#And is especially rare in the god forsaken house of big brother

[awigglycultist]

Can you imagine Cory, Ovi and Turner on a season of Big Brother together? They would just be going around shutting down all the bulling and bigotry the whole season, it'd be great

[aizawaslovebot]

soleil et lune.

secretary! shouto todoroki x director/ceo! reader

pronouns: he/him

word count: 1.4k

series masterlist | future chapters available only on quotev

i. new moon

There was something about the contrast of the sun and the moon that deeply intrigued Todoroki.

Perhaps it was the way they rarely seemed to meet, always just a shy minute apart from coexisting together. Maybe it was how one of the other gave way for a moment of spotlight, either to bless the Earth with sunlight or to illuminate the dark sky with moonlight. Maybe it was because people perceive them as lovers who are separated by destiny, forever bound by whatever rules the universe had set.

He never got to the bottom of the reason why he was so enamored with the Romeo and Juliet of the cosmos but whatever it is, Todoroki had to thank it.

It was in these that he found solace, especially during the dark times of his past and childhood.

Shouto Todoroki was not an astronomer in the slightest. Despite his fondness over the stars in the sky or the planets lightyears away, he never took the chance to pursue this career.

Correction: He was never allowed to pursue this career.

In fact, he was not allowed to be anything other than what his father had set for him. Like the sun and moon, he was bound by destiny. But destiny, in Todoroki’s case, was a six-foot, heartless dictator who strived for perfection in everything at the expense of even an ounce of happiness and freedom.

“You are to follow in my footsteps, Shouto. You will continue what I have started and you shall rise over Japan and defeat All Might Corp.”

It was annoying. It was beyond him how his abomination of a father had this kind of mindset. But he had no power over this man. He controlled Shouto’s life.

So Todoroki fell to the same fate of his older siblings; all bound by their destiny as businessmen, inheritors of Japan’s second most successful conglomerate, and joyless lives. He became what society calls as a success— rich and thriving at the early age of 20.

You see, that’s just it.

Society has deemed success as being filthy rich at an early age. The way they measured success is by how young you’re able to afford luxuries, how much green papers you owned, and how famous you could be. They never thought to wonder if these so-called successful people were actually happy with their lives.

Success for Shouto was not about how much bank he could make, or how influential he could become, or how many cars he could afford. Success was finding joy in what you do, regardless of how much money he had. Shouto was far from successful. But he’s hopeful that one day he could achieve the life he wanted, whether his dictator of a father liked it or not.

For now, he is the moon without light to illuminate his dark life.

He is a new moon.

But things will change and the sun will rise again.

“Father, I would like to try secretarial studies,” Shouto brought up one day as the Todoroki family ate quietly in Enji’s mansion.

The clanking of Enji’s utensils rang through the big house, reflecting their father’s emotions. Twitching fingers, cold eyes, and a permanent scowl that seemed to deepen— he was livid.

“That’s absurd, Shouto. I will not allow it.”

“I never asked for your permission. I am taking secretarial whether you like it or not.”

The youngest Todoroki scoffed, retaliating once again from their father’s idiotic ideologies. Fuyumi was silently pleading for Shouto to be careful while the two older brothers were grinning for him to continue.

“You are a Todoroki. We do not serve people. They serve us. Drop this, now.”

“I don’t care what you say. I’ve already decided who to work for.”

Enji chuckled wryly, “and who are you wasting your talents on?”

“The L/N Enterprise”

There are only a few companies and groups that could be hailed as Japan’s best. These include All Might Corporations, Endeavor Inc., and the L/N Empire. Safe to say, these three are the big leagues, the future of Japan’s economy, and the most successful. These three GDP monsters also play in the same field: the music industry. World-known idol groups come from one of the three, and more flock to these companies for a taste of success. Behind these are the business powerhouses: Toshinori Yagi, known as Mr. All Might; and Todoroki Enji, dubbed as Endeavor. Little is known about the L/N CEO, however, what everyone does know is they are geniuses, even in different ways, because they were able to make their names known not only to Japan but the entire world.

Perhaps there are still differences. Unlike the two, the L/N Empire doesn’t only battle in the music industry. Countless branches, including the ever-famous Sumsang tech, come from their conglomerate.

Another factor from All Might and Endeavor Inc. lets the L/N Enterprise stand in the spotlight; the future successor of the entire group, and grandson of the richest man in Japan, is one of the youngest to ever sit on such a high position.

General Manager L/N (Name).

Many people wonder why this young man, who, at the young age of 20, began to dedicate his life to the countless numbers and percentages that come with this life. People his age at the time would’ve rather flaunt to the world of the riches they own, and indulge in such a lavish life that only few could attain.

But not L/N (Name).

He pursued this career that was bestowed upon him by his family and thus, just a short three years later, L/N is on his way to become the youngest Director and hold so much power over the L/N group, over this branch that he manages, and over Japan.

A bigshot at a young age, blessed with not only riches but also looks and intelligence.

If only he also had a good attitude to boot.

There were a lot of hearsays that circulated about the so-called business ace. Maybe it was because they only knew so little of his father that (Name) became the center of attention. People say he’s a womanizer, an arrogant, self-less prick who has an ego bigger than All Might’s height. Some say he was a sleaze and a temperamental individual who explodes at even the smallest of mistakes. People have also heard that the Director was ruthless, and seeing the countless rumors about this made them believe everything.

Enji could even vouch for those rumors. The brat, while he was a family friend, always found a way to talk back to him whenever he’s over for Natsuo. As far as the Todoroki could remember, L/N was in the same age group as Natsuo. He wasn’t really sure, but Enji’s certain that brat is an egotistical prick.

So why the hell did Shouto choose their God forsaken company?

It was beyond Enji, but he’ll let Shouto waste his time for a bit. After all, he could benefit from having an insider for that competition of his.

The object of Enji’s hatred and the famous L/N sneezed so suddenly.

“Endeavor-san must be cursing me again,” He hummed then continued on with his work.

(Name) was in his office, scanning through the proposals submitted by his department, when his temporary secretary knocked on the door.

“Here’s the batch of applications, sir,” She nervously placed the profiles on his desk. Before (Name) could thank her, however, the young secretary zoomed off.

(Name) was looking for a new secretary after his former subordinate was revealed to be a mole for some company. Aside from that, he knew that the assistant was after him, personally, too. She would often flirt and schedule him for dinners with “other people”, only later to reveal that she wanted to eat with him.

Basically, that assistant was a pest.

The flipping of papers came to a halt at one very specific file. Staring right back at (Name) were the familiar heterochromatic pools of blue and silver, as if saying that his attention should be on the young Todoroki.

Well, damn right.

Without so much as a glance at the CV neatly written at the bottom (which (Name) knows is more than qualified), he knew who he wanted by his side.

The new moon slowly transitions into a new beginning.

“Welcome to the L/N Enterprise, Todoroki-san”

—note: hey! hey! hey! this is my first-ever bnha series 👉🏼👈🏼 please send criticism thru ask or dm 🥺❤️ if you guys like it enough to want to be tagged, just ask!! also pls be nice

—aizawaslovebot 2020

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Talking to Horses | Geralt x Reader

Summary: You work at a small inn in a middle of nowhere village in Novigrad. Your job consists mostly of serving travelers – the only people that come to this god-forsaken place – but you manage to find a way to spend most of your time in the stables. One night, while you’re holed up there talking to your horse, a new stranger arrives; but you recognize him from the traveling bard, Jaskier’s, songs immediately – the famous Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.

Word Count: 2,533

Warnings: None; this is literally just the fluffiest fluff.

Notes: I promise I’ll get back to my series soon; but it’s been a busy week and I’m sad and right now I just want to write Geralt fluff lol.

* * *

It is growing late, and you are still in the barn, as usual. You don’t mind, though. You much prefer it here than in the stuffy inn. No matter how rude the customer, their horses were always nice enough. You keep your own horse here, as well – a mare named Immi. She is a sweet little thing, though she's quite skittish and will do almost nothing without getting a treat first, but you don’t mind much. It is rare that you have the opportunity to travel, and the roads around your little village are safe enough.

You are surprised when Immi’s ears prick up slightly, the way that they do when a visitor approaches the stables. Of course, travelers came in at all hours of the day, but it wasn’t too often when one showed up extremely late at night. Relatively unbothered, you continue brushing her speckled fur, waiting for the loud crunch of the stablemaster’s boots on the ground. Honestly, no one could possibly walk as loudly as that man.

So, you are surprised when you hear the sound of approaching hooves and soft, barely perceptible footsteps. Curious, you peek your head out from the stall to see a white-haired stranger leading a horse gently by the reins. You’ve never seen him here before – but again, that is not unusual. Most people who pass through here once don’t have much reason to pass through again. It is a painfully boring town. What makes this one stand out, however, are the two swords slung across his back.

However, between the white hair and the two swords, the mysterious stranger suddenly becomes far less mysterious – at least as far as his identity goes. The chances of someone matching his exact description seem relatively unlikely. Even from a distance, you can tell that he is huge, all muscle. Hard to find any ordinary human who looks like that; doubly as hard to find any ordinary human who looks like that and happens to have long white hair and two swords on his back. So, you are pretty positive you are correct.

As he draws closer, you lean back on the open door to Immi’s stall, arms crossed across your chest and head cocked slightly to one side.

“You’re Geralt of Rivia.” You say it as a statement, not a question. You are very rarely wrong, and unafraid to embrace that. Mamma used to scold you for being brash, and you’d been called arrogant and brazen by a few of the passing travelers – but it doesn't bother you much.

“And you better not start singing that damn song.”

You smirk, kicking open the free stall across from Immi’s with a scuffed leather boot, “No ‘hello’?” you ask, shaking your head. “Not even a nice ‘and you are?”

The Witcher doesn’t seem particularly amused, but he takes the bait anyway.

“Hello,” he says, exaggerating and speaking the words exactly how you’d spoken them, “And you are?” Mrs. Leigh, who owns the inn, constantly tells you that you shouldn’t pester the guests, but there is a slight tug at the corner of the Witcher’s lips that tells you he isn’t particularly irritated. And anyway, you don’t listen to much of what Mrs. Leigh says or you’d die of boredom.

“Y/N,” you say before adding sarcastically, “Of Novigrad.”

“Pleasure,” he says absentmindedly as he begins getting his horse settled.

You could easily get back to your work, but in such a boring village, you’ve got to take advantage of any entertainment while you can, so you lean against the door, peering at his horse, which you can tell is clearly taken very good care of.

“What’s your horse’s name?”

“Roach.”

“Interesting name for a horse,” you say, watching him remove the saddle.

Immi, likely feeling betrayed because you have turned your attention from the mare for more than a minute, whinnies and lightly stomps one hoof.

“Immi!” you scold her in the gentle way you always do, turning and walking back to her stall.

You are slightly surprised to hear the Witcher speak again, “Is she yours?”

You nod, pulling an apple from your back, which you left hanging on a nail on the door. At seeing it, Immi huffs and looks at you with wide, begging eyes.

“She is,” you say, rather proudly. It is not a wealthy village, and most young women working as barmaids and stable hands cannot afford horses of their own. Of course, you didn’t actually buy her – one of the Leigh’s mares had a baby, four years ago now. It was the year your mother died of plague when it hit the village, and you’d already been working for Mrs. Leigh for three years by then and they knew your affinity for working in the stables. They told you she was yours, and suddenly life seemed a little less dull.

You hold the apple up to her snout, and she quickly devours the whole thing.

“You always feed her human food?” The Witcher’s voice is closer now; you turn to see that he’s standing outside the stall he’s set Roach up in. You get the sense that he’s appraising you, his yellow eyes settled on yours, one eyebrow raised as Immi chomps loudly behind you, finishing the treat.

You cross your arms, fully facing him now, staring right back. “Yes, I do,” you say, “And before you ask, of course I talk to her.”

At that, the Witcher laughs, but he doesn’t seem to be mocking you. You narrow your eyes slightly, questioning.

“I talk to my horse, too,” he admits. “Roach is great to talk to, because he doesn’t talk back.”

You grin, face flushing slightly at the warm gleam in the Witcher’s yellow eyes. “Exactly. No unwanted advice, no ordering me around, no demanding a third cup of ale when she’s already piss drunk.”

“So, you work in the inn, too?”

You nod in response, “Yep. Unfortunately, we don’t get enough travelers through here to make much money as a stable hand. We make our money the way every other inn does; selling overpriced ale to travelers who don’t have any other options.”

“It's even worse in the cities,” the Witcher responds. “Plenty of options, but all overpriced.”

“Hm,” you shrug, “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been to one of the big cities. But humans are the same everywhere, I guess.”

“You’re right about that,” he says, looking somewhat lost in thought.

“Still,” you muse as you grab your bag and shut the door to Immi’s stall, “I’d like to see them.”

You sigh, looking past the Witcher and out into the field outside, the starlit road beyond it. “The cities, I mean. Just... Seems a waste, to spend a whole life here.” Now you’re just rambling – another thing Mamma used to tell you not to do, especially with strangers – but you can’t help it. “Must be fun, to be a Witcher; you’ve probably seen all sorts of places.”

The Witcher gives you a wry smile, “And all sorts of monsters.”

“Eh,” you respond quickly, following him out of the stables and towards the inn, “You don’t have to travel to see monsters.” He stops walking for a moment and cocks his head in thought, looking down at you.

“You’re right again,” he says.

“You should meet Mr. Allen,” you say with your voice lowered, “He’s the mayor and he’s hear most every night, drinking Mrs. Leigh out of house and home, yelling at everyone, and—well, never mind—but his poor wife, though.” You shudder, thinking about his roaming eyes and careless hands, but you snap out of it quickly enough.

“Ah, suppose it is fitting. Shit mayor for a shit town.”

Once you reach the entrance, you push open the door, the Witcher following behind you. You turn to him, whispering under your breath, “Guy in the back corner.” He raises his eyebrows and goes, to your surprise, to sit at the table right in front of Mr. Allen’s. Not a choice that you would have advised, but likely to be an entertaining one.

“Please tell me you were not harassing that man out in the stables,” Mrs. Leigh says as you head behind the counter, filling up a few earthenware tankards to drop at the tables that your boss has wasted no time pointing to.

“Me?” you ask, with fake innocence.

“Y/N, honestly. We need the business.”

Grabbing as may tankards as possible – an impressive five – you glance back at your boss and roll your eyes. “Please,” you say with a smirk, “I’m half the reason these guys buy as much alcohol as they do.” A little flirting does wonders, and gods know Mrs. Leigh isn’t going to do it.

You drop off three tankards at one table; a thankfully quiet one. There are two women, one of whom you can tell from her painfully beautiful features must be half-elf. There’s one man with them, lanky and quiet. Probably the human’s brother, if you had to guess.

The other two mugs of ale were, of course, for Mayor Allen. He must have just arrived, then.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says with a hideous smile as you set them down. You just mumble some form of no problem as you walk off. He doesn’t pay, so there’s no point in flirting with him. Besides, the Witcher’s table is next, and you cannot deny that you are dying to talk to him.

Putting on your usual flirty smile, you head over to his table, leaning on the old wood. For some reason, though, the flirtatious nature that usually comes easy to you feels a little bit different – like you actually care what this stranger thinks about you. You decide to put it down to the fact that he is famous, and famous people rarely pass through the village.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask, smile faltering slightly, but only for a moment.

The Witcher looks at you, yellow eyes locking on yours. “Two mugs of ale, please,” his lips curve into a smirk, “And your company.” You quirk an eyebrow, feeling your cheeks redden once again.

Before you have to disappoint him – and mainly yourself – by telling him that you can’t just sit down at work, he places a handful of gold pieces on the table. Definitely enough to cover the two beers, and as much as you’d bring in for the night.

“Coming right up,” you say, throwing him a glance over your shoulder as you carry the coins over to the counter.

“You’re welcome,” you say, admittedly rather arrogantly as you set the coins down on the counter next to Mrs. Leigh. She watches you with somewhat horrified eyes as you round the counter to fill up to mugs of ale.

“This is not a brothel,” she says pointedly, glancing from you and across the room at the white-haired Witcher.

“And I’d charge more for a night than that,” you retort, glancing down at the coins still on the table.

Mrs. Leigh does not respond as you grab the two mugs and head back to the Witcher’s table.

“Your ale,” you say, sliding it over to him, “And my excellent company,” you add with an impish grin, sitting down across from him. “Though, to be honest, you seem more like the Sit and Drink Alone type,” you say, studying him.  

“You aren’t wrong there,” he says, but his yellow eyes hint that he very much does not want to sit and drink alone tonight. Well, that and the fact that he asked you to sit with him.

“Then why ask me to disturb your blessed silence?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Because,” he says, pausing to take a draught of ale, “I find you interesting.”

You nearly choke on your ale when you laugh. Out of all of the interesting creatures and people the Witcher meets, you cannot fathom why he would find you in particular interesting.

“Oh, come on,” he said, shaking his head. “You walk around like you own this place. Don’t pretend to be the shy type.”

You blush again, looking down at your cup and taking a swig before you look back up at him. Thankfully, you can blame the flush on your cheeks on the ale. “Oh, come on,” you quip back, “You’ve been in plenty of inns, I’m sure. It’s all part of business.”

Geralt eyes you curiously and shrugs. Then silence settles over the two of you, somehow ringing louder in your ears than the rowdy crowd of the crowded pub.

Finally, he speaks.

“Actually, I have a proposition.”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide as you stare at him. Maybe the gold was for what Mrs. Leigh insinuated. And while the Witcher was, without a doubt, the most attractive man you’d ever seen, Mrs. Leigh was right – this was not a brothel, and you were not… Well, that was not your profession.

“Don’t worry, it’s not about that.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, and slight disappointment, but now you are incredibly curious. What could this Witcher want from you?

“I’m not travelling far,” he explains, “And I have a high suspicion that the haunting I am investigating has little to do with dangerous spirits and everything to do with humans being humans.”

Your mouth falls open, hardly able to believe what you are hearing, and unable to form any words.

“You said you wanted to see some of the world, and I take it you can ride,” he says.

“I—well, yes, I do want to… But, I mean, I have to wor—”

“It’s a decent contract. You can half of it.”

“I mean,” you begin, “I… I couldn’t take the coin!”

“You’re not taking it, you’re doing a job,” the Witcher points out. “I can’t watch Roach all the time.”

You consider his words for a few moments before your face breaks out into a wide smile.

* * *

You are bursting with excitement as you head out of your back room, pack full of your most precious personal items, of which there are relatively few. As promised, Geralt is already out in the stable, saddling Roach.

“Good morning,” he says, that same deep, gravely voice you’d grown familiar with last night as the two of you stayed up talking until far too late.

“Good morning!” you greet him, heading over to saddle Immi, despite her somewhat confused whinnies. You rarely rode out this early. But she didn’t seem to mind all that much, as you handed her another apple from your pack.

“Hm,” Geralt says, eying you, “Cheery.”

“Not a morning person?” you ask him.

“No particular feelings about any time of day,” he says with a shrug.

You lead Immi out of the stables behind Geralt and Roach, still somewhat mystified by the man.

“Ah yes,” you say after a moment, “I hear you Witchers don’t have emotions.”

At those words, Geralt turns around to face you, only a few inches between you. “Now there, dear Y/N, you are wrong.”

The look on his face has your stomach filled with butterflies as the two of you ride off side-by-side into the early morning light.

***

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