#most people tone down his attitude and bite

[nereidprinc3ss]

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying. 

He bites his lip thoughtfully. 

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 

It slowly fades, and you sigh. 

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff. 

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

A moment passes. 

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “ARMOUR-CLAD HEART” ﾉ MYDEI. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 0.9k ᯽ mydei teaches you some self-defence. reader is not made for fighting and rather weak. an awkward display of affection from mydei’s side lol ﾉ no proofreading, we die like kremnoans ᯽ FLUFF ﾉ GENERAL CONTENT ᯽

You hear a displeased click of his tongue — nothing surprising given your stance and previous pathetic tries at blocking his fist — and take a step back with your face embarrassingly hot. His fake hit was nowhere near fast nor strong, just a mere presentation of where such an attack would come from and land at the end.

“You’d be dead within a second on the Strife’s battlefield. Or perhaps should I even say that a mere thug would get through your defence with little to no preparation?” Mydei’s gaze moves all over you in a judging way, and it takes your every strength not to look away.

“I’m not made for battle! You wouldn’t see me anywhere near it. It’s just way too hot today to focus.”

Another loud “tch” escapes his lips, now much more annoyed and agitated than before, as if he has already completely given up on any hope for you. A blazing sun over the terrace is no excuse to stop the lesson, or perhaps it’s precisely because of its presence.

“Surely someone with an ill intent would wait for you to be comfortable and well prepared for their arrival, am I correct?” He snickers in a sarcastic tone, leaving a short pause to give you another opportunity to oppose him.

But again, this time not only is his attitude towards you harsh and insulting, but his words make complete sense, and they burn with embarrassment even more than the scorching heat that surrounds both of you.

Maybe you’re simply spineless and will forever be even under his tutoring. You bite your lip, trying not to appear weaker than you already are, knowing very well that there will be absolutely no use in defending yourself anymore. But it doesn’t matter now. What does he plan to do next?

Your body tenses up out of reflex only seconds before his warm palm wraps around your arm, turning you around effortlessly while pressing your back against his own chest. An uncontrolled gasp leaves your mouth as you are left immobilised in an instant and the forced proximity feels even hotter than midday, yet the one behind you pays no mind to it, completely focused on keeping you in place.

“Most people would assume you cannot get out of this hold unless you’re physically stronger than the aggressor.”

You feel every slight breath he makes pressing harder on you. Not to mention how his voice sends pleasant shivers down your spine by being so close to your ear. All the discomfort disappears the second a faint memory reappears in the most unexpected of places. The way he holds you reminds you of something entirely different from sparring.

Curse your mind, it doesn’t help to focus at all and it’s especially shameful when Mydei’s not affected; calm and composed, with a fiery spark running along the red marks on his body.

“You’ll most likely always have a free hand or two. Instead of wriggling them mindlessly, use one to press on the bottom of your opponent’s nose or even punch them. The nose is always sensitive, even under the slightest pressure.” He eases the grip around your body and demonstrates what he just said and although he doesn’t apply force at all when bringing his knuckle above your cupid’s bow, you squirm involuntarily in an attempt to escape.

But since he never lets go of your other arm, there’s nowhere to run.

“Now, try it yourself.” Yet instead of waiting for your move, his hand — armoured in golden claws, a trap for your smaller palm — grabs yours and brings it behind towards his face. You peek over your shoulder, a little afraid.

To add on top of everything, he is as serious about this sparring lesson as ever, not paying attention to the closeness between your bodies. The red lines decorating his chest seem brighter than usual, with sweat glistening along his collarbones and hair dishevelled by the breeze.

Your heart skips a beat in anticipation when you are almost certain he’s about to kiss your fingers instead, but in the last second, he inches away and brushes them against the underside of his nose. “Here. Remember this.”

“I’m sure that my enemy won’t navigate my hand towards their weak spot.” A shaky sigh of disappointment escapes your lips.

He chuckles lowly at your comment, raising the corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile.

“You’d rather aim blindly than focus on where and what to attack? You’ve just earned the disapproval of the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos.” He moves in front of you, abruptly pausing all physical contact. “Be thankful that I’m not only willing to teach you how to defend yourself but also for that I will protect you with my own strength as long as you’re near.”

He pushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, the lightest touch of his bare finger causing more tingles to travel down your spine. At the same time, he flinches when realising what he has done and lets his hand drop to his side; the victorious glint in his golden eyes changes to bewilderment. His armour rattles at the subtle gesture of humanity and betrayal of his emotionless posture.

“We’ll practice again until you gain the approval from me. Do not expect me to be lenient.” The heat spreading on your cheeks becomes a problem only after Mydei finishes the sentence and moves away with haste, surely caused by his discomfort.

A gentle breeze runs through the illuminated terrace and cools your skin. You watch him walk away without turning around (you wish he would). This feeling of shame mixes with admiration and unadulterated curiosity to stir up something completely bizarre in your heart.

A pomegranate-sweet infatuation with the prince.

[chris-prank]

Thinking about Vincent going on a secret lowkey mission to investigate the hero darlings head quarters and he accidentally stumbles upon hero darlings strap on collection and like. Looses his mind finding them all , imagining his sweet darling using them on him 🥰💖 (hope this was ok to send as an ask I love ur ocs !!!)

I know it took a very long time before I answered, so anon whoever you are, I hope you see this! 🫡 

And yay it’s totally ok to send ask like this! 

CW: NSFW, strap-ons, masturbation ?, jealousy and horny fantasies

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Vincent had always been invisible when he wasn't in his Dr. Seraph persona. With his small stature and shy attitude, no one even batted an eye, seeing him walk around the hero headquarters in a janitor's uniform. He was still nervous though, glancing around every two minutes to be sure no one had caught him. At least, it didn't take him too long before he found your room, thanks to the map provided by a secret source and maybe because he’d previously snooped around for that information.

He held his breath of excitement before opening the door since entering such a private space was where he could learn the most about you! Before he could look suspicious by muttering to himself with the biggest grin on his face and with his uniform doing nothing to hide his bulge, he walked past the threshold. Although as much as he wanted to immerse himself in your room, he still had a job to do.

He began searching everywhere, without losing his chance to borrow some of your belongings while he was at it. Surely you wouldn’t be missing that pair of underwear, it was at the far bottom of your drawer and that pen was long forgotten behind your desk. He, on the other hand, was going to use them thoroughly, that’s for certain. Finally, his attention fell upon a box under your bed. If you had anything to hide, it had to be there! What could it possibly be? A new superhero suit? Or maybe a new gadget?! He excitedly got on his knees, grabbed the box and opened it. 

The lid fell from his hands the second he saw the insides of it. He must have been hallucinating since the box was… filled to the brim with strap-on. He blinked once, then twice before his mission was thrown out the window completely. There was no mistake to be made, these were dildos… YOUR DILDOS! And they were clearly made to be use with a partner, since all of them could be put on a strap. 

Vincent rubbed his aching dick while his mind wandered to the potential positions he could experience with you. He had to bite down on his lips to prevent his whimpers to be heard by the people in the hallway, but just thinking of having his mouth filled with your length made it almost impossible. He even ended up raising his ass, his free hand coming up behind him to rub away the itchiness from his needy hole. Would you be rough with him or gentle? Was your kind hero persona hiding a more sadistic side in bed? Either way he would thank you for simply letting his asshole swallow the tip of your strap. But then, his sweet fantasies turned into horrible ones.

If-if they have this here… does that mean they use it daily… on other people? 

He could feel tears filling his eyes at the thought of someone else having the chance to be ravished by you and to get all the praises HE deserved! Without thinking, Vincent grabbed the longest one, that had the color of your skin tone, and stuffed it into his bag. He was soon going to be yours, so what was wrong in wanting to be ready for you? He left after that, not noticing the little stain that had formed at the front of his pants.  

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Hero reader coming back to their room like: where the fuck is my limited edition costumed made dildo? 🥲

[plutoleah]

1/10 - Denki Kaminari

[Nonbinary reader-insert, Denki x NB! reader. Fleshlight, Sub! Denki x Dom!NB reader]

Kinktober 2024

Denki leaned back into the couch, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as Y/N settled beside him. The soft glow of the room—the amber light from the nearby lamp casting long shadows—gave the space an intimate warmth, creating a halo around his blond hair. His eyes, reflecting the dim light, sparkled with mischief. 

The two of you were supposed to be studying; textbooks sprawled out on the coffee table between you. Well, trying to study. It hadn’t taken long for Denki’s attention to drift from the notes and diagrams. His focus now was entirely on Y/N, as if the material laid out in front of him no longer existed. You could feel his gaze, burning softly into Y/N, though it wasn’t menacing—just playful, like a game he was daring Y/N to play along with.

"You’re really bad at concentrating, you know that?" Y/N teased, breaking the silence, their voice light as Y/N nudged him with their shoulder.

Denki’s lips twitched into a wider grin, his head tilting slightly in their direction. "Maybe it’s because you're such a distraction," he shot back smoothly, his voice low and teasing, as though he was sharing a secret meant only for their ears.

The way his eyes lingered on Y/N, combined with that easygoing charm, made their heart skip a beat, though Y/N tried their best not to let it show. You kept their expression calm, even though there was something about the way Denki spoke—something about that glint in his eyes—that always seemed to make their pulse race just a little faster.

"Denki, we have a test tomorrow," Y/N reminded him, their voice taking on a slightly scolding tone, though the smile tugging at their lips betrayed their amusement.

He responded by stretching his arms lazily behind his head, his body language exuding the kind of carefree attitude he was known for. His shirt lifted slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, but it was the look in his eyes—those lazy, confident eyes—that made Y/N bite back a grin.

"What’s the point of studying when we both know I’ll just fry my brain halfway through the test?" he quipped, flashing Y/N that electric grin of his, the one that could disarm even the most stubborn of people.

"You just love making excuses," Y/N huffed, crossing their arms over their chest and pretending to be frustrated. But Denki knew Y/N too well—he could see right through their act.

Denki's grin widened, and for a moment, he looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just waiting for Y/N to help me focus," he added, his tone almost challenging, as if daring Y/N to call him out on his lack of effort.

A smirk of their own started to form as Y/N leaned in slightly, their voice dropping. "You know what? I think I have a way to make Y/N concentrate." Your words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Denki’s eyes flickered with curiosity, his cocky grin faltering just for a second.

Without another word, Y/N reached forward and set the textbook on the coffee table, the thud of it hitting the surface the only sound breaking the silence between Y/N. Denki raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, his gaze following their every move. He didn’t know what Y/N had planned, but there was no doubt that he was intrigued.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Denki had always been a flirt, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He found himself seated in their lap, his pants and boxers discarded somewhere in the living room, and his body trembling under their control. The sound of his labored breathing filled the quiet space, every shaky inhale and exhale amplifying the tension between Y/N.

“Come on, Denki, answer the question.” Y/N purred, their tone both teasing and commanding as Y/N moved the fleshlight slowly up and down his shaft. Your free hand rested on his hip, keeping him pinned to their lap, his body twitching at every sensation.

Denki could barely form a coherent thought, let alone an answer. “I—fuck, shit—” he groaned, his voice breathless as he leaned his head back against their shoulder, his eyes rolling back in his head. His hands were gripping their thighs as if holding on for dear life. 

"C-cumming—" he whimpered, his body tense and trembling, desperate for release. His grip tightened on their leg, the pressure building inside him, but just as he felt himself teeter on the edge, Y/N pulled the fleshlight away. The sudden denial made him gasp, his entire body shuddering in frustration.

"Fuck, fuck, why?" he groaned, his voice full of desperation. He reached out to grab their hand, but Y/N were already one step ahead of him, pulling back just enough to stay in control.

You giggled softly, clearly unfazed by his pleas. "Let me repeat the question for Y/N, Denki," Y/N said, their voice laced with amusement. "It’s really not that hard," Y/N added, lowering the fleshlight back onto his cock, this time moving it slower, teasing him. “Who explored America in 1492?”

"C-Christ... Christopher Columbus," Denki choked out between shaky breaths, his voice barely above a whisper. His body jerked each time Y/N sped up the movement, sending waves of pleasure through him.

"Good boy," Y/N cooed, rewarding him with a faster pace. You watched with satisfaction as his body trembled in response, his eyes glazed over. You could feel the way he was holding back, trying to stay in control, but Y/N knew better.

"How many wives did Henry VIII have?" Y/N asked, their tone still sweet but with an edge of challenge to it.

"F-five," Denki stammered, but the second the wrong number left his lips, Y/N stopped. He let out a desperate whine, his body jerking as he realized his mistake. 

"Sh-shit! I mean six!" he blurted out, his voice frantic. His correction earned him mercy as Y/N resumed their motions, this time faster than before, pushing him back toward that edge he had been denied.

"C-cumming," Denki gasped, his voice a broken cry as he thrust up into the toy, desperate for release. But again, Y/N pulled it away just before he could finish. He let out a strangled whine, his body trembling, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

You smirked at his frustration, holding him in place with a teasing smile. "You’re doing so well, Denki," Y/N cooed, lowering the fleshlight one last time, this time pumping it rapidly. His entire body tensed, and within moments, his eyes rolled back as he let out a high-pitched squeal. His release hit him like a tidal wave, his body jerking uncontrollably as he came into the toy.

"Such a good boy," Y/N murmured softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his head as Y/N gently stroked his hair. He was a trembling mess in their arms, but there was something undeniably satisfying about the sight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next evening, Denki came strolling into the dorm, a piece of paper in his hand. "Y/N, look at the grade I got on the test!" His voice was filled with excitement, a proud grin stretching across his face as he leaned over the back of the couch where Y/N were sitting.

You glanced at the paper, raising an eyebrow. "A 70%? Really, Denki? I mean, Y/N passed, but those questions I drilled into Y/N—Y/N got them wrong!" Y/N said, pouting playfully as Y/N looked up at him.

Denki chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, um... turns out, I couldn’t really think straight while I was studying those questions... on my own," he admitted sheepishly, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"Well then," Y/N said with a sly grin, reaching for a paddle nearby. You slapped it lightly against their palm; the sound was sharp in the quiet room. "Looks like you need another tutoring session."

Denki’s eyes widened, but the grin that followed told Y/N he wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea.

[rinsthighsweat]

Can ya do the 'protecting you from creepy guys' or the SCARY DOG PREVILAGE Senarios with Rin, Karasu, Barou and Nagi!!! Pwease🥹🥹 tysm!!

Heyaa!!! That's a cute scenario, I loved that idea of yours!! Thanks for your request, I hope you like it!! I also wanted to add Reo, I hope you don't mind it!

They protect you as a scary dog

Rin, Karasu, Barou, Nagi and Reo | masterlist

۶ৎ Rin Itoshi

Rin doesn’t even need to say anything, his cold stare is enough to make anyone rethink their choices.

The moment he senses a guy getting too close or making you uncomfortable, his expression darkens, and his sharp eyes lock onto the offender.

If the creep doesn’t back off immediately, Rin steps in without hesitation, placing himself between you and the other person. His body language screams hostility, and he’s not afraid to escalate with biting words if necessary.

“Is there a reason you're standing there? Leave. Now.” His tone is icy, devoid of patience.

Rin isn’t overly affectionate, but his protectiveness is instinctual. Even if he doesn’t vocalize it, his actions make it clear: no one messes with you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Tabito Karasu

Karasu handles these situations with a mix of intimidation and sharp wit. He’s not only physically imposing but also quick on his feet with verbal comebacks.

The moment he notices someone being creepy toward you, Karasu’s lips curl into a mocking smile, but his eyes are anything but friendly.

He’ll casually drape an arm over your shoulder, making it clear you're not alone. “Hey, didn’t your mom teach you to back off when someone’s not interested? Or are you just slow?”

If the guy persists, Karasu’s easygoing demeanor turns more threatening. His playful banter sharpens into something dangerous.

After the situation is resolved, he keeps a protective eye on you, even if he acts like it’s no big deal. “Guess I gotta stick around to keep losers like that away, huh?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Shoei Barou

Barou is terrifying when he's protective, he doesn't hold back when someone crosses a line.

The second he senses someone being creepy, his already intimidating aura becomes downright menacing.

He doesn't need fancy words or long explanations, Barou operates on pure dominance. He steps forward, towering over the offender, and speaks in a low, threatening growl. “Touch them, and you won’t have hands to regret it with.”

Most people back off immediately, but if anyone is foolish enough to test him, Barou is ready to escalate physically if necessary.

He might grumble about people being pests afterward, but it’s clear he’s protective because he cares. “Can’t believe I have to waste my time on trash like that.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Seishiro Nagi

Nagi might seem indifferent, but the moment he notices you're uncomfortable, he snaps to attention.

He doesn’t like confrontation, but when it comes to your safety, he’ll step in without hesitation.

Nagi uses his height to his advantage, casually blocking the guy’s view of you while maintaining a sleepy but firm expression. His sheer presence is usually enough to send most creeps packing.

“Leave. You’re annoying.” His voice is calm, but there’s an underlying edge that makes it clear he’s not joking.

If the person persists, Nagi surprises even himself by getting more assertive. He’s willing to do what it takes to keep you safe, even if it disrupts his peaceful nature.

Afterward, he might act like it was no big deal. “Tch, what a hassle. You okay, though?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Reo Mikage

The second Reo notices someone bothering you, his carefree attitude vanishes, replaced by sharp focus and quiet anger.

He steps in smoothly, positioning himself between you and the creep while fixing them with a cold glare.

“You’re done here. Leave.” His tone remains calm but leaves no room for argument.

If they persist, Reo’s polished demeanor gives way to pure frustration, making it clear he won't back down.

After the situation is handled, he checks in to ensure you're okay, brushing it off like it’s no big deal.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with guys like that. Next time, I’m sticking closer to you.”

[dollfacefantasy]

May I request some more (female) hybrid Reader with Carlos, please? I know people like puppy hybrid reader, but if you could come up with a different hybrid type, I think that would be interesting if you’re in the mood for it! Thank you sm for reading, and your fics are amazingly written!!! 🥰🥰🥰 have a nice day ❤️❤️❤️

LIKE RABBITS ♡

pairing: carlos oliveira x bunny-hybrid!fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, hybrids & heat, daddy kink, dumbification

a/n: thank you so much for the sweet words <3 hope you enjoy!

"Go ahead, baby. get to it," Carlos teases from under you, "Bunnies are made for bouncing, aren't they?"

To punctuate his statement, he claps both his hands on your ass cheeks, jiggling the flesh beneath his palms. You squeak and jolt forward from the force.

Your long, floppy ears slowly move away from where they had been hanging over your shy eyes and burning cheeks. You look down at him and bite your lip, planting your palms on his chest. His cock is already snug inside your leaky cunt.

He grins up at you. "C'mon, sweet thing. You said you wanted to ride. Are you having second thoughts already? Need daddy to take over before you're even started," he mocks.

You stubbornly shake your head. "I can do it. I'm just... just thinking," you maintain with a huff.

Your tone makes him laugh. Even when you were being all timid, you could still catch an attitude. He rubs your backside soothingly, reassuring you with his touch.

"There's nothing to think about, angel face. All you have to do is make yourself feel good," he directs.

You nod, knowing he's right. There really is nothing to worry about or be so shy over. It's not like Carlos would judge you if you did something wrong. In all the time you've been with him, he's never done that.

Letting out a little sigh, you find your will. You push yourself up and then lower back down. He lets out a sigh as the soaked walls of your pussy drag over his cock.

Then you do it again with more intention. Then again. Then again until you've found a good rhythm for yourself.

Once you settle into it, it's easy to keep going. Your hips rise and fall as if it's the most natural thing in the world. And for a bunny like you who's in heat like you are right now, it kind of is.

You whine and whimper, clenching around his thick shaft. Your arousal gushes from you. It dribbles down from your entrance to his balls, even coating his inner thighs.

Carlos holds your hips, keeping you balanced and steady while also making sure every thrust gets him as far inside your pussy as possible. Each time his tip is kissing your cervix. The swollen head bumps right up against the source of your craving for him.

"That's it, honey," he coos, "Fuck yourself nice and deep on daddy's cock. You know you need it."

"Mmm- mhm," you squeak.

You roll your hips down. Your clit grinds against the patch of coarse dark hair trailing from his navel to the base of his dick.

"Good girl. That's my baby. Taking it so good," he praises.

You moan and tilt your head back. Your body doesn't stop moving. If anything you rut yourself on top of him faster. Your thighs squeeze against his sides.

He releases your hips and brings one of his hands up to cup your breast.

"Look at these cute titties bouncing for me," he says before tweaking your nipple.

Your back arches and a squeal flies from your lips. He chuckles and drops his hand back to your cunt, his fingers swiping against your bundle of nerves now.

"So sensitive, babydoll. Don't know what gets you going more, when I play with you down here or up there," he teases.

"Either- mmph! Either one," you whine, "Don't care right now, just need your cum."

That statement is what lets him know that you're getting to that point in your heat where you've fucked yourself dumb. It usually happens right before you're about to cum. Your eyes start fluttering while your lips hang open and drool spills from them.

"Yeah? You just need some cum? That'll make you feel better?" he asks, applying more pressure to your achy clit.

You whine and nod eagerly. "Mhm. Mhm. Just need it, daddy. Need to be all full. Wan' it dripping out," you slur.

Digging his heels into the mattress, he pumps his hips up to meet your hips.

"If it drips out, baby, that just means I'll have to fuck it back in, huh?" he asks. A deep sigh comes from him now. You're so tight and warm and fucking desperate that he knows he's not gonna last long.

You mewl in response to his words. Your hips buck like that of a wild animal. Any shyness you had earlier had melted out of your ears right along with any coherent thought.

He feels you tighten up and then let go. His hands work hard to keep you upright. He clenches his teeth, letting you ride out a bit of your high before he spills himself inside you too.

Your nails dig into his chest, your fingers sliding over the sweaty skin. You whine through a clenched jaw. Your head hangs forward as your breaths come out in pants.

He fucks his cum nice and deep just like you asked. Just like you needed. When he starts to come down, he releases your waist. You fall forward onto him, going limp against his body.

The two of you rest there for a while. You aren't through the worst of your heat yet, so without saying it, the two of you both know that soon enough you'll be going at it again.

[morgluvsconnie]

VOW, a.arlert

↜ CHAP.3 / no warnings ! / CHAP.4

A/N / hiiii , i returned. i know it’s been a while so u might not remember what happend last chapter, sorry for that. but i’m back!!💕 (proofreading later)

“he invited you? girl, he want you.”

you ignored sasha’s nonstop comments about how “armin never does this” or “he would never do that”

“see, when he was with annie-”

“sasha,” you grabbed her hand and walked through the stands with her, excusing yourself in front of people. “i love you. but ion really care.” you sat down, fixing your skirt and putting your snacks between you both.

sasha pout her lips and looked at you. “but how would you know what to look out for?”

“i don’t like armin, how many times..?” you trailed off, rolling your eyes and looking at the ceiling.

“but he likes you. tryna tell you.” she raised her brows and grabbed her nachos, leaning back. “look, there he is.” she leaned her head towards where the basketball team entered the gym.

and yes, there he was, number three. smiling as most of the students and others screamed his name.

you clapped along for him, a small smile creeping onto your lips.

basketball wasn’t your thing, really. sports weren’t. but for armin, you guessed you’d to go the game anyway.

“you know the look on his face when he heard you were coming?”

“God, sasha.”

sasha’s eyes widened and she sat up, turning towards you. “no, really! he was all blushy and nervous and shit. he didn’t think you’d come.”

“i told him i was coming.” you shrugged, tucking your hands between your thighs at the temperature of the gym.

“you know how you talk— the tone you use. you always sound sarcastic.” sasha grabbed her soda, taking big sips.

when the game started, the only thing you watched was the scoreboard, armin, and sasha when she ate too quickly.

“number fourteen, that’s my ex, such a slut.” she shook her head, making you laugh. “on the other team, right?” you asked. pursing her lips together, sasha slowly shook her head. “no, no, our team.”

your expression dropped and you squinted. “he is.. ugly. as hell.”

with a shrug, sasha looked forward at the court and watched the game carefully, tilting her head a little against her shoulder.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees and your chin in your palm.

the scores were awfully close as time passed, but you couldn’t help but notice the change in the team and coaches demeanor. the frowns on the players faces, pushes and shoves towards armin, told you everything.

you assumed he didn’t like someone on the opposite team, because he kept fouling. foul after foul, push after push. and being benched for it seemed to piss him off even more.

“why he actin like that?” you frowned a little, adjusting to your position. sasha shook her head. “he always does that shit. when we play against this team, he always gets in some shit with reiner.”

“reiner…” you tried to think about the name, but nothing clicked. you then shook your head. “don’t know who that is.”

“he used to go here like… i dunno. but since highschool. he was fucking with armin over stupid shit, i really don’t know.” sasha sighed.

she sat up. “but i’m sick of them taking that shit to the court, that’s exactly why the game gets canceled, every single time.”

you analyzed armin carefully, biting your cheek and staying silent for a second. “i never seen em get mad before. armin, i mean.”

sasha scoffed. “you’ve only known him for awhile, he gets real pissy when he gets mad.” she rolled her eyes. “i’d hate to have to lecture him on his attitude again.”

you couldn’t do anything but stay silent, taking consideration for the fact that you really didn’t know armin.

as time reached the end of the game, there were two minutes left. sasha decided to leave earlier because of a home emergency. as much as you wanted to leave with her, you couldn’t help but stay.

walking out of the gym, standing against the wall on your phone, a couple more minutes passed.

you looked up to see most players walking out after changing their clothes, with their family, friends, or lovers.

‘where is he…?’ was the only thing you could think about.

“you think coach gon allow that shit on the court? you’ll be off the damn team before you finish our game.” you heard erens familiar, and annoying voice near the gym door.

looking up, you saw an irritated looking armin, who just stared back at you.

eren sniffed and nudged armins arm. “catch up witchu later.” he muttered before walking around you.

“you came.” was the first thing he said, slowly starting to walk towards the exit.

you hummed. “you asked.”

armin just stayed silent. by this time, the darkness set outdoors and the sun was barely able to be seen.

you cleared your throat as you both started to walk. “i hope youn got a ride… i planned on walking. and lord knows i can’t walk by myself.” you paused. “in the dark, that is.”

armin tossed his jersey over one shoulder and held his bag on the other. the silence set in. you figured he probably didn’t wanna talk because of what happened on the court.

he took a sip out of his water bottle and stared at the purple-ish, dark blue sky.

taking a deep breath, he exhaled and dropped his things, throwing his water bottle down, throwing his jersey down, everything.

you stopped in your tracks and looked back at him with a confused expression. “you good?”

armin stayed silent, sitting down on the sidewalk and resting his arms on his knees, letting his head hang.

you stood there, dumbfounded. truly.

because really, what was happening? and what could you possibly do? “armin.” you finally spoke, watching as he breathed calmly, softly scratching his head.

you sat beside him on the cold concrete, putting his things in his bag and zipping it up.

“i love that fuckin sport, man.” is all he muttered under his breath. but the quietness of the night helped you to be able to hear it. you’d be lying if you said you understood why he was acting like this.

you didn’t even know him long enough to know how to comfort him. but the bare minimum would be you at least trying.

you just stretched your legs and placed your hands on the concrete, staring at him before fixing your eyes to the ground.

“i mean, that shit get me away from everything.” he continued. “but i’m always fuckin up.” he drug his hands down his face with a long sigh.

“and then…” he trailed off. “i’m talkin to you outta all people about it. ‘just fuckin met you like two, three days ago.” he laughed at himself a little. you looked at him, not knowing if you should be offended or honored.

you truly wish you could comfort him, but you don’t know armin. not like sasha or any of his other friends know him.

“shits weak.” he finally looked up, clamping his hands together and resting his chin on them to look at the sky.

“ion think you messed up.” you looked at the sky along with him. “i think you just lost yo temper… and stuff. i don’t know.”

“you saw that.” armin side eyed you, shaking his head.

“i was there. who’s reiner?”

“a bitch.” armins head dropped again before he sighed and laid back on the concrete, using his bag to secure his head on. “a bitch, that’s mad about a bitch.” he paused. “i mean, a female.”

he realized you were a whole girl sitting beside him.

“geez, what happened?”

“i was with annie and reiner was with annie and what damn ever, it don’t matter.” he shook his head.

you remembered sasha telling you about annie — the type of person she was and whatnot — and truly, you didn’t know if you even wanted to meet the girl.

“so… you still like her?” you asked, pulling your knees to your chest and looking at armin with genuine curiosity.

armin frowned in confused. “who? annie?” he scoffed.

you stared, waiting for a reply.

armin, noticing, glanced at you and cleared his throat. “no.”

“why not?”

“manipulative, jealous, all the stupid shit. i think she cheated too. ‘m not gettin back wit her.” he sighed. “don’t you gotta go home? times passing.”

you checked your phone. 9:34.

biting your cheek, you slowly shook your head, contemplating on whether you wanted to leave armin by his self or stay with him.

“my parents won’t mind.” yes they would. “i’ll just go home later, whenever you do.” who knows how long that’ll take?

“i normally sit out here by myself but, shit, whatever.”

he curses way more than you last heard.

the silence washed over the both of you as you looked ahead. the only thing illuminating the night now was a streetlight you were under and the full moon.

“my bad, about yesterday.” he blurted out.

you stayed quiet, swallowing. “ion care about it.”

“no, i’m sorry, for real.” armin sat up and looked at you. “that was fucked up. ion know why ian say nothing sooner. to them.”

you heard some truth in his voice, but just nodded.

“it’s really whatever, armin.”

“no it’s not.”

you looked at him with a slight, frustrated frown. “you think i wanna talk about that right now? i just won’t be around them.” you said. “plus, arent we talkin bout you right now?”

armin pursed his lips and stood up.

“right.”

he grabbed his bag and put it across his shoulder. you stayed on the concrete.

“you gon sit there?”

“you’re already going home?” you look up at him.

armin stares down at you and blinks, tilting his head and shifting his weight to one hip. “i’m only just meeting you and you already actin stubborn.” he rests his eyes at you.

you groaned and stood up. “home aint exactly for me.”

you both started to walk again. “which means?”

checking the time on your phone again, 9:50. time was flying.

“it means i’d rather be anywhere but there.” you licked your lips, thinking about the things your mother would say when you walked in the house.

armin slowly nodded. “i feel ya.” his eyes rested on the concrete again. “i’m like that too. some shits just better… away from home.”

you bit your top lip. “you don’t understand, armin.” you shook your head. “but thanks for walking me.”

you stopped in your tracks as you stood in front of your house.

armin looked at your house, then you. “right. my bad. see you tomorrow.”

you started up your driveway, giving him a thumbs up.

“you too.”

[pauli-writes]

Could I request Aventurine not so subtly demanding affection from his s/o?

warning: lots of kisses, suggestive content?

pairing: aventurine x reader

author’s note: i guess i’m the aventurine gal now. thank you for the request, i didn’t really know what to do with it at first so i hope you enjoy the direction i took (ALSO I HAVENT FINISHED THE 2.1 STORY QUEST YET DON’T SPOIL ME PLS)

“reader, can you come to my office?” was the first thing you heard once you answered your phone, not even a hello, how are you? straight away he goes about commanding you around as if he was your superior, which he technically was, but that’s not the point.

you picked up your paperwork and put the phone in between your ear and your shoulder as you wandered the lower hallways of the ipc headquarters. “what do you need?”

“you.”

“aventurine…” you replied annoyed. he had a habit of calling you during a work day for no reason, but to play around with you. it was charming at times, but most often than not was annoying since you weren’t in such a high position at the ipc that you could afford slaking off for any period of time.

“i’m bored and i happen to know you have a free schedule too.”

you held back a sarcastic remark, of course he knew your schedule, topaz probably told him. “yeah, okay, but your office is sooo high up.”

“i’ll repay you~” he said in a sing song voice, making you let out a tired sigh.

“in what?”

“whatever you want~” he answered in that same silky sweet tone, that has so many people wrapped around his finger.

“okay, i’ll be there in a minute.” it was never about his gifts, but you knew if you didn’t agree to meet him he’d never relent. and so you began you treacherous way to the elevator, that would bring you all the way to aventurine’s office. he had one of the nicer office spaces in ipc, no surprise there, but you hated making the trip from your lousy office to his fancy one.

you knocked twice (your secret signal to tell him it was you) and walked into his office and were immediately grabbed by the waist and pulled into him. “come here.”

he sat you on his lap, as he sat in his very nice office chair behind his imposing desk. he tightly wrapped his arms around your waist, and started peppering your face and neck with quick kisses, making you giggle. he never lingered on one spot for too long, leaving you overwhelmed with sensations.

“what’s up with you?” you asked curiously as he readjusted his hold on you. aventurine was touchy at times, but this seemed more than that.

he only smiled, continuing to press kisses on your neck and collarbone. “just missing your company, is that a crime?”

“no-“

“good.”

he continued his assault of kisses, not that you minded of course. aventurine knew when you had enough, despite his flippant attitude, he was respectful of your boundaries and feelings. so, you let out a breath and leaned back, your head resting against his chest and savoured the feeling of his undivided attention on your.

although as you adjusted your position you spotted something on his desk. “oh, you’re heading to penacony tomorrow?”

you felt him pause for a fraction of a moment, before ignoring your question and continuing to kiss you. you sighed, turning around to face him and cupping his face in your hands. “aventurine. i asked you something.”

“oh, it’s nothing important,” he replied, taking your hand from his cheek and giving it a shallow kiss. “i’ll be back before you know it.”

“yeah, but-“

“no buts, only kisses.” he gave you a kiss on your nose, almost making you giggle again.

“you are going alone,” you said, trying to stay on topic, “that worries me a little.”

aventurine only laughed, waving off your concern as his hands moved up and down on your body. “i won’t be alone, the doctor will be there.”

“that does not reassure me. what if- Ow!” he had given you a small bite on your neck, cutting you off. it didn’t particularly hurt, but surprised you nonetheless.

as you stopped talking he cupped your face in his hands, making you look at him and straight into his colourful eyes. “stop worrying. don’t you trust me?”

you nodded, there was no one you trusted more in the ipc. “i do.”

“good,” he let go of your face and gave you a quick peck on your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “now how about we have lunch together? it’s my treat as always.”

[mimisplayground]

Sunday was an awful, awful angel. He was cruel, uncaring, and he had a stupid smile on his face all the time. Like he thought he was better. Like he KNEW he was better.

And watching the people around you begin to whisper awful things about you. About how Sunday had told them you were a wicked, mean person. You couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling of despair. How were you meant to face this? He was a public figure, one of absolute authority and power that you could never hope to speak against.

So you go to him with tears in your eyes, asking how you could have ever possibly made him view you as so awful and wicked. “You’re undignified, unruly, quite honestly a bit airy in the head, and mouthy. Is that enough reason?” He smiles at you the entire time, tilting his head at the end of the question while watching fat tears roll down your cheeks.

“How do I… fix that…” you mutter through hiccups and sniffles, almost crying more when he coos at you and gives you a hug. Petting your hair as you went to full blown sobs. “It’s ok, just listen to what I tell you to do. I’ll always guide you properly. It’s not your fault you’re so stupid.”

He had sent you on your way, and the rumors and awfulness of those around you only got worse. You went from lazy to attention whore in their eyes. Clinging to Sunday and every word he speaks like gospel. Without so much as an approving glance your way.

You would cry awfully, not able to talk to those around you and not wanting to confront the man who had deemed you as a vile person again.

And you grew angry, though with that the talk got nastier. How awful you were. Being called for an audience with Sunday only for him to berate you for twenty minutes until you were a sniveling mess again was just awful.

In fact, the talk only seemed to vanish when you clung impossibly close to the man. In his quarters everyday, bringing him teas and snacks and not bothering to pay attention to the others.

It was easier that way. When you paid attention to the others you always found them saying awful things about you. When you were with Sunday it was like none of those rumors existed. And so you were like a personal assistant, telling people when he wanted an audience with them, bringing him foods and drinks, organizing things for him, anything he asked.

It wasnt hard to fall into the routine either. He was such a kind guy, he only ever told you when you did something wrong afterall. Your posture, your manners, your tone, what you were wearing, things like that. And you would always change it to fit how he said you were best. Because clearly he knew best.

He was handsome too, easy to look at. So of course it wasn’t long until you fell into his bed.

Sunday was a selfish lover. He would make sure you finished of course. But everything he did was with his own entertainment at mind.

Leaving you overstimulated and limp by the end of most nights. But he kissed you so sweetly afterwards, wiping you down and cuddling up to you. The next morning you would be pawing at him again, begging for more once again.

You were selfish in your own ways too. Sunday never seemed to mind when you were sat next to him, gripping his arm and glaring at whoever had come around to talk to him. How you would refuse to talk to them and bury yourself further into the man as he would laugh and apologize for your behavior with a dismissive attitude.

You don’t even really know when you began living with him.

Somewhere between his hand stuffing your face into some pillows as he calls you a mangy stupid mutt and the times where he thrusts into you slow and sensual while saying it was fine that you were stupid, because you were his.

Because you are his. No one else could ever fuck you the way he does. With a calm smile and a feral look in his eyes, pounding into you and rubbing your nipples. Sucking your neck and biting his claim all over you. And you babble insistently about how amazing he is. How perfect he is, how much you adore him as you pet his hair back and out of his face while he pounds you into a mating press.

He calls you a stupid little doll. A pretty pet. A cute accessory. Leaves you fucked out and drooling and laughs, making a comment about how he didn’t know you could get any dumber.

But it’s ok that you’re dumb. Because you’re his.

Forever and always.

——————

AN ACTUAL FULL FLESHED FIC??? FROM ME??? WOAH….

also hes TOXIC pls do NOT idolize him… anyways hes my idol :3 hope you all enjoyed lemme know what u want nexf!!

[purinfelix]

is it casual now? ✶⋆.˚ - joao felix

pairing - joao felix x reader summary - after yet another night spent together in secrecy, you finally build up the courage to ask Joao and uncomfortable question warnings - some angst, possibly a toxic relationship? word count - 1k

a/n: just bc ive been listening to chappell roan NONSTOP lately and realised i hadn't written a full length fic in a hot minute !!! hope u guys enjoy <333

There were a lot of people who wanted to know what kind of relationship you and Joao had.

Of course, there were endless amounts of media outlets and gossip pages that seemed to have eyes following everywhere the two of you went. It got to the point where you knew any time you were with him publicly, it would only be a few hours before your timeline was inundated with sensationalised headlines or sneakily taken candids.

Then there were the avid fans who commented on these posts, dreaming up theories that never failed to surprise you - that you were a childhood friend, a secret lover reuniting with him, or worst of all, that you were a ‘wannabe-WAG’ attempting to use Joao for his money. Perhaps most annoyingly though were your friends, who pressed endlessly for details whenever you mentioned having met up with the footballer recently despite your protests.

Sometimes it felt like all eyes were on you and your relationship - but sitting here, in a plush white hotel bathrobe on an equally plush and white hotel bed - you couldn’t help but feel as though you were the one who wanted to know most of all. You let the hand holding your phone fall to your side, heart heavy after seeing yet another gossip page post about the outing the two of you had gone on earlier the day with a headline relaying the typical narrative that you were nothing more than a gold-digging fake.

“Don’t bother with those,” you hear a soft voice behind you, Joao making his way out of the hotel bathroom in a matching bathrobe. His hair is still dripping wet from the shower and you’re almost envious of the way his skin glows in the soft ambient light. “Those idiots don’t know anything,” his tone is adamant, and you’d almost think he was being genuine.

“Well, it’s not like you tell them anything,” you mumble, barely louder than a whisper but he still catches the attitude in your tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffs, tossing the small towel he was using to dry his hair to the ground without a care. Making his way to the other side of the bed, he lies chest-down, eyes fixed on you.

“All I’m saying is,” the regret in your voice at having brought up this tired conversation is evident but the almost daring expression on Joao’s face forces you on, “we can’t expect them not to make all these crazy theories when you’ve basically been keeping me a secret all this time.”

“Hey I thought we both agreed to keep this a secret, why is it all my fault all of a sudden?”

“It’s not, it’s just,” you sigh in frustration, eyes wandering the room - the crumpled bedsheets beneath you, your bag laying on the bedside table, contents half-spilled, your shirt laying where you had hastily thrown it - anywhere but his face.

“Just what?” he presses, and you bite your lip in a futile attempt to stop yourself from asking the question that’s been on your mind for as long as you’ve known him.

“What are we, Joao?” your gaze falls to your own lap, unable to look at the expression on his face as you’re sure it’ll only make his response sting more.

“Why are you asking me this now?” It’s clear this was the last thing he was expecting from the way he’s taken aback and slightly amused - which only frustrates you more.

“Why can’t I?”

“I mean, I thought we were just keeping this casual, you know? That’s what we agreed upon isn’t it?”

“Yeah, months ago.” You try to maintain your temper but you can’t help your voice from raising a little, “Don’t you think it’s time to reconsider that? I mean we’re a bit more than casual don’t you think? Casual doesn’t involve fancy hotel hook-ups or night time beach walks!”

“I don’t know, I mean,” his defensiveness irritates you, “You know what it’s like being a footballer, I just can’t have anything threatening my position right now. I need to focus on the game, a distraction is the last thing I need.”

“And what about me Joao? Don’t you think I’m tired of the constant slander I get every time we’re out together?” You feel your heart racing and your blood boiling, “You’ve seen the articles haven’t you?”

“Look, it’s late, I’m tired and really don’t feel like talking about this now. Can we just go to sleep? We’ll discuss this in the morning.” He doesn’t even wait for your reply before stretching out underneath the blankets with a loud fake-yawn. You just sit there slack jawed, not entirely surprised but still a little taken aback that he would just cut you off like that, in the middle of a conversation you had been rehearsing in your head for weeks like it was nothing.

You know he’s lying about discussing this in the morning but still, you reach over to turn off the lamp on your side table before slowly pulling the blanket over yourself - not like you have any other option. You make a point of turning your back to him and huffing though, too frustrated to fall asleep as your mind continues to whir with thoughts about all the things you’re going to say to him the minute you’re awake tomorrow.

That is, at least, until you feel the familiarly gentle touch of Joao’s hands around your waist, tugging you close to him until he’s able to fully envelope you in his arms. He kisses the back of your head - a slow, sleepy, almost genuine apology. You can’t do anything other than let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes and letting yourself get lost in the comfort you’ve learnt to find in his touch, in his scent, and his presence - no matter how fleeting it may be.

Because even if you wake up tomorrow to an empty bed, no sign of him even having been here at all other than a heavy heart, and no one else in the world knows what sort of relationship the two of you have - at least you’ll have moments like these to yourself to savour.

[affableramen]

tsundere!pantalone having hateful sx with his sworn enemy (you)

explicit, mature, sexual themes, mostly rough and angry sx; female reader. if you proceed on reading you confirm being 18+

first time with pantalone is here

note: this one is short. also, pantalone is emotional asf.

“You’re so fake, it’s almost disgusting!” You raise your hand to deliver a slap to his pale face, but Pantalone is agile enough to take it quickly.

“I know I am fake, that is common knowledge”, he says with a strict tone, his eyes glaring at you as raging flames. This man is so smooth and cold, but behind his whole subtlety there’s fiery personality you slowly start to be enamoured with.

He tightnens his grip on you, dangerously painful, and his eyes fall down from your big rounded eyes to your plump glossy lips.

You know where exactly he guilted himself into staring.

“This is what I do for survival”, he takes one more step closer to you, his other hand moving up from the bottom, tracing the contours of your hip (you didn't know how he could feel your body under all those numerous layers of rough fabrics). “Lying to people.”

“Fake, fake, fake! All of you!” You almost scream into his mouth.

“I guess you are a saint, then?” One more leaning to your face, you feel his raven locks tickle your cheek and neck.

“No, I always admit when I am a bad guy. But you do not.”

“Oh, my dear. If only you could see what’s behind that ‘bad guy’ attitude…” He can't wait any second more, releases your hand and cups your cheeks gingerly.

“Let me kiss you, just this once.”

Before you could fetch him a respond, Pantalone already starts devouring your lips with long pent-up fervour at first. You grab his hair and grasped it in your finger though a sudden burst of adrenaline made you involuntarily bite his lip. A sound of protest merged with pain escapes him. Pantalone pulls away running his fingers down his lips that are bleeding weakly. You see the expression on his face and immediately rush to apologise, with your face red of embarrassment. As if in order to apologise, in a most different way though, you move your hand downwards and touch him below his belt. His surprise of pain falters and morphs into bliss, the corners of his lips dropping as his mouth opens agape. You rub it a few times, not enough to lead him to peak before you suddenly find yourself in the softness of sheets, spreading wide.

Pantalone cages you between his arms, his hands squeezing your thighs before he enters with one movement. You make an “oh” sound to one another.

You find yourself almost fainting, but Pantalone pulls you back into reality.

“Oh, Pantalone…”

“Say it again.”

“Pant—archons!..”

He chuckles and smirks, enjoying how he humiliates you with his size and bold movements, before being trapped by his own overwhelming sensations.

“Ah… yes…”

You allow him more depth and watch as your most sworn enemy bucks his hips against you with the most intense expression ever on his face.

“You’re mine. I got you.” He hisses. 

“I hate you… so badly.”

“I hate you, too. The way you soften me—ngh!”

Can you deny how much you want him? Can you not feel how good you and him fit together? Can you not see the expression on his face when he is balls deep inside you?

“There is no place for hate in intimacy with one another. Pantalone, I have the softest feelings for you, let me indulge it—oh!”

His hand slides up your chest and squeezes a breast of yours.

“Ngh—shit…” Pantalone lets out a profanity blended with the most private sound you could ever receive from him. “I just—want to—love you.”

You feel it too, the vivid sensation between your legs, your heat pooling. It was as if something within him had been suddenly awakened and he started thrusting more forcefully.

“You-” You move your hips in accordance to his, trying to keep up and match his pace. 

“You hate me? Keep… saying that… but I don’t think I… believe you…” 

Suddenly you grip him very tightly (and your heat squeezes him inside) which causes a yell from Pantalone’s lips.

“Ah! For archon’s sake, Y/N—”

“Don't yell so hard, you're scaring me!”

“I can't hold it in any longer. Not with you, little foolish dove.”

His sight is covered with haze and he starts losing himself completely, fucking into you roughly and desperately. The deep, precise pushes are met with your high-pitched sounds of bliss.

“You will pull out, will you?” You slap him. “Pantalone, will you?”

Drunken by desire to have you whole, he hums: 

“I will try.” Feverishly he nods but the sparks in his eyes tell a different story. He is breaking into a million pieces to not hurt you unintentionally.

Not many thrusts after Pantalone pulls out and touches himself until release. He gasps for breath with his head tilting back before landing on the bed, his hands to the sides, caging your head.

“You’re a beast.” He moves the forefinger down your cheek.

“Perhaps. But I’m also your enemy. And I didn't expect the intimacy with one to be so…”

“So what?”

“So desirable.”

“Oh, bastard! If you don’t kiss me now!”

Pantalone doesn't wait and pushes his lips against yours in a kiss that is gentle, not feverish like the first one. 

“Will you stay? For one more night, with me?” He gives it a long thought before cutting the silence like glass again.

“I’ll see what I can do. I need to make some calls to back me up.”

“Do you want me to wait in the other room?”

“I won't go anywhere without you. What if you decide to escape?”

“You are willing to make a phone call with me eavesdropping?”

“Darling, I can talk discreetly.”

[cherrycranes]

Gringo Boyfriend: Feliz Navidad (Neil Lewis x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Fem!Reader Summary: You bring your american boyfriend Neil to your family home in Mexico to spend christmas (and keep it quiet when you wanna get freaky) Word count: 5,329 Contents: (Minors DNI). Reader is mexican and has a loving family. A LOT of mexican traditions and yapping. Oral sex (male receiving), orgasm denial. A pause between both sex scenes. P in v, protected sex, fingering, quiet sex. You do all of this in your parents' house btw. Author's notes: This fanfic is written in collaboration with my dear @honeydew-angel and is a part 2 of the Gringo boyfriend fic! Merry christmas babies!

The big light-up speaker one of your uncles had settled on a corner blasted songs from La Sonora Dinamita that barely covered the sounds of chatter and laughter. Introducing your gringo boyfriend to your family in Mexico was a success, despite the language barrier. 

Neil, "el gringo" or "el güero", as your relatives called him, was the novelty of the Christmas function this year. Everybody wanted to talk to him in varying degrees of English proficiency. Your cousins held perfectly fine convos with him, your older relatives tried their best. You could add "live translator" to your resume from that point forward.

He was real sweet, everybody charmed by both his attitude and, of course, his beautiful baby blue eyes. Your grandmother made him stop blinking for about a minute so she could admire the color up close and reminisce about a long dead relative of hers who also had blue eyes. Then Neil's eyeballs were immediately hit with the cool December night breeze again as your little cousins got curious about blue eyes too. He let them, picking the littlest one up so he could see them better.

For being such an angel, Neil got treated to delicious snacks. Chilli powder covered peanuts, bites of crunchy buñuelos and a small cup of creamy apple salad to not starve while awaiting for the main dinner. The prospect of having this every Christmas of his life from that point forward only reinforced Neil’s determination to wife you up one day. 

Once everyone had their time getting to know, admire, and tease your boyfriend, you pulled him away from your aunts and cousins to introduce him to the most important and special people in your life. You were nervous about how they would treat and like Neil. You knew your grandparents well; they were like second parents to you. This made you anxious about knowing their opinion of him.

You approached them in a little corner, somewhat isolated from all the noise and chatter. Neil quickly sensed that you were nervous, so he said he would go to the car to grab something. He had the excellent idea to bring little gifts for each of your relatives, one more significant than the other, since he didn’t know them very well yet but immediately knew what to give your grandparents—some DVDs of the most beloved and famous Pedro Infante movies, which your grandparents adore.

He returned with a small Christmas gift bag, and you assumed it had the classic 50s golden-era films. This seemed to calm you down since it was a perfect way for him to approach your grandparents. Holding Neil’s hand, you led him to sit next to them in that quiet corner. You let go of his hand to greet them with a kiss and a hug—how much you had missed them. Neil watched the heartwarming scene, feeling a bit awkward, unsure of what to do.

After asking them how they had been, you grabbed Neil’s hand and introduced him in Spanish. 

“Abuelitos, él es Neil, mi novio”. (‘Grandparents, this is Neil, my boyfriend.’) You said with a little embarrassment in your tone. Bringing Neil close, he tried to introduce himself in spanish. 

“Hola, m-mucho gusto, soy Neil”. (‘Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Neil.’) Your grandparents laughed a little seeing how nervous Neil was. 

They introduced themselves in Spanish, saying it was a pleasure to finally meet the man that everyone is talking about, while Neil, making a big effort to comprehend, just nodded with a big blush on his cheeks. You found it endearing how nervous he looked, with his cheeks turning red and the way he was trying so hard to understand.

Neil, taking the initiative, moved closer to your grandparents. With great effort and good memory, he repeated the words you had taught him the night before while you were cuddled in bed. 

"Es un pequeño regalo... p-para ustedes," (‘This is a little gift… F-for you.’) he said, struggling to find the words and with the pronunciation, his face full of both a shy smile and embarrassment. Your grandparents laughed and took the gift. You added that the idea for the gift had been Neil’s.

Your grandparents opened the small bag and found five DVDs of their favorite Pedro Infante movies inside. They were surprised, and your grandfather stood up and hugged Neil. Neil responded, now feeling more relaxed after seeing their positive reaction. Ya lo amaban.

"Muchas gracias, mija, qué bonito detalle de parte de ustedes dos, pero no creas que con esto me va a gustar tu güero, eh!!" (‘Thank you so much, sweetie, what a nice gift from you two. But don’t think that with this I’ll finally like your white guy, eh!’) Your grandfather’s comment made you laugh, while your grandmother rolled her eyes and told you not to listen to him. She hugged both you and Neil.

Neil, confused about what was happening, asked you what they had said. Feeling a little guilty for forgetting that he didn’t understand, you explained, and he just smiled. The four of you spent more time sitting together, catching up with your grandparents, and sharing a bit about how you and Neil met and how obsessed he had become with the old Mexican 50s golden cinema movies. You felt proud of that.

Neil felt at home. Knowing that the family of his beloved girlfriend already treated him like part of their own made him feel that he could get used to this.

When your grandparents’ attention was required towards different conversations, your little cousins, finding Neil just as likable as a new toy, came up to him to play. The sight of Neil picking them up, giving them piggy back rides and playing with them outside made your guts whine and beg. He was so patient, so fun, all the potential of being a good dad shining through and giving your insides a longing that did not care for time, money and your current life situation. 

“One baby, just one, please” they cried, volume intensifying at the sound of your boyfriend’s laughter and your little cousins’ overjoyment. You shushed your instincts as best as you could, nearly distracted from the general life conversation with an aunt, but ultimately, you failed. Your eyes always found their way to Neil playing with the kids and everything yours ached and yearned. And while you wouldn’t satisfy the nearly cavewoman-y need to have Neil’s babies right now as your own logical thinking got in the way, there were other things you could and would do.

You couldn't resist the urge of your own necessities as a woman, how could one have a straight face and suppose to feel nothing, watching a man both handsome and cute, treating children as his own? One could never! So you excused yourself with one of your aunts giving her a vague excuse of needing to show something to Neil. 

You made your way to the backyard, where Neil was playing with your little cousins. You just couldn't contain yourself anymore. Watching the way the kids adore him, it was driving you mad insane. So you told your little cousins Neil needed to do something really important, they nodded with a pout on their faces.

“¿Me prometes que vas a volver?” (Do you promise you’ll be back?) The littlest one asked him. Somehow Neil understood that and just nodded, saying “yes, I promise”. You grabbed him by the hand and gave him a mischievous look, guiding him to the upstairs bathroom, you were too clever to do all the depraved things in the downstairs guest bathroom.

Neil, oh, Neil, always a good boy, following you around without any doubt, doing whatever you want when you want it. Doing all the things he could possibly do to make and see you happy. Little does he know what was about to happen.

Once you made sure nobody followed and watched you enter the same bathroom with Neil. You furiously grabbed him by his ugly sweater and pushed him onto you with a passionate kiss. Neil couldn't contain the little whimper that escaped from his soft lips. The savageness with which you pulled him, already making him hard. He struggled to keep up with your needy pace, between kisses he managed to say something. 

“B-baby!,” another kiss. “Baby! W-we, we need to stop!” He opened his mouth, already full of desire, to catch a breath once you pulled apart from his now swollen lips to just look at him intensely into his eyes. This made him flinch. “Uhmm, I- your, I mean—y-your family will suspect where we are!” 

He was all red and flustered, struggling to find the words and maintain eye contact with you. Finding his stuttering a turn on, and the way his mouth heavy opened in search of air. You pulled his ugly sweater off the way and made your way to kiss his neck. You knew how your teasing little kisses excited him a little too much. 

You started by the crook of his neck. Alternating between going to his weak spot—the back of his neck, and going down. Provoking anytype of whimper and whine from him. Leaving a mark right beside his neck mole. How cruel of you. You were enjoying this a little too much. By the time passing, Neil was growing needy. He grabbed you by your hip and pushed you against the wall turning you around, he returned the teasing kisses to your neck. Trying to take off your matching ugly sweater, but you didn't let him. Instead you pushed him, again, into the sink counter. 

Taking his ugly sweater off, your hands making its way to caress and to leave a way of goosebumps throughout his chest. You focused a little too much on his sensitive nipples. You looked straight into his eyes and without hesitation you leaned and suckled one of his nipples. Neil felt like he was about to cum in his pants. You have never tried something like this before, but he sure liked it. He almost moaned by the sensation of your soft lips licking and teasing one of his nipples, he tried to hold back anytype of sound emitting from his lips. You pulled apart and whispered something into his ear. 

“Oh, amor, you have no idea what you did to me out there”. Neil felt like he would explode right there and then.

“Sweetie, I-I have no idea of what you're talking about”. You just giggled. 

One of your hands going down to touch his clothed crotch. This took Neil by surprise, he held back his whimper.

 “Oh!, sweetie, you better stop or someone will come for us”. You didn't respond, to focus on rubbing your hand against his hard clothed cock. Starting to unbuckle the belt, you fell onto your knees. Looking up at him with wide innocent eyes. 

“Hmmm, baby-y, come on, we can't, your famil-” you didn't let him finish his sentence, because you pulled out his cock and give the tip little love kisses. Tasting the sweet flavour of his precum. 

“Ohh, fuck, sweetie, that feels so good”. That gave you more motivation to continue and to lick and suck his thick and large cock like the most delicious mango with chamoy and miguelito ice cream. Neil made a fist with your hair and guided your head up and down at his own pace. 

“Hmm, baby. Come on sweet thing, don't stop.”

You were a mess, drooling down your own spit and sweating a little for the effort. You pulled out for breath, Neil whined and made you go back to aggressively suck his cock. You weren't planning on letting him cum. You  felt Neil twitch inside your warm mouth, that indicated you to pull apart. 

“Mmph! Oh! Sugar. I-I’m about to come. Please! Please don't stop!” He pouted, his mouth into an agape waiting for his silent release. And then you suddenly pulled apart. This seems to make Neil groan. Looking down at you with needy eyes.

“Baby! W-why did you stop?!”. With the same innocent doe eyed gaze and teasing look in your eyes. You stand up, cleaning all the drool you had left on your mouth. Neil was too confused and desperate. 

“What? I thought that was what you wanted after all, precioso.” You didn't even give him a chance to fight back, because you opened the door and walked away. Leaving him all needy, bothered and unsatisfied. You can't deny it though, you are dripping wet and your panties are soaked. You didn't focus on your pleasure, sure there will be more time for that…

You weren't aware of how long you had been over there just teasing and overstimulating your sweet needy boyfriend, when you came downstairs, you noticed how busy all your family was, putting everything into place, accommodating the expensive crockery and silverware on the table and getting everything ready to eat. You felt relieved for a moment, nobody noticed the large amount of time you two were gone.

Poor Neil and his hard cock had to stay extra time in the bathroom, little whimpers muffled by his lip bite as you nonchalantly helped your grandmother to set the table down for dinner. You smiled to yourself, bottles of apple cider and glass cups clinking against the table. Nearly a buffet of several dishes made by your mom, your grandma, your aunts and even your cousins presented in different styles of containers for everyone to choose from. 

“Neil! Amor!. Time for dinner!” You called out for him so innocently yet chuckling pure mischief out of your system. Reluctantly and tucked as best as he could under his pants and ugly matching sweater, Neil emerged from the bathroom. One of his hands rubbed the side of your arm with a clear cute complaint. You smiled and pretended to not understand, taking him to the table to now add “culinary expert guide” to your set of skills. 

One by one, you explained what the dishes were, some more familiar to him than others: turkey with stuffing, baked pork leg bathed in sauce, tamales, mixiotes, mashed potatoes, cabbage salad and creamy spaghetti, along with a variety of homemade salsas. 

Your guidance was meant to be a saving grace for his white guy palate. Whatever was too spicy for him was going to be a no, but Neil didn't want to look ungrateful. That was the story of the first time he experienced "enchilarse": getting overwhelmed by the spiciness and feeling like his tongue burnt.

“¿Qué le pasa al güero?” (‘What’s up with the white guy?’) An uncle asked with just the slightest bit of concern but mostly just amusement, swirling a styrofoam cup of hot fruit punch in his hand.

“Se enchiló.” (‘He got overwhelmed by the spiciness’), you explained just as calmly, with Neil trying his best to act brave and downing his second glass of ice cold coke. 

Your uncle laughed and went his way, leaving you two alone for less than a minute. Neil had not yet recovered from the fire on his tongue when one of your aunts called you both over, a colorful star piñata on her arms and a pack of cousins urging you on.

“So… When it’s your turn, what you’re gonna do is grab that broomstick and hit the piñata with all your pent up rage, baby. Easy!” You explained, guiding Neil by the hand. Your tallest uncle worked the pulley system out in the yard, crepe paper of all the color spectrum dangling and flicking over.

“Don’t you have to be blindfolded for this?” Neil asked, his source, as usual, being the movies.

“Ehh…. Some people do it but, honestly, knowing my cousins… It’s not a good idea…” You grimaced, visions of flying broomsticks and accidental hits filling your head before you shook them all off. 

“Anyways! We sing this song every time somebody comes to hit it. Just… Clap your hands for now…” You smiled, granting him some mercy. Your poor gringo barely knew a few words in Spanish, how would you ask him to sing a whole song? 

“Yeah, babe. Don’t worry. In no time I’ll even be singing rancheras.” Neil smirked, that sweet lovely smirk of his that made your knees weak. You chuckled, where did he learn that from? Probably from one of the many golden era Mexican movies he had watched ever since he first met you. You leaned closer, placing a loving peck on his rosy lips. He hummed in delight, adoration coursing through the veins of his hands that cupped your beautiful face. Suddenly, an auntie patted you on the back.

“¡Déjense ahí, que ya van a partir la piñata!” (‘Knock it off, they’re gonna break the piñata!’) Your aunt exclaimed, your youngest cousin holding a paper decorated broomstick with the help of his mom. Settling with Neil by the sidelines, the whole “dale, dale, dale, no pierdas el tino” chant started, with your boyfriend so graciously marking the beats. 

Organized by age, your younger relatives took turns hitting the piñata, some just grazing it, some knocking whole sections off its structure and making them hit the ground. During your turn, Neil cheered as if you were running an olympic marathon. Sweet on his behalf, although the damage done to the piñata was rather minimal for its dying state. It needed a mercy blow from a guy with strong arms… and pretty blue eyes.

Your family cheered for “el güero”, Neil took the broomstick with charming awkwardness and gave it a tentative blow before hitting the cardboard with a loud thud. 

“Yeah, baby!” You cheered in between chants, Neil’s softball experience shining through with his final blow. Candies of all kinds, pieces of paper and cardboard flew all over the yard in a longed-for rain. Everybody, even your family members who didn’t even take a turn to hit the piñata, rushed to pick something off the floor. Neil’s big hands cradled fistfuls of bubblegum, lollipops, and chocolates that would go straight to one of the cones from the piñata that you rescued from the ground to use as a makeshift goodie bag. 

When everybody’s hunt for candy ended and after a second piñata was brought over the pulley system, Neil found his new title as the piñata finisher of your family from that point forward. A new good amount of candy filled your colorful cone. Neil, being a gentleman, gave you everything he picked up. 

After everyone had fun with the piñata and your younger cousins were fighting over who got the most candy, it was time for the most special and intimate moment as a family: opening the gifts! You had a tradition—after dinner and breaking the piñata, it was usually around 1 or 2 in the morning. That meant it was no longer Christmas Eve but officially Christmas. Time for the presents.

Of course, the youngest ones in the family didn’t waste any time. They rushed to the Christmas tree, eagerly searching for gifts with their names on them. Once they found them, your uncles and aunts took pictures of the huge smiles on their faces when they saw they had received what they wanted.

Then it was time for the adults! The tradition was to start with the youngest and work up to the oldest. A few of your younger cousins went first, their faces lighting up with big smiles as they unwrapped the thoughtful gifts they’d been given. Then it was your turn—and Neil’s.

Neil had the idea to start by giving out the gifts you had brought from the U.S. Naturally, everyone was curious and excited to see what you had brought. Neil, frustrated by his inability to communicate in Spanish, left the talking to you. He stood firmly by your side, holding your hand tightly, as if he thought you might run away.

"Familia, Neil y yo pensamos en cada uno de ustedes y trajimos regalos para todos, espero que les gusten!" (Family, Neil and I thought about each one of you and brought you gifts for everybody, I hope you like them!) You said, a huge smile on your face. Neil was captivated watching how happy you were being with your family. It made him want to be part of it forever.

Neil started handing out the gift bags and boxes to your family. Occasionally, he mixed up the names, but you were always there by his side to help him. When everyone began unwrapping their gifts one by one, the room was filled with laughter and exclamations: "Se la rifaron, prima," "Gracias, güero y prima!" "¿Cómo lo supieron?" "¡Está chidísimo, gracias, mija!" along with the sound of wrapping paper being torn open.

Watching your family so happy and united again made you wish you hadn’t been away for so long. Neil sat beside you, watching your relatives’ joyful reactions. As usual, he didn’t understand a word, but seeing you smile and your family so content was more than enough for him. Neil truly felt like part of your family.

After the excitement of the gifts brought from the U.S., it was the adults’ turn to open their presents. You couldn’t have been happier in those moments—your wonderful boyfriend was right there with you, and your family was having such a great time! And now, it seemed like your entire family adored him.

You felt overwhelmingly grateful and happy for this beautiful Christmas gift—true joy.

After everyone had shown off their gifts and shared their happiness at what they received for Christmas, it was time to dance. Of course, as good Mexicans, everyone hit the floor to dance to the rhythm of classic cumbias from Los Ángeles Azules or La Sonora Dinamita. Watching everyone dance made you want to pull Neil onto the dance floor.

He, reading your thoughts, stood up and reached for your hand. God, you truly loved the courage he showed at times like this.

"Baby, are you sure you know how to dance this?" you teased him.

"Of course, mi amor. At least I can try! Besides, I can’t be the only one not dancing with his beautiful girlfriend here!" The way he called you mi amor made butterflies flutter in your stomach like you were a 16-year-old girl again. You nodded and giggled.

You led the dance, and surprisingly, Neil matched your steps and the rhythm of the music effortlessly. It was almost as if he had been practicing—had he? You couldn’t help but wonder. Lately, he had improved so much, and it caught you off guard.

You were even more surprised when he danced to banda, salsa, merengue, and even the traditional songs at every Mexican party, like El Payaso del Rodeo. He didn’t stop there; he joined in on the most popular reggaeton hits, hyping up the party even more. You had no idea how Neil managed to keep up with so much dancing, singing, and chaos. It was clear he loved Mexican parties—and you loved him even more for it.

Later, the karaoke session began. When the most emotional songs started playing, your cousins and aunts grabbed the microphones to sing their hearts out. The songs ranged from salsa to Tex-Mex, banda, and even reggaeton.

By 5 a.m., the youngest kids were fast asleep on two chairs pushed together, wrapped in a blanket. Your cousins, however, were more alive than ever, while the adults were starting to give in to exhaustion.

Everyone finally agreed it was time to sleep. Exhausted, sweaty, and worn out from all the dancing and singing, they were eager to rest. The next day would be just as special—reheating Christmas dinner and spending more time with the family.

The bed distribution of the house was simple, you’d stay in your bedroom with Neil because, in all honesty, your parents were not naive and you two were adults. Neil sighed all the activities of the night away, throwing himself on your bed and bouncing over the cushions. You chuckled, throwing yourself by his side too.

“Did you have fun, love?” You asked with comforting enthusiasm, your arm coming to rest on his chest.

“It was nearly the best Christmas of my life, baby.” Neil whispered, his head turning to gaze into your eyes.

“Nearly??” You rose, an eyebrow curved and a play-pretend offence plastered all over your face.

“Yeah.” He just said, a chuckle hidden in the curve of his lips.

“But why, love?” You whined, leaning over him face to face.

“Because… my girl here decided to tease me and leave me all alone to jerk off in my in-laws’ bathroom like a horny highschooler…” He murmured, cupping your face lovingly but firmly.

“... Can I make it up to you?....” You tested every word out like they were brand new, the neglected dampness of your pussy coming back with fury. To make the statement clear, you took hold of your ugly sweater and tossed it aside, your lacy bra looking right at him. Neil’s expression softened, his mouth went dry. Once again, he was dumbfounded by you. 

“Oh, baby… But won’t they he-” Right away, you devoured the rest of the sentence off his mouth. Sweet traces of candy and cider mixing in both tongues, yours was needy, painfully slow. 

“We’ll be quiet…” You murmured against his plump rosy lips, not resisting the temptation of kissing them again. Tentatively, he rose, the kiss intact. He palmed the back of his jeans in search of something, you sat on your knees and took hold of what he presented to you: his opened wallet, a golden wrapper shining with the filtered moonlight from the curtains.

“As quiet as we can…” You corrected with a grin, the sound of the wrapper stupidly loud in the silent night. Neil hurried up, jeans and boxers down, his cock hard again and seeking you after everything you teased him with. 

Swiftly and well used to this, your hand took the condom and slid it down his aching dick. Neil´s lip stung with the sharp bite of his canine, his hands magnetically attracted to the clasp of your bra. He fumbled, you giggled, easing him with a kiss, anxiety at being heard, the possibility of your parents’ judgement and the pent up desire he felt for you manifesting in the nerve endings of his hands. Finally, he managed, pretty lace tossed into an unknown spot. Your pretty tits did not even have a second to feel the bedroom air when Neil’s hungry mouth stuck to one nipple.

“Neil…” A soft, breathy whisper that would not make it past the bricks, spackle and coats of paint that surrounded you. For Neil’s ears only. His crooked bottom tooth grazed the sensitive flesh, a soft suck to his defined shoulder silencing the louder reaction it got from you.

He sucked fervently, having to open his mouth to let your nipple go without a loud pop. Right away, he searched for the other one, sending shivers down your spine and into your soaked pussy. On instinct, you shifted, the denim around you burning your skin from just how aware you were of its uselessness. Neil resented your absence as you stood up to undress but quickly, the feeling of the rest of his clothes weighed heavy. Soon you were back on top, both fully naked and your dripping pussy looming over the tip of his dick.

“Baby…” He started, your lips shushing him off right away and capturing his low groan when you took hold of his hard latex clad cock.

After a few pumps, you pressed the tip to your wet entrance and sank ever so slowly. Neil fought everything in him to keep it quiet. Your tightness, your warmth, your sweet body… He was done for.

Slowly and quietly, you took him for a ride, his hands grabbed you hips tightly, holding onto you for support. In your thoughts, as you started to pick up the pace and you pussy took him in deeper, you thanked whoever manufactured both your bed and your mattress for unknowingly making them so quiet. You relaxed after a roll of your hips tested just how loud this bed could get, not much, as long as you didn’t fuck him like you wanted him to die on the spot.

Neil swallowed thickly, the veins of his cock pumping madly. He throbbed inside you, you clenched around him and then steadied the pace, gentle enough to not make the bed creak loudly, fast enough to make your tits bounce.

His hands cupped your breasts and rolled your nipples with the same speed you rolled your hips at. He tested a move, bucking his hips and sending his cock deeper in your tight cunt. It was now your turn to muffle out a moan.

It was pathetic to Neil, but after what you did in the bathroom, he was not in conditions to last long, pressure already building up in his balls the more you bounced on him and throbbed around his cock. 

Sneaking out, a moan from him made your quick hands cover his mouth before the rest could resonate within your room. Neil’s baby blue eyes squinted in an apology, you kept riding, accepting it.

Your hips kept rolling, your pussy kept squeezing him so stickily, Neil gripped your hips in need and over all, desperation. His hips kept bucking with some minimal wooden creaking from your bed. He felt everything around his thick cock sizzle and, before he could warn you with a sound muffled by the palm of your hand, a hot spurt of cum filled the condom.

He shut his eyes, his lips pressing against your palm and almost burning his print on it from just how hard he did it. His hips bucked, you bounced on him more, your greedy pussy forgetting for a moment about the condom and eagerly milking him dry. His nails left crescent moons on your hips.

Your cunt nested him for a while, his hot breath tickling the skin of your hand. It was then when, in the serenity of his post-orgasmic bliss and your still not satisfied but content state, Neil caught you by surprise. With a hidden supply of stamina, Neil flipped you over, the bed gently grunting beneath you.

“I should leave you like this…” He groaned into your neck, placing a kiss on the skin there before lifting himself off. A well deserved revenge from the bathroom incident. You whined, your pussy fluttering and begging for more, so close yet so far from an orgasm that he could easily deny you like you denied him. 

And he would, if he had an ounce of cockiness or mischief or the stupidity that would allow a man to have such a beautiful girl like you and just decide not fully please her. But he wasn’t like that. Your sweet, adoring, whipped Neil couldn’t even house the thought in his head for more than a few seconds.

So, he killed you with kindness, giving you a loving kiss and snaking his hand towards your long ignored clit. You moaned, Neil kissed you deeper. The perfect ebbing electricity of his touch made your body tremble. 

“Neil…” You whimpered into his mouth, his guitar scars adding a rougher edge to your sensitive flesh. Neil circled your clit faster, your own slick easing this. Your sweet pussy clenched around nothing right before a finger fixed that problem.

His touch was so certain, so good. Neil did not stop once, he didn't leave you hanging. His finger pumping your tight warm pussy, his thumb circling your clit until your toes curled over the duvet and your cunt fluttered on its own. A second finger came into the scene to stretch you open the curl inside you. You whimpered as quietly as you could, and before you knew it, you had to bite onto his shoulder to muffle out your cry of pleasure.

Neil helped you through your orgasm and guided you along so lovingly, so patiently, even with the sting on his flesh. At the end, he withdrew his fingers and licked them clean with a gentle groan, nuzzling against you in a loving embrace, confirming what you already knew: this was the best Christmas of your life.

Pinterest moodboard to help you visualize a mexican christmas!

[tojivu]

# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

[vertigoartgore]

Dan Panosian : For the Heroes Con Auction. Ink, Watercolor. 11"X15"

Dan Panosian : 9"X12" Pencil, Ink, Watercolor

"Most people aspire to be like Don Drapper. Not me. Don't get me wrong, Don is one cool cat - but for some reason I think Roger has things pretty well figured out. Does he make mistakes? Yes. Plenty. However the consequences don't seem to shake him much."

Bruce Lee said, "Be like water."

I say, "Be like Roger."

Dan Panosian : 8"X10" pencil, ink, copic marker and watercolor.

"Where would the men of Mad Men be without Peggy and Joan ?

Probably three sheets to the wind downing Old Fashions at some cocktail bar. Which is a wonderful place to be. But their businesses would have probably fallen apart. These women are anchors that no sailor would cast into the sea. Well, maybe a few might. But I'm losing focus here. Sorry."

Dan Panosian : "Had a great time at the Wizard show in NOLA and did two commissions. I'll upload better scans later but I took this picture with my iPhone. 

Mad Men is probably one of my all time favorite TV shows. Pan Am tried desperately to copy their success but couldn't manage to incorporate the subtle nuances. It's not just about the clothing. It's about the attitude. The quiet moments. Mad Men does everything right. It's about storytelling."

Dan Panosian : "Don Draper… He lives by his own peculiar code. Sometimes it serves him well and sometimes his whole world comes crashing down around him.

When he married Megan I think he may have bit off more than he can chew. Luckily for him it's a tasty bite."

Dan Panosian : "Recently I'm been seeing the Mad Men illustrations I've done pop up on some really cool websites -so I thought I would cook up another one ! It's one of my favorite TV shows - I can't get enough of it."

Dan Panosian : "Cad of Cads... One of my favorite Mad Men characters."

Dan Panosian : "Three scoundrels posing in a gentlemanly fashion. Sterling, Drapper and Campbell.

8.5"X11" Bristol Board, Ink, Zip-A-Tone"

Since I'm at the midpoint* in my Mad Men rewatch, here's some Mad Men sketchs by the talented comics artist Dan Panosian (2010s).

*The acclaimed "The Suitcase" episode is actually right in the middle of the show's entire 7 seasons run (46th episode out of a total of 92).

[whalesongsblog]

first time putting my writing out into the world 😭 I hope y’all like it. It’s super rough and just a mishmash of the universe I’ve made up in my head but let me know if this is interesting 🫶🏾

(University setting, all characters are 21+)

🦋The Princess and the Parselmouth🦋

Chapter 1: Honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago

xxxxxxxx

In all fairness, when Ominis Gaunt heard the word princess being tossed around regarding the new transfer at Hogwarts University, he had assumed it to be an assesment of her character and paid little heed to the rumor mill.

Until she had walked into one of his lectures and he’d come to the rude realization that people were not commenting on her attitude, but an authentic bloody title.

xxxxxxxx

“Cold, your highness?” 

Princess Miradevi Surya Lakshmi tilted her face up slightly, a smile quirking lips that were desperately chapped, unused to the bitter cold.

She tucked her legs up against her chest, leaning back against the thick trunk of a tree happily situated by the Black Lake, a biting winter dawn breaking over the Scottish highlands. A mist hung over the still lake, the surrounding mountains frosted with snow, pale sunlight melting over the peaks like butter.

“Unbearably so.” She admitted. A heavy black coat was instanly settled gently around her shoulders- it was wonderful material, thick and immaculately stitched, scented of bergamot and something citrussy. “Oh-“ she smiled, her fingers running along the collar, the sleeves. “Thank you, Ominis.”

The young man in question sat beside her, leaves shuffling beneath him. A soft exhale escaped his lips, condensing in the frigid air. 
“It is my honor, princess.”

Mira did not have to look at him to know he was giving her a slightly withering look. But an aching sort of fondness saturated his next words.

“I’ve never seen someone so willing to put themselves in the most uncomfortable of situations. What exactly about this gods-foresaken weather appealed to you enough that you left the comfort of the castle?”

“I’m not sure how good your geography is, but Rajasthan is not exactly known for it’s heavy snowfalls.” Miradevi grinned at the soft huff from her friend. “Don’t give me that. The sunrise is beautiful and I’ve never seen snow in my life until today. Miserable weather it may be, but I had to experience it.”

Ominis smiled, allowing the princess to lean gently against him. “I’ll take your word for the beauty around us, your highness.”

“You’re doing it again.” The princess warned, teasing. “Perfect gentleman you may be, but you really do not have to use my title.”

“Well, if I have been bestowed with the honor of being the perfect gentleman, then I shall not be found lacking in matters of decorum.” 

“Ominis.” 
The Heir of Slytherin quirked a smile at Miradevi’s exasperated tone. He gently brushed his fingers over her glossy hair, fingers snagging on the cold silver metal of the circlet that always crowned her raven-black tresses.

“Very well. No more titles.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “No more special treatment either, since you wish to be one of the masses so badly.” 


The theatrically horrified little gasp that flew from her lips had him laughing softly, amused at the airs she put on. “You’ll have to decide, my princess. Either you let me treat you with the respect your title demands, or I treat you just like the rest of the commoners.”

“You’re awful.” Miradevi grumbled, scraping together a scant amount of snow that was more blackened frost than anything else, studded with grass and twigs. “Giving me such ultimatums.” The pathetic excuse of a snowball was easily melted midair with a lazy flick of Ominis’ wand, her attempt at catching him off guard easily foiled. He laughed again, and stood, reaching a hand down. 

“Come along, little commoner. You’ve sat out in this atrocious weather long enough. I shall not have the monarchs of the Surya empire breathing down my neck if their precious daughter catches her death of cold.”

xxxxxxx

She arrived at the university, and the sun broke through the clouds.

It was the first warm day that punctuated the seemingly endless cycle of slate-gray skies and ice- sharp rain that drizzled over the steep forests. The skies shone a pale, cornflower blue, the sun making a valiant appearance over the mountains.

Ominis would later say that she brought the sun with her, and she’d grace him with that melodic laugh of hers.

But he knew he was not joking.

The heavy doors of the Advanced Defensive Magic classroom nudged open, two aurors flanking the doors.

Ominis caught the rustle of fabric as the heads of everyone in the lecture hall panned to the doors, interrupting professor Hecat’s lesson.

And the scent of jasmine.

Incense.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.”

An accent thick as molasses, a voice that lilted like a song. “Am I-“ 

Professor Hecat gestured, nodding at the aurors. “You may leave. The princess is in the correct classroom.” There must have been some slight hesitation, because the elderly professor’s next words were stern. “She is perfectly safe here, and you can be rest assured that I will be able to deal with any threat to her. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” 
A firestorm of whispers rose like bees in the lecture hall as the newcomer settled in.

Ominis barely had time to register the rustle of clothes and that jasmine scent before he realized she had slipped into the seat next to him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Ominis was used to hearing his name on people’s lips, tossed around carelessly like a ship in violent waters.

That he was dabbling in dark magic. 
That he upheld his family’s beliefs with all the poisonous zeal of his ancestors before him. 
Some avoided him entirely due to that unfortunate misconception, while others looked disdainfully on him for not taking on his role as the scion of one of the most powerful pureblood families in Britain with the enthusiasm expected of him. It was almost amusing if it wasn’t so bleak.

Hated by both sides for not being what they expected. 

In the midst of it all was the princess. Sunny, lovely Mira Lakshmi, with a worryingly soft heart and a laugh he’d commit homicide for. He knew she was beautiful, he just knew. He’d brushed his thumbs reverently over her sharp jaw, her thick lashes. He’d heard the whispers. That the princess was downright stunning and- in typical Hogwarts fashion- that she was far too pretty to be muggleborn. 
But her power was recognized and quite a few were willing to overlook her parentage in favor of the title she held.

How the two of them became such fast friends, he barely understood. The princess seeped slowly into his life, blurring his senses with her soft laugh, her arm gently winding in his, the easy way in which she spoke to him.

Whether a grumbled complaint about the amount of work she had to do, or a long winded narration of the walk she had gone on, every honeyed word that fell from her lips had Ominis falling helplessly, hopelessly in love with her.

xxxxxxx

AN: shoutout to @butternutt613 for the kind words of support! And also @choccy-milky, @tamayula-hl, @heylorrain, @smilenewfifthyear and probably more that I’m forgetting but I’ve been a very silent observer in the HL fandom and y’all are some of my fav creators!

Anyway I might try and write more! This universe is super laid out in my head but none of it on paper lmao 😭🪼

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i keep recalling things we never did ; why are you eating ramen and burnt cheesecake in a café with him? what if people think that you’re on a date?

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

The morning air was cool as you stepped into the classroom, your heart heavy with anxiety. The exhaustion from the past week clung to you, but there was also a small flicker of gratitude in your chest. Tsukishima had been there for you all night, helping you cram as much information as possible. He had even insisted on dropping you off at class, carrying your bag and other belongings because your hand still hurt from the IV needle. He made sure you were settled in your seat before leaving without a word, a gesture that left you both touched and a bit bewildered. You promised yourself you would find a way to thank him properly after this exam, maybe by treating him to something nice or doing whatever he wanted.

As the exam began, your worries resurfaced. Despite Tsukishima’s help, you still felt unprepared. Some of the questions seemed foreign, and you found yourself leaving several blank as the clock ticked down. By the time it was over, a sense of dread had settled in your stomach. You could barely remember walking out of the classroom, your mind too preoccupied with thoughts of failure. All you wanted was to get back to your dorm and rest, but the nagging uncertainty about the answers kept you flipping through your book as you walked.

“Loosen up, the exam is over,” came a familiar voice from behind you.

You turned to see Tsukishima standing there, a slight grin playing on his lips as he approached. There was a teasing glint in his eyes as he reached out to close your book gently. “Your body has been telling you to stop looking at your books since yesterday when you collapsed at the infirmary, and here you are still studying even after the exam is over.”

His words, though spoken with his usual dry tone, held a touch of concern beneath the surface. You wanted to tell him how much you feared you had failed, but the thought of burdening him further made you bite your tongue. Instead, you pushed your emotions aside and mustered a warm smile. “How was your exam?” you asked, trying to shift the focus away from yourself.

“Good, think I did pretty well,” he answered, his confidence evident as he began walking beside you.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I want to treat you to something since you took care of me yesterday,” you said, your voice sincere.

He frowned slightly, his expression questioning.

“It’d be impolite of me not to return your kindness,” you replied, hoping he understood how much his help had meant to you.

“Kindness?” he chuckled, a sound that was almost amused. “I told you the doctor asked me to help. I was just doing her a favor.”

“Yeah, but still—” you began, feeling a bit flustered by his nonchalant attitude.

He cut you off with a shrug, a small smirk on his lips. “Okay, if you insist. Let’s get some ramen and burnt cheesecake at the café downtown.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his choice, surprised that someone like Tsukishima would have such a specific dessert preference. But you agreed, the thought of resting at your dorm forgotten as the prospect of spending more time with him took over.

The café was as cozy and inviting as you remembered, a favorite spot for university students to unwind. The space was filled with warm lighting and soft music, creating a homey atmosphere that made it easy to relax. Around you, couples occupied most of the tables, enjoying quiet moments together, sharing laughs, and indulging in sweet treats. You couldn’t help but notice how many of them were on dates, their conversations and gestures filled with affection.

As you waited for your order, Tsukishima excused himself to the restroom. Left alone, you glanced around the room, taking in the sight of other students. It struck you suddenly that, from an outsider’s perspective, you and Tsukishima might look like just another couple on a date. The thought sent a brief flutter through your chest, but you quickly shook it off, not wanting to read too much into it. After all, this was just a simple thank-you meal—nothing more.

Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you waited for him to return.

Two bowl of ramen was steaming, the broth rich and savory, and two slice of burnt cheesecake you ordered sat beside it, looking almost too beautiful to eat. You both settled into a relaxed rhythm, exchanging conversation that flowed more easily than you expected.

“This place is nice,” you commented, glancing around at the cozy interior. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, I usually come here with Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima replied, taking a casual sip of his tea. “It’s quiet enough, not too crowded. Perfect for avoiding people.”

You chuckled, finding his usual avoidance of crowds almost endearing. “Sounds like you,” you teased lightly. “So, do you always order the burnt cheesecake?”

Tsukishima smirked, a small curve of his lips that was more subtle than full-on amusement. “Only if I’m in the mood,” he said, his eyes glancing at you from beneath his blonde bangs. “I didn’t peg you as someone who’d enjoy this kind of place.”

“I guess I’m full of surprises,” you said with a grin. “But honestly, I’ve been too busy with exams to explore much.”

“Typical freshman,” he muttered, but there was no malice in his tone, only the familiar teasing you were starting to appreciate. “How are you holding up with your classes?”

You sighed, feeling a bit more at ease talking to him than you would have expected a few days ago. “Barely. This semester has been a lot tougher than I imagined. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even cut out for biochemistry.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have made it this far.”

You blinked at his straightforward reply, a warmth blooming in your chest at his unexpected reassurance. “I guess,” you murmured, your voice softer.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself noticing the small details about him, details you hadn’t paid attention to before. The soft freckles scattered across his face, faint but noticeable when the café’s warm light hit him just right. The way his lips quirked into a half-smile when you said something he found mildly amusing. How his eyes, sharp and intelligent, would flicker toward you, only to quickly look away as if he didn’t want to be caught staring.

There was a moment when he laughed—a deep, rich sound that made your heart skip. His nose scrunched slightly, just enough to soften his usual stoic expression, and you realized you liked seeing him like this, more relaxed, more open.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was a side of Tsukishima that few people got to see, a version of him reserved for moments like these, where the world outside the café didn’t matter.

You smiled, feeling a comfortable silence settle between you, the earlier tension from your exam worries fading into the background. It felt nice, this moment of connection between you two, and for a while, you let yourself forget the pressures of university life.

But just as you were settling into the calm, your phone suddenly buzzed on the table. The sound broke the quiet bubble you’d been in, and you glanced down to see the reminder flashing on the screen—Take your ginger tonic and vitamins.

You quickly snoozed the alarm, feeling a slight flush rise to your cheeks, but it was too late. Tsukishima had already stolen a glance at your phone, his lips quirking up into an amused smirk.

“So, you like ginseng tonic?” he asked, his tone teasing as he raised an eyebrow at you.

You nearly choked on your food, shaking your head furiously. “No—my mom makes me,” you replied, a bit more defensively than you intended.

Tsukishima seemed taken aback by your quick response, but the surprise quickly faded into another teasing comment. “Seems like your mom really knows how to take care of you,” he said, his voice laced with a playful edge.

You tried to laugh it off, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “She says I’m too clueless to take care of myself, so she has to intervene,” you joked, though there was an undeniable bitterness beneath your words. You hadn’t meant to let it slip, but Tsukishima’s perceptive gaze caught it instantly. His teasing demeanor softened slightly, but he didn’t press further, sensing that there was more to the story.

Instead, he reached across the table, his hand moving with surprising gentleness. Before you could react, his thumb brushed against the corner of your lips, wiping away a small spot of broth you hadn’t noticed. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through you, making you freeze as your heart suddenly sped up.

The world seemed to slow down for a moment, and you could feel the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. Tsukishima’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a softness that made your breath hitch. The café around you faded into the background, and all you could focus on was the tenderness in his gesture, the way his eyes flickered with something deeper than just casual concern.

Neither of you spoke, the silence hanging in the air like a delicate thread. You could feel your cheeks growing warm under his gaze, your thoughts a jumble of confusion and a budding realization that perhaps, just maybe, there was something more between you two than just a reluctant mentor-student relationship.

Finally, Tsukishima broke the tension with a small, almost imperceptible smile, his hand retracting back to his side. “You missed a spot,” he said lightly, but his voice had a gentleness to it that made your heart flutter.

You managed a weak laugh, trying to shake off the overwhelming emotions that threatened to spill over. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The moment passed, but the memory of it lingered, etched into your mind like a secret you weren’t quite ready to share, not even with yourself.

As you both continued to eat, the earlier playful banter faded into a more comfortable silence. Yet, the unspoken understanding between you two grew, and with it, a warmth that neither of you could deny, even if you didn’t fully understand it yet.

The café had grown quieter as the afternoon wore on, the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes providing a comforting background to your shared meal. You and Tsukishima had settled into a relaxed conversation, the earlier tension gradually melting away as you discussed everything from university life to random observations about the people around you.

He had just finished the last bite of his burnt cheesecake, and you were savoring the final spoonfuls of your ramen, the warmth of the broth lingering in your chest. You felt surprisingly content, more at ease than you had in weeks, thanks in no small part to Tsukishima’s presence.

As you set down your spoon, you reached for your bag, ready to pay for the meal as you had promised. But before you could pull out your wallet, you caught the attention of the waiter, gesturing for the bill.

The waiter approached with a polite smile, holding a small leather-bound folder. “Your bill has already been taken care of,” he said, handing the receipt to Tsukishima instead.

You blinked in surprise, your eyes darting between Tsukishima and the waiter. “Wait, what? No, I was supposed to pay—”

Tsukishima looked at you with a calm, unbothered expression, his hand already tucking the receipt into his pocket. “I got it,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“But… why? I said I’d treat you. You took care of me, remember?” You couldn���t hide the confusion in your voice, your brows furrowed in disbelief.

He leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “What kind of man do you think I am, letting a woman pay for the lunch I chose?”

His tone was light, but the weight of his words made your heart skip a beat. There was something undeniably charming in the way he said it, his usual teasing edge softened with a hint of genuine chivalry that caught you off guard.

“But—” you started, but he interrupted, holding up a hand.

“You can save your arguments for next time,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “Consider this a thank you—for putting up with my attitude this past semester.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his unexpected admission, your protest fading into a soft smile. “You’re not that bad,” you said quietly, though your heart was racing a little. “I mean, you did help me a lot.”

Tsukishima’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something in his gaze that made your breath catch—a fleeting softness, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had been growing between you. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual guarded expression, but the memory of it lingered, making your chest tighten with a mix of emotions you weren’t ready to untangle.

“I’m serious, though,” you continued, trying to regain some composure. “Next time, it’s on me.”

He raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’ll see.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you at the thought of a next time. The idea that there could be more moments like this, more shared meals and conversations, filled you with a quiet sense of anticipation.

As you both stood up to leave, Tsukishima casually picked up your bag, slinging it over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice steady and unhurried.

You followed him out of the café, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the pavement as you walked side by side. The day had taken an unexpected turn, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for this moment—one that felt like the beginning of something you couldn’t quite name.

And as you walked together, the light breeze ruffling your hair, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just the end of a shared meal, but is it just you hoping for more?

taglist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything