#yes I placed everyone here very deliberately

[croquettish]

inspo!

[fisheito]

What is this weirdly feelyweely status exclusive to yakumo

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 2

You welcome Spencer back to the team with a special gesture of your own—and find yourself falling even harder for him after he opens up to you.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) sub older spence my beloved, handjob, oral (m), spit kink?, semi-public (they are FREAKY), and idk if we can call this angst but we get to know how he feels about returning to work ~3.9k words

A/n: I didn’t plan for a part two, but rewriting scenes with specific looks of him is growing on me. Also, this happens before Emily tells him to teach seminars on his leave. And tell me what you think!!

He looked good in pink.

That was an understatement, the man looked good in pretty much anything. But today? Something was different. Something looked different. His whole appearance seemed to be on point than usual. You noticed his typically tousled hair was styled and swept back, which was a very rare sight, and it was hard for you to look away.

“…as you have obviously heard, Dr. Spencer Reid has been fully reinstated,” Emily announced, snapping you back to reality. “Welcome back, Spence.”

“Whoo-hoo! Yes!” Penelope cheered, only to be met by Emily’s pointed look. “That’s not the end, is it?”

Your boss shook your head and then proceeded to continue with another announcement. You stole a glance towards him again.

Maybe it was just really his shirt that made him look good? It wasn't even overly tight, but snug enough to accentuate the lines of his broad shoulders. Has his shoulders always been that wide? Now that you think about it, he did seem to be putting on a little weight. Not that it was a bad thing, and not that you didn't like how he looked before, but you couldn't help noticing how he filled out his shirt, and for some reason, it was doing something to you. 

Probably more than something because now you wondered what other places he filled out.

A sudden round of applause filled the room, and you joined in, tearing your gaze away from him only to find Matt Simmons grinning at you. You looked away and followed everyone as they shuffled around the room, making sure to sit as far away from Spencer as possible, although luck wasn't on your side when Matt settled into the seat beside you.

"You don't seem too thrilled about me joining the team," he murmured, leaning in close.

“What do you mean? I’m always open to new faces around here.”

“Not as excited as having an old member back, though,” Matt remarked, prompting you to snap your head at him, a slight frown forming on your face. He winked teasingly, and you groaned, shoving his shoulder away. 

“Ugh, do not wink at me.”

His laughter filled the air, but it quickly faded as the atmosphere in the room turned serious. Penelope began briefing everyone on the new case, and you did your best to mask your grimace every time a gruesome picture flashed on the screen. By the time Emily called out, “Wheels up in thirty,” you rose from your seat.

To talk to him or not talk to him?

You weighed the pros and cons, sneaking a quick glance at Spencer, who was deeply absorbed in studying the case files. The logical part of your brain told you it wasn't the best time to strike up a conversation, especially with only thirty minutes left until you had to leave. But there was something about him, it felt almost instinctual, like you were naturally drawn to him, and like a magnetic force, you couldn't resist.

Oh, fuck it—you decided to approach him.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you made your way over to where he was sitting, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

"Hi.”

"Hey," he greeted, looking up with a small smile at the corners of his lips. "What's up?"

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

"Sure," Spencer replied, his expression curious yet amused. He set aside the files he had been studying and turned his attention fully to you.

“In private?”

There was a brief pause, and you swore you could practically cut the tension with a knife. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he rose from his seat, his gaze never wavering from yours. You tilted your head back to look at him as his presence seemed to fill the room,and you couldn't help but hold your breath as you waited for his response.

“Of course,” he finally agreed, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he turned, leading the way to a more secluded spot, past the bullpen, past the glass doors, and down the hallway.

Once you were both out of earshot, he leaned in. “How private are we talking about?”

You nudged his side before guiding him towards the nearest office. As you stepped inside, your heart pounded in your chest, and you quickly glanced around the room to make sure it was empty. When you confirmed it was unoccupied, you turned back to see Spencer closing the door behind him.

Then everything snapped.

You weren't sure who made the first move, whether it was you or both of you acting on instinct, but before you could process it, his lips were on yours, his arms pulling you close, tongue colliding with your own. You gasped at his eagerness and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you as you pressed yourself against him.

With a boldness you didn’t know you possessed, you pushed him against the nearest wall, your hands tangling in his hair as his hands found their way to your ass, squeezing lightly. A soft moan escaped your lips and he responded by deepening the kiss further. It felt like time stood still as you lost yourself in the heat of his mouth against yours, until you finally pulled back, your lips brushing against his jaw.

“What…” He gasped when your mouth trailed lower. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned into his neck, his scent filling your senses. Why did he have to smell so good? “I think it’s your hair.”

“My… hair?”

You pulled back slightly, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, your eyes roaming over the exposed skin of his chest where the top buttons were left undone. “Or maybe it’s the shirt.”

“My shirt?”

“Yes!” You half-exclaimed, half-whispered, trying to keep your voice down. “I think I’m ovulating and you’re not helping.”

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, a flush creeping up his neck as he processed your words. "Oh," he managed to say. “I didn't expect that.”

"Sorry," you apologized, feeling your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—”

But before you could say anything else, his expression softened, and his grip on your hips tightened. "Hey, it's okay," he reassured you. “It’s common for women to experience changes in their hormones during ovulation. It's completely natural and nothing to be embarrassed about."

You looked up at him, your hands sliding down his chest. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yes, it’s just your body doing its thing,” he said reassuringly. "And honestly, it's kind of flattering to know that... I have that effect on you."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as your palms drifted lower. “What else do you know about this stuff?”

“Well, around the time of ovulation, a woman's body produces more estrogen, which can increase libido—”

His breath hitched when his eyes fell on your hand resting over his pants.

“What?” you prompted, a playful glint in your eye. “Why did you stop?”

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly as he met your gaze. "I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I was just going to mention that… increased estrogen levels during ovulation can also lead to heightened sensitivity in erogenous zones—”

But his words trailed off into a sigh as you palmed his arousal over his pants, feeling the hardness beneath your touch. He was undeniably aroused, and the way he responded to your touch only fueled you even more. With a mischievous grin, you ran your palm up and down his length, feeling him throb in response before letting out a playful giggle.

You didn’t realize it would be this fun to be the one doing the teasing.

“Tell me more, Spence.”

He swallowed hard before managing to speak. "W-Well,” he stammered. "Increased estrogen levels can also... enhance blood flow to certain areas, leading to heightened sensitivity and... uh, increased pleasure—”

But before he could finish his sentence, you applied a little more pressure, causing him to let out a low groan of pleasure. His words faltered, his focus shifting entirely to the delicious sensation of your hand stroking him. Your eyes traveled down, watching the way his cock pressed against the fabric of his pants, noting how thick and hard he was. 

But as your gaze lingered, you caught sight of the time on your watch, and reality came crashing back in. You reluctantly pulled your hand away from him, and Spencer blinked at your sudden withdrawal, his desire-clouded mind trying to focus on you.

“What's wrong?” He whispered. “Why did you stop?”

“I… I kind of got carried away, I’m sorry," you noted. "We should probably get back before they start to wonder where we are."

He went still, and so did you. The room’s air conditioner hummed softly, filling the silence as you both simply stared at each other. When he didn’t respond, you slowly backed away and moved toward the door, but his grip on your arm stopped you. You turned towards him, eyebrows raised while he seemed to hesitate to say the next words.

After a moment, he sighed, his gaze softening as he finally found the words he was looking for.

“The other day, after we… you know,” he emphasized, and you nodded, urging him to continue. “I had to deal with this myself.”

His eyes flicked over the bulge in his pants and you stifled a laugh, amused at his sudden fluster. “Yeah, you said you were going to ignore it.”

“I didn’t,” he replied. “I couldn’t.”

“And?”

“And…” he hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again.

There was a moment of silence until you realized what he was implying. You gasped, the hand he wasn’t holding covering your mouth in shock. “Here?” you asked in disbelief. “At work?”

His cheeks flushed, but he nodded sheepishly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “In the bathroom.”

“Spencer,” you exclaimed in a hushed tone, “That’s...”

“I know, I know,” he cut in, his tone self-deprecating. “But in my defense, it was all your fault.”

You giggled. “Me? I barely touched you!”

"Exactly, but it was enough to drive me crazy,” he said, and when he saw you laughing, he gave you a deadpanned look. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh come on, it kind of is.” You shook your head in amusement. “Why are you telling me this?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “Because I don’t want to leave this room and deal with it by myself again.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Is this your way of asking me to touch you?”

His eyes widened almost cartoonishly wide, the flush creeping up his cheeks contrasting against the paleness of his skin, making his reaction all the more apparent.

“Please?”

You couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at your lips. “Spencer, we only have…” You glanced over your watch. “Fifteen minutes left.”

“I can probably finish in five.”

You bit your bottom lip. How did you end up in this predicament all over again? Although this time, you felt like you had the upper hand, and somehow, it was strangely exciting to see him so affected, to have him practically begging for your touch when you were supposed to be in a hurry.

He looked at you expectantly. How could you say no when his eyes were wide and pleading? 

“You know what?” You turned to him fully, taking a step forward. “I think you deserve it. It’s your first day back, after all.”

Before you could second guess yourself, you reached for him again. His breath hitched slightly as you undid his belt and slowly lowered the zipper of his pants. His arousal strained against the fabric and you briefly met his gaze. Without a word, you slid your hand inside his pants, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He felt full in your hand and painfully hard. When his response was nothing but his ragged breathing, you reached for the waistband of his briefs with your other hand, pulling down slightly until his cock was freed from its confines. 

“Spence, you’re so…” Your voice trailed off, eyes fixated on him. The tip was thick and bulbous, a deeper shade than the shaft where pulsing veins ran up the long length. You were mesmerized by his size; it wasn’t too big nor too small, just perfect.

“You’re so pretty.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he looked back at you. “You think so?”

You nodded, feeling the heat and the weight of him in your grasp. A droplet of wetness glistened on the tip, and unable to resist, your thumb brushed along it, earning a sharp intake of breath from him as his hips instinctively bucked against your touch. With a newfound confidence, you wrapped your hand around him, feeling his hardness pulsating against your palm. 

The skin was soft as you’d expected, warm to the touch, but his length was stiff and throbbing when you squeezed. If you stayed still, you were sure you could count his heartbeat. As your hand moved up and down tentatively, trying to take in every detail of his member, you couldn’t believe you were finally feeling each vein that bulged up his shaft.

“Do you mind if I spit on it?”

He let out a low groan, his head falling back against the wall. “No.”

“Really? Coming from someone who’s germaphobic?” You smiled amusedly. "I thought you'd be more concerned about hygiene."

"I'll make an exception for this."

You couldn't help but laugh at his response. Trusting your instincts, you craned your neck down and let the liquid spill from your mouth, coating his tip in a steady flow. Your saliva glistened in the light, slowly trickling down the length of his cock. Then you began to stroke him gently, you felt him respond eagerly, his breaths growing heavier and his hips rocking gently against your hand.

His head fell back against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “God, that feels…” 

Feeling a surge of pride at his reaction, you couldn’t resist teasing him further. “Is this how you touched yourself in the bathroom?”

He swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he met your gaze. 

“Were you thinking of me?” You pressed on. “Did you imagine me touching you like this?”

His response was barely a whisper, but you caught it. “Yes…”

His breath was warm against your face, and you looked up, taking in the way he was looking at you through half-lidded eyes, lips parted as soft moans slipped out of his mouth. Who would’ve thought he made the prettiest sounds? You knew he was trying to keep his voice down, but the sight of him struggling to suppress his pleasure only made it more thrilling.

“Or did you imagine me getting on my knees, taking you in my mouth?” you teased, your voice low and sultry as you traced your tongue along your bottom lip. “Did you picture yourself deep inside of me, how tight and wet I would be?”

His forehead dipped until it was resting against yours, breaking the self-control he was desperately trying to maintain. “Oh god—I-I can’t hold it any longer.”

Your response was simply to increase your speed, your fist moving in fast short strokes up his leaking cock. He was slick with arousal, and you focused your attention on the sensitive tip, prompting even louder sounds of pleasure from him.

“Wait—" he gripped your wrist, forcing you to stop. “I’m so close.”

You frowned, watching the conflict play out in his expression. "I thought you wanted this?"

“I know, it’s just—“ His brows furrowed, a hint of desperation in his eyes as he struggled to maintain control. Then, with a defeated sigh, he admitted, “I don’t want to make a mess.”

You scanned the room, your mind racing for a solution. The office offered no privacy, and there was nothing around to help clean up the mess he would definitely make, so you needed a different approach.

Without hesitation, you got down on your knees.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re gonna—” he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Shh,” you hushed, lightly hitting his thigh. “Just help me hold my hair up.”

He hesitated for a moment, but the desire in his eyes was undeniable. Slowly, he reached out, gathering your hair in his hands. You felt the warmth of his fingers against your scalp, his touch gentle yet firm. You leaned in, your mouth hovering just inches from his swollen tip as you glanced up, meeting his eyes one last time before you took him into your mouth.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you could feel every twitch and throb as you wrapped your lips around him. His grip on your hair tightened, a guttural moan escaping his lips, your tongue swirling around his tip, tasting the salty bead of arousal that had formed there. His hips bucked involuntarily, and you took him deeper, jaw stretching wide as you struggled to get every inch of him inside your mouth while wrapping your hand around what was left.

You moved slowly at first, getting used to the feel of him in your mouth. It didn’t take long until your mouth was working in tandem with your hand, creating a rhythm that had his body shaking. The room was quickly filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing and soft moans, and you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. There you were, hiding behind an empty office with the potential of getting caught. 

But you didn’t care, nor did Spencer, as he held your hair and bucked his hips into your mouth. You could feel the tension building in him, his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. He was so, so close, and you wanted to push him over the edge. You quickened your pace, your mouth moving up and down his length, hollowing your cheeks to create a tighter seal.

His moans grew louder, and you could tell he was struggling to keep quiet. “Please,” he whined, his voice strained. “I-I’m gonna…”

A choked gasp cut off his words as he reached his climax, his release hitting the back of your throat in hot, pulsing waves. You swallowed him down, savoring the taste of him, the warmth spreading through you as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. His expression was one of pure ecstasy, mixed with a hint of disbelief and awe.

As he slowly came down from his high, his grip on your hair loosened, and he gently helped you to your feet. "That was..." he trailed off, still catching his breath. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Besides, I think you deserved it,” you said before pointing a finger at him. “But we can’t keep doing this at work.”

He looked at you, amusement and disbelief dancing in his eyes as he adjusted his clothes. You could almost read his thoughts: you were the one who initiated this, not once, but twice. The first time might have been out of panic, but this time, it was all you.

“I’m serious,” you said, crossing your arms to emphasize your point. “Now that you’re back, we should keep a certain distance between us. No more sneaking around.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile curling at the corners of his mouth. But then you watched as his expression suddenly shifted, as if he remembered something and his smile turned into a frown followed by the furrow of his eyebrows.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He glanced at you, his hands sinking into the front pockets of his slacks. “I haven’t told this to anyone but… there’s a condition to my reinstatement.”

“What do you mean?” 

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “For every hundred days that I spend on the field, I’m required to take thirty days off.” 

You blinked, processing the information. “Wait, what? So you’re not fully back?”

“Technically I am, just not how I want it to be.”

You watched as his shoulders slightly fell. “You’re not happy about this, are you?”

“What am I supposed to do on my days off? A whole month of sitting around in my apartment doing nothing?”

You took a step closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “You’re not going to be sitting around doing nothing. Think of it as an opportunity. You can catch up on your reading, maybe even take a trip somewhere.”

He shook his head. “That’s not the same. I want to be out there, doing my job, helping people. It’s what I’m good at.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But you can’t give your best if you’re burnt out. These breaks could help you recharge, keep you sharp.”

He sighed, looking down at the floor. “I just feel like I’m being benched, like they don’t trust me fully.”

You tugged his arm, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Hey, they trust you. This is about keeping you safe. After everything you went through… Spence, you deserve this break. They just want to make sure you’re at your best every time you’re back in the field.”

When he didn’t seem to fully absorb your words, you pressed on.

“Think about it, you have so many options. You could pick up a new hobby, spend more time with your mom... or finally visit those places you’ve always talked about. Like that museum you mentioned before, what was it called again?”

His gaze softened as he listened to your suggestions. "The Smithsonian," he replied after a moment, a small smile playing on his lips. “I've always wanted to spend a whole day there without rushing.”

"Exactly! Now you'll have the time to do that."

He nodded slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. "I guess you're right.”

“See? It’s all about perspective.”

His lips curved into a smile as you both fell into silence. Then, he studied you, his eyes scanning your features as if trying to decipher the thoughts swirling in your mind through the subtle shifts of your expression.

“Will you come with me?” 

Your heart skipped a beat, and your breath caught in your throat at the unexpected question.

“You want me to come with you to the museum?”

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice soft, almost quiet. "Will you?"

It was a simple question, but it held a weight that you couldn't ignore. You had spent plenty of time together, grabbing lunch, chatting at the coffee shop down the road. But this felt… different. More personal. More intimate.

And suddenly it came crashing to you. You were so absorbed in what was happening between you, the stolen kisses, the physical attraction, that you didn’t realize your friendship was never going to be the same again.

On one hand, the idea of spending more time alone with him was undeniably tempting, but the rational part of you wasn’t sure if it was the wisest thing to do. He was your friend, a good one at that, and getting emotionally involved with friends could either strengthen or strain the relationship.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you searched for the right words. But before you could answer him, both of your phones vibrated with a notification. You both looked at your own devices and read the message.

“We’re leaving now,” Spencer announced, shoving back his phone in his pocket. “We should go.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze lingering on the door for a moment longer before you turned towards him. “You know what? You should head out first. I need some time to myself.”

He furrowed his brows slightly. You could tell he wanted to ask more questions, but he didn’t press on. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Just give me a minute and I’ll follow behind.”

His eyes lingered on you for another second before he nodded, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Sure, I’ll save a seat for you.”

You returned his smile, though it felt more like a grimace as you watched him exit the room. The click of the door closing behind him seemed to echo in the sudden silence, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts as the rush of emotions flooded over you. It felt as if you were standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to leap or retreat.

With a deep breath, you pressed a hand to your chest, trying to calm the fluttering inside. But the truth was undeniable—you were falling for him, and you were falling fast.

[evilminji]

I woke up to this thought? And it made me smile~

Wrong way Au?

It's EASY to fly from point A to point B. Linear. Just on long, no traffic, straight line. And if you get lost? Go higher! There you are! But "normal" reporter families with Totally Human genetics can't exactly DO that.

Plus? It's part of the whole Americana thing!

Childhood.

Gotta do a road trip, see weird road side attractions, camp and hike a bit. Go somewhere other then the farm for once. Soooo~ everyone into the car! Yes, you too, Kon.

And don't look at Lois, kids. She hates this idea as much as you do. But it's for Dad. So we're doing it. Get in the car. Some times loving people means "suuuure, honey! I TOTALLY want to sit in an uncomfortable car for hours for your nostalgic dream trip!", so get comfy.

Problem is? He either can't navigate for SHIT (unlikely) or this patch of nowhere? Possibly haunted? Cursed? Fuckey. Very, very Reality Fuckey. Far more likely, honestly. They THINK that was the a same barn the passed four times now... but it looks... wrong? Off. Worse each time, in ways that are hard to place.

Where the FUCK are they Clark?

According to the GPS?

Here.

(You are Here. You are Here. You are He-)

Oh, THAT'S not cursed! She fucking KNEW they shouldn't have left the city. FUCK the countryside. She likes ONE(1) small town and it's where her in-laws live, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! If they die, she swear to GOD-!!!

Then Jon points to colorful tents up the road. A mix of the kind you buy at big box stores and Ren fairs. Balloons. What the fuuuuuck? "Fenton Family Reunion"?

Was... was that THERE a second ago?

Clark's very deliberate Not Too Tight Grip Of Panic ™ on the steering wheel? Confirms that No Honey, it was not. Kon points out? That eventually they ARE going to run out of gas. They should stop.

Words can not express how little the Kents want to do that. They have KIDS to protect. This feels "magical fuckery" to them. AKA? One of the few things Kryptonians very much CAN NOT handle.

And luck getting ahold of anybody back there kids? No? Emergency lines too?

Fuck ™.

Okay! Guess we're stopping! Stay behind us.

They park.

There are campers and trucks, modified tanks and trackers. A few horses grazing side by side with an honest to God moose and two mules. A Llama. Someone's anchored a dirigible. A boat with spindly chicken footed legs, like it's the house of baba yaga's sea faring love child. The name Fenton is slapped on everything. Peoples faces.

Grinning.

Everything grinning.

As they get closer, the racket gets louder. Crashes and smashes. Roaring laughter. Explosions. The screech of metal failing and the whine of energy overclocked. Fatty meats cooking. Spices from around the globe. Radios and instruments, at least one of which violently cuts off in a smash.

They pass an almost violently balloon choked arch, into chaos.

Grinning giants, everywhere. Every color, every shade, every race imaginable. The spectrum of humanity laid bare. Made large. Grinning, Grinning, Grinning. Crashing into each other, against, through. Smashing and laughing, as everything breaks around them. Titans.

Darting underfoot, children. Fast with wild eyes. Mad grins and fae laughs. Wives and husband's, partners and friends, dancing in and out of the chaos. Just as destructive. Perhaps MORE so. Grabbing meals from grills, laughing and joking, tossing children into the fray, all as they effortless hold conversations of their own.

Like a Dionysian revelry, all madness and joy.

Then they are noticed.

"Cousin!"

One of them booms. Locking eyes on Clark. He doesn't even have time to move, doesn't realize until too late, in all the chaos, that the man meant HIM. A running start is followed by a brutal, full body, flying tackle. Clark is taken skidding to the ground and into a headlock.

"LETS WRASTLE~!!"

He watches in helpless confusion as, with high-pitched war cries, a pair of twins jump Jon. They are wearing war paint. Krypto already taken out by a glowing green dog, now confused and wrestling off to the side. Lois has whipped out her tazer. Kon between her and who ever comes next.

By the time he wrestle his "cousin" off of him, he's lost sight of them both.

Dives into the fray.

Magic be damned, that's his FAMILY!

It... It's the most fun he's had in years. That any of them have. He finds Lois in a breathless, screaming, debate/fistfight with her new best friend. Samantha "call me Sam Or ELSE" Manson-Fouley-Fenton. Kon is in the mud pit, wrestling other teenagers in some sort of battle Royale. Jon? Has become king of the ferals. The other parents are impressed.

His years of Damian wrangling finally paying dividends, apparently.

By the time Clark FINALLY tracks down Krypto, there is already crowd and it apparently six heel turns deep into the WWE Grand Saga of the Fenton Pet's League. Krypto, what the hell. No. No you may NOT "form one last alliance against my sworn wrestling enemy, to prove the true meaning of Christmas!" It's the middle of SUMMER!

Clark... Clark is so tired.

He's also a Fenton now. Yes, he KNOWS that's not how anything works. YOU try explaining that! He's on the call list and card list. It's like the Addams family out here! They just... just DECIDED him and his family were related! They've apparently DONE THAT BEFORE!

They leave with directions, fudge, more leftovers then anyone could possibly eat, and a massive new extended family. One that honestly? The Justice League SHOULD have known about. The sheer destructive chaos they get up too? EVERYONE should be aware of them. It seems impossible NOT to be! But? According to THEM, it's a "family thing". Reality tries to ignore them for "it's own sanity"? What???

So yeah.... no more road trips.

How was YOUR weekend?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @lolottes @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[jmkjournalblog]

Sweet thing (Part 1)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2000+

Summary:  A new mysterious girl appears in the Westview, capturing Agatha's attention.

A/n: I couldn't forget this plot that came to me after watching AAA so, here we go. Btw English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Agatha Harkness leaned against her kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee as the morning sun painted the room in soft, golden hues. The house was quiet, save for the faint buzz of magic beneath her skin. It was always there now, a faint hum that had taken root since Wanda’s Hex wrapped itself around the town of Westview.

Agatha didn’t mind the quiet—she thrived in it. It gave her time to think, to observe, and, most importantly, to plan. The game Wanda was playing fascinated her, the raw chaos magic that maintained this picture-perfect suburban paradise a symphony only she seemed to hear. But Agatha wasn’t content to be a spectator.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door, sharp and deliberate. Agatha frowned, setting down her mug. Few people in Westview came calling without reason. The nosy neighbors usually knocked too loudly, their voices pitched with exaggerated cheer. This knock was… tentative.

Agatha adjusted her cardigan and opened the door, her curiosity immediately piqued by the girl standing on her porch.

She was young, with an almost ethereal quality to her—a soft, doll-like beauty wrapped in a modest sundress and wide-brimmed hat. Her hands were clasped in front of her, clutching a basket of baked goods, and she looked up at Agatha with a shy, hesitant smile.

“Hi,” the girl said, her voice light and airy. “I’m Y/N. Wanda mentioned I should… introduce myself?”

Wanda. Of course.

Agatha smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, aren’t you the polite one?” she said, stepping aside to let the girl in. “Come on in, sweetie. Don’t just stand there looking like a lost kitten.”

Y/N giggled softly, the sound almost musical, and stepped inside. She looked around the living room with wide eyes, as though taking in every detail with nervous curiosity. Agatha followed her gaze, watching the way her fingers brushed the edge of a throw pillow, the faint catch in her breath as she noticed the clutter of books and trinkets on the coffee table.

“You’re new in town?” Agatha asked, her voice casual as she gestured for Y/N to sit.

Y/N perched on the edge of the couch, smoothing her dress over her knees. “Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “Very new. Wanda’s been so kind—helping me settle in, introducing me to everyone…”

Her voice trailed off, and she ducked her head, as if embarrassed by her own rambling. Agatha studied her, intrigued by the girl’s bashful demeanor. Wanda had mentioned her in passing—a "sweet little thing who could use a friend." But there was something about Y/N that didn’t quite fit the mold of Wanda’s usual creations.

“Wanda’s good at that,” Agatha said, her tone light. “She loves playing the perfect hostess. But don’t let her fool you—she’s got a bit of a wild side, that one.”

Y/N giggled again, her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t think I’ve seen that side of her yet.”

“Oh, stick around, honey. You will.”

Agatha leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she observed the girl with casual interest. There was something almost too perfect about Y/N—the way her smile wavered just enough to seem genuine, the slight tremor in her hands as she picked up the cup of tea Agatha had poured.

“So, what brings you to Westview?” Agatha asked, keeping her tone light.

Y/N hesitated, her gaze dropping to the cup in her hands. “I guess… I wanted a fresh start,” she said softly. “Somewhere quiet, where I could figure things out.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “And you picked Westview? Not exactly the first place people think of when they’re looking for a fresh start.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a shy smile. “Wanda said it was… special. And it is. It feels… safe here.”

Safe. Agatha’s smirk widened, though she quickly hid it behind her cup. If only the girl knew the half of it.

“Well, you’re certainly in good hands with Wanda,” Agatha said, her voice warm and reassuring. “And the neighbors will eat you up. They love a sweet, innocent new face.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced up, her eyes meeting Agatha’s for the briefest moment before darting away again.

The girl’s shyness was endearing, almost painfully so. But Agatha had spent centuries honing her instincts, and something about Y/N didn’t quite add up. She didn’t press, though. Not yet.

Instead, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she gave Y/N a conspiratorial smile. “Wanda matchmaking again, huh?”

Y/N’s blush deepened, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh, no! It’s not like that. She just thought I could… learn a thing or two from you.”

Agatha chuckled, her sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I can be quite the teacher when I want to be.”

Y/N’s laugh was soft, nervous, and she ducked her head again, hiding her face behind the rim of her teacup. Agatha watched her for a moment longer, the faintest prickle of curiosity tugging at her thoughts.

Whatever Y/N’s story was, it wasn’t as simple as she made it seem. But Agatha could wait.

“Welcome to Westview, sweetheart,” she said finally, her tone warm but laced with subtle intent. “Something tells me you’re going to fit in just fine.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes glinting with a fleeting emotion Agatha couldn’t quite place. For now, the girl was an enigma—a puzzle wrapped in sweetness and blushes. But Agatha would figure her out.

Agatha Harkness prided herself on reading people like open books, but Y/N was proving to be an unexpectedly complex chapter. The girl had a way of weaving herself seamlessly into Wanda’s narrative, her every action a perfect blend of naivety and charm. The neighbors adored her, each interaction reinforcing her role as the sweet newcomer.

Agatha wasn’t fooled, not entirely. There was something there, lurking beneath Y/N’s soft demeanor. Something that kept her watching.

The afternoon sun bathed Wanda’s backyard in golden light as she bustled about, her hands full of gardening tools. The scent of freshly clipped grass mingled with the sweet aroma of cookies baking in the oven. Agatha leaned against the fence, watching as Y/N knelt beside Wanda, carefully arranging a row of daisies in the freshly turned soil.

"You’re a natural at this!" Wanda exclaimed, her bright smile aimed at Y/N.

Y/N laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Oh, I don’t know about that," she said, her cheeks tinged with pink. "I’m just following your lead."

Agatha arched an eyebrow, sipping from the thermos of tea she’d brought over. The girl’s humility was textbook charming, her every move designed to blend in perfectly with Wanda’s carefully constructed suburban dream.

But there was more to it. Agatha could feel the faintest ripple in the Hex whenever Y/N was near. It wasn’t enough to break Wanda’s illusion, but it was there—a subtle distortion, like a melody slightly out of tune.

"Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N," Agatha called, her voice light and teasing. "You’ve got a knack for fitting right in, don’t you?"

Y/N looked up, her smile shy as she wiped her hands on her apron. "I just want to do my part," she said.

Wanda beamed at her, clearly pleased. "You’re more than doing your part," she said, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. "You’re already a part of this little family."

Agatha’s smirk softened, though her thoughts remained sharp. Wanda’s maternal instincts were in full swing, and Y/N seemed to thrive under her attention. But was it genuine, or was the girl playing her own game?

Later that evening, Agatha found herself on her front porch, nursing a glass of wine as the stars blinked into view. The hum of the Hex was quieter here, its magic settling into a steady rhythm as the town went to sleep.

She was about to head inside when she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. Y/N emerged from the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself as if warding off the chill.

"Agnes?" she called softly, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Agatha straightened, her brows lifting in surprise. "Y/N? What are you doing out here so late?"

Y/N hesitated at the foot of the porch steps, her green eyes wide and uncertain. "I… I didn’t want to bother Wanda," she said. "I just… I couldn’t sleep."

Agatha gestured for her to come closer, her curiosity piqued. "Well, come on up, then. No sense standing out there in the cold."

Y/N climbed the steps, her movements careful and deliberate. She perched on the edge of the porch swing, her fingers twisting in her lap.

"Trouble on your mind, sweetie?" Agatha asked, her tone casual as she leaned back in her chair.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I don’t know. I guess… it’s just a lot, you know? Starting over, trying to fit in…"

Her voice was soft, almost fragile, and Agatha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name. She studied the girl in the dim light, the faint shadows under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders.

"Fitting in isn’t all it’s cracked up to be," Agatha said finally, her voice tinged with dry humor. "Trust me, I’ve been trying for centuries."

Y/N looked up at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You make it look easy."

Agatha chuckled, swirling her wine. "Oh, honey, if only you knew."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the quiet night wrapping around them like a blanket. Agatha found herself relaxing, the usual edge of her thoughts softening as she watched Y/N.

The girl was good—she had to admit that. Whatever she was hiding, she played the innocent act perfectly. But Agatha wasn’t about to let her guard down. Not yet.

"So," Agatha said, breaking the silence. "What are you really running from, Y/N?"

Y/N blinked, her expression startled. "What do you mean?"

Agatha smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Oh, come on, sweetie. Nobody ends up in a place like Westview without a reason. Fresh start, sure, but fresh starts usually mean there’s something you’re leaving behind."

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening in her lap. For a moment, Agatha thought she might deflect, but then the girl sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"I guess… I’ve always been looking for somewhere I belong," she said quietly. "Somewhere I can just… be."

Her voice was so earnest, so raw, that for a moment, Agatha believed her. But there was a flicker of something in Y/N’s eyes—a shadow, fleeting and elusive—that reminded Agatha to stay sharp.

"Well," Agatha said finally, her tone softening. "You’ve got a knack for making people like you. That’s half the battle right there."

Y/N smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha watched her for a moment longer, her thoughts swirling. The girl was a mystery, no doubt about it. But if there was one thing Agatha loved, it was solving puzzles.

"Goodnight, Y/N," she said, standing and draining the last of her wine.

"Goodnight, Agnes," Y/N replied, her smile shy as she rose to leave.

As Agatha watched her disappear into the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of something big. Something dangerous.

[targaryen-dynasty]

WORSHIP ME INSTEAD.

Maegor Targaryen x Niece!Septa!Reader

The Gods have been unhappy with your uncle for some time now, but perhaps he's just needed to give them an offering… a sacrifice in return for a healthy heir all along. And what makes a better sacrifice than a septa?

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MDNI; very dubious consent, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), blasphemy, corruption, corruption kink, size difference, semi public sex, female reader (mentions long, silver hair as appearance)

WORDS: 3K

NOTES: you're all getting some big tiddy daddy as a special treat and to officially end my 3k celebration! thanks to everyone that has participated by asking questions, by writing their own fics, and by just supporting me. also a special thanks to @zaldritzosrose and @arcielee for betaing this. <3

The atmosphere in the newly completed Red Keep is strange. It never was comfortable or calm, not even when your father sat the throne, but it feels as though a dark veil is hanging low over the castle and its staff, not even sparing the king and your uncle, Maegor Targaryen. 

You’ve been gone from court for quite a while, being sent to Oldtown to become a septa by the very hands of the man you’re serving now, which has made the change in atmosphere even more apparent to you. 

Several deaths haunt the castle — Ceryse Hightower’s being the most recent one — and you can only fathom the pressure your uncle holds on his shoulders at this very moment. He does not have an heir, one wife after the other perishes, and the boy that poses the biggest threat to his claim to the throne, your brother Jaehaerys, has fled the castle of Dragonstone with your mother after the passing of the Dowager Queen Visenya. 

You were not mad at being sent to the Starry Sept, for it allowed you to leave the insanity of your own House for an unknown amount of time. It was when you’d been called back to King’s Landing that you could feel your mood sour. You were brought there with no real task for you at hand which forced you to take over some duties Grand Maester Benifer assigned you with. 

Your whole day has been spent in the Keep’s library, making you forgo your hood at one point and therefore allowing your silver tresses to cascade down your back freely. Wearing the hood is no necessity, hence your lack of concern should someone walk into the library and catch you without it. 

With several books in hand, you sort some of the scrolls and books that had been brought to the royal chambers before, putting them back to where they belong. 

You are too engrossed in your task to notice that you’ve been alone for the longest of time, only aware of that other presence the moment the raspy voice fills the room. “Septa,” he almost says it in a mocking manner, and you immediately know who it is that has joined you. 

Turning on your heels, you crane your neck to meet your uncle’s eyes for a moment. “Y-Your Grace.” You dip into a slight curtsy, placing the books in an empty place on the shelf.

Heat warms your cheeks in his presence. Even during your childhood, you have always found a liking for your uncle and enjoyed the way he allowed you to leave the boredom of your princessly duties to take you flying on Balerion or let you watch him train with the sword. 

“At ease, Septa,” he replies, flicking his hand as if he means to dismiss your stiff posture. The library is not well lit, a few candles sparsely placed here and there granting for most of the light, and yet you still notice the way his eyes rove over your form slowly and deliberately. “I trust that all is well in the Keep?”

Your heart races in your chest underneath his gaze, as if he contemplates eating you, and it makes you swallow thickly. “Oh, yes, of course. Everything is well, Your Grace,” you say, trying to keep your voice as calm and polite as possible, though you can not help but feel your pulse quickening at the hunger in his eyes. 

His lips curve into a smile, clearly taking pleasure in the way you’re squirming beneath his gaze. “And your duties? All going smoothly?” He takes a step towards you, looming over your small frame. 

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep your composure, more so as his pleasant scent fills your nostrils in a way you can’t describe. Taking in a shaky breath, a shiver runs down your spine. It’s been easier being close to him when you were all but a child he’s bounced on his knee, not a woman grown.  

“Well enough,” you reply a beat later. “The new midwives are coming along wonderfully. The Queen can know herself in good hands should she be with child soon.”

Maegor just hums in response, reaching out a hand to drag his knuckles over your cheek, his calloused fingers rough against your soft skin. Even from this little contact he can feel how warm your flesh is, and a heat grows in his loins at the thought of how warm and sensitive your skin would be if it was no longer covered by your septa robes. 

“That is good then… Septa ,” he says, hesitating to use your title. His voice has dropped lower as his hand travels to your jaw, his thumb caressing your chin. 

Your eyes widen, but you don’t dare to step away from him for fear of the consequences. “... Your Grace?” You eventually find the courage to whisper. 

His fingers graze your jaw, gently tracing your features. A low hum rumbles in the depth of his chest. You don’t know that he’s always found you beautiful, much more than your younger sister Rhaena, and even more now that you’ve become a woman grown. You’re so unlike the women he usually entertains himself with. “Yes, Septa?” With these words leaving his lips, his hand travels down to your neck, gently wrapping around your throat, grasp firmly but not enough to hurt you. 

Drawing in a deep breath, that is the moment you decide to bring some space between you again, taking a step back. But much to your surprise, his grip does not falter, hand still around your throat with his arm just outstretched. “I–” you swallow thickly, not able to keep your gazes locked. “This… This is highly inappropriate, Your Grace.”

Maegor merely scoffs, and although his hand follows your movements, it’s clear it’s meant to stop you from getting away from him. His thumb gently runs along the sensitive skin of your throat, feeling your pulse quicken beneath the pad of it. “Inappropriate?” he murmurs, his dark blown eyes drinking in the sight of your slightly parted lips. “When have I ever cared for what was appropriate, Septa?”

It feels as though the gentle brush of his thumb coaxes another shiver to run down your spine, and you catch your mind straying to the thoughts of what it would feel like if his fingers were anywhere else but your neck. 

“Must… Must I remind His Grace that it was him sending me to Oldtown to become a septa? I–I have vowed–” you trail off, your voice shaking slightly. “It is not very proper for a septa to be touched in… this way.”

Moving forward again and closing the gap that has formed, his hand around your throat stops you from backing away. “It’s not proper, no…” he murmurs, leaning forwards to bring his lips on level with your ear. “But then again, I’ve never been a proper man.”

You suppress an involuntary gasp as you feel his hot breath fanning over your skin, enough to nearly melt you here and now. Perhaps his grip leaves you more as a willing prisoner to his mercy rather than his prey. A part of you wants to pull away, yet the other part is afraid of angering him by doing so. 

“Y–Your Grace…” you whisper, the sound of your voice almost breathless as his domineering presence makes it difficult to think straight, “... please.”

The wicked smirk on his lips grows wider at your pleading. He can feel himself getting lost in your voice, so soft yet sounding so helpless in his presence. If it hasn’t been obvious before, he takes immense pleasure in the way he towers over your frame, making you appear so small and fragile clad in your septa robes. 

“Please what, niece ?” he says, leaning in even more to brush his lips against the shell of your ear. 

You try to tilt your head to get away from him, squirming in his grasp, but to no avail. “Īlon kessa daor,” you try to reason with him in the tongue of your ancestors, a small flicker of hope that this brings some sort of clarity back to him. We should not. 

But Maegor just chuckles lowly, the grip around your throat tightening slightly. Your breathing is uneven, shaky even, with your body pressed against his, and he relishes in the feeling of your vulnerability. “Kostilus īlon kessa daor,” he replies, a dangerous lilt in his tone. “Yn gaoman sīr jorrāelagon raqagon ra nyke kessa daor.” Perhaps we should not. But I do so love to indulge in things I shouldn’t.

Before you can answer, you’re spun around by him, the movement unusually fluid and graceful, as if he’s done it plenty of times before. Your back presses against his sturdy chest, pinning you between him and the bookshelf with no way to escape. The hand from your throat rests on your waist instead, the fabric of your robe pinched between his fingers.

“That’s much better, is it not?” he teases in a murmur. 

The vow of chastity you’ve sworn plays over and over again in your mind, but does little to stop your knees from growing weak at the proximity. 

“This is not a good idea… uncle ,” you protest quietly. It’s completely out of place for you to address him as such, he is the king and you’re a mere septa that has set aside her last name, but neither the Mother Above nor the Maiden can stop him from getting under your skin. 

“Perhaps, but where is the fun in a good idea, huh?”

You’re a septa, and you’re supposed to be a pious and celibate woman, but at this moment all you can think of is how good it feels to have him this close to you, so very close to giving you more – something you’ve craved for a long time. 

Both your hands are captured by his paw, pinning them behind your back and making you unable to move. While his lips explore the side of your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses, his other hand rucks up the skirt of your robe, bunching it around your waist. It’s pinched by the fingers of his other hand, held high and allowing him to pay more attention to your undergarments. 

If you weren’t so distracted by the coarse hairs of his beard scratching the sensitive skin of your neck with each kiss he pressed to it, you would have attempted to squeeze your thighs together, making it more difficult for him to tug down your smallclothes. But alas, your mind and body are too far gone from all the summers you have spent untouched and unsatisfied, addicted to the rush his touch sends through your body. 

He is hard and heavy behind you, the outline of his thick cock pressing against the curve of your arse. You're too desperate for something you have only imagined at night, making you arch your back as though you mean to make him hurry up. You can feel him fumble with the laces of his breeches, undoing them one by one. 

“We’ll just have to be good at not getting caught,” he rasps against your neck. The robe you wear offers almost no liberty to push it down to reveal more of your soft skin and the curve where your neck meets your shoulder to him, and so he has to make do with your neck alone. 

Your uncle is met with little resistance as he sheaths his hard cock inside of your warm cunt, filling you up at once. Not even the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into the skin at the curve of your neck grants you enough distraction from the stinging that comes with accommodating his size, your cunt struggling to take him completely. 

“By the Seven,” you whimper, your hands clenching to fists in his grasp while your walls flutter around him.  

Your soft whimpers are enough to drive him further into his need for you already, and the gentle rolls of his hips make your knees slacken, caught by him bringing his free hand to your chin to pull your body against his. “There is no need for the Gods here, my sweet Septa,” Maegor rasps into your ear, emphasizing his words with a particularly harsh thrust of his hips that makes you choke on a whine. “You may worship me instead.”

His grip on your chin forces you to tilt your head back and arch your back against him to hold up with the slowly increasing pace of his thrusts, and your teeth digging into your bottom lip is a fruitless attempt of yours to stifle a moan coaxed past them by that. 

The sound of your moans and whimpers sparks something in him, prompting him to growl against your skin. It tightens the grip he has on your chin to the point it becomes borderline painful with how much he has tilted it back. 

“Don’t hold back,” he grunts, resting his forehead against the crown of your head. “Let me hear you, sweetling.”

Although your mouth is agape, no more sounds than breathy whimpers and whines leave your lips, despite the reckless pounding of him. But when another moan manages to escape your chest, it strains your throat to the point you have to cough once. 

Sensing your discomfort, he eases the grip just slightly, shifting it to your throat and allowing your head to tip forward again. You’re desperate to fill your lungs with air, yet each breath is knocked out of them by the merciless snaps of his hips. 

“That’s it,” he groans, nudging your legs further apart with his foot. “The Gods have been unhappy with me for some time now, but perhaps I’ve just needed to give them an offering… a sacrifice.” He’s just rambling into your hair at this point, and your mind is too hazy to really process anything he says.

You’ve been so inexperienced and have spent so much time completely untouched that even the slapping of his heavy sac of stones against your pearl brings you a pleasure beyond imagination. 

He towers over you, your small frame completely hidden by his significantly taller one. It’s such an easy game for him to keep you where he wants, to use you however he pleases, and at this point you’d let him do whatever he desires with you for as long as you get to relive the sensations you feel over and over again. 

Your peak washes over you in an ambush, the pleasure all but soaring through your veins. But his assault on your cunt doesn’t stop, and when the urge overcomes you to squeeze your thighs together, it doesn’t seize. 

“Perhaps the Gods haven’t been giving me a healthy heir because they need me to fill you up,” he growls as if he’s been waiting for this since the moment he’d sent you to Oldtown, his voice raspy and thick with need. “Perhaps the Seven will bless me with a son if my seed quickens within you.”

His words nearly send you to your knees if it wasn’t for his muscular arm wrapped around your frame. A renewed wave of your arousal oozes out of your cunt at the thoughts of you carrying his child, yet it also makes you shudder, a feeling of guilt lingering in the pit of your belly. “By… By the Gods… T-The Seven would not–” you protest weakly, your voice a little more than a gasp. But even to your own ears your protest sounds more like a pleading than denial. 

Pulling you even closer against him, Maegor nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing the exposed flesh of your shoulder gently. “My little Septa,” he murmurs, the nickname almost sounding like an insult and a taunt. “You say we can not, yet you press yourself against me… are you so desperate for my cock?”

That is the moment you lose any resemblance of restraint you’ve held before, your mind becoming blank, his merciless pounding, and words forcing every thought right out of your brain. You whine a string of incoherent words, rambling one ‘yes’ after the other. 

It’s as if he’s just as desperate, because you can feel his thrusts becoming more and more erratic, a sign that lets you know he is about to topple over the edge. With a few more thrusts, he forces his thick cock into you, until a strained groan heralds his peak. His twitching cock spills his seed deep inside of your quivering cunt, and you squeeze him ever so tightly in response, all but milking him for every drop. 

He squeezes your flesh and trails both his hands over your body, mapping out the curves hiding beneath the robe. His thrusts grow leisurely, the feeling of pure bliss subsiding rather quickly for him. 

Shame and guilt for what just has happened overcomes you, growing stronger the moment he pulls out and you feel the remnants of his spend idly trickle down your thighs.

You don’t dare pull around. You don’t want to meet his gaze, to see the smugness and satisfaction written over his features at having convinced you to give in to him. 

“I suppose I have kept you away from your duties for long enough,” he says, his voice dripping with irony. “You’re a septa, and I believe you have some more duties to tend to.”

Nodding weakly in agreement, you can’t shake off the feelings of being exposed and vulnerable under his piercing gaze. It takes a moment for your brain to function again, the fog of need and pleasure only slowly clearing from your mind. 

“You’re right, Your Grace,” you say, voice weak and shaky. “I should… I should get going…” Dipping your head in a nod, you’re quick to scurry off, hastily looking around on your way out of the library in hope of no one having seen you in your moment of indiscretion.

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @k4marina @foxyanon @peachysunrize @nats-whore

@palmer-hjp @sinarainbows @luvdella

General Taglist: @arcielee @userhotd @multyfangirl @zaldritzosrose @black-dread

@wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @thought--bubble @dixie-elocin @beautbuck

[ningvory]

payment methods — ning yizhuo

CW: noncon, landlord gp!ning, reader has a boyfriend but ning doesn’t care, darcyphilia, power imbalance, creampie, cumming inside, squirting, ning has a thing for pretty girls, crybaby reader, ning’s lowk a perv and she REALLY hates readers bf, lowk yandere vibes from ning, tummy buldge, breeding kink, nipple play

word count: 839 words

anon ask? yes!

this is very noncon so pleaseeeee read with caution!!

ningning knows this is wrong, she’s a business woman and she should really evict you and your bitchass boyfriend from your apartment. it’s been multiple time that your rent payment had been late.

even her friend, karina warns her that her weakness for pretty girls would soon get her in serious trouble. but she honestly can’t help herself! the way you plead to her with tears threatening to fall, telling her to give you a few more days and that you promise you’ll pay the rent, while wearing shorts that are far too short. she can’t help but think about ways to corrupt you.

so, here she is infront of your apartment door once more, waiting for you to open the door.

once you open it, your eyes almsot automatically begin tearing up and mouth opening to speak but she beats you to it, “y’know, there’s other ways you can pay me,” she says. eyes dark and slowly walking closer to you.

you don’t understand what she means by that so you just look at her shockingly, “really? i-ill do anything i swear!” you babble out. you’re so naive it has her chuckling.

too innocent that you let her lock your door and she’s immediately pouncing on you, pushing you to the wall and pinning you there while grinding her already hardened cock into your ass.

“w-wait—i didn’t mean this!” you sob, desperately trying to free yourself from her grip but that does nothing but push your ass into her even more.

“i’m being nice and offering you another option, take it.” she mutters, making whimpers fall from your mouth.

your lips began to quiver and you let your tears ruin your face when you felt her hands slide up under your oversized shirt to grope your tits.

“no bra? tch, you’re basically asking for someone to fuck you, pretty.” she mutters, before diving in the crook of your neck to suck your neck.

she began to suck on your neck, taking a deep breath of your scent before moaning. she ran her hand under your shirt to grope at your tits. squeezing them before pinching your nipples, making you whimper at the stinging pain.

“n-ning—it—hurts,” you whine out between sniffles wanting her to stop tormenting your tits.

“oh don’t cry, baby, it’ll be over quicker if you cooperate.” she slides her hand down to remove your shorts and panties and unbuttoning her pants before removing her boxers, revealing her hardened cock leaking with precum.

you let out a unintended gasp when she pulls your hips back to meet her cock, pushing into your tight cunt with a whimper from the tightness.

“w-wait—stop! d-don’t wan’ it.” you cry and try to run away from the feeling of her cock bullying her way inside you.

but oh, ning doesn’t care what you want, she’s gripping onto your waist to hold you in place before pounding deliberately into you.

“you d-dont wan’ it? so whys your cunt squeezing me so well then?” her words are a bit slurred and she’s struggling to keep her pace.

“n-no! i’m-i’m serious! a-and what—if—what if he comes back?” you ask her, referring to your boyfriend. you try and put up a fight that you know you’ll loose, you’re trying to twist and squirm your way free but to no avail, causing her to growl in your ear, “fuck—him, he doesn’t—fuck!—deserve you anyways. you’re fucking mine. g’na mark you up so everyone can see who you—fucking belong to,” her mind is hazy and she’s struggling to make a full coherent sentence. nothing but the thought of breeding you in her mind.

she’s fucking into you wildly, chanting, ‘you’re mine, g’na fill you up’ repeatedly making you moan and drool all over yourself at the feeling of her big dick pumping into you.

her saying how she’s gonna fill you up with her cum as your cunt squirting all over her and the floor. but she continues to fuck you through it.

“please don’t come inside,” you protest, but your cunt is saying the opposite, your dripping cunny is suffocating her cock, making her whine and pump into you quicker and sloppier. she moans one last time before pushing her cock all the way in and holding your hips in place. thick ropes of her warm cum start spilling into your cunt.

the overstimulation and her cum painting your insides white causes your body to shake. you think it’s over when she pulls out a little but she starts her abuse on your cum filled cunny once more. you choke back a moan, “n-no—” you cry from the sensation, her cum began to leak out a little from her pumping herself once more into your cunt.

“sorry pretty.” she coo’s before pressing down on your tummy bulge, “gotta make sure nothing goes to waste,” she adds on. you’re too far gone to even realize what she’s saying so you dumbly nod at her words, letting her use your weak body as she pleases.

[postcardsfromheapside]

I need to be salty for a hot second about people who are upset about aspects of Lucanis' romance.

I'll put everything else under the break for spoilers, but in general, I am so disappointed in a large portion of this fanbase who apparently thought "disaster" meant "romantasy," but also it's in keeping with how a lot of people seem unable to put things in context.

One of the complaints I keep seeing run past is that the scene where you commit to a relationship with Lucanis seems pefunctory, or out of the blue, there's nothing really romantic about it, it's too similar to the platonic route, etc, etc, ETC.

I romanced Emmrich, but I've seen other people's versions of romancing Lucanis. I'm just going to kind of word vomit here, and hope I can come up with something cohesive.

As someone who id's with Lucanis for "generational abuse" and "dumpster fire disaster bi" and "using socially acceptable drugs as coping mechanisms in place of addressing your problems" reasons, it's been really fucking annoying watching the almost deliberate misinterpretation of his character even after Mary Kirby dropped several explanations on social media. It's like a large part of the fanbase saw all that and turned into the "yes yes, very sad...anyway!" meme and went right on fetishizing him...then got mad when he didn't turn into the seductive Dom with wings they were hoping for.

You commit to Lucanis after (what I consider) a very intense scene inside his "mind prison." He's struggling so much internally that Spite wrests control of his body from him in front of witnesses and begs Rook to help them. Lucanis would never ask Rook to do so on his own, he's terrible at asking for the help he truly needs. Spite drags Rook into the Fade Ossuary and demands they free Lucanis from his self-imposed prison. And whether you're a friend or would-be lover, Rook slowly talks Lucanis out of a host of self doubts regarding his family and friends. Can he trust himself not to hurt other people, now that he's saddled with this affliction? Has he disappointed the people he cares about most? Do these new people he's coming to care about actually trust and care about him? The rooms are filled with fragmented thoughts that peter out into regrets. You're literally seeing Lucanis' fractured and complicated emotions.

One of them tore a hole straight through me: "You'd have to kill me...And Spite would die."

You'd have to kill him to get rid of the demon. And he'd regret the death of the demon that's protected him and given him strength, through a brutal year of betrayal and torment. I don't know if y'all remember the scenes in the Ossuary of the failed experiments and the corpses you had to pass to get to his jar of blood. It wasn't fun.

When you break out of the mind prison after helping him bond with Spite, it's intimate and momentous, even on a platonic route. You've seen desperate and lonely parts of him he'd never willingly show anyone.

As you're convincing Lucanis that it's okay to leave his mind-prison, you tell him you understand that it's easier to deal with problems like the Ossuary and Zara than healing and living with Spite, potentially hurting people he cares about. But he wants to. It's Rook's job to help him see a path out, a way for him to make the struggle easier so he can begin to heal himself.

I need to stress: you aren't "fixing" him. You're acting as his lighthouse, regardless of whether you're a friend or a lover. Sometimes people need help. He's still going to have to do the work to get there.

As a friend, it was extremely rewarding to come back to the kitchen and see him doing exactly as I'd hoped: moving on with the business of *living*. He made a nice dinner for everyone he's come to care for, and a special dessert for Neve. Cooking is where Lucanis finds creativity, and comfort, and connection with his friends and family. He isn't very good with words, but he will note everything you consume, and try to make you feel loved by expressing it that way.

Which is why I think it's important you don't dismiss the commitment on the romantic route. He remembers YOUR favorite drink and makes YOU a special dessert if you're romancing him. Lucanis isn't going to get poetic. You've already made him feel raw. You've seen the ugly, embarassing parts of him. What is he supposed to say? Usually it takes Spite reaching through his body to actually be direct. Instead, Lucanis reaches for food, his favorite medium, to try and apologize for inadvertently showing you those things, to thank you for helping him despite seeing what he considers the most shameful parts of him. Your commitment is letting him know that you value him, that he has nothing to be ashamed of, that you understand what he's trying to express with his struggling communication skills, which appear to get better as your relationship progresses from there.

It's weird that some of y'all don't feel that this is heartfelt and important, because you'd rather him act out some sensuous fantasy trope. It's also weird that some of you haven't figured out that many scenes in RPG's can be similar on platonic and romantic routes with tweaks to shade context.

(Also just in case this comes up: cooking is not his "love language" - that whole concept was invented by a misogynistic weirdo and we should remove it from our ideas of communication)

Anyway, this guy is my Rook's bestie and I'll go down swinging for him, you should appreciate the fuck out of him and stop acting like his writer didn't craft a perfectly funny little weirdo who is bad at showing people his tender parts and terrible at interpersonal relationships.

[msbigredmachine]

Black Sweatpants (Roman Reigns)

Why did the Tribal Chief arrive late to the Pat McAfee Show? Based on Roman's appearance on March 22 2024. Pat was forced to cut a promo on the fly because Roman took too long to come out 😂

Pairing: Roman Reigns/OC

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: Smut

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

You knew he would get out there late, and you accepted full responsibility. But given the way you were getting dicked down right now, it was totally worth it.

Your blood-red lace thong dangled from your right ankle as Roman jackhammered into you, his thick shaft stuffed inside your tender walls. Biting down on your bottom lip, you wrapped your arms tight around the big man, long-awaited pleasure coursing down your spine all the way to your pastel-colored toes as he pounded you out in the corner of the spacious locker room.

"Oh, ohhh fuck," you couldn't help but cry out at one particularly deep thrust.

"Keep it down before someone comes in here," he growled. Hunched over you, the wicked gleam in his eyes watching you struggle to suppress your moans, told you he was relishing every second of your agony.

"I'm trying, you ain't helping," you whined back.

"Not hard enough," he countered, nudging your legs wider and making you watch his dick disappear inside your wetness. He slapped your hand away when you placed it on his abs to push him back because he was getting too deep. "Naw, you wanted this dick all day, you better take it now..."

When you ordered the new all-black hoodie and joggers set from Nike for Roman, you knew he would look good in it. However, when he returned for his scheduled private flight to Iowa for Pat McAfee's show wearing it, you didn't expect him to look that good. And you certainly did not expect his dick print to be on display like that. You had endured three tortuous weeks of no sex because he'd been away spending time with his two kids he shared with his ex-wife. So you were excited to have him back, and judging from that not-so-little bulge between his legs, he was excited to see you too. You could all but see it, that long, thick brown cock that time and again wreaked the unholiest of havoc in you, protruding against the cotton material and calling for your attention. But the man had the gall to play hard to get, deliberately spurning your advances, acting all platonic and professional, like the rest of his team didn't already know you were lovers. Never one to back down, you ramped up your actions, rubbing his inner thigh throughout the flight and on the ride to Field House, brushing your body against him every chance you got, teasing him right back, trying to get him to crack. As soon as he ordered everyone out of his locker room just minutes after arriving, you knew you succeeded.

Roman planted wet kisses along the side of your neck, the soft prickles of his thick beard unleashing another flood between your legs. His hulking body stretched over yours, his sweatpants rolled down to just underneath the curve of his ass cheeks for the purpose of this quickie. He was so hard inside you, demanding your pleasure as he impaled you with no mercy, his tempo hot and frenetic from the very start. His big hand slipped from your breast downwards to twirl his fingertips around your clit, your throaty whines music to his ears as your sweet moisture pooled around his fingers. The squelching noise pierced the air that was already thickened by your heavy breaths and his hips smacking into yours.

"Mmm, wet as fuck, just the way I like it," Roman grunted, leaning down to suckle on your left nipple, his saliva smearing the puckered skin when he released it with a wet pop, "I can tell you was goin' crazy without this dick, right, baby?"

"Yes, and yet your punk ass still ignored me all day, too fuckin' busy making your damn TikTok videos," you griped.

"Quit your whining, Daddy always gives you what you want in the end. Unh, how you feel so good all the time? I love it," he moaned, his brown irises rolling back briefly before they landed on yours again in an intense stare. Through the lustful haze of passion, you felt your heart thumping rapidly inside your chest as you looked into his eyes. It didn't matter if you were having sex or not; it always sped up in his mere presence.

You fell in love with him not long after you became his personal assistant a year and a half ago. You worked hard to please him, on the job and off it, and he showed you his gratitude in a plethora of ways, carnal and otherwise. You were a walking cliché, but you couldn't care less, not when it bagged you a man like that. The sex appeal oozed from his pores. He was confident and self-assured and had worked his ass off to get to where he was today. He got along with all of his team, was a decent and fair employer, and was generous to a fault, showering his staff with presents on birthdays and Christmases. The diamond pendant he gifted you for Valentine's Day currently hid between your cleavage he was kneading with his big hands. He was everything you could ask for in a boss and a boyfriend, which was honestly an impressive feat.

You placed one hand behind his neck and tugged him down to flick your tongue inside his warm mouth. His thrusts remained indulgent as you kissed hungrily, branding you, marking you, wiping out everything from your mind except the euphoric feeling that engulfed you every time he kissed and fucked you dumb. He pushed your dress further up your waist and gathered your supple ass cheek in his competent hand, lifting you right up against him. He was all up in your stomach and your walls suckled his cock greedily, holding him in a vice-like grip. The gruff yet sensual sounds pouring from him teased your core, making you need more of it, more of him.

"Awww, shit, yes," Your eyes fluttered shut when he began to wind his hips, circling clockwise and then in reverse, the head of his cock churning your sweet spot, his triumphant growl accompanying every thrust. In and out, in and out, the erotic loop punctuated by the low, husky groans of your Tribal Chief, causing your head to rock back from blinding bliss. "Ooooh baby, baby right there, ahh," you whimpered.

"Uh huh, I'm deep in that shit. Got this pussy feelin' good, huh?" Roman said, his haughty taunts disappearing in another moan as your pussy rippled around his dick over and over. He kept up his grinding strokes which seemed to intensify the throatier and more desperate your moans grew, as though the mere sound of them fueled his ruthlessness. His paw curled around your throat, his display of dominance leaving you a sopping, dripping mess as he made you take every inch of him. You were dizzy, on the verge of falling apart, and your body burned for release, yet all you could do was hold on while this man continued to destroy you, rendering you helpless and pathetic and under his heady spell.

"I'm gonna come, Daddy," you gasped. Your fingernails clawed at his forearm holding your neck, moaning his name as he fucked you harder, making sure there was no way you would last long with the kind of pounding he was giving you right now.

"Mmm-hmm, come on my dick, give it to me," he ordered, barely hanging on himself. He groaned as your pussy walls held his cock hostage, making him swell inside you as his climax beckoned. "Fuck, babe, ahhh, fuck..."

Burying your face in his broad chest, you barely kept your scream muffled as your orgasm tore through you, your body arching, legs trembling around his waist as you came hard. Time and space and coherence blurred into one sensual puddle. His heavy weight almost smothered you as he chased his own orgasm, his eyes glazing over in a telltale sign that he was right there with you. His hips jerked as his dick began to throb and twitch inside you, and you gasped at the feel of his seed spilling inside your walls, his big body shivering from the force of his release, his deep voice exhaling guttural moans as he succumbed to you. It felt so good, feeling him fall with you, toppling over the precipice of pleasure together.

After he finally caught his breath, Roman shifted back a bit to observe you, taking in your face, flushed with satisfaction, your lips plumped and ravaged by his own. You looked damn beautiful, and he showed you by brushing your mouths together in the gentlest, sweetest kisses.

"Happy now?" he smirked.

You grinned from ear to ear. "Very happy, Daddy. I've missed you. Love you so much."

"I love you too, baby," he replied with one last soft kiss, both of you moaning as his drained dick slipped out of your warm confines. You dragged yourself to a seated position when he climbed off you and hurriedly tugged his pants back up. Adjusting your dress, you checked your watch and sighed. "Great, you're two minutes behind schedule. You're not even mic'd up yet," you said, fishing out Roman's bottle of Jean-Paul Gaultier cologne from his backpack and giving the room a few quick spritzes to stifle the cloying scent of your latest sexscapade.

"Well, Pat's gonna have to wait," he answered flippantly as he raked his hair back into its trademark bun. He watched you reach for your underwear that had tangled around your foot and beat you to the punch, snatching up the tiny scrap of lingerie and tucking it into his back pocket.

"Roman!" you exclaimed.

"What? It's mine now," he declared, grabbing his gold championship belt and standing to his full height. You bit your lip as you drank him in, your gaze stopping between his sturdy thighs. You just had sex but you found yourself getting aroused again.

"Your dick print is still showing," you pointed out, licking your lips reflexively.

"Course it is, I got that thang on me," he bragged, smoothing his big hand over his groin, his body tingling from the memory of your delicious warmth. Noticing the heat in your eyes, he smiled that suggestive half-smile of his and tapped your backside. "Down, baby girl, Daddy's gotta go to work. You can have me all you want after TV tonight."

As you followed him out of the locker room and stepped into the cold sunshine, you caught the slightly pronounced limp in your man's walk, his glowing, kiss-swollen features, the extra width in his smile, and beamed with pride.

Yeah, I did that shit.

THE END

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

Another short one. Thoughts?

I have a few more Roman ones I'm working on and hope to get out soon.

Thank you all so much for reading!

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

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[eldritch-spouse]

Hear me out ok? In the middle of the night u just get rlly needy and horny but u dont have the guts to wake vesper up so u use his belly mouth instead to get off. Idk if im mistaken but i think u mentioned about vesper's belly mouth is awake even in the night?

[Yep, correct! Fem reader.]

TW: Somnophilia; Dubious consent then enthusiastic consent.

It's its own special type of Hell, living with Vesper.

Not because he treats you badly. Quite the contrary, as soon as you started making efforts to accept your new reality, he was the first one to volunteer any sort of help, hoping to make you feel as comfortable here as you did in your home, back on the surface. And, putting aside the volumes of mixed feelings you have regarding all this, it's... Sweet of him to at least care about your comfort.

That's not the problem.

The problem is your ceaseless libido.

Ever since you woke up in this ring, in his mansion, you've been burning up with arousal. You're always some degree of wet, sensitive, mind heading to the gutter far too frequently. You want everything and everyone, you want Vesper's touch on your body at every. Possible. Moment. You want him to slip his fingers and tongue anywhere he can and you want him to pick you up like a fucktoy whenever he pleases- Because it feels like nothing will ever sate you these days.

When you brought these concerns to the King, he was more than thrilled by the knowledge, though also a tad empathetic. It must be jarring, yes, he cooed, but you'll soon come to embrace your own desires. They're your true nature, after all.

It was... A strange conversation. To say the least.

Thankfully, Lust is the last place in the universe where you can be judged for excessive sexual cravings. It isn't the possible judgment of others that stops you from going all in, your own thoughts are what makes you hesitate.

Because, even if Vesper has made it very clear that you're to deliberately seek him out when you're bothered -No matter what he's up to- He can't possibly mean all the time, right?

It's common sense that you're not supposed to wake the Icon of Lust from a dead sleep just so you can have sex. How selfish of you! He's a King, he needs his rest.

But Gods... You're so fucking horny.

You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt. Maybe it's from sleeping in the same bed as him, where his loose fluff spreads sometimes, getting into the sheets, contaminating them. That must be the cause of your misery, in retrospect.

Well... You could get up. Look around, have a drink, return to bed after cooling off and enjoying the view from his lavish home. But you're comfortable.

And his smell... Oh, you inhale the pillow between you two faintly, it's addictive.

You don't want to get up. At all. Leaving this room sounds awful.

The tiniest bit of light creeps in through a gap in the massive curtains of your resting chambers, allowing some of the faint reddish glow of night to slink its way in, highlighting the form of your massive, recently proclaimed husband. Vesper sleeps soundlessly, a hand over his chest, the other, once holding you to his side, now dormant on the sheets, fingers periodically twitching. He sleeps bare, to absolutely no one's surprise. Legs faintly parted, offering a view you admire shamelessly in the dark. You've no doubt he has watched you like this before, so it's more than fair you get to ogle as well.

He's gorgeous. He's hot. So hot. You're married to the hottest thing that ever lived. Gods, he's such a whore.

Another flare of heat travels its way up from your loins. It would be exceptionally easy. All you'd have to do is palm at his exposed slit for a moment or two and he'd pop those treats out for you. All for you. He wouldn't even care, it's probably normal for Vesper-

With a shake of the head, you push said thoughts away as hard as possible. See? Not a moment of rest, all these gross ideas swimming around like they belong, like it's right. You're above something so rude!

But you're not above touching yourself in the same bed.

In your humble defense, you need this. You really need this, or you're going to scream and drag yourself on the ground like a bitch in heat. Panties are swiped aside with great haste, both hands quickly darting for the crux of your fire. It takes literally no effort for you to be able to slide two fingers into yourself, then three, trying to roll your clit in the best angle at the same time. It's clumsy, hurried, and unfortunately, fruitless. Instead of relieving you of this insurmountable heat, all it does is incense you further- Wishing it was more, better, bigger.

Wishing it was Vesper that's fucking your little body the way he pleases.

A whimper almost makes it past your clenched teeth.

Beside you, there's sudden movement. A large tail swatting back and forth -Wagging?- While Vesper's brows furrow and his breathing hastens rhythmically, like he's sniffing. When you halt, mortified, so does his stirring.

Idiot.

What a bright idea. As if the King of Lust wouldn't feel your desire right next to him.

Childish irritation settles in you as you sit on your own stewing arousal, sulking. Until a loud rumble jolts you, that is. After a pause of stunted blinking, you put two and two together.

While the demonlord may be fast asleep, a part of him is clearly active. Gaze falling to Vesper's abdomen, his sizeable second mouth can be seen parted, greedily flicking a fat tongue over sharp chops. It pants, a dopey sort of smile, muscle lolling as it very easily detects some poor horny sap nearby.

Or, maybe it recognizes you already. This certainly isn't your first meeting with Vesper's second mouth.

Amused, getting a couple of nasty ideas, you smile at the organ. " Hello there... " You whisper to it.

It doesn't react too much to the sound of your voice, although gleefully wets its lips and chuffs, waiting. You're sure it'll settle back down given enough time.

It's just a matter of ignoring it.

...

......

Fuck it.

Guilty eyes glance from Vesper's peacefully resting complexion to the shifting mouth beneath, and you gulp, self-control falling victim to rabid want. Again.

Slowly, silently, you wriggle out of your undergarments, keeping your breath in check as you move to straddle Vesper's abdomen. Given the size difference, and he seems to plump in a couple areas, you have a difficult time stretching your legs enough to encompass his waist.

Little does it matter, as you don't even get to sit before that muscle has already slapped itself onto your soaked cunt with a decidedly loud PLAP. Cosmic luck alone prevented you from moaning immediately. Vesper turns his face, then settles once more.

This might have been a bad idea.

The mouth is merciless on you, drool slathered on your tights, ass and belly as it gluttonously slurps at you, making lurid sounds you hope to whatever's out there won't wake the King. Terrible idea or not, it's well worth the trouble, because it's exactly the type of pressure you need to get off.

A sweet sigh makes it past your lips when shaky legs lower, having to brace your palms firmly on each side of the bed when the mouth starts smooching tenderly at your lips. How... Sweet. Cute.

Then, suddenly, it latches on. Literally. Its size allows the organ to wrap around your groin easily, applying an all-encompassing suction delicious enough to have you rolling your eyes and jerking your hips forward, nerve endings frying on a pan. God fuck yes, you didn't know it could do that!

An orgasm approaches fast, likely due to how long you've been waiting for it, building up tension. As sensation makes your lower body jerk and tense, shaky legs press you harder against that hungry maw, almost nicking yourself with bold teeth. It feels wonderful. Delightful.

Even asleep, only Vesper can make you feel this good. It's almost too funny a concept to be true.

Nothing halts the flow of keens and gasps you offer when it pauses its slurping to shove that roving muscle into your pussy, flirting with your entrance a little before feeding you more and more and more of itself, until you're groaning at the fullness. The first experimental undulation it makes is so strong that you legitimately moan out, loud and clear, dropping squarely onto Vesper and holding on for dear life as your jostled with each thrust.

You're sure you're drooling on his belly, though it hardly matters, eyelids fluttering, nonsensical pleas chanted in the dark.

" Oh fuck- Yes- Please please please, I need to come. Fffuck, I need to come... "

You're so close! It's right there, you can't wait to get licked and sucked as you ride it out, it'll be so-

" Mm, why didn't you say so? "

You don't even get to have a moment of shame when realization dawns. Large hands grab onto your hips and screw you onto the demonlord's tongue hard enough to make you see stars, the movement in your walls so frantic that you have no choice but to howl in bliss before a single excuse could flow past your parted lips.

And all you can do is flail and cry in overstimulation when Vesper continues sucking at all the arousal you can offer him.

" My Queen should want for nothing. "

His sickly magenta eyes leer at you from the darkness.

" You will come. "

It's a promise.

[iskratempestmadness]

What would the Baki men do with easily distracted s/o? Like, when the Baki men could be talking about something and their s/o instead gets up and start chasing a cat before stopping to look at a bunch of butterflies or something like that?

Baki:

• just uh?!?!

• he feels a little awkward, even though he understands that the problem is not with him

• You make him doubt that he is a good storyteller. Like, are you even interested or not?

• will talk to you about it. Well, it's obviously not great.

• tries to attract your attention in every possible way during the conversation.

• But his patience is not eternal. So sometimes, when you get distracted while he's telling another story, he can stop telling it and sit with pouting lips, because "Hey, aren't you interested at all?! I'm actually trying, I'm crucifying here... "

• later you'll have to apologize to him and use all your concentration for this

• gradually, he will understand how to attract your attention during a conversation and learn how to use it.

Hanayama:

• he talks so little, do you want him to be silent in principle? ...

• it hurts him, he is so little social, he tries to communicate with you and be interesting to you, but you can't just concentrate on what he tells you

• but later he will see how it happens and when you communicate with your friends or with Chiharu

• So he'll just accept that this is your "highlight," so to speak, and try to live with it.

• but he found a use for it! In the company, he focuses on you. If a person starts telling a story, then you can easily tell if it's interesting or not. You are a filter of unnecessary information for him.

• he will probably retell conversations, stories, gossip that he heard in the company of your ( more than your) friends. It will certainly be a test for him, but it will also pump him up great in terms of conversation.

Katsumi:

• ...

• difficult

• he needs attention in principle, especially when he tells something... And you...

• for a while, he may think that you are mocking him. He tells you something about karate and somewhere in the middle of the story he realizes that you have already been distracted by a butterfly ...

• and it annoys him. God, you had the task of just listening and you didn't do it!

• probably his irritation will begin to decrease as soon as he realizes that you communicate with everyone like that.

• probably discuss it with you. After all, it's not normal that you're constantly distracted, and it's okay if you get distracted with him, but if you get distracted in a situation where there may be consequences for you?

• Even though he is still a little annoyed, he will try to control you. Especially when you find yourself in a company. Like, "Yes, yes, yes, it's very interesting! What do you think about it? "So he's deliberately putting you in awkward situations.

• and it helps!

Jack:

• mmmm

• he is tolerant in this regard, but not without surprise

• he can understand that talking to him can be boring, like it's normal for him

• but he is surprised that you are just as inattentive in communicating with others.

• most likely, he will just accept it. He understands that people are different and the fact that you are distracted is just your peculiarity.

• also tells you the conversations that take place in the company. But somewhat more generally, because he doesn't really listen to it either.

• he will find topics that will be of interest to you and will often use them to give you information. Like "... this is a new fact that scientists have discovered about dolphins. And I was also asked to tell you that the T-shirt you need will arrive in a week. "That's about it.

• also probably consults with a specialist regarding you (probably with Kureha) and applies his advice on you.

Retsu:

• also very tolerant

• But unlike Jack, he sometimes gets annoyed about it.

• "How can you be so inconsiderate! It's disrespectful and irresponsible! You're not a child! " Retsu's thoughts of the year, instead of listening to him, you stared at a cluster of bugs.

• And he will try many methods to make you less distracted. He will consult with Kureha about this.

• will probably also put you in awkward situations. " ... It's funny! What do you say? " He says, turning his head in your direction, knowing that you have been looking at the fish in the aquarium for about 5 minutes. Oh, how used he was to that expression. A mixture of surprise and confusion, followed by condemnation and mild irritation.

• "I'm sorry, honey, but it was necessary" His thoughts in almost every similar situation.

• He tries to be patient. Truth. But sometimes it's just beyond his strength.

• But eventually he'll wean you off it... He really hopes so...

Shibukawa:

• ...

• YES, HE'S A FUCKING WIZARD!!!

• In absolutely any situation when you start to get distracted and he understands it... literally a second... And you're already listening to him.

• as if on click. No matter how much you are attracted to a bug or sparrows, eventually your attention will focus on it.

• How can this be explained? Easy. Experience. This person has lived for a sufficient number of years and has seen a lot of people, so he knows how to interest certain personalities.

• probably suffered from it before. So this may also be the answer.

• However, the fact remains, he knows how to make you listen.

• BUT... Still, there is a but... And it lies in the fact that you can and listen to him, but you don't listen to others. Like, in a conversation with friends, there is a very small chance that you are attentive and this bothers him.

• and he learned how to deal with it... He's trying to learn.

• DEFINITELY making fun of you about it

• For example, he can tell you that while you were distracted by the caterpillar during a conversation with your friend, he told you that he bought his sister a car, although in fact your friend barely raised money for a hoodie for his sister. Something like that.

Yujiro:

• Don't test his patience

• you just don't have to do it

• We all know how this will end

• but you did it anyway

• while he was telling you about how to choose the right whiskey, you looked at the frog (where did it come from?...) ...

• And what happened was expected.

• He didn't use force on you, he just scolded you, but that was enough

• But now you're listening to him carefully.

• but not everyone else. As before, you ignore half of the conversation with your friends.

• and he doesn't like it. I'll say more, it annoys him. Of course, who would like to retell a story for another person.

• besides, he doesn't listen either...

• it seems to me that he won't do anything about it, despite his irritation. Like he understands you. For him, too, a lot of people are boring and dialogue with them is clearly worse than watching butterflies fly.

[madschiavelique]

Hello everything is fine? I could write an imagine where reader calls Miguel by last name just to tease him.

OMG HI SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG school has been taking up all of my time and i'm almost on holidays so yey !! i hope you'll like it <3

summary : you tease miguel by using his last name content warning : none, tensed miguel (aka just miguel in general), afab reader, no use of y/n (not proofread) word count : 1,4k

There was nothing special about the day - in other words, nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the previous few days, nor was it about to. There was nothing exceptional about it, nothing out of the common, nothing new or repetitive. Except perhaps this:

"Good Morning, O'Hara."

Miguel's finger, which was about to settle on his holopad, stopped just above the orange screen at the appellation. The very word had frozen him in place.

Never in all of society was he called O'Hara. He'd made a point of everyone calling him Miguel, simply Miguel, no nickname, no length, just Miguel. 

He'd only ever been called that before in his life in a purely and harshly professional context. So why were those few letters suddenly pronounced between your lips giving him an impression of something less than professional?

You'd come to drop off some papers, more mission reports to read and check, more work for him. Nothing extraordinary in his routine, so why the name?

He turned to you, his eyebrows furrowing as he analyzed your face. Nothing unusual, you seemed fulfilled, awake, radiant... 

"Is everything okay?" you asked as he stared at you silently, his eyebrows trying to meet and wrinkling the skin of his forehead.

He blinked several times, coming back to reality and swallowing, giving you one last look before turning his head back to his screens. Maybe he'd just dreamed up that name, which meant another cup of coffee was in order.

"Yes, everything's fine." he said, clearing his throat, his finger finally settling on the still-pending key.

You placed the sheets on the edge of his desk, letting your fingers run up his arm and rest your hand on his back, caressing him gently to encourage him in his seemingly never-ending task. He sighed at ease, the simple gesture cancelling his frown.

"Unclench your jaw. You're tense, it'll give you a headache." you say simply, pressing lightly on the top of his shoulder.

The tension faded very gently. He relaxed his jaw, the gesture easing the pressure in his temples, and as he took a deep breath, a small portion of the reasons why he might be cranky today eased.

You turned away from him, he already missed your presence as your hand parted from his back. You moved on, beyond his platform on the ground, no doubt in search of more documents or perhaps in search of a mission...

"Ah! There you are," smiled Gwen, who had just entered the room when she saw you, "I've been filling my report on the last mission and I've heard you were collecting them today? I'm not too late for it now am I?"

"Not at all," you reassured her, and Miguel could hear the smile on your lips. "You'll find the pile of it next to O'Hara," you affirmed with a nod to the side, indicating the pile's location.

This time, he hadn't been dreaming. You'd deliberately pronounced his name that way. 

All the little tensions that had been wiped away by your hand like a brush over a white line of chalk clashing on a perfectly clean chalkboard reappeared bitterly in his body and mind.

No Miguel, no "Grumpy" as he could sometimes be called, but only by you - his name directly. He turned to you, eyebrows again furrowed and lips parted, but your back was to him as you made your way out of the office.

The day went on, and as the tasks piled up, Miguel's patience began to wear thin. At lunchtime alone, when he'd arrived in the cafeteria, you'd called him "over here O'Hara!" to your table.

He wasn't going to start counting the number of times you'd called him that today, he told himself, yet he couldn't help mentally noting all the incidences in question.

Just this afternoon when he'd mentioned wanting yet another cup of coffee, you'd smiled as you left, chuckling on your way, "Right up, O'Hara!"

Then, when other spiders had come asking for information, you'd replied, "You can see later with O'Hara."

Or even when Lyla had asked you a simple question and you'd replied, "O'Hara's in charge of classifying these files."

He had never been sick of his own name, and in truth the situation wasn't as unpleasant as it might have seemed, quite the contrary: he was intrigued, amused, entranced.

The taste his name seemed to have on your lips was far too sweet and enjoyable for him to deprive you of uttering it. He felt like chasing it, searching for it, finding it and enjoying the taste of it on your lips. 

Only, the rumor that you and Miguel had had an argument spread like wildfire through society.

"She called him by name!"

"What? Impossible, no one calls him O'Hara directly."

"'Tis so, though, and Miguel turned to her, completely dismayed."

"She even repeated it several times! Either she's lost a bet, or she's searching and running toward certain death."

And having attention focused like this on your relationship when other things had to take priority displeased him. He couldn't miraculously create missions to divert their attention, although administering more paperwork to certain members of the company wouldn't have gone amiss... But it was when he remembered the state in which certain documents had been returned full of Hobbie's matter glitch or stained by Mayday's drool when Peter had handed in his report that he realized it wasn't going to be possible.

It was when you repeated the appellation once more that he decided to confront you on the subject.

"Cariño?" he asked, stopping his movements on his holopads to cross his arms. "Come here."

With a small, innocent smile, and feigning surprise at this sudden request, you approached him. Clasping your hands behind your back, holding yourself upright as you rocked back and forth from a lean on your heels to the tips of your feet, you stood in front of him.

He inhaled, the motion bulging his torso just as he sighed and looked at you, biting the inside of his cheek between his two canines.

"What's going on?" he finally asked, his jaw clenching again and letting you catch a glimpse of the small muscle tensing under his skin.

"What do you mean?" you question as if nothing had happened.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, mouth still closed as a low chuckle rumbles in his chest.

"My last name, you've been using it to call me since this morning."

"Oh really?" you say, pretending to frown as if what he'd just said made absolutely no sense.

He relaxed his brow, eyes half-closed before he raised his eyebrows, tilting his head back.

"Don't play this with me, nena."

You then simply smiled, letting your eyes turn to the ground for just a few seconds before returning to his gaze. Although you still looked playful at the moment, he felt you were slightly more capable of answering his questions. At least, he sensed that you were no longer pretending.

"Why do you keep calling me with it?" he asked as he half-sat down on his desk, one leg outstretched and the other slightly bent.

"It's a pretty name," you reply as you step towards him, now close enough for the barrier between the professional and the personal to be crossed, "am I not allowed to say it?"

Your hands came to rest on his chest, one moving up to his shoulder. He sighed, feeling your fingers press against his taut trapezius.

"Oh," he smiled with his eyes closed as you brought your hand up to his neck, "I want you to say it," both his hands came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him as he opened his eyes again, "but just for me."

He didn't care that it was probably selfish, he could well afford a slip about it. He didn't want to hear you say his name in front of anyone but him. He considered, after all, that it was his, and that he had the right to choose how he would be treated.

He came and gently seized your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing you up closer to kiss you tenderly. You stayed there a second, forehead pressed together.

"As you wish, O'Hara," you murmured against his lips.

The hint of a smile passed over his lips.

"Be careful with this name, because sooner or later it'll be yours."

[garciaasfluffypen]

things are changing (and only for the better)

pairing: jemily x adhd!reader word count: 2.8k warnings: dialouge heavy, alcohol use, discussions of ethical non-monagamy/polyamory a/n: please please PLEASE tell me if i get anything about polyamory wrong in this series. i myself am not polyamorous, and i want to do this justice. if i'm doing anything wrong or harmful in my writing please let me know.

it had been weeks since you had a girls night with emily and jj, and you were thanking all the gods out there that you finally got to have one. 

the team had been whisked off on three back to back cases, leaving everyone begging for the weekend off. once it was granted, the first text you got before you even left the office was a message from jj stating “our house, wine, 30 minutes?” with an outstanding “YES PLEASE!!” being sent back within seconds of receiving the text from your favorite blonde. emily and jj had been amazing to you since figuring out about your adhd diagnosis, and knew how deliberating it could be if you weren’t on your medication. the inattentiveness had been your downfall multiple times, but your team knew how to accommodate you and make sure all of your needs were met to ensure you could work at your full capacity. specifically jj and emily. 

being on the medication around the team was very important to you. it was something you had been weary of, keeping them from seeing your adhd funks. it still was something you didn’t want to subject them too just yet. despite being on the team for a few years and being friends with them for longer, you had done a good job at keeping the full nature of your funks away from the team and frankly… you wanted to keep it that way. the only person who had seen you in your funk so far was hotch, but that was because you had fallen asleep at the office on a thursday night and didn’t get the chance to pick up your meds on the way home from work. and besides, you didn’t want to hear it from them, about how stupid you were for not taking your medication when you relied on it to keep your brain from shutting down. it had happened before, you forgot your meds at your apartment and had a date that ultimately ended up in you staying at your exes place. when you woke up the next morning and realized, they were upset when they realized you would be in one of your funks and practically shoved you out the door. 

you’d hate yourself if you lost emily and jj like that. 

you shook yourself out of your thoughts and grabbed the fruit platter you had picked up from sam’s club on the way to the house, heading over to the side door that you knew led straight to the kitchen. emily and jj were quietly talking to themselves by the counter, sending a wave of worry through you. they couldn’t be talking about you, right? they invited you over, they wanted you here, they--

“y/n!” jj’s eyes lit up as she saw you, coming over and pulling you in for a hug. “i was starting to think you didn’t want to come.”

“i wanted to get the fruit platter you guys like.” you sheepishly replied, a red hue covering your cheeks. “i felt bad coming empty handed.” 

“you know you don’t have to bring us anything, lovey.” 

your heart jolted as emily called you lovey, the nickname naturally falling out of her lips. lovey… you liked that.  

“i know, but i wanted to.” you shrugged. “it's the least i can do for all you’ve done with me the past couple weeks.” 

“you having proper accommodations is important, y/n. we want you to be comfortable.” 

you smiled at the brunette. “it means a lot to me, really, and i never really properly thanked you for being so attentive to everything.” 

jj came to squeeze your hand. “you don’t need to thank us. just being here is more than enough.” 

the blush found it's way back to your cheeks as you looked down, barely registering the look emily and jj shared before you felt a finger under your chin, lifting it to make you look into emily’s eyes. that was something new, something she had never done with you before. 

and you… liked it? 

“what were you feeling for dinner?”

“i’m not super picky,” you paused. “on nights like these i typically do something easy like mac and cheese or ramen or something but we don’t have to do that if you guys want something else.” 

emily chuckled, a loving glint in her eye. “if you want mac and cheese, we can get mac and cheese.” 

“i don’t want to make you guys special order me mac and cheese, you really don’t--”

“y/n.” jj locked eyes with you. “it’s on us tonight, promise. go put on your cozy clothes and get comfortable, yeah? we’ll get dinner set.” 

“i don’t want to be a bother…” 

“you’re never a bother, not to us.” jj paused. “is your rejection dysphoria acting up again?” 

“a little bit.” 

“do you want to talk about it?”

“can i get a glass of wine in my system before we talk about it?”

“of course. now go get cozy, i’m ready to curl up on the couch and shit talk all the stupid people we’ve run into over the past few weeks.” 

jj watched you as you chuckled and sauntered off to the main room before quickly turning around and running to grab your go bag before heading back in. emily came up and wrapped her arms around jj from behind, placing her head on the blonde’s shoulder. 

“y’know, this could be the last moments of us without y/n in our lives.”

“emily!” jj swatted at her arm. “don’t you dare say that.” 

“i’m just saying!” emily shot jj a joking look. “considering how they reacted to the finger under the chin, i doubt that will be an issue we’ll need to worry about, though.” 

“i hope so.” jj turned so she was facing emily. “i really like them, i like them a lot. and i want them to know that i can love both of you equally.” 

“and we’ll explain it to them if they decide they want to be our girlfriend, yeah?” emily squeezed jj’s hands. “we’ll take it one step at a time.” 

“do you think they like us?” 

“i would sure hope so, or else they wouldn’t be here.” emily looked to jj. “do you think they don’t like us?”

“it’s hard to tell with them, i’ll be honest. i’m just nervous they’re going to say no and everything is going to be messed up. i don’t even know if we fully explained the polyamory thing to them.” 

“i don’t think we did either, now that i’m thinking about it.” emily bit her lip. “okay so we start with that then.” 

“we start with that.”

emily and jj found a restaurant with something all three of you would want before ordering, making sure it would be there in a timely manner before heading out into the living room. emily went to change into her comfy clothes first, leaving her in a pair of yale sweatpants and an old shirt of jj’s that neither of them knew the origins of. returning with the wine she had been itching to pull out all week, emily plopped herself down on the couch and handed you a glass, smiling at you fondly as you took it while you bounced a mile a minute, talking about something you had seen on tik tok on the jet earlier. jj changed into the flannel pants she had stolen from emily eons ago, a pale blue oversized t shirt sitting on her small frame. jj came and sat on the other side of you, the way the three of you typically sat during girls nights, both women giving you all the attention you could desire while on one of your tangents. 

something was off, though. you could feel the vibe shift about an hour and a half into the night, your meals all discarded on the coffee table while you and emily nursed another glass of wine. jj had opted for her favorite beer at that point, the bottle opener sitting next to an empty styrofoam container with the discards of jj’s meal. your energy slowly faded as the dread started to set in, the rejection sensitive dysphoria feelings coming in full swing. you felt yourself start to get into a daze, fingers playing with the hem of your tee as you stared off into space. it took emily a minute to realize what was happening before she placed a supportive arm around you and pulled you close, placing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“what’s up, y/n?”

“the vibe is off.” you said, quieter than you had been the rest of the night. “something’s wrong.” 

“well, we did want to tell you something.” jj started. “it’s not bad. nothing bad is happening right now, but we were holding off on telling you in case you didn’t…” she paused. “how do i say this without sounding like an asshole?”

“we’re scared that you’ll see us differently after we tell you what we want to talk to you about.” 

“okay…” you looked between them, noticing genuine concern. “i’m gonna need more wine, aren’t i?” 

emily chuckled, the smile you know and love crossing her features. “well, that depends on how you take what we’re about to tell you.”

“i don’t need to be scared, right?” 

“not at all.” jj squeezed your hand, coming closer to you on the couch and leaning into your other side. “unless you see like a ghost or something. then you can be scared.” 

you chuckled. “i doubt there’s going to be a ghost in your house, jayje.” 

“you never know!” jj smiled slightly, glad that you weren’t too deep into the feeling of despair and could joke with her. “all kidding aside, are you in a mental state to have this conversation or do you want to sober up a little bit?” 

“no no, i’m okay.” you nodded. “as long as i don’t stand up. that’s when it’s all going to go to my head.” 

“understandable.” emily rested her cheek against the top of your head. “remember how you saw me talking to tara about that girl i saw who i wanted to get to know?”

“um.. i think so. the one from the coffee shop?”

“exactly.” emily paused. “it didn’t work out, unfortunately, but that was partially because we hadn’t even began talking about this.” 

“so, as you know, we've been exploring the idea of… seeing other people.”  jj piped in, pausing to pick her next words carefully. “but we never fully explained to you what we meant by that.”

“we’ve been exploring polyamory.” it was emily’s turn to pause, gauging your reaction. “the two of us, sharing another partner.”

“cool.” you smiled, relieved it wasn’t something horrible. ”have you found anyone yet?” 

you could have sworn you saw both emily and jj visibly relax. 

“well, thats the thing. we’re not sure if they realized they were being flirted with… or that we’re interested in them that way.” 

you popped a grape in your mouth. “tell me everything, how does this work? wait! tell me about them!” 

emily smiled. “well, they’re easily one of our favorite people ever.” 

“have you known them long?” 

“about five years, give or take. em, when did we meet them?” 

“god, what was it… christmas of twenty nineteen, right?” 

interesting. you met the team in twenty nineteen after penelope dragged you to a girls night just after thanksgiving. what a coincidence. 

“they’ve been friends with us for a while. we’ve only recently started flirting with them about six months ago.” 

jj smiled fondly. “although like em said, we can’t tell if they’ve realized we’re flirting with them yet.”

“so they’re a bit aloof. that’s charming.” you smiled at them. “i’m so glad you guys found someone, i fully thought you guys were flirting with me these past few months.” 

there was an awkward pause. 

“wait… why are you… am i the someone?” 

emily cleared her throat, grabbing for her glass of wine. oh. 

oh.

“i am the someone.” 

“we like you, y/n.” jj grabbed your hand. “more than a friend. and i know that sounds weird, and you can say no- we’re not pressuring you to do anything or make any decisions tonight.” 

“i…” you paused. “how did you… are you guys okay? like, relationship wise?”

“we’re more than okay, i promise.” emily squeezed your other hand. 

“we’ve been talking about it, just the two of us, for a few months.” jj licked her lips. “the only other person who knows is tara, she’s gotten us in touch with a great support group that has everything we need to know about getting started.” 

“both of us realized we wanted something more, but didn’t want to end things at all.” emily explained. “we figured out that both of us had too much love to share with just one person, we wanted to share it with someone else.” 

“so… wait, can i ask questions?” 

“of course, babe.” 

“how would this work? the three of us?” you paused. “you’re… married.” 

“we know it won’t be easy, since you’ll never be able to officially legally be with both of us unless some magical law goes into effect that changes the world's view on polyamory. but, it would be like any normal relationship, but you would get both myself and jj. there would be boundaries and rules, and we would talk about those only if you want to give us a shot.” 

“we would want you to be as happy and relaxed and comfortable as you can be. everything is open to be talked about, especially when it comes to your comfort levels. and like we said, you can tell us to shut up whenever you want and we would.”

“and if i were to ask to kiss emily?” 

“then i would say yes, do it.”

“and the same goes for jj?”

“i would want you to do what makes you the happiest.” jj kicked emily’s shin. “i mean, i’d say yes.” 

“sorry i’m… i’m trying to wrap my brain around this. it’s being slow. you guys like me?” 

emily chuckled. “yes, lovey. a lot.” 

“more than you know.” jj nudged your shoulder lightly. “is that okay? that we both like you?”

“you know i’m queer, of course it's okay.” 

“but are you okay with that?” 

“why wouldn’t i be?” you looked between emily and jj. “have you gotten turned down before?”

“not in this aspect, no.” emily answered. “but yes, i have been turned down plenty of times.” 

“and i dated men in my past.” jj chuckled. “do with that information what you will.”

“yeah… men are stupid.” you chuckled. “okay so, hold on. i’d be dating both of you then?” 

“only if you want to.” 

“we’re not pressuring you at all. you can take some time to think about it-”

“- no no, it sounds really nice. dating both of you.” you smiled. “i just never thought…” 

“y/n, no matter what you think, you are loveable.” jj turned your face to look you in the eye. “you are loveable and you deserve the world.” 

“and we want to give you the world.” 

“we’d give you the universe, if we could.” 

“so what do you need from me?”

“your word.”

jj looked at you, a stern look overtaking her features. gods, did the room just get warmer?

“you tell us yes or no, and we go from there. we don’t want you to-”

“the answer is yes.” you stumbled over your words, jj’s look affecting you more than you thought. “i’d love to be your girlfriend.” 

both emily and jj let out a sigh of relief, bringing you in for a hug. it was real, it was happening. they didn’t read the situation wrong and you liked them back. you liked them back, and you said yes. 

“in that case, as our girlfriend, what do you want to do?” 

“can i kiss you?”

“of course you can.” 

you turned to jj. “and then can i kiss you?”

“please.” 

“then it's settled. i give you some smoochies, we binge ice cream and watch silly reality tv.” you smiled, nodding once. “the perfect night in.” 

emily and jj chuckled at your happiness, bringing you in as close as they could muster. you turned to emily first, placing a small peck on her lips to test the water before cupping her cheek, smiling into the kiss. you then turned to jj, who simply smiled widely at you before meeting you in the middle for the kiss. while it was an interesting scenario, you found yourself feeling comfortable. you were in the arms of two of the most important people in your life, and things were going to change. 

but they were changing for the better.

[aesthetically-dying101]

Unwritten Terms and Conditions.

A/N: first time i post on tumblr (lawd im spooked), anyways this is completely new? Um... yeah.. i hope y'all will like this?

WC: 10900 i think.

Nanami Kento x reader.

So uh... rivals to lovers (they hate each other your honor), office romance (nanami is the OG office siren idc)... the works. Very innacurate work, innacurate office relations, innacurate portrayal of a job. Innacurate overall babes. I'm not actually sure of whatt i've written. so um.. yeah, i hope y'all will like this. I'm double posting on tumblr/ao3 so ye

Might have a part two with smut.

Do not copy nor translate my work.

The elevator dinged.

11th floor

And you stepped out.

The polished floors of the office gleamed under the fluorescent lights as you strode in, head held high, walking with the kind of confidence that made every pair of eyes in the room glance your way.

Every step was deliberate, the sleek pencil skirt hugging your form, tailored to perfection, the crisp white blouse tucked neatly at your waist.

This wasn't just any office job, it was a place for the best and brightest, and you intended to show them that you deserved to be there. 

No room for mediocrity in your world.

It was the job—the coveted position in a company known for demanding excellence. Only the best survived here, and you intended to thrive, and anyways, you knew you would. 

The conference room was filled with the murmurs of your new colleagues as you all gathered for the morning briefing. As you entered the glass-walled conference room, the hum of conversation faded.

Here you stood, in a board room full of new faces, you were being introduced by the team head.

Rina Takahashi.

She was a strict looking woman, her black hair pulled into a perfectly structured bun (which you admired because wow that thing was flawless). She was part of a board of superiors- your new board of superiors.

The room was filled with top-tier professionals—sharp suits, calculating eyes, the kind of people who lived for the thrill of competition. Their gazes flicked toward you, curiosity sharpening into something keener.

There was a hush when you entered, the kind that makes you feel like the world suddenly turned its attention toward you. You knew exactly what they were thinking: Who is she? It wasn’t arrogance—it was confidence.

There was a difference.

All eyes were on the new blood, and you weren’t about to disappoint.

“Everyone,” Rina said sharply, raising a hand to silence the group. “This is the newest member of the team. Let’s make sure we show her what it means to work with the best."

You offered a polite smile, a subtle nod, and then turned your attention back to the group.

Your eyes racked on each member of the team you were being allocated to, until they landed on a man.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, the kind that looked effortlessly expensive. His blond hair was neatly combed back, glasses sitting on his nose, and he sat with an air of quiet detachment. 

And then, his eyes met yours.

You didn’t look away first.

For a moment, he just stared, silent, calculating. Something flickered in his gaze, but he quickly masked it, turning his attention back to the meeting.

That was your first real introduction to Nanami Kento.

-

The following weeks at the company were a blur of meetings, presentations, and endless deadlines, you were given an office (that you were allowed to customise whichever way you wanted- hooray). You learned quickly that Nanami was a figure to be reckoned with. He was one of the senior executives, respected and feared by most, and it didn’t take long for you to realise that he didn’t like you.

AKA, he was annoying, and you weren't going to let him walk all over you. You sure as hell weren't going to let a stuck up- way too pretty man- 'beat' you- the guy had a broom stuck up his ass. 

It wasn’t that he outright dismissed you—no, he wasn’t that brash.

Of course not.

But there was always a coolness in his words, a sort of professional indifference that grated against you. Every time you spoke in meetings, he’d watch you with narrowed eyes, making a point to subtly counter your suggestions with his own.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes every time.

And you? You weren’t about to back down. Every time he challenged you, every time his voice grew just a little colder, you met him with equal fire. You had your own ideas, your own vision, and you weren’t afraid to show them.

Nanami’s voice cut through the conference room during a particularly heated meeting:

"While I respect your enthusiasm, I think it would be more practical to approach this from a different angle. Your strategy is—" He paused, tapping his pen against the table with a faint sigh. "—risky, and we can’t afford that right now."

Your eyes narrowed.

“I’m aware of the risks, Mr. Nanami,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “But sometimes, in order to achieve the best results, we need to take risks. Otherwise, we’re just playing it safe, and that’s not how we move forward.”

The tension was papable, the other members looking between the two of you like a sort of weird tenis match.

You held his gaze. 

He didn’t like being contradicted, but there was something in your conviction that made him hesitate. He couldn’t argue with your logic, even if it stung his pride a little.

"Let’s table this for now," Rina said, her voice cutting through the tension. "We’ll revisit it later."

-

You came in everyday twenty minutes early, 7:30 am sharp, dressed to a T, heals clicking on the floor as you greeted the couple other early colleges. A fresh cup of coffee in hand as you walked down the main hall to your office. You looked incredibly put together and organised- almost rivalling Nanami. 

Actually no, you definitely rivalled Nanami.

Today was special- your first monthly team meeting with the higher ups. Everyone sat around the large oval table, the higher ups went over the numbers, the documents.. everything.

And then it happened.

"And of course, a special thanks to our new hire." Rina gestured towards you, a soft smile on her face. "Who's work has been nothing short of remarkable."

The higher ups nodded and agreed with her.

Mentally, you were dancing on the oval table, mocking Nanami.

In the real world, you simply nodded, smiled and shrugged:

"Of course, the workload is manageable."

Okay so you were petty- who cares? It felt good to have your work openly praised, especially by the superiors, and even more in front of everyone.

The meeting went on, and you could feel Nanami's presence beside you, unwavering, yet somehow… distant. He remained composed, his focus never wavering, as he took note of the discussions around the table. You couldn't help but notice the slight furrow of his brow when Rina mentioned your name. It was subtle, but you caught it. Was that… surprise? Annoyance? You couldn't tell, and honestly, you didn't care. You were too busy relishing in the praise from the higher-ups.

After the meeting ended, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Nanami as everyone stood up, getting ready to leave. You packed up your things with a smug little smile, knowing that you had outperformed him. You walked past him on your way to the door, but his voice stopped you before you could leave. 

You reached for the door, your hand already on the handle, when his voice sliced through the quiet hum of the office.

“Impressive.”

"Hm?" You barely turned, looking over your shoulder. "What was that?"

Nanami was standing by the table, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of a notebook. The air between you both felt thick with the aftermath of the meeting, though you didn’t let on how much you were enjoying the subtle victory. His eyes were fixed on you, but there was no warmth in his gaze—only the faintest flicker of something you couldn't quite place.

"Your presentation," he continued, his tone carefully neutral, though there was an almost imperceptible tension in his posture. "It was… concise. Well-organized.

"Thank you. I do aim to please." Your words were casual, almost teasing, as you took a step toward the door. The tension you’d been feeling in the room seemed to hang in the air like a charged electrical current.

You could feel him watching you. You weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much that small comment affected you.

As you reached for the door again, his next words came, just low enough for only you to hear.

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

You paused, hand still on the handle, heart skipping a beat. His voice, even when laced with barely contained ice, held a certain quality that made your pulse quicken.

“I’m just getting started.” You didn’t look back as you stepped out, your heels clicking sharply against the floor as you walked away, knowing that Nanami’s eyes were still on you.

Nanami watched you walk out of the room, the sound of your heels echoing down the hallway like a taunt. His mind replayed your words, your smile, the way you’d seemed to take pleasure in every inch of that moment.

When you went back into your small office, Aiko, one of your team members, gave a little knock and popped her head in.

"Holy shit- congrats!!"

You tried to play it cool- only grinning in response, on the inside though, you felt so damn smug and good.

Aiko's face lit up with excitement, her dark eyes sparkling as she grinned at you. She wasn't exactly subtle—she practically vibrated with enthusiasm. 

"Y'know, I really thought Nanami was gonna fuckin' implode. He's the only one that usually gets that type of praise. He looked like someone told him the stock market crashed. I don't I've ever seen him move his face like that- his eyebrow twitched! And he blinked- liked twice- that's insane!"

A laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, and you pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to look composed. "His eyebrow twitched? Really?"

"Twice! It was like watching a machine glitch. You might actually be the first person to ever rattle him." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I think he's starting to realize you're not just here to make up the numbers."

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I'm just doing my job."

But inside? Oh, inside, you were practically glowing. Rattling Nanami Kento, the man who seemed more robot than human, felt like a victory worth savouring.

-

It had been two weeks since the meeting. Two weeks since you’d walked past Nanami with that smug little smile, and he still couldn’t get the image out of his mind. He found himself replaying that moment. The confidence in your stride, the glint of triumph in your eyes—it haunted him.

He didn’t want it to.

He prided himself on being composed, measured, immune to the trivial distractions of office politics or—he scoffed at the thought—office flirtations. Yet here he was, leaning against his desk, staring blankly at a report that should have had his full attention, while you occupied too much space in his mind.

Every morning- 7:30 sharp, when he heard the sharp click of your heels in the hallway, he tensed, anticipating your arrival. He didn’t understand why his heart raced in those moments. 

Like everyday since those three months that you had joined the company, Nanami didn’t need to check the clock. He knew it was exactly 7:30. His hand hovered over the report in front of him, pen poised, but the words blurred into a meaningless haze.

He hated it. How ridiculous, juvenile even.

And yet—there it was. 

Every. Damn. Day.

When you appeared in the doorway, your smile was as sharp as ever.

“Good morning, Nanami,” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge to it—a challenge.

“Good morning,” he replied stiffly, not looking up from the report in front of him. He refused to give you the satisfaction of seeing how tightly he gripped his pen.

"Hope you had a lovely evening." You quipped. "By the way-" You gently dropped a file on his desk, next to his hand- such a pretty hand- "Here you go." 

Nanami’s gaze flicked briefly to the file, then back to the report in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the way your fingers had brushed the edge of his desk—close enough to touch. He hated that he noticed the soft scent you carried, something faintly floral, delicate. He loathed the way it lingered.

“What is this?” he asked, voice steady but clipped.

“Updated figures,” you replied sweetly, your tone all innocence. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of finding the errors. I know how thorough you like to be.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. That smug little smile, the one that made his pulse spike despite himself, was still playing at the corners of your lips. He could already feel the burn of irritation coiling in his chest. 

You were insufferable

Like a child who found a new noisy, light up toy, and kept waving it around.

His eyes flicked back to the file on his desk, though he didn’t move to touch it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you; it was that he hated the idea that you might have found a way to make him look careless in front of the rest of the team. He was always thorough. Always precise. He didn’t even need to look up to feel the weight of your gaze, calm, measured, like you were waiting for him to crack. 

The audacity of it.

"Is this supposed to be some kind of subtle jab?" he asked, his voice colder than he intended. "I don’t need your help."

You didn’t flinch, your smile unwavering. 

“I didn’t think you did,” you said smoothly, stepping back, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you moved slightly away from his desk, but not far enough to be out of his reach. "I just thought you’d like to avoid a mistake. It's not like I enjoy fixing your errors, Nanami."

You were an annoyance. 

A distraction.

"Don't waste your time," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "I’ll review it."

"Of course," you said, your voice still sweet, but there was an edge to it now—an undercurrent of amusement, perhaps even triumph. And with that, you turned and left, those goddamn heals clicking against the floor in a perfect rhythm. 

Fuck he hated you. 

- 

The next day, Nanami was at his desk early again. 7:30. He couldn’t stop the instinctual tightening of his chest when he heard the click of your heels. He sat straighter, adjusting his tie as if the mere presence of you required him to be on his guard.

He needed to be nothing short of perfect- especially when you were around.

“Good morning, Nanami,” you said with that same confident, cool smile, your eyes scanning the room before settling on him.

“Morning,” he grunted, doing his best to keep his voice even.

You didn’t respond right away, instead dropping a few more files onto his desk—closer this time, as if you knew exactly where to place them to make him feel something.

"Just a few updates," you said, almost casually, as if this was all normal. As if this wasn’t some subtle war of attrition between you two. "There was a mistake on Q2. Thankfully I caught it. Do take a look at the updated version please, try to get it to me before lunch- that is if you can of course, no pressure."

His eyes shifted to your hands for a second. 

Perfectly manicured, a soft pastel pink with hints of glitter. Two silver rings.

None on your ring finger.

He shouldn’t be thinking about your hands. Or how they looked so perfectly manicured.

 He felt an irritation bubble in his chest, a tightness he couldn’t explain. You were too composed, too perfect in every little thing you did. The way you moved, the way you spoke.. just everything about you seemed deliberate, designed to get under his skin.

"I’ll have it to you by lunch," Nanami replied curtly, not willing to show any hint of weakness. 

"Good," you said, stepping back from his desk but still lingering just enough to make him feel the weight of your presence. "I’ll be around if you need anything."

Nanami didn’t look up as you walked away, but his attention was fixed on the file you’d left behind. As he opened it, he could see the penmenship, and he honestly wanted to just.. throw the file in the trash, refuse to acknowledge your critics, burn the file- no burn the building.

With the file in it.

Not at all dramatic.

-

Hell only began (for Nanami specically), a couple weeks later, you had been part of the office for around five months now.

Five months of you and your perfection, your presence always lingering just enough to annoy him, yet never enough to fully push you out of his thoughts. Five months of his mind constantly circling back to you, he had begun to hate(?) you.

And why did hell start?

Because you were asked to take the lead in a very, very important portfolio.

“Nanami, I’ve got some updates for you,” Rina had said, “You’re going to be working on the Gojo portfolio with her. You’re both great at what you do, and this project—well, it’s too big for anyone to handle alone. This portfolio is massive, and the two of you are the best we’ve got. Think of the potential!”

The words barely registered at first. 

Gojo. 

You.

Potential.

Yes, potential to drive him absolutely insane.

The Gojo portfolio- that family was infamous, as much as the Zenin family, those fuckers had more money than a small country. They were important people, with lots of connections, and the portfolios meant hundreds of millions of dollars- potentially billions.

Said Gojo family, that name alone sent a shiver of dread down his spine. They were a powerful, untouchable dynasty—people who played the game of business with an arrogance that came from decades of wealth and influence. They controlled assets in dozens of industries, their connections stretching across borders. And now, their portfolio was going to be the crown jewel of his department. 

Generations of influence, their fingers in every major pie, from finance to real estate to tech. The portfolio would be the most important thing his department had seen in years, and now, you—you—would be holding the reins.

But more importantly, it was the project that could define careers. The financial windfall alone was enough to make anyone salivate. And when Rina had told him that you’d be the one spearheading it, something inside him snapped.

His first reaction was something close to disbelief. He didn't hate you, per se—no, he loathed you. He loathed how easily you adapted to the rhythm of the office, how effortlessly you’d made your mark. You were a force, and every day, you chipped away at the barriers he so carefully built. But this? He had to admit it—he was furious.

He was furious. 

Furious that you, the person who had somehow turned his well-ordered world upside down, were going to take the reins on this. Furious that Rina—who he had worked alongside for years—thought that the two of you would work well together.

Furious that you had already made a name for yourself in the department, while he had to claw through every task, every project, with every ounce of effort just to maintain his position.

You had done this. This… shift in the office dynamic, where everything now seemed to revolve around you. Where his attention was so often dragged back to you, despite his best efforts to stay focused.

Whatever.

-

The next day, you two began working together.

The Gojo portfolio was a completely different beast. 

It required precision, flawless attention to detail, and relentless dedication. And like clockwork, at exactly 7:30 a.m, you were already in the office, your heels clicking against the polished floor in that deliberate rhythm that had begun to haunt Nanami's mornings- he swore he could almost hear those wretched heals in his sleep.

 He focused on the documents spread across his desk, the numbers blurring into meaningless lines as your presence filled the room.

"Morning," you said smoothly, setting down your bag with grace. "Did you review the reports I sent last night?"

Without looking at you, Nanami nodded curtly. "Yes." His tone was clipped, detached. He didn’t look at you right away. He refused. But he could feel your presence beside him like an itch under his skin, impossible to ignore. You were calm, composed, utterly unfazed by the weight of the portfolio you’d been handed. That alone made his blood boil. Did you ever feel the pressure? Did you ever doubt yourself?

"Good," you replied, your voice too calm, too assured. "Because we have a lot to get through today. The Gojos aren’t exactly patient." And with that, you pushed a coffee and a muffin towards him. "I think it'll be interresting to work with you, both Rina and Aiko have sang your praices- hell, even the interns Yuki, Megumi and Nobara adore you."

You pulled your computer out, with two notebooks, and a couple files, getting ready for a day of work.

"And anyways.." You continued, back to your usual tone. "I find it cute, how the interns look up to you- especially Yuji. I think if he could, he'd shadow you 24/7. It says a lot."

His eyes flicked back to the files scattered across his desk, trying to focus on the work at hand. The Gojo portfolio. Important, urgent. He had a job to do.

But of course, your voice—the smooth, unfaltering tone that always seemed to slice through the tension in the room—was impossible to ignore. You were impossible to ignore.

"I’m sure you’ve heard all the praise," you said, not looking up from your own laptop, the steady click of your keys the only sound in the room for a moment. "The interns are all so eager to learn from you, Nanami. Makes me wonder how you’ve built such a reputation. I must say it impresses me."

His eyes briefly flicked up to you, watching as you worked with that cool, effortless grace, the steady rhythm of your fingers on the keyboard almost mocking him.

He hated you.

How dare you act as if this wouldn't be the portfolio in your life?

He forced his gaze back down to the files, forcing himself to remember why he was here, why this partnership was necessary. The Gojo portfolio. This was the big one. His career was riding on this. Not that he needed reminding—he was always painfully aware of the stakes.

The rest of the day was either silent, either the usual talk.

-

It was a week later that you first met the Gojo lawyers. 

And it didn't exactly go.. sensationally well.

When Nanami, closely followed by you stepped in, one of the lawyers snapped his fingers at you:

"Go get us some coffee's, thanks." said lawyer turned to Nanami, "I thoughts there would be two of you today?"

You both froze. First of all, you were the only woman in the room. Secondly, that lawyer clearly expected two men to be on the case. 

The room went still.

Nanami’s jaw tightened, the faintest tick in his temple betraying his irritation. He glanced at you, just a quick flick of his eyes, but it was enough to see the slight raise of your brow, the cool, calculating expression that had become so familiar.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink. Instead, you stepped forward, setting your files down on the sleek conference table with deliberate precision- they made a small 'thump' sound. 

 The audacity. His gaze lingered on you for a fraction of a second longer than it should have, searching for a reaction—disdain, fury, anything.

But you didn’t give them that satisfaction. Instead, you smiled.

It was a cold, dangerous smile, the kind that promised retribution without raising your voice. 

“I think you’re mistaken,” you said smoothly, your voice like silk over steel. “I’m here to lead this meeting, not to fetch your coffee.”

Nanami exhaled quietly through his nose, the smallest hint of satisfaction blooming in his chest. The lawyer blinked, clearly taken aback by your composed demeanor, but you didn’t stop there.

“And for the record,” you added, flipping open the top file with a precise flick of your wrist, “if I were to get anyone coffee, I’d make sure to ask if they could afford the time it takes. Because, as I understand it,” your eyes flicked to the lawyer’s expensive watch, “you’re already behind schedule.”

Nanami would've loathed to be on the other side of your words- but he internally grinned, it was beautiful to see you in action. It was like watching someone dismantle a ticking bomb with their bare hands, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was mesmerizing.

The lawyer’s face flushed, a dark red blooming across his cheeks. “I—” he began, but his voice faltered.

Nanami finally spoke, his voice low and calm, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. “If we’re finished with the unnecessary pleasantries, perhaps we can begin the actual business.” His eyes cut to the lawyer, cold and unyielding. “Or should I assume you’re not prepared?”

The lawyer sputtered, but the damage was already done. The balance of power in the room had shifted, and everyone knew it.

You settled into your chair, crossing your legs with an air of absolute composure, like you’d just won a game only you knew you were playing. “Shall we?” you said, gesturing to the documents spread across the table.

Nanami lowered himself into the seat beside you, his posture rigid but controlled. He could feel the heat of your presence next to him, the proximity sending a spark through his nerves. He hated that too—the way you unsettled him without even trying. But damn it if he wasn’t impressed.

As the meeting continued, your voice filled the room, sharp and commanding, dismantling the Gojo lawyer’s every attempt to regain control with precise, cutting logic. Nanami watched you work, silent and calculating, his respect for you begrudgingly deepening with every word you spoke.

When the meeting finally ended, the lawyers shuffled out, the one rat looking asshole was being whisper-shouted at by another lawyer. Nanami stayed seated, watching as you gathered your files with meticulous care.

“Not bad,” he said quietly, the closest thing to a compliment you’d get from him.

You glanced at him, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes. “High praise, coming from you. I'm honored."

Nanami didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he studied you for a long moment, his gaze heavy and unreadable. He didn’t want to admit it—not to you, not to himself—but something had shifted. His hatred wasn’t as pure as it had been before- if it even had been hatred.

And that terrified him.

Without another word, you stood, giving him one last smirk before walking out of the conference room, heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome.

-

The Gojo portfolio had transformed into an all-consuming monster. Early mornings bled into late nights, leaving the office bathed in the muted glow of computer screens long after everyone else had gone home. 

You worked with a ruthless precision, dissecting financials, anticipating client demands, and somehow maintaining that maddeningly calm demeanor. He hated it. He hated how flawless you seemed. And he hated himself more for the way he kept catching himself watching, listening, noticing every little thing.

It drove him insane.

“You’re staring, Nanami,” you said one evening without looking up, your voice cool and teasing. “Something on your mind?”

He snapped his gaze back to the papers in front of him, cursing under his breath. “No.”

You glanced at him, that sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Liar.”

Nanami forced himself to remain calm, though his grip on the pen tightened. “Focus on the projections. We’re behind.”

“Actually, we’re not,” you countered, sliding a neatly tabbed document across the table toward him. “I recalculated the figures last night.”

He hated it- he loved it- he was going absolutely insane.

The worst part? He couldn’t stop thinking about you.

It had become routine: every morning, you’d arrive, heels clicking down the hall with that same, maddening precision, and Nanami would already be sitting at his desk, pretending to concentrate on the piles of paperwork in front of him.

You never missed a beat, always greeted him with that cool, calculating smile.

“Morning,” you’d say, dropping another file onto his desk, eyes gleaming with that ever-present challenge.

“Morning,” Nanami would respond with a tight smile, the words barely leaving his mouth before he’s caught in your gaze. It was the same routine every day, and yet, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you were always just a step ahead.

-

It was late one night when the two of you were working overtime, the office almost empty, save for the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant sounds of your tapping keyboards. You had even pulled out the bleu light glasses. 

Nanami rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, but his gaze kept drifting over to you—your brow furrowed in concentration, your hair pulled back in that messy ponytail. He hated how attractive-NO. NOT THAT.  

He forced himself to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him, tapping his pen rhythmically against the desk in a futile attempt to drown out the quiet sounds of you typing. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, the crisp fabric of his shirt wrinkled from hours of work. He refused to think about how your gaze had flicked to his arms when he adjusted his collar earlier- you were probably mocking him mentally.

He shook his head and went back to work.

You stole a glance, the veins prominent along his arms, and one involuntary word crossed your mind: whore.

The thought startled you, and you stifled a laugh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the sound from escaping. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you refocused, staring at the data that had blurred together over the last several hours. You couldn't let him see that his presence was getting to you. 

You were adjusting your blue light glasses, pushing them up the bridge of your nose with an exasperated air. The action was so unguarded, so normal, that it struck him unexpectedly. You looked—no. He clamped down on the thought before it could form.

Not now. 

Not ever.

Nuh huh.

Nanami’s pen paused mid-tap, and he turned slightly in his chair, the weight of his gaze settling on you like a physical presence. “What?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though there was a note of irritation. “You’re staring.”

You blinked, feigning innocence, your fingers resuming their measured tap against the keyboard. “I wasn’t staring,” you replied smoothly. “I was thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Oh, you know,” you said airily, glancing at him sideways-fuck you wanted to sink your teeth in his perfect forearm argh-, “about how much time you waste tapping that pen. Very productive."

“You could have just said it’s distracting,” he replied flatly, his tone even. “Instead of making it another one of your clever little remarks.”

"You think I'm clever?" You quiped back. Honestly the tiredness was getting to you, or else you would've never said that.

Nanami's eyes narrowed, his pen tapping once more before falling silent. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

 “Don’t twist my words,” he said, voice clipped. “I said nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your own chair with a small, tired grin. “You didn’t deny it fast enough. Clearly, you think I’m clever. It’s okay to admit it, Nanami. We’re all friends here.”

“Friends?” he echoed, an incredulous scoff escaping before he could stop it. “Is that what we are now?”

“Well,” you began, a playful lilt in your voice, “we’re certainly something. You, me, this portfolio—it’s practically a romance.”

“I’d rather not associate this project with anything resembling a romance.”

You chuckled, a sound that was too soft, too unguarded for the moment, and it grated at him. “Relax, Nanami,” you said, turning your attention back to the screen in front of you. “It’s just a joke. You really need to loosen up.”

“Loosening up is exactly how people make mistakes,” he retorted sharply, eyes focused on his screen now. “And we can’t afford mistakes. Not with this portfolio.”

“Right, of course,” you murmured, the teasing edge fading from your voice. “The almighty Gojo portfolio.” There was a pause, and then, more softly: “You don’t think I’m taking this seriously?”

His hands stilled over the keyboard. For a moment, he said nothing, the hum of the office the only sound between you. Then, his voice, quieter now, “I think you enjoy making light of things that shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

You turned to face him, resting your chin on your hand, and studied him. “You think I’m joking because I don’t care. That’s what you really believe, isn’t it?”

His gaze flickered to you, a flash of something unreadable in his eyes before it vanished. “I believe,” he said carefully, “that your confidence borders on arrogance.”

“And your perfectionism borders on obsession,” you shot back, but there was no bite to the words. “We balance each other.”

Nanami exhaled slowly, the words settling between you like an uneasy truce. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was truth in what you said. Your approach was different—infuriatingly so—but it was effective. The two of you did balance each other, as much as it grated on him to acknowledge it.

“You’re not wrong,” he muttered at last, eyes drifting back to his screen.

You blinked, looking at him shocked, caught off guard. “Did you just—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, tone warning, though there was no real malice in it. “Don’t make me regret it.”

A smile tugged at your lips, genuine and unguarded. “I’ll treasure the moment.”

Nanami bit back a sigh, forcing his attention back to the portfolio, but the warmth of your smile lingered longer than it should have. He hated it. Hated how much space you occupied in his mind.

But what he hated most was the gnawing realization that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t hate it at all.

-

After the second wet dream he had of you, he knew he was done for.

Buried.

Cremated.

Entombed.

The Gojo portfolio continued, it was estimated to take around five months to fully finalise, that meant four more months of working with you.

And he wasn't sure he'd be able to take it.

The next morning, Nanami sat at his desk earlier than usual. His thoughts were a mess—an infuriating, tangled web of work and you. He had spent the night convincing himself that the dreams were just a byproduct of stress, a mental slip caused by the long hours and high stakes of the Gojo portfolio.

And yet, when the familiar click of your heels echoed down the hallway, his heart betrayed him with its predictable quickening.

Get a grip.

You entered, balancing a coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other, your blue light glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. The faint scent of your perfume trailed behind you as you approached his desk. Nanami stared resolutely at his screen, trying to ignore the way his pulse jumped.

“Morning,” you said, setting the coffee down beside him with a casual air. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up. Late night?”

Nanami stared at the coffee for a second, it was his preferred order- which you had memorised. 

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice flat, betraying nothing. “Late night.” He reached for the coffee, his fingers brushing the cup, and the warmth bled into his palm. He took a sip, savoring the bitter taste as if it could wash away the thoughts plaguing him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” you replied easily, sliding into the chair across from him, settling in as though this was the most natural thing in the world. “We both need all the caffeine we can get if we’re going to survive the next four months.”

Nanami tensed. Four months. The reminder felt like a death sentence.

And he was already dead.

“Survival,” he echoed, forcing a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s one way to put it.”

You glanced at him over the rim of your glasses, an amused glint in your eyes. “Oh, come on, Nanami. It won’t be that bad. I’m not that unbearable, am I?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just focused on the report in front of him. The numbers blurred together again, your voice too distracting. His grip on the pen in his hand tightened. Yes, he wanted to say. You’re infuriating, impossible, maddening. But instead, he kept his tone carefully neutral.

“You’re tolerable,” he said, deliberately nonchalant. “On good days.”

Your laughter was soft, like the gentle chime of a bell, and it cut through the tension in the room. It wasn’t the reaction he expected, and it made something in his chest twist in an unfamiliar way.

“Well, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week,” you teased, flipping open one of the files. “I’ll take it.”

He hated how your laughter made the room feel lighter. He hated how you brushed off his barbs with ease, like they were nothing more than harmless banter. But most of all, he hated how much he was beginning to look forward to these moments- this wasn't good.

The next few hours passed in relative silence, the two of you working side by side. You would occasionally glance at him, offering a slight smirk whenever you caught him scowling at the screen, as though you knew exactly what was going through his mind.

And then, at 2:00 PM sharp, Rina called for a meeting.

The Gojo family’s lawyers were predictably dismissive, questioning the projections and raising concerns. But Nanami handled them today, which.. lord. Oh. Lord. 

The worst? 

He rolled his sleeves up again and-urghhhh. Stay focused. 

The Gojo lawyers, as expected, were dismissive, arrogant, and relentless. Their questions were pointed, their criticisms unyielding. But Nanami stood firm, taking each jibe with the calm demeanor that he’d perfected over the years. He was in control. He had to be.

But when the lawyer turned to you—you, the woman who had managed to stay silent for the last twenty minutes—something in Nanami’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure why, but his gaze lingered as you stood to answer, every move you made purposeful, confident.

You handled the situation flawlessly, your words sharp but measured. You held your ground, never wavering, even as the lawyer tried to undermine you.

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” the lawyer asked with a sneer, clearly annoyed by your poise.

You smiled thinly, leaning forward just enough to convey both authority and calm.

“Everything,” you confirmed, locking eyes with him. "And more."

Nanami watched, something shifting in his chest as he realized just how perfectly you fit into this office.

-

As the months continued to stretch pass, the portfolio, the hellish project was coming to an end. In a week.

A week and the two of you would be free- with a hefty bonus and a week time off.

"Look at my baby." You interrupted during an afternoon, you had been staring at the same sequence of stats for almost twenty minutes and needed a break, so you shoved your phone into Nanami's hold, a picture of your rag-doll cat on the screen.

Nanami blinked, looking over the rim of his glasses, staring at the phone in his hand, momentarily thrown off by your sudden proximity. His fingers brushed against yours as he took it from you, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot how to breathe.

He could die in peace now.

He glanced at the screen, his gaze flicking to the image of your cat, a rag-doll with fluffy fur and wide, innocent blue eyes. The cat looked comfortable in its bed, as if living a life of luxury—nothing like the stress and chaos that had consumed Nanami's world lately.

"She’s cute," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, but there was a tightness in his chest that he couldn't explain. It wasn’t the cat—he could tell you loved her, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that you had taken a moment to show him something personal. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that—slid into his personal space without hesitation, pulled him into your orbit with ease. But each time, it left him feeling like he was losing some battle he hadn’t even realized he was fighting.

"What’s her name?"

You smiled, a soft, almost wistful expression, your lips curling just enough to show a hint of warmth, of something almost affectionate. 

"Her name’s Mochi," you replied, eyes flickering down to your phone for a second, but he noticed the small shift in your demeanour. "My little baby- you gotta meet her one day."

You didn't seem to realise the innuendo (oh you did).

His pulse beat in his ears, not from the picture, but from the unspoken implication. 

"Maybe," he said finally, as if he could drown out the sudden rush of heat that flooded his chest-and dick. "I’ll meet her… one day."

In that moment, when you’d shoved your phone into his hands and leaned a little too close, it was like you had given him something he couldn’t get anywhere else: a glimpse of something real. 

Something personal. Something you had never shared with anyone else.

"She’s a handful," you continued, oblivious to the way your words struck him. "She loves attention, especially when I’m working. She’ll jump right onto my desk and try to sit on my laptop, even if she’s already eaten and had a nap."

“And do you… have time for her?” Nanami asked before he could stop himself, the question slipping out like an impulse.

You raised an eyebrow, amused, clearly not expecting such a question from him. "Of course I do. It’s not all work, Nanami. You should know that by now-and anyways, you have time for Megumi, Yuki and Nobara." 

"You think I… have time for them?" he asked, though he didn't mean to. His voice sounded flat, detached, like it always did. But there was a little edge to it now—a layer of something deeper that he couldn’t quite cover up.

Your eyes flickered to him, slightly puzzled by the change in his tone. “I mean, you do, don’t you? You’re always so on top of everything, Nanami. They all look up to you. It’s obvious.”

You said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, as if it were just a fact of life. But Nanami couldn't quite shake the way your words tugged at him. Did you really see him like that? Did you see the way he looked after the interns, always ensuring they had what they needed, always pushing them to do better?

“Yeah,” he answered, voice quieter than he intended, “I suppose I do.”

-

The final week of the portfolio was a blur of meetings and final adjustments, the finish line in sight. But even with the end so close, Nanami couldn’t shake the thoughts of you. It was maddening, how much his mind kept drifting back to those small, seemingly innocent moments.

He was losing it, you were always. On. His. Fucking. Mind.

He dreamt of you.

It was impossible.

By the time the final presentation rolled around, Nanami’s chest was tight. He stood at the front of the room, addressing the Gojo family’s lawyers with his usual cool precision. But his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You were sitting in the front row, looking every bit the professional—composed, confident, perfect. But it wasn’t the report that caught his attention. It was the way you held yourself, the way your presence seemed to fill the room, to fill his thoughts.

And, for the first time in months, Nanami realized the truth.

He wasn’t just working with you anymore. No, somewhere along the way, he had started to want you.

In every way possible.

And that realization terrified him.

But it also made his heart race.

When the presentation wrapped up, and the Gojo family’s lawyers gave their approval, the weight lifted from his shoulders, but something else remained. A tension, a charge between you and him that wasn’t just about the project anymore.

“You did well,” you said quietly as you gathered your things, standing up and walking over to him. Your voice was low, almost… intimate.

Nanami nodded, though his words caught in his throat. “You did well too,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe you’ll finally meet Mochi.”

The way you said it, so lightly, like it was nothing but a joke, made Nanami’s heart thud in his chest.

But as you turned to leave, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe it.

-

That week of vacation was amazing- for you, it was a welcome respite, a much-needed break to recover from the endless grind of the Gojo portfolio, after six months of work, you could relax. 

For Nanami?

Pure torture. The dreams got worse, he's hear your heals clicking on the floor in his sleep, he's feel your hands on him, your nails racking against his back, your lips against his neck-God. He needed to get a grip. 

He couldn't escape you.

It was pure torture.

No matter how hard he tried to immerse himself in the quiet of his apartment, in the mundane routines that used to ground him- the things he usually did, your voice echoed in his mind. Your laugh, your teasing, the way you’d look at him when you caught him staring. He could hear the click of your heels on the office floor, so vividly that it was as though you were still right there beside him. And then, the dreams, they continued. 

But they got worse. So much worse.

At first, they were simple, moments of you brushing against him, the soft press of your shoulder against his. But then, they evolved. 

His nights were now filled with images of you—your hands on him, nails raking down his back as he kissed you. Your lips against his neck, your breath against his ear, whispering his name.

He would wake up gasping, the sheets tangled around him, his body aching in ways he couldn't explain. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and no matter how many times he tried to shake it off, it would linger. Every night, it became harder to distinguish between sleep and waking, as if you were already there with him, in his apartment, on his couch, in his bed.

You. You were in every corner of his thoughts.

He could probably charge you rent for how much you were plaguing his mind. 

By the end of the week, when his phone buzzed with a reminder that work was starting again, he felt his stomach drop. His vacation was over, and he was about to be thrown back into the fire. Into you.

-

The first day back at the office was not easy.

But at least the Gojo portfolio was over with. 

The minute Nanami stepped through the door, he was greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and papers, the quiet buzz of activity, and the sound of your heels clicking against the polished floor.

He froze for a second, his body tense, heart hammering, before he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. The familiar sight of you, sitting at your workstation, absorbed in your laptop, sent a shiver down his spine. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the sight of you, how much he needed it.

Nanami’s hand hovered over the pile of reports, but his mind was elsewhere. His gaze drifted over to you again, and there you were, typing away on your laptop, completely absorbed in your work. The sound of your fingers on the keys was strangely soothing, but it also made his thoughts spiral in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Your nails were a dark red now. Still with two silver rings.

His pulse thudded in his ears, a constant reminder of how aware he was of you—how every second you were near him felt like a slow burn, something that crept under his skin and made his chest ache with a longing he couldn’t deny. 

And the worst part? He hated how much he liked it. He hated that you had a power over him, that no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, that stupid smile of yours would make him forget everything else.

You, in eleven months, had become the centre of his universe.

“Good morning, Nanami,” you said, not even looking up from your screen, the words light, casual.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice colder than he intended, his eyes snapping down to the reports in front of him. But his mind wasn’t on the work; it was on you, as always. The way your fingers danced over the keyboard, the way the sunlight caught in your hair, making it seem impossibly soft, like it belonged to a dream.

God, he was a fool.

A couple minutes later, one of the assistants brought you two coffee's, Nanami wondered for a second, then tried his damn hardest to focus back on his work, until he saw something in the corner of his eye.

A coffee cup.

Steaming.

His favorite.

You winked: "You're gonna need it, after a week of vaca, I always feel like death coming back to work."

Yeah, Nanami was fucked. 

He hadn’t even asked for it, yet you had remembered. The perfect temperature, the exact strength of the brew, just how he liked it. His fingers twitched at his sides, desperately holding back the flood of feelings he wasn’t ready to face. It was ridiculous, how much your small gesture unraveled him. But then again, everything about you unraveled him.

You had done this before- during the Gojo project.

And yet… He stared down at the coffee, willing himself not to give in to the urge to reach for it, to acknowledge your presence more than he already had. Instead, he pretended to focus on the reports, trying to push the rising tide of emotion back down.

But then your voice broke through his thoughts, and it was so casual, so easy.

He couldn’t even look at you without his heart going haywire, without his thoughts betraying him, reminding him of every little thing that made him want to reach across that desk and—

No.

He set the coffee down, a little more firmly than he meant to, the sound of the mug against the desk loud in the otherwise quiet office.

He had to focus. 

He had to keep it together.

You reached for your own coffee, that little smug smile still playing on your lips as you took a sip, not even acknowledging how much it was driving him mad. He clenched his fists under the table, trying to ignore the strange pull in his gut.

He needed a moment to breathe.

“Do you have something to say, or are you just going to sit there looking at me like you want to bite my head off?” you asked casually, tapping your nails against your cup as if you were entirely unaware of the storm you were causing inside him.

Of course you wouldn't give him a moment to breath. 

Why would you.

"No," he finally said, his voice quieter, almost too calm. "Just trying to focus on work."

You looked at him, your expression softening, almost imperceptibly, and that was what broke him.

"I don't think you're fooling anyone," you said, voice low now. "You think I don’t see how you’ve been acting lately? How you can barely look me in the eye when we’re in the same room?"

He could see your cleavage-fuck.

No.

Eyes up.

You were actually a bit impressed, Nanami didn't falter, his eyes stayed perfectly locked on yours. Un-moving. Professional. Like a good gentleman, keeping his eyes locked on yours while he could potentially have.. quite the view.

His gaze remained locked on yours, his face betraying nothing, as if you hadn’t just called him out on everything he had been trying so desperately to hide.

“Don’t worry, Nanami. I’m not going to bite,” you said softly, but there was a subtle undercurrent in your voice, one that had his pulse quickening all over again. You tilted your head slightly, as if savouring the effect you had on him- on the inside, you were kicking your feet like a little girl.

“I wasn’t worried,” he said, his voice tight and controlled, the words barely making it past his lips. “I just don’t see the point in discussing it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your smile deepening. 

“Really? Because you’ve been acting like you’re dying to say something. You know, it’s kind of hard to ignore how much tension there’s been between us lately. And it’s not just me noticing, you know. Rina has noticed, Aiko had-hell, even the interns have."

But you shrugged, continuing to speak: "Anyways. T's up to you."

And with that, you gave him a card-the companies card, with a time: 7:30 pm, at the Spark Bar. You turned and walked away.

It was taking every ounce of self-control not to follow you, not to barge into your office and demand to know exactly what you meant by all of this. To demand you give him answers for the way his heart raced every time you entered the room, the way you made him lose focus the moment you said his name. The way he hadn’t even been able to look at another woman the entire time he’d worked with you. The way everything else—work, responsibilities, life—had blurred into the background whenever you were near.

-

That evening, exactly 7:29 pm, he stepped into the bar. He scanned the place for a moment, it wasn't packed, but wasn't completely empty. Then he saw you. Your blouse, undone a couple of buttons, just enough to show a hint of skin. The sharp line of your collarbones, the curve of your neck, the soft sheen of your skin in the low light. It was almost like you were daring him to look, daring him to notice how much more real you were without the rigid structure of the office around you.

And then there was the way you were sitting—one leg crossed over the other, just enough to hike the hem of your pencil skirt a little higher, the smooth skin of your thigh peeking out.

Nanami’s breath hitched. His eyes dragged unwillingly over the exposed skin, his pulse hammering in his chest. He wanted to look away. He wanted to pull himself together. But he couldn’t.

You were a vision. Damn you.

“Nanami,” you said, your voice slow, deliberate. “Glad you could make it. Cutting it close, I thought punctuality was one of your virtues.”

Nanami slid onto the stool beside you, his movements stiff, controlled. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers curling slightly as if to keep them from reaching for you. He let out a slow, measured breath.

“Had to think it through,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended, like sandpaper dragged across stone. He glanced at you, forcing his gaze to stay locked on your face, but it was a battle. “Didn’t want to waste your time.”

You watched carefully as he removed his jacket, and because of the heat, rolled his sleeves up. You un-bashfully stared at his forearms. 

You smirked, leaning back just enough to savour the view as Nanami rolled his sleeves up, revealing those forearms that had no right looking so strong. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but you could tell he knew. He had to know the effect he was having, the way your eyes tracked every flex of muscle beneath the skin, how you bit your lip without meaning to.

But he didn’t acknowledge it. Of course not. That wasn’t his style.

“Thinking it through?” you echoed, swirling the drink in your glass, the ice clinking softly. “And here I thought you were decisive. But maybe I overestimated you.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t bite. Not yet. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You leaned forward slightly, propping your elbow on the bar, your chin resting on your hand, watching him with those sharp, knowing eyes that had undone him time and time again. “You are,” you murmured. 

You swirled the drink again, the clink of ice in glass the only sound between you for a beat too long. Finally, you broke the silence, voice low, almost teasing.

“So… did you think it through?”

Nanami exhaled slowly, dragging his eyes from your mouth to meet your gaze. 

It was torture. 

Pure, unrelenting torture. The way you were sitting there, confident, self-assured, every inch of you carefully constructed to drive him insane.

“I did,” he said quietly, the words tight, like they had to be pried out of him. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar, closing the distance between you just enough that your perfume wrapped around him like a noose. “And yet, here I am.”

Your eyes went to his forearm, then his hands-imagining them around your neck- oof. No.

“Here you are,” you repeated, the words barely above a whisper. “So tell me, what conclusion did you come to?”

His eyes met yours, and he didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. There was something raw in his gaze, something that was both reverent and desperate, like a man on the verge of breaking.

“The conclusion,” he said, voice low, gravelly, “is that I’ve been lying to myself.”

You leaned in, breath catching in your throat at the gravity of his words, but you didn’t interrupt. You let him speak.

“I’ve tried,” he continued, his voice steady but heavy with restraint. “I’ve tried to keep my distance. To focus on the job. To pretend that every glance, every word, every goddamn smile didn’t affect me.”

He exhaled, the sound sharp and hollow, his eyes darkening as they searched your face for some reaction. “But it does. You do.”

There it was. Laid bare. Raw. Unapologetic.

You tilted your head, your expression unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something softer in your eyes now-internally you were giggling like a little girl, loving this.

 “And what exactly have I done to you, Nanami?”

“What have you done to me?” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head as if to laugh off the absurdity of it. “You’ve…” He struggled for the right words, his throat tight with emotions he had never allowed himself to feel, not this strongly, not like this.

“You’ve made me forget how to breathe,” he finally admitted, the words coming out raw. He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists on the bar as if they were the only things keeping him anchored, the veins becoming more prominent. “I can’t think straight when you’re near me. Every time you speak, I lose myself for a moment. Every time you look at me, I lose track of everything else.”

Your lips parted as if you were about to say something, but Nanami wasn’t done. The words were spilling out now, and there was no stopping them. 

“God, I’m so fucking aware of you. You make me feel like I’m always two steps behind, like I’m running from something I’ve already given into. Every time you walk into the room, I lose my mind. Every time you look at me, I want to pull you closer, but I can’t. I won’t.” His breath caught in his throat, and his chest tightened. “I’ve tried to keep it professional, to keep it normal. But you’ve made it impossible.”

You were fighting a smile, watching this poor man unravel in front of you.. you almost felt sympathy. 

“And here I thought you didn’t like me,” you teased, your voice soft, teasing but with a tenderness laced beneath it, the kind that made his throat tighten even more.

Nanami let out a breath, low and uneven. “I tried not to.”

The bar felt smaller, the air heavier, thick with everything left unsaid between you. Nanami’s confession hung between you like a fragile thread, one tug away from snapping. He sat there, rigid, shoulders tense, every line of his body taut with the effort of holding himself back- he looked almost delicious like that. 

Stressed out.

Over you- how flattering. 

“And yet, here we are,” you murmured, your voice low, soothing. “You, sitting here, spilling your heart out. And me, still waiting to understand why you’ve been driving yourself crazy.”

“Because it’s you,” he said, “Because every time I tried to push it away, you’d do something—laugh, roll your eyes, challenge me—and I’d lose all sense of reason.”

"It’s me, huh?” You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, but your eyes… your eyes betrayed something else. “I’ve got that much power over you?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” he replied, voice tight with both frustration and a deep, aching longing that he couldn’t bury any longer. He was done pretending. Done lying to himself. He was so fucking tired of fighting this.

You could tell.

"I think it's time you meet Mochi no?"

The innuendo was clear, you were inviting him back to your place. 

Nanami froze, the words hanging in the air between you, the invitation wrapped in a teasing smirk that belied the weight of it. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

“You—” he began, his voice breaking, “You can’t be serious.” The words were an automatic defense, but they tasted wrong on his tongue. His throat was dry. He could barely force them out.

But you didn’t flinch. 

“I’m very serious, Nanami,” you whispered. 

“Mochi?” His voice cracked on the word, like he was grasping for any semblance of control. “Your cat?” He sounded strained, like he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t what it clearly was.

“Yes, Nanami.” You leaned in slightly, your tone sweet, teasing. “My cat. Who else did you think I was talking about?”

“You…” he took a deep breath in, struggling to regain control, “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you teased innocently, though the gleam in your eyes told a different story. “But you seem… flustered.”

"Mochi." He repeated, he looked sort of… confused now- much to your amusement.

“Yes, Nanami.” Your voice was soft but the underlying challenge was unmistakable. “My cat. What else would I mean? I didn’t realize you had such a vivid imagination.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and almost apologetic, the words tumbling out without him thinking. “I don’t understand. I—” He stopped himself, realizing how desperate he must sound, how unhinged he was becoming. 

But how could he not? You had him tied up in knots.

“Are you sure you don’t understand?” you asked softly, almost too innocently. You let the silence stretch between you for just a second, watching him carefully. 

You grabbed his tie, toying with the soft fabric.

Nanami blinked, he turned towards the barman: "The tab please- hers too please." 

You grinned.

"Payin' for me are you? My my, what a gentleman." 

But you remained silent after that, watching Nanami pay for your drink, slide back onto his jacket and stare at you:

"So you said I could meet Mochi right?"

-

The instant you were back in your apartment, pushing the door open, the damn cat jumped on you- literaly. With a startled laugh, you barely managed to catch the small, fluffy body in your arms, the cat immediately starting to purr loudly, nuzzling into your neck with affection.

You looked up at Nanami, standing frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide, a soft chuckle escaping him at the sight of your struggle with Mochi.

“Meet Mochi,” you grinned, raising an eyebrow as you settled the cat comfortably in your arms. The little ball of fur had already claimed you as his personal perch. "I told you it was a very important introduction."

This version of you, so warm, so open, made his heart feel heavy. The tension, the walls, the professional front—none of it existed here. Just you. And him. And that damn cat, of course.

Mochi jumped out of your arms, and trotted up to Nanami. You looked down at the cat. 

"Mochi, this is Nanami Kento."

The way you said his name-argh.

He had to close his eyes and swallow for a second.

“Hi, Mochi,” he said softly, bending down to pet the cat. But his attention was still divided. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, standing there in the dim light of your apartment, looking so effortless, so inviting. The warmth of your home, of your presence, was intoxicating in a way that made his head spin.

You watched him, that teasing glint never leaving your eyes. He wasn’t the same stoic, composed Nanami from work. No, here, in your apartment, he was something else entirely—vulnerable, uncertain, human.

“You know,” you said, your voice a little quieter now, your teasing tone replaced by something more genuine, “I didn’t invite you here just to meet Mochi.”

You grabbed his tie, pulling him close, way too close, the tips of his ears burned.

"How many innuendos do I have to dish out for me to make it clear, hm?"

Before he could process anything more, you closed the distance, your lips pressing against his with a heat that burned away every lingering doubt, every shred of self-control. Nanami’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and in that moment, all of the tension, all of the frustration, all of the longing that had been building for months collapsed into something more real.

More raw.

And as you kissed him, deeply, without hesitation, he realised he was never going to be able to walk away from this. From you. He had already crossed the point of no return.

And for the first time in a long while, Nanami didn’t care.

:)

[cera-writes]

Hello! You’re friendly neighbourhood request stalker here, just having another little moment of self inserted love.

Gambit strikes me as someone who would be an absolute nerd. I see him as a secret Star Wars fan or Trekkie. Reader is a mutant who lives in the mansion - maybe a teacher rather than an X-Man? Halloween rolls around, big mansion party and of course reader is big into costumes and cosplay.

Everyone has to dress up and no-one tells anyone about their costume until the big reveal at the party.

She does the Leia. /That/ Princess Leia. And he just spends the whole night with an uncomfortable nerd boner, torn between talking excitedly about the movies and just being his usual flirty lusty self? Maybe even a flustered fanboy? NSFW or SFW, I’ll leave that to you.

I’m gonna go sit in the corner and squee to myself.

A/N: yes yes yes!! I was listening to this song while writing this and I wanna imagine it playing it in the background of the party... 🤣 Pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x F!Reader Tags: fluff, sweet sexy fluff, making out, sexual innuendos, teasing, flirting, reader gives Remy a constant boner

"Then show me, Scoundrel."

The X-Mansion buzzed with an energy that rivalled Danger Room training. Tonight wasn't about honing mutant abilities, it was about unleashing inner demons – the good kind, fueled by fruity cocktails and booming music. Professor Xavier had thrown a rare costume party, and the place was a kaleidoscope of capes, masks, and questionable fashion choices.

You, however, were channelling a very specific kind of fantasy. Standing by the punch bowl, you were the epitome of Rebel Princess badassery. You'd raided Storm's wardrobe for a flowing white drape, leaving enough strategically placed gaps to make even the stoic Ororo blush. The pièce de résistance, though, was a leather belt Professor X had unearthed from a forgotten box of "mutant memorabilia." It did wonders for accentuating your curves. You'd even fashioned your hair into a pair of space buns, completing the look.

You were scanning the room, feeling a thrill at the envious stares from Rogue and the appreciative nods from Beast, when a familiar drawl sliced through the music.

"Well, well, well. Looks like someone wandered straight outta Jabba's Palace."

Remy Lebeau, ever the charmer, stood before you, his trademark grin plastered across his face. He was a dead ringer for Indiana Jones, complete with a Traveller hat and a leather jacket that wouldn't look out of place on one of the members of his former Thief Guild.

"Just call me Princess," you countered, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Up close, his eyes sparkled with an amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. Remy was, in fact, all hot and bothered at the mere sight of you. He was fangirling so hard, flustered by the sight of you wearing that costume.

"Princess, huh? Think you can handle a scoundrel like me?" His voice was a low rumble, sending another delicious jolt through you.

You leaned in, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath on his ear. "Try me, Gambit."

The way his name rolled off your tongue, laced with a deliberate challenge, had a visible effect on him. A flicker of heat replaced the amusement in his eyes.

"Careful, cher," he murmured, his voice husky. "You might jus' get more than you bargained for."

The music shifted to a slow, seductive melody. Remy held out a hand, the invitation clear. A mischievous grin spread across your face as you bit your bottom lip. "Take the lead, scoundrel."

He took your hand, the touch sending a spark igniting between you. As you glided onto the makeshift dance floor, you couldn't help but brush your hand against his chest, the worn leather cool against your skin. He inhaled sharply, the movement pulling the fabric of his jacket taut across his impressive physique.

You danced with him, slow and close, the playful banter escalating with each stolen glance, each lingering touch. He twirled you, the white drape billowing around you like a cloud, and for a moment, you could almost believe you were dancing with Han Solo under a Tatooine sunset.

When the song ended, Remy leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. "Let's get outta here, Princess. I know a place with a much better view of the stars."

A shiver snaked down your spine at his suggestion, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. Remy's hand slipped around your waist, his touch sending a jolt through you that had nothing to do with his mutant power.

He led you away from the mansion, the party lights fading behind you like dying stars. The silence was thick with unspoken desire, broken only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet. He stopped suddenly, pulling you against a large oak tree, the moonlight filtering through the leaves casting an ethereal glow on his face.

His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now smoldering with a different kind of intensity. A single gloved finger grazed your cheek, sending shivers down your exposed skin. "You know, cher," he murmured, his voice a low caress, "this princess needs a little less…" he trailed off, his hand gliding down your arm, lingering on the exposed sliver of skin above your elbow. His eyes followed the traces of his fingers dancing along your skin, causing goosebumps to form as you bit back a whimper.

Your breath hitched as he slowly unfastened the clasp on the leather belt Professor X had unearthed. It felt symbolic, a shedding of inhibitions, a slow reveal that mirrored the growing tension between you. The white fabric parted further, revealing a hint of smooth skin and the enticing curve of your hip.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear. "And a scoundrel," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, "needs a little more…" his breath tickled your earlobe as he trailed a finger down the exposed skin of your back, sending a jolt straight to your core. He had you practically squirming.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then show me, scoundrel," you breathed, your voice laced with lust and a newfound confidence. The playful banter had morphed into something far more primal, a delicious urgency hanging in the air.

Remy chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through you. He captured your lips in a kiss, a slow burn that quickly escalated into a heated exploration. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as he explored the exposed skin of your arms and back. You responded in kind, your fingers tracing the contours of his chest, relishing the feeling of his worn leather jacket beneath your fingertips. He hitched one of your legs up, pinning you against the tree and him.

The kiss became a desperate battle for dominance, a delicious push and pull that left you breathless. He finally pulled away, his eyes half lidded, a red glow in the moonlight.

The crimson glow in his eyes sent a tremor straight down to your core, a primal counterpoint to the heat that had already taken root in your belly. His touch, a slow, deliberate graze against your exposed skin, was pure, unadulterated fire. The playful princess facade had melted away, replaced by a woman yearning for something raw, something untamed.

"Patience, cher," he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky rasp as he thumbed your bottom lip. The restraint in his tone was a delicious torture, a dam holding back a flood of desire. He trailed a finger down the exposed skin of your neck, sending goosebumps erupting in their wake.

"This night isn't over yet. We can take it slow under the disco ball, or..." He paused, his eyes flickering with a devilish glint, "we can rewrite this lil' fairytale of ours under the moonlight, with a little less fabric and a lot more…" He didn't need to finish the sentence.

The suggestive leer in his eyes spoke volumes.

A/N: Lemme know if ya'll want a part two to this! I really enjoyed writing this one! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[aurae-rori]

DR RATIO ANALYSIS: PART 2, ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

SPOILERS FOR 2.1 CONTENT.

Now, you might be saying - "Aurae, you already did one, why do you need a second?" And my answer is, "LORD, I FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT HOW HIS DEFINITION OF 'IDIOT' IS DIFFERENT. AND ALSO HE DOES NOT HATE AVENTURINE NOR DOES HE THINK AVENTURINE IS STUPID." Once again, here is my disclaimer - although I have been researching psychology for a solid six years, I am NOT a professional. (I will be, one day. Just you wait, just youuuu wait-) So understand that everything I say has been analyzed with personal judgement, with my own conclusions, come to with logic and my personal interpretation. This is just what I have concluded, and you are always free to disagree.

This is my legacy. To be an analyzer. So let's go.

Okay, now that my disclaimer is over, let's take off Ratio's plaster head and chuck it into the sea, and see - what does he mean by 'idiot'?

This will be much shorter than my last, so don't worry - I will not be flashbanging you with another 4k words. This is more like a follow up, than anything else, because there's a few things I wish to touch on.

Dr. Ratio doesn't hate idiots in the sense that he hates people that have 'low IQ' or are 'stupid' in terms of being 'slow to understand'. I definitely touched on this in my last analysis, but he hates people who take their education for granted and don't go places with the gifts that they've been given. He hates "idiots" - "narrow minded" people who have the capabilities to do more and perceive more than they choose to do. People who deliberately look away or take what they know and what they could do for granted. He wants to open people's eyes and allow them to see life from multiple different angles and he believes that everyone should have a chance to learn - with the whole "knowledge for everyone" thing he's got rolling.

He wears a plaster head around people he doesn't seem to know too well in order to think more, or so that he doesn't have to see the faces of the people he dislikes. Pretty good roast. However, he does NOT wear that plaster head around Aventurine. Let's listen to the doctor's judgement - Aventurine is far from stupid. Although he likes to chalk up a lot of the things he does to his own luck, he is an INCREDIBLY capable individual who's managed to get this far because of his own form of genius. He's a man who relies on chance and good fortune, yes, but his charm, his way of scheming, and the way that he's good with people? That's skill. A talent he doesn't take for granted. Dr. Ratio respects him for this - because despite the fact that he has no proper education, he has his eyes wide open to the world and doesn't take shit for granted. He learns what he can in order to survive and he does it fucking well - Aventurine is a very smart man. He's observant, quick on his feet, and great at going with the flow and thinking in the moment.

Aventio aside, I actually believe that Dr. Ratio would be a really good teacher to those who struggle. He's patient where it's needed to be, even if he's got a quick temper, and I believe in his pursuit for knowledge he would do his best to go out of his way to find strategies that would work for their individuals. We're all unique, and he's aware of this - and because he wants to allow people to think for themselves, whatever helps the individual works. Depression? He's got a psych degree, I'm sure bro could give you some strategies. Autism? He has a touch of the 'tism himself. ADHD, and not feeling organized? Bro will help you. It's canon that he's a great fucking teacher - those who finish his classes go on to become successful people who are intelligent and critical thinkers. Round of applause for Ratio, the man that kins my father. He's shit at emotions, but great at knowledge.

Also, on that note, I believe that he would most likely hate parents that push thier "gifted" students to the limit without any compassion for the person that they really are. He's most definitely got some of that academic trauma so I believe that bro holds a secret disdain for parents who just use their children to gain more recgonition. Well, not so secret. He'd cuss them out. (Ratio please cuss out the horrible parents.)

Dr. Ratio, the Teacher ever. (Hey, maybe he'd get along with Kunikida...)

Also, I am definitely planning on making a fic where he teaches Aventurine Latin. As long as you're eager to learn and willing to look past the chalk being thrown, he's got a place for you.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk. I did not read this through, so this is not edited. Take my unedited rambles.