the best pizza you’ve ever had, honest.”

While waiting for the food to arrive, he engaged you in conversation — asking about your interests and hobbies.

When the doorbell rang, he quickly answered, accepting the piping hot pizza box. As you both sat down to eat, he felt grateful for this rare glimpse of a normal evening.

You were both laughing, talking about 80s music when you finished the last of the pizza.

“Really, Stephen? Like a Virgin is your favorite 80s song?” You asked, trying to catch your breath from your fit of giggles.

Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, sheepishly. "What can I say? It reminds me of being a teenager."

“I don’t know whether that’s hilarious or extremely sad,” you laughed, wiping your eyes.

“Yeah, me either,” he shrugged, grinning at you.

He glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had become. "I suppose we should call it a night," he said reluctantly, standing up.

Your eyes widened as you saw the time. It was nearly midnight. You’d been so lost in the night that you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

“Yeah, I suppose we should,” you agreed, standing up as well. “We won’t be very useful at work if we’re walking around half asleep.”

He smiled at your comment as he walked you to the door. He found himself wanting to kiss you, willing his eyes to stay away from your lips. Instead, he extended a polite handshake.

“Thanks for coming over,” he murmured, nervously. “I had a great time.”

You liked this version of him. The sweet, shy Stephen who didn’t feel the need to rely on stories of grandeur to captivate his audience. This version, the real version, you felt yourself falling for.

“Thank you for having me, Stephen,” you said, taking his hand gently. “I had a lovely time.”

Stephen watched you leave, feeling a mix of excitement and sadness. He waved until you disappeared from view, then returned inside his apartment.

The guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders as he sat alone in silence, staring at the Monopoly board left scattered on the coffee table.

The next day, when you arrived at the office, you noticed some of your co-workers giving you odd looks. You ignored it at first, unlocking your office and going about your morning.

You had honestly expected Stephen to greet you, but he was strangely nowhere to be found. He’d been so eager to spend time together yesterday…

You tried to ignore the twist of disappointment in your stomach as you went about your morning.

Later, when you left your office to grab some papers, you noticed the strange looks again. This time, they were accompanied by hushed whispers and giggles. You looked around, skeptically, continuing on with your task.

It wasn’t until you were walking back to your office that you managed to hear a bit of what two women were saying.

“Can you believe it? He said she used handcuffs on him,” one of the women whispered, eyeing you up and down.

“She seems so reserved… I guess you never know when someone’s a freak in the sheets,” the other responded in hushed giggles.

You stopped dead in your tracks, trying to hear more of what they were saying.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to fucking Steve either, but I didn’t think she could be so…animalistic.”

Anger burned underneath your skin as you clutched the papers so tightly that they had all wrinkled. Your breathing was labored as you walked over to Stephen’s cubicle.

“Can I talk to you in my office, Stephen?” You asked, sharply.

Stephen looked up from his desk, startled by your sudden appearance. He swallowed hard, noting the anger simmering in your eyes. "Of course," he replied, following you to your office.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him, waiting for you to speak. "Is everything okay?" He inquired cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest.

You leaned against your desk in front of a chair where Stephen moved to sit, crossing your arms.

“No, Stephen, everything is not okay,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

He was nervous. Fidgeting in his seat, refusing to make direct eye contact with you for longer than a second. All signs that he was feeling anxious about something — or guilty.

He shrunk in on himself, his tongue darting out to lick his lips that had gone dry the minute you walked into his office as he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad?!” You questioned back, fuming as his eyes stayed glued to the floor. “Care to tell me why the entire office is gossiping about some story of the rough, passionate sex we supposedly had?”

"It was...a misunderstanding," he stuttered, his voice barely audible, panic etched into his features. "They thought we had an affair, which isn't true."

“Yeah, I know it’s not true Stephen,” you scoffed, “but why do they think that it is?”

“You know how office gossip spreads,” he shrugged, his right knee bouncing as he pushed up his glasses. “Someone starts a story and everyone latches onto it like a bunch of leaches until they’re so full of shit that they drop it and move on.”

Your jaw ticked as you asked, “How would they even know to start this kind of story?”

“I don’t know!” Stephen defended, furrowing his eyebrows as his nostrils flared. “People are animals. Believe me, I’m just as upset as you are by all of this.”

He was scrambling, trying to play off innocent like he always did. Normally, you’d write it off. Even finding it somewhat endearing on most occasions. This time, however, it only fueled your anger.

“Did someone make up the story as petty office gossip or did you make it up so that the office would talk about something other than you completely making up Hack Heaven?” You asked, matter-of-factly. You saw the shock in his features, the readiness to deny, so you added, “Yeah, I know you made up that article and god only knows how many more. There’s no point in lying to me.”

Stephen stared at you in disbelief, shaken by your revelation. "How...how did you…?" he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, Stephen, you’re a tremendous writer but a terrible liar. I saw through your stories the moment I met you,” you said, a certain bite to your words. “What I didn’t expect was to become the center of one of your fictitious escapades.”

He could feel his world crumbling. All of his lies had caught up to him, and worse, he had involved you in it. "I...I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he stammered, rubbing his temples.

Stephen winced, feeling his face heat up. He stared at his shoes, unable to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, genuinely remorseful. "I never meant to drag you into this mess."

He took a deep breath, mustering the courage to speak the truth. "I made up stories because I wanted to succeed. I craved recognition and believed that's what it took." His voice cracked as he continued. "Seeing how much it's hurt you... I wish I could take it all back."

The weight of his actions bore down on him, realizing the consequences. There were no more webs to spin, no more excuses to give. He’d been caught in the worst way possible.

You looked at him for a moment, studying the way he sunk in on himself and the water rising in his eyes. You didn’t know whether you could believe his regret or not. A small piece of you wanted to.

“Tell me the story, then,” you said, uncrossing your arms. When you saw Stephen’s confusion, you continued. “You seemed to have such a riveting tale of our affair, so let me hear it. Tell me what you told them I supposedly did to you.”

“W-what?” Stephen sputtered, eyes wide as he glanced at you. “But…I…”

He waited, desperately hoping you’d back down, but he could see the fierce determination in your eyes. His face flamed as he took a shaky breath.

“I…I told them all kinds of details and descriptions,” he whispered, nervously. “I’m really sorry.”

“Tell me the details and descriptions, Stephen,” you said, sternly. “You didn’t have a problem telling them, so tell me.”

Stephen sighed, shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before recounting the fabricated encounter.

"I told them you were-”

“Look at me, Stephen,” you snapped, interrupting him.

His breath hitched as his eyes snapped up to meet yours. His skin burned hot. It was already bad enough having to tell you all of this, but it was even worse having to look at you while he did it. He released a shaky breath, beginning again.

"I told them you were aggressive and dominant in bed," he started, his voice barely audible. He winced, ashamed of his imagination. “Please, forgive me.”

“Start from the beginning,” you told him with a glare. “How did you tell them it started?”

Stephen swallowed hard, feeling nauseous as he recalled his lies. "I said we started chatting about music, after playing Monopoly," he began hesitantly. "Then, I said that you suggested we continue the night doing…something else."

He paused, unsure if he should continue. "I said you initiated it, that you wanted me in ways I'd never imagined," he murmured. "I painted a picture of desire and lust, claiming you were the one taking charge."

Stephen felt sick, realizing how much damage he'd caused — not only to his relationship with you, but also to your reputation.

You didn’t miss the brief flash of desire in his eyes as he recounted the beginning of this tale he’d spun, even if it was quickly replaced by guilt and anxiousness.

You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back onto the desk more.

“So, in this story, you made it sound like I was all over you?” You clarified, your anger ticking. “What did you say happened next?”

"Yes, I...I made it seem like you pursued me," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I described your actions in explicit detail."

He hesitated, feeling uncomfortable talking about it. "I mentioned the way you touched me, and your voice...” He took a breath, fidgeting. “I said that you led me into my bedroom a-and that you…undressed me. I told them that you had…uh…that you had handcuffs. I made it sound like you were very aggressive."

Seeing your anger, he felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry. Please, understand that I never meant to hurt you."

You noticed him shifting uncomfortably, covering his lap with his hands as he spoke. Why was he trying to cover his lap? Was he getting turned on by this? Did he want to hide his arousal? Without wavering your stoic face, you said, “Put your arms by your sides, Stephen.”

Stephen's eyes widened slightly at your command but he obeyed without question. He put his arms by his sides, his face flush. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible.

He could feel his heart racing, partly due to the embarrassment of his reaction and partly due to the regret of his actions.

As he held his arms at his sides, you noticed the unmistakable tent forming in his pants.

“Keep going,” you said, cocking your head. “How did you tell them I used the handcuffs?”

Stephen's face turned bright red, mortified by your observation. He gulped, struggling to maintain eye contact. "I...I said you handcuffed me to the bedpost and...um…took control," he stammered, his voice breaking.

“Was this some sort of weird fantasy you’d had all along, or did it just fly off your tongue like all the other stories you tell?” You asked, harshly.

Stephen's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't deny it.

"I...I won't deny that it was partially a fantasy," he admitted, his voice a whisper, "but I never intended for it to become reality or cause you any harm."

He could feel the weight of his words, realizing the magnitude of his actions. "I'm so sorry. I was wrong, and I will do whatever it takes to make it right."

“Is that why you’re getting hard just talking about it?” You laughed, bitterly, glancing at the growing erection.

Stephen's face was crimson, his embarrassment palpable. He couldn't look at you, averting his eyes instead. "I don't...I don't know," he mumbled.

He knew he'd crossed a line, and he was desperate to fix it. "Please, I'm so sorry. I'll do anything to make it right. Just give me a chance."

“Anything?” You asked, raising a brow at him. The sunlight from the open blinds lit up his scarlet cheeks, accentuating the blue in his eyes “Unbutton your shirt.”

Stephen froze, his eyes wide with shock. He glanced at the open blinds, then back at you. Despite his reluctance, he slowly took off his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale chest.

You didn’t move from your position as your eyes trailed down the exposed skin of his torso, stopping back at the growing erection in his pants.

“Now, undo your pants,” you instructed, crossing your arms.

Stephen gulped, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he slowly started to remove his belt and unbutton his pants. He hesitated, his hands shaking, but he knew he had to follow your instructions.

As his zipper lowered, the erection became more apparent, straining against his boxers. He tried to keep his eyes on your face, but the embarrassment was overwhelming.

The bright redness that burned his face had now also began flushing his chest. You stopped yourself from smirking at the sight.

“Well, go on…” you told him. “Push them the rest of the way down.”

Stephen hesitated, his hands trembling as he gripped his pants. He took a deep breath, knowing there was no turning back. With a shaky hand, he pushed his pants down to his ankles.

He sat there, utterly exposed and humiliated, waiting for your next command. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and shame coursing through him.

You stared at his sizable erection, straining against the boxers he wore.

“Boxers, too,” you said, cocking your head.

Stephen's face was beet red, but he complied, slowly pulling down his boxers. His erection sprang free, standing rigid and exposed.

He felt vulnerable and humiliated, but at the same time, he couldn't help but be aroused. He waited for your reaction, expecting your anger to be unbearable.

Your eyes widened slightly at the size of him, springing free from its confine. The sunlight caught him deliciously and you couldn’t deny the stir in your stomach.

“Look at you,” you laughed, “this worked up from your own imagination. You’re practically leaking everywhere.”

He felt his entire body flush at your attention, feeling the pre-cum dripping down his shaft. He felt like he was drowning in his own desire and lies.

“Yes, I'm...I'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“It looks awfully painful,” you said, still studying him. “All red and aching…”

You stood up straighter, standing tall over where he was sat in the chair. If he wanted you to take control, then that’s what he was going to get.

“You’re going to finish telling me the story that you told them, recounting every twisted detail you dreamed up, and you’re going to fuck yourself in front of me while you do it.”

Stephen's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't argue. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. The combination of his arousal and your command left him breathless.

He reached for his erection, feeling the heat and wetness pulsating in his veins. Hesitantly, he began to stroke himself, his mind flooded with the details of his fantasy.

He hoped this would show you his remorse, that this would be his way to beg you for forgiveness.

“What did you tell them happened after I handcuffed you, Stephen?” You asked, watching as he fisted his dick.

Stephen's grip tightened on his erection, his breathing becoming ragged. "I...I said you took control, touching me slowly...and teasing me." He groaned softly, his body responding to his thoughts. His actions mirrored his words as he absentmindedly teased himself, adding to the intensity of the current situation.

You locked eyes with him, seeing how his pupils dilated as you asked, “How did I tease you?”

Stephen's fingers danced faster, his breaths growing ragged. "I, uh, said you played with my nipples, tracing them with your fingers." He moaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed. "Then, I said you kissed me...all over." He gasped, his body arching slightly.

His mind was consumed by both your questions and his arousal, making it harder to separate fantasy from reality.

“Did I make you beg for it, Stephen?” You asked, your voice growing husky. You were relishing in the way he was falling apart, so submissive and eager.

Stephen's eyes snapped open at your question, his body trembling. "Yes," he gasped, his fist moving faster. "I said you made me beg for it, for relief and your touch."

His breathing became erratic, every thrust of his hand mirroring the intensity of his thoughts. "I begged for you, begged for everything you were doing to me."

He could barely focus on the task at hand, his arousal and fantasies clouding his mind.

“Tell me what you said I did to you after you begged for it,” you told him. You saw the way he was quickly losing himself and added, “and don’t you dare thinking about coming before I tell you to.”

Stephen's breath hitched, his grip tightening on his erection as a whimper escaped his lips. "I...I said you took me, forcefully and passionately," he panted, his body trembling.

He could feel the edge, the pleasure threatening to overtake him, but he forced himself to slow down, obeying your command.

His eyes locked on yours, desperation evident in his gaze. "Please, I need...I need to come."

“Is that what you dreamed of saying to me in this fantasy of yours?” You asked, leaning a bit closer. “Did you beg me to let you come while I was passionately taking you?”

Stephen's heart raced, his mind whirling. "Yes," he breathed. "I...I begged for release, for you to let me come."

He could feel the pressure building, the pleasure and humiliation overwhelming him. "Please,” he whined, “please let me finish this."

His eyes pleaded with you, hoping you would grant him the release he craved.

“Not yet,” you said, coldly.

His skin was flushed with arousal and embarrassment, sweat was beading on his brow, and his eyes were blown with lust. You enjoyed his desperation, deciding to push it further.

“What do you think would happen if someone looked through the window and saw you right now, Stephen?” You taunted, tilting your head towards the open blinds letting in the sunlight. “Or what if one of our coworkers walked right in to my office? What if they saw you, desperate and begging, just like your little stories?”

You glanced over at your closed office door and said, “Come to think of it, I don’t remember locking the door.”

Stephen's eyes widened, panic rising in his chest. "Oh god," he gasped, his grip tightening on his erection.

He could feel the orgasm building, the pleasure and humiliation threatening to consume him. His eyes darted to the door, the possibility of exposure sending chills down his spine.

He knew he was at your mercy, desperate for release and terrified of what might happen. "Please, I can't...I can't take this anymore."

You walked over, placing your hands on each of the armrests and leaning over him — giving him a delectable view of your cleavage beneath your shirt.

“What’s stopping me from opening that door right now and letting them all see you, hm?” You taunted. “You were so keen to describe the details of this fantasy, why not let them witness it for themselves.”

Stephen's heart pounded in his chest, his body trembling. "No," he whimpered, his gaze locked on your cleavage. "Please, don't do that. I...I can't handle it."

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” You taunted. “You made up this story in the first place to take their eyes off of your fabricated articles. I think this would certainly do the trick. Nobody would be thinking about Hack Heaven if they saw you like this — exposed, desperate, needy, fucking yourself as you beg for my mercy. I think this is a front page picture.”

Stephen's eyes widened, panic rising in his chest. He glanced at the door again, the possibility of exposure weighing heavily on him.

"Please, I can't... I can't have them see me like this," he pleaded in that whiny voice of his, tears in his eyes.

His grip tightened, his body shaking as he fought against the impending orgasm. He needed you to decide, to put an end to his torment.

“Yet you’re gripping your dick that much harder,” you noted with a smirk. “Does the thought turn you on, Stevie? Being seen like this? Being exposed?”

Stephen's breath hitched, his eyes locked on yours. He nodded, slowly, tears streaming down his face. "Still…I don't want them to see me like this. I'm begging you."

His hand didn't stop, his body betraying him as the pleasure built. He felt trapped, his desires conflicting with his fear of exposure.

“You look so pretty like this, though,” You teased, grazing your nails lightly across his nipples. “I’m sure they’d love to see their favorite coworker so compromised.”

Stephen gasped, thrusting his hips up off of the chair. "Please," he whined, stroking himself faster.

You kept teasing his sensitive nipples with your nails, loving to see how wrecked he was. The anger you had felt had morphed into desire as you watched him falling apart in front of you.

“You’re just so close,” you cooed, taunting him, “aren’t you?”

"Yes," he whimpered, his eyes locked onto yours. "I'm...I'm so close."

He could feel the orgasm building, the pleasure and humiliation overwhelming him. Your touch sent shivers down his spine, his body betraying him once again.

“Beg me to let you come, Stevie,” you told him, mercilessly circling the hardened buds on his chest.

"Please," he gasped, his voice trembling. "Let me come, please."

He could feel the climax approaching, his body tensing. He needed your permission, your approval.

You backed away from him, becoming his audience.

“Come for me, Stephen,” you commanded, watching him intently.

Stephen's eyes widened, relief washing over him. "Thank you," he whimpered, his grip tightening as he chased his peak.

When he finally let himself fall over the edge, his eyes rolled back, his body jerking as the orgasm hit him. He came hard, whimpering your name and arching off of the seat as he bit down on his bottom lip to muffle his whines.

He slumped forward, panting heavily, his emotions a chaotic mix of gratitude and humiliation.

He looked utterly disheveled. His clothes hanging off of him, his skin flushed, his hair a mess, his glasses fogged. He looked delectable.

You handed him a box of tissues and said, “Clean yourself up and put your clothes back on.”

Stephen's breaths were heavy, his body still trembling as the afterglow settled in. He took the tissues gratefully, cleaning himself up.

He quickly straightened his clothes, his movements shaky. He felt vulnerable and exposed, but also strangely liberated.

As he stood up, he met your gaze, a mix of gratitude, embarrassment, and desire in his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured.

You crossed your arms, standing in front of him after he’d somewhat composed himself.

“Never ever lie about me again,” you told him.

Stephen's heart raced, his eyes locked on yours. "I won't," he promised, his voice quiet but firm. "I'm sorry for everything."

He knew he'd made a mistake, and he wasn't going to repeat it. He wanted your forgiveness, to start anew and make things right.

Despite the harshness in your tone, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him.

You nodded, sighing as you uncrossed your arms.

“Well, I didn’t have handcuffs on me, but at least now your story has some credibility,” you joked, letting up on the sternness.

Stephen managed a weak smile, the blush still tinting his cheeks. "That it does," he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

He could feel the tension easing, the weight of his lies lifting from his shoulders. He knew he still had a long way to go, but this was a step in the right direction.

He hoped you could move past this, build something stronger and more honest.

You didn’t think he was malicious, just insecure and unsure of how to create his true identity. It was somehow still endearing.

You grabbed his face, gently pressing a kiss to his lips.

Stephen's breath hitched, his heart racing as he eagerly returned the kiss, melting into you with a soft whimper.

He felt a mix of relief, gratitude, and desire. You had given him a chance, and he intended to prove himself worthy.

As you pulled away, he met your gaze, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Thank you," he whispered.

You glanced at the office door and then back at him, his adorable face flushed.

“If they ask what happened, for once in your life just keep your mouth shut,” you giggled, softly.

Stephen chuckled, his cheeks flushing even more. "I will," he promised, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He knew he had to learn from this experience, to be honest and true to himself. He wanted to earn your trust and respect.

As he looked at you, he realized that, despite the chaos, something had changed between you. You had shared something intimate, and he felt grateful.

[rizsu]

fuck my life; hold me tight. model!gojo satoru ⭒ fem-reader.

satoru came back after his two-week long trip for his modeling gigs. he's the same, but who's this ‘saori’ lady with a thorny stick up her ass? wc : 6.2k · usage of y/n.

+ love ‘su: thou shall not lie, thou shall not cheat! 😝 i left this without the small font bc it's lowkey a lot tbh

one › who's this?

undoubtedly, today’s the most important. you’ve been impatiently crossing off the days on the calendar until satoru returns. familiar with your excitement, he called you prior to hold you back from coming to the airport. it was strange, but nevertheless you thought less of it.

with your day now free, you spent it preparing for satoru. his favorite dishes were made, charcuterie board prepared, and the series you both watched together can be resumed. every time the thought of seeing satoru with your eyes again comes about, you get goosebumps. it’s almost sickening how he’s plagued your mind, becoming the balance-shifting object for your moods.

your eyes shift to the clock, realizing that there’s only an hour until he walks through the door. 4:00 p.m it reads, you’ve yet to shower — let alone choose an outfit. some may say your actions are too much, but nothing is ever “too much” when it comes to satoru. have you lost your marbles? not all, but perhaps you’ve become slightly boy crazy (with justifying reasons!)

4:58 p.m: you’re anxiously switching between apps on your phone, trying your best to not stare at the clock on the top of the screen. it’s insanely tempting, but you won’t give in. there’s no better distraction than window shopping on websites for items you’ll never set free with your credit card.

the door slams open, and soon a cheerful voice follows. they both jerk you out of your trance, leaving you with the pair of a palpitating heart and widened eyes.

“BABY!” a disheveled satoru shouts, recklessly dropping his luggage at the front of the door.

he walk-runs past the furniture, dodging the table corners until he’s nearing the sofa you’re situated on.

“sa-SATORU?!” you’re shocked even though you expected his arrival.

you unconsciously stood up, abandoning your phone as you moved to him. satoru mirrors you, being the first of the two to engulf you into a heartfelt hug. he squeezes you hard, burying his head into the junction between your neck and shoulder. his hand cups the back of your head, pressing softly into your hair.

“i missed you,” he whispers, letting out a shaky breath. “it took an entire week to sleep properly without you.”

“you’re addicted,” you joked, lifting a hand to ruffle his already-ruffled hair.

“not funny.”

“okay, okay, sorry. i missed you too.” you pull away from satoru, smiling at his pouting expression.

your hands move to his shoulders, gripping his puffed jacket to pull them down. he helps you by moving his arms out of it. once it’s off, he rolls his shoulders back, rolling his neck around to stretch his muscles. he’s been cooped up in a sitting position for twelve hours; the last thing he needs are stiff muscles and a sore body.

content with the new, relaxed feeling, satoru looks around. everything’s the same, as expected. nothing changed other than the charcuterie board on the coffee table and the dishes on the dining table. immediately, he recognizes the food. how could he not? it’s the food he labeled as his favorite even when it wasn’t.

in multiple attempts to please your mother on the first meeting, he went along with her words.

the soap opera she’s caught up in? oh, he’s been watching it too!

short videos she found on social media that are painfully unfunny? actually, it’s hilarious!

the lunch she cooked? it’s now something he’s been craving for weeks.

the salad? to you, he hates greens since they’re ‘flavorless’. to your mother? golly! put more on his plate!

he spent the week at your parents’ gaslighting himself until it became the truth. he became a new man after the meeting. lemon water was his new go-to (influenced by your mother) and card games are his forte (influenced by your father).

ever since then the main dish your mother cooked up became his true favorite. maybe it’s because of the warmth that came with it, or maybe it’s because he’s still gaslighting himself. nonetheless, he’ll always eat it.

“did you make all this yourself?” he questions, stealing a bite before you could’ve plated his food.

“hands off,” you slapped his hand, “i didn’t, though. i asked my mother.”

“ah, my mother-in-law. i miss your parents, too. we should visit,” he suggests, rubbing his hand that you heartlessly slapped.

“mhm, soon,” you agreed, sliding his plate to him. “let’s sit and eat.”

──

the plates are cleared, the charcuterie board’s three-quarters finished, and you’re on the final episode of season one of the show. satoru’s head is on your lap, busying his hands by poking at your thigh’s skin. your hand’s following suit, busying itself by playing with his hair strands.

the show was long forgotten, being demoted to background noise the moment you asked satoru to tell you all about the trip. you’ve heard the details beforehand during your calls, but it’s different to hear it face-to-face.

you intently listened as he talked, giving him mhms and yeahs to let him know you’re listening.

“oh, and i met a new co-worker? friend? i dunno but we’re acquainted now,” he speaks, looking up to you.

“really? i’m glad. is he a model too?”

“yeah, but it’s a she.”

you paused for a second. a she? that’s new. you’re not the type to anger yourself over your boyfriend befriending the opposite gender, but you’d still like to see her.

“i’d like to meet her,” you said, looking down at him with a soft smile.

“are you free in two days? i have a meeting that day. she’ll probably be there — no chances though, i never asked about her schedule...” his voice trails off as he ponders, trying to remember if she mentioned anything about being in a meeting after the trip.

“of course i’m free. i took a sick leave on purpose for this week.”

satoru laughs at the new information. you took a sick leave just for him? at your position of head assistant? he’ll never find someone who loves him like you do.

— two days after : the meeting.

you’re walking hand-in-hand with satoru through the hallway. you’re a little — no, incredibly nervous. it’s your first time officially meeting satoru’s business buddies. they know of you, you know of them, but that’s about it.

you dressed yourself up professionally, trying to match the classy rich vibes. it’s times like these you appreciate satoru’s over-the-top, multiple-zeros gifts. you’ll have to remember to give him special thanks for this.

“okay, we’re here,” he says, knocking you out of the nervousness.

“if you start feeling uncomfortable, squeeze my hand, okay? i’ll take you out of there,” reassuring you, he gifts you a peck on your forehead, topping it off with his genuine smile that’s only for you.

his hand turns the door knob, walking in with his model smile as he greets the members. you’re tailing behind him, trying to hide. the sudden energy shift didn’t match yours, so your instinct to hide behind satoru kicked in. unluckily for you, your boyfriend was set to formally introduce you. he uses a hand to hold your wrist, pulling you to the side of him.

“you brought a plus one with you i see,” a guy notes the obvious, smiling at your shyness. he already has an idea of who you are.

his words catch the attention of others. within seconds every pair of eyes landed on you. unfamiliar with the amount of attention, you squeezed satoru’s hand, placing a fake smile to mask your uncomfort.

“nuh uh, get your own. that’s too much staring,” satoru complains, squeezing back your hand. he steps in front of you, leading you both to two reserved seats at the table.

“i’m assuming that lady must be the one you talked everyone’s ears off about,” a lady suggests this time, stretching out her arm to you as she’s on the opposite side, but directly in front of you.

you stretched your arm out to her, accepting her handshake.

“i’m (y/n), pleasure to meet you.”

“it’s a pleasure to meet you too. call me mia,” she introduces herself, ignoring the heated glare of a man who doesn’t like sharing.

similarly, you’re ignoring the gut feeling of someone glaring through your soul. the situation feels similar to your teacher staring at you during an exam when you secretly have cheating materials with you.

the meeting continues on. you were introduced to everyone and met with questions. some complained about satoru to you, and others asked how you’re able to tolerate him. of course, satoru took offense. he flipped them off with the finger that has your matching rings on.

an hour later, you’re in the building’s cafeteria with satoru. it was okay; the atmosphere was friendly — minus that one person who glared at you. you don’t know who they are, nor what they look like as you avoided that corner. your social battery is drained, and you’re hungry for a light snack.

“baby, can you order for us? i gotta let it go. real bad,” satoru says, balling his fingers into a fist to hold back the feeling.

“uh, sure, but what do you mean let it go?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“piss, baby. piss. love you, bye!”

with that, satoru speeds off, almost colliding with another worker in the process.

gathering your order, you looked around for an unoccupied table to sit at. unfortunately, they’re all unoccupied. it’s a little awkward, but you’re left with no other option than to ask someone if satoru has his own office.

“ah, mia!” you called out, spotting her outside the smoking room.

“(y/n)! need anything before i smoke?” she smiles, pointing at the door.

“um, do you know if satoru has his own office?” contrary to your nervousness, your voice came out perfectly.

“take the elevator and press number ten. turn left and stop until you’re at the third room; that’s his office.”

“thanks much, mia!” you gave her a bright smile, turning around to find your new destination.

“no problem, (y/n),” she waves you off, entering the smoking room.

you followed mia’s directions, taking the elevator to floor ten and entering the third room on the left. it’s no doubt that the office is satoru’s. the pineapple-framed mirror confirmed it all. that mirror is the same mirror satoru try to convince you that it’s “in style”.

settling down in his office, you can finally be at rest. placing the food his desk, you plopped yourself down on his chair.

‘it’s comfortable, but surely it doesn’t take that long to pee,’ you think, suspecting that satoru may have gotten caught up in a conversation.

the door clicks, opening to reveal someone. your mind thought of satoru, but it was indeed not. it wasn’t even the right gender. a beautiful girl entered; her aura was a cool, mysterious, “i’m better than you” feel. confusion poured down on you. who is she and why is she here?

you don’t strike a conversation. instead, you simply watch her walk into the office until she’s in front of the desk.

“do you need some—”

“you must be gojo satoru’s bitch.”

“excuse me?” not only were you cut off, you were called a bitch. clearly, she’s not on friendly terms, and who does she think she is?

she looks down at you, placing a taunting smile on her lips. you don’t care since you’re the one on his chair, but who is she calling a bitch?!

“compared to satoru, you’re… low, to put it kindly!”

“okay, but who asked you that?” you questioned her, rolling your eyes.

if you were in a fantasy novel, she’d be the main villainess who’s engaged to the male lead for political reasons. you’re the female lead who’ll become victim to the villainess’ antics as the male lead, satoru, fell for you.

flustered at your sentence, she scoffs. compared to the shy persona you displayed at the meeting, you’re all bitchy now.

“i don’t need someone to ask me something in order to speak my mind.”

“oh my god. i didn’t ask you that, nor do i want your input.” you rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink.

“i don’t like you. you’re not good enough for satoru,” she voices her (unwanted) opinions, scanning you up and down.

“it’s gojo to you, missy. who’s the girlfriend here?” you noted her mistakes while making your position obvious.

she rolls her eyes, offended at being called ‘missy.’

“and it’s saori, not missy. get it right.”

“why must you disturb my tranquility with your nonsense ? please exit, missy.”

“i said it’s—”

“saori? why are you here?” satoru enters, removing his coat in the process.

“that’s what i asked her,” you said, looking at her up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“i wanted to meet your girl-friend, satoru!” suddenly her tone changed. the space she put between the word girlfriend didn’t go unnoticed by you either.

this is ridiculous.

he slowly nods, thinking that the deliberate pause between girlfriend might’ve been his imagination.

“oh, i was gonna introduce you guys. you beat me to it,” he pouts, walking over next to you to give you another kiss.

you smiled at satoru but smirked at saori.

irritated, she huffs, “i’ve seen enough, call me when you’re free from that, satoru.”

both of you watch her walk out in silence. satoru’s now confused.

“what’s that about?” he asks, scratching his head.

“is she the friend you talked about?” you answered his question with your question.

“yeah, but i don’t know why she has such an attitude all of a sudden. did her boyfriend argue with her?”

“pfft— she has a boyfriend?” you scoffed, learning that she’s not only the bitch, but potentially unloyal. why else would she bother you, who’s satoru’s girlfriend, if it wasn’t because she likes him?

he nods, shrugging off the curiosity to know what’s with her shift in behavior.

“whatever, let’s eat, baby.”

──

it’s way past your bedtime, and you’ve just arrived home. the day was eventful, minus the missy encounter, but nonetheless you had fun.

although you’re glad to be acquainted with satoru’s peers, you couldn’t shake off the suspicion that sao-whatever-her-name-is has been making advances to satoru while your presence was absent.

you can tell that satoru holds no affection to her, but you’re still worried. satoru’s loyal, yes, but he’s an oblivious idiot. if he nor you isn’t the one flirting, he wouldn’t notice anything. that’s why her behavior change whenever he’s around is seen as “friendly” and not “i want you so bad” to him.

you sighed, shaking your head to rid it of her. what’s important is that satoru isn’t interested in her. you can sleep with that comforting image in mind.

now that satoru’s home, you’ve been attached to each other like the north and south pole of two magnets. inseparable. it’s been like this for a week, but something changed.

two › is it just you or…?

the sao-still-don’t-remember-her-name missy has been ringing satoru’s phone down whether it’s by messages, voice messages, or calls. at this point, it’s annoying. satoru himself was one call away from blocking her, but he couldn’t.

aside from satoru himself, she’s the other key member in the new project. if he suddenly draws a line between them it can become what kills the project. thankfully, the conversations have been limited to work-related topics… or so you believe.

you’re on the sofa, indulging in a new show as you peeled an apple. the show’s plot became so intense that your eyes are glued to the television instead of the apple.

satoru jugs down the stairs, grabbing his car keys and running over behind you. he bends over to place a kiss on your cheek, notifying you that he’ll be meeting up with saori. not paying any mind to him, you bid him goodbye without thinking.

it’s only after he exits the door you register what he said. ‘meeting up with saori? that bitch? ew,’ you shuddered at the thought of her. she’s not scary, definitely not ugly, but sure as hell is a bitch. at least you remember her name now.

──

after that day, satoru’s free time has been occupied with her. you’re now sure it’s not “just work” that’s been going on. you trust satoru, but you don’t trust her.

there’s no reason for someone to meet up with their co-worker every day for work. work is never that interesting. it’s not like they’re in charge of the project either; the project is within the authority of mia and some other guy.

everything about the situation at hand has been bothering you. was she attached to satoru like this during the trip? were they always within arms length of each other? not even you were that clingy to satoru.

the idea to raise alarm bells to satoru crossed you, but the potential argument that may follow is what has you hesitating. you don’t want to suspect satoru’s friend, but her behavior needs to be discussed.

you waited until satoru’s home, showered, and comfortable in bed to bring forth the question. your palms are sweating, but it needs to be done.

“say satoru, can i ask you something?” you hesitated, looking at him.

“yeah, why not?” he replies, eyes stuck on his phone.

“what do you think of that girl?”

“who’s that— do you mean saori?” he laughs, “she’s cool, if i were to be honest. she’s fun to hang around with.”

“has it ever crossed your mind that she likes you?” you cold sweat, worried that he’ll take offense.

“who wouldn’t like me? i’m sexy,” he jokes, winking at you.

you playfully slap his chest. “i’m being serious here!”

“i don’t think she does— or at least i hope she doesn’t. i don’t want to be her boyfriend’s archenemy,” satoru truthfully responds, feeling his pores raise at the thought of a taken man’s enemy.

if you were to like another man satoru would honestly write a will and erase himself from history. so, it’s only natural that he hopes saori doesn’t become her boyfriend’s pain.

you hum, satisfied with his answer. it’s clear as day now. satoru doesn’t view her in any romantic way, but you know she has a thing or two for him.

not wanting to push your luck, you end it there. pulling satoru’s phone away to throw your body on his.

three › wicked witch of the west.

it’s almost as if the conversation with satoru triggered a chain reaction. for whatever the reason may be, you’ve now seen this woman more than your own parents. she invites herself over almost every day.

every time you open the door it’s her snobby face. it sickens you. you ordered a package recently and whenever someone knocks on the door, you think it’s the delivery guy, but nope! it’s the wicked witch of the west!

today it happened again. someone knocked, you opened, missy appears, satoru unwillingly follows her for the sake of the project, you’re left with murderous intent.

it’s time you talk about this with someone. that’s right, you’ve kept your worries inside you but this is just too much! there’s no reason for a taken lady to follow another man like she’s his shadow — far less for a taken man!

frustrated, you phoned your friend.

“hey, utahime.”

“(y/n), my baby! how are you?”

“i’m okay-ish, how about you?”

“i’m good, but what’s up?”

“well… can i come over? i’ll tell you there. i just need to get out.”

“of course you can! you were always here before that thing of a man took you over.”

“all right, i’ll be there in ten!”

──

utahime’s home always brought you comfort; it’s where you go when you needed to escape. due to her dislike for people outside her circle, not everyone knows of her address— especially not satoru.

she engulfed you in a hug the moment she opened the door. you can’t hide anything from utahime, she knew you were out of it from your face.

“i’ll put ramen on the stove, go make yourself comfortable,” she ordered, closing the door behind you.

you followed her words, throwing yourself face first on her sofa. you loudly groaned, annoyed at the idea of saori getting all touchy-touchy with your satoru.

“let’s talk about it,” utahime speaks, pausing the television before she sits on the floor next to you.

you lift your head to look at her, open your mouth, and close it back. ‘let’s not question it,’ you think, knowing that utahime prefers the floor at home ever since you knew her.

“so… there’s this girl named saori—”

“i knew i should’ve ran over satoru yesterday.”

“and then— wait— HUH???” you sputtered, shocked at utahime’s words.

“i saw him crossing the street by himself yesterday. it took a lot of convincing to not floor the gas pedal,” she sighed, knowing she missed the jackpot. “anyway, continue.”

your mouth hangs open for a few more seconds before you regain yourself.

“right… anyway. she’s satoru’s new co-worker and i don’t like her. on our first meeting she called me ‘satoru’s bitch’ and after that she’s been occupying his free time every-fucking-day. she has a BOYFRIEND! like damn bitch! move away from my boyfriend,” you dumped the information on utahime, shoving your head back into the cushion.

“my baby, just said the word,” utahime faces you, moving her hand to pat your back.

“for what?” your voice comes out muffled.

“to put a bounty on their heads.”

a groan leaves you. there’s no hope.

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding. we can devise a plan, however.”

your head perks up. your attention has been successfully gained. utahime stands up, a bright smile adorns her face. you have a major feeling that something mischievous is going to play out real, real soon. utahime never smiles so brightly unless she’s plotting something despicable.

you squint your eyes at her, watching her back as she walks to the kitchen.

“‘hime…”

“don’t worry; just trust me.”

6:43 p.m: you’re now being a sack of potatoes on utahime’s bed. the day flew by and you haven’t heard from satoru ever since he left. no way it won’t leave a sour taste in your mouth, but you couldn’t find the energy to care at this moment.

you're preoccupied on utahime’s laptop, carefully choosing the perfect inner-walls design for the house game you stumbled upon. interior design might just be your new job.

deep into the game, your phone rings. you groan in annoyance, picking your phone up to see who decided it’ll be a good time to bother you.

satoru is calling you.

clicking your tongue, you slid on the green button.

“satoru, what’s up?”

“babe, are you home?”

“i’m not, why?”

“whyyyyy? i brought food for you.”

“i’ll have it when i’m home. sorry i’m not there right now, satoru.”

“oh, i almost forgot. saori’s here too.”

“ew— i mean, okay. don’t let her near my stuff nor our room.”

“yeah, bye baby. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

“that’s so disgusting. get out of my house,” utahime voices her feelings, screwing her face up at the sight of you being lovey-dovey with satoru.

you laughed at her, returning your attention to the game. utahime walks to her closet, choosing an outfit for the night. she’s fresh out of the shower, wet hair wrapped up in a towel. you can hear her grumbling something along the lines of “i hate couples” as she threw clothes on the floor to look for “that one black pajama shorts.”

once successful, utahime threw herself onto the bed. she took over your phone, going into your messages for her chat to send herself photos you’ve long forgotten to send. never will she ever ask you for photos after the hangout.

“by the way,” she says, “what did that man call for?”

you sigh, looking at her with a blank expression, “saori’s gonna be there.”

“does she even have her own life? that saowhore or whatever you said her name is.” utahime rolls her eyes, her mood immediately soured.

shrugging, you click your tongue, “it is what it is. this game is more important.”

──

it took not one, not two, not three, but five attempts to convince utahime to let you go home. she was completely against the idea of letting you drive home alone when it’s 10 p.m.

you would’ve given in if it wasn’t for the dreadful feeling that you need to be home. you basically sped through the roads, and most definitely ran a red light accidentally. nevertheless, you arrived safely.

suddenly, your heartbeat races. a heat creeps up the back of your head; you can feel a headache in the making. something’s telling you that you’ll need to confront a certain someone.

opening the door as quietly as you can, you stepped in, removing your shoes and tiptoeing inside.

maybe you should’ve let utahime go through with her plans.

the sight before you disgusts you as much as satoru disgusts utahime. why, just why, is this woman still here? is she crazy? why are her legs on satoru, and why is he allowing it?

“goodness, if i didn’t know better i’d ask you if you’re homeless,” you sarcastically spoke, taking the remote to turn the television off.

“get,” you took hold of one of her legs, shoving it off satoru. “off my fucking boyfriend.”

satoru watches, shocked at the scene. his eyes are unfocused; it’s evident that he zoned out a long time ago.

saori scoffs, moving her leg back on satoru’s lap. “why should i?”

you tilt your head, smiling angelically. the smile lasted milliseconds before it dropped. you’ve had quite enough and she’ll be subjected to your anger.

grabbing her arm, you roughly dragged her off the sofa. saori wasn’t one to accept such treatment. she retaliated, shuffling her arm around until she’s off your grip.

“are you fucking crazy?!” saori yelled, eyes wide with heavy breaths.

“not quite!” you pointed towards the door. “get out before i drag you myself.”

satoru’s silent. afraid of angering you, he stays put and watches from a distance.

“fuck off,” saori speaks, “satoru, text me when you’re off your dog collar.”

your anger reached its peak. grabbing the closest thing, which happened to be a mug, you threw it in her direction, aiming to miss her but hit close enough to her.

“ARE YOU INSANE!?” saori’s stumbles to the side, clenching her jaw, looking down at the broken pieces of the ceramic mug.

the scene alarms satoru, he decides to do something. standing up, he reaches for your wrist, pulling you to him.

“i think it’s time you leave, saori. i didn’t even know you were still here,” satoru’s voice is calm, but filled with authority. his words hold truth to them, he zoned out a while ago, unaware that saori’s still around.

clicking her tongue, her eyes twitch. she couldn’t muster up anything to say. being left with no choice but to listen to satoru, she saw herself out.

the quietness settles in. you were right about the headache, it’s definitely coming in.

“baby—”

“save it,” you stopped him, “but who the fuck is she to think i have you on a dog collar? i’ll put her on a collar.”

guilt settles in satoru, he shouldn’t have brought her in.

“i don’t why she said that. you don’t have me ‘on a dog collar’ i swear,” he rambles, placing a hand on his chest.

your gaze settled on satoru. you’re tired, a headache is there, and you probably went overboard. you’re not in the mood to hear him.

“satoru, i trust you. but i don’t trust her.”

“i’ll make her apologize.”

“ew, no.” you shivered at the thought of her apologizing. “i don’t want you near her anymore. her intentions are too fucking obvious.”

satoru physically hesitates. swallowing a gulp, his words come out quietly, “i can’t ignore her just like that..”

just as you were about to walk away, your head whipped to satoru as if you were slapped in that direction.

“what?”

“the project’s still ongoing, baby. i can’t ignore her just because you want me too.”

“fucking hell. kiss my ass, satoru. kiss her ass too while you’re at it,” you spat, flipping him off as you walked away.

if he can’t ignore her “just because you said so” then he can be ignored by you. maybe he did said something to make her think he’s on a dog collar.

you hear satoru calling for you, but you gave him no attention. you’ll deal with it tomorrow.

four › satoru’s new piercing idea: a bullet through his head.

satoru fucked up. he knows he fucked up. he should’ve said that after you calmed down. it couldn’t have gotten worse than this. the night flew by with you facing your back to him, the morning came with you acting as if he’s invisible.

sure, he fucked up, but at least reply to his good morning?!

he doesn’t know what to do. this is the first time you were angered to this point. usually, he’d be the one to better your mood, but he’s apart of the reason you’re as mad as you are.

your behavior went on for three days. far longer than satoru had anticipated. he’s given you your space, but now he can’t focus on his job.

his co-workers knew something was off with satoru. he’s not his usual self. they knew something happened the moment he declined a free meal. secretly, they gathered around, holding a confidential meeting to discuss satoru’s behavior.

everyone gave their opinions until an agreement was made: a couple’s argument had occurred.

evidence to support? satoru refrained from mentioning you, gave awkward answers when someone asked about you, and sulked when he looked at his lockscreen which was you.

saori, however, advanced her advancements to satoru. today was another day of her throwing her cleavage at him.

the photoshoot theme included two persons, but they weren’t meant to touch. they needed to act like enemies, but saori’s touching satoru as if he’s an all-you-can-touch event.

her hands slid down his chest, stopping at his abs. satoru doesn’t react— his eyes are empty, it’s clear that he wants the photoshoot to be over.

mia observed the two ever since the business trip, and she came to the conclusion that saori’s craving a place she was never meant to have.

“well aren’t you a little handsy, miss saori,” mia calls out, stopping the cameraman. “had i not known your boyfriend, i would've thought you were single.”

“who asked?” saori gives an attitude, but she moves her hand from satoru. the mention of her boyfriend bothered her.

the staff goes silent. a tension forms in the atmosphere. the calm before the storm, as they call it.

mia walks towards the two, placing a hand on saori’s shoulder when she nears her.

squeezing her shoulder, she leans down to saori’s level, “who’s the boss here? you’re chatty for a little girl who wants others’ belongings.” mia taunts, her voice cold.

saori gulps, slapping mia’s hand off her.

the action doesn’t bother mia in the slightest. instead, she leans to saori’s ears, whispering the unfortunate truth to her, “satoru will never want you, saori. remember that.”

straightening her posture, mia turns around to walk back to her designated position.

“back to work, everyone!”

with her order, everyone returns back to their previous doings. the tension is still heavy, and satoru’s still holds his empty gaze.

──

a thirty-minute break was called. at this moment, to each their own. the staff scrambled around, but satoru stayed put.

“saori,” his voice drags, “let’s talk alone.”

her expression brightens, feeling the butterflies tingle in her stomach. but little does she know, satoru’s about to act out of the character she knows him to be.

“s-sure! let’s do it in your dressing room,” she suggests, pulling satoru there.

once they’re in, she locks the door behind them. satoru sighs at the sight, but he doesn’t say anything about it. there’s something else he came here for.

“saori, do you like me? romantically?” he asks, leaning on the wall with crossed arms.

“i do,” she boldly confirms.

“then stop. you’re getting in between my relationship with (y/n),” he glares at saori, deciding it’s time to draw the line.

“ha, you’re still on that leash i see,” she scoffs, walking towards satoru until they’re face-to-face. “i’m better, satoru. you should choose me.”

satoru unfolds his arms, using one to push her away.

“saori, i’ve thought of you as nothing but a co-worker, a friend. you cannot be (y/n). so please, stop.”

clenching her jaw, saori tugs at satoru’s shirt’s collar, “i don’t give a flying fuck! you should be mine.”

satoru feels disgusted, a chain of chills cover his body. has saori always been like this?

“you have a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake!” he slaps her hand away, moving towards the door.

before he unlocks the door, he stops, turning around to clarify something before he forgets to, “oh, and if anything, the truth is that i’m the one who placed a dog collar on myself. so watch your mouth.”

with that, he leaves her alone, walking to where mia’s positioned.

“mia,” he calls for her.

mia turns to him, eyes wide for a second before she returns to her usual expression.

“need something, lovesick boy?” she teases, raising her eyebrows at him.

“if saori isn’t withdrawn from this project, then i’ll withdraw myself,” he threatens, running a hand through his hair exposing his forehead.

‘i’m not sure if this is unexpected or expected,’ mia thinks, not surprised at satoru’s request. it was only a matter of time.

“i’ll withdraw her. she pissed me off, too,” giving satoru her answer she pauses, and then continues, “but you really need to learn how to tell apart platonic actions from romantic.”

satoru cringes at her words, “ugh, leave me alone. i’m leaving.”

“you’ll be penalized for leaving during working hours!”

“blah blah blah.”

──

satoru’s destination was obvious. it’s your shared home. he would make his business to break the ice first.

messily unlocking the door, he kicks his shoes off, immediately looking for you. you’re not on the sofa, not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, where the fuck are you?!

checking off your usual spots, he’s left with one: the bedroom.

quietly opening the door, he peeks in, observing the room for you. once he found you, he tiptoed in.

your back was turned to the door. whether you were sleeping or not was the least of his problems. he’ll wake you up if he has to.

“baby,” he carefully speaks, sitting on the edge of the bed with a hand on your blanketed figure.

you don’t answer him, but you do turn around to face him.

“i talked to saori. we won’t be in contact any time soon.”

“oh wow,” you said.

he clears his throat at your sarcasm, “ahem— anyway, i told her off, and asked for her to be removed from the project.”

“what made this sudden change? i thought you were glued to her.”

“she was glued to me!” he clarifies.

“tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.”

ignoring your snarky remarks, he continues, “i told her about the ‘dog collar’ comment. i even told her to watch her mouth. i’ll cut contact with her on my phone, too.”

“so she’s gone? completely?” you questioned, removing a hand from under the blanket.

“yeah, i received a divine revelation and came to my senses. really, i thought she saw me as platonic as i saw her. i swear!” he confirms his innocence, staring at you with sadden eyes.

“you’re still a bitch,” you said, “i almost allowed utahime to go through with her bounty plan.”

sitting up, you took one of satoru’s fingers in your hand, “i’m glad you did that, but i’m still mad. you made me want to tell you to go fuck her and done with it.”

satoru’s mouth hangs open at the newly gained information.

“i didn’t, as you can see. i still love you so such words would never be spoken.”

“‘still’ she said.”

“don’t push it.”

a laugh escapes him. not listening to your warning, he pulls you into a hug. this time, it was a hug of desperation and relief. his head’s buried in your neck, breathing in the body mist you always wear at home.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“dear god, fuck that bitch i hope she dies,” you comforted satoru, returning his hug and patting his back.

do you have an issue with satoru? no, but he did set you off when he refused to cut contact with her when you asked.

it took him quite some days to see the vision, and you’re glad he did.

hey guys 😣 if anyone’s confused about this part:

“what made this sudden change? i thought you were glued to her.”

“she was glued to me!” he clarifies.

“tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.”

it simply means “what’s the difference?”

when (y/n) said she thought satoru was glued to saori, satoru responded with “she’s glued to me!”

(y/n) says “tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.” because it doesn’t matter how you pronounce it since it’s the same word. there’s no difference.

satoru was glued to saori and vice versa so what’s the difference fr

hope this helped 😜

[xiaowhore]

scribbled hearts.

premise. alhaitham learns to stop falling asleep in places that isn't his bed the hard way. (alternatively, in which the librarian doesn't follow the script to wake sleeping beauty.)

Kaveh finds Alhaitham furiously scrubbing his face in the bathroom.

At first, he's absolutely ecstatic. For all that Alhaitham refuses to practice skincare, he's never gotten a zit on his face. An earth-shattering revelation to Kaveh, who maintains a strict nightly skincare routine—he's never gone to sleep without a moisturizing facemask. It's not the most infuriating thing about his roommate, but it annoys him that a guy who only washes his face in the morning has clearer skin than he does.

Is this it? Is Alhaitham receiving retribution at last? Is he finally suffering the consequences of his carelessness?!

But when Kaveh cranes his neck to get a better look at Alhaitham's face, he doesn't see any of the sort.

“Dude...” Kaveh can't even laugh due to sheer incredulity, staring at Alhaitham with a pitying look. Alhaitham thinks it would be less irritating if he just laughed in his face. “Did a third-grader pick on you?”

Alhaitham grits his teeth, wiping the remnants of ink on his face. He's mostly gotten rid of the sparkly anime eyes you drew over his eyelids, but it still looks like a fading black eye. The blush lines on his cheeks are a work in progress, but they'll disappear with some effort.

“They have the maturity of one, at least.”

Alhaitham has met his fair share of librarians—there's the stern, no-nonsense kind he's gotten forehead flicks from every time he's caught dozing off on his thesis paper; the introverted bookish type who stutters as they nervously but firmly tell him off for hogging all the books a certain class needs for a report; the motherly sort who smuggles him coffee in his all-nighters when he looks like death itself...

And then there's you.

Cheekier than his brat of a roommate, you somehow manage to annoy him like nobody else can. He'd rather have you scold him for treating the library as a second bedroom than clip ribbons to his hair whenever you catch him sleeping. Hell, he'd take a skull-shattering forehead flick over doodles on his face any day. But even if he preaches his troubles to anyone willing to listen, they're never sympathetic.

Because for some reason, you're never like this to anyone else.

If anyone at campus were asked to describe you, they'll say you're a model student. Scholarly, courteous, standing tall with dignified grace; you're the perfect picture of a goody-two-shoes. Nothing like the childish brat who terrorizes his nap schedule on a daily basis.

People who have a vendetta against him is nothing new. What he doesn't understand, however, is what he did to be the object of your wrath.

“Maybe [Name] likes you. Kind of like how boys bully the girl they like,” is the ridiculous answer Kaveh gives him, dropping those words like they weigh nothing with a nonchalant shrug. Alhaitham would think it more likely for the reverse to be true; your insistence to dedicate your time into ruining his day is nothing short of admiration—surely a testament to just how much you hate him.

...Okay, so maybe Alhaitham could guess a few things for why. There's been a handful of times (read: it happens at least thrice a week) he kept you stationed at the library longer than you had to be because he fell asleep until closing hours, and he has a tendency to forget returning the materials he borrows for his thesis to the library...

So. Perhaps this was a consequence of his actions after all.

He argues that there are far more mature methods to resolve this issue, though.

Alhaitham stares at the crudely drawn portrait scrawled on his arm, deeply unimpressed. Although he's not one to boast about his looks, he's rather sure he isn't as much of an eyesore as you drew him to be, his nose an exaggerated point (a literal triangle) and his lips wide open as he drools, dangerously close to the rectangles he guesses are supposed to be books. Don't sleep on the reference books!! You'll get drool all over them >:(, reads the scribbled letters beside the portrait, an angry face scrawled haphazardly next to them.

(Still, by the corner of his eye, he spots a cup of his usual order of coffee, a neon pink sticky note pasted on the lid: Wake up and finish your report quickly, I have a show to catch at 8 :>

It would be easier to hate you if being bratty is all there is to your personality, really.)

You scribble all over your notes.

It's a fact Alhaitham has known about you since long ago. Everything else about you is neat and orderly, but every page of your notebook has some sort of doodle on the corners. They range from meticulous side-profiles of whoever sits beside you that day to meaningless hearts and smiley faces akin to what a five-year-old child might make.

If you've chosen to be more artistic for the doodles you draw all over him, perhaps Alhaitham might not mind as much. It's unfortunate you much rather prefer drawing exaggerated tear streaks on his face.

“I'm quite certain this is a form of harassment,” Alhaitham grumbles, rubbing his face with makeup remover. As pointless as it is to express his woes to the cause of said woes, he finds himself seated before the reception desk to keep you company anyway. “I don't understand why you're still doing this.”

“It's a punishment for falling asleep and keeping me holed up in here to guard the library until it closes,” you drone, fixing the library cards. “And yet you still refuse to stop. Is it really so hard to go to the dormitory instead?”

Alhaitham shrugs. A sigh inevitably escapes your lips.

Eventually, you run out of stupid things to draw on his skin whenever you catch him sleeping.

You start to write your shopping list on his arm instead.

“Why on earth would you need three cartons of eggs?” Alhaitham leans against the desk you're stationed at, reading the bulletpoints on his skin.

Eventually, Alhaitham gets used to scrubbing off your vandalism too. It's his personal brand of skincare.

“They're on sale today,” you reply, signing the papers requesting new stocks of books. “And I was planning on baking, so it's better I have plenty of ingredients for trial and error.”

“Sounds heavy,” he hums, eyes scanning the rest of your list. “Want me to come with?”

At that, your pen stops moving. “...Why?”

“I need to buy cereal.”

(No he doesn't. Kaveh went on a grocery run yesterday.)

“Sure, I guess...?” It's an unexpected development, but you wouldn't turn away an extra pair of hands. “Should we get going, then?”

“Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “...But you didn't borrow a book today yet. Aren't you getting anything first?”

Alhaitham looks around. “The book I wanted isn't here, so I suppose I still have to wait a few days for it.”

“What is it?” You click your pen, reaching for your notepad. (You already have one of those, Alhaitham seriously sees no point in you writing down your grocery list on his arm.) “I'll tell you when it gets returned.”

“...No, it's fine. Let's go, the eggs you wanted might be all gone if we take our time getting there.”

You jolt up in alarm, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “You're right, we should hurry!”

For all it's worth, you're pretty gullible.

“You're still keeping that up?”

Alhaitham looks up from his laptop, fingers halting in their movement. “What do you mean?”

Kaveh scrunches his nose, pointing at the scribbles on his palm. “Your weird mating ritual. Can't you two communicate like normal people?”

Alhaitham glances at the mess you've made of his arm, full of little messages and doodles you wrote back and forth to each other during Biology period. Alhaitham had been, perhaps for the first time, not feeling drowsy. Regardless, you've taken to treating his skin as paper (“Save the trees,” you told him once, ignoring the disbelieving expression on his face), and Alhaitham has already accepted that you won't stop doing it as long as you still find it amusing.

“We do talk. Normally.”

“And if you do, why are you still doing... that.”

Alhaitham doesn't have anything to say to that. He did think it was inconvenient to wash all the messages off, and there are far more practical modes of communication.

But for some reason, he can't find it himself to say that he outright dislikes it.

And maybe he traces the shapes you draw on his skin, in the private confines of his room where no one can see him. Maybe he admires the smooth strokes of your penmanship, the adorable curls of your letters, the bubbly font that always makes him chuckle because it's just so like you.

There are hearts sometimes, or even flowers when you feel like drawing something more detailed. The ugly sketches of him sleeping are somewhat annoying, but he still finds himself endeared. Though some things are appallingly inaccurate—you've done his nose a horrible injustice more than once—he notices the correct placement of beauty marks on his face, the sharp edges of his eyes, the meticulous dimple that faintly appears when he smiles.

A thrill runs through him when he thinks of you paying attention to him, more than you've ever given anyone else.

And, well. Alhaitham's certain he's been doing plenty of that for you.

“Don't you think you're being unfair?”

You pause in your typing, averting your eyes from the computer monitor to glance at Alhaitham. “Unfair in what, exactly?”

He mindlessly spins a pen with his fingers, staring at the blank canvas that was your arm compared to the sketchbook you've made out of his. “You're the only one who writes on me.”

“What, you want to write your shopping list on me for a change?” you arch up an eyebrow, unperturbed. “I thought you said it was impractical.”

“I never said I wanted to write my shopping list.”

“What else would you write, then?”

Alhaitham reaches for your arm. “Give me your hand.”

You blink, not quite unwilling yet confused all the same. You offer your hand and he uncaps his pen, scribbling on your palm. You've never been on the receiving end of this little game, so you're not sure what to expect from him.

“There.” Satisfied, he lets go and stands up. “I'm going home for the day. Good luck with the rest of your shift.”

“See you tomorrow, I guess...?” you wave at him in farewell, but he's quick to spring on his feet and dart out the door. “What's his deal...”

You turn over your hand, seeing a string of numbers written in neat font.

“Oh.”

Alhaitham feels silly for anticipating a text like some lovestruck teenage girl who exchanged numbers with her crush.

The blinking cursor on his blank essay document almost looks mocking, and as time passes by, the only word he's managed to type out is “The.” Even so, his attention is completely locked on his phone, devoid of any notifications.

If it weren't for Kaveh being nosy the other day, he wouldn't have gotten the idea of giving you his number. He did think something had to change, but he didn't know how to get there. But now that he's gotten this far, he can expect a little bit, right?

At last, his phone chimes its long awaited notification. Alhaitham is quick to ditch his laptop and shuts it closed, reaching for his phone where it sits on his desk. He swears he's never typed his password so fast before in his life.

Unfortunately, the text he's been anticipating for a good portion of the day is nothing but a disappointment.

Unknown number: eggs milk whipping cream flour

Unknown number: baking powder cocoa powder vanilla extract sugar

What was he expecting anyway?

He sighs and leans back on his chair, solemly pushing his laptop open. He doubts this message requires a response back.

Another notification lights his phone.

This time, Alhaitham doesn't even have the energy to unlock his screen. He squints at the notification preview.

Unknown number: wanna come over when I finish baking the souffles?

He doesn't quite drop his phone in shock, but it's a near thing.

You: I'll go carry the groceries too.

Unknown number: thanks! 💖

[vivinens]

a lover's game !

characters: neuvillette, wriothesley & navia.

summary: little things they notice about you.

warning, minor fontaine story spoilers. gender neutral reader. here's a few short drabbles, hello tumblr!

Neuvillette, while famously intrigued by human behavior, often finds himself completely fascinated with you in particular.

For all his objective understanding of worldly matters, he is still confused as to why he specifically craves your attention. It's utterly strange, really, how his eyes seem to trail after your movements and expressions with more care than he would show to others.

You smile differently, when speaking to him. He's picked up on this after numerous conversations involving you two and a third party. When speaking to Monsieur Neuvillette (he often wonders about the soft way you say his name), your tone is easy and your smile is—for lack of a more appropriate word—entrancing. But, the moment your attention turns to the third party, that smile is dimmed.

At first, he simply chalks it up to you wanting to get in his good graces. After all, he's had no shortage of humans attempting to get close to him in order to satisfy their own desires. However, even with his lackluster social skills, he can see how your behavior is different from the people trying to appeal to them for their own merit. Your flustered sentences and bright eyes were not the same as others using flattery to gain status among the court staff.

...Perhaps he should ask Navia about it. Not for the first time, he curses his own lack of social understanding.

Wriothesley is not usually the kind of man who finds himself hung up on trivial details. He spends too much time working and worrying as it is; so why should he make life more complicated for himself?

There were some things he can't help but notice when it comes to you, though. It's midday when he overhears you mumbling to yourself about a new treat from Café Lucerne you'd like to try—as well as something about you having already spent all your "fun mora" for the week. You had sighed to yourself at your own respective desk all afternoon, and the sheer longing he could sense made his eye twitch.

You arrived to your work desk the next morning to see a wrapped gift box atop it. You had gasped when you opened it to reveal the outrageously expensive cake you had been craving all week. Wriothesley couldn't stay to further see your reaction, as to not raise suspicion, but he was content nonetheless.

It was when he arrived at work the next day that he realized—after seeing a steaming hot cup of coffee set on his desk beside a signed thank you note—that you're more observant than you let on. After all, he had taken great care in not letting it be known he was the one who gifted you the cake.

He takes a sip of the coffee. It was the way he likes it. Yes, you were very observant, indeed.

Navia has always had a soft spot for her underlings. She remembers their birthdays, their favorite songs, and those who they would prefer to work alongside. She claims it's her duty as their boss to know such things—although, in the opinion of many, she often goes above and beyond.

However, if you were to ask any of Navia's other subordinates, they would probably say she tries to understand you best of all. You have known one another for a long time, and this friendship was something she held very dearly—especially after the passing of her father. You were a beacon of light in those times, when the world seemed against her and her father's memory.

In some ways, she wondered if she was... taking advantage. You worked hard to support her and Spina di Rosula, and earned hardly nothing in return. Pay was rocky and sometimes even scarce. What if your talents could be better used elsewhere? What if you truly did want to leave? What if—

"You're overthinking again, Navia," you sigh, and before she can even think to respond, your hand is reaching to feel her forehead. You're sat beside one another on a bench, taking a small reprieve after a day spent out and about Vasari Passage. "Hm, I'm surprised you don't have a fever. You've been acting strange all day," you say, tilting your head. "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

The genuine worry in your voice makes Navia's heart flutter. "No, no, nothing at all!" She exclaims with more confidence than she feels. She seems to be doing that a lot lately. "But... thank you, for worrying about me. You shouldn't have to."

You frown. "I care for you—perhaps more than you understand, Navia. You don't have to speak about it now, but if something is troubling you, I will always lend you an ear."

Sometimes, Navia finds you truly are too understanding of her emotions. Instead of responding, she nods wordlessly, lest the things she wants to say so desperately clog her throat, and reaches to rest her hand against yours. You don't pull away, and the loud hammering of Navia's heart continues in her chest. It does not stop for a long while.

[starseungs]

of fishes and chocolate muffins. ksm.

kim seungmin x gn!reader — working the morning shift at a cafe on weekdays isn't really the best, entertainment wise. still, eavesdropping on your customers wasn't something you did on a daily basis. it just so happened that two of your regulars had something in store for you today.

GENRE/S — fluff, humor, a pinch of angst, cafe/coffee shop au, writer!seungmin (barely mentioned) • 1.2k words

WARNING/S — profanity for humor, seungmin is pretty down in the dumps for most of this, part 2 of this fic but a different y/n, mentions of unrequited love

( ✒️ ) happy birthday to @seungiepaws !! here's your request for a part 2 of universe lovie, i know i said i'll do a drabble as a gift but it ended up a little longer so you're getting a whole fic mwah <3 i hope you like it

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

The small bell perched on top of the cafe’s entrance door chimed softly at the arrival of a new customer. Your well-rehearsed greetings immediately followed, words racing out of your lips before you could even think twice. It really didn’t matter whether you meant them or not. As long as the guest felt welcomed, then that meant you were already doing your job well.

You doubt any of them ever even acknowledged your efforts, anyway. That was just how the world worked on a normal Monday morning—everyone running on autopilot until the seemingly brainless hoard of zombies got their lethal dose of caffeine or sugar and started acting like proper functioning members of society for the rest of the day. Then, the cycle repeats.

As an “all-rounder” cafe employee (as you liked to call yourself), this was just another day in the bigger scale of the year. Not too important, nor was it a particularly boring day. That simply wasn’t possible if you were working at a cafe, or really, just working in general.

“You’re always here, dude.” An exasperated voice groans from the window booth next to the serving counter. You recognized his face right away as one of your regulars who looked like a hamster. “At this point, you need to pay this place rent.”

The man he was talking to rolled his eyes with a scoff, even though his fingers never stopped typing on his laptop’s keyboard. “I’m a paying customer. Objectively, I’m already giving them money to stay here.”

You couldn’t help but silently snort at the guy’s comeback. He wasn’t entirely wrong, after all. This cafe’s prices already took into account the amenities they could use here. So technically speaking, as long as customers bought something from the cafe’s menu, they could stay for as long as they want until the establishment closes. That’s not usually the case, though. Most people still had places to be and other things to do other than have a staycation on some random cafe seat.

Note that you said “most” instead of “all”. Of course, there were always bound to be those who, for the lack of a better description—overstayed their welcome. 

And one of them is that chestnut-haired male who was currently getting berated by his friend.

“Seungmin, seriously!” The other guy, who you finally remembered being named Jisung from his previous orders, exclaimed in concern. “You can’t just stay here all day, every day. I know you’re trying to get over your roommate, but at least make use of your rent?” Jisung almost pleads.

You really didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation, as the topic seemed awfully private, but what exactly could you do from the close proximity of the counter and their booth? It’s not like you were judging the two of them. There was no harm intended, and you were sure you’d still go about your day as usual with or without this newly obtained knowledge from strangers.

Seungmin sighed. “I don’t think you want me to be cooped up in my room writing either, so what do you really want to achieve?” His hands finally parted ways from his keyboard for the first time in about an hour. “Jisung, you know being alone in the apartment is only going to remind me of how my roommate is out there with their boyfriend being all happy and enjoying life while I’m over here writing sappy fictional love stories because I don’t have one of my own.”

“Oh, but you do.” Jisung huffs. “It’s just the unrequited kind.”

“Haha, very funny.”

“Just saying,” he comments. “I’m gonna let you sulk all you want as part of your healing process, but you really shouldn’t be sacrificing yourself just for the thought of them. You deserve better, Min.”

If you could only agree out loud, then you already would’ve. Unfortunately, that meant revealing the fact that you’ve been secretly listening in to the personal conversations of your customers, and you weren’t completely sure if that was even legal for you to do so. Still, what are they going to do? Charge you for having ears?

“I don’t know,” Seungmin mutters. “I’ll manage it eventually.” And to this, Jisung only frowns.

Now, you were just as frustrated as Jisung was. Seungmin is an attractive guy—you were one hundred percent certain that he could get anyone head-over-heels for him if he wanted. And yet, here he was, a monotone mess over unrequited love? Whoever that roommate is, they had severely failed to see the vision since if that was you, best believe you weren’t letting him go just like that. 

Seungmin had honestly caught your eye ever since the moment he started going to this cafe. To put things into perspective, you were practically all smiles for the rest of the day every time he came to order something in the mornings before his daily schedule. When he started staying for whole days, it was only a matter of time before you ended up shooting your shot, even if you barely knew anything about him. Heck, the most you even knew about him was that he liked the chocolate muffins the most here!

A plate of chocolate muffin was heavily plopped down on the two men’s table, startling them due to the sudden act. They exchanged confused glances before Jisung cleared his throat to speak. “Uh—we didn’t order that.”

“It’s on the house.” You pursed your lips.

“What?” Seungmin asks, dumbfounded. You knew he was going to ask for a reason until he saw the look on your face while staring at him. His expression quickly shifted to one of mortification. “Were—were you eavesdropping on us?”

You clicked your tongue. How were you finding his reaction to that so cute? “Look, I didn’t mean to,” you explain. “See that counter? Just how far do you think my station is to your booth for me not to hear a single thing?” Seungmin only grumbles—probably to hide his embarrassment.

“Alright, sure. Whatever,” he says. “I still don’t need that muffin.”

Your eye twitched involuntarily. All of a sudden, you were already leaning on their table with narrowed eyes pointed at the laptop-facing man. “Okay, listen here, you soggy rained-on puppy.” You could have sworn you heard Jisung choke. “This is gonna sound really shitty of me, but there are plenty more fish in the sea. The same goes for your experiences in life. Trust me, you’re not even close to losing those opportunities yet. Unless you’re trying to live like a saint, that is. So grow some balls after your little pity party.”

“That was,” Seungmin exhales shakily. “Vaguely threatening. But somehow I’m not as offended as I thought I would be, so—uh, thanks?” He taps lightly on the plastic cup of his drink, looking away awkwardly.

You lifted yourself off the table and crossed your arms. “My name is Y/N. I work here every morning on the weekdays.” 

“Right,” he hums, still not glancing your way and instead facing the baked good you dropped by their tabletop. “So, is this muffin really free?”

All you let yourself give him was a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah. Just call me whenever or something. Congratulations on hooking a new fish,” you said without shame before walking away back to your station.

If you only looked back for a moment, you would’ve seen Jisung gasping for air from laughter with an incredibly red faced Seungmin blanking out as he held a serious staring contest with his muffin.

You could only hope that cheered him up a bit.

MASTERTAG ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @wnbnny @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka @starlostastronaut @minsueng @l3visbby @myjisung

[gothcsz]

I can't stop thinking about reader being an overworked secretary, always so uptight, on the edge and Javi teases and mocks her about it all the time, is slightly mean, making the days insufferable for her until one day she breaks for him and Javi pounds all that stress out of her until she cries ♡

your beautiful mind, anon. i hope you enjoy this 🖤

tags: unprotected p in v sex, semi public sex (parking garage), dirty talk, javier has a big dick, hate fuck kind of, era typical sexism/misogyny, dubcon, no use of y/n, reader doesn't like javi at all but that doesn't stop her from fucking him, crying during sex, javi's cuffs make an appearance, unbeta'd, if i missed anything let me know thx. ~ 2k w/c

You’ve had it. Swear to god, if you have to sit in this uncomfortable chair, type up some useless report, or fetch another goddamn cup of coffee— you might just explode. 

Get an office job, they said. Secretarial work is easy and less fast paced than what you’re used to. So how come you haven’t seen a day of peace since you started working here?

Every agent in the office sees you as nothing more than the eye candy that gets the signatures they need for their dick measuring contest-esque operations. They don’t take you seriously, they flirt as if HR doesn’t exist, and worst of all— they patronize you like your head is full of air. Like there’s nothing between your ears.

Snickering behind your back, hushed whispers and tapered conversations when you enter the room, purposefully dropping things by your desk just to watch you bend over to pick them up.

The only one that treats you somewhat like a normal human being is Steve Murphy, and that’s only because he’s married. But even then, he barely keeps his colleagues from fucking with you.

Especially his partner— Javier Peña, whose reputation preceded him. You were getting warnings about the agent before you even touched down in Colombia. His affinity to fuck anything in a skirt. The unorthodox practices he indulged to gather intel. A playboy. A womanizer. How the fuck he manages to not get fired is beyond you, really. 

Especially with all the sexual harassment workshops that the office has to endure. Now you’re wondering if there’s so many of them because the asshole with the mustache can’t keep his hands to himself.

He’s no better than the rest of them, either. The flirting to get his paperwork further up the chain, asking you to go out for drinks after work, in which you decline because you’d rather be caught dead than tipsy enough to take a ride on the Peña express, chastising how ‘uptight’ you are and offering to help you relieve some of that stress.

My stress stems from assholes like you— the ones that treat women like sexual objects rather than people.

No matter how handsome or suave he is; the man is dick and apparently you rejecting his advances multiple times does nothing but fuel him to stay persistent.

Which blows your mind. You’ve seen the informants that stop by to ask for him, the women that approach him at office parties— he’s a total babe magnet. Why does he waste his efforts on you— the secretary?

You let out a frustrated groan, not giving a fuck if you get written up for leaving early today. It’s Friday, the office is dead, and if you’re approached one more time by any of these arrogant, good for nothing agents; you will get mouthy and possibly even land a bitch slap.

The gag is, you’re usually good under pressure… something about being surrounded by men like them all day just frayed your nerves like no other.

Gathering your things, you damn near book it down the hall, then elevator, until you’re in the parking garage and fumbling for your keys.

You’re so honed in on getting the fuck out of there that you don’t notice that not one— but two of your tires are as flat as pancakes and that, unfortunatley, is what tips you over the edge.

“God fucking damn it. Fuck this car, fuck this place, fuck everyone in this stupid,” you kick the tire, “fucking,” another kick, “building.” The last kick is misplaced and your toe digs uncomfortably into the pointed tip of your heel which has you cursing the heavens even more and bringing exasperated tears to your eyes.

Will you ever catch a fucking break?

And it’s like the universe is having a good ‘ol laugh, probably because you’ve just cussed it out, because a familiar jeep rolls by— being driven by the aviator wearing, habitually unbuttoned shirt adorning, smug jerk that is the root of your frustrations.

“Having car problems, nena?” He speaks to you from the rolled down window, perpetual smirk on his pouty lips as he eyes your flat tires then your rigid figure.

“Fuck off, Javier.” You turn from him, not wanting for the tears in your eyes to be noticed; but again, this motherfucker is persistent if anything, and he parks in the empty spot next to yours, cutting the engine and hopping out to join you.

“There’s that dazzling attitude. Things like this wouldn’t happen if you just smiled every now and again.”

Your hands curl into fists, sharply turning to face him, your face hot.

“Why the fuck do you always have to do that? Huh? You and everyone else— treating me like I’m beneath all of you—”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re beneath—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” You exclaim, chest heaving, “I can’t even fucking talk without getting cut off. Nothing I say or do matters to any of you pricks. Not unless I’m bent over, picking your shit off the floor or running around like a headless chicken fulfilling your coffee orders. The weaponized incompetence, t-the unwanted advances; I’m more than that— more than anything you all think I am. I hate this fucking job, I hate all you government assholes and I’m half tempted to quit but I can’t because I’m stuck here!”

You hadn’t noticed how close you two had gotten during your outburst, standing toe to toe with him. His brows pull into a frown, lips turned downward beneath his stache as he turns over your words.

“You really need to get laid.”

You snap, you do. Your fist coming up to sock him square in the jaw, which surprises him but you don’t stop. Landing blows wherever you can, kicking him repeatedly.

Javier lets you get a few hits in before he exerts his strength and grabs your wrists, dragging you over to his jeep and pressing your chest flat against the cool surface, the force of it leaving you breathless.

“Let go of me!” You squirm in his grasp but all he does is tighten his grip on you.

You don’t know if it’s because emotions are high and there is some truth to his words, but you feel the static of arousal at the base of your spine, your thighs tensing at the position in which he has you in.

“You know how to land a punch. Should get you out into the field. Maybe some excursion would calm you the fuck down.”

With both your wrists in one of his large palms, he uses the other to grab his cuffs and you don’t realize it until you’re restrained and your eyes widen.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing—”

“I’m giving you what you need, sweetheart.” His statement is laden with suggestion, tinged with lust. You look around the empty parking lot and how convenient that you’re both parked way in the corner, far from the elevator or any wandering eyes.

This is a bad idea. What you’ve been actively avoiding since you started. But fuck, are you pissed off and tired and you won’t lie— there is some appeal to getting your brain screwed out of your head after being screwed day after day in the office. 

Your resolve drops and you turn off your logical thinking, giving yourself over to Javier completely. 

“Then give it to me before I change my mind.”

Those words spur him into action, gun calloused hands bunching your skirt up around your waist, ripping your stockings and you gasp, heart beating wildly in your chest. His fingers work themselves into your panties, dragging along the wet seam of your cunt and your forehead falls against the exterior of his car, eyes fluttering close at how good it feels.

“So wet. Knew this little pussy needed to be taken care of. Don’t worry, reina, I’m going to make you feel so good,” he rubs your clit in slow, tight circles and you bite your lip. “Make you feel appreciated.”

Spreading your wetness, he slips two of his thick fingers into your tight cunt and you moan out his name, feeling so full. Much better than when you do it on your own.

He fucks you with his fingers, pressing himself fully against you and you can feel his hard bulge digging into the small of your back and that only heightens your arousal. His surprisingly soft lips are kissing along the back of your neck before he’s licking at your ear lobe, whispering how good you feel clenching around his fingers.

You come undone in record time, whimpers spilling past your lips and you’re not usually one to enjoy the fingering aspect of foreplay but goddamn— Javier is good. You can at least confirm that half the rumors about him are true.

It all happens so fast after that, him kicking your legs to spread wider, tugging your panties down to your thighs before he’s undoing his belt, releasing his hard cock from those tight jeans, spitting into his hand and using the mix of your release and his saliva to lube him up as he strokes himself one, two times before he’s lining himself up at your weeping entrance.

Your forehead remains pressed to the car, pussy fluttering in anticipation of being filled by a man you can’t stand.

He feeds you his cock in one swift motion, causing you to jerk forward and yelp loudly, the stretch of him inside your tight cunt burns as much as your hatred for him.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, tears stinging at the corner of your eyes as he begins to set a deliciously brutal pace. His hips snap against the back of your thighs, the flesh of your ass rippling with each thrust.

“Puta madre, nena, this pussy is so fucking tight.” He grits through clenched teeth, fingers digging into your waist, fucking you so good that you’ve lost your ability to speak.

All that flows from you are needy moans and broken sobs. The obscene sound of your pussy squelching, skin meeting skin, echoes through the parking garage and you forget how exposed to the public you are but you really can’t bring yourself to care at the moment; not with how good this man is giving it to you.

Your needy pussy takes and takes, walls pulsating around his thick cock— each time she spits him out, the creamy evidence of your arousal smears all over his shaft and this has him smirking, large palm coming down to spank you.

“Fuckin’ creaming all over me, baby. Knew you wanted this. Needed it so bad. This dick is gonna calm you down, won’t have you acting like such an uptight bitch anymore.” 

You gasp, both at his words and the sting from the spank, eyes snapping open as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder to the best of your ability, shooting him the best disdainful glare you can muster despite being rendered damn near immobile by his big dick.

“F-Fuck off,” though the bite in your words is fucking toothless as your legs tremble and your orgasm begins to sneak up on you, starting at your neglected clit which is pulsating— begging to be played with.

As if reading your fucking mind, he slips one hand around you, pinching the raw flesh between his thumb and pointer fingers, rolling it around, causing your hips to inadvertently snap back against him.

“Oh, you like that. Can feel how good she’s grippin’ me when I play with your pretty little clit. You gonna come all over me, muñeca?”

His lips are at your ear, spitting more filth out and those tears from before have messed your eyeliner and mascara up, dark streaks painting your cheeks. Your head falls back against his shoulder, the entire world around you looking like a hazy filter has been applied over it as you succumb to the orgasm being given to you by none other than Javier Peña.

“J-Javi I’m gonna…” he continues to toy with your clit, cock pistoning into you even harder as his other hand leaves your hips and moves up to wrap itself around your throat.

“That’s right baby, let loose for me, sweetheart.”

He tightens his grip around your neck at the same time that he delivers a harsh slap to your pussy which has you screaming his name, the walls of your cunt squeezing his cock as your cum coats the velvety skin of him. He grunts in your ear, fucking you through your climax before he pulls out and tugs at his dick, spurts of his milky spend landing across the soft skin of your ass.

You’re both left a panting, heaving mess. Sweat mixes with your tears, your poor pussy swollen and sensitive, feeling his warm cum dripping down from your round cheeks to the back of your thighs. 

“Uncuff me.” You demand, not wanting to drown in the euphoria of how he’s just made you feel, opting for that post nut clarity that grounds you back to the shitty situation that led to these coital activities. 

He scoffs, “Just got fucked stupid and you’re back to being like this.” He tucks himself back into his pants, reaching for the keys to the cuffs and releasing you from them.

You rub at your wrists, taking your panties off and using them to clean your mixed release off you as best as you can. “It’s almost like good dick wasn’t the key to fixing all my problems. Who would have thought?” You quip sarcastically, using the back of your hand to wipe away the tears and ruined makeup, knowing you look like a goddamn mess right now.

You take your ruined stockings off and fix your skirt, really not wanting to do the walk of shame by going back to the office to call someone to help you out with your tire problem, but you must.

“How are you getting home?” He asks, running his fingers through his hair, standing almost awkwardly before you and you narrow your eyes.

“None of your business.” You state, pushing past him to grab your purse and keys, talking yourself up to march back to your desk and call for a mechanic.

“Let me help,” he offers and you chuckle dryly. 

“You’ve done more than enough. No thanks.” You begin to walk past him and towards the elevator but he stops you by grabbing you by your forearm.

“I’m serious. It’s the least I can do.” His eyes soften, and it’s in this moment that you realize how warm they are. A beautiful shade of brown, the shape of a baby cow’s with dainty lashes that compliment them perfectly.

Nu-uh, snap out of it. This is how you get hooked.

“No, the least you can do is leave me the fuck alone, Javier. You got what you wanted.” You snatch your arm back, glaring at him, before strutting off back into the building. 

[shalomniscient]

“are you sure you have everything?”

lyney huffs a bit of a strangled laugh, but nods. he’s somewhat used to your fussing, but it still feels a little… not exactly embarrassing, but a warm heat makes its way from his chest to his cheeks nonetheless. he holds the magic pocket bag closer to his chest as you fix the fastenings of his fatui cloak yet again, fiddling with the clips and ensuring they’re secure and not about to fly off in the harbor wind as it blows freely around them all.

“i’m all set,” he assures you, then glances over at lynette. she’s still a little woozy—it is the break of dawn, after all, since father prefers moving under the dense cover of darkness, and though lynette is awake she’s certainly not ecstatic to be awake. as a result, she’s the next target of your fussing; you gently pat her cheeks to wake her up a little more, and she lets out almost a small, mewling noise before snapping out of her drowsy daze.

“you can rest a little more on the ship, lynette,” you say, and the young woman nods. “if you get seasick, i packed some medicine. and i made some food if you get hungry; it won’t last very long on a ship, so remember to eat it, okay? oh—i also packed earmuffs, be sure to wear them if it gets too cold, alright?”

“understood,” lynette answers, leaning into your touch as you pat her hair. she’s always been more physically affectionate with you, though she tempers herself when the familiar sound of boots and metallic heels on stone tiles echo behind all of you.

“i take it everyone is prepared to set off?” comes father’s calm, even tone. behind her is freminet; he isn’t dressed for travel, since he’ll be staying in fontaine, but followed along to see them off. she’s dressed somewhat similarly, but unlike lyney and lynette who seem to drown in their cloaks, father wears it like a mantle—the fur broadens her already broad shoulders, and she looks more like a king than ever. and yet despite that, you simply turn and stride over to her, your hands reaching out to smooth down the lapels of her cloak.

“just double checking,” you hum, though there’s a little bit of a sigh in your voice. “i think i packed everything.”

father offers you a mild look. “the children know how to pack their own things.”

“i know, but i wanted to help,” you reply, and lyney swears he sees the hard lines of her face soften imperceptibly. there’s a slackness to her normally tense posture as you do all your last minute checks—cufflinks? i have them. hand cream? yes. ID? all settled, dearest—and lyney has to marvel on the sway you have over their typically unshakeable father.

“we should head out,” she says gently, taking one of your wrists in a tender, dark hand. a brief flicker of stubborness flashes across your expression, before you sigh.

“ah, before i forget…” you produce a tiny pouch, and then place it into father’s open palm. she regards it curiously, tilting her head. there’s a rustle of plastic inside, but also the clack of a few hard objects hitting each other. “coffee candies,” you explain, “for when you feel sleepy.”

“thank you,” father says, her tone as warm and soft as it always is with you. she accepts the pouch, and slips it into one of her cloak pockets. “i will remember to have them.”

you huff. “you better. i’ve already told lyney and lynette not to let you skip meals, as you’re so prone to do.”

“is that so?” father asks mildly, glancing at them both, and it takes quite a bit to not shiver under her questioning gaze. lyney truly has no idea how he’ll convince father to eat later on this trip, but he figures dropping your name a few time should do the trick. he hopes.

“it is,” you say firmly, and then your tone softens again. you look up at father, and lyney cannot see your expression from here, but he knows the same is reflected in father’s—loving, with a hint of departure’s sorrow. “be safe. come home.”

“alwaus,” father answers, and lyney, lynette and freminet have the sense to look away when she leans down to kiss you chastely. they only look back up when father steps over to them, leaving you and freminet on the other side of the dock. she levels freminet with a look. “do not forget your duty, freminet.”

he nods resolutely, hugging pers a little tighter. “of course, father.”

(just a few moments ago, she’d pulled him to the side and gave him a direct order, as the fourth fatui harbingers and the knave.

“you will protect the house with your life,” she had said, her tone brookering no argument, though it wasn’t as if freminet was looking to argue. and though father has said ‘the house’, freminet had lived long enough there to know the truth of her words.

“yes, father. i won’t let anything happen to mom.”)

and then, with the bellow of a horn, their little ship sets off into morning light. lyney watches father’s face carefully as the dawn breaks, casting the harbinger’s expression in shades of warm gold. she’s uncharacteristically unguarded in this brief flash of a moment—not that she would ever admit such a thing, even upon threat of death. but lyney knows love is most felt when it is leaving, and so even as she turns on her heel to enter the cabin, he knows she’s already counting down the days before she can return home—return to you.