#the amount of times i would go into the office

[katsu28]

connection

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do. (3.6k)

warnings: swearing, creepy men (not max don’t worry)

a/n: day three with max :) somewhere along the way this became less of a holiday fic and more of me projecting onto my characters but fuck it we ball! 

You don’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, toting around trays of champagne flutes and painfully tiny hors d'oeuvres to fancy rich people is the last place you want to be on a Saturday night, but your friend had roped you into working this event with her and you need the extra money a holiday event pays, so here you are. 

You’re not even sure what exactly it is either. All you know is that it’s some gala for folks in a totally different tax bracket than you, and you need to be on your best behavior—which, you���ll admit, isn’t your strong suit.

Your loved ones would say your headstrong, take-no-shit personality is one of your admirable qualities, but you know they only say that because they know the real you. 

These people don’t. They don’t need to. All they need from you is whatever you’ve got on the silver platter you’re holding. 

You glide through the crowd like a woman on a mission, turning up the charm to an eleven to get rid of these beef tartare crostinis as fast as you can. 

It’s part of the job description, but apparently some of these old men think you’re throwing yourself at them. The amount of ass patting bordering on groping, and sleazy comments about how you’re young enough to be their daughters you’ve had to endure in the last few hours is astonishing, and not in a good way. 

What you want to do is slam them upside the head with your tray, but you can’t. So you grin and bear it, redirecting their leering as best you can without causing a scene. What a way to start the festive season…not. 

Soon enough you’re out of food and you’re glad for it, because it grants you even just a little reprieve when you return to the kitchen. 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna punch one of those old fucks,” You fume, having just pushed through the adjoining door leading from the ballroom. 

Your friend offers an amused snort from where she’s waiting on a refill of stuffed figs. “Yeah, don’t do that, probably.” 

“They’re disgusting.” 

“They’re entitled.” 

“Okay, so they’re disgusting and entitled. God, the nerve!” 

“Y’know what, maybe you should take your break now? Cool off a little bit before you rip someone's throat out and get us both fired?” She tips her chin towards your hands, and when you look down, your fists are clenched. You’ve got them clenched so tight your nails are starting to dig crescent shaped divots in your palm. Any tighter and you’re sure to draw blood. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s—I’m gonna go,” You mutter. You can’t afford to be dismissed from the event and lose out on the payday. The best thing to do is find somewhere quiet, somewhere you can be alone and settle your temper. 

-------

Max doesn’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, milling around shaking hands and making small talk with these people is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday night, but he has obligations to fulfill, appearances he needs to make to cast Red Bull in an admirable light in this season of giving, so here he is. 

His suit is expensive but itchy, the starched collar of his crisp button up pulled too tight around his neck. What he wants to do is rip it off and go home to his cats, but he can’t.

So he grins and bears it, summoning all his years of PR training to get through the next few hours as best he can. 

“Max, there you are!” His press officer materializes right next to him, clamping a hand down on his arm. He bristles a bit at the sudden touch, but it soon dissipates as he realizes it just means he has yet another hand to shake and conversation to make. “There’s some people you should meet with. They’re from one of our smaller sponsors, but important nonetheless. Think you should have a conversation, find some common ground.” 

“Do I have to?” The question is a moot point, but Max feels the need to ask anyway. Just in case the answer has changed since the last time he asked. When all they do is fix him to the spot with a deadpan look, he sighs. “Yeah, heard. Lead the way.” 

Small talk comes easily to him at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t mind numbingly boring listening to the two middle aged men go on and on about something Max couldn’t care less about. 

To the untrained eye, it would appear that he’s listening intently, feeding into their words with every carefully timed nod of the head. A chuckle here, a smile there. All the while, he’s itching to get away. The itch grows and grows and grows until Max can’t take it anymore.

He has to go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. 

Before he can second guess his gut feeling, he excuses himself quickly and expertly, making his way carefully through the crowd and towards the nearest exit. Another glass of champagne couldn’t hurt, so he snags one off a tray on his way out, sipping on it leisurely as he searches for a place to be alone. 

That’s how he finds himself outside in this open area looking over the water, somewhere completely empty and quiet, save for the slight breeze sending tiny waves splashing against the rocks below. 

Max sheds his jacket, undoes the first few buttons of his pressed shirt so he doesn’t feel like he’s being choked anymore. His chin tips towards the sky, eyes scanning the sky above. 

The moon is out in full swing tonight, hanging big and bright in the sky, illuminating the beautiful architecture around him. Max has always liked the moon. It represents success and fulfillment and power, but also has an element of mystery to it. He thinks that, in a way, the moon is kind of like him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays here, just knows that he doesn’t want to go back inside. Finds himself dreading it, actually. Knows that inevitably he’ll have to make his return, but he’ll delay it as long as he can before someone comes looking for him.  

The sound of a heavy door creaking open draws his attention a little while later, and it makes him sigh. Looks like his time hiding out here is over. He pushes off the pillar he’s leaning on, ready to spin some half assed excuse, but then he hears it.

“Fuck!” You bite out, letting the door slam behind you. The empty area provides an echo to your dramatics. 

Max peers wide eyed around at the sudden expletive, spotting you across the way. So…definitely not his press officer. You’re already pacing back and forth, hands on your hips as you shake your head. 

He should say something, right? Announce his presence? 

He’s about to, but then you start muttering to yourself, something about old rich men thinking they can do whatever they want just because they have money. Colored by a plethora of choice swear words, you look and sound entirely pissed off. 

Probably best to leave you alone for the time being. He doesn’t know you, but he knows anger, and yours has a fire that almost rivals his. You’re also very pretty, but he pushes that thought aside for the time being. 

For the first time tonight, Max’s interest is piqued. Even so, he feels like he’s encroaching on something too personal, too private for anyone else’s ears. 

Maybe he can sneak away undetected? 

He doesn’t remember the champagne glass he’d set down until his foot hits it, and then it’s too late. Thankfully it doesn’t shatter, but the clinking against the cobblestones as it rolls away gives him up automatically. Your head snaps towards his general vicinity, eyes going wide with fear. 

Max imagines it’s probably scary for you to think you’re alone and realize that you’re not, and he’s not a monster. He has no choice but to step out from the shadows, raising a hand in awkward greeting. “...Hi.” 

“Jesus. Shit. Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” You breathe, already slipping back into that carefully practiced professionality. Embarrassment and a little bit of shame runs through you at the same time as realization blooms of who this man is. Everyone knows Max Verstappen is, and you just cussed out his colleagues big time. Oh, you’re so getting fired. “Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Verstappen.” 

Max waves a hand in the air with a shake of his head. “Please, we don’t have to do that. Call me Max.”

It feels a little wrong to do so, but you oblige. “Right. Well, sorry you had to witness that, Max.” 

“Oh, that was nothing. Plus, god knows I’ve done worse.” Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Max steps out a little further into the light, stooping down to grab the rolling glass before it gets too far. “Is everything alright? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Does it look like everything is alright?” You shoot back, throwing your hands up into the air. Then you remember just who the fuck you’re talking to and you freeze. “Sorry! I am so sorry, I—” You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Max isn’t who you’re mad at. This has nothing to do with him at all. “You didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. I apologize. Again.” 

Max feels his lips quirk into a smile. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had spoken back at him like that. It’s actually quite refreshing. “No need. Probably very warranted too. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener, if you need to let things out.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You sigh, pressing your lips together. Max raises a questioning brow. “It would be extremely unprofessional.” 

“You’ve just caught me out here hiding from doing my job. I think we’re past professionalism at this point,” He snorts. He takes a seat on one end of the concrete bench nearest, tipping his head towards the empty space next to him. “The floor is yours.” 

You explain your situation as best you can without getting too heated again, half expecting Max to grow defensive of his acquaintances—they always do. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when he does nothing of the sort. Instead he calls them all assholes, along with some other choice words you won’t dare repeat. He apologizes for them, says he’ll do his best to remedy the situation, but you’re sure all it’ll do is make things worse if he gets involved. 

“So…that’s why I’m out here. What’s your excuse?” You finish, letting your shoulders drop. It feels nice to get all of that off your chest for once, and to someone who actually gives a shit. 

Max sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It probably makes it stick up at all odd angles, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t really like these things. Talking to people, making small talk—between you and me, it’s the worst part of the job. Not my thing.” 

“You like to do your talking on the track,” You supply. 

Max lets out a sharp exhale, leaning back against his palms to regard you with careful amusement. “You watch?” 

“No, but I think I’d have to be living under a rock not to know a little bit about it. About you.” 

“And…what do you think you know about me?” He tilts his chin up almost in challenge, as if he’s daring you to analyze him. 

Challenge accepted. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from his mouth. He certainly wasn't expecting it, but quite enjoys your forwardness. “Well, that was unexpected. Why do you think that?” 

“You’re untouchable. A four time champion, I’ve heard.” 

“World champion,” Max corrects, but not obnoxiously. It seems like a habit to add that distinction, years and years of hard work and dedication and training for the recognition. 

“World champion, my bad.” You nod. “Congrats on that, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like I said, untouchable. You’re the best of the best, and I’d assume even though it’s nice to be regarded as so, it’s hard for you to know when people actually want to know you, or if they just want something from you. Hence…why you’re out here.” 

“Whoa. Didn’t know this was going to turn into a therapy session.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“No. You’re right on the nose, actually.” He shouldn’t be admitting this. He’s supposed to maintain the image that he has going for him, but something about you makes him feel like he can trust you with his true self. 

You’ve drifted closer together without realizing throughout your conversation, shoulders brushing, knees bumping. Max’s pinky moves to brush over yours. You let it happen. 

He’s got really pretty eyes, you notice, steel blue staring right back at you. Piercing the careful facade you have to put up when working these events. Some people are charming, and you’ve learned to keep yourself a closed book to keep yourself safe. But Max feels different. Max’s interest seems genuine. 

It only intrigues you even more. You don’t know him, but you want to. 

Max clears his throat suddenly. “I should go,” He says. 

You wait for him to back away, to put some space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks like the last thing he wants to do is leave. 

Part of you wants him to stay, but you know he shouldn’t. The same is true for you. He needs to get back to his job, and you need to get back to yours. 

“Me too,” You reply, taking careful notice to keep your tone from sounding too dejected. “Thanks for listening to me rant. I feel a little better now.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

You force yourself to climb to your feet, putting that distance between Max and yourself up before you have the urge to do something rash. A flash of your mouth on his zips through your mind for a split second. 

No. You can't do that. 

“Bye, Max. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you too.” 

Now is the time for you to leave—one foot in front of the other, away from him, back to reality. 

“Wait!” He calls before you can get far. You turn on your heel like you were expecting him to say something else, waiting for him to reach you. He catches your elbow, squeezing gently. “What are you doing after this is over?” 

“Honestly? I was going to go home and pass out on my couch.” Max’s eyebrows pinch in the middle. “But I could be persuaded otherwise. Why?” 

“Would you want to get a drink? With me.” 

“Not really helping the lonely allegations,” You tease, smiling warmly despite your ribbing. Max rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.  “Yeah, I’d love to grab a drink. But I don’t get off until late, so it might be a while.” 

“I’ll wait.” His answer is immediate. Firm. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” You say, fighting a smile. “I’ll find you after everything is over.” 

“I’m counting on it.”

The night flies by faster now that you’ve got Max to look forward to by the end of it. By the time you’re freed from the shackles of customer service, you don’t feel as drained as you normally do. You’re strangely excited to get to know him some more. 

You find Max waiting for you just outside the coat check, pretty eyes searching the dwindling gala goers until he spots you approaching. He smiles, nods his head in greeting.

“Hi. Everything alright?” 

“It’ll be better the sooner we get out of here.” 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Instead of a bar, he brings you back to his place. It catches you by surprise when he asks, but he assures you it’s more for privacy purposes than anything else, strictly two new friends sharing a drink and some more conversation. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting for a man of his financial standing, but a massive penthouse overlooking Monte Carlo makes sense. You do your best to tame your reaction, but it really is impressive. 

His living room is probably the size of your whole apartment, and that’s just what you can see right now. A pristine white couch sits in the middle of the room on an even whiter carpet in front of a sleek, top of the line entertainment unit, and there’s some sort of sim racing setup with a fancy chair nestled in the far corner near a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Surrounding the rig are a handful of trophies and racing helmets, each of them polished to perfection. 

Over in the far corner is a huge evergreen tree, decorated with twinkling lights and silver baubles. It looks extremely professional, almost staged, and the more you look at it, the more you’re sure he hadn’t been the one to put it up.

“What do you like to drink? I’ll make you something.” Max’s voice pulls you out of your gawking at his home. Your eyes snap over to him hovering next to a bar cart stocked with liquor, sweeping a hand along the bottles. Twisting your lips to the side in contemplation, you tell him your drink of choice and he smiles. “Nice one. I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of guy, but hey, to each their own.” 

You find your way to one end of the giant sofa not long later, aforementioned gin and tonic in his hand, your drink nestled in yours. “I did you, now you do me.” 

Max nearly chokes on his drink, brows flying high at your bluntness. “Sorry, what?” 

You look unphased. “What do you think you know about me?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what you meant. 

He takes a few beats to ponder your question, eyes squinting in thought. Then he fixes you to the spot with a decisive look. 

“I think you have big dreams. Changing the world, making it a better place—but you haven’t quite figured out how to do it yet,” He says, tilting his head. Your chest tightens at his words, because they’re true. “You’re going in circles, not able to figure out that one thing that’ll break the cycle you’re stuck in. I think once you do figure it out, you’re going to do great things. Big things.” 

Like before, somehow the space between the two of you has dwindled into nearly nothing as he looks at you so intently with those piercing eyes of his. You’re a little surprised by how on the nose he is about you, but it also makes sense. Max seems very observant. Perhaps it comes from being on the lookout all the time. 

“If the racing doesn’t work out, you might want to consider psychology,” You manage to say. 

He chuckles, nose scrunching. “Sure, I’ll think about it. Though I think it’s going pretty well at the moment.” 

-------

“When can I see you again?” He asks a while later, head lolling to face you lazily.

His hand has somehow found its way spread over your knee, nimble fingers tap tap tapping mindlessly. The first few buttons of his shirt have been undone, hair mussed from how often he'd been dragging his fingers through it.

Your drinks have worn off ages ago, but you still feel warm and fuzzy. Though you suspect it’s more from the man you’re with rather than the residual alcohol talking. 

You’ve been getting to know each other as the night goes on, swapping stories about your lives until you feel like you haven’t just met him a few hours ago. His are by far much more entertaining than yours, but Max seems to enjoy the mundane of yours. 

Part of you is surprised by his question. In your mind, you were expecting this to just be a one time thing. An easy way to fill a boring night, never to be thought about again. But Max does want to see you again. You don’t let it phase you. Instead, you raise an amused brow. 

“Why? You planning on kicking me out anytime soon?” You joke. Max’s fingers twitch, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I just—I’d like to see you again, is that so wrong?” 

“Not at all. I’d like that too.” You smile at him. “Though it is getting late, so I should probably head out anyways.” 

Max doesn’t push for you to stay, just nods understandingly. “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home on your own? Let me order you an Uber,” He says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yes, Max, I’m fine. And I can get my own Uber, thank you very much.” 

“Please, let me. I asked you here, the least I can do is pay for your ride home.” He seems like a very insistent person, so you sigh goodnaturedly, waving a hand for him to go ahead. When he’s done and a car is on its way, he turns to you, propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. “I had a nice time tonight.”

You scoff lightly, raising a brow. “I recall you saying something about how company galas are the worst part of your job.” 

“I dunno, this one wasn’t that bad.” Max shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips. “I met you, didn’t I?” 

“Best night of your life then, huh?” You tease, winking at him. 

“It’s definitely up there.” 

“Too bad it’s ending soon.” 

“Too bad,” He echoes. He tilts his head, rubs at the smooth fabric of the sofa cushion just so he has something to do with his hand. “Looks like we’ll have to see each other again soon.” 

You have all the time in the world to unravel the mystery that is Max Verstappen, if he’ll let you. And judging by the way his hand inches towards yours until your fingers intertwine while you’re waiting for your Uber to come, he will.

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[harumasa-wifey]

Hey! Glad that more people who love Zenless are here on tumblr. And I’ve been loving some characters but I’m trying to see if i really like Harumasa. So mind helping me out with some headcanons?

Harumasa with a dragon thiren reader who works a bookshop (and secretly is a proxy) who can summon wings, a tail, and a horn✨

Just general headcanons on how this relationship would be!

Harumasa x Dragon Thiren!Reader

Warning: none, not proofread!

Note: my ass had to skip and skimp through some parts so i was genuinely confused what a Thiren is then i found a post on reddit explaining what it is. Thank you for requesting and having patience!

At first he doesn't look like a guy who would visit a Bookshop so often but he does read books sometimes rather than the papers in office.

After hearing from yanagi that you keep some of the best books around the sixth Street oh well he had to visit

Though you keep your tail and wings hidden most of the time you wear a cloak around you a short one to keep it over your head to cover the horns it's energy consuming to hide them all the time.

You keep your bookstore in the vintage style! It's a good change of place without electronics around. ( A big ass lie)

Of course you were surprised by the first visit of yanagi even and now him got you thinking you might get behind the bars soon.

You really haven't done anything bad being a proxy quite the opposite you have helped people get out of the hollows and often retrieve lost items as commissions.

Your H.D.D is hidden in the storage room which is also filled with different type of books.

And The siblings are also in your contacts it's never bad to have back ups!

Although he was confused why you had your head covered he didn't question it.

He doesn't know why he found himself often around your bookshop it was almost alluring in a peaceful way.

He doesn't read much he often comes here to seek a nap on one of your reading places yet he has the membership to your shop.

Even your bangboo has become all familiar to him, it always knows it's him when there is only one knock on the door. ( He is too lazy to knock twice anyways lol)

Though your cover as a proxy didn't stay for long under his sharp eyes.

Well it's a whatever case now as you and the siblings were excused as a proxy by miyabi herself.

He never outright told you to show him what you actually are but he definitely hints at it sometimes.

And not to mention those pick up lines he drops every now and then from the books and movies he had watched.

Well of course there is nothing to hide from him now anyways. He was amused he has seen many thirens, an oni a cat, wolf and shark. However seeing a dragon was really amusing to him.

Get ready for the absolute amount of ridiculous questions to be asked. He is not holding back.

He definitely read about dragons in the books you have after that of course and his nap time at the shop is more peaceful than ever now.

He might have asked to see your tail sometimes out of curiosity. Feel free to refuse if you don't wanna go that far. But if you let him see he is amazed how well you hide yourself.

He says the horns on your head add to your charm.

He never saw you fight but he has you running around in your bangboo beside him in the hollow.

He definitely takes his power naps with your tail warped around him.

He has read about dragons banishing evil and bringing good luck so now you are named as "Lucky Charm" in his contacts. Only his lucky charm.

[misshunterskye]

a ( very ) self-indulgent one shot where Sylus encourages your Taylor Swift vinyl collecting ... because i've been listening to her since i was 7 and you'll have to rip the albums from my cold dead hands.

buy me a ko-fi 🫶🏻

You're splayed out on Sylus' couch, waiting for him to come home. You're completely cozy, his vinyl player playing your favorite album as you read a book. When the door opens with a creak, Sylus steps in silently.

He's drinking in the sight of you. It feels like you are back in his cave, where he can keep you safe. Where he can spoil you. Where all of his treasures lose meaning. After all, all of the shiny things in the world would never amount to you.

"You like the record, I take it?" He muses, finally breaking the silence and announcing his presence. You light up the second you see him, something that is not lost on him. He likes your smile, and he'll spend a million lifetimes trying to put one there.

"Well, it is my favorite album. And the pressing is so pretty. I think I watched it spin for like, 10 minutes before I got cozy on the couch."

He comes to sit with you, and you quickly move to intertwine yourself with him. Actually, that's not quite true. You both move toward each other until you are melded together. Your legs hang over his lap, your back against the arm of the couch. His arm lazily draws patterns on your leg.

"I'm glad you enjoy it, kitten. Next time there's an auction, I'll bring you with me now. You're getting good at spotting value."

You giggle at him. One of your hands comes up to play with his hair. It's soft, and you lose yourself in it, combing through it. "You won't judge me if I use your card to buy my favorite albums? Even if it's Taylor Swift?"

He chuckles. "I don't care what you buy. As long as it makes you happy, go for it, kitten. -- Besides, I already got you a orange original Reputation released in 2017."

"I know, but now I'm eager to find a 'betty in the garden' version of folklore!" You says with a smile, happy that he remember your favorite album was Reputation. He also had gone to great lengths to get you a copy of the Eras Tour movie. It is your favorite type of vintage.

"Mhm," he says, knowing that he'll full well direct your attention away from that particular vinyl. Not because he doesn't like it. No, because it's already gift wrapped and sitting in his office for your anniversary.

He meant it when he promised himself that he'd do whatever it takes to make you smile.

[alexafaie-asd]

What do you mean research and then do the work? With essays for university I just wrote the whole thing & handed in whatever I managed to come up with. Same as I did when I managed to do homework at school. All I learned at school was that I had to try harder to hand in my homework at all/on time. Never how to do it. I did well in exams so they knew I knew the subject fine.

You were meant to space it out? How would you know how much to space it out by? Like for uni we got given the essay title at the beginning of the semester & the essay was due in like 2 weeks before the end of the semester.

So I would start the essay a day or two before the essay was due in. Once I managed to start a week before but I spent the same amount of time on it. I wrote as much as I could, quoting as I went along and then had a last minute panic at an hour or so before hand in when I came in under the word count & then went over & didn't have enough time to get it to meet the 1500-1800 limit.

Never did figure out how you were meant to do it sooner. It was always due in several months time right up until I realised it was not & had to rush it. People talked about draft copies. I had one but that was just because we had to submit it printed with large margins & double spaced & I couldn't read it like that. For writing I used 1cm margins & single spacing & that was my draft. For final version I put it into double spaced, checked the margins were the required 2" & then had the additional panic of going over the page limit (why we needed a page & word limit I don't know).

I was still late handing in on multiple occasions (by minutes if not seconds as admin office set their clock fast to be jerks) so got lots of 40% marks (could only get that low passing grade if handed in late even if it would've scored more normally).

Still managed to get a 2:1 in the end though thanks to exams. It certainly wasn't thanks to my dissertation as I funnily enough didn't manage to finish it. I wish it had all been exams. They're way easier. You get a set time & just have to do what you can manage in that time. Easy peasy.

Never did figure out how to portion out the Not Now™️. There are only 2 times for me - Now & Not Now. That's as good as my body clock can manage.

Never figured out how to write a real draft & then rewrite it. Like how do you do that witjout being bored because you already wrote it? Like I got 60-80% on the essays I managed to get in on time without having to do extra boring bits. I never really understood why you'd bother forcing past the boring steps. Like its boring enough having to write the stuff down. I did the learning when I read it. The exams can prove that. Same way I never figured out how to revise. Like I learnt it once, why do I have to look at it again?

And then I kinda got bored at university and ended up reading about the history of corsetry instead. That was way more fun than having to work out how to do my dissertation.

So I taught my students during the first few weeks of class that for their paper, they needed to cite profusely. They needed to cite more than they thought they should cite. They needed to cite multiple times per paragraph. I told them that it was literally impossible for them to over-cite. I showed them an example of my own published papers. It was in the rubric.

At the end of the term, I graded their papers. Most of them did ok. Some of them only cited 2-3 sources even though their References section had 6 sources. And some of them... some of them didn't cite a single time in their entire paper. They had their citations in the References section, but didn't cite them in the paper even once.

Some people just do not follow directions. It's baffling.

And that doesn't even get into all of the APA style errors. Those I can forgive because citation styles are confusing. Citing enough and citing correctly are two separate parts on my rubric to account for this fact, actually.

BUT - it just gives me data for how to teach this even better next semester. I don't have any way to require them to use a citation manager, but the students who used one did MUCH better than those who didn't.

[unholyhelbig]

Caitvi Prompt: Caitlyn is head Park Ranger and deals with an unruly deputy Ranger Vi who has recently become unruly and animalistic. Caitlyn doesn’t understand the change in attitude until Vi turns up naked and injured on her cabins doorstep.

Title: Shoot to Kill

Ship: Werewolf!Vi x Park Ranger!Caitlyn

Wordcount: 5019

Summary: It's been months since a brutal attack took both Cassandra Kiramman and Powder Lane from the world. Caitlyn and Vi handle their grief differently, but something just isn't right with Vi, and things can't be ignored forever.

Warnings: Typical werewolf gore, blood, bullets, canon-typical violence, animal attack, shooting, self-sacrifice, almost nsfw but not quite there yet, horrible spelling, I don't beta read we know this.

[A/n: I went overboard here. I love arcane, I love werewolves, what were we expecting when someone sent me this prompt? Anyway. You know I bad I wanted to make this full smut? SO fucking bad but it didn't seem like the time for them to fuck. So they didn't. Do people even like my Arcane stuff? Fuck no, but this is for me.]

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Blood filled Vi’s mouth with a metallic density that was not unfamiliar but was entirely unwelcome. A low tide of a headache was pulling at her temples, her mouth a cottony type of dry that she couldn’t swallow away.

She was running late. Even in the darkness of her cabin, she knew that she was pushing it by the way the daylight filtered through the slatted blinds. Caitlyn was going to have her hide. She’d been warned twice already, pulled into the office that smelled too much like lavender and wood polish.

Vi shoved her feet unceremoniously into her boots. She swished a shot of peppermint schnapps around her mouth until it was warm and frothy before swallowing and dashing out the door. Vi didn’t’ bother to tuck her shirt in and do up her laces.

Showing up was enough. It had to be enough. There was dirt and blood under her nails and her skin was taut with sweat. She probably smelled rank with the outdoors and her body ached something fierce from the night before. Vi didn’t’ feel comfortable looking in the mirror before she hauled herself to the main cabin.

The state of her was not normal. It was not human. But she was present and that was all Ranger Kiramman was going to get on this balmy Wednesday morning.

Doubt, mixed with a decidedly solid amount of dread, swirled with a fullness in Vi’s stomach. She was full, a feeling that she did not enjoy being. She had eaten last night, something big that left a horrible nausea clinging to the inside of her stomach. A heat in the back of her throat and slicking the inside of her stomach.

She crashed unceremoniously through the door of the main cabin. The annoying brass bell gave her tardiness away as it deposited her into the gift shop. Caitlyn’s deadly oxford stare leveled her with precision, but she never faltered in her delivery.

Loris steadied her with his hulking size, taking up just as much space as the bookshelf that he stood near. He regarded her with his quiet amusement and low huff as she attempted to shove her shirt past her belt without drawing more eyes to herself.

“As I was saying.” Caitlyn’s voice was cutting, slicing through whatever resolve Vi had left. “The rest of the week and into next is a fire ban. There will be push back. In zone’s seven and eight, especially. Overton and Dunne, I want you positioned there around the clock. Do not hesitate to hand out red notices. One spark and the whole forest could go up. Am I clear?”

A murmured chorus of agreements rung out. A burn notice would draw attention away from Vi, at least for now. It worked Caitlyn’s nerves like a string instrument. Anger still simmered in the stare that moved her way.

“As for the rest of you, you know your posts, and you have your assignments. Keep your walkies on channel seven and signal if you need anything. Remember that laws are not suggestions and safety is key.” She scanned the lot of Rangers, brows furrowed and nose wrinkled in the way that Vi found oddly endearing. “Dismissed.”

Loris shoved her shoulder with enough force to shove a burp into her mouth, one that was not pleasant. She nearly vomited up whatever she had torn through last night, but luckily swallowed it back down. He wandered over to the busted coffee maker where he would linger long enough for Vi to take her verbal lashing.

If it were up to her, she’d slip into the woods and take her usual post at the North end of the park, checking permits until her fingers bled. It would be an easy day as long as she could nurse her headache. She and Loris could squeeze into the same box and answer the same questions from the same brand of tourists until it was time to go back to her cabin.

The pinching floral scent that often invaded Vi’s lungs seemed to surround her in an instant. It used to be something she enjoyed, but as of late, it was something she couldn’t’ control. It was overwhelming in a way that was too much. It made her stomach roll and her throat tighten. If she were to vomit, it would be blood and bones and bile.

“Violet, I want you to take a walk with me.”

Caitlyn’s voice was unbelievably tender for the situation at hand. She was expecting a verbal scrouge. Even her features were worked into something calm. Vi was too exhausted to fight back. After her little side quest last night, she wanted to curl into a ball under her blankets and sleep for an eternity.

“I uh, have to assist Loris with the morning rush of tourists, don’t I?”

She shook her head. “I’ve stationed Steb. You don’t look like you feel well. Follow me.”

“God, you’re taking me out back to shoot me like old yeller.”

Caitlyn snorted and held the screen door open. Vi walked through it first, taking in another lungful of Caitlyn’s floral scent. She wish it were comforting. She wished her friend, the woman she used to trust with anything in the world, brought her some degree of relief.

She hadn’t in months, and they both felt it. Bone deep.

They walked for a few minutes. Until the commotion of the other rangers dispersing faded into nothing. The forest offered nothing to Vi lately. She hadn’t noticed it at first; the lack of sound. Crickets and morning birds and small animals that created a cacophony of noise that she had always taken for granted before.

Caitlyn’s breathing had stuttered, a nervous tick she developed at a young age that Vi picked up months ago when her hearing had risen to a deafening level. She shoved her hands into her pockets and softened her gaze, dipping her head. Attempting to show submission.  She’d never meant to make Caitlyn nervous.

She removed her green nightcap, working her fingers around the wide brimmed edge. Another nervous habit. Vi could smell the sweetness of her sweat, something she hadn’t been privy to since the funeral when her nose was pressed so close to the girls pulse point that the smell had coated every inch of her.

Vi was so close that she could hear the rush of her blood and the pounding of her heart. Her mouth filled with saliva so rapidly that she couldn’t keep up with swallowing. She’d nearly drooled at the thought of opening her maw and tearing Caitlyn’s jugular out with one clamp of her jaw.

Shoving her away and storming from the procession was attributed to grief. Anger at nature for having the audacity of taking them in the first place. Caitlyn and Vi must have been hurting so much that any action they committed was acceptable for a time.

Six months later and people still asked how they were doing. Caitlyn would tell them that she was fine. Vi would tell them that she felt like shit. Both would smile sadly. Caitlyn threw herself into her inherited role of Head Ranger and Vi drank on nights that she couldn’t forget and leaned into nights that she didn’t remember.

“They expect me to strip you of your title.” Caitlyn sighed out in one hot breath that splayed against Vi’s cheeks. “Those rangers in there… know I have a soft spot for you, Vi. Anyone else and I would have done far worse. They’d be out of a job.”

Caitlyn frowned and plopped down onto the pebbled shore next to a stream. Run-off from one of the glaciers at the top of the peak. The water was crisp and clear. Vi would dip her fingers into it sometimes, trying to disturb the flow and shock some sense into herself. She lowered herself carefully next to her friend. The only girl who had ever made her ache this viciously.

“I didn’t mean to put you in that position, Cupcake.”

“You’re hurting.”

“So are you.”

Vi swallowed something thick in her throat, picked up a smooth stone and dug her fingers into it as if she could shave off decades of shaping. Trout colored eyes traced the curve of Caitlyn’s side profile as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. She drew in careful breathes. The sound of the stream drowned out the silence around them.

Cassandra Kiramman’s entrails had been gnawed into paste after her stomach was torn open unceremoniously. Vi remembers the squelch of flesh and the snap of her sternum. Her screams had turned into a drowned gurgle before there was nothing.

The creature, after having gotten the taste for the richness of Kiramman blood, had gone for the throat and mercifully took Cassandra out of her misery. Vi watched the light leave her eyes. Something she’d seen slowly dim in Caitlyn’s over the months.

Now, she clenched her own eyes shut. “I can’t leave these woods, Cait. They’re all I know. I’ll try harder.”

“I know you will. I didn’t come out here to, what did you say? Shoot you like old yeller. I might be in charge of you, Violet, but I’m also your friend.” Her voice wavered on the word, stuck in her throat as much as she allowed. “I want you to talk to me.”

She gave her a sad grin “I talk to you all the time, Cupcake.”

“You know what I mean.” Cait’s eyebrow twitched. She hesitated, something she never did. Not in all the years that Vi had known her. But it was only for a moment. Her hand slipped into Vi’s, dislodging the stone she had wanted to thread into putty. “You can talk to me.”

Vi felt her throat tighten and a dampness come to her eyes that she quickly blinked away. Whatever she ate last night threatened to make a third return. She nodded, afraid to speak, but it seemed to be enough to Caitlyn. She gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. It was warm and solid.

Greif weighed heavily between them both. But the lead that welded Vi’s jaw shut was more than subconscious. If she could help it, and she could, Caitlyn would never find out about the animal that shredded her mother.

It had been closed casket for a reason.

They buried an empty one for Jinx. Vi had been in and out of consciousness through her own blinding pain. She’d gasped. It was caught in her throat along with the scent of Cassandras viscera. Long teeth had crunched through Vi’s left lumbar, the soft brawn of her giving away like it was tillable earth.  

She’d looked into the creature’s eyes. They were glowing red, feral. It was frothing at the mouth, saliva mixing so deliciously with what could only be Vi’s own blood. There was nothing but hunger behind it’s actions. And for a moment, Vi could understand that want.

Only for a moment.

Jinx- Powder- she had a loud whistle that could catch the attention of a hound within a ten-mile radius. This snapping animal was no different. It whipped it’s maw up fast enough to drip saliva against Vi’s festering wounds.

“Don’t!” Vi had screamed because she was so desperate to save her little sister. But the look in her eyes was resolute. Even in the light of the full moon. It showed more than the hunger, the viciousness. Jinx was on a mission. A martyr that would die for her charge.

She had the audacity to nod at Vi that night, to grin at her in a wolfish manner before her boots kicked up gravel. Evidently, the animal enjoyed the chase more than the prey it had pinned under it’s large paws. Claws dug sharply into Vi’s chest and stomach, tearing like soft butter into her stomach and chest.

Vi remembers screaming. She remembers the warmth of her own blood and the pale light of the moon overhead. She thinks she remembers her sisters maniacal howl combined with that of her own.

No… She would spare Caitlyn Kiramman the pain that her mother had endured. Some things are better left unlearned.

The smell of gunpowder, sulfurous and smokey, brought up a helping of vomit that Vi couldn’t swallow down. She thought it was vomit but couldn’t quite tell. It could have been nothing more than blood surfacing from the wound that had torn through the wound in her sternum.

The head ranger herself had fired off what was supposed to be a warning shot, but even with her immense fear clouding her aim, she had managed to land a slug in Violet. Silver. It burned viciously, sizzled like acid. Maybe it had been bile that splattered onto the forest floor in a stringy mess.

Vi’s vision was blurry with tears, cheek pressed to the earth as she watched Caitlyn on the front porch of her cabin, clutching her rifle. She released vapor with each breath, eyes methodically scanning the tree line.

Her bones were morphing into something human, something much more becoming. The bullet lodged within her was making it nearly impossible. Her nails were long, her ears tipped with red fur akin to her own hair. Her pointed teeth digging so painfully into her bottom lip to stifle her pained growls.

She was far from wolf, but far from mortal.

When the moon rose this high, she lost herself in the pain and the hunger that had led to her original demise. Vi preferred it this way. She separated the beast that tore through her once a month from the human that kept it at bay the rest of the time. She didn’t know what the wolf did. Did not want to.

Anger surged through her now.

The National Park was endless, and yet… yet… she was at Caitlyn Kiramman’s doorstep. There was a sinking feeling within her that the creature she’d buried deep had been stalking the woman. The disease that had transferred through bite, through blood, couldn’t get enough. Wouldn’t unclamp it’s greedy jaws.

Violet craved Caitlyn’s touch. Preened under her approval. The creature must do the same. Had to, if it had gotten close enough for a shot to be fired. For a bullet to hit.

She rolled over onto her back and started clawing desperately with her sharpened nails at the shot. She clipped down on her tongue to swallow her scream, digging around the wound. She couldn’t grasp it, only pushed it further down. She swore she would drown in her own blood. It threatened to heal around her fingers, causing nothing but undeniable agony.

Cait had lowered the muzzle of her gun, squinting directly where she lay, as if she could see directly into Vi’s soul. Frosty eyes watched her, and she’d be damned if they didn’t send a chill down her spine, regardless of the thin line of blood that dripped down the corner of her mouth.

This was about more than swallowing her pride. Caitlyn was her only lifeline here. She wouldn’t blame the girl for taking one look at her and firing a second shot that wasn’t a warning right between her eyebrows.

Another tweak of horrible pain and her decision was made. Vi dug her slowly receding nails into the soft soil and dragged herself to the edge of the head rangers property. She was trembling, weak. The pale moonlight hitting her tattooed marred skin. She stiffened, feeling an odd rush counter her pain.

Caitlyn sucked in a sharp breath and repositioned her weapon, steeling her stance. Vi lazily dug her chin into the earth and stared at the woman with stars in her eyes. She used to lounge on Cait’s bed with the same disposition. Albeit in less throbbing pain.

“Violet?”

The safety was switched off and the rifle was propped up against the door. Caitlyn was dashing across the lawn, barefoot despite the many times she had warned her own rangers against the dangers of doing so. Goosebumps prickled against her skin and undeniable worry etched onto her beautiful features.

She dropped to her knees, despite the dampness of the grass. Vi Stiffened, attempted to press her face into the grass but Caitlyn’s hands were quicker to cup her face. She could see the reflection of the golden glow in the blue of the woman’s gaze.

Vi stifled a whimper at the hold. She was naked and could feel her muscles stiffening. It was getting harder to move, to breathe without feeling the burn in her lungs. They crackled uncomfortably. The hands that cradled her face were warm. If she were to die at this moment, this would be enough.

“Darling, did I…” her voice was choked “I’ve shot you.”

“You never miss, Cupcake.”  

“I thought you were an animal.” She swiped both thumbs across Vi’s cheeks, wiping away tears and dirt and sweat, and maybe a little bit of blood.

“I think I might be.”

“Oh.”

The conversation was far too casual, Vi decided. She wavered in the cold, coughed up another mouthful of mucus and blood. This changed the worry in Caitlyn’s eyes to something harder that resembled the training that both of them had.

She scooped Vi up with strength that lingered fruitfully under her soft cotton t-shirt sleep clothes. The smaller woman opened her mouth to protest but the words died as her vision fluttered at the edges and her head slotted so easily into the small of Caitlyn’s throat.

It would be so easy her wolf howled to taste her.

Vi whined to drown out the thought, clutched the fabric that she clung to like a life raft. If Loris or Steb or even the orange-haired receptionist that glowered at her with contempt from behind the gift shop desk saw her now she would blanch. Never admit had content she felt in Caitlyn Kiramman’s arms.

And, God, was she content.

Caitlyn kicked the door to her cabin open and Vi breathed in a mix of spices from an earlier dinner untouched. She knew the layout of the cabin well, could hear the low crackle of a fire and could feel the heat of it as she was set down on the sofa that mirrored the hearth.

“I don’t understand it. I’ve nailed you with a shot right in the chest. You should be dead, or at the very least on it’s doorstep, not mine. You’re regarding me with discontent like I tasered you, or stunned you. Not like I took a Winchester and fired off a round. I rightly should take the stat phone and call the proper authority to get you to the emergency room and me to the psych ward.”

Caitlyn rambled in an adorably infuriating way when she was flustered. Even if Vi could get past the dryness in her throat she wouldn’t stop her. She enjoyed the way her cheeks would grow pink and she’d work the impassable problems out by her own accord.

She was flitting around, grabbing antiseptic, and medical kits that she had stashed, because she knew exactly what to do. Vi hadn’t realized she opened her eyes, or that she was watching her with a lazy content, but that’s exactly what she was doing, hand resting above her wound to subconsciously protect herself, breathing stuttered.

Her nails had retracted and so had her ears, thankfully. But her teeth still felt crowded in her mouth and she couldn’t calm her heart. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, if her eyes still shown a dangerous golden yellow. Caitlyn, her Caitlyn, had seen them either way. She balked at the fact.

“Cait,” Vi eventually stuttered out, clinging onto that floral scent that surrounded her so diligently. The Ranger was at her side in just a moment, crouching next to the sofa, grasping at her flexed and unflexed bicep. It was coated in a sheen of cold sweat. “I need you to get the bullet out. Please.”

That flicker of doubt was there again. It was brief but startling all the same. The Kiramman’s did not falter. She stared openly at Vi’s bare chest. At the pierced, pert nipples and the marred flesh in between them. In any other situation she would make a crude comment to cover her embarrassment, but this was not any other situation and Vi needed this bullet out now.

She gently grabbed the side of Caitlyn’s face, directing her attention, leading that deadly Cambridge stare to her own. “I understand that I am the last… I am the last… I didn’t…”

Vi was going about this wrong. She didn’t know how to get the words out. She didn’t know how to say that the same monster that had torn Caitlyn’s mother to shreds had taken up residence in her bones. Had changed her. They weren’t the same teeth, the same claws, but they had the same intention, could shed the same blood.

A sob tore through her, one that reminded Vi much of ones last. A death rattle. Caitlyn’s hot hand was holding her down in a moment, splayed against taut muscle. She was digging through an open first aide kit and searching for titanium prongs, a crease formed between her eyebrows.

“Hold this.”

Caitlyn barked the demand, and a wad of gauze was suddenly shoved into Vi’s mouth, catching on her chapped lips. She bit down so she wouldn’t choke on it. Caitlyn didn’t give a count down. It wasn’t her style. She didn’t coddle, or nurse you through pain that was known to be excruciating.

Instead, she dug the pointed prongs into the wound that was desperate to heal. Vi moaned around the gag, nails slashing even lines into the nearest throw pillow. Her claws were quick to come out, spilling stuffing as tears clouded her vision. Her back arched from the sofa as drool frothed from the corners of her mouth.

Caitlyn had the audacity to shush her like a petulant child. She plowed through the recesses of her injury, the layers of tissue and tendons. The gauze became damp and sticky with pink saliva. The heel of Caitlyn’s free hand was digging painfully into Vi’s shoulder to pin her down.

If Vi hadn’t been blinded by pain, she would relish in the way Caitlyn’s body was slotted against her own, having shifted. A sure knee in between her legs, pressed against her center. They were in a compromising position. Caitlyn’s breath was warm as it splayed across her chest. Vi’s rapid and building.

After a few agonizing moments, the prongs were pulled away and the bullet dropped to the floor with a clatter. Nothing could be heard but the punctuated panting of both women and the crackling of fire eating through logs. They were still. Vi’s teeth clenched and Cait’s hands still splayed near the wound that slowly began to seal itself in front of her disbelieving eyes.

Vi was filled with unrest. Dissatisfaction. Her hands were pinned and her throat was slick with blood. Her skin was buzzing and clarify had hit her like a truck now that the damned bullet had been pulled out. She was naked, vulnerable. And Caitlyn fucking Kiramman was on top of her.

Vi was saying something. Her stupid mouth was saying something, but it was muffled by the gauze, and Caitlyn lifted a shaky hand, pulling it from her lips with blood-soaked hands. “what?”

“Can you get off of me?” her words cracked. “I’m naked, cupcake.”

Caitlyn drew in a sharp breath, flicking her gaze down for an agonizing moment before shifting her weight off Vi. The sensation was immediately missed. A whimper quelled, swallowed along with the metallic taste that lingered on her tongue. Vi scrambled herself, pulling the throw blanket on the back of the sofa around her shoulders and making her hulking frame as small as she possibly could as she curled under the scratchy material.

She reveled in the scent of Caitlyn. Something that had been so oppressing the month before when they spoke in the woods. Now she swam in it. Hell, she wanted to drown in it. The Ranger busied herself with grabbing alcohol wipes from the first aide kit.

When she settled, she did so next to Vi. Their knees touching, as if any type of distance would make her perish. The gesture made her heart pound. It still ached, still fought to heal, but she didn’t’ mind. Caitlyn wordlessly asked for her hand and used her teeth to tear away the paper of the antiseptic wipe.

Vi always had larger hands than Caitlyn. But Caitlyn was nimble and methodic where Vi was clunky and impulsive. Despite the blood that had dried around her nailbeds, Caitlyn started the heavy task of cleaning the dirt and muck away from Vi’s knuckles. Neither of them speaking for a good, long while. She was waiting for Vi to speak, and she would wait for however long it took. She would always wait.

“I black out a lot.”

Caitlyn’s movement’s stilled for a moment. She had cleared most of the blood away from Vi’s left hand and moved on the right. There was a tiny mountain of wipes on the coffee table and the chemical scent was burning both of their lungs. She resumed her work with a committal hum.

“I think it’s a small mercy, really. I don’t want to remember. After that night, I knew something was different about me, but I wanted to attribute it to the grief, to the drinking. To anything other than what I knew was sitting in front of me all along.”

Caitlyn was scrubbing particularly hard at a spot of blood that refused to release itself from Vi’s skin at the base of her palm. Vi gently took the woman’s hands, giving them a squeeze, drawing her attention from the task. Her eyes were red around the edges from exhaustion. From emotion. She sniffed, glowered dangerously at Vi.

“The thing that… took your mother and Powder away from us it” Vi’s voice shattered. She grimaced and looked towards the fire. Tried to clear the emotion from her chest, but couldn’t quick staunch it. Never really could when it came to Caitlyn, so she embraced it instead, stared directly into the eye of the storm as it swirled. “When it bit me, it changed me. I don’t think it had a choice in what it was and I don’t think I have a choice in what I am now.

“This forest needs something to harbor it’s pain, and it breaks my heart more and more every single day that we crossed it’s path that night.” Vi’s head dropped, tears falling into her lap. Her shoulders convulsed. She was shaking, she knew. Too tired to fight them off. “You can hate me, Cait. I’m begging you to hate me. I would hate me.”

Hands were quick to find her cheeks and franticly wipe away at heated tears before patting at her collarbone until she looked up with confusion in her stare. Vi met an expression that was nothing more than stark tenderness, a flat line of a mouth. Caitlyn was calculating. She was exasperated. The look she often carried for Vi.

“Hate you? Why on earth would I hate you Vi?”

“I… I couldn’t stop it. I became it.”

“Darling,”

It was the subtle shake of her head, the gentleness of the single word, the quiet acceptance in her eyes. Everything combined. Vi crumbled. She fell forward and into Caitlyn’s arms. The Ranger let out a huff of air but accepted her all the same. She did not hesitate to pull her close, Vi’s ear pressed against Caitlyn’s stomach as she buried her head into the woman’s lap.

“None of this is your fault.” Caitlyn soothed, working her fingers through the mess of pink hair. “You hear me?”

Vi continued to sob, tightening her grip around Caitlyn’s center. She cried until her throat was sore. Breathing the woman in, relishing in the way her fingers felt as they gently pressed against her scalp. She whispered soothing words to her. Held her tightly, ran a hand over her bare spine and the scar of a bite that had never quite healed.

When the fire had turned into nothing but a dull flicker of orange, Caitlyn still harboring all the warmth either of them would ever need, Vi turned and stared up at her. There was a fondness in the woman’s stare. A curiosity there that she knew she’d have to atone for when she wouldn’t need to grip so hard to keep herself grounded.

“I need you to promise me something.”

Caitlyn knit her brows, swallowing hard. She brushed a strand of hair from Vi’s red-rimmed eyes. Her hand was trembling. Vi never wanted to move from this spot, from the warm comfort of the rangers lap, her nose pushed into her stomach where she could make sure she was breathing with ease.

“If you ever see me with a certain look in my eyes Cait, I need you to fire more than a warning shot. I need you to shoot to kill. I know you can.”

She opened and closed her mouth, teeth clanging together in a noise that should have been painful. Her hand curled into a fist against Vi’s bare abdomen, nails scratching lightly on marred skin. She huffed, but didn’t’ say a word. She didn’t trust herself to. It wasn’t the time to ramble, and both of them knew it.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” Vi clenched her eyes shut, burying her face deeper into Cait’s embrace. “You’re an okay shot.”

Caitlyn leaned her head back, letting out an unsteady sigh, her gaze lingering on the cold hearth, the fire long-dead and the Winchester’s silhouette looming as it sat propped in it’s usual place. “I’m an excellent shot.”

[lunapwrites]

Me: [slowly eating my breakfast, mentally preparing for the day]

Phone: [pings]

Boss sent a text to me and like 3 other people asking for shipping updates that we are all already aware of him being anxious for and would have updated him on when we got to our desks and, you know, were able to check on the status.

Like... my brother in Christ it is 7am please go touch some fucking grass.

[carcarrot]

having another one of my job-related crises

[waywardvagabonds]

Trying to be patient but would really love it if i had a therapy appointment scheduled by now.

[tennessoui]

For The propmts, "I can't trust you"

hi hello!!!

this is set in my "there was only one desk" au, where obi-wan and anakin, well. share a desk in the office and hate each other.

"""""hate each other"""""

(1.5k) (angst here and now but actually the stupidest thing ever)

The person sitting at Obi-Wan’s desk is not, in fact, Obi-Wan Kenobi. For one thing, it’s a woman with a severe red bobcut and better fashion sense than Kenobi’s ever had. For another thing, Anakin can’t actually remember a time when he’s made the trek up to the twelfth floor just to annoy Kenobi only for the man to not give him attention. So this woman, who doesn’t even raise her eyes to look at him when he’s standing next to her desk, can’t be Kenobi.

“Uh,” Anakin says. He’s holding a singular cupcake on a plate in both hands, red velvet because Obi-Wan hates red velvet and with a candle in the icing because Obi-Wan is extremely paranoid about the sensitivity of the sprinkler system. “Who are you?”

The woman’s fingers pause on the keyboard and she looks up at him sharply. With a raised eyebrow, she tilts her head to the nameplate on Obi-Wan’s desk.

Bo-Katan Kryze it reads.

Anakin blinks. “Do you—share this desk with Obi-Wan?”

“I don’t know who that is. I sit here every day,” Kryze says. “Is there something I can help you with?” She makes it clear that she believes there is absolutely nothing she wants to help him with.

“Um.” Anakin stares at her uninterested face, the nameplate, the desk itself.

He realizes rather suddenly that the plants are gone. All of Obi-Wan’s plants are gone, and in their places are picture frames filled with pictures of strangers, a standing calendar, and a souvenir mug.

“No,” he says slowly. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” the woman says, turning back to her computer. “Have a nice day.”

Anakin turns around and goes back to the elevators around the corner. He feels a bit stupid, holding a plate wth a cupcake on it, so he tosses it into a small trashcan next to a desk as he passes by, plate and all.

He still feels a bit stupid, and the feeling lingers all the way from the twelfth floor to the tenth, where his desk is. If Obi-Wan was playing a prank on him, he just fell for it like an idiot. 

But if he hadn’t—

“Obi-Wan wasn’t at his desk,” Anakin says to Vos as he sits down in front of his own computer. “There was this woman there instead, and she’d moved all of his stuff. Even the nametag.”

Vos doesn’t look up from his screen. He’s been sort of distant since Anakin came back, like he forgot how to talk or some shit during the month and a half he was away.

His silence would make sense if Obi-Wan asked him to help with the prank. And Vos probably would hop on the opportunity to fuck with Anakin. He tries to say he doesn’t play favorites of course, but he very clearly does. 

And his favorite very clearly is Kenobi, not Anakin. 

Anakin remembers the chair incident, after all.

So if Obi-Wan told him about trying to pull a fast one on Anakin his first day back at the office, hire a woman to sit at his desk and change all of its decorations just to confuse him, Vos would probably help out by pretending everything is normal.

Anakin narrows his eyes and looks at his desk. Nothing’s been moved or changed since he last saw it. No new cameras to video his reaction.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” he asks, looking over at Vos. “I mean, it’s a lot of work, isn’t it? Points for creativity, I guess though.”

Vos’ fingers still on his keys and he finally looks up, going as far as to take his hands off the keyboard completely. “What?”

“Like where did he put his plants? And the zen garden with all the sand, you know? He moved that zen garden somewhere else just to fuck with me for a bit? And the name too, her name— Bo-Katan? Kryze? He could have tried a little harder to make up something believable.”

Vos looks at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Sorry,” he says slowly. “But–sorry, but what do you think is happening here, exactly?”

Anakin frowns. Usually Vos would be laughing by now. “Joke’s on him though, I brought him a cupcake to celebrate my first day back, and me and Bo-Katan split it instead. No cupcake for Obi-Wan. It’s what he deserves for such a lame prank.”

“Skywalker,” Vos’ voice sounds even slower. “Skywalker, there is no prank.”

There’s a very weird feeling in his gut. He forces a laugh. “Uh, right, of course not,” he says. “But seriously, where is Obi-Wan? I’ve been taking pictures I want to show him for months. He’s going to love them.”

He better love them, at least, if he knows what’s good for him. But Luke and Leia are adorable, especially now that they’ve stopped teething on everything in range. Even someone as heartless and deplorable as Kenobi will be swayed by their big eyes and general all-encompassing cuteness.

The look Vos gives him is uncharacteristically cold. “Two things, Skywalker. First, there’s no prank. Obi-Wan quit. Sounds like you brought cupcakes to his replacement, like some. One man office welcome brigade. Second, if you really think Obi-Wan Kenobi wants to see your fucking baby pictures, you’re more stupid than I thought.”

Anakin blinks and then stares as the feeling in his stomach spreads to his chest. “What? No. No way.” He blinks again, eyebrows furrowing. “Is this the prank?”

Vos pushes his chair away from his keyboard, rolling it to the edge of his desk. “Skywalker. Anakin. There is no prank. I’m telling you the truth. Obi-Wan has separated from the company. He is not here today, and he won’t be here tomorrow. He left.”

“But—” Anakin’s mouth is open, but no words are coming out. “But. He didn’t tell me.” 

There’s a knot in his stomach, one that may be bigger than his stomach altogether. No, it has to be some sort of—of prank. Of practical joke at his expense. When Obi-Wan pops out in an hour or so, Anakin is going to hit him so hard in, like. The shoulder. For the crime of being really, really not funny.

“Why would he tell you, Skywalker?” Vos asks, carefully putting his hands on his knees as he looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “You don’t like each other.”

“I—I mean. We do!” Anakin splutters. “We spent quarantine together! And last summer when we did the office expedition and got lost, we camped together! For two whole days!”

“Those aren’t bonding activities,” Quinlan says. “You know that, right? No one else would consider those things as foundations for a friendship or even workplace relationship.”

Like he always seems to do when Kenobi and “workplace relatitonships” are brought up in the same sentence, Anakin flushes. He can feel the tips of his go red.

“Look, I get that you’re—friends or whatever,” he mutters, pitching his voice down low so that no one else can eavesdrop. Not that anyone else is really paying attention, but just in case. “But we’ve—you know, you saw us. During the. The quarantine. We. Spent the night together.”

“Yeah, you fucked,” Vos rolls his eyes. “You fucked.” “So if he were going to leave the company, he’d tell me, alright?” Anakin puts his hand down flat on the desk. “Yeah? He’d tell me.”

“Only if sleeping with you meant something to him,” Vos points out, pushing his chair back fully behind his desk. “So I guess it didn’t.”

The words—sting.

A lot.

The words fucking hurt like Vos has just thrown a fucking cactus into his dick. Because—alright, they’d never talked about it afterwards or anything, but—kissing Kenobi, his annoying and annoyingly attractive deskmate, sleeping with him, touching him and being touched in return…it’d changed things for Anakin. Things he didn’t want to name then, and things he definitely doesn’t want to name now, if—if Obi-Wan really…really just.

Left.

Anakin shakes his head, wordless. “It meant something,” he says, practicing the words, even if it’s only Vos around to hear him.

“Yeah?” and Vos’ voice is cold. “Then why’d you just take almost two months of paternity leave, huh? If sleeping with my friend meant something.”

Anakin shakes his head again, staring fixedly at his keyboard. “Did he really—Vos, you’re not lying, are you? Did he actually quit?”

Vos is silent for several long moments. “Yeah,” he says, sounding strange. “Yeah, he did. This is—you’re upset about this, aren’t you?”

It could still be a joke though, because sometimes Vos goes too far and sometimes he doesn’t know when to quit, even though Anakin thinks he’s pretty obviously begging him to stop right about now.

He stands. “I—I don’t believe you. I can’t— I can’t trust you.”

Vos watches him swing his jacket on with raised eyebrows. “I suppose you don’t need his address then,” he says, expression guarded. “If you’re going to fact-check this yourself.”

Of course Anakin is going to fact-check this for his fucking self.

And either way, Obi-Wan Kenobi is going to have a lot of explaining to do.

[elektroyu]

Omg I just spent like 2 entire days trying to figure out how to access my shop again after it wouldn't let me just re-install it in my webspace because of changed php requirements. My old version store requires an outdated php version which my provider doesn't support anymore. How it even worked up until May is beyond me, but I digress.

So! Made it work finally by installing older versions of everything locally on my pc (also on Linux, I honestly applaud myself for that feat XD).

Now. Since I can't just go back to the older version because of the php problem, the question is how to go about getting all the info from my old shop into the new version. The issue is that the databases aren't compatible anymore either 🙄 So do I transfer everything manually via good ol' copypasta (takes ages, but shouldn't cause any issues) ooor do I try to upgrade the locally installed shop gradually to the new version and then transfer everything to the live shop (could be quicker, but the risk of breaking all sorts of things is pretty high tbh... Prestashop is not for the faint of heart (but it's free so I chose it anyway)). Decisions, decisions...

[twinknote]

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha i think i'm going to go. Actually insane

my brother's gf's parents just put in an offer on a house for them today and it was accepted! and anyone who is not deeply mentally ill and traumatized and disabled and stuck living with their shitty fucking parents in their shitty fucking moldy decrepit hoarder's house would be happy for them! and i'm Soooooooo not! i fear i need to be kept 1,000 feet away from their happy celebratory housewarming shit bc it makes me want to kill everyone and then myself! like my mom texted me that they got the house and i immediately just started having a mental fucking breakdown and laughing and crying hysterically!!!!!!!!

like wow that's awesome!!!!! that's so awesome that you have rich parents who can just. randomly decide to buy you a house!!!!! that's so cool and good for you!!!! it would be so cool if my parents even had a decent house that isn't full of mold and bugs and mice and probably asbestos and has no usable dining or living room because they're piled with random fucking shit!!!! it would be so cool if some evil rotting smell didn't waft through the vents regularly!!!! it would be so cool if they were functional and capable of cleaning!!!!! it would be so cool if they were able or willing to help me live literally anywhere else, or GOD forbid realize that maybe living here isn't good for me!!!! that would be SO awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

but it's So cool that your parents bought you a 3 bedroom house on a whim 👍 it's so cool that my brother gets to live there without having to go through any of the barriers that come with buying a house. it's so cool that people are just able to make money and live in safe and comfortable places and both of those things feel entirely impossible for me to the point where i truly just feel like i'm not meant to be happy or even just safe and sane. it's so cool that people just magically get their basic needs met and i'm just over here like ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha i'll never have that! that's awesome 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

[sahkuna]

LET'S KEEP IT PROFESSIONAL — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: the end of your contract with GS Holding Corp. is coming to an end. well, your contract working for the company's founder and CEO, gojo satoru, as his personal assistant is ending since you no longer would work directly under him. but gojo will be damned if he lets that happen without trying to change your mind.

content warning(s): fem! + afab reader, plot-ish → eventual smut so 18+ mdni, office au, risky workplace relationship, oral (m→f), unprotected, semi-public sex??? (it's in an office), pining gojo satoru bc that's my fave to write

word count: 6.7K+ holay molay...

a/n: wanted to post this bc 1) its been a millineum since i last posted & a fulfilled req and 2) mentally rejecting that manga leak/ending -_-

“I’ll miss you.”

You stand in front of the photocopy machine unmoving. The soft buzz of ink etching itself onto paper is the only sound that floats through the air beside the voice of the persistent CEO you work under. 

Had you known that he would be following you around the building, bugging you as you tried to complete the tasks that he assigned you to finish on his behalf, you would’ve straight up told him to do it himself. 

You contribute much of your time and effort to this company, and you’re highly recognized for your work. …But you absolutely didn’t need the recognition to come in the form of being under constant surveillance from your boss.

Assuming you might’ve not heard him the first time when you don’t respond right away, he leans in closer and rests a comfortable arm on your tense shoulders. “I said, I’m gonna miss you—”

“I heard you the first time, Gojo.”

When the machine stops whirring indicating that it has finished the job, you don’t hesitate to snatch the sheets of paper from the printer and slap them onto Gojo Satoru’s chest, decked out in a baby blue button-up. All too soon, you’re sidestepping around him and heading out the door toward your office right down the hall.

“Hey!” he exclaims at your sudden early departure.

Hot on your tail, Gojo trails after you clutching the papers close to his chest. “Where are you going?” Gojo asks when you take an unexpected sharp left turn from the usual route to his secluded workroom. 

Despite your best efforts to leave him behind, his tall stature annoyingly reminds you that he can keep up with you just fine.

“Y’know,” your boss starts, catching your attention as you practically speed-stomp your way down the halls of his corporation, “Ijichi would never treat me like this!” 

You could practically hear the way he pouts from behind you. When you briefly glance back to confirm your suspicions about what expression he could be wearing, you’re not surprised to see he’s throwing a wistful gaze above your head. His soft, pink lips are downturned and tacked with his snow-white brows all bunched together, probably wishing you’d be more graceful with him.

Or take pity on him at the very least, you know?

You turn back around and continue your path toward your own office space. “Well, it’s a good thing he’s coming back next month then, huh?”

Pity denied.

Gojo swore he heard the wry smile in your voice as soon as you finished your sentence. You’re willfully teasing him and playing with his emotions. But that’s why he’ll miss you— none of his employees would dare talk to him or give him the same flack as you do.

When you step into your office, so does he. And Gojo, either painfully oblivious or simply choosing to ignore the blatant act of you purposefully and almost slamming the door shut in his face, swings it wide open and ambles toward your workstation, a smile creeping onto his lips.

“Extend your contract with me,” he starts, carelessly tossing the sheaf of paperwork onto your tidy desk once he’s within arms reach of it. He peeks at you over his shades and returns your unimpressed stare with an innocent smile. “I’ll raise your salary a reasonable amount once you do.”

While that did sound nice on paper, realistically speaking, dealing with Gojo’s antics for the foreseeable future was less than ideal for you. God forbid you start getting grey hairs at such an early age. Or a raised blood pressure. And besides…

“I still work under and for Utahime’s department though,” you say matter-of-factly, once you’ve crossed the space of your room to sit behind your desk. Your lips twist into a soft pout as you shuffle the scattered sheets together and place them into a neat pile.

Ah, right.

After Ijichi had filed for a paid sick leave after an unrelated work injury several months ago, you graciously covered your colleague’s position as the personal assistant to the founder and CEO of GS Holdings Corp., for the time being.

Pushing away the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head at the namedrop of his top leading director, Gojo deflates onto your desk.

Utahime has been on his case for the past few weeks to hurry up and file the paperwork so that you’d be back in her good graces as soon as your term with him expires. He’s been procrastinating on filing out the paperwork, mostly because he hates doing tedious work, the other half of him flat-out does not want to see you go so soon.

To say Gojo has thoroughly enjoyed you operating as his aide would be a huge understatement. 

Wherever Gojo was in his grand office building, it wouldn’t be unusual for your co-workers to spot you too far off. Outside of work is the same story, especially considering you’d be the one driving him home from work since Ijichi acted as both his assistant and driver. 

“Just switch to mine!” Gojo whines. He joins you at your desk and sits his ass right on the documents you had printed and stretches his limbs against the surface, nearly eating up all the space on your desk. He ignores your strained quips at him to get the hell off. 

“Utahime’ll be fine, let her find someone else. The job market’s already bad as is, so let another person take it and come be with me.” 

There’s a double meaning if you dig deep, and Gojo prays and hopes you’d take the time to digest what he really means. 

However, it seems like you’re not in the mood to be an excavator today.

Pushing his antics and sweet-talking to the side, you arch a questioning brow at him and lean back into your chair. There was nothing explicitly charged behind that reaction of yours, but it shook Gojo to the core realization that his attraction to you was unnerving— though not unnerving enough to have him stay away from you.

“What about Ijichi? Where’s he gonna go if I stay?”

Gojo visibly perks up at your usage of the word ‘if’, because in his mind he’s already imagined the situation to be quite likely. You see the way he sits a little taller, a little higher on your desk at the proposed question.

But alas, you dash his hopes by adding, “Which I won’t. But if I did, what then?”

“Then you guys can make it a two-person job!” he proclaims as if it were the most easy and obvious answer in the world. Gojo rests his feet on either side of your hips and the heels of his dress shoes press into the leather material of your rolling chair, prompting you to squeeze your thighs together due to the lack of room. “You know I need all the help I can get around here.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “You’re being ridiculous, Gojo.”

With the wheels on your chair, your boss uses it as leverage to roll you impossibly closer to him than you already were, angling your face centimetres away from his lower torso. You will your eyes to not drift down his body and toward his lap.

Lord knows the field trip the man would have with that if he were to catch you blatantly checking him out right before him. 

“Why’s it so hard to convince you to stay, huh?” he asks, knocking a soft knuckle against that stubborn head of yours. “Why? You don’t like me or something?”

Your heart stutters in your chest at his question. 

Insufferable as he can be sometimes, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel some magnetic pull towards him. 

Losing control of the situation a bit, you grab the reins again. Clearing your throat you ask, “Do you talk to all your employees like that?”

He shakes his head. “Nah.” Gojo props an elbow onto his knee and presses his cheek into the palm of his hand. His smile grows warm and gooey when his blue eyes clash with yours from where you sit a few inches below him. “Just you.” 

You’ll die. You swear you can die right now from the way he’s looking at you— which is no way a boss would ever look at their employee. Let alone assistant. 

Keep it professional.

“Wow! I’m flattered,” you reply, your tone laced heavily with dry sarcasm. You brush his legs away, successfully bringing his feet to rest on the floor and scoot back from your desk. The heated tension that once lingered in the air clears out a bit as you rise to your feet.

Soft cerulean eyes watch as you stand before him, a bit more guarded as you cross your arms across your chest. Whatever you say next is completely lost on him because unlike you, as subtle as he may be, Gojo allows his eyes to wander.

He swallows thickly. You shouldn’t do that. His gaze inconspicuously slides down to the low neck of your blouse and zeroes in on how your arms press against your chest, deliciously squeezing your breasts together and—

“Satoru!” you hiss.

Shit.

Maybe he wasn’t as discreet as he thought.

Quickly flitting his attention back to your face, Satoru offers you a half-assed apology but it’s too late for that. Your face is screwed tight with abashment and bafflement after having caught him in the act. It’s an emotion he hasn’t seen you wear lately. He wants to see more of that. More of you.

Before you could get a word out, ready to rip him a new one about how your eyes weren’t ‘down there’, he hurriedly rushes out a proposition— changing the subject and bringing you both back to the original reason as to why he’d been following you around this past hour. “If I get you to like me, will you work past your term?”

You rest your arms at your sides, completely forfeiting your motion to scold him. Now that’s new. “I never said I don’t like you.”

Satisfaction settles in his chest, warm and heavy at your statement. Gojo liked the sound of that. 

“Then how about this,” the tall CEO moves from his seat on your desk toward you. With each step you take back, he matches you in stride until he’s got your back up against a wall. Quite literally. 

“If I get you to like me more than you do now, you stay. With me. Deal?”

The gentle scent of fabric softener and sandalwood cologne wafts around you. This proximity made you squirm with anticipation. “Do what you want,” you say, craning your neck up to stare at him resolutely. “It won’t change the fact that I’ll be in a whole new department next month.”

The smirk on Gojo’s lips stretches wide as he meets you stare for stare. His voice drips heavy with confidence and a brazen spirit as he asks, “Yeah?”

You only manage a stiff nod, not trusting yourself to speak lest it comes out as a fucking moan from the sexual tension alone.

Content with your compliant state, Gojo finally backs off from you and makes his way toward your door. “Don’t forget that meeting we have with the executives this Friday.”

“I know,” you tumble out, sinking back onto your office chair, miffed that he's got you in such a tizzy. It's a miracle that you don’t melt into it right away under his gaze.

You pick up a new batch of paperwork and begin filing them into their respective folders. When you finish with the first set, Gojo’s still lingering by the doorway, watching you.

“Yes?”

“Nice top, by the way.” His hand rests on the wooden frame, eyes half-lidded with intent. “It really does bring out your eyes.”

As expected, you did not forget about that special executive meeting on Friday. Nor did you forget about the many others you’d have to host and coordinate after that, too.

Essentially, you didn’t let what had transpired the week before deter you from your respective duties as Gojo’s personal assistant. As his right-hand… woman.

But you didn’t entirely forget about what went down either. 

Whether you adhered to his “deal” or not was completely up to you. However, after that day, every personal meeting or time alone together seemed to bristle with tension, heavy with a delicious sort of pressure of the unknown. 

When Gojo would catch your eye or you’d catch his during prolonged meetings that stretched over the initial run time with the higher-ups, there would be a brief moment of shared glances. One recent instance stuck with you to the last few weeks of your contract.

You remember how he would roll his eyes sarcastically as if he were being forced against his own will to attend these kinds of things— which technically he was, but that’s the reality of being a successful founder and CEO of your own company— and his actions would rouse a stifled giggle from you, which in turn prompted an easy smile of his own.

But it was through these shared glances, these brief moments of humour that it would slip into something a little slower, a little more sweet the more you two held eye contact like dripping honey until you broke it off, hurriedly directing your attention back toward the front of the room.

It’s only a matter of time until this bundled ball of emotions displayed through knowing glances and brief moments of heated exchanges finally snaps.

You both wonder when that’ll be.

“This is crazy.”

You slide your gaze away from swirling your cup of iced cappuccino to Shoko who sits beside you. She leans her head back against the cushions of your office sofa— a complimentary gift from Gojo two weeks ago(you suspect it was his last-ditch effort to get you to stay).

“What is?” you ask.

Sitting up, Shoko crosses her leg over the other and fixes you with an exhausted look. “This!” she exclaims, gesturing her hands around the vicinity of your room. There are moving boxes scattered everywhere, which is a bit absurd considering you’re only moving one level downstairs to your old space. 

“I can’t believe you’ve only got a week left until you switch departments,” she says. “Suguru’s gonna lose his head the moment you’re gone and Satoru’s already started with the theatrics.”

Trust and believe that you already know. It’s hard not to when you’ve got the Chief Operating Officer, Geto Suguru, knocking on your door for an offer you ‘don’t wanna turn down’. But once you’d told Geto that you were still going ahead with filling out the documents to head back to Utahime and her team, it led to a hefty chunk of your lunch being taken up by him asking (begging) you to reconsider when your contract end date drew closer. 

“I just worry for Ijichi is all,” you say, shrugging as if the situation were already out of your hands. “Gojo’s been very temperamental and… well, bratty these past few days.” 

Shoko’s brown and neatly trimmed brows shoot up with interest at the disclosure.

You think back to a few days ago when you told Satoru to take it easy on Ijichi. You told your white-haired superior that he’d have to patiently reintroduce him to the new tech and procedures that Ijichi would work with as it would be his first week back. You couldn’t believe your ears when he straight-up told you, “I don’t care about a man’s hardships. He can work them out by himself!”

“Satoru’s always tormented the poor guy,” Shoko says, shaking her head at her friend’s show of obnoxious behaviour, “but he does mean well. I think.”

And speak of the devil… 

Over the curve of Shoko’s shoulder through the open blinds of your clear, glass window you spot Gojo. Noticing that he’s caught your attention, he waves incessantly at you through the glass before you hear him twist the knob of your door open.

“Which reminds me,” your friend continues, drawing your sights back on her, “the rest of the team and I were thinking of heading out for drinks later to celebrate with you one last time. Wanna come?”

“Oooh,” Gojo drawls once he’s within earshot. 

He’s looking extraordinarily handsome today, wearing black slacks and a buttoned, linen navy blue top. He’s smiling boyishly from ear to ear when he catches you twisting your lips in a tight purse as if you were trying to stifle a smile of your own. “A celebration, hm? Can I come?”

Shoko scrunches her face at the sudden question and self-invitation. She throws a bewildered look in Gojo’s direction when he settles himself onto his signature spot in your office. Your desk. “Why?”

Huh?

What kind of question was that? Why else would he want to spend an evening out with everyone? With you especially.

White brows bunch together, tight with confusion. “To celebrate with you guys?” he responds as if Shoko had just asked a one-dimensional question. 

“You’ve been a moping mess this past month after you’ve learned that she—” Shoko points her finger into the flesh of your cheek, “—wasn’t going to extend her work contract with you. So, if anyone’s gonna be celebrating, it sure as hell isn’t you.”

Yeesh! Tell him what you really think.

Knowing Shoko didn’t mean any harm by her words, you still felt inclined to soften the blow of her statement just a tad. “Plus, you don’t drink alcohol, Gojo.”

“And you don’t drink,” Shoko adds, raising her arms in exclamation as if to thank you for bringing that point up.

“Well,” pushing himself off the edge of your mahogany desk, Gojo stops a bit before the sofa you and Shoko both occupied. “I don’t need to drink to have a good time with my team!” he defends, directing a pout-induced glower at his colleague.

You’d think he’s done, but with the touch of Gojo’s large hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you off the couch that you realize he’s far from over at stating his point. “And neither do you,” he says, he pulls you behind him, steering you both toward the door. “We’ve got plans.”

Puzzlement crosses over not only yours but Shoko’s features as well.

“We do?”

“Since when?”

Gojo nods at you and Shoko’s questions spoken in tandem. “Emergency meeting. She and I’ve got important matters to discuss.” You feel the faint brush of his hand find the small of your lower back and maneuver you out the door and away from Shoko’s view. “You wouldn’t get it.” Is the last thing he says before he pokes his tongue out at the woman and ducks out of sight.

“Oh, really?” She says, rising to her feet but making no moves to follow you both out the door.

“You don’t even put your own two cents during our regular team meetings! There’s literally nothing for you to discuss, Satoru.” You hear her call after him as he guides you down the hall, past the elevators and toward his big office.

If only she knew how true that statement would be.

Gojo hates meetings. They always happen at inconvenient moments and eat up way too much of his precious time. It’s time that he could be spending doing something else… or someone. 

Which is why this “emergency meeting” was different.

If someone had told Gojo Satoru several months ago that his favourite employee, his darling assistant would be seated pliant for him on his expensive Birch Lane executive desk he would have laughed in their face with a furious blossoming blush nipping at his neck.

But right now, there’s nothing to laugh about.

Gojo’s watching you closely in the shaded dark of his room, tracking every subtle shift in your body language for any indication that you may be uncomfortable and change your mind at the last minute. But when you wrap an arm around his neck, slotting him closer in between your legs, he realizes he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Something in the air felt different. It was thicker. Electric. 

Gojo knew in an instant he wouldn’t last when your lips ghost the words, “This doesn’t mean I’m changing my mind,” on his mouth, before tipping his head to the side, giving you the space to slot your lips with his.

Game fucking over.

Sure, maybe he wasn’t able to completely get you to change your mind about working with him and his department.

But this?

You whimper into his mouth when his hands skim down back and cheekily resting right above your ass. Your body warms underneath the palm of his hands with every touch and how he kneads your hips tucked away beneath your business casual attire.

Gojo Satoru had won in his own right.

Your breaths come quicker as he steals them from you, his left-hand squeezes your side while the other slides across your lower belly and traces the hem of your blouse.

“Take this off,” he commands, his voice wrecked with reckless abandon. His forefinger hooks on the band of your pants, in a pathetic attempt to pull them down despite not having undone your button and zipper. His air of frustration is not lost on you when you see the slight furrow in his brows, the more he pulls but to no avail of getting you in a state of undress.

Not wanting to lose the momentum you both have, you unhook your arm from his shoulders to give him a helping hand.

“Relax,” you say, softly nudging his hands away from your clothing. He hungrily eyes how you pop the button of your dress pants and shuck them onto the floor. 

Once that was off though, everything came into sharp focus, and Gojo’s breath caught in his throat. 

There’s almost a crazed look in his eye the more he stares at your clothed cunt unblinking, unmoving. His breathing’s gone a bit ragged, and every so often you feel the twitch of his fingers dig into the skin of your thigh.

It was a bad idea, considering how the sight of your panties alone had him this rigid, this excited. But he still grits out a rough, “Lemme see.”

Slowly, you pull your laced underwear to the side and Gojo's teeth dig into his inner cheek at the sight. His hands mark a slow path from your thighs down to your knees, pushing them wide apart so that he could see more of you. 

The delicate spread of your folds had your boss entranced. Gojo has seen and salivated over the various outfits you wore to the workplace, always wondering what was underneath before he deemed such thoughts as inappropriate and immediately started thinking about something else. But now that he sees it for himself, it was all too tantalizing. He wanted to see all of you, taste all of you.

The tuft of snow-white hair that once obscured your vision is now gone, sinking lower to your lap.

“Oh!” you exclaim loudly at his sudden movement. Shocked by how quickly he came down to eye level with your pussy.  “You don’t—” you stammer, swallowing hard as all the blood rushed to your head. Instinctively, you snap your legs shut in a weak attempt to shield yourself from his intense, unwavering gaze. “You don’t have to do that!” 

Having one of Japan’s richest, self-made men drop down to his knees staring fervently at your cunt through you in for a loop. You’re sure by now the expression face was no less than gobsmacked right now.

Gojo’s hand grasps one of your calves, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over your warm skin before he hooks it over his shoulder leaning closer to you. “What do you mean?” 

Pulling you closer to his face, you’re forced to plant your other foot onto the ground for stability. “This!” you hiss out, tone laced with embarrassment and arousal as your finger points between his face and your body. “It’s unbecoming, you don’t have to do that to get me off. Really!”

“Why not?”

You don’t have to say what you’re thinking out loud. You were his assistant for fuck’s sake! 

You’re sure what you two are doing would be an issue with some legal policy with the company. But then again… Gojo Satoru is the founder and CEO of said company so he can technically get away with one or two things. But—

Sensing your hesitancy, Gojo’s eyes soften when he looks up at you. “Just… forget the formalities for a sec, will you?” he implores, strong hands grazing up to your knees again hoping you wouldn’t be stubborn with him this one time. “Please? I want to do this for you.”

You look searchingly into his eyes before you finally mellow out. Feeling you relax in his hold and your thighs lose that tension, that was enough of a green light for Satoru before his mouth skims along the mound of pussy. Each kiss he pressed lovingly against your skin, left you shivering in their wake. 

It wasn’t long before his tongue, firm and slick, pokes out and licks a long, slow stripe up your slit which has you keening. You feel his lips twist into a smug smile when he hears the broken sound of his first name from above him.

“Hm?” he hums, still mouthing at your pussy which encourages another ragged moan from you. “Am I doing good so far?”

You don’t know why he even bothered asking, considering the sheen shine of your arousal coating his mouth and chin. Nonetheless, you give him the answer he patiently waits for.

“Yeah,” you breathe, moaning again when the tip of his tongue circles your sensitive clit. 

And it all becomes too much when his hand abandons supporting your leg on his shoulder, to skate its way up your thigh and toward your pussy. The combination of his forefinger rubbing tight, intricate shapes on your clit and his mouth working you open have you yelping from overstimulation. 

You press your palm against Gojo’s forehead when the heat in your lower belly runs hotter, successfully pushing his face away.

“Not like this,” you protested weakly, your hand smooths down from his face to grip his shoulders. There’s a light flush that peaks beneath the collar of his shirt. He looks absolutely debauched right now. “I want you.”

With the cuff of his sleeve, Gojo wipes your arousal off the bottom half of his face. Unhooking your legs from him, you're left to shakily stand on your own, with nothing but the support of his desk to keep you upright.

“Alright,” he breathes, smiling at how your eyes follow the way his hands undo the expensive black Ferragamo belt on his waist. “How do you want me then?” 

“Um…” You look around the place for feasible places for you to get fucked on. Crude, but true. 

Behind Gojo is his office chair rolled back, looking vacant and lonely. “We could do it on the chair?” you suggest, eyes twinkling at your proposal. “If you want?”

“You want to ride me?” he asks, a proud smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

Your air of confidence softens into something more breathless and vulnerable which has his heart surging with reckless affection. “Don’t make it weird!” you yelp, giving his shoulder a light shove.

Dragging the chair closer, Gojo chuckles at how quick you are to change moods. “Come,” he says once he has sat down, patting his lap with one hand while the other pulls himself free from his boxers and slacks. “Ride me. Make yourself feel good.”

You don’t know what turns you on more: A) the way he’s speaking so dirty, so obscene with you right now or B) the sight of Satoru’s cock smacking against the pale, creamy space of his exposed lower abdomen. You stare at it for too long, the build-up of saliva gathering in your mouth the more you stare at his thick and hard shaft, occasionally bobbing on its own under your intense glare.

You could die and go to heaven right now.

Gojo’s hands grab your waist and pull you closer to him. Running your tongue along the inside of your cheek, you twist around so that you’re back is now facing him as you prepare to take him all in.

“No, no, no, no,” he rushes out when you’re about to sit down on his lap facing away from him. Within seconds, Gojo has you facing him. He grasps the back of your knee and tugs it to his side, pushing the armrest out of the way and does the same with the other. 

Oh! You didn’t know it could do that. 

“I wanna see you,” he murmurs, once you’re now straddling his lap and hovering mere inches away from his erection. His free hand moves between your bodies and grabs the base of his cock and angles it toward your slit.

“Oh.” You feel giddy. The noticeable brush of his tip stroking along your slick folds only adds to that dizzying sensation. “Yeah, I’m—”

When the head of Gojo’s cock slowly starts to push inside of you, your sentence is cut off by a broken moan emitted from the back of your throat.

With his eyes closed, there’s a lazy smile that spreads across Gojo’s mouth as he breathes out a heavy groan once he’s all the way inside you. “Yeeeah,” he whispers, the pads of his fingertips pushing tight against your bare skin.

You bite your lip and experiment with this position. Lifting your hips slightly before you sink back down, Gojo buries his face into your neck and breathes, ragged and heavy.

So much for wanting to see you.

“Shit,” you hear him hiss, as he blindly gropes at your ass, working your body to continue to slide up and down his hard cock. The heat of you had him seeing stars as searing pleasure tore through him.

Whimpering, you clench onto firm biceps, enjoying the shallow strokes he pushes into you.

It’s incoherent at first. However, when you tumble out a dazed huh? so that you could hear him repeat whatever he had said, Satoru's lips parted in ecstasy. “I forgot,” he choked out, voice raw and unhinged.

Gently tugging him away from your neck, your core tightened at the fucked out expression on his face. Curious eyes trail down to his stomach and how with each pump inside you, his muscles involuntarily spasm.

“The condom,” he states, slowing down his fevered pace. “I forgot…”

If it were anyone else, you would’ve hopped right the fuck off their lap with panic, body tense over the fact of how careless you were being.

But surprisingly there were no alarm bells and no flashing red lights in your mind. If anything your blood ran a little hotter, the need and tightness in your core taking over.

You don’t know you have it in you to completely stop everything in a search for a condom you don’t even know he might have.

“Pull out then,” is all you say before you begin to ride him again.

Gojo can definitely get behind that. He’s not complaining if it meant he got to have you completely raw.

Your pussy swallows his cock, and Satoru gathers up the bottom of his shirt— wrinkling it in the process— so that he could see the way he disappears inside you over and over.

When he shifts his gaze back up again so he can take in the expression you might be wearing, Gojo’s surprised to see you already looking at him.

There’s an adorable tinge to your lips that has Gojo flitting his gaze back to them every damn time he tries to make eye contact with you as he fucks himself sweetly into your pussy.

He’s overcome with the strong urge to kiss you. To cross the small width of space between your mouths.

So, he does.

His brow bumping yours, Gojo’s hands return to your ass and he stands up with you in his embrace. The cold press of his desk accosts you as he uses his weight to push you slowly onto your back. 

“Satoru,” you sigh your boss’s name blissfully once his lips leave yours to press them along the curve of your jaw before pulling away.

“I wanted this to be nicer,” he says, brilliant blue eyes glittering down at you through the sex-soaked shadows. His hips don’t stop pistoning in and out of you, and he exhales a particularly harsh hiss when he feels you squeeze around him. “Nicer than here.”

You drag in a breath at his sentence, its implications not lost on you. He’s thought about this before. “It's okay, there's always another time.” 

Satoru hums appreciatively, seemingly pleased with your answer. After leaning in for one last kiss, he brushed his mouth from yours and announced in a voice you barely recognize, “I’m gonna come.”

Propping yourself onto your elbows, you nod at him. “Pull out then.”

“Are you sure?” 

 Stuck between the incredulous look painted across your features and how your nails press a little tighter into his skin, Gojo listens. Not without hissing out a disgruntled, “Fine.”

Pulling out from your wet pussy, Gojo’s hand wraps around his dick and he strokes it fast and hot. He growls with sharp relief when you reach a hand down to massage his sac. He thinks he may come all over you if you continue doing that.

“Fuck,” he snarls when your fingers graze the base of his cock. 

Cracking his eyes open, he messily knocks your hand away from him before intertwining his fingers with yours and grabbing himself with his free hand, stroking hard and fast. Every so often his tip would intentionally rub up and press against your nub, successfully stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves with the main goal to climax.

With every pent-up thought he’s had about you, Gojo finally comes with you in tow. His cum dribbles out from his slit and lands on your skin— mostly between your inner thighs and folds.

“So,” Gojo starts, his hands wandering up to the middle of your back after a few moments of comfortable shared silence between you two. As much as he wanted to relax in your post-sex session and bask in its warm glow, he had to address the elephant in the room.

You hum in response as you work the buttons of your blouse, waiting for him to continue. “When you said ‘next time’, did you seriously mean t—” 

The two of you abruptly jump apart at the telltale sound of heels clicking down the hall drawing closer and closer to Gojo’s office door. In a panic, you leap off his desk, sending a flurry of sheets flying down to the floor into a sorry pile. 

“Nice going,” Gojo remarks with a sly grin, as you hurriedly shimmy your pants up your legs. The sheen layer of sweat— among other things— makes it a bit difficult for you to easily slip them on.

Once they’re settled at your hips and you tend to the zip, you cast a withering glare his way, you’re relieved to see that he’s already tucked himself away into his pants, already looking presentable by the time the door opens.

With the click of the lock giving way, you hear a woman starkly ask, “Why are all the lights off?”

You could pinpoint that voice from a kilometre away. 

Turning on your heel, you see the shadowy figure of one of your closest colleagues in the dark of the room. “Utahime!”

When the head director steps into the room and flicks on the lights, the sudden brightness has you squinting your eyes a bit. Upon catching your gaze she offers you a sincere smile, visibly lighting up at the sight of you.  

But it doesn’t last long because seconds after her smile morphs into a displeased scowl when she spots Gojo lounging boneless in his office chair a few feet away.

“And why’s it so…” Utahime fans a delicate hand in front of her face, casting a weary gaze at you two from across the room. “Warm in here?” she questions no one in particular.

Her eyes take in the setting before her, and she pauses in her tracks. You could only imagine what thoughts were racing through her mind.

“What hap—”

“—It’s warm?! I couldn’t even tell!” you respond, a bit too chipper as you cut her line of questioning off. A bit too fast. 

From behind you, you hear Gojo’s stifled laughter that’s covered by poorly by a ridiculous attempt at a coughing fit.

“Well,” you wring your hands together subconsciously, “what brings you here?”

Noticing your off demeanour, Utahime fixes you with a puzzled look that reads as if she were asking you "are you okay?" as your plastered smile only grows more strained by the second.

“I came here to grab your reports and documentation from Gojo’s outbox, but somebody,” cue Satoru slipping on his signature shades to deflect the icy stare Utahime was housing, “forgot to put them there. Hence why I’m here.”

“Oh, right!” Gojo hums, rolling back from his desk as he reaches down to gather the scattered sheets that had fallen to the floor. “They’re all here.”

You both watch in shared silence as he flips through each page, meticulously setting each one aside that wasn’t labeled with your name on the header. 

Thrown off by how long he’s deliberately taking in smoothing out the crinkles on each page, the older woman stomps up to Gojo and unceremoniously slaps her hand on the wooden table. “Give me that, will you?!” she exclaims, snatching and wrestling the papers out from his hands.

“Ah! Wait—”

Scanning the pages your department leader seems content that everything’s in order.

Until it's not?

The woman’s once sunny and bright disposition suddenly flips on his head, as there seems to be something written on that page midway that makes her freeze.

“Go ahead and hand me a new copy,” Utahime says, practically tossing the sheets of paper back onto his desk without a second glance. She smooths her hands down the silky expanse of her long skirt, once, twice, then three times for good measure. “I want it in my inbox by next Monday.”

She nods curtly at you before she turns and practically books it to his door. You don’t know why but you swear you saw the faintest hue of pink tickling the apples of her cheeks. There was also an expression that couldn’t quite put your finger on that highlighted her features. 

If you were to say though, her emotion looked between the mix of detachment, embarrassment… wait, no. It was mortification.

But what was there to be mortified over?  

“What’s wrong with the copy you gave her?”

Gojo presses his lips together in a sad attempt to keep his smile at bay as he hands it over to you to see for yourself.

Eyebrows furrowed, you skim each sheet. You don’t get it. What’s the problem with—

That’s until you notice that some of the pages are sticking together. It’s on the third page you see it and understand why Utahime was in such a rush to leave. Why she kept wiping her hands onto her clothing.

Right there among the printed hiragana and kanji was a few small white streaks of fluid covering bolded characters and numbers. 

Oh no.

“Y’know…” The sleeve of his dress shirt rests along your neck as his hand squeezes at your shoulder. Delicate fingers slide against your bare skin and pull at the strap of your bra, successfully tucking it underneath your blouse again. Had that been poking out the entire time?!  “I knew it would’ve been a good idea to finish inside.”

Horrified that you’d have to deal with the information of going back to Utahime next week knowing that she knows what you guys did, has you burying your face into Gojo’s chest and letting out a muffled scream.

“Just saying!”

FIN

i don't know how to stay within the maximum word count for the life of me... i'm not sorry!

[h0neyfreak]

***

[mylittleredgirl]

[and the rest of the post!]

...... but her circumstances have recently changed.

by cutting frank out of her life (both because she wants a future he's not offering and because she wants to punish him; i have plenty of thoughts about that too), she has eliminated her only source of friendly human contact. she and frank bonded over being hated by everyone else! they encouraged that in each other! but now... she’s all alone.

hawkeye is now in the business of making digs on frank's behalf, and that's another social avenue closed off. she was becoming friendly with both hawkeye and b.j. — they're the first people she told about her engagement! — but (largely because of how clueless and obnoxious she was in that episode) frank got the swamp rats in the divorce, so to speak.

so she's lonely to the point of distress, but she's so boxed-in by her inflexible belief in power structures and has been terrorizing everyone since we met her, so she can't easily walk that back without... abandoning her hold on those power structures long enough to apologize (which i noticed she doesn't do in this episode, but when in her whole life would she have ever seen an authority figure apologize?). and taking a cheese grater to her ego, because it's not like people are going to immediately embrace her, so she'll deal with rejection while she tries to change.

and what if they make fun of her to her face instead of behind her back — which is worse??

i find it telling that they call her 'hot lips' when she's not around — and i'm sure she knows they do. in the script, the act one tent scene is much longer, and the nurses debrief the O.R. shitshow and then drag margaret for a page and a half before she arrives:

and then on-screen, when mary jo tries to protect gaynor (the one on the top bunk with dark hair):

sorry for the gazillion caps; i swear this is actually the readers' digest version oh my god

having this episode right after "lt. radar o'reilly" is such a brilliant accident, because dear sweet radar just put words to the tragedy and loneliness of military success. radar was jealous of the officers in theory, but is so much happier back among the grunts, because it's better to take disrespect and abuse from above together than to take it from below while isolated and alone.

from season 5 "lt. radar o'reilly":

which is exactly what's happening here!! margaret has wanted this promotion all her life, but she probably didn't picture having it in the middle of nowhere. she has no family waiting at home for her at night, no peers she can relate to, not even a terrible boyfriend in her tent anymore. she barely knows her absent fiancé; would she dare send him an honest letter about her day that isn't all sunshine and idealized presentation?

so with all that, whether or not she deserves it, i love that the nurses offer her an olive branch at the end.

earlier, margaret started the professional reconciliation by finally allying herself with the nurses and protecting them in front of colonel potter. it's long overdue; up until now, we have only seen variations of the opening O.R. scene, where she criticizes them in public instead of rising to their defense. this part of their dynamic is entirely on her to mend — no one else can help her.

and then, later...

the nurses are far more emotionally aware than she is. this is the best possible move they could make — it defuses another potential standoff, and it's their way of thanking margaret for letting baker off the hook. it shouldn't have to be up to them to change the culture and improve their relationship with their supervisor, but they're honestly more capable of it. and it's very sweet how margaret immediately responds.

the nurses are all adult women who value their social connection with each other, and they recognize someone in distress who doesn't really know how to initiate kindness, and took a chance to show her. <3 <3

i hope this improves things for everyone! i think it will! and i definitely hope margaret thinks long and hard about all this, because if she lets it, it could really change her life.

tl;dr: poorly socialized feral cat domesticated by the mortifying ordeal of being known and one (1) cup of terrible army coffee.

[i reblogged the tumblr post where i found the script here.]

i know some of you have been pressing your faces to the glass waiting for me to see this one in particular SO i saw "the nurses" the other night and am still thinking about it!!

i love love love it when characters get pushed to a point where you can almost see their childhood selves pop out, like are they even talking about what's happening right now? or are their 12-year-old hearts just screaming?? i love that margaret's outburst is both irrational (the hostile work environment is coming from inside the house; i was yelling at my tv "baby it's your fault!!!") and so so honest.

[this turned into a bit of a character thesis, so not only is there a readmore, there will also be a reblog soon with the rest of the post because i maxed out the image limit!]

this whole time, margaret has treated her subordinates with a heavy hand because she thinks it's the right and fair thing to do. the rules say this is how it works!

she maintains a high standard of excellence in brutal circumstances, but she's also reactive, moody, and unforgiving. she's often shown on the edge of losing control and authority, she inflames situations by overreacting, and the thing she punishes most egregiously is disrespect (toward frank, toward the army, toward herself). she intentionally underlines the distance between herself and the other nurses at every turn.

from season 3 "there's nothing like a nurse": [all IDs in alt]

really, everything she thinks and does comes from a place of "they're not supposed to like me," but the childish part of her that is completely unable to see her own behavior is confused and hurt because "i'm just doing my job so why don’t they like me???"

it's her job to maintain discipline, but especially here in 4077-land, she doesn't have to lead with the whip. henry was beloved because he was an overly permissive clown, which will never be her speed, but colonel potter has all the same training as she does. he's loved and respected as the Good Regular Army Guy because he leads with discernment and mutual respect.

it's easier for him. he's more experienced, he's respected and supported from above and below, and he has a calm temperament — which isn't nothing.

from season 4 "the interview":

whether she's aware of this as a problem or not, we at home can see how margaret's inability to control her emotional reactivity causes her as much grief as her inability to control other people.

if she were capable of laughing off small slights, hawkeye and trapper wouldn't have used her as a chew toy so much, and henry might have taken her real concerns more seriously if they weren't lost in the noise of daily fits, you know? she rarely started it, so i'm not blaming her for the hostile chaos circus of seasons 1-3, but i am saying she would have had a better time if she knew how to take a few deep breaths.

this description from the script, after the near-brawl in the nurses' tent in act one, is basically her character thesis statement:

and here, when she's reacting fully emotionally, the truth comes out! the reason that she won't be flexible and show compassion to the nurses isn't because of the rules, but because they're mean to her!!

that's obviously a very bad place to lead from. she has enormous institutional power over them, including controlling their freedom of movement, but she feels like all the other girls in school are hanging out together and they hate her. because they are! and they do! the fight in act one boils over when they make fun of her hair, and that sent all of them back to middle school.

and in many ways, that's where margaret's emotional maturity is stuck (which is, i think, why i find her so endearing). she can't see herself. she knows they don't like her, trust her, or want her around, but she doesn't understand how she dug this hole herself, or how to get out of it.

to add insult to jealous injury, one of the nurses (mary jo, who gets between margaret and baker to stop the fight and takes care of the others in different ways) is margaret's age, and the others look to her as their chosen leader and personal support.

and i'm sure margaret had NO IDEA this was the messy truth until she heard it come out of her mouth.

and her emotionally breaking on the "one lousy cup of coffee" in particular…

i wonder, how often does some version of that first tent scene happen? does she deliver their assignments every night? she walks in already defensive, they immediately stop laughing, and then... she either finds a reason to scold them or they ice her out until she leaves. (and they probably start laughing again as soon as she does!)

from her perspective, when she arrived for the dreaded sleepover and they turned out the lights the minute she walked in, it's like they cancelled the nightly coffee klatch just to avoid spending one social minute with her.

i also think the nurses are right when they assumed that she wouldn't have accepted an invitation to hang out with them (and might even have snapped at them for being inappropriate for asking). she doesn't cross that emotional line, even when she should — she didn't know gaynor was spiraling after losing so many patients in a row, and didn't respond compassionately when she learned.

has she ever invited them for coffee or a friendly chat? no.

...... but her circumstances have recently changed.

[reblog coming soon with the rest of it!]

[ace-fandom-dumbass]

(Pointing) KALOSIAN??????

[sugoroo]

SHARING IS CARING!

ʚɞ summary: satoru agrees to share his girlfriend with kento for one night to help ease some of the stress he’s been under lately! but that doesn’t mean he’s going to make it easy for his co-worker.

warnings: fem!reader, voyeurism, cuck!satoru, oral (m receiving), breast play, penetration (p in v), fingering, pussydrunk nanami, squirting, praise kink, 18+ minors dni.

wc: 7.1k

despite how much satoru enjoys teasing his co-worker kento nanami, he can see how much stress the other man has been under lately. it’s clear from the heavy bags underneath his eyes, the way his back is almost permanently hunched in exhaustion.

the white-haired sorcerer spent an embarrassingly long amount of time in his office brainstorming different ideas to attempt to cheer nanami up. his usual go-to for anyone else would be to buy them some sweets, but he has a feeling that wouldn’t be too appreciated in this situation.

and then, after his phone buzzed with a newly received text from you: his pretty little girlfriend who was currently waiting for him at home — a lightbulb lit up in his head.

he could give you to nanami to cheer him up.

well, when he says ‘give’, of course he really means lending you to nanami. a one-time only gift (that must be returned after use) as it were.

and satoru will unarguably be present to observe the entire interaction too — he has to make sure nanami treats his sweet girl the way she deserves, after all. if the other man was to leave you unsatisfied, he would very possibly have to hollow purple him.

(and he also wouldn’t be completely opposed to watching his much-too-uptight co worker unravel before his eyes, either. but he’ll keep that part to himself.)

pleased with his newest idea, satoru practically skips along the halls on the way to nanami's office, a wide grin stretched across his lips and anticipation buzzing throughout his body.

"hellooo, nanamin!" he coos obnoxiously once he arrives outside his co-worker's office, craning his neck to peek his head around the doorway. "you in here?"

nanami audibly sighs at the sound of the white-haired man's voice, glancing up briefly from his desk with an unimpressed look pulling at his visibly exhausted features. "yes, gojo, i'm clearly in here. what is it you want this time?"

satoru holds up his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering as he steps fully inside the office. it's clear he's up to no good (even more so than usual), given the way he's practically vibrating on the spot with excitement.

"well?" the blonde man prompts impatiently, his eyes already cast back down to the various piles of paperwork splayed across his desk. he's evidently in no mood to deal with satoru's mischief.

"now now, don't rush me!" he huffs in response, his lower lip jutting out in an overdramatic pout despite knowing nanami isn't even looking in his direction right now. "this is a very... sensitive topic. so i'm gonna need you to pay suuuper close attention. got it?"

at this, nanami looks up from his papers, his annoyance slowly morphing into cautiousness. "sensitive how? this better not be about you wanting to know how many people i've bedded in the past, because i already told you that i will never dignify such a shameless question with an answer."

"what? no! it's not about that," satoru chuckles amusedly, before tapping the bottom of his chin with a slender finger in a theatrical display of thought. "....although, i really should find out the answer to that eventually."

nanami rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head behind his goggles, bringing two fingers up to rub his temple. "i don't have time for this, gojo. whatever it is you came here to ask, will you just spit it out already?"

"alright, alriiight!" the white-haired sorcerer whines petulantly, sauntering further into the office and leaning his elbows against his co-worker's desk like he owns the place. "so, i've noticed you've been under a lot of stress lately—"

"which is none of your business, might i add." the other man deadpans bluntly, his lips set into their usual tight line as he regards satoru.

"sure. but, as your co-worker and friend, i've decided to make it my business," he retorts without missing a beat, waving a pale hand dismissively in nanami's direction as he continues speaking. "and i've come up with the perfect solution to cheer you up!"

nanami raises a blonde eyebrow at this, visibly still cautious but (hopefully) a little curious now. "oh, have you now?" he mutters tightly, attempting to hide the subtle interest hiding under his tone. but satoru notices, because of course he does.

"mhmm," satoru croons mischievously, his grin morphing into a little smirk as he leans further across the desk. "would you like to hear it, nanamin?"

the interest in his colleague's expression is gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by irritation yet again as he releases a deep sigh. "i'm not in the mood for your games, gojo. are you going to tell me or not?"

"ugh, fine," the white-haired man groans dramatically, rolling his eyes behind his blindfold. "can't blame a guy for trying to build up a little suspense."

satoru rifles around in his pocket for a few moments before pulling out his phone, instantly thrusting the device directly into nanami's face with absolutely no context.

"what—" nanami begins, his words quickly trailing off into an unintelligible sound of some description once he catches sight of the picture being displayed on his colleague's lock screen. "oh."

"like what you seee?" he coos obnoxiously from behind the phone, tilting his head to the side in an attempt to get a better view of the other man's reaction. "just kidding - i know you do."

"this... is that your girlfriend?" the blonde man croaks out, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically flustered. "and why is that your lockscreen, for the love of god?"

satoru just shrugs nonchalantly, jerking the phone back towards himself and taking a moment to admire the photo of you. it's your pretty body, completely bare on his bed, perky breasts on full display and smooth legs spread wide to reveal your abused pussy which was just oozing with ropes of his goopy cum.

"yes, it's my girlfriend," he hums proudly, shoving the device back into his pocket before fixing nanami with another wide grin. "and why not? it's not like anyone else sees it except me. until now, obviously."

"right," the other man breathes out, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly in a poor attempt to try and compose himself. "and, pray tell, why did you feel the need to show me that?"

satoru huffs dramatically, as if having to actually explain the proposition he's come up with is taking a serious toll on him. "come onn, nanamin. use that brilliant brain of yours! i say i have a way to relieve some of your stress, and then i show you that picture..."

nanami visibly tenses as the realization of what his colleague is suggesting washes over him, his eyes narrowing into cautious slits. but he doesn't want to get ahead of himself, just in case he misinterpreted his words, so he settles for saying — "is this another one of those highly unamusing pranks of yours, gojo?"

the white-haired man rolls his eyes yet again, leaning even closer over the desk and tilting his head to the side in a playful manner. "you really think i'd show you a naked picture of my girl if this was just a prank?"

as much as it irks nanami to admit, even to himself, his co-worker does has a point there.

"touché." he grumbles under his breath, trying his best to keep up his uninterested façade despite how obviously affected he is by seeing that picture of you; needless to say, he thinks satoru is a very lucky man.

"that's all you're gonna say? touché?" satoru repeats incredulously, throwing his hands up in the air theatrically. "no 'yes please, gojo, i'd love to get me some of that'?"

"first of all, i would never say it so crudely," the blonde man retorts with his nose wrinkled in not-so-subtle disgust, shaking his had faintly. "and second of all, i'm not the sort of man who takes what doesn't belong to him."

satoru snorts out a loud laugh at this. "ugh, drop the serious act for a minute, nanamin! it's not like you're stealing her away from me or anything. i'm just offering some... one-time only stress relief, that's all."

"whatever you say, gojo," he mutters dismissively, waving a hand in his direction before rubbing his temple yet again. "even if i was to consider such a proposition, have you asked your girlfriend if she would be willing to participate?"

"yeah, sooo, about that..." satoru responds in an elongated hum, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly.

"satoru—"

"wait, wait! just let me explain," the white-haired man squeaks hurriedly, waving around his hands theatrically. the rare use of his first name from his colleague clearly shows just how annoyed he is at this point. "i was so excited when i came up with the idea that i kinda-maybe-definitely forgot to ask her."

"why am i not surprised?" nanami huffs bluntly, clearly losing whatever interest he may have begrudgingly gained when he saw the photo.

but just before he can return to his work, satoru quickly speaks up again. "hey, wait just a minute! she's my girl, and i know my girl. she'll say yes."

nanami pauses for a few moments, silently cursing the way he's actually considering this insane proposition. but there's two facts he can't deny — one: he has been under a lot of stress lately, and he wouldn't exactly mind releasing it. and two: satoru's girlfriend is incredibly attractive.

much to his chagrin, he doesn't have a good reason to say no.

"...alright."

and that's how kento nanami finds himself standing outside your and satoru's apartment a week later, his fist hovering just above the door as he attempts to process what's awaiting him on the other side.

he can't quite believe he's actually going to 'release his stress' by using satoru's pretty little girlfriend who he's never even met before today. but he knows that not going through with it isn't an option — especially when he'll have to endure his colleague's relentless teasing afterwards.

so he knocks.

and it's you who opens the door, dressed in nothing but one of satoru's old shirts that is definitely much too long for you, the baggy fabric practically swallowing you whole as you stand before nanami.

"oh!" you gasp in realization as you look up at him, a small smile spreading across your lips as you kindly extend a hand to the man in front of you. "you must be kento! toru's told me a lot about you."

nanami, much to his own embarrassment, takes a few long moments to recover from the sight of you. somehow, you're even more beautiful in person than you were in that photo on his co-worker's lockscreen (despite being much more... clothed now.)

"ahem. yes, that's me," he murmurs after swallowing roughly, taking your hand in his own to give it a quick shake. he tries not to let his eyes linger too long on the size difference between them; how your hand practically disappears beneath his. "all good things, i hope?"

"oh, of course." you chuckle softly, stepping to the side and opening the door a little wider in a silent initiation for him to come inside. this is it — his last chance to just blow this whole thing off and drive home.

but he doesn't take that chance.

instead, he shuffles inside with a polite smile in your direction, pulling his other hand from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of flowers he'd bought on the way over here; he wasn't exactly sure what was an appropriate gift for someone else's girlfriend who was going to let him have sex with her, so he settled for some simple roses.

you close the door behind the two of you, your eyes widening when they fall on the flowers. how very... gentlemanly. you hadn't expected him to bring any type of present tonight — from what you'd gathered from satoru, this was going to be a very transactional exchange.

"sorry... is this too forward?" nanami mutters a little awkwardly, toying with the petal of one of the roses. "if you don't want them, i can go put them back in my—"

"no, no! they're beautiful," you say quickly, grasping the bouquet from him with a warm smile stretching across your lips. "it's really sweet of you. i just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

the blonde man seems to relax slightly at this, his tensed shoulders slowly deflating and a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. it's clear he's never done anything like this before; but then again, neither have you.

but when satoru had come to you with the idea of helping out his thoroughly overworked colleague and friend, who also happened to be quite handsome (in your boyfriend's words), you couldn't help but agree.

and satoru definitely underestimated kento's appearance with that measly description. he's more than quite handsome — he's gorgeous, with those well-kempt blonde locks and that ridiculously sharp jawline that could probably cut glass.

...let's just say you're not having any last minute regrets about agreeing to this.

"so, how about you go and make yourself comfortable in the living room while i put these in some water?" you suggest kindly, gesturing to doorway on the left as you head in the direction of the kitchen with the bouquet in your hands.

nanami nods in agreement, ducking his head to fit underneath the doorframe as he saunters into the living room of your apartment. it's cozy and small, with little trinkets that just scream satoru gojo scattered around the area.

of course that man has to make even his living room as chaotic as he is.

he plops down onto the couch, his still somewhat tense body sinking into the comfortable material. he feels more relaxed already than he has in months — it must be something to do with the warm atmosphere in your home (or the promise of what's to come.)

his respite doesn't last for long, however, because satoru comes bounding down the stairs, his blindfold askew and his grin wide when he notices nanami sitting there in his living room. "heyyy, nanamin! you're actually here! i figured you'd chicken out last minute, honestly."

the blonde man rolls his eyes behind his goggles, shooting his colleague a thoroughly unimpressed look in response to his statement; as if he hadn't just been considering 'chickening out', as gojo put it, moments ago outside the front door.

but he doesn't have to know that.

"well, i didn't." he settles for sighing bluntly, raising a neatly trimmed eyebrow when satoru drapes himself across the couch next to him like an oversized cat, practically taking up every inch of spare space.

"what's that look for?" satoru snickers obnoxiously, slinging his lanky legs over nanami's lap as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "this is my house you're in right now, remember? i can do what i want."

before nanami can even think of replying, you start padding into the room, shooting your boyfriend what can only be described as a disapproving look. "toru, stop harassing our guest."

the white-haired man lets out a petulant whine in response, grasping your hips as soon as you draw close enough and pulling you down onto his lap. he buries his face in your neck, grumbling. "i'm not harassing him, baby! it's just our usual banter. riiight, nanamin?"

"right." he chuckles lightly, exchanging an amused glance with you over satoru's head at the other man's antics. he's more like a young, whiny child than a full grown adult; especially when he acts like this.

"hey, stop smiling at him!" satoru huffs overdramatically in protest, looking up at you from your neck with one of his bright blue eyes peeking out from under his blindfold. "you're supposed to be on my side, pretty girl."

"i am on your side, silly," you say with fond exasperation, bringing a hand up to ruffle his messy white locks affectionately. "are you seriously mad at me for getting along with your friend?"

"no, i guess not." he grumbles in response, nuzzling his face back into your skin like a beloved pet would do to its owner.

nanami can't help but find it fascinating how the strongest sorcerer and most popular teacher at jujutsu tech seems to completely melt in your presence — there must be something really special about you, and he feels honoured to be allowed to have you for himself; even if only for one night.

"so— uh, how does this... work?" the blonde man asks curiously after clearing his throat, looking between you and the manchild snuggling you in his lap with a carefully questioning gaze.

satoru giggles at this, turning his head to give nanami an obnoxiously teasing wink. "how does me letting you hit this..." he drawls playfully, his hand traveling down from your hip to lightly squeeze your ass. "...work, nanamin?"

nanami almost chokes on his own salvia in response to his colleague's blunt wording, but somehow he manages to compose himself (just). "...yes, i suppose. if you insist on being so lewd about it."

you let out a small chuckle at this, swatting your boyfriend's hand away from your ass and giving him a chiding look, to which he just shrugs innocently.

"i think it should be up to you, kento," you hum thoughtfully, resting your chin on satoru's head and peering over at the blonde man with an encouraging smile. "how would you like this to work?"

"ah, well..." nanami begins, finding his brain seems to have short-circuited at your suggestion. he gets to choose how he has you? jesus, how is even supposed to form a single coherent sentence with you smiling at him like that?

"oh, come onn, nanamin!" satoru whines, raising one of his legs from the other man's lap to kick at his chest with one of his socked feet. "want me to give you some ideas? hmm... how about you start with her perfect little mouth? it works wonders, y'know!"

nanami lets a choked sound escape from somewhere in the back of his throat at this, his wide eyes shooting to you for any signs of hesitance. but he finds none, no — you're still smiling at him in such a friendly way, as if your boyfriend isn't signing you up to suck another man off right in front of him.

"is that— can i... are you sure?" he stammers awkwardly, suddenly feeling like an inexperienced teenager rather than a fully grown man.

"it's fine with me," you say sweetly, each word so thick and honeyed, making nanami's head start to go a little hazy. he can already feel his trousers starting to grow uncomfortably tight just from the direction this conversation is going in. "would you like that, kento?"

"would i—" nanami swallows thickly, stopping his words before they can come out sounding too eager. "yes... yes, i believe i would."

satoru grins widely at his co-worker's admission, effortlessly lifting you up from his lap and placing you on the floor in front of the couch. you crawl the rest of the way across the carpet, coming to perch between nanami's manspread legs.

the blonde man audibly gulps when you bring your hands up to his thighs, shifting just a little on the chair to try and hide how much his body is reacting to your proximity.

"phewww... look at him, baby," satoru whistles amusedly with a mischievous smirk as he watches the interaction, obnoxiously pointing to the growing tent in nanami's slacks. "so worked up already."

you tut lightly, shooting another disapproving look in your boyfriend's direction. "stop teasing him, toru. he's probably just touch-starved."

"something you wouldn't understand, gojo," nanami pushes out through gritted teeth, trying his best to keep up his usual collected demeanour even when he feels your fingers graze over his bulge. "not when you have such a sweet little thing waiting for you at home everyday."

"hm. now that is true," the white-haired man hums in agreement, reaching over nanami's lap to give your hair a gentle, loving stroke. "my girl always knows how to keep me satisfied."

you smile warmly up at satoru, leaning your head into his touch slightly while your hand squeezes around his colleague's clothed erection — and, shit. you can tell just how big he is even through these tight trousers.

you've really got your work cut out for you here.

satoru is quick to help you out, grasping a cushion from the couch and leaning down to slide it underneath your knees to make the position more comfortable for you. ugh, your boyfriend is just so considerate— but tonight isn't about him. focus!

with better support on the floor, you reach up to pop open the button on the front of nanami's slacks, looking up at him through your lashes; and, god, he looks absolutely wrecked already. his cheeks are flushed a light shade of pink, and his goggle-clad eyes are staring anywhere but you.

despite how stoic he always was in satoru's descriptions of him, right now... kento nanami looks utterly adorable.

unzipping his fly, the only barrier between you and his monster of an aching cock is his expensive-looking boxers. and while at this point with satoru you'd usually do a little teasing, you figure with nanami, it's better to cut straight to the chase.

he clearly needs it.

so you dip your nails under the waistband of his underwear, carefully tugging it down to reveal your boyfriend's colleague in all of his touch-starved glory; cock just giant as it slaps against his clothed abdomen, all veiny and curved as the reddened tip leaks onto the couch.

"woww, nanamin!" satoru croons obnoxiously, fanning himself with his hand as if he's a prim and proper lady about to collapse from shock. "how big you are."

"do you really have to be here for this?" the blonde man retorts, shooting a glare so deadly in his friend's direction that if looks could kill... your boyfriend definitely would be six feet under.

"oh, absolutely," he drawls back without missing a beat, smirking smugly as he crosses his legs against nanami's lap, as if watching his girlfriend prepare to give his co-worker a blowjob is the most normal situation possible. "i'll be here the whooole time. better get used to it."

rolling your eyes at satoru's relentless teasing, you opt to distract nanami from the white-haired sorcerer's interjections by wrapping a hand around his bare length (let it be noted that you definitely cannot fit his entire girthy base in your grip.)

nanami lets out a raspy, broken groan at the contact, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he tries to keep himself together. but the way his cock visibly jumps under your touch doesn't go unnoticed by you or satoru.

"relax for me, kento," you coo sweetly, giving him a light squeeze to make sure he's paying attention to your words. "gonna make you feel good, yeah?"

he can only release a few incoherent mumbles in response, his head falling back against the couch when you start to languidly stroke him, moving your hand from tip to base with well-practised movements.

"fuck, that's so hot," satoru groans as he shifts a little closer to get a better view of you working his uptight colleague with your fist, his own sweatpants starting to visibly tent too. "keep going, pretty girl."

you smile again at the praise, your thighs rubbing together subtly underneath satoru's baggy shirt. but he notices it, because of course he does, he knows your body's reactions like the back of his hand. "see that, nanamin? she loves it when you praise her. i hope you're taking mental notes right now."

nanami can only watch in awe as you lean down to press your soft lips to the leaking tip of his cock, his brain completely scrambled already from only a few touches. jesus, he can't believe he almost didn't agree to take part in this; he’s silently thanking his past self for having the confidence to go through with it right now.

"that's... you're doing good— so good." he pushes out, the words more of a garbled mess than anything as his toned hips involuntarily buck lightly into your hand, in search of more and more friction.

a small, satisfied hum spills from your lips at the praise, your tongue instinctively flicking out to lap at the pearlescent rivulets of pre-cum just streaming from his pudgy tip.

it’s not as sweet as satoru’s — it has a bit more of a salty tang. but it’s not exactly unpleasant either, and you find yourself digging the tip of your tongue into his slit to gather more of the interesting new flavour.

"ah!" nanami gasps loudly, the sound escaping from him without permission. his eyes fly open to fall squarely on you as you start suckling on his tip, finding himself being rendered completely speechless at the way you’re making him feel already — and you’ve only just started.

he’s in for a long night.

“yeahh, she’s good, isn’t she?” satoru croons proudly from beside him, reminding nanami of his presence yet again. but he can’t bring himself to be too mad at his colleague when he’s giving him access to his perfect girlfriend with such a sweet mouth.

“mhm,” the blonde man grunts out, his head rolling to the side slightly. he quickly shuts his eyes, not wanting to catch sight of satoru while he’s receiving such intense pleasure; the last thing he wants is to ruin his upcoming orgasm. “you’re a lu— ah, a lucky man.”

“oh, i know i am,” satoru hums smugly, his hand still resting on your hair giving you a gentle push in a silent encouragement to move your head forward. “come on, baby. i know you can take more of him than that.”

with the help of your boyfriend’s guiding hand, you find yourself sinking more of nanami’s thick cock into your mouth, inch by girthy inch until your nose bumps against the small patch of trimmed blonde hair at the bottom of his abdomen.

“oh, fuuuck…” nanami groans roughly, gripping the fabric of the couch so hard his knuckles are whitening as he tries to hold himself back from just fucking into your mouth like a feral animal.

“it’s okay if you want be rough, nanamin,” the white-haired sorcerer murmurs against the shell of his ear, as if directly reading his thoughts. “she doesn’t mind. she’s your stress relief, remember?”

like the gentleman he is, nanami makes sure to make eye contact with you to check for any signs of hesitance first. but when he doesn’t find any; he just can’t hold himself back from thrusting his hips up into the wet cavern of your mouth.

you try your absolute best to kneel there and take it, but you simply can’t help the way you choke around his sheer length when his tip hits the back of your throat with a lewd thwack!, causing both he and satoru to moan in response.

“yeahhh, you look so pretty choking on nanamin’s cock, babygirl.” satoru groans proudly, trailing his spare hand down to leisurely palm the bulge in his own pants as he observes the scene before him.

your boyfriend’s praise makes you audibly mewl around the blonde man’s cock, the vibrations around his shaft making nanami slap satoru’s hand out of your hair to grab it himself, keeping you in place as he continues rutting into your mouth with reckless abandon.

“just like that, just like that.” nanami chants over and over like a mantra, starting to completely forget about any and all stress he has as he loses himself to the overwhelming pleasure you’re giving him.

“you’re close, aren’t you?” satoru chimes in with a satisfied smirk stretching across his lips as he leans in unnecessarily close to nanami’s ear to whisper. “don’t worry about pulling out, she’ll swallow it all.”

his colleague’s lewd words practically send nanami hurtling over the edge, his grip on your hair tightening to a borderline painful degree as he spills rope after rope of hot, thick cum straight down your throat.

it takes a few deep gulps for you to swallow everything nanami gave you, but there’s just so much of it that a few stray drops spill from the edges of your lips and onto the carpet. shit — you’ll have to clean that up later.

“thaat’s it. such a good girl,” satoru purrs warmly, his eyes alight with affection as he reaches down to stroke your cheek with his thumb, enjoying the dazed expression across your pretty features. “i think you broke nanamin, though.”

looking up at nanami, you can instantly see the visual evidence of what your boyfriend means by you breaking nanami.

the blonde man looks completely debauched — chest rapidly rising and falling as he pants harshly in an attempt to come down from the intensity of his orgasm and eyes squeezed shut so tightly it would appear that he's in some sort of pain if you didn't know better.

"you alright there, kento?" you ask half-teasingly, tapping his thigh gently to try and gain his attention. (it doesn't work; he's clearly out of it.)

satoru is grinning like a madman beside him on the couch, clearly more than pleased with how well his girlfriend is doing unravelling his uptight co-worker so far. "aww, what a shame! he's chickening out before he can even get a feel of your tight little pussy."

you huff, lean up to swat at the white-haired sorcerer's arm in an attempt to get him to shut up, which only causes him to scoop you up in his arms again and place a big wet kiss on your lips in retaliation, seemingly uncaring of the lingering tase of nanami on them.

giggling, you attempt to wriggle out of his grip, which accidentally causes your ass to brush against nanami's still half-hard cock as a result; and that seems to snap him right out of his reverie.

nanami's entire body jolts to attention, a low groan leaving his lips as he glances down at where you're unintentionally pressed against him. and, god, if your mouth made him cum that hard that he forgot where he was for a few moments, just how much better must your pussy be?

"finally back with us, hmm?" satoru drawls playfully, reaching around you to punch his colleague's shoulder a little harder than necessary, causing the blonde man to scowl in response.

"quiet, gojo." he mutters under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the slip of your panties he can just about see from underneath the hem of your baggy shirt.

oh, what he'd give for just one little taste right now...

"don't even think about it," satoru cuts in, snapping him from his thoughts. oh dear, did he say that out loud? he really does need to get control of himself. "if you taste her you'll get addicted, and we can't have that."

nanami can't help but feel slightly disappointed at this — he's always been the type to return the favour, and not being able to do the same for you makes a subtle frown tug at his lips.

but he knows that he has no right to ask for anything more than what he's being offered, seeing as you're not his. (and it's not like he can complain if he gets to be inside that pretty pussy that's been on his mind since satoru showed him his lockscreen last week.)

"are you just gonna sit there, nanamin?" satoru chuckles in teasing disapproval, shaking his head and lifting up the hem of your (his) baggy shirt to reveal the considerable wet spot painting the crotch of your panties. "or are you gonna hurry up and take care of my girl? you knoow, it's bad manners to leave a lady waiting while she's this needy."

"ahem. my apologies, darling," nanami mutters hoarsely, using every ounce of self-control he has left to forcefully tear his eyes away from your underwear and meet your eyes. he gestures to his lap, giving you the strongest smile he can muster right now. "would you like to take a seat?"

"still so well-mannered." you giggle lightly, although you oblige without question, crawling away from satoru to perch yourself upon nanami's wide thighs. he instinctively reaches out to grasp your hips with two large hands, keeping you steady.

"so... can i—?" nanami mutters quietly to satoru, as if sharing a well-kept secret, and not as if he's asking for permission to touch another man's girlfriend's cunt. jesus, is he out of his comfort zone right now.

"can you touch her? yes, yes, of course," the white-haired sorcerer replies quickly with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if eager to get this underway already so he can sit back and enjoy the show. "oh, and you have to make her cum on your fingers atleast once before you can fuck her. house rules."

nanami isn't complaining about this rule.

he owes you an orgasm anyway, but when he slides your soiled panties to the side and gets an eyeful of your pretty pussy, he feels as if it would be a crime not to put his fingers inside of you.

ever the gentleman, nanami looks up at you from behind his lopsided goggles one more time to check for any signs of hesitation, and when he still doesn't find any, he slowly dips two thick fingers between your folds, caressing your slick flesh.

you release a small sigh at the touch, your eyelids fluttering as a wave of pleasure washes over you. he's careful and gentle with his ministrations; since he obviously isn't familiar with what you like.

but you can tell he's the type to be a quick learner.

it isn't long before nanami has you squirming and whining on his lap, the two fingers he eased inside of your dripping entrance scissoring and exploring your sloppy hole, spreading you open bit by bit.

"mmm, you like that, pretty girl?" satoru asks raspily from behind you, lazily palming his clothed erection again as he observes your reactions to his colleague's touch. "is he making you feel good?"

"y-yeahhh." is all you can get out in your daze, your back arching forwards in an unconscious action when nanami's thumb finds your swollen clit, lightly pressing the rough pad of it down on the puffy bud.

satoru leans back in so his chin is almost resting on nanami's shoulder, his warm, laboured breaths caressing the lobe of the other man's ear. "her favourite thing is when you rub lil' circles on her clit." he whispers, voice low and teasing.

against his will, a shiver ripples down nanami's spine in response to satoru's words, and he finds himself following them like they were a command, his thumb sloppily circling your pretty clit and emitting a soft gasp from your parted lips.

"c-close, kento." you mutter breathlessly, your hips beginning to grind down onto his fingers in search of more friction. satoru is quick to assist, abandoning palming himself and wrapping his an arm around your waist to help you bounce on the other man's digits more smoothly.

"thank you, thank you!" you cry out to your boyfriend, turning your head to meet his lips in an uncoordinated, messy kiss inches from nanami's face. the blonde man finds his fingers unconsciously speeding up as he observes the interaction, fucking you on them hard and fast.

within moments, you're coming undone.

a soundless cry falls from your lips as your body falls limp between the two men, your cunt clenching and unclenching around nanami's fingers in search of something to milk.

"god. she looks even more beautiful when she cums... i-i need to feel her. can i feel her, satoru?" comes nanami's broken voice from somewhere nearby, your blissed out state making your vision swim and your hearing fuzzy.

"woow. called me by my first name and everything!" that's satoru, obviously. he sounds overwhelmingly smug. "if i knew my girlfriend would get you this pussydrunk, i'd have let you have a turn with her ages ago."

their bickering becomes background noise as you bathe in the afterglow of your orgasm, but you vaguely register your baggy shirt being removed and your body being repositioned so you're splayed across the couch on your back.

"darling? do you need a moment or can i..." it's nanami's voice again. you manage to blink one eye open to find him hunched over you, burly arms either side of your head and his blonde tresses sticking to his forehead with sweat. casting your vision down, you can see his cock, flushed and angry with precum dripping from the tip once again, hovering just above your entrance.

"please." you mewl, the word slurred from lingering pleasure as you weakly grind your hips up into his erection, causing him to release a groan from deep in his throat.

"go ahead. give my girl what she wants," satoru grunts from somewhere behind nanami, the slick sounds filling the air indicating that he's finally released his cock from the confines of his sweatpants and started jerking himself off. "and you better give it to her good."

"i will," nanami mutters as he slowly but surely, pushes his monster of a cock past that first tight ring of muscle that is your entrance. "f-fuck— i will."

"i think that's the — ah — first time i've ever head you curse, nanamin." the white-haired man remarks playfully, his hips bucking up into his closed fist as he watches his colleague prepare to fuck his girlfriend. damn, this is even hotter than he expected.

"don't get used to it." he grunts in response, his arms visibly shaking above you as he tries to hold himself back from just slamming all the way into you. but no, he's still a gentleman; even now. he'll start slowly, atleast.

it takes a few long moments for nanami to push all of his ridiculously thick inches into you, and when he finally bottoms out, his heavy balls flush against your ass, both of you moan. he's stretching you out so good, just as much (if not more so) than satoru does.

the blonde man, to his credit, does manage to give you a while to adjust to the new intrusion filling you up, but it isn't long before he snaps, the animalistic side of him coming out as he begins rutting his hips into you like it's his last day on earth.

"a-ah! fuck, kento!" you cry breathlessly, your legs quickly locking around his waist for some type of support as he continues to use you like his own person cocksleeve, the couch rocking back and forth with the suddenly ruthless movements.

"uh huhh," satoru croons as he works his own cock faster, his blindfold discarded somewhere nearby so he can get the clearest view of nanami pounding his girlfriend into the couch. "use her to get rid of all that pesky stress."

"sorry, sweetheart — shit, sorry," nanami pants above you, his body seemingly having a mind of its own as he continues to drive his cock in and out of you, barely giving you a moment to breathe in between the rough thrusts. "can't stop."

you'd tell him it was okay, that it feels good, but right now you can't form a single coherent thought. you're completely and utterly cockdrunk, and there isn't even a doubt about it.

"hey — mmm — she really likes it when you play with her tits while you're fuckin' her." satoru adds helpfully, causing nanami to growl out something akin to thanks in response.

suddenly, a large hand is palming one of your bouncing breasts, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh and making you clench tightly around the cock inside of you.

nanami curses yet again under his breath, his eyes visibly rolling back in his head behind the fogged up lenses of his goggles. "so tight, darling. practically squeezing around me like a v-vice."

at his words, a broken moan gets ripped from your throat, your ankles digging into the muscles of his lower back in an attempt to pull him in even deeper. all you seem to be able to say is "more, more, more."

"that— ngh, that means she's close," satoru gasps out, his cock twitching beneath his fist as he continues to jerk himself off like there's no tomorrow. "rub... rub her clit like y'did earlier again."

instantly complying to the other man's command, two of nanami's thick fingers find your puffy little bud again, rubbing uncoordinated circles as he continues to pound into you like an animal in heat. jesus, he can't even remember what he was stressed about anymore.

"o-oh, shit!" you almost scream, the stimulation on your sensitive bud and the repeated slams of nanami's pudgy cockhead against your g spot driving you half-insane with pleasure. you can feel an all-too-familiar coil start to spool in the depths of your stomach, threatening to unravel at any given moment.

"yeah, that's it, baby," satoru praises breathlessly, his own orgasm approaching as he continues grinding into his fist like a desperate virgin. "cum all over nanamin's cock for me."

the dual sensations of your boyfriend's words and the thrusting of nanami's sinful hips has you spiralling uncontrollably over the edge, your second high of the night somehow even more intense than the first. you barely even have time to register the liquid just spraying from your cunt and soaking nanami's heavy balls where they're slapping against your ass with a lewd thwack! each time.

"god, so perfect, can't last—" nanami rambles in a very pussydrunk manner, his movements suddenly growing considerably more uncoordinated and sloppy as he struggles to find the strength to hold himself up. "gojo, where can i...?"

"not inside," satoru responds firmly, his voice the most coherent it's been since he started jerking himself off. it's clear there's no room for argument on this one. "that's for me only."

nodding shakily, nanami manages to pull his throbbing cock out just in a nick of time, rope after rope of his goopy cum splattering across the supple skin of your stomach, the stream going on for so long it seems like it'll never stop.

somewhere behind the blonde man, a low, raspy groan is the tell-tale sign that satoru has just finished too, probably coating his own hand with his sticky release.

it's silent for a few blissful moments, all three of you just basking in the afterglow of your respective orgasms. but of course, satoru gojo is a man who can never stay quite for long, so he says—

"hey, maybe we should do a threesome next time."

"next time?" nanami chokes out weakly, barely managing to lift his head up to glance over at this colleague with two raised eyebrows.

"yeah, next time," satoru shrugs nonchalantly, as if the proposal was nothing short of normal. "i know i said i'd only let you do this once, but... sharing is caring, right?"

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