#silver yaps to himself

[number1pidovefan]

The fact that the ai notices when you change the name of the group chat is so fucking randomly funny

[sword-wielding-sapphic]

Flint thinks that he's Odysseus but he's actually Achilles

Silver thinks that he's Achilles but he's actually Odysseus

[puppydogwithlargeeyes]

WONBIN RED HAIR?

[babycatglimmer]

An analysis of the trio of light, their emotions and their cards from book 7

WARNINGS: bias, overthinking, yapping, delulu, spoilers from book 7, personal theories, daydreaming and thousands of other things.

In all of Twst, so far, there are only 3 characters with light magic. These are Rook Hunt, Silver Vanrouge and Kalim Al Asim. And they, in turn, are the only ones who during book 7 won cards with the same element present.

The only sources of light in the game are also the only ones who cry during their cards. Even though in the main story they are not the only ones who cry in moments of stress or relief, Ruggie for example, they are the only ones who have received cards crying.

Initially I found this a curious choice, but the more you analyze it the more you realize that this occurrence comes from how, unlike most characters, these cards reflect the end of an internal arc for them.

Rook: Throughout book 6, Rook gives hints about how much Vil's overblot affected him psychologically. He talks about nightmares very briefly, and how he still seems stuck in that moment to the point that he risks EVERYTHING to save Vil, even though he knows how irresponsible he is being.

Rook feels guilt, he blames himself completely for Vil's overblot and it clearly haunts him psychologically. It's something that eats away at him, something that is so deep that it even affected his dreams, and that in a twisted way kept Rook far away from Vil in his dream world.

It was this guilt that woke him up, this regret, this sadness, this trauma that haunts him completely. And this is reflected in his card, being the first time we see Rook without his barriers, the guilt, pain and sadness dripping from every expression. He loves Vil, and this pain, the feeling of being a traitor, hurts him more than any arrow.

And it is in this pain that we see Rook's true facet. A boy who loves too much, who feels too much, but who hid it all with his hunter's mask. But as a contemporary poet would say, he is just a man who was making an irrelevant choice but at the same time changed everything.

Kalim: In many ways, Kalim carries a toxic positivity. He tries to see the good side of everything and everyone as much as possible, but he constantly ignores his own discomfort or completely negative emotions.

What is not good, what is not healthy, the way Kalim lives in eternal denial and always suppressing EVERYTHING inside himself.

Until he became furious. In that dream, with that version that practically mocks Jamil, Kalim found himself completely irritated and disgusted. Angry at himself, angry at Malleus and angry at everything that had happened before. It is in this anger that Kalim finally fully computes the events of book 4, it is in this anger that he understands his own feelings and those of others.

He cries because he is frustrated, angry and tired. He cries for everything he has been through, for everything he has been denied, and he cries because it was all stupid and unfair. Kalim, who constantly smiles and brings joy, for the first time is completely tired of the fake smiles and his own denial of reality. Smiling would not change his and Jamil's situation, smiling was not helping him at all.

From a passive smile to determined anger.

Silver: The only one of the three whose tears did not come from stress or frustration, but from pure and genuine relief.

Unlike the others, Silver has always had difficulty showing what he feels. It is said several times that people cannot tell what he is feeling. He has always been different from the others because of this.

"Too human for the fairies."

"Too fairy for humans."

This is actually a very present theme in Silver's narrative, and during book 7 the human factor is put in his face as a doubt. A doubt about Lilia's love and his place by Malleus' side.

At every moment the need to choose, to hide a past he never knew, to discover what his real role is in the narrative of this story. Is he the knight in shining armor who will kill the monster? Is he the prince of an enemy kingdom, who will once again make the same mistakes as his father? Is he one of Malleus Draconiana's followers, trying his best to save his prince from himself?

And the answer? He is Silver Vanrouge, son of Lilia Vanrouge and brother of Malleus. He is not a prince or a knight, he is a brother, a friend and a son. He, who managed to save the people he loved so much, cries with joy and relief for this.

Silver reached his happy ending, surrounded by people who loved him as much as he loved them. People who could not care less where he came from, because the fact was clear who he was.

He was Lilia's little boy, who would fall asleep anywhere spontaneously and unexpectedly.

He was Malleus' little brother, who always smiled in his presence and who always wanted to stay by his side.

He was Sebek's rival, who grew up together both in power and internally. The one who would be by his side, both with the same dream and desire.

They all cry for the same reason, as they have finally finished their stories.

The hunter is still loved by the queen, as she never saw his actions as a betrayal.

The sultan and the sorcerer finally understand each other, they finally understand that they complement each other and do not depend on each other. And together, they can achieve freedom.

The little soldier can now finally smile with relief, as he has finally acquired proof that he has a home to return to.

Simply beautiful, don't you agree?

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi 👋, can I request a self aware Smilk & reader, where he’s the only one who knows of their existence, and the reader can sometimes take control of him which causes some confusion to other cookies.

(You can choose whether it’s a one-shot or headcanons)

Yess self awareness time

.......

After trying and trying again, you finally pulled Shadow Milk Cookie from the gacha, thrilled that he finally came home!

Now that you've understood all the hype surrounding him and how crazy powerful he can be after clearing his Beast Yeast episodes, you had all your star jellies, toppings, and a legendary beascuit saved just for him.

But ever since obtaining him, you've noticed some...oddities with him that made you assume it was part of his programming/AI.

When you see him walking around the kingdom or working at a station that's not the toy store, he's looking at you a lot.

Of course, some cookies may glance at you occasionally, with even fewer breaking the fourth wall (like Black Sapphire and Devil Cookie), but that's just what the devs added as a funny joke.

Shadow Milk...is different. He doesn't follow their script to a T.

The way he talks and waves at you, shows off during battles and making himself the last cookie standing in difficult arena fights, and doing his juggling trick when he knows you're looking at him.

Then he actually responded to you after you made a remark about where to put his statue...and at first you're startled, bc no way could that have been a coincidence...

In reality, he had an "awakening" of his own--in that his knowledge suddenly extended beyond CRK's borders.

Somehow, he can see and hear you, becoming 100% aware that he's in a video game.

But you assume his new antics are part of his programming...until one day the charade falls apart and he straight up tells you that he knows the truth. He even says your username, the device you're playing on, and the day you started CRK as proof in case you think he's lying.

You're stunned at first, but then you think it's actually pretty awesome....until he claims that he's the only one who knows and felt like it would've been better if he didn't.

Of course, the master of deceit would rather ignore the truth and live out a lie, like all the other cookies are....but he's stuck with this earthbread-shattering truth that's only his to bear.

In a way, being "trapped" in this game reminds him of the witches and the time he spent in the silver tree, believing he escaped one prison only to end up in another.

After you leave the game to tend to some real life matters, he tries sowing chaos in the kingdom by revealing this to other cookies, thinking they'd "wake up".

Yet none of them know wtf he's talking about. Not even the Beasts or Pure Vanilla, who thinks he's just trying to trick everybody again..although he admits that what Shadow Milk is saying sounds most outlandish.

Typically, he'd be able to conjure up some kind of "evidence" and manipulate wide masses into believing any word he says.

But you're untouchable, and he has no way of obtaining tangible proof of your existence to show the other cookies...and once he realizes this, he gets frustrated.

"Who do you think fulfills our wishes at the tree???? Who do you think indulges us with star jellies????? Keeps this kingdom from crumbling to pieces?!! We are ALL the puppets to an even bigger puppet master!"

Anyone who hears this yap from him just thinks 'is he alright? like genuinely?'

The next time you log in, Shadow Milk is gravely upset that he has to carry this burden and decides to take it out on you.

Suddenly there's lag spikes when his ability is on cooldown (so you can hardly use them in battle and lose your ranking in arena), he avoids you trying to pick him up in the kingdom (much to other cookies' confusion, as from their pov, he's fleeing something that's invisible)...and he even corrupted his own stats to make it seem like any promotions were gone and his level dropped back to 1.

You ask him why he's causing you all this trouble, and his next rant was more or less....a reasonable crashout.

"I was a god...or at least that's what I thought. But no. I've been lied to. A master of deceit...has been lied to again!! What cruel irony! This world...this life of mine....it's all been one big game from the start! And nobody knows but I!! HAHAHA!! Tell me, [username]..what's it like being the true god of this world? Do you enjoy toying with our lives? What makes you think you deserve my power?! Damn you....and damn this prison!! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN THOSE WITCHES!!!"

Other cookies just see him screaming at nobody in particular, although his rage forms rifts in the ground, from which the other-realm creeps out to attack anyone close to him.

You end up closing the game out of fear, leaving it alone for the next several hours.

While initially scared to reopen it, you did understand why Shadow Milk lashed out like that--he thought he was in control, and couldn't comprehend the idea of it being somebody else.

You don't know why he, of all cookies, had to be cursed with this forbidden knowledge, but what could be done about it now?

Nothing.

So you returned to the game and found a plushie of him somewhere after looking around for a few minutes, and after clicking him, he turns back to normal and scowls.

"What? You've come back to toy with me more, stupid god? Or were you just worried that I did something to your precious kingdom?"

"No, and no." You say, explaining to him that while you'd never fully understand what he was feeling--and couldn't help him explain your existence to other cookies--you wanted him to see you as a friend, not a puppet master or a witch or some untouchable god like he accuses you of being.

To show him you're serious, you bought all of his decor and gave him his own little castle/spire-like area, where he can indulge in his hobbies or just retreat there whenever he wanted to.

For some time, Shadow Milk is silent as he inspects everything and for a moment...you thought he reverted back to his NPC programming...

Then he looks at you and grins a little. "Jeez, if only you put this much effort into the rest of the kingdom."

"Yeah, well...I'm working on it." You chuckled. "Black Sapphire and Candy Apple Cookie think it's "dull" and doesn't compare to your spire, but-"

"I'll deal with them later. This...is acceptable."

It's fair to say...he's content.

He seems to finally accept his new reality, as he doesn't corrupt his stats or sabotage your gameplay anymore, allowing you to use him as your strongest magic cookie again.

Now if you start shifting your focus towards pulling Awakened Pure Vanilla, however, he might stir up some trouble to make the process take even longer

[silens-oro]

Senior Citizen Behavior

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Reader Domestic fluff/Established Relationship

The Pitt Playlist located here

Synopsis: For the first time in a very long time, it isn't Robby who's coming home late after his shift. Word Count: 1,421 Content Warning: Age gap; No age specified, but I typically write readers with Robby or Abbot as 30+ in my mind. Tooth-rotting fluff. A/N: lmao this was supposed to be a drabble and ended up being a one-shot because I can't help myself when presented with an old man on a silver platter, so there's that.

please comment & reblog :)

It was just before 10pm when you quietly let yourself into the apartment you shared with Robby -a whole two and a half hours later than you were supposed to leave the office, but the end of the quarter was quickly approaching and extra hours were required to be put in by your entire team. 

Gotta think of the shareholders, you thought bitterly to yourself as you shook the snow off of your head and toed your boots off at the door. Your bag and coat found their homes on the wall hooks in the entryway next to Robby’s jacket and bag, and you tiptoed down the hall to the soft glow coming from the living room.  

Robby was an absolute sight when you caught a glimpse of him on the sofa. Mindful to step around the known creaky floorboards, you rounded the sofa to see what the damage was. He texted you earlier in the day that the first couple of hours of his shift were an absolute doozy, and when he called you on his way home he yapped about a fist fight that broke out between two patients who were there because of a fight that landed them in the ED to begin with. 

"Round Two in the Emergency Department," he had said, still beside himself when the department turned into the set of Jerry Springer. 

“Sounds like an episode title of It’s Always Sunny,” you joked into your desk phone as you typed into the blurring Smartsheet on your monitor that you had been working away on for the last three hours straight. You let him know that it was going to be a late night for you and to not wait up. He needed his beauty sleep.

It was a nightmare Robby was all too happy to leave in the hands of Dr. Jack Abbot and his (loving) freakshow of a night shift -they were more than equipped to handle it and Robby couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

All Robby wanted to do by the time he stepped out of those automatic doors and into the fresh air was get home, take a hot shower, eat a good meal, and wrap himself around you like a boa constrictor -and maybe put a movie on so he could fall asleep before the opening credits finished. It wasn’t too much to ask for, and yet Robby found he had the apartment all to himself because you (in an absolute rarity) ended up as the one who had to work late this time around, so he made due with what he had. 

He took his shower and made a quick meal for the both of you before getting comfortable on the sofa with a book he started on his last day off. He got maybe three pages in, blinked once, and the next thing Robby knew, he was out. If you were there, he would’ve told you that he was just resting his eyes for a moment and he was definitely not asleep. No, he wasn’t snoring. All allegations were denied in this situation (that happened many times before), but you'd always give him a knowing smile with a sarcastic ‘sure' thrown his way. 

Senior citizen behavior, you had joked once and he nearly smothered you with the weight of his body as he draped himself on top of you until you apologized through a fit of laughter.  

Robby was sitting mostly upright on the sofa, leaning on a few throw pillows that propped his elbow up on the arm rest. He was in his comfy cardigan (the one he only wore at home after he had taken a shower) with his round readers hanging precariously on the tip of his nose and his latest book smashed flat against his chest. His feet, wearing coziest winter socks because the man was never barefoot in the house, were crossed ankle over ankle on the coffee table making his impossibly long legs appear to be even longer than they already were. 

Robby’s head was tilted back just enough to make his mouth open the tiniest bit, allowing soft snores (that he would deny til he was blue in the face) to escape while he rested -blissfully unaware of his audience, and you couldn’t stop the breathy laugh that escaped you even if you tried. 

“Oh, you are never beating the senior citizen allegations now, Robby.” You teased in a whisper as you carefully removed the readers that were dangerously close to falling off the tip of his nose. You folded the arms carefully and set them on the side table next to the base of the lone lamp that illuminated the room, before gently prying the book from his (more than likely cramped) hand. The book itself was flat on his chest, pages splayed open on the last page he read -or attempted to, anyway. Not seeing a bookmark anywhere, you dog-eared the page and set it next to his glasses with care. 

Robby grumbled incoherently when your palm came to rest on his bearded cheek. The dark circles that were starting to reappear under his eyes made your lips tilt down for a fraction of a second, knowing he was exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally as well. Between what happened with Pittfest just four months ago, and Frank’s situation that Robby blamed himself for (not for Frank using, but for Robby not seeing it until a first day intern pointed it out to him), and the goddamn Patient Satisfaction Scores he was constantly drilled about like the ED was a Primanti Bros. franchise -on top of whatever other bullshit Gloria threw at him, he needed to take some time to himself so he could disconnect -if only for a few days. The problem was that Robby wasn’t the type to disconnect. He felt an obligation because if not him, then who?

It hurt your heart to think of the weight Robby carried day in and day out, like he was Atlas carrying the sky on his shoulders, not because he needed to be punished, but because he needed to be useful and this was the only way he knew how to be. Robby was a great man with an enormous heart who constantly gave himself away at the expense of never getting those pieces back. And while you tried to replace what you could, for every piece you returned, two more were taken away in its place. The toll it took on him was getting more and more noticeable by the day, but still he trudged on. It’s who Robby was, and would always be. 

Waking him up when you knew he needed the rest was the last thing you wanted to do, but you knew if you left him on that couch he was liable to wake up with something out of alignment and that was the absolute last thing he needed. 

You leaned down and kissed his forehead tenderly, then down to his nose, and finally landed on his ever so slightly parted lips (that he was 100% not snoring through). Robby’s eyes started to flutter and a sleepy grin tilted his lips up when he cracked them open and saw you standing over him. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” You whispered, “I told you that you didn’t have to wait up for me. Your back is going to be screamin' at you.”

“Clearly I didn’t wait up,” He joked, groaning at how stiff he felt from sleeping in the position he was in. He yawned as he stretched his arms up, pulling his t-shirt up to reveal just the slightest sliver of his happy trail low on his stomach, and gently grabbed your hand to pull you down to the sofa so you could snuggle into his side.

Robby drowsily kissed the side of your head as you wrapped your arms around his middle, letting one of your hands slip underneath his soft cotton t-shirt to rub at his ribs affectionately. It didn’t take you very long into your relationship with Robby to figure out that skin to skin contact, specifically in a non-sexual setting, was something he craved. It was comforting and intimate in a way that grounded him and so it became a ritual whenever the two of you had brief moments together that you were more than happy to oblige in. It was never explicitly stated between you, he never asked for it, but you just knew and he loved you for it. “There’s a plate in the microwave for you. Figured you’d be starving when you got home.” His words were muffled because he still hadn't moved. You gently tilted your head up to look at him.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were pronounced and you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he was -especially when he was smiling. “Because I do. You’re the best.” You smiled up at him, giving him a loving peck. Robby let the kids linger, cupping your jaw to keep you close to him. 

“I try.” He breathed against you, dodging the attention by pressing his forehead to yours. He found comfort in the lingering smell of your shampoo and the warmth that radiated off of you. 

“You do more than try, Robby, and I will always appreciate that.” Again, you kissed him tenderly, your hand coming up to gently scratch at his beard. He gave you the stink eye when you laughed at the tiny groan he let out when you did it.

"I know you do, even if you are a pain in my ass. I love you all the more for it."

please comment & reblog :)

[kawaiiwritingcomputer]

sonic characters when they have a crush on you || headcanons

Sonic 🍄

Sonic is the “doesn’t make it too obvious” king of guy. You give him something, he takes it with grace and a simple thank you and nothing more but behind closed doors he admires it. He holds everything and anything you give him or do for him dearly. His love language is gift giving but makes it seem like it was nothing.

“Oh yeah this old thing? No worries, just had to get rid of it anyway.” Meanwhile he totally thought of you and what you had mentioned. He’s the kind of hedgehog that can’t go too long without your attention without feeling weirdly huffy but refuses to admit he had a crush on you!

“Has anyone seen (Y/N)? I’m gonna go check on them.” Yeah. He totally doesn’t have a crush.

Tails 🍄

Tails makes his crush totally obvious. He’s inventing you things saying you might need them. Tails explain it thoroughly so you’re always well equipped and know what to do! He’s always looking for you everywhere just in case… Just in case what? Well, for just in case. Tails gets a little nervous that you might not like him back so he tries to overcompensate as a true friend! He’s so easy to fluster. He laughs at everything you say! Even if it’s not funny sometimes. Tails listens to every detail of your life and closely pays attention. Tails loves you so much to the point he’ll create anything for you!

Knuckles 🪼

The echidna will treat you with the respect he gives any other, overall being a kind person. He wouldn’t know what do to with himself, caught in your flames of love. He thinks of you often, yearning to have you in a hug. He’s so strong,, but not strong enough to deny these feelings. He is bad with hints, and to be honest he’s rather blunt.

“Y/N, here are these flowers I picked for you; and also some grapes! I think you are beautiful/attractive, and I would like to court you on a date!” He’s so serious, it’s very silly but you think it’s endearing and sweet. He’ll try to impress you and make a fool out of himself, eventually winning you over in the end because he’s such a silly cute guy and he makes you laugh.

shadow 🪼

He pretends like his feelings don’t exist, for as long as he can stand it. Damn, you’re just so cute, doing your own thing and enjoying every moment of it. You’ll try to drag him along somewhere for fun, and he’ll pretend he hates it but he’s loving every minute with you. He doesn’t make eye contact with you and he seems to be blushing a lot. He’ll only start to open up to you in private moments.

Shadow will show you small physical affections, like an awkward hug or simply trying to hold your hand. If you seem even a little bit off he will pull away, fearing you may think of him as a monster. You’ll have to reassure him yourself and make some of your own moves. “You don’t think I’m,,, dangerous?” He’s scared of hurting you, he doesn’t want to lose something he loves,, have it ripped away from him again.

silver 🍄

Oh Silver. He’s so awkward and shy! He can conversate for sure but if you show too much interest with your pretty eyes he starts to shut down. Silver practically melts but tells himself he must keep strong. He doesn’t want to look weak to you. He has everything under control! Including his crush on you… Or so he thinks. He yaps about the future and his special interests to you. Silver isn’t a show off kind of guy but if he thinks something will impress you, he’ll try to impress you for sure! Even if it embarrasses himself. Anything to hear you laugh!

scourge 🪼

Scourge always gets what he wants, even if he has to take it. From the moment he set his eyes on you, he wasn’t gonna give up. He had to have you. You would look so good as royalty by his side, sitting atop a throne. He would shower you with gifts, anything even stuff you wouldn’t care for. You may be flattered, but he’s a bad boy. He’s trouble, a straight up red flag that’s erratically waving!! He would make any comment he could about you, often really lewd stuff. Obviously staring at you from beneath those flashy sunglasses. He does have a hidden gentlemanly vibe on the inside, though, when he’s fallen into your trap instead. He’s like a moth to a flame fr.

“Have anything ya want from me, please, just take my heart already! I can’t stand it, someone like you lookin’ so good, you should be mine! Come on, I ain’t as bad as everyone says!” His huge fanged grin says otherwise, but at least he’s trying to be honest about his feelings. You get to be royalty, and he may not seem like it but Scourge is a very loyal partner to you.

amy 🍄

Amy is sooo obvious about her crush with you. She’s daydream scenarios and sighing dreamily to herself. You can always feel her eyes on you, and even feel her smile from miles away. Amy reads her tarot cards about you weekly to see when the perfect day to confess is but she gets nervous. What if it ruins the friendship? She can’t stand the thought of not being anything at all! Amy makes you home made gifts as a token of her love. You say you want new earrings? She’s on it! You saw a cute blanket? She’s knitting away! You would have to be blind to not see her crush. Will you accept her feelings?

rouge 🍄

Rouge is hot and cold with you. Is she being nice or is she flirting? Is she being mean or is shy flirting? She’s also very touchy, in a sly innocent way. If you questioned her, she would just shrug innocently. “Ya had something on ya, I was just trying to help.” Rouges love language can be hard to pinpoint. She comes and goes when she pleases but she always makes sure to talk to you. She doesn’t gift you anything because she doesn’t buy anything but she might steal you something. Rouge is playing the long game with you, slowly working her way into your life completely. She just thinks it’s cute watching you get flustered.

sticks 🪼

Sticks is attached to you in an endearing way, and she likes to talk a lot, so hopefully you can keep up with her. She’s not a prize to be won, you have to earn her respect and show her comfort before trust. She’s been through a lot,, and will be glad to have someone to finally talk to and lean on! She would make you primitive looking gifts, or go hunting to bring you something. She feels like she needs to give you something to represent her feelings.

She is quite flirtatious, and it could be confused with her also just being friendly- because she talks without thinking a lot. She makes compliments on your appearance, offers to show you new things, and tends to be kinda handsy. “You n me get along so good, we might as well become partners!” She would remark, hoping you’ll get her hints.

blaze 🍄

Blaze is direct. She befriends you and talks to you a lot. She goes out of her to see you then will go see others. You’re like a soft and safe place for her. She’s got a cool exterior and she feels like when she’s with you, it can be dropped. She knows she can be quiet or talkative around you and you’ll gladly just show up for her. Her love language is quality time and sharing things!

belle 🪼

First thing about Belle, she’s gonna stand up for you in all situations. She is very reliable, and also super intelligent and interesting. She’s so cute, she would love having your company,, someone to chat with while fixing up inventions. She longs for a partnership, and a bond where she doesn’t get hurt in the end. She’s a little shy when it comes to her crush on you,, and you’ll notice she’ll be more nervous and blushy, words don’t seem to come out right and she’s scared of messing up!!

When it comes to how Belle would confess, she would try to make it fantasy line for you. A beautiful environment to look upon, stars in the sky, and she would make you something related to your interests as a gift,, to show you she cares and she has a heart even if she is made of wood and other materials. She would protect you with all of her power, and always try to keep you happy.

bonus: robotnik

What?! Feelings?? Ivo has never felt such things, in fact he would rather laugh!! There is no feeling, only knowing, he claims to believe, and being deemed as unwanted all of his life has only driven these thoughts in harder. In truth he’s honestly scared of emotion,, he doesn’t like the way things can hurt him,, he doesn’t like to care. Vengeance against that hedgehog and his friend is his motivation…. At least until you came along.

There had never been any processing,, if there was room for love in his life. He’d try to calculate it into his plans,, but such an unforeseen situation would have his mind scattered. He’s a lil stressed about it, and may give you harsher conditions to try and push it all away- but he realizes he feels bad about it. Remorseful, he’s gonna apologize to you and try to set you free, you’re better off without him. If you try to stay— well he wouldn’t know what to do, but would blindly accept the situation, and fess up to you. He will always put you first and would never judge you. He never realized before how badly he craves touch,, and someone to love.

[harunayuuka2060]

Vil: Lilia.

Lilia: Vil.

Vil: I have something to share with you.

Lilia: Me too.

Trey: Here we go again.

Riddle: ...

Vil: I was able to ask Yuurin the question we were discussing last night.

Lilia: Same thing with Silver.

Vil: You should go first.

Lilia: Alright. Silver told me that he's willing to sacrifice himself for his beloved wife.

Vil: That's commendable. But do you want to know what Yuurin's answer is?

Lilia: *smirks* What?

Yuurin: I'll become a monster so I can protect him.

Vil and Lilia: *squeals*

Riddle and Trey: ...

Trey: I don't understand.

Riddle: I do.

Trey: Wow, Riddle... I didn't expect that you would understand romance.

Riddle: ...

Riddle: I've been hanging out with Rook-senpai and he wouldn't stop yapping about romance and such that I have started to understand every small detail.

Trey: Haha...

Lilia: Silver, my boy. If you choose to be submissive, I won't hold it against you.

Silver: ???

[sunberies]

I WANNA YAP ABOUT MY SILVER LININGS GROPPY AU🗣️🗣️🗣️

Ok so, the first like 2 or 3 months after Rosie hatches is like hell on earth for Branch. She cries every night and he can’t bring himself to sing to her to try and soothe her (I feel like singing to the baby trolls is very important for their development) and it makes him feel like a failure.

He doesn’t let Poppy know that he’s having a hard time either, because she’s a busy troll and this whole situation is basically his fault (that’s what he thinks) so he tries to do all this on his own.

Poppy finds out after going to check on him and Rosie and finds Branch just absolutely passed out on the floor. After that they have an important conversation (that they should’ve had before but oh well) where Poppy tells Branch that he isn’t in this alone, and that she wants to help. (Branch gets very emotional over hearing Poppy telling him he doesn’t have to do anything alone anymore) They eventually agree that Poppy should stay in the bunker, and Branch cleans out a room just for her(she doesn’t really use it because she wants to stay with Branch)

Ok that’s all I’ve got right now bye bye :3

[zarameraki]

⁺✩₊📨˚✧ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐝 ⋆｡💵₊✩°

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he's obsessed to the max 𖥔 ceo x assistant 𖥔 grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 she talks a lot x he listens a lot 𖥔 loved you for so long 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nanami's first time 𖥔 you talk him through it 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔

: ̗̀➛ words: 5.6k

: ̗̀➛ notes: hey all! sorry for the inactivity. im got reality to handle as well. i promise ill be more active soon. the creativity juices are running on low fuel atm. thanks for all the love and support you have have given me. if you enjoy my work, please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy!

Nanami couldn’t focus on the meeting.

He never could when you were in attendance, sitting off to the side, diligently jotting notes. His eyes flicked back and forth from the powerpoint presentation to the strand of hair bothering you despite tucking it behind your ear thirty-seven times.

Yes, he was keeping count. 

His dick constrained against his pants when you bit the end of your pen between your teeth, getting a bit of your red lipstick smeared around the tool. He wished he was that pen, with the mark of your lips on his skin instead. He even wished he was your tea mug sometimes. 

Jesus, something was terribly wrong with him. You were wrong for him. He was your boss; you were his assistant. Your relationship was strictly professional—has been for three years now. Three torturous years of admiring you from the sidelines. Three torturous years of hearing you yap about going on dates with random men off the internet. Three torturous years of chafing his dick in the bathroom every morning, noon, and night to the thought of you. 

Your scent, your breaths, your skin, your hair, your eyes, your mouth—God, he loved your mouth—especially when it moved and produced the loveliest sound he’s ever heard. He wanted nothing more than to print you onto his skin for the rest of his life. 

Nanami scowled at the silver-haired intern who kept side-eyeing your cleavage. If only it weren’t for that bastard. Firing him crossed his mind every time he popped up like a weasel, but Nanami needed a solid reason. 

“—that’s alright with you, Mr. Nanami?” 

Nanami’s attention snapped back to the presenter. What was he speaking about? Budget? Strategies for the future? Increases in revenue? Whatever it was, Nanami had one answer. “Yes.” 

“Lovely, we’ll go ahead with the renovations for our research and development department. They’ll be happy to know their resources are being updated!” 

Ah. Well, either way, he could care less. Whatever made his employees happy, he wasn’t afraid to spend a pretty penny. That’s why Nanami Kento was universally loved by everyone. Even his enemies—if he had any to begin with—would be his allies. He didn’t often put himself on the pedestal, but he does admit every now and then, he was a jack of all trades. 

“That was a satisfying meeting, wasn’t it?” you chirped as you both entered the elevator. Nanami caught sight of the silver-serpent catching up and jabbed the button to close the doors. 

Unfortunately, the intern pushed his hand in between and laughed in an annoying sound he called a voice, sending a twitch in Nanami’s eyes. 

“Oh, Satoru!” you greeted, standing closer to his side. 

“Boss,” Satoru said to Nanami, then turned to you, whispering, “Beautiful,” loud enough for him to hear. 

You snorted, waving a hand. “Oh, stop it. I hope the meeting wasn’t too much for you. Lots of changes we’ve made for the fiscal year, huh?” 

Nanami stared bored at the closed doors with the two behind him. 

“You made it easier,” Satoru replied. 

“Were you copying my notes?” 

“Come on, sweetheart. This is corporate. Not college. A little cheating hurts nobody.” 

Nanami heard your uncomfortable chuckle and clenched his fists tight. The word ‘cheating’ was a trigger for you. Your last relationship ended with your boyfriend of three months sleeping with your friend simply because she had more money and didn’t work for someone. Nanami was sure you’d quit and almost placed an offer to give you a proper role in the company, but you brushed it all off by stating how much you cherished being his assistant. He’d fallen madly, madly in love with you. He knew when he’d make you his wife, you’d be the boss. 

“That’s my floor,” Satoru announced. “Let’s do dinner soon, yeah?” 

You simply nodded. 

“Always a pleasure meeting the man of the hour,” the silver-ass said to Nanami before exiting. 

You stepped up to your boss’ side, sighing. “He just doesn’t know when to give up. It’s almost adorable.” 

“I believe ‘agitating’ is the word you’re looking for.” 

You laughed it off. Nanami didn’t think he was particularly a funny guy until he met you. “Satoru’s harmless.”  

“Will you, though?” he asked, clearing his throat. “Go to dinner with him?” 

You glanced up at Nanami, and smiled. He stared straight ahead with a tight tick in his jaw. Your smile broadened. “I’d love to,” you replied, finding his body tense, “but not with him.” 

Nanami slowly dragged his eyes down to you. Your blinks were slow, weighed down by the thickness of your long lashes. His eyes dipped to your lips, then back to your gaze. “Well, I hope you do with someone. Dinner is an important meal of the day.” 

He was an idiot. 

“That’s surprising coming from you, Mr. Nanami.” 

“How so?” 

You shrugged lightly, eyes twinkling. “I’ve never seen you eat dinner, let alone leave the office around that time.”

Nanami adjusted his tie, feeling a bit self-conscious. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to take the plunge. “Well, maybe we should change that.”

Your eyebrow arched slightly, curiosity piqued. “Change what?”

“Since you’re staying late to catch up on work,” he said, his voice steadying, “how about we have dinner here together?”

You paused, surprise flashing across your face before you smiled warmly. “That sounds nice. I could use a break, and it’s been a long day.”

Relief washed over him, and he allowed himself to smile back. “Great. I’ll order something for us. Any preferences?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “I’m fine with anything, Mr. Nanami.”

“Please, call me Kento,” he said softly.

“All right, Kento,” you replied, your tone gentle. “Thank you.”

As he walked out of the elevator, he felt a sense of accomplishment and, perhaps, excitement—an emotion he’d felt strictly in your presence. It wasn’t a grand romantic gesture, but it was a step in the right direction. Tonight, you were his, even if only for a little while. And maybe, just maybe, he'd find the courage to tell you how he really felt.

As the morning passed, he buried himself in his work, but his mind constantly wandered. Every so often, he'd steal a glance in your direction, watching you as you diligently typed away on your computer or answered phone calls. There was something about the way you moved, the way you smiled even when you were focused, that captivated him completely.

Around mid-morning, Nanami's concentration was broken when a male worker from another department walked over to your desk. He was carrying a file, but instead of simply dropping it off, he started chatting with you. The man was smiling, clearly enjoying the conversation. Nanami's grip on his pen tightened as he watched the interaction unfold.

The male worker leaned casually against your desk, making you laugh at something he said. Nanami's heart pounded in his chest. He hated how easy it was for others to make you smile like that. He felt a pang of jealousy, a possessive urge to step in and assert that you were his . . . though you didn't know it yet.

As the conversation continued, you glanced up and caught Nanami staring. Your eyes met, and you smiled softly at him. He quickly looked away, feeling a rush of embarrassment and anger at himself for being so obvious. His face felt hot, and he cursed under his breath, trying to refocus on his work.

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion. Nanami found it hard to concentrate, his mind continually drifting back to you. He tried to remind himself that he needed to be professional, but it was a losing battle. Every time he heard your laugh or saw your smile, his heart ached with a mixture of longing and possessiveness.

The evening had grown quiet, with the soft hum of office equipment and the distant sounds of the city outside. When the delivery boy finally arrived, Nanami stood up and walked over to meet him.

“Oh, I’ve got it!” you said, standing from your seat and taking out your credit card.

Nanami tapped his card without a second thought; he’d always be willing to pay for anything when it came to you.

“Sir, this was going to be my treat.”

“Next time,” he replied. 

You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Next time, it is.” 

He led the way to his office, opening the door for you. You set the food out on the table, and for a moment, there was an awkward silence as you both settled onto the sofa.

Nanami cleared his throat. “I hope you like what I ordered. I wasn’t sure what you preferred, so I got a bit of everything.”

You smiled warmly, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “This looks great. Thank you.”

You began eating, the silence stretching between you both. Nanami felt frustrated at himself. You’ve worked for him for three years and he still couldn’t harness the ability of speaking to you casually. He wanted to make conversation, to make this moment more comfortable, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. He glanced at you, watching as you took a bite and then met his gaze.

“This is really good,” you said, breaking the silence. “I didn’t realise how hungry I was.”

He smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. “I’m glad you like it.”

You continued eating, the silence now less awkward and more companionable. Nanami stole glances at you, noting the way you enjoyed the food, the way your eyes sparkled even in the dim office light. 

When the last bites were eaten and the containers cleared away, you leaned back in your chair, looking content. “Thank you for this. It was really nice.”

He smiled softly, his heart full. “Anytime. I’m glad we could do this.”

“About damn time,” you muttered. 

Nanami blinked. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, realizing what slipped your mouth. “Mr. Nanami— I— I only meant that—” You surrendered with a sigh, running your fingers through your hair. “Damn it.” 

Licking his lips, Nanami shook his leg anxiously, wondering what exactly you’d meant. Were you wanting to have dinner with him for a while now? A platonic dinner? Or was it, and he could be entirely wrong, more? Were you perhaps . . . also rowing the same boat as him? 

“I should’ve extended an invitation a while ago,” Nanami whispered.

Your eyes locked with his.

“Three years ago, to be exact,” he continued, awaiting your reaction. “In an intimate sense. Or professional, if that’s what you’d prefer. I’m happy either way. Unless this has made you uncomfortable—”

“Kento.”

He stopped to catch his breath. “Yes?”

You reached out and rested your hand on his knee, your eyes moving from his body to his face. “Next time, like you mentioned, can I treat you to dinner at my place?” The caress of your thumb set him aflame—a tiny gesture, yet powerful. “Unless it makes you uncomfor—”

Nanami cupped the back of your head and pulled you into a feverish kiss. He moaned at the first touch, savoring the sweet taste of you, the smoothness of your lips, and the sweep of your tongue against his. He didn’t dare break the kiss, tugging you out of your chair and onto his firm lap. His mouth was everywhere—your jaw, your neck, your collarbones—as he deftly unbuttoned your blouse. He was a madman, lost in the moment.

“I’ll do it,” you chuckled as he fumbled with the clasp of your bra. “I didn’t peg you for an inexperienced man.”

“I’ve been saving myself for—”

“The right woman?” you snorted.

“For you,” he stated firmly, cupping your cheek. “The last three years have been agonising. Whenever you’re near, I can’t focus. Whenever you laugh, I can’t breathe. Whenever some other bastard tries to flirt with you, my sanity chips away until all I want to do is take you away. Mark you as mine.” His possessiveness sent a shiver down your spine, making your back arch. “That’s exactly what I’ll do tonight. Is that okay with you?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded. “More than.”

“You always know the right thing to say.” He smiled against your lips, slipping off your bra in the process. Through the kiss, you guided his hand to your breast. Just because he was inexperienced didn’t mean you were. Nanami should know by now that you had a little zest in you. “Like this, darling?”

You sighed as he pinched your nipples, his eyes marvelling at the sight of your breasts. “Yeah. You can put your mouth on them, too.”

His lips latched onto your left nipple swiftly. Your fingers buried themselves in the back of his hair as your hips ground against his erection while he nibbled and sucked on your breasts. He left them sore and bruised, kissing his way up to your collarbones, neck, and finally, your desperate lips.

Nanami picked you up with one arm, using the other to swipe whatever papers were on the table onto the floor.

“There are important contracts in there, Mr. Nanami,” you said as he laid you back onto the mahogany surface. “Don’t expect me to clean it up in the morning.”

“You’re the most important thing right now and always,” he replied, loosening his tie and tossing it over his shoulder. “And you will call me by my first name in private.”

You raised an eyebrow, relishing the sight of him slowly exposing his torso, button by button. “Yes, Kento.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, shrugging off his dress shirt and draping himself over you, his fingers gently closing around your neck as he kissed you deeply. “It must be exhausting walking in a tight skirt all day,” he whispered against your lips, finding the zipper of your pencil skirt and lowering it slowly. “If you want, I can change the dress code for my favourite assistant.”

“I’m your only assistant,” you said, letting him remove your skirt. “And I like my tight skirts, thank you very much.”

“I don’t like how the men stare at your back.”

“Sue me for having a perfect ass.”

He shrugged. “You have my lawyer’s contact number.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, which he immediately stole with another kiss. You locked your arms around his neck. “If wearing tight clothes gets me incentives like this, I’ll do it every day.”

He narrowed his brown eyes. “I can’t control your wardrobe choices.” His fingers trailed down your left breast, making your breath hitch as he grazed your sensitive nipples, then continued down to your stomach and under your panties. “But I have full control over your body tonight, yes?”

You pecked his lips. “Absolutely.” 

Nanami wasn’t quite rubbing your clit—it felt rather ticklish. “You’re making a face. Am I doing something wrong, darling?” 

“Not exactly.” You found his hand between your legs and lifted it higher, pressing his fingers directly onto your clit. It was embarrassing how wet you already were. “Rub here.” 

He rubbed there, and you took in a shuddering breath, nodding to encourage him to keep fucking me with those skilled fingers, Nanami Kento—fingers you had admired far too often, especially when he performed pen tricks with them.

“How many . . . erm, how do I word this?” He looked conflicted as he murmured words to himself. 

“What? I won’t judge.” 

Nanami looked adorable when flushed. “How many fingers would you like . . . inside of you?” 

You pressed your lips together, holding back laughter at his reddened face. This was the first time you'd be taking a man's virginity, and you wanted to make sure it was as good for him as it would be for you. “I can take three.” 

“Wow,” he breathes out, clearing his throat. 

“I’ve taken a fist before.” 

His eyes widened in shock. “I’m sorry?” 

You laughed, cupping his face. “I’m just joking. I only wanted to see your reaction.” He was still flabbergasted as you kissed him. “But it is possible. I wouldn’t suggest it right now.” 

“Right now,” he repeats. Yes, right now. Eventually, you’d want his whole damn fist inside of you. “I’ll start with two.” 

“Middle and ring finger. Never index. It’s a rookie mistake.” 

“Of course.” Nanami relieved your clit and slid down your centre. “God, you’re soaking my hand, darling.” His words sent a ripple through you. Then his fingers slowly slid inside your tight heat, making him grunt. 

“How is it?” you whispered, massaging the back of his head while the other rested on the side of his neck. 

“Warm,” he said. “And . . . clamping?” 

This was entertainment for you. 

“Warm and clamping is one way to describe it. You can start moving your fingers in and out of me. Curl them, tap them, whatever you want.” Your tongue licked his upper lip, surprising him. “And if you want to blow my orgasm through the roof, circle your thumb on my clit. Don’t hold back.” 

And he didn’t. 

Nanami drove his fingers inside your pussy, unknowingly hitting your g-spot, and flinching when you cried out his name. The pad of his thumb rubbed your clit, or if he complained about a cramp, he’d used the mound of his palm, cupping your entire vagina. 

“I’m close—” You let out strained breaths, gripping his hair or shoulders. 

“Close to what?” 

“You’re going to make me say it?” 

Nanami appeared genuinely puzzled. “Close to your orgasm?” Oh, my god. He was genuinely puzzled. Why wouldn’t he be? You couldn't expect him to know about even the most obvious sex-related things. Part of you was excited to show him your vibrator and have him guess what it was. 

“Yes, Kento. I’m close to my orgasm.” 

He grinned with pride. Your heart melted, and you grabbed his face, kissing him as if your life hung in the balance. Amid his fervent moans, you came gushing down, drenching his hand with your release.

Pulling his hand out, he stared at your orgasm. “That’s quite a lot.” 

“Oh, my god, stop.” You covered your face, suddenly embarrassed by how much you’d come. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I meant it in a positive way. I’m very flattered. And thankful that you taught me how to please you this way.”

You caught him about to lick his fingers, causing you to shout in protest and pull his wrist back sharply. “No!”

“What? What is it?” 

“You can't just— You're all about cleanliness and stuff. I don't want you breaking your own rules for that.” 

Nanami smiled. “I’d break all my rules for you.” He went to go lick again, but you quickly pulled his hand towards your chest and wiped it on there. His face contorted to frustration. “What the fuck?” 

Your brows shot up. This was the first time you’d heard him curse. It was so hot. You wanted him to say it again. “It’s dirty.” 

“It’s a part of you.” He made a tch sound and retrieved his tie from the floor. “Give me your hands.” Taking your wrists, he bound them with the material behind your waist.

“Kinky,” you said. 

Nanami stayed silent, his expression now one of disappointment, his brows furrowed deeply. The confusion that once marked his demeanor had given way to a completely different persona. “If you won’t allow me to taste you from your hands”—he pushed your ankles up on the desk and sank between your legs—“I’ll drink straight from the source.” 

“Kento, wait—”

Too late. 

You broke into a chorus of moans as his tongue licked and lapped at your pussy. His mouth engulfed your clit and sucked on it hard, the tip of his tongue now swirling the little bud. His fingers spread your folds, as he cleaned every last drop of your juices, even probing your little hole that they seeped from. 

By the end of it, you were drenched in sweat, tears brimming in your eyes, your wrists throbbing from the restraints. Your body swayed side to side, legs trying to close him away, but he remained persistent in eating you out like a madman.  “Ken . . . I can’t—”

“Have you learned your lesson?” 

“Yes, goddamn it. Yes. I’m sorry.” You would let this man lick your whole body from now on. “Just kiss me already. Please.” 

He kissed your clit and travelled up to your stomach, each nipple, and to your mouth as he undid the tie so you could cling to him. His mouth met your wet eyes. “I’m sorry, darling. I got carried away a bit.” 

“No, don’t be. I loved it.” You planted a kiss on his cheek, making him smile bashfully, just like he had ten minutes earlier. “But I’d prefer someone else to touch me now.” 

His gaze grew intense. “Who?” 

You blinked. “Your friend.” 

He scoffed, running his fingers through his hair. “My— My friend?” 

“Uh, yeah?” 

“Have you spoken to him before?” 

You eyed his prominent bulge. “I’d like to. Touch him, kiss him, have him inside of me.” 

Nanami stared at you with disbelief. “No.” 

“No?” 

He gritted his jaw, fists at his side. You were completely frazzled by his response. Why was it that he got to explore your inside with his fingers and tongue and wouldn’t allow you to touch him? 

“That’s not fair. I thought you wanted me,” you mumbled. 

“And yet you want my friend,” he replied sharply. “Haibara will be disappointed to know that I don’t share.” 

Huh?

“Haibara?!” you shrieked at the highest decibel, jolting him. “Hai— Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Kento, you id— That’s not what I meant when I was referring to your friend.” How is this man running a multi-million dollar corporation? “I was talking about your penis. Dick. Cock. Whatever you prefer.” 

Nanami stood in stunned silence. His anger melted away, replaced by a sudden realization, his eyes darting upward. “Oh.” 

You’d had enough. If he prolonged your orgasm any further, you were going to get a female version of blue-balls. “Come here, you doofus.” You pulled down by his collars and kissed him, undoing his belt, button, and zipper for him. “Can I touch your dick, Mr. Nanami?” 

He nodded vigorously. 

You rolled your eyes, smiling, and slid your hands into his boxers, grabbing him. “Oh, God. I knew it. You’re so big.” 

“You knew it? Has it been on your mind?” 

“Ever since my interview. No one asked you to manspread. It drove me crazy. Made me stumble on my words.” You stroked him slowly, dissolving him in a sea of grunts and groans. “Be honest, did I get this job because you were attracted to me, or because I’m genuinely good at what I do?” 

Nanami pondered for a moment before responding, “Both?”

“Of course you chose the safest answer.”

“Well, you’ve managed my schedule flawlessly for three years. You handle all my emails, make the best coffee, and surprise me with treats. Yes, you’re undeniably beautiful, but it’s your heart that I’ve fallen in love with.”

Your hand froze. “Love?”

He nodded, a blush colouring his cheeks as he looked away. “Love.”

You cupped his face with both hands. “You love me?”

Another nod. “Since your interview.”

He had loved you for three years now. It seemed surreal. You liked him, certainly, but did you love him too? That was the question. Your mind had always assumed he would never see you romantically, so you held back from letting your feelings grow.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Nanami reassured you. “I’ve loved you enough for both of us for far too long. I can wait until you’re ready.” He kissed your forehead gently. “But please, don’t make me wait forever. I don’t want us to stay strictly professional. I want to take you out, make you my girlfriend as soon as possible. Eventually, make . . .” He paused, unsure where to place his hands, before settling on your shoulders. “Make you my wife.”

Oh, you were about to give him the best blow job ever. 

“Okay,” you whispered, stepping down from the table and taking his hands. “Let’s go on a date tomorrow, the day after, and every day after that. I want to be your girlfriend by next week— I’ll add it to your personal calendar. And I want dinner and wine at your place afterwards. Speaking of your place, I want to move in with you by the end of next month, or we can live in my shitty apartment— I don’t mind. You have to make me your wife next year instead of making me wait three more years. And I want two kids somewhere down the line. Oh, and a cat.” You grinned widely at his stunned expression. “Can you give me all that, Kento?” 

He breathed out heavily, nodding slowly. "Yes," he affirmed. His lips found yours. "Yes. I can. I will. I'll give you whatever you need." He kissed you without restraint, laughter filling his office like a contagious joy.

“Okay, okay.” You gently pushed him back by his shoulders and settled him into his seat. “Prepared to have your mind blown, Mr. Nanami.” Kneeling down, you kissed his thigh, tracing a path up to his hip bone.

His breaths came out laboured, short, as he watched your intentions with a hawk eye. 

You took him out of his boxers and prepared your poor throat. It was long and girthy, your fingers barely curving around it. Your tongue ran over his tip, collecting the salty, pre-cum leaking from there. 

Nanami hissed, gripping the armrests of his chair as he spread his legs wider. “Will this be painful?”

You looked up from under your lashes. “I'll do my best not to use my teeth by mistake.”

“I meant for you, darling.”

“One way to find out.” Your lips curved over the head of his cock, lowering yourself until his length was tickling the back of your throat. Nanami was in shambles already. You pulled back and licked him from his base to the summit. “You’re so warm, too. So hard.” Your hands sailed up his thighs, kissing his rigid length. “All for me.” 

“For you, darling.” He brushed your hair back from your face. 

Chuckling, you took him into your mouth again and sent a prayer you didn’t wake up with a sore throat. You could easily picture Nanami purchasing cough drops for you, brewing tea, and insisting you take a day off. The idea of him looking after you sent shivers down your spine.

Nanami gripped the sides of your head, his own tilted back as he breathed heavily through those flawless lips. Occasionally, he'd bravely look down and catch your gaze, then quickly avert his eyes to the ceiling. It was adorable how he struggled to maintain eye contact with you. You had assumed he avoided it because he wasn't interested in talking to you or listening to you yapping. It all makes sense now.

He's simply shy. And you're determined to coax him out of his shell, or even better, cozy up inside it where it's safe.

“The sounds you’re making,” he breathes out. The sounds you’re making, Kento. “It feels like you’re taking me deeper.” 

Because you were. You expanded your jaw, even hearing a little joint tick, and pushed him past the limit of your throat. You’d given blow-jobs before, but the guys were either too small, or too aggressive, leaving your scalp numb without any aftercare. 

Nanami was different. He left your hair and held your face, thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he struggled against his restraints. You could feel him twitch in your mouth, feel the veins pulse on your tongue, his sacs hot at your touch. 

But you wanted Nanami to come inside you. 

At the last minute, you drew him out of your mouth, the strings of your saliva and his pre-cum bridging from your lips and his tip. Nanami groaned at the sight, his dick twitch involuntarily, standing long and proud. 

“I want you inside of me now,” you whispered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and sitting on his lap. He pulled your lips in for a kiss as you adjusted his tip at your entrance, sitting down on it in one go. A cry ripped from your aching throat; a loud growl from his. “Fuck, Kento. Your cock’s filling me up.” 

“Such a dirty mouth,” he muttered, hand on your nape while the other guided your rolling hips. “Does it hurt?” 

You chuckled, head shaking. Your forehead rested over his palms on the side of his neck as you bounced on his lap, your movements growing faster. He was stretching you out, the tip poking your womb, practically splitting you in half. 

Nanami, on the other hand, was on cloud nine. You were warm and sticky, your walls cushioned and clamping around him, sucking him deeper by the second. He’d dreamt of this every night, jerking himself off to the thought of you, recalling the sound of your laugh, or your floral scent. 

Right now, his name slipped off your tongue and you smelled like him. Sweaty, breathless, moaning. This is exactly how he wanted you. Needed you. You were his assistant. His woman. His lover. If any other man dared to touch you, or flirt with you, he’d fire them. He wished he could kill them instead. 

You had awakened his territorial, possessive side, consuming him completely. If his parents refused to accept you as his equal, he would abandon everything and find happiness elsewhere with you. But first, he was determined to fight for you with all his might. Damn it, he loved you.

“I’m tired,” you whispered, wincing as you tried to mill your hips forward again. “Oh, no. I’m cramping up.” 

Nanami hated that he didn’t know what to do. He wished he was experienced. He wished he didn’t have to rely on you even if it was a turn-on when you dominated him with your words and actions. “Stop and take a breather.” 

You obeyed, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

He grabbed the globes of your ass and stood up, walking over to the couch and laying you down there. “Is this better?” 

“Yes.” You stretched up your arms then wrapped it around his neck, giving him a long, loud smack of a kiss. “Proceed.” 

Nanami chuckled, caressing your cheek. He thrusted inside of you, pulling himself to the tip, then back inside. It seemed to have you making those needy sounds, so must’ve been on the right track. 

“You’re so handsome,” you whispered, locking eyes with his deep brown gaze as he intensified his movements, growing faster and more forceful. “Yes, yes, yes. Oh, god. Ken—” You were cut off by his kiss, by his hand clutching your breast, pinching your nipple. 

“I love you,” Nanami murmured, kissing your throat and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You cupped the back of his hand, wailing moans as he pounded into you, flesh slapping against flesh. “I love you, darling. I love you so much.” 

“Kento.” You were feeling achingly sore, your legs losing sensation. He was rutting into you like a madman, and no, you did not want him to slow down whatsoever. “Kento!” 

He drew his face back. “Yes?” 

“I love you, too,” you cried out as you climaxed, your back arching off the couch’s surface. 

Nanami crashed seconds later. 

You were both a breathless, sticking, sweaty mess. Nothing but the sounds of your rapid hearts and shallow breaths could be heard. 

Nanami slid out of you after a minute of silence. He was glowing, golden hair damp with sweat and sticking in different directions from your hand that was running through it. He parted your legs and watched both your mingled release leaking out of you. “I did that.” 

You burst out laughing. “Thank you for letting me take your virginity.” 

He scowled at you, the kind where a smile creeped on his lips. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“No, lay with me for a sec.” 

Nanami listened attentively and settled beside you on the couch, pulling you into his embrace. You showered kisses over his face, jaw, and the corners of his smiling mouth. “You said ‘I love you,’ by the way.” 

“I did.” Another peck landed on his lips. 

He swallowed, his eyes sparkling as they met yours. “Are you sure?” 

“One-hundred-infinite percent.” You fixed his hair away from his forehead, running your index finger down the slope of his nose and to his lips. “Say it back.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

Nanami sighed contentedly, his hand cradling the back of your head as he planted a kiss on your forehead. You giggled and nestled your cheek against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I know you said to wait until next week to make you my girlfriend, but is it alright if I make you mine now?” 

“I am already yours.” You drew hearts on his torso, feeling shy all of a sudden. You’d never been in a proper relationship before. But neither had Nanami. Which meant you’d both navigate your relationship together as novices. 

“Officially?” He continued. “Or I can wait—”

“Yes,” you said, craning your head up. “I’d love to officially be your girlfriend, Kento Nanami.” You savoured the relieved breath he took. How could you ever reject a soul like his? He was your favourite person. “But I’m still your assistant.” 

“And now I’m yours.” 

You laugh and rest your nose in the curve of his neck, closing your eyes. He hugged you close, lips lazily kissing the top of your head. “Get as much rest as you can, Boss Man. Round two is in five minutes.” 

[tightjeansjavi]

Double-Edged Sword - "what's mine is yours"

A/N: okay I am truly just writing this for the vibes so if it seems a bit silly, that’s why 😌 I did briefly go back and edit this, but I don’t expect it to be perfect, so if there’s any mistakes, that’s on me! Just remember that Geta is the biggest spoiled brat and he deserves to be put in his place :3 thank you @johnnyst0rm & @magicalmysterytour13 for once again listening to me yap about these two and further encouraging my brain rot <3

wc: 2.9k

Summary: Geta gets knocked down a few pegs by his empress because he’s a whiny spoiled brat who deserves to be forced on his knees 🙏🏻

Warnings: no smut, but you know they fucked nasty after this, heavy degradation kink (he is rock fucking hard make no mistake) belittling, teasing, reader is so mean, tiny mention of a wound, Geta is the biggest simp, no mention of age but reader and Geta are in their 20’s, reader has no physical descriptions, reader is Egyptian and a direct descendant of Cleopatra, Caracalla gets his own warning, DONDUS!! +18 Minors dni!

Pairing | Emperor Geta x empress!reader

translations:

deliciae - darling

anaticula - duckling

quod meum est, tuum est semper - what’s mine is yours, always

The air was hot, almost suffocating, and the sun's harsh and unforgiving rays beat down upon Geta’s back mercilessly. Gone are his royal garbs; a sign of his endless power and wealth. His laurels were not present upon his golden ringlets, but his rings remained, glinting in the sunlight. The thin fabric of his tunic clung to his sweat stained skin uncomfortably. There was a nagging tightness building in his throat—likely caused by the bone dry air, or perhaps it was the way that the woman directly across from him; his empress, was observing him like he was her next meal. His wife was a force to be reckoned with and he quickly learned that well into their arranged marriage. 

“Perhaps you would be better suited and flexible if you rid yourself of your clothing, husband,” she lilted teasingly, eyes gleaming and her lips quirked into a grin from where she stood opposite of him. 

“With my Praetorians present?” he snarked. A once soft gaze now darkened and burned in her direction like the blazing sun above. “I am flexible as is. The air—it is suffocating. We should rest,” he suggested calmly and dropped his sword against his thigh. The already heavy blade felt even heavier from his consistent exertion. So much for the people of Rome believing that he was some god.

“Our Praetorians.” she was swift to correct him, her smirk turning into a slight scowl. Her own sword dropped to her side as she approached him, sandals kicking up dusty earth beneath her wake. She walked with a confidence that could not be taught; she was born with it. 

“That’s what I said the first time, wife,” he huffed out a breath, letting his posture relax for a moment as a reprieve. But upon her approach he stiffened, standing tall once more. 

“It is unwise for you to play games when I possess a weapon in my hand, Geta,” she acquiesced, tutting under her breath. The blade glinted like liquid silver under the sun as she rose the very edge of it upwards to his face. The tip of sharpened steel rested under his chin. She leaned in and the playfulness in her eyes was replaced with something serious; something that should have intimidated him. “Do you surrender?” 

The tension was apparent, sizzling and crackling like wild flames from a fire. The taste of it upon his tongue was thrilling in itself. The slight fear of the unknown egged him to continue his own taunting game. 

How far will she take it this time? He mused to himself

“I am an emperor,” he hissed through clenched teeth, umber eyes darkening. He raised his freehand to cast her blade aside. “I will not surrender.” 

She giggled wildly at his attempt to throw her off guard, or to perhaps knock her down a few pegs. Her husband was less of an emperor, and more of a mere boy playing dress up. 

“The bead of sweat dripping from your brow, and the slight quiver of your lips says otherwise.” she leaned in, watching the way his eyes flickered with hidden uncertainty as she slowly and deliberately dragged the edge of the blade to rest against the side of his neck, right against a protruding vein. All it would take to spill his blood was a bit of calculated pressure. She wondered if his blood would bleed gold, like the laurels he wore, or if it would be the darkest shade of crimson. “Surrender,” she whispered. 

The stationed Praetorians had already begun to withdraw their own blades, but one silent raise of the emperor's hand in their direction, had them sheathing their blades with an audible clink.

“Kiss me,” he challenged, dipping his head so that his forehead would come to rest upon hers. That same hand that was previously hovering in the air, came to rest along her exposed lower back, ringed fingers curling against hot skin. 

“Surrender,” she repeated and stepped back, watching in amusement as his body seemed to work on autopilot, or perhaps there was an invisible golden thread that tethered them together. The slightest movement had him trailing her like a wounded, stranded, puppy. 

“Kiss me,” he tightened his grip around her, attempting to hold her in place, but she was swift like a lioness, and he the cowardly lion. 

“Surrender and I will do more than just kiss you, your majesty.” A tempting prospect.

And then he was yanking her towards him, using his own height to his advantage. He could feel the slight sting of the blade scraping against his exposed collarbone, but he paid no mind as their chests flushed tightly together leaving no distance between them. 

“Kiss me,” he demanded. “Your emperor commands you.” 

Her brows rose in amusement at his command. “As you wish, big boy.”

He stalled at her crassness, his mouth felt as dry and coarse as the sand beneath his feet. His mind was spinning, and he imagined it was because of the unforgiving heat, but he knew deep down it was caused by her; always by her. “You are the most vexing, deliciae,” he drawled under his breath. 

For a moment it appeared as if she was giving in, that she was surrendering (finally) when her freehand came to rest upon his smooth jaw, free of any stubble. She brushed her thumb tenderly under his kohl rimmed eyes, watching as his long lashes fluttered shut from her uncharacteristically gentle touch. The moment was fleeting as her hand dropped from his face and snaked between their tightly pressed bodies. It took her no time to find what she was searching for. 

Too easy. She mused. 

His breath hitched from the back of his throat at her sudden touch, and he felt like a man turned to putty in her embrace. His loins were set aflame and his knees threatened to buckle. 

“Please kiss me, Empress,” he begged, not caring how pathetic he sounded.

“Much better, husband.” She pressed a quick peck to his lips, chapped yet pillowy and all hers. And when he attempted to deepen the kiss, she was slipping from his embrace like a serpent, her sword left his skin entirely and she reveled at the sound of a low growl creeping up his throat at her swift departure. 

He raised his sword in her direction, but she was ready, and their blades met in the middle creating an X formation, one that she leaned through the gap at the top of the blades, her throat threatening to scrape sharpened steel, but she was not afraid. 

“You play a dirty game, wife,” he sneered. “Such a cruel, cruel, cruel lover you can be.” 

She pouted, fluttering her lashes to appear innocent. “Me? Cruel? Oh, dear husband, you are so…dramatic.” She giggled, the sound ringing in his ears. Her tone was like saccharine honey; tooth achingly sweet.

“No more games, please. Let me embrace you,” he pleaded, dropping his sword with a heavy thunk into the sand below. 

At the silent gesture of his surrender, she dropped her sword ceremoniously, and immediately invaded his space, looping her arms around his neck and kissing him properly. 

“They do this everyday,” Caracalla chuckled from the shade of a tree nearby, Dondus perched happily upon his shoulder. “They are like two flames,” he said with a shrill giggle. “Hers burns much hotter than my brothers, but shh! Do not allow him to become privy to such things. His ego could never handle such a burning truth.” The small monkey chittered in response, as if he understood the words leaving Caracalla’s mouth. “Is something amusing to you, Antonius?” She pulled away from her husband's embrace, craning her neck to address her brother in law directly. Even from a fair distance, she could make out his rouged painted cheeks turning brighter, almost as red as his fire-tinged hair. “Ignore him,” Geta said snappily in an attempt to draw her attention back to him and him alone. He did not need his twin interfering. He was not yet ready to part from her enticing and rather addictive embrace. Fuck the opium and wine, no vice compared to the one standing before him, or what lay between the Empress of Rome’s thighs.

She pulled away entirely and bent down to grasp the hilt of her sword once more and lifted it from the sand with ease. She admired the craftsmanship that went into forging a blade such as this one. As if it was far more intriguing than her brooding husband standing nearby. “I wasn’t finished with you, wife,” the emperor muttered in annoyance at her deliberate choice to deny him. “Oh,” she mused, grinning, “I was quite finished with you.” she twisted the hilt of the blade, effortlessly twirling it in her grasp as if it weighed nothing. “I am tired,” he sighed. “My limbs ache, and the baths are sounding awfully inviting, yes? Come join me.” “No.” Another wild cackle sung from Caracalla and Geta’s face burned bright red at her unwise decision to deny him, her husband–unless she had so boldly forgotten who he was. “No?” he echoed, eyes narrowing in on her. He ignored his own sword on the ground and stepped towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I am requesting you to join me in the baths, and you will obey my request.” “No, I will not. I do not wish to attend the baths with you. I know what you seek of me, and I will not give it so willingly, your majesty. Not after you have so coldly disrespected me.” “Dis–excuse me?!” he exclaimed, marching forward till the tip of her blade rested against his sternum, halting his haste-filled movements. “You heard me, husband. As empress of Rome, I refuse your request.” “Drop your blade, wife. Drop it this instant. You will not defy me. I entertained your little game, but no more. I am your husband, your emperor, and you will fucking attend to me when I request you to.”  She pressed the blade further into his covered chest, challenging him to drive himself through it, as if he actually possessed the humility to die at her hand. “And I am your empress. You cannot command me like one of your compliant subjects. I am not yours to command.” His eyes narrowed further, and the veins in his neck became more prominent as his umber eyes darkened to the same shade of kohl that lined his waterline. “Drop. The. Blade. Now,” he said in a low tone, sending pleasant shivers down her spine. She knew his threat was baseless, that he was like a toddler not getting its way and throwing a tantrum over it. A typical spoiled brat that grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. 

She bowed her head in a submissive motion and slowly the blade lowered till it was dropped completely and fell at her feet, kicking up grains of sand that landed upon her skin that was not covered by the smooth leather of her sandals.

Unbeknownst to him, she had him right where she wanted him. Men, such simple creatures at the core. She walked towards him, head still bowed and her eyes cast towards the ground. He half expected her to fall to her knees and kiss the jeweled rings that hugged his fingers, but instead, she crept around him—her movements like a serpent. 

“My little…anaticula,” she purred and rested her hands against his shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles there. Her lips were at the shell of his ear, her natural scent mixed with perspiration, tension, and flowery perfume oils attacked his senses like a virus. 

“I hate it when you call me that,” he grumbled, turning his head to the side so he could look upon her. 

“But it is accurate,” she giggled, soft and sweet like a siren's song. “You are like a little duckling, Geta.” 

He huffed out a breath, muttering something in latin that she couldn’t quite make out. “Please join me in the baths, deliciae.” 

“No.” She dropped her hands from his shoulders, her presence no longer lingering behind him and she was already walking away. 

“Gods,” he whispered to himself. “Help me.” He shook his head and stumbled after her, ringed fingers grasping her forearm and yanking her back suddenly. She whirled around, chest flushed against him. 

“Not until you apologize,” she said plainly. 

“For what?!” He growled, frustration laced in his tone at her vagueness. What was the reason for him to apologize? If anything, she should be apologizing to him!

“Gods! Have you not listened to a single word that has left my lips?! You disrespected me!” she yelled, shoving at him with everything she had, but he was like marble; solid and unmoving. 

“How have I disrespected you?! Tell me!” he demanded. 

She scoffed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes till they would inevitably get stuck in the back of her skull. “You referred to the Praetorians as yours, and not ours.” 

“You’re still on about that?!” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head as if what she had said was truly something inherently crazy and out of touch with reality. 

“Get on your knees,” she commanded and her authoritative tone, and embolden choice of words threw him off guard just enough that she was able to slip from his steel like embrace, again.

He blinked hard as if he could not believe the words leaving her mouth. “No. I’m not getting on my fucking knees for you.” 

“No?” she tilted her head in a condescending manner, pursing her lips in displeasure. 

“No,” he echoed defiantly. “Nor will I be apologizing for something so…trivial.” 

“You are the biggest spoiled brat I have ever met. I Cannot believe I married such a whiny little boy who can’t endure a little respect for his wife,” she scoffed. “Not as if I am what will continue the future of Rome, hm? What would your father think?” she sneered. “I believe he’d be rather disappointed and embarrassed to find his prodigy son acting in such a manner. And at a simple request? The shame.” 

His face paled and his jaw clenched so tightly, he could feel a dull ache begin to bloom from the tension. Ever-so slowly he began to lower himself on his knees before her, head bowed submissively.

His twin could not believe his eyes at the sight of his kin on his knees, in the sand, as if he were a common beggar on the street. 

“Forgive me, Empress,” he whispered, biting down on the soft flesh of his inner cheek. 

She looked over her shoulder, peering at Caracalla with a knowing grin. “Your brother is all bark and no bite, Calla.” She looked back down at her husband, her left hand coming to rest against the crown of his head possessively. “Look at me, Publius.” 

“Why are you doing this,” he hissed, refusing to look her directly in the eyes. 

“Because I can.” 

He was silent as he tasted a burst of copper along his tongue from gnawing on his cheek too hard. His teeth were stained in claret, the iron taste in his mouth was unsettling, but he swallowed thickly, adams apple bobbing from the motion.

“You’re humiliating me.” 

“That would require humility. You don’t possess that do you? ‘The Great Emperor Publius Septimius Geta,” she mocked, laughing cruelly. “If only the empire could see you now. On your knees. Weak, submissive, and in your true form. Just a little boy playing dress up. A pretend Caesar.”

His claws were sharp, but hers, hers were sharper. She always followed through with intent, and he would fall back into his cowardice. It was like a dance they performed, moving in sync and anticipating one another’s next move. She was cruel, yes, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Her cruelty and mean-heartedness was like an elixir, or a drug, as Caracalla would claim. 

“She’ll be the cause of your demise, brother, she’ll no sooner kill you if you are not cautious,” the younger twin whispered to his brother the night of their wedding, an opulent affair that spared no expense. A marriage arranged by their father before his untimely death to ensure the longevity of the Septimius line that was now binded with Egyptian, royal blood. It was a pairing that the gods approved and expressed joy over by bathing Rome's people in abundant wealth and prosperity. Crops flourished, gold flowed like the Tiber, and Geta was blessed with marrying the most beautiful and alluring woman he would ever meet in his lifetime. 

So, yes, she was cruel, but in her cruelty he knew that if his life were ever in true danger, she’d rip out the very throats of his enemies and spill their blood along the pristine marble floor in his name. She’d gut them, one by one if any harm were to ever fall upon his golden head. And he, well, he would do the same for her. She brought out the violence in him that simmered in his heart like a dormant volcano. She encouraged that side of him, but she never shied away from reminding him of his place beneath her. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Tell me the words I desire to hear from your lips in your native tongue, husband. And look me in the eyes when you speak them,” she said sternly, an edge of softness in her tone, but it was barely noticeable as she tightened her fingers grip around golden tendrils. 

He slowly lifted his head to address her directly, umber eyes softer, more deer like in appearance to their previous blackened look minutes ago. “quod meum est, tuum est semper,” he murmured. (What’s mine is yours, always.) 

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[scratchandfriends]

Shut Me Up (+18)

This is my formal application to join the Holy Rolan Empire. Who do I need to talk to about this?

Pairing: Rolan x Female Tav (human sorceress in mind because that’s my tav lmao)

WC: 3000 oops

Summary: All you do is save the day and yap. It drives Rolan up a fucking wall. He absolutely cannot stand you… or so he is trying to convince himself. This would be so much easier for him if you weren’t so damn cute. 

Content Warnings: alcohol consumption, angry sex, face fucking, teasing, oral m receiving, unprotected sex (don't), creampies, making out, aggressive kissing, hair pulling, PRAISE KINK GOOD BOY ROLAN (because somebody needs to tell him), he just has a big fat crush on you.

— — 

First, it was killing the goblins attacking the grove. 

Then, it was defending Last Light from the cultists. 

Then, it was rescuing the gnomes and tieflings from Moonrise Towers. 

And on top of all that, you just had to save his sorry tail from the Shadow Curse. 

Jaheira had given the go-ahead to dip into the extra supplies for a bit of fun to increase morale and celebrate the safe return of the captives… and of course, much to Rolan’s dismay, you were the belle of the ball. Even his own damn siblings were fawning of you and your rowdy companions, but he let his annoyance lie since you did save their lives after all. 

He should be grateful, shouldn’t he? You brought his family back together and saved many more from death or a lifetime of grief. You kept Last Light safe from the Shadow Curse and were planning on defeating Ketheric and the Absolute yourself. Your heroics were not lost on him, and judging by your behavior here at the party, they were not lost on you either. 

Rolan sat at the bar nursing another bottle of wine alone as he watched you with a scowl. You had discarded your usual robes for a glittering, light-blue party dress, no doubt stolen, Rolan thought. You danced energetically with that massive, brutish tiefling woman, both of you spilling wine all over yourselves and the floor. Your long, blueish silver hair cascaded down past your shoulders and just kissed the exposed skin above your lower back, the milky skin shown by your backless dress peeking out at him as your hair moved when you danced. 

“Enjoying the show, brother?” Cal’s teasing voice comes from behind Rolan’s barstool. 

“We could be killed at any moment, hardly a time for anyone to be enjoying anything.” Rolan remarked as he straightened his back and his eyes were peeled away from you. 

“Always such a stick in the mud. Would it kill you to have fun for once?” Lia appeared on the opposite side of Rolan and rolled her eyes. 

“In this situation? Perhaps. Someone should be aware of their surroundings at a time like this.” Rolan quips. 

“Judging by how much of that bottle you’ve drained, I wouldn’t say you’re entirely aware.” Cal says. 

“I have to tolerate the company somehow.” Rolan snorts and takes another sip. 

“Well I’d practice your manners, your favorite little sorceress is coming this way now.” Lia says with a smirk. 

“Come on, we’re missing you all on the dance floor! I’ve tipped Alfira greatly, I think my favorite song is coming up soon!” You sidle up to the bar across from the tieflings and put your elbows on the bar top. “Missing even you, grumpy.” You flash Rolan a cheeky smile. 

“I’m perfectly content here. Drunkenly frolicking like an imbecile isn’t relevant to my interests.” The wizard snips at you with a frown. 

“Aaah, I see! Makes sense. So you won’t be needing this anymore, then.” You say as you snatch Rolan’s bottle of wine off the counter in front of him and take a heavy swig. 

“Give that back.” Rolan says with a slight snarl, baring pointed teeth. Rolan reaches an arm out across the bar to grasp towards his stolen bottle. 

“Oh, this? You want it back?” You say with a giggle before taking another sip from the neck of the bottle. You smile and take the opportunity to wedge the bottle down the front of your dress, lodging it tightly between your ample, exposed cleavage. “Why don’t you take it?” You ask with a devilish grin. 

“Go on, then!” Cal goads with a laugh, slapping his brother on the back. 

“Hmph. Keep it.” Rolan sits back on his barstool, feigning disinterest in your antics. “I’ll just have the kids bring me another.” 

You sigh and pull the bottle from your chest. You lean onto the bar, pushing your breasts together in the process. It doesn’t escape you how Rolan’s eyes are glued to your tits resting on the countertop. 

“You’re no fun.” You lean in close to him and whisper in a sultry tone. 

You take your stolen bottle of wine and return to your friends who were still reveling in Alfira’s lute playing. 

“What in the hells did you say to the cranky bastard?” Karlach asks while pulling your hand and spinning you around in a twirl. 

“What do you mean?” You inquire with a bit of a smirk. 

“The poor sod’s tail is twitching! No doubt something else is too. You flash him or something?” Your large friend questions. 

“Almost!” You laugh. “Just trying to see if I can get him to crack… he’s quite handsome!” 

“Try complimenting his horns, male tieflings really like that. They pride themselves on those things almost more than their cocks.” Karlach adds. 

“Hmm… good to know…” You say as the intrusive thought of Rolan’s cock enters your mind. You’d never laid with a tiefling before and you were desperately curious. Something about this wizard’s unfriendly, pompous nature intrigued you and you wanted to see what was underneath his prickly exterior. You always liked a challenge. 

— —

Another hour or so of partying goes by and you find yourself both sufficiently drunk and sufficiently bored. You sneak a glance at the bar and find Rolan standing behind it, rummaging through the shelves no doubt searching for more booze. You slink up next to him and try to peek into the cabinet he’s looking through. 

“Need help?” You pipe up. 

“Agh!” In surprise at your sudden appearance, Rolan knocks his head on the wooden cabinet door. 

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you!” You giggle and put your fingers to your lips. “Don’t want you hurting those horns of yours. They’re quite the handsome pair, you know. Best of anyone here-“ 

Rolan slams the cabinet door shut and turns to look down at your shorter figure. 

“What the hells is your problem?” Rolan seethes. “Every second of peace I have is somehow disturbed by YOU each time! You are positively infuriating!” 

“I’m just trying to be pleasant, Rolan.” You remark. 

“I am not interested in pleasantries. I’ve given you plenty of gold, I don’t know what other gratitude you want from me.” Rolan says, frustrated and annoyed. 

“Well…” You purr. “Just as you’re not interested in pleasantries, I’m not interested in gold.” You slowly move closer, your chests almost touching. You expected him to push you away, but surprisingly enough he stands in place. “Perhaps you can thank me in a different way…” You cock your head to the side flirtatiously and raise an eyebrow. 

You see Rolan’s Adam’s apple bob nervously. 

“Tav.. I.. ” He stutters. You cut him off. 

“If for whatever reason you find yourself unable to sleep tonight, I’ll be in room 104. Upstairs. Alone.. and my bed is always warm.” You wink before slinking off to the stairwell leading to the inn’s guest rooms. 

— — 

You had swapped your party dress for a short, white nightgown with lace trim and slits high up on either hip. You sat on the feather bed, brushing through your hair that had gotten tangled from the night of revelry. You had made sure to freshen up your perfume in the hopes that Rolan would take you up on your lewd offer of late night companionship. 

*knock knock*

You smirk at the gentle knock on your door. You waltz excitedly over to the door and open it. 

Sure enough, Rolan was standing in your doorframe. 

“I was hoping you’d-“

Your snarky comment was abruptly cut off by a clawed hand gripping the side of your head, tangling in your hair, while the other hand forcefully grabbing your waist to spin you around. The door slammed behind you and you were pushed against it roughly. 

Rolan pulls you by your scalp and smashes his lips on yours. 

There was no grace or eloquence in the kiss, much unlike his usual way of speaking. It was a gnashing of wet tongue and clacking of teeth as he ravaged your mouth, his grip on you never faltering. You froze at first, shocked by his boldness, but eventually you relent and open your lips further for him. You wrap your hands around his neck. 

Having had his fill from your lips, Rolan eventually moves his mouth to trail messy kisses and sharp nips from your jaw to your neck. 

“Wow, eager are-“

“Do you ever shut UP?” Rolan pulls back from your neck and growls, shoving his knee between your legs further, causing you to instinctively grind your bare sex onto his trousers. He brings his hand from your hair to grip your neck. 

“You’ll just have to shut me up, then.” You choke out with a smile, his clawed hand around your throat gently squeezing the sides. 

“It would seem so.” Rolan’s nostrils flare and he picks you up and tosses you on the bed with surprising strength for a wizard. 

You strip your nightgown over your head excitedly and lay back on the bed in as seductive of a pose as you could muster. Expecting to be either insulted or pounced upon, you sit up on your elbows in anticipation. Surprisingly, Rolan was standing at the foot of the bed, mouth agape, seemingly entranced by your nude figure laid before him. You take this opportunity to shift the tides in your favor. 

“What’s wrong, Rolan?” You say as you slowly spread your legs, exposing your swollen, dripping cunt to him. “Hellcat got your tongue?” 

This snapped him out of his daze. 

“Brat.” He scoffs before frantically shedding his own clothing. 

As he strips, you sit up on your knees on the bed so you can get a better look at your new lover. Geometric infernal ridges covered his chest and abdomen, almost guiding your eyes downward to his erect cock bobbing desperately in front of you. It was long and bright red, leaking tip more pointed than you were used to, but its most unusual feature were the prominent ridges decorating his shaft. You were dying to know how it felt in your hand… your mouth… your cunt… 

“Stop gawking, it’s not polite” Rolan says, less aggressive now than he previously was now that he was stark naked in front of you. Was he blushing? It was hard to tell. 

“How pretty you are… you have to let me play with it.” You purr as you lower yourself on your elbows, pushing your ass high in the air, wiggling it and successfully distracting Rolan from your advances towards his member. 

“Play? Is that how- shit!” Rolan gasps and curses as he feels you wrap your soft hand around his cock and stroke it slowly. 

You loll your tongue out of your mouth and place his hot tip on it, all while staring up at him lustfully. Rolan lets out a low growl and bucks his hips into your face, pushing his cock past your lips and into your eager mouth. You happily wrap your lips around his cock head and begin to slide up and down his ribbed length. His hand comes up to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail and guides you along his cock. Drool pools in your mouth and dribbles out the sides and you groan in approval of his roughness. 

“Ah ah, no talking with your mouth full.” He smirks playfully down at you. 

You try to reciprocate the smile, but can’t manage much do to your mouth being forcefully stuffed full of cock. Rolan must have noticed they way your thighs were tensed and rubbed together impatiently. 

“Touch yourself. Get yourself ready to take me.” He commands. 

You spread your knees and bring one of your hands down your front to play with your wet sex. Supporting yourself on one hand, you circle your clit in time with your sultry bobs on Rolan’s cock. You slide two fingers into your soaking hole and moan around his length. You continue to work yourself up, pushing and pulling on that special spot inside of you, whimpering and sharply inhaling as you slobber all over Rolan. 

“What a sight… Gods, such a messy girl…” 

You nod happily, not removing him from your mouth. You can’t help but notice as the rough grip on your hair becomes… softer. His thumb began rubbing against your head soothingly, as if to gently encourage you to suck him off instead of demanding it. 

“That’s enough, I'm going to have you now.” He says as he cups your chin and pulls you off him, a long string of saliva still connecting the two of you. You eagerly push yourself onto your back and spread your legs wide to make room for him. 

Rolan climbs over you and teases your clit with the tip of his cock. 

“Pretty little thing you are…” He says as his eyes rake over your body. 

“Be careful, wizard, that almost sounded like a compliment.” You chide and buck your hips up into him, wordlessly pleading for him to penetrate you. 

“I would tell you to hush…” He positions himself at your entrance. “But I think now I’d like to hear every little sound that comes from those sinful lips…” 

Rolan presses into you finally and you gasp at the ridged intrusion, unlike anyone else you’ve ever laid with. You arch your back and rake your hands down the infernal ridges on his abdomen. Once you feel his hips flush with yours, you look up and see the wizards eyes screwed shut in concentration, clearly trying not to let this moment end too soon. 

You grind your pelvis into his, beckoning him to start moving inside you. 

“Nine Hells… so fucking wet…” Rolan remarks with a sigh as he starts thrusting shallowly. He grips your breasts as leverage, teasing your nipples with his thumbs. You wrap your legs around his hips, encouraging him to fuck you deeper. 

“Gods Rolan, you feel so good…” You moan out to the ceiling. 

“Y-yeah?” Rolan asks as he picks up the pace and intensity of his thrusts. 

“Yes! Fuck! You’re so good!” You cry out in pleasure as you feel those gorgeous bumps along his shaft caress your walls so deliciously. 

“I-I’m good? Say it again..” He asks shyly. “Please tell me again…” 

Suddenly, you feel his tail wrap tightly around your leg, squeezing it possessively. It was like he was holding on for his life...

“You’re so fucking good Rolan. Your cock feels so perfect inside me. Fuck me harder, you’re going to make me cum…” You feel his cock inside you twitch and you could have sworn you heard him whimper. He obliges your request and pistons his hips into you harder. You feel the familiar warmth of your impending release tingle throughout your lower half. 

Rolan slinks an arm underneath your lower back, leaning over you further in the process and cards his other hand into your hair splayed out on the pillow beneath you. 

“I’m so close, please Rolan, you’re such a good boy. I want to cum on you. Fuck, there!” You moan and pant up at him as you bring your hand up to cradle his face in your palm. You could barely keep your eyes open, but the sight above you was too delectable to miss. 

“I-I am a good boy.. please cum for me…” Rolan pathetically whines and pleads to feel your release coat him. 

“Yes Rolan, my good boy… I’m- shit!” You cry out and feel your walls begin to convulse in anticipation of your climax. With the next thrust against your sweet spot, your dam breaks and you let out a vulgar moan as your orgasm overtakes your body. 

“Fuck, yes, your good boy!” Rolan pants and fucks you through your high. “I-I’m close.. where should-?” 

“Inside. Make me yours.” You say breathlessly, still delirious from your powerful climax.  

Rolan could no longer hold back, groaning loudly as he spills himself entirely deep inside of you. He grinds himself into you as he continues to cum, seemingly endless ropes of spend decorating your wet walls. 

Once finished, Rolan gingerly slips out of you and collapses tiredly onto the mattress beside you. 

You spent the next few minutes catching your collective breaths, nothing being exchanged but soft pets and tender touches as you calmed yourselves. You were stroking Rolan’s cheek with your thumb gently when he finally spoke. 

“Nothing to say now, then?” He smiles softly, teasing you. You return the grin.

“That was incredible.” You giggle. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Rolan.” 

“Wizards are full of surprises.” He jokes, pulling your body into his, rubbing circles into your hip. “There’s certainly more where that came from…” You notice his glowing eyes dart away from yours with uncertainty. “… If you’d have me.” 

You place a tender kiss on his lips. 

“The night is still young, isn’t it?” You nuzzle your nose against his. 

“I don’t just mean tonight.. come see me in Baldur’s Gate. I.. I can show you around, if you’d like?” He still can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes again. 

“You won’t be too busy with your apprenticeship?” You question. 

“I… I can try to make time.. if it’s for you.” He says sheepishly. 

You press your chest closer into his and tilt his chin up to meet your gaze. 

“What a good boy you are.” You smirk and pull him into a deep kiss. 

— — 

[kortac-sweetheart]

I, simp anon, return

I dunno who/what in particular to yap about so I'm gonna yap away

having Nikto devoted to you is like having a bull as a guard dog, just about a danger to anybody who isn't his llubov, brick shithouse of a man following you around

he can feel pain, yes, but after all he's been through? rain won't bother him, the cold is just a mild damper on his day, the pain of daily life both off and on duty will never again compare to what they had to endure, there are so few things that he'll need more than annoyance or some anger to deal with

he's wrapped around your soft, callouse-free finger, tighter than a stuck ring, no pliers could pry him off of you

imagine how absolutely stunned the other Kortac agents would be? they go between looking like he wants to murder his fellow operatives to looking like he's trying to give whoevers on the other side of his phone call his still-beating heart through the awful base wifi

the rest are slightly (barely) more tactful about it, but Krueger full on demands to meet whoever whipped their brash, violent, harshly blunt, at times downright scary teammate into being a softie (comparatively to what they usually see (they should see his ass at home following their llubov around to do everything for them))

I can see Nikto refusing outright, bc their little llubov doesn't need to be around any dangerous or crass people (other than him <3), and the others (Krueger and maybe Horangi? I'm still figuring ppl out) pestering him to no avail

until

you

sweet little llubov!

you bring your Nikto (and the frostbite-blue, pulsing burrow where their heart used to be just sings to be yours) lunch because you know they miss good food when he's off at work with nothing but icky rations and mess hall repeats

all of Kortac understands immediately (or as soon as you open your mouth and your soft voice greets Nikto ("Andre! ") ringing out like golden bells warmed by the summer sun

Krueger asks when he gets to come visit Nikto's home and see their (their??? nikto's nostrils flaring today) little love, when he gets to eat their cooking, and our dearest Andre is ready to jump to your defence immediately before you're just laughing and inviting him over (much to Nikto's increasing dismay)

the other Kortac members shuffling their feet waiting for their own invites like 👉👈👀🙈

omg simp anon, darling, hi!!!

yes, he covets you like his own treasure, a dragon guarding his horde. he absolutely does NOT want anyone else to see the little silver of heaven he has in his palms, lest someone covets to take you from him. he'll fight tooth and nail to keep you away from other kortac operators but at the end of the day he's still human and he's going to slip up eventually.

like you said with the phone call he simply can't use the same tone of voice to talk to you like he does (scarcely) with the other operators, it would be a disservice to you. it's like how people use baby talk with their pets except you're not his pet you're the light of his life and he speaks accordingly. all smooth talking and dulcet tones just for you (he knows how much you like it when he talks), and they've never heard him talk this much. like, ever. so they're definitely tipped off to someone special being on the other side of the line.

when you walk onto base to deliver lunch it's like the gates of heaven opened and you descended down upon them. you stand out compared to the muddy grey and dingy base, all clean and pure in your cute little outfit and your bright smile. no wonder nikto keeps you all to himself, they understand immediately. if they had a little darling like you then they wouldn't want anyone else to be granted the privilege to look upon you either.

nikto would be absolutely befuddled to see krueger on his best behavior, it's like he turns into an entirely different person around you when he's trying to visit your home. and even worse the next time he's off from deployment krueger is following him home to his little garden of eden, because how could he ever say no to your eager little smile when krueger asked so politely? (since when has that man ever been polite?)

when the both of them make it to your shared home, nikto is absolutely watching krueger like a hawk. he never leaves you alone with krueger no matter what, he will always be present in the room.

when you get up to go fetch some more tea (much to his dismay you told him to sit and relax when he wanted to do it with you) and krueger just looks at him.

"my, what a wonderful little home and schatzi you have, andre." reaching to pick up another tea biscuit you prepared.

and nikto is just so, so close to socking him in the face but he can't because he abhors violence in your little home, so he just simmers, teeth grinding against each other as he spits out a response.

"mhm, thank you, krueger." he can't say anything else because that's when you suddenly return, carrying in a fresh tray of tea and cookies and beaming at the both of them.

he can only sigh internally as krueger makes pleasant conversation with you, asking about your life and your relationship with nikto. and nikto takes a moment to observe krueger, he looks like he's truly interested in what you have to say. no deception in his gaze. at least he actually likes you, if he was trying to take advantage of you nikto would've used him as fertilizer in your garden yesterday.

when krueger finally, finally leaves it's with the thought of how to make himself your third in your relationship.

(nikto has to pray that krueger doesn't get drunk and spill all the little details about nikto's personal slice of heaven, lest other operators get any other ideas.. but.. it's a little too late for that.)

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][crack][fluff][reader's their karma][inc. Michael Carter; Lex Luthor; Clark Kent][Lex is like, a lil' inappropriate but not much][Clark is a meet-cute][drabble][multi-shot]

Interviews have always been Michael's favourite part about being a superhero. Alongside the adoring stares and the lingering touches of pretty journalists, Michael got to partaking in his favourite hobby:

Yapping about himself.

"I've got an interview on Titty Talk." Michael boasts, gloved hands resting on his carved hips, muscles bulging in his freshly dry cleaned suit, smelling like fabric softener and expensive tastes. Golden strands perfectly styled, curtain bangs framing his face perfectly, glittering blue eyes and the rest of the Justice League could swear he wasn't THAT tan yesterday.

"Don't do it." Bruce barely looks up from the computer, gloved fingers flying across the holographic keyboard, Victor standing at his side before grinning down at Bruce. "Nah, Batman. Let him learn."

Bruce let's out a little huff, conceding and internally amused at the fact that Michael would willingly be emasculated on national television, but the twinkle of amusement in his eyes is hidden by his cowl.

Victor glances at Michael, sepia skin a perfect contrast with shiny silver, and he grins, dimples deepening in chiselled cheeks.

"I wanna get one last look before you lose your nuts." Victor snorts.

"She's gonna eat you alive." Barry interjects with a giggle, an apple clutched in his hand.

"No she won't." Michael dismisses them with ease, plopping down into one of the seats at the table and glancing lazily towards where Bruce and Victor are gathering data on the next mission.

"She will." Clark drawls, stepping into the hall with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, worn and half of the Doc McStuffins caricature scuffed away from years of use. "You think I need more than 5 minutes to end a space fight?" He lets out a scoff. "I take a while longer. That way, I'm late to the interview and she doesn't wanna do it anymore."

Clark brings up a hand, a calloused finger tapping his own temple.

"Weaponized incompetence."

"It can't be that bad." Michael huffs.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Booster Gold, are you aware that your suit is actually orange and blue, instead of gold and blue?"

This is bad.

This is really bad.

You're giving Michael an identity crisis and he just sat down, muscular hands rub along the bulging muscles of his thighs as he shifts in his seat, gloved fingers interlocked and clasped. And he hums.

"Uh... It was hard to get something accurately gold so I picked this shade. It's bright, it's bold, it's Booster." He gives you one of those dazzling smiles, dimples popping and teeth glinting in the lovely (and flattering) light of your studio.

It's less bright than any other and it makes him a bit more comfortable than he thought light could ever.

"Shein has realistic gold shades."

"Well, I can't buy my hero suit from Shein, now can I?"

"Do you have something against Asian-owned businesses, Mr Booster Gold?"

Michael's mouth falls open. But no. No, he won't get caught off guard by you. He trained for this.

And by trained, he means he took that vigorous pep talk from Victor before coming on here.

It wasn't useful but by God, it was inspiring.

'Don't look her in the eye. She will emasculate you. If you do look her in the eye, she'll take that as a challenge and emasculate you. Don't try to charm her. Play to the audience, not to her. You'll never play to her. Ever.'

Now that Michael's looking back on it....

It wasn't inspiring at all.

That's the kind of advice you give someone who feeds tigers in a zoo.

"Uh, no. I'm just against fast fashion." Michael answers with a smile. "Most of the clothing ends up in landfills, getting burnt and harming the ecosystem."

He's doing good.

He's doing good.

Michael glances towards the clock on the wall and his fist clenches the tiniest bit.

'Jesus fucking Christ, it's only been 3 minutes!'

Michael continues to stare at you as you speak and he's zoning out. He knows he shouldn't but when you're not berating him, you're not half bad.

Pretty eyes that lower to read the questions and notes on the pastel clipboard in your lap, long lashes that flair in just the right ways and perfect, pouty lips that purse when you're trying to come up with how to word your sentences.

No wonder you're so fucking popular.

You're absolutely candid.

You say whatever you want, as soon as it comes to your mind.

Michael shifts in his seat, his impressive height giving him the lovely advantage of catching a glimpse at your clipboard. Only to find the page completely empty, instead, having a little dick drawn onto the page instead.

It's adorable and Michael's lips twitch as he watches you absentmindedly draw the accessories.

A Santa hat, little boots and gloves.

"Give it a belt." Michael hums softly and he watches your hand still, eyes glancing up at him and for the first time ever, he watches the way those eyes fucking shift. And it's like slow motion to him.

Watching the way they soften, the way your lashes fan out so perfectly to frame your eyes. Those pretty, fucking doe eyes.

But it's as gone as soon as it was there, being replaced with the Cunk of superheroes. And you've got that blank, empty stare once again and you shift, crossing your legs over one another.

"Rumour has it, you're in a committed relationship." Your voice breaks the silence in the room, and you lean against the back of your chair, your snowy cable knit sweater looking so cozy and demure against the pastel shades of your seat. "Are you?"

'Finally, a normal question.'

Michael smiles one of those dazzling smiles, letting out a charming chuckle before carding his fingers through his hair and he shifts in his seat, muscular thighs spreading and flexing.

"No, I'm not."

"I can see why." You mutter under your breath and you nearly let out an actual laugh when you watch the way Michael's face falls. Brows relaxing, lips parting just a bit as he stares at you.

You can swear you watch the sparkle leave his eyes.

"Hmph."

That's the only sound that leaves Bruce as he brings his mug to his lips, the bold printed '#1 Dad' hiding the smile that threatens to break his composure.

Costume clad heroes all surround Bruce's seat, multiple sets of eyes locked on the screen, all collectively taking a sip of coffee, each having their own mug.

Each time Diana lifts her mug, the grinning face of Zapp Brannigan peeks at the screen, cocky grin greeting everyone and each time Barry moves to take a slurp, Megan Fox's sultry face makes its appearance.

Barry does a double take, glancing at the mug in Victor's hand before letting out a snort.

"What's with the cup?" Barry snickers and Victor examines his mug. "Dave Chappelle as Batman."

"Is it true that you are a closeted homosexual?" You question with a hum and Michael slumps in his seat, dragging a hand over his features.

Only 20 more minutes, he should be able to soldier through this.

"No. I'm not." He hums. "While I support the LGBTQ community, I'm not a member. I like women."

"Then why don't women like you?"

Michael's trying hard to not quit this interview halfway. He would've done so already if you weren't giving him that face that makes it look like you're asking genuine questions, your face framed by your hair and your eyes wide and expectant.

"Women like me." Michael reassures with a self-assured scoff. "They like me a lot."

"Where are the women who like you?" You question, before glancing around the studio. "Where?"

This is antagonizing and Michael's not kidding when he says he can hear the laughter of the other people who work on the set. Snickers and giggles alike, and brilliant eyes narrow at you when your lips part again.

Michael's expecting a question that would actually make him quit halfway.

But all you do, is let out a sneeze.

It doesn't sound like a cute kitten sneeze, or one of those Disney sneezes. It's masculine and raw, quiet but very clearly happening.

"Bless you."

Michael's voice is a gentle timbre, low and inviting, as he tilts his head as he watches you before crossing his arms across his chest, biceps bulging and flexing with the motion.

And your mouth goes dry.

"We're gonna take a quick ad-break before continuing the rest of the interview." You give the camera a polite and gentle smile, and when the director yells 'cut!', you pull the earpiece out of your ear and you let out an exhausted breath, lips parting to let out a hot puff.

And the lights dim for a moment, before you glance towards Michael, regarding him with a cursory sweep over his body.

Tall, muscular and gorgeous, toned like a Greek God.

"The questions are gonna get worse, by the way." You hum at him, your lips twitching into a grin.

And Michael melts at the sight.

"Yeah, whatever."

Lex understands that he's a very, very bad man.

He does evil things.

But nothing warrants the fact that his new P.A is a complete and total pain in the ass.

He's attempted to fire you 4 times already, but each time, you just come back and he finds you seated in that office right next to his, the glass wall separating the two of you.

The worst part about you, is the fact that you don't even pretend to look busy.

You just... Sit there. Clicking keys and moving your mouth around on that stupid Chicken Little mouse pad.

Lex let's out a breath, steely eyes shutting for a brief moment before he clicks the button on his desk, watching you shift in your seat as you wait for instructions.

"A coffee, please. You know how I take it."

"Your coffee's on the way, Mr Luthor."

You've got such a sweet voice, the kind of voice that he likes having relay his day's schedule to him. Pencil skirt, silk blouse and perfect heels. Sometimes, you wear tailored dress pants and God, it just does something to h—

Lex watches you, his lips parting in pure, unfiltered shock as he watches you pick up the to-go coffee cup on your desk, taking one last sip of your coffee before walking down the passage and you enter his office. Placing the coffee on his desk, and you give him one of those lovely smiles.

"This cup is half." Lex comments, staring at you through his lashes, expression slowly hardening because how the fuck do you have this level of audacity.

"I got you half a cup." You lie. "Call it assistant's initiative to protect your sleeping habits."

"This coffee's cold."

"So you can drink it faster. A chilled coffee for a man on the go."

"This coffee was yours."

"I'm a woman on the go."

Lex has to admit it. You'd make an excellent politician with the way you talk shit so easily, the skill comes to you naturally.

And Lex let's out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Get me an actual coffee."

When you do return with his coffee, steaming and hot in your filled hands. One of those plastic little rowers that they give you to stir your to-go coffee, a doughnut, a plastic container with your pinkie tucked into the hole that pierces the tabs you use to open it up and your car keys between your lips.

You set everything down on Lex's desk, and he lets out a hum.

"Did they stir it?"

And he could actually catch flies with how wide his mouth falls open when you pop off the lid of his coffee, and stir it with your pinkie.

Worst part is, it's the pinkie of the hand that's holding the spoon-thing, and you lick your digit, nodding your head.

"It's good."

Lex tries to make the least use of you through his day, he really does. For fuck's sake, he even went to the printer himself. Ignoring the gawking gazes because why would he have to do menial tasks himself when he has an assistant.

Lex gives a practiced grin to the man in the seat across from him.

A potential client who's been here for exactly 8 minutes and Lex's easy going facade nearly shatters when he hears that beep that indicates you're using the intercom.

"Mr Luthor, your 10 o'clock is here." Your voice is the epitome of usefulness but God, you're the complete opposite. And Lex glances at you through the glass, finding you staring back at him expectantly and he presses the button on his own desk.

"I can see that. Because he's in my office."

Lex's frustration bleeds into his tone, annoyance and seething temper threatening to take him over but he can't get up.

Mainly because your insolence gives him an erection that shames the socialites that Lex usually finds himself alongside in the tabloids.

Painfully aching and dampening the taut fabric of his boxers, but Lex continues the meeting with ease, trying not to glance in your direction as manicured nails tap on the keys of your mouse as you play....

What are you playing?

Stretching his arms overhead, Lex leans back in his seat in an attempt to peek at your screen and he merely catches a glimpse of himself in Sims. The sight which brings a cocked smile to his lips before turning his attention back to the client.

The meeting goes well, exceptionally so and it's only when Lex rises and has his hand gripped in a firm handshake when he realises he's wasted an hour of his time.

"That assistant of yours." He whistles. "I'd love to break her in."

Lex's grip increases tenfold, the veins of his hand and forearm bulging beneath his lightly bronzed skin and he runs his tongue over his teeth.

And he makes a certain tilt of his head that has Mercy peeking her head into his office, monotonous expression indicating that she already knows what her job will be.

"Mercy will escort you to the parking lot." Lex gives a pinched smile.

It's only when Lex receives that simple 'thumbs up' emoji, that he relaxes in his seat, head tipping back and he lets out an exhausted groan.

And he reaches for his coffee, his palm suspiciously cold and he lets out a sigh.

Before taking a drink of your cold, half-empty coffee and being able to taste the hint of your lipbalm on the mouth piece just makes Lex's bloodflow problem so much worse.

And that beep rings out again.

"If you keep having that erection, I'm gonna call HR."

"Blow me."

"Right to HR!"

"What— what is this?"

Clark's eyes narrow at the light being switched on, brilliant blue eyes squinted as he stares at Jon, the boy shifting uneasily on his feet as he stares at his father.

"I have a project due tomorrow." Jon murmurs sheepishly, big blue eyes avoiding the stare of his father as Clark slips his glasses on. He doesn't need them but he likes the feel of something perched on his nose with it's legs tucked nearly behind his ears.

Clark let's out a deep breath, carding thick, calloused fingers through thick, raven strands before he glances at the bedside clock.

"Jon, it's 11. At night." Clark grunts out, shifting beneath the covers and he sits back against the headboard, rubbing his temples with frustration.

A particularly gruelling mission left Clark with a harsh headache, with even worse lethargy to accompany the throbbing pain in his scalp.

"I know, but I forgot but the teacher's mean and I don't want her to give me a 0." With each conjunction, Jon's voice gets weaker, tinier, eyes welling up with tears as he sniffles, balled fist rubbing at his nose and his eyes.

Clark let's out a deep breath. Removing his legs from beneath the thick covers, and slipping on his slippers, heading to the attached ensuite and having his late night pee prematurely. The door's slightly ajar, the light of the bedroom peeking into the bathroom just enough for Clark to see properly.

His headache renders him to the weakest species ever.

Human.

"What's the project?" Clark hums sleepily, his hands underneath the running water before he dries them, shuffling back into his bedroom.

"I can't remember..." Jon mutters, nearly flinching at the heavy breath that leaves Clark. A sigh that only an exhausted and overworked single parent can give.

"What's your teacher's email?"

From: clarkkent31@yahoo.com

Subject: 4th grade project

Good evening, I hope this email finds you well. Apologies for the late disturbance.

I have an enquiry about the 4th grade, class B project.

What is it?

You stare at the email on your screen, letting out a little huff of a breath before answering that they need to make a volcano, seeing as the history curriculum are doing a section on Mount Vesuvius and Pompeii.

Clark let's out a breath, eyelids heavy and the sleeves of his robe are rolled up to his elbows, muscular forearms flex and fingers are covered in translucent sludge as he takes yet another strip of newspaper, layering it one over the other. He glances at Jon from the corner of his narrowed eyes, the 10 year old shifting on his feet, watching as his father completes his project for him.

"Plug in the hairdryer, please." Clark hums softly, watching as Jon basically scrambles to plug in the hairdryer, setting the device on the table and Clark let's out a soft, exhausted breath. Before grabbing the hairdryer, switching it on and blowing the layer dry.

And he stares at Jon the whole while.

The air is thick with tension and Clark purses his lips, occasionally glancing towards the volcano. It's lumpy, conical and it's very clearly rushed, but Goddammit, it's a volcano and that's what matters. He can cover the flaws with black paint and soil.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

You're surprised to see a grown man in your classroom after school, a project in his large, muscular hands, glasses braced on the strong bridge of his nose as he sets it down on the nearest desk.

Eyebags, slumped shoulders and a pointed scowl on his face as he stares at Jon, who simply gives him a toothy and appreciative grin.

"I'm sorry for bringing his project in late. The soil and grass used had ants." Clark states, hands tucking themselves into the pockets of his jeans, fabric stretched taut over sinewy muscles, flannel shirt accentuating the curves of his biceps and his broad shoulders, and Clark's tongue runs over his bottom lip.

Watching as you inspect the volcano, the tip of your pen lifting various (and accurate) plants that litter the base of the volcano, before you nod your head.

It's just a model, but it could be functional if you were to add baking soda. Red liquidy jelly runs down the side of the volcano, mimicking lava and you give Jon a proud smile.

"Good job." And you tick his name off the register, glittery pink pen standing out against the starch white paper and you reach for a sheet of stickers, placing one on Jon's cheek.

A kitty saying 'mewow' and by Clark's surprise, you reach out, placing a sticker on his shirt of a tortoise saying 'you did so shell!'.

"I could tell by the email that you did everything anyway." You give Clark a sympathetic smile, smile lines on your pretty face, hair framing your features so lovely as you look up at him through your lashes.

And placing it on his other pec.

And Clark let's out an exhausted laugh. "Yeah. I did." He hums softly, before reaching out towards Jon, ruffling the boy's hair before snatching his sticker.

"You didn't do shit."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@bigbodycity 🦋

@feral010 ✨

@mgarcia4130 🐚

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 🪻

@jasontoddswhitestreak 🌸

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@h0ngh0ngh0ng 🪿

@titchx0 🦆

@sl4y-s4turn 🪐

@whyiisgamora 👽

[becertainlust]

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who is whispered about with the kind of reverence usually reserved for legends—think Galliano meets Alexander McQueen, but darker, smoother, and infinitely more elusive.

He didn’t go to fashion school. He didn’t intern under anyone. He emerged out of nowhere—an underground gem of a debut show held in an abandoned cathedral in Florence. Ten looks. Ten models. Candlelit. Every piece hand-stitched, laced with real silver thread and monograms only visible under moonlight. People thought it was a myth until Vogue Italia dropped an exclusive feature titled:

“The Lingerie Saint Has Arrived.”

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who is more than a designer — he is an artist of intimacy, a storyteller through silk, lace, and silhouette. With every piece he creates, Suguru weaves emotion into fabric, tailoring not just to bodies, but to souls. He believes that beauty speaks many languages — and his mission is to make women feel beautiful in all of them.

From Tokyo to Paris, Lagos to São Paulo, his creations have turned runways into temples of self-love. Each design is a love letter to femininity — powerful, soft, wild, sacred. His talent quickly caught the attention of the world, landing him on magazine covers, international talk shows, and fashion panels. But despite his meteoric rise, it’s his humility and warmth that continue to captivate everyone he meets.

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who is so deep in the art medium pulling ethereal designs that catches many off guard and cause him to rise above the rest and whose inbox is flooded with an offers to take the creative directors seat by various fashion brands. He has a right to become picky but in the end decides to establish his own name.

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who attends events after event, never growing tired of meeting new faces and hearing fresh ideas and conversing with new people. Quite the extrovert in the midst of his interests. God forbid he's actually excited 'You're really a conversative person Mr. Suguru' the interviewer giggled and he would have the prettiest smile that the viewers would gush much about across the media #suguru'ssmile trending for an entire month.

Lingeremaker! Suguru who when he sees you—you, gliding effortlessly through the chaos of the room, framed by golden light—who stops dead in his sentence brows knitting in frustration, hushing up the white haired model, that never seems to learn the word silence at crucial times Gojo screws his face up as Suguru claims he can't see you properly as he yapped on. 'who is that'

With a raised brow he pushes his hand away from his line of vision, 'Marketing agent, one of the best in the fashion world' he would whip his head back to Gojo in disbelief 'not a model?' Gojo would scoff throwing his hand around the male 'what you like what you see, I can set you up"

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who rejected Gojo's help, downplaying his interest in you on the spot. But he should have known better than leave his personal sketches and scribbles around his studio unguarded mentally punching himself for not storing latest works higher and further from his lanky ass.

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who later that night, long after the champagne glasses clinked and cameras dimmed, he’d find himself at his sketch table again, candles flickering, Gold thread unraveling beside him. Your silhouette haunts him. Not in a ghostly way—but in the kind of way muses do.

Pages fill. The collection changes. The theme shifts from “Divinity” to “She Who Walks Like Daybreak.”

When asked on a French morning show what inspired the shift, Suguru simply says: “I saw someone who reminded me that beauty doesn't beg to be seen—it just arrives, and the world rearranges around it.”

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who receives a message for Gojo late at night as he is sorting his pallet for the collection, 'i told you I got your back' which Suguru responds with a question mark before concluding that he was weird for the gazillion time shaking his head then turned his attention back to his computer screen, the soft light lit hitting his face.

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who the next morning would be woken up by his blaring door bell throughout the condo and when he switches on his camera and see's your face his eyes, done pops out of his head. 'what the fuck'

thinking of making this a fully fleshed fanfic series with smut on both ao3 and here.

[babycatglimmer]

I heard you were reviewing characters...?

If that's still open could you give your review on Rook?/nf

Second time writing this, since UNFORTUNATELY the first time was accidentally deleted (tumblr I hate you)

Anyway, maybe it's a little less detailed than I would like, but still.

Deep Dive in Rook Hunt: The superficial, the beautiful and the honest.

Warnings: Yapping, overthinking, super long texts, character criticism, attitude analysis, character defense and bias.

At first glance, Rook Hunt is shown to be one of the most open characters about the things he feels and values. He is clear and loud about his adoration of beauty, his admiration for living things, and his obsession with people he perceives as "the most beautiful."

Like Kalim and Silver, Rook is described as an honest and genuine person. Despite his flowery words, he is usually determined in his opinion and never strays from what he thinks is necessary. He does not lie or hide his admiration for people, he genuinely seems to see beauty in everything he lives and feels a deep desire as a hunter to know every detail of his prey.

That said, as the events, books, and Rook's own narrative of letters unfold, we notice one thing very clear about his character.

Rook Hunt is superficial.

Despite showing a great appreciation for any type of beauty, we see that Rook never really delves into them. We don't see Rook wanting to get to know anyone better, he just remains a distant and apathetic observer.

Initially, Rook doesn't really get involved in intrigues, or pretend to be interested in knowing the stories of those around him; he actually seems to have a much greater appreciation for knowing little about who his prey really are. Sure, he may know that their favorite color is yellow or that their favorite food is lasagna, but he will never care to know where these tastes came from.

And in the same way that he sees everyone superficially, Rook also makes an extreme point of showing himself superficially. Rook who hides his freckles, who hides any part of his body with heavy clothes and who talks so little about his own life and his tastes. What is his favorite color? His favorite movie? What is the name of his hometown? What are his dreams? These are all questions that no one could answer, because Rook refuses to show this part of him.

Rook is like Cater when we see it from this point of view. Both of them, terrified of letting people delve into their stories, tend to show a superficial and more blatant form of themselves so that people don't try to find out more than they would like to show.

Even the way he is a fan of Neige could be seen as superficial. After all, Rook doesn't know exactly who Neige is outside of the cameras or social media. He doesn't really know who Neige is, but the way he pursues Neige is enough for Rook to admire this pure beauty of the boy. Such a brave boy, with such a dark background, but Rook never cared to really sympathize with who Neige is, or with how much Neige may have sacrificed to be in this position.

Rook admires the idea of Neige, and even the idea of Vil. He is satisfied with these superficial versions that he created in his mind, and doesn't seem to have any interest in going deeper.

But something changes that, an event drastically changes Rook's psyche and makes him see someone beyond the superficial, beyond all social masks, for the first time.

Everything changes with...

Rook is one of the people who were extremely traumatized by the overblots, and none of us talk about it enough.

Initially, Rook wanted to hold on to the "idea of who Vil was." The Vil he knew and admired, his shallow and empty version, would never try to hurt Neige because of an event like the VDC. He wouldn't frame a fellow student, one who is from his own dorm and younger than them, for a heinous crime.

But Vil did. Vil tried to kill Neige, in an act of clear psychosis before his overblot, but the fact was still there. Rook, who saw everyone in such a superficial way, ended up ignoring all the red flags about Vil's actions, he ignored anything that could break his little fantasy and let things follow their course.

However, one thing Rook didn't expect from himself was that he genuinely loves Vil. Even in his overblot, what should have been Vil's ugliest side, Rook saw the beauty in every act and attack. Rook saw the beauty in the ugliness, in the bitterness, in the superficial version of Vil breaking down.

Rook, amidst the chaos of the overblot, realized how much he cared for Vil and how he regretted not having gone deeper. Not having talked more, discovered more, understood more.

This is reflected in the next books and some events. Rook seeks to know more about Vil, to better understand his motivations and history. Rook is dedicated to being on Vil's side, even if he has to break into one of the most secret organizations in the entire world or fight thousands of overblots.

But the trauma haunts him at every moment. The guilt of that day, the guilt of having voted for someone else, the guilt of not having been a better friend to Vil and the guilt of not being one anymore. Nightmares still haunt him, as mentioned in book 6, and guilt eats away at him, as demonstrated in book 7. Rook is human for the first time, scared and confused, but it is only with this humanity that he is able to create more bonds of friendship at school.

It is with the trauma of the overblot, with his mask breaking a little, that he is able to deepen his relationship with Vil, Epel and even Trey.

That said, the real Rook remains hidden, trapped inside himself, without clear glimpses of who Rook is beneath the cheap French until...

Rook is an insecure person. He has no confidence in who he is or in the things he likes.

It is said during book 7 in his dream that Rook tried to talk to his dorm mates about the things he admires and likes to watch, but they ended up getting bored or bothered by the subject and ended up distancing themselves from Rook completely.

Rook and Jade share in this, a love for things that few people seem to have the interest to understand, but a very well hidden need to scream at the top of their lungs everything they love and have this passion reciprocated.

But unlike Jade, Rook keeps most of it hidden. He, even in his dream, wants to keep this shameful part of him locked away from common eyes. But at the same time, when he sees people showing the least possible interest in it, he throws himself headfirst into showing everything.

The real Rook, the one who is so well hidden, is insecure about his tastes and has people finding him strange. He, who remains so confident in the face of other people's judgments, cannot imagine simply showing such a delicate part of himself without starting to cry.

And in this delicate part there is the guilt of the overblot. A guilt that, because of Malleus, was distorted and disturbed in the idea that Vil would be better off far away from Rook. That Vil's problems would simply disappear if he and Neige were friends, if Rook was never there to "betray" Vil.

But this is superficial, this is a superficial and cruel view of their entire relationship. And Rook knows this, Rook when remembering reality knows that this whole dream is an offense to everything that Vil and Rook are.

Because Vil is not a superficial person. He is a person full of layers, dreams and desires, and Rook is capable of seeing Vil in such an... empty way? Disregarding everything Vil has been through and suffered? It's like Rook is committing that betrayal all over again, that of ignoring the truth and clinging to what would make him happier.

But that's not the truth. That's not who they are, their truth goes far beyond that.

Rook and Vil are more than that.

They are...

Rook doesn't see himself as something beautiful. In reality, he seems to have a great disregard and lack of affection for himself, and due to a very clear low self-esteem, he also expects the people around him to see him the same way. Those who could never get past Rook's superficial mask could actually see beauty in him.

But Vil and Epel did.

Vil, who should have been furious with Rook at so many moments. How he didn't choose their group in the VDC, or how he abandoned all of Pomefiore on a suicide mission taking Epel and Yuu with him. Rook expected anger, frustration, and even hatred, but he was met with affection and understanding.

Vil always saw beyond Rook's mask. Maybe not completely, maybe he didn't see all the details of who Rook really was, but he managed to catch the little things that changed everything in Rook's narrative.

What Rook felt ashamed of, Vil took between his fingers and saw as something he appreciated. Even amidst the frustration of losing the VDC, Vil still appreciated Rook's honesty above all else. He didn't feel angry at Rook, or take his attitude as a "betrayal", in fact Vil seemed to feel almost ashamed that he hadn't noticed before that Rook admired Neige so much.

Epel wasn't as graceful, he couldn't see through the cracks in Rook's well-constructed mask, but he simply stopped caring about the riddles Rook told and became attached to the actions Rook took after book 5. Rook, who was so distant and preferred to remain in the role of observer, was finally taking so many actions that seemed completely absurd, but which brought a deep admiration for who Rook is.

Epel and Vil saw beauty in Rook. In his talk, in his passions, in his desires and obsessions. They saw far beyond what Rook is to the world, they increasingly delved deeper into Rook and the person he genuinely is.

Rook throughout book 7 is painfully loved by Epel and Vil. The three of them have seen the ugliest, most shameful, and foolish parts of each other and learned to see the beauty in it. And in that beauty, they find a genuine and honest love, a friendship that has gone far beyond them to the point of creating a small family.

Rook's story, his narrative, the way he changes throughout the events and books is so sweet to watch. Because for the first time, the hunter who originally took up only a second of the story, has become one of the protagonists of the narrative itself.

For the first time, the hunter is more than just a hunter. He's a friend.