#basically anon i needed this and i adore you and hope you're well and that you're good busy!! not stressful busy

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 ❞

❝ EVERYONE WANTS SATORU GOJO, SO WHY ARE YOU THE ONE STUCK GUARDING HIM ? ❞

✧ pairing: rich boy! gojo x bodyguard! reader

✧ summary: after the gojo family receives threats to their lives, you're hired to protect the heir to the company, satoru gojo - you just didn't realize how charming the rich heir would be - and just how hard it would be to resist his advances.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is around the same age as gojo (both in their 20s but age is vague), virgin! gojo, switch! gojo, oral (f + m), handjob (m), dry humping, fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), depictions of violence, mentions of yakuza, dirty business dealings, gojo's made up dad and suguru make an appearance

✧ wc: 15,311 (i don't know what to say at this point)

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 1 has been sold to @forest-hashira and two anons!

“So, is this your first time?”

Satoru Gojo would be the end of you — one way or another. 

One way would be you sacrificing your life to protect him — fairly run of the mill when it came to guarding someone, the risk of putting your life on the line, though the chance of death usually was fairly slim. You had only come close — twice. 

You didn’t care to make it a third. 

The other, increasingly more likely, way was that you would lose your mind to his incessant yammering before you even had a chance to neutralize any threat to his life. 

You nearly spit out your drink at the question, wiping your mouth with a napkin, before managin to choke it down, “Excuse me?” 

And his lips annoyingly curl, “Your first time guarding someone,” 

The heir seemed fairly nonchalant, even after his father had sat the both of you down in a room filled with more security agents than the prime minister of Japan himself had, and had lectured him about the importance of staying with you the entire time and to respect your authority — well one out of two wasn’t bad. He’s eating a piece of cake instead of a meal, his fork digging into the back of the cake again and again, toying with his food as he did with you, “I mean, you seem fairly young, but old enough to be entrusted with my safety,” 

“Well, since you insisted on going to school, your father needed someone unassuming who looked around your age,” you lean against your hand, your other drumming against the table, as your eyes scanned the area — table of frat boys, group of girls sneaking glances at Gojo, various other students, no real threats — unless you counted the girls’ death daggers towards you, “someone who wouldn’t look out of place with you, raise any suspicions, but who could still protect you,” 

His lips curl, as your eyes find their way back to the young heir, “So basically, you had to look like my girlfriend — shouldn’t I hold your hand? Sell the act? All in the name of my safety,” 

You jerk your head towards his group of admirers, “I think what we’re doing now is plenty — unless you’d like your guard to get mauled by a bunch of hormonal college girls,” 

His eyes slid to his adoring fans, as he pities them with a wave, erupting squeals from them, “I think you could take them,”

“How flattering,” you reply drily, picking at the food in front of you, “now finish your lunch so we can get to our next class on time,” 

“Are you still upset that we were late this morning?” 

“No, I’m upset that we missed half the class and I had to take the fall for it,” the heir had oh so kindly told the professor that you had made them run late (even though he was the one who spent far too long in the bathroom). 

And even though you wouldn’t be attending this school for long, you hoped that you wouldn’t have to make yourself look like a fool the entire time you were here — but — your eyes found Gojo’s again — sticking with Satoru Gojo almost made that a guarantee that you would look like a fool — one way or another. 

And you were already the fool — for thinking that a college aged boy would have any real food in his refrigerator. Although, Satoru Gojo was a different breed — instead of alcohol and questionable containers of takeout, there was...sweets. 

So. Many. Sweets.

Not just cookies and candy — but literally six different kinds of mochi (for some reason?) and almost any pastry you could possibly think of was stocked in the house. And the freezer was more of the same — seven different containers of ice cream and one aged bag of edamame stuck in the back. 

“Gojo?” you stare into the open refrigerator, while Gojo lays back on his couch, scrolling on his phone mindlessly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you have any food?” 

“What do you mean? The refrigerator is full of food?” and his voice is thick with genuine confusion and you’re almost wondering how this man survived to this age. 

Oh yeah, he’s rich. 

You sigh, closing the refrigerator doors, and striding over to him, only to snatch his phone out of his hands, “Sweets are not real food — how do you eat like this and function?” 

He only shrugs, lips curled into a grin, “I’m just built different,” 

“You mean like a person who won’t make it to age fifty?” you toss his phone back at him, “get up,” you grab your sweatshirt hanging by the door and throw his jacket at him. He barely catches it, as he sits up, his face displeased with your sudden need to get him up. 

“Where are we going?” 

“So,” Gojo says, his hands in his pockets, as you both walk the aisles of the grocery store, “why did I have to come with you?” 

“Because I’m going to show you how to actually shop for groceries, so you don’t have a heart attack and die before my stint with you is up,” you grab essentials and basics — oil, rice, cereal, pasta, spices, flour, sugar (although did he really need sugar with the amount he was already consuming?), “you know it would suck if my client died before we eliminated the other threats on his life,” before you add with a smile, “though I think your eating habits are more likely to kill you,” 

“You know men really hate sarcastic women,” he bites back, before something catches his eye in the aisle and he places it in the cart, “major turn off,” 

“Well, mission accomplished then,” you roll your eyes, as you look back at the cart to see a box of cookies, “you know when I said you were a moron, I was half kidding, but now,” you lift up the box of cookies, “you have a million cookies at home,” 

He pouts — why do you feel like a mother refusing their child their candy at checkout? — “Not these ones,” you take the box and put it back on the shelf where it belonged, and he relents. 

“Did you eat like this before college?” 

He shook his head, “My meals were prepared for me by the chef at my home, I never really had much of a say in what I ate, or anything really,” and you shake your head, “my father wasn’t really the type to let me handle anything on my own — thus the need for a babysitter,” 

You nod, “So no one really taught you how to take care of yourself?” and he shakes his head. 

“Guess not, but I guess no time like the present to learn,” he examines the box of baking powder you had just placed in the cart, “like what this is,” and you snort, taking the box from him and placing it back in the cart. 

“Maybe by the end of this trip, we’ll have you making it past the age of forty,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “I thought you said fifty?” 

“The cookies made me lose more faith in you,” 

The two of you continue to shop, as you help him pick out vegetables, meat, and other necessities for the house. You separate the things for you and for him meticulously, as the two of you head over to the checkout, and he’s placing everything on the conveyor belt together, including your own things, “No wait, those are mine—” 

“Consider it payment,” he stops you, as you continue to try to argue, but he’s only blocking you from the conveyor belt with a raised arm, a real smile on his lips, “just let me do this for you,” And you can’t find any words, so your mouth shuts, and you nod — as you watch him speak with the older cashier with his patented charm. 

And the cashier stops you right as you’re leaving, whispering, “That’s a good one, don’t let him go, ok?” and you pause, her words sinking in as blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“We’re not—” 

“I know,” the older woman chuckles far too knowingly, as she hands you the receipt, “but you never know.” 

“You coming?” Gojo calls, turning to look back at you, as he pushes the cart of groceries, and you look from the cashier to him, before fleeing with a quick ‘thank you.’ 

And as you go home, you glance at Gojo, maybe there was more to him than you initially thought. 

“This is so boooooring,” Gojo’s whining for, what you assume is, the billionth time, “I hate philosophy, moral arguments? It’s such bullshit,” 

“You know philosophy is literally a subject that encompasses everything right?” you tilt your head watching him lay on the floor as the two of you sit at the table, his head right next to you, as you sit cross legged, “there’s no avoiding it in life,” 

“Well can’t I avoid it in school at least? Because college feels very different from real life,” and you roll your eyes, flicking him between the eyes. 

“Just write your paper, I already finished mine,” and he perks up. 

And he slides his laptop over to you, “Then you can write mine,” 

“That’s not happening,” and he groans again, “you know if you spent all the time that you whined working on your paper then you’d be done,” 

“Were you this much of a buzzkill when you were in college?” Gojo stares at you, “what do you even do for fun?” 

“Why is this relevant to you writing your paper?” 

“Why is writing my paper relevant to protecting my life?” and you open and close your mouth, “c’mon give me something, anything,” 

“How about this — when you finish a page, I’ll answer a question, any question,” you offer, and he grins, as he sits up and begins to type away at his laptop. 

You sit back, lying back and using your phone, until about fifteen minutes later when he’s holding his laptop up, showing you that he completed a page, “That fast?” you’re skeptical, and then you grab his laptop, skimming the page, wondering if he was trying to trick you — he wasn’t. It was good, more than good — it was a wonderful discussion of deontological ethics. 

“How did you finish this so fast?” you raise an eyebrow, “you complain so much, but you wrote this page far too quickly,” 

He shrugs, “I’m good at everything, sweetheart,” and you roll your eyes, “jealous?”

“Totally,” you scoff, before grinning,  “so get back to work,” and he gapes at you, before groaning dramatically, lying back on the floor again. 

“Ugh, this is too much work,” he whines again, “I don’t know why I had to take this stupid class,” he grumbles. 

“Then why did you?” you scroll through your phone, checking for any new alerts or updates from his father or any other member of the security team, “you have a choice in what classes you sign up for, don’t you?” 

And for one of the first times, you saw Satoru’s playfulness ebb away, replaced with almost a bitterness — as bitter as his words were usually sweet, “Maybe most college kids do, but I don’t have a choice in most of the things I do, including the classes I pick,” 

You tilt your head, “Your father?” And he nods, “did you even choose your major?” 

His eyes drift to the ceiling, “Is it a choice when your father tells you you’re either being groomed to run his company when you graduate or he’s not paying for you to go to school at all?” 

“No, it isn’t,” you admit, “but it could be worse, he could have stuck you with a glorified babysitter on top of it,” 

He cracks a smile, “I don’t know, maybe I have a thing for babysitters,” and you roll your eyes, cracking a smile. 

“Get back to work.” 

“Fuck,” Satoru muttered, watching the rain come down as he waited outside the university awning of the building he had just finished his class in. You had left him to go to class by himself — you trusted him enough not to get murdered while in class and on the walk back (high praise) — and said you’d likely just meet him back at the apartment. But now, he didn’t know how he’d get home without getting soaked. 

He checks his phone for any rideshares nearby, but there were none. And he would rather go drown in the rain than call his father’s driver, and guarantee a lecture about being prepared for “any given situation.” 

Shit. Maybe he would just risk walking. 

So he did. The rain soaked through his clothes all too quick, the wet fabric clinging to his skin, and the cold leeching the warmth from his body. And he couldn’t help but think if you were with him, you would have remembered to bring an umbrella. 

Weird, when did he ever really rely on anyone else? 

Yes, his father had maids, cooks, and personal shoppers when he was growing up — but they weren’t people he relied on — he did, but it was expected. It was their job. And yes, he was a job for you too — but…it was different. 

Satoru didn’t know when it happened but he had gotten used to your presence in his life. Whether it was at home or in class, you were always there. And it wasn’t as annoying as he thought it would be. It was…nice to have someone there to lean on. But, as he glanced up at the storm clouds, holding a hand above his eyes — rolling dark clouds with no signs of the rain letting up — this would be his reality once the threats were a distant memory. 

“Gojo!” He blinks, his eyes snapping forward, and he sees someone coming over the horizon. 

It was you — umbrella in hand, as your footsteps echoed with the splashes of water from the rain that collected on the ground. And you found your way to him, holding the umbrella over his head. He stared at you as you grew closer, wondering if you were real. And he wasn’t surprised you found him —

“How did you know?” He asks when you stand, catching your breath, short pants, as your eyes flicker up to his. 

“You always forget your umbrella, so I figured you needed one,” you shrugged, “plus I finished my meeting early so I came to get you,” and he only stares at you, “what?” 

And he only shakes his head, as he takes the umbrella from your hand, fingers brushing, as he holds it up over the both of you, your shoulders brushing as you begin to walk home. And he found himself wishing for a split second that the threats would never stop. 

“Just wondering if it’s in your job description to protect me from colds too,” and you snort, lips curling into the same smile he loved to see. 

“With you? It is.” 

“A party?” 

“Yes, known as a gathering of people where—” 

“I don’t need you to define the word,” you grit your teeth, as you watch him pull out shirts from his closet, holding them up, before shrugging, “do you know the kind of danger you could put yourself in by going?” 

“I know, the party might go into a frenzy at the sight of me, think of all the students who’d glare at you then,” he grins, as he finally settles on an outfit — charcoal gray shirt and a blue button down, “might have to call another bodyguard to guard you instead, princess,” 

“Aren’t you the princess if you’re the one being guarded?” you bite back, and he only laughs, hands in his pockets, “Gojo, you have serious threats that have been levied—” 

“Against my father—” 

“And you, the heir to your father’s company,” you cut him off, crossing your arms, “are you seriously going to risk our lives because you want to get drunk and fuck around with a bunch of idiots?” 

The answer was yes, of course. 

And now here you were, stuck babysitting this spoiled heir at a party. You hadn’t really been to any parties — hadn’t bothered to. You had gotten through college at a young age, perks of skipping a few grades, and you ended up in the family business regardless — so you didn’t bother to party much. Not when you had things to accomplish — babysitting a drunk heir wasn’t one of them. 

It has started as you expected. Gojo had flitted away from your side the first moment he got, disappearing into the throng of horny and drunk college students. You wove your way through the crowd, careful not to trip over the students making out, dancing, or drinking on nearly any available surface. The smell of beer and cheap cologne wafted through this dorm. And you had almost given up on finding him when you spotted him stuck to the sides of three girls, all of them far too eager to hang off his every word. 

You sighed, this was going to be a long night. 

“You one of Satoru’s girlfriends?” you glance to your side and see Suguru Geto in person. You had learned all about Satoru Gojo and the people he hung around. Like those three girls — one of them had a long distance boyfriend, the other had a cheating situationship she was trying to make jealous, and the other just wanted to fuck him for the experience. Suguru Geto was one of the only friends of Gojo you had liked from what you had read about him — humble background, on scholarship at the college, but one of the best students here — and a philosophy student of all things, the very subject his best friend hated. 

You want to say no, but unfortunately, you have no idea what the idiot has been saying to other people, “Something like that,” you sip at your drink to make the bitter words slide down, “why? Are you?” 

A chuckle slips past his lips, as he takes a swig of his drink, “Well I already like you better than the others. You have a sense of humor and seemingly more than two brain cells,” 

“Don’t give me too much credit,” you snorted, leaning against a wall, “I did end up here after all,”

“Fair enough, how’d he convince you to come?” And you shake your head — good question. What choice did you really have? You could have let him go alone, but probably not a good look 

“I don’t even know honestly, feel like I’ve been dragged here to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid,” you glance at him and the gaggle of girls, “though maybe I already fucking failed at that,” 

Geto shrugs, as his gaze slips from Gojo to you, “I mean until he sticks his tongue down one of their throats, I think you’re doing pretty well,” 

You laugh, “Good to know,” and you both continue to chat, and unbeknowst to you, while your focus is torn away from Gojo, his attention is fully on you. 

If looks could kill, Satoru imagined his crystal eyes were nothing more than daggers ready to strike, as he watches you and Suguru talk. 

It was his fucking idea to come to this party, so why were you having more fun than he was?

He swirled his drink miserably — he had barely taken a sip of the beer poured for him — why would he when it tasted like piss? He didn’t understand why people liked to drink — especially when they could eat mochi instead — but now, as he stares at you and Suguru, maybe he was starting to understand. 

He can’t hear what either of you are saying over the blaring music and the chatter of students surrounding him, but he can see the smile on your lips and the laugh that left them. 

Why the fuck do you look so happy to talk to Suguru? 

You seemed so bored when he was with you—and did you just fucking laugh again at something Suguru said? 

The crinkle of plastic and the distinct feeling of a spill made his gaze snap to his hand — he just crushed his plastic drink cup. He sighed, as he simply placed it among the other abandoned drink cups on a nearby table, before wiping off his hand with a napkin. 

Why did he even care? You were nothing but a nuisance anyway. All you did was follow him around, make him go to class on time, make sure he was safe, care about his well-being— 

What the fuck was he thinking? 

His eyes couldn’t help but slide back to you as he tried to enjoy the girls' company, their slight touches and soft pouts and sweet words not going unnoticed by him. But that was how it always was. Once people found out he was rich, people wanted to be his friend, they wanted to date him, they wanted him — but not really him, they wanted his money. 

First world problems, right? 

But you — you hadn’t been like that. You were irritatingly punctual, unfazed by his money, didn’t care in the slightest about his father or who he was — you just wanted to do your job. And he was your job, for the time being. 

And now he got to see you smile — your lips perfectly curled in a smile that both he wanted to see all the time and grated on his nerves — but you were smiling at someone else. And Suguru no less. 

“C’mon Satoru, you gonna make eyes at your boyfriend all night?” Aiko said, nudging him teasingly, her words far too slurred. 

“Help us finish these shots,” Yumiko whines, as she offers him a shot, urging it into his hands. 

He’s grimacing, he hates alcohol — he hates how he feels during and after; he hates the disgusting, metallic taste; and if it couldn’t get worse, he’s a lightweight. He stares at the shot. 

“It’s just one shot,” Misaki grins, holding up her own, clinking hers to his, “you’re already three shots behind everyone else,” 

And he’s about to open his mouth to refuse — make up an excuse of having to wake up early or stomach being unsettled — and that’s when you catch his attention. You were laughing now, a noise far too pretty for his liking, as you shoved Suguru’s chest playfully. 

Fuck it. 

He downs the shot, the liquid searing down his throat, dragging down until it settles in a burning pool in his stomach. Finally he tears his gaze away as the girls offer him another shot — as you grin at Suguru — this was going to be a long night. 

“Hey,” Geto jerks his head, “you might want to deal with that,” 

You whip your head around. 

“Oh what the—“ 

Gojo was hanging all over the girls he was with, barely able to stand on his two feet, as he swayed from side to side — his cheeks glowed with the telltale glow that told everyone he had been drinking (if that wasn’t obvious by literally everything else). 

Fuck. 

You had kept an eye on him. You swore he had only taken two shots of alcohol, how was he this drunk already? You examine and sniff the two shot glasses he used — no peculiar smell or residue — you run through the gamut of tests you could do on hand and conclude two things: 1) Gojo wasn't drugged and 2) he was a lightweight. 

But that didn’t stop him from acting like he wasn’t, as girls egged him on to take more shots, and from the way they were eyeing him, their intentions were anything but pure. 

You sigh, walking over, slipping past a drunk couple making out, a person passed out and sleeping on the floor, and a cluster of cheering onlookers as a student chugged what you can only assume was a disgusting concoction of alcohol. 

Until you finally reached his side. 

“I think you’ve had enough, isn’t that right, Satoru?” And he’s blinking at you, before he’s grinning, slurring your name.

“You’re no fun,” and he’s clinging all over you, his hands curled around your waist, “such a buzzkill, don’t even like to have any fun with me,” 

“Looks like you had too much fun without me,” you murmur, your arm slinks around the middle of his back, “let’s get you back to your dorm,” 

“Hey he’s fine, he’s having fun with us,” Aiko glared at you, a hiccup leaving her lips, “don’t go crashing our good time because he’s not interested in you,” 

“Yeah why don’t you go hang out with Geto or whatever? We’ll take good care of him. C’mon Toru, let’s go to my place in Shibuya, I have a huge house there,” Yumiko says, barely coherent, and you raise your eyebrows at the nickname, as she leans in to whisper, alcohol wafting off her breath, as she lifts up her middle finger, “fuck off,” 

Honestly the only reason you can understand the gist of what she meant was because of her middle finger. Their other friend is passed out on the couch. 

“I don’t think any of you can even care for yourselves,” you scoff, and Satoru is hanging all over you already, mumbling words you can’t make out in your ear, “I’m taking him home, you should take your friend home,” 

“Geto, wanna help me out?” And Geto nods, trying to take Gojo other arm, but Gojo pushes him away, instead clinging to you, you stumble a moment before catching both of you, “Gojo—“ 

“No, wanna go home with just you,” he’s officially whining, and you’re having flashbacks to the summer you spent babysitting, but — you look at the drunk white porcupine clinging to you — somehow this idiot is worse than the kid. 

You sigh, “Geto, make sure that girl gets home safe,” you gesture to the one passed out on the couch, “I’m going to deal with this one,” 

Geto stares at the two of you, the far too tall Satoru hunched over onto your body, “Can you—“ 

But you’re already walking away, able to drag Gojo away with relative ease (it’d be far easier if he’d pull his own weight, but at least he was quiet). 

That was, until you got outside. And then the whining began again. 

“How can you treat me like this?” Gojo’s hands cling to your arm, his face buried in your shoulder, “you shouldn’t ignore the one you’re supposed to protect!” and he’s shaking his head like a petulant child, his bottom lip quivering. 

“You’re the one who left my side, not the other way around,” you grumble, as he’s finally beginning to walk by himself but he’s still stuck to your side like an overgrown cactus, “you’re the one who wanted to go to this goddamn party,” 

“Yeah but you’re the one who's supposed to protect me,” he pouts, as he stops right in front of his building, “I can’t do your job for you,” and he’s finally standing in front of you, his cheeks and nose still flushed from the alcohol, his hand still clutching at yours, “do you even know how to do your job?” 

You grit your teeth. Would punching the person you’re hired to protect be a breach of contract? You rub your temples, it may come to that. 

“You’re an idiot,” you jerk your hand away, shaking your head, “my job is to protect you, not to stop you from doing stupid college boy shit,” 

He’s crossing his arms, “I could have been in danger — what if that alcohol was poisoned? I feel really sick,” he grips, holding his stomach with pursed lips, and you’re thoroughly unimpressed. 

“I looked at it, it wasn’t poisoned,” you raise an eyebrow, before sighing, and shrugging your shoulder bag off your shoulders, rooting around in the pouch, “but if you want, I have something in my bag that will turn your stomach inside out and we’ll be sure to get the poison out,” 

“Nooooo, no! I’m fine,” he’s shaking his head, his voice grows soft, “I just need to get to bed,” he mutters, and you roll your eyes, but grab him by his wrist. 

“Come on, we’re going inside,” and it’s a struggle to get to his apartment — more like a luxury penthouse — on the top floor, but somehow you get him inside and shepherd into his bedroom. And he’s shrugging off his button up before pulling off the shirt underneath. 

Your gaze snaps away, cheeks burning, your eyes trying to erase the glimpse of his fucking unfairly chiseled physique — complete a surprisingly broad chest and shoulders — how the fuck was that hiding under his clothes? He looked like a stick normally with his clothes on. 

“See something you like?” he’s snickering, as you hear the click of his belt and the and sounds of rustling — assuredly stepping out of his jeans. 

“No, just not used to clients stripping for me,” you turn your back to him, as you hear the creak of the mattress and the crinkling of his comforter and sheets. 

“Am I just a client to you?” his words were still mildly slurred, and you knew he’d be pouting if he had enough brain cells to do so, “you can turn around, I’m under the covers,” he adds with a grumble. 

You turn and see him curled up under his blanket and you have to bite back your smile — now he most assuredly looked like one of the kids you used to babysit. 

“Well what else am I supposed to see you as, Gojo?” you cross your arms, and he’s muttering under his breath, “what?” 

“That’s just it. You don’t even call me by my first name,” he’s brooding, face twisted in a scowl, “I don’t have a lot of people I trust. Most people are just after my money or my looks,” he looks at you, “you’re different. Kinda weird,” 

You quirk an eyebrow, “is that a good thing?” 

“Well I trust you,” he admits, and you note the tips of his ears barely visible outside the comforter are red — is it still the flush from the alcohol? “I don’t really have many of those,” 

And you’re taken aback — you thought you were nothing but a nuisance to this party obsessed prince, but maybe there was more to him than you thought. You toyed the ring on your finger, maybe you had more in common than you thought. 

“Thank you, I’m glad you do, because you can, trust me that is,” you say softly, “good night, Satoru.” 

And he does sleep after that, as you spend the night keeping watch, half to ensure his safety and the other to make sure he slept on his side in case he threw up

(and he did, twice). 

“I need to talk to you,” Suguru Geto barely looked up from his phone when he saw Satoru in front of him, his best friend looking more irritable than usual — his usually bored affect seemed to be on holiday, “Suguru?” 

“I heard you the first time, what is it?” and Satoru snatches the phone from Suguru’s hands, “what the fuck—“ 

“What were you doing last night?” and Suguru tilts his head, before rubbing his temple.

“Give me my fucking phone—“ 

“What did you talk to her about?” And Suguru stares at him, his brow furrowed, smart mouth ready with a reply about a stint in a spa or a retreat was needed before his lips curl. 

“Oh. Her,” and he’s leaning back, a lazy shrug, “this and that,” 

“Cut the shit, Suguru, do you like her or not? Did you get her number?” And Satoru is trying to unlock Suguru’s phone, as Suguru watches with a tilt of his head and a wry grin on his lips, “huh? what is it?” 

“So you like her, that much is clear,” and he’s crossing his arms, “I assume you didn’t tell her or you wouldn’t have come in swinging and stealing?” 

Satoru stares at him, slack jawed and cheeks turning a deep pink that only carnations could rival, “No! She’s just a…friend of the family, and she’s not supposed to be with—“ 

“She told me she liked you,” his heart catches, mouth falling open, before Suguru’s lips curl, “well, she said that she was one of the many, rather,” 

Satoru’s cheeks burn, “It’s not like that, she barely even fucking looks at me. Can you believe that? Me?” and he gestures up and down his body. 

“I see your ego is still intact,” Suguru scoffs, shaking his head, before leaning back on his palms, “just tell her how you feel, Satoru, what’s the problem?” 

“The problem is I have no idea how she feels and it’s all your fault!” And Suguru raises an eyebrow, “you charmed her and I’m sure you’re the only one she’s thinking about now,” he covers his face, “and after what I said to her last night…” he couldn’t believe he admitted that you were the one of the only ones he trusted. And he called you weird. 

He honestly didn’t know what was worse. 

“What did you even say?” 

“Say to who?” and Satoru turns, finding you standing behind him, arms crossed. 

And Satoru cuts Suguru off before he can say a thing, “Not important. What are you doing here—“ you grab him by the wrist, a wave of heat makes his nearly burn red as you begin to drag him away, “what are you—“ 

“Bye Geto,” you say, waving at the raven haired student, before taking Geto’s phone and tossing it back to him, “I’m taking the idiot—“ 

“HUH?” 

“Good luck. He might need to be fed — he’s in a mood,” and he waves back, same smile on his lips. 

“What did you two do, adopt me?” Satoru grumbles as you pull him away, “where the hell are you dragging me? How did you even find me?” 

“The post hangover suits you well, we have to get to class, and I placed a tracker on you,” and he’s jerking his hand away, staring at you, “I have to be able to find you, don’t I?” 

“Where?” 

You tilt your head, “Why would I tell you? Don’t worry about, I’ll remove it after we’re done here,” 

You weren’t going to budge on this — and if he argued more, you would take it up with his father. And he would like to avoid that as much as possible. He sticks his hands in his pockets, , “I’m tired, can’t you just go and take notes for me?” 

“I thought you’d be more concerned about the threats against your life, instead of sending your bodyguard off to your class for you” you hiss, and he’s pouting again, unable to meet your gaze, “what’s your problem, Satoru?” 

And he pauses, the retort on lips dying as his brain looped in an infinite spiral of his name on your lips, “You called me ‘Satoru,’”

You tilt your head, “you told me to last night,” and then you add with a wicked grin, “remember? When you said I was one of the only people you trusted,” you tease, but he’s too busy hearing his name repeat in his head again and again, “Satoru—“ 

“Better be careful, sweetheart,” his lips curl into that annoyingly charming smile, “keep calling me by my first name and I may fall for you,” 

You glare at him, before rolling your eyes, “I see you’re feeling better now,” you walk forward, glancing back at him, “you coming?” 

And his wrist tingles still tingle from your touch, his lips quirk into a smile, “Yeah.” 

“Why did you become a bodyguard?” Satoru asks you, the movie you had haphazardly chosen still ongoing had all become background noise while you spoke, the illumination from the television screen being the only thing that kept your faces lit in the dark living room (he had insisted on shutting the lights off for an “authentic movie watching experience”). 

It had been a few weeks, with no signs of the threat posed ever being eliminated — still new threats were being made, and the Gojo family was still on edge. 

But you were on edge for a whole other reason. 

His fingers were still shoved in the bag of kettle corn he had been snacking on this entire time, but you could feel his gaze on you, instead of the movie. 

“What do you mean?” your eyes slide to him, as your phone’s ringer goes off with a spam email, and you silence it, keeping it on vibrate for emergencies, “and what’s with the sudden question?” 

The two of you had settled into your routine — days spent in class, meals shared, grocery shopping, and nights spent either in or out — but again, always together. And, it wasn’t bad — some of it was fun, to the point you almost forgot you were working. 

But you were working. Even now, as your legs are thrown up on the couch, crossed underneath you, your knee brushing against his thigh. 

He shrugs, “You owe me a question, remember?” and he reminds you of your promise from weeks ago — you had wondered why he had never asked you anything that night, “You never talk about yourself. You implied you have your degree, but not much else. From what I’ve seen of you, you’re intelligent — you could have done anything, why this?” and his lips curl into that mischievous, “unless you just had to guard me when you found out it was me,” 

You toss a throw pillow at him, but he catches it with ease, “If only your body was as bulletproof as your body,” and he huffs out a laugh, as you sigh, “why are you interested anyway?” 

“Because I am,” you scoff. 

“Nice reasoning,” he only grins, a thousand watt even in the dark. 

“I thought so,” and he’s holding the pillow to his chest, “c’mon, can you not tell me even one thing about yourself?” 

He wasn’t going to let this go was he? And you relent, chewing on your lip, “My family has been in this business for years — my grandfather, my father, my uncles, and my cousins, and I wanted to be one too. To protect people — it’s a lot more work than it seems. It’s quick thinking, critical reasoning, and analytical skills. It’s all I ever wanted to do after watching my dad do it,” you say softly, “but he didn’t think I was capable of it. He thought I was too soft. Too weak. So I decided to prove him wrong,” 

“You weak? Has your father met you?” and you huff a laugh, “I’m serious,” his cerulean pools meeting yours with not a ripple of hesitancy in them, “I’ve seen you — I don’t I’ve met anyone this determined, or stubborn,” he adds with a smirk. 

“I’m stubborn?” you gape at him, “this coming from the king of stubborn,” 

“Only if you’ll be my queen,” and you roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn, as your gaze turns back to the movie — why did your heart catch at his words? “but trust me, I’m very flexible in other aspects,” 

“Oh my god, is every other sentence that leaves your mouth a pick-up line?” and he opens his mouth, “don’t say ‘only for you,’ or I will be the only threat you have to worry about,” 

“Promise?” you grab another pillow, but he catches your wrist before you can toss it. Your breath catches, and you can’t meet his gaze — you can’t, because you know if you do— but then he whispers your name. 

And you can’t help it. You look at him. His eyes are so pretty. They were really the first things that struck you when you met him — that was before he opened his mouth. They looked like they contained multitudes, a far too beautiful ocean tucked behind sunglasses and an irritated scowl. But it wasn’t a secret that Satoru Gojo was attractive — especially not when every other person glared at you for simply being in his presence. But physical attractiveness meant little if a person wasn’t good — because superficiality could only take you so far. 

And you knew what it was like to be only judged superficially — and by the way Satoru’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when these people chatted him up, he was far too used to it. 

And once he did speak, you had written him off as another rich kid — you had seen them a dime a dozen throughout your schooling and from the people your family was protected to hire. But there was something about him — something you couldn’t quite shake, even though every part of you was telling to do so. 

“What is it, Satoru?” And his fingers tug you a little closer, gently, his hand loose enough for you to slip away, but you don’t. Why don’t you? 

“You don’t always have to have your guard up,” his voice is soft, far too soft for the far too loud heir, “it’s okay to open up,” 

You shake your head, but still unable to pull away, “It’s dangerous,” and he laughs, a sound that only warms the thin icy barrier between you both, melting it to nothing. 

“Isn’t danger the whole reason we met?” And now his thumb brushes up and down against your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel your pulse roaring just underneath. 

You pull away again, shaking your head, as you cross your arms, trying to hold your resolve together, “I can’t do my job if I’m distracted,” and you couldn’t, even now, you weren’t evaluating any risks, you weren’t trying to find the source of the threats — no, you were too busy trying not to inch closer to your client, trying not to look at his lips, trying not to give in to what you wanted. 

“And I’m a distraction?” he looks far too pleased, but a thought seems to sour his smirk, “I thought Suguru was more of one,” and his lips are caught in a slight pout. 

“Geto was just keeping me company while you entertained those girls hanging on your every word,” you can’t dull the point to your words, and it replaces his pout with a grin. 

“So you were jealous,” 

“You’re the one who was jealous — you could have killed Suguru with your glare alone,” 

“But you didn’t deny it,” and it makes you stop — why didn’t you deny it? 

“I can’t do this,” and you’re pulling away, before flicking off the tv and rising from the couch your phone in hand, turning towards the hallway, “it’s late we should go to bed—“ but he’s catching your wrist again, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you hated how gentle his fingers felt around your wrist, “how are you supposed to protect me if you’re too busy running away from me?” 

“I’m great at multitasking,” and he’s drawing closer to you, his soft footfalls against the carpet, even as you step away from him, “my job is to protect you, we can’t get distracted—“ 

“I thought you were so good at multitasking,” he chuckles, his fingers find your wrist again, slipping to intertwine with your own, fingers interlaced, and your phone falls from your fingers and onto the couch, “what I said that night when I was drunk was true — I don’t have a lot of people I trust. People don’t understand. They put me on a pedestal or they don’t want me, they want the concept of me — not the reality,” 

“I’m not licensed as a therapist you know,” and he’s sighing. 

“Do you always have to deflect with humor? Because if we both do that, we’ll never get through a conversation,” and he squeezes your hand, “which I guess I don’t mind if that means you’ll stay,” 

“Satoru—“ 

“We don’t have to do anything now — we don’t have to do anything at all,” and you can feel his words warming your skin, “but don’t you feel something?” 

You hesitate, and you can’t look at him,  “No, I don’t,” 

“You’re not a very good liar — don’t they teach you that in bodyguard academy?” 

You snort, holding your head, “Is that where you imagined I got my training done?”

“Well, you don’t exactly like to share, now do you?” he’s stepping forward again, and you can’t bring yourself to run away anymore. 

“I shouldn’t,” and you hear the faint sound of his breath hitching, “but I do,” 

You don’t need to look at him to hear the smile on his lips, “so maybe it’s a distraction worth having,” 

“But—” and he’s gently turning you to face him, his fingers brushing a stray hair from your face, heat blooming with his touch, “Satoru…” 

“Why do you keep saying my name when you know I like hearing it?” he’s teasing, but you’re not shying away from his touch, as his fingers cup your chin now, upwards, so you meet his gaze, “maybe we should have had you pretend to be my girlfriend,” 

You chuckle, “Oh I could see that going wrong in so many ways,” and he’s leaning even closer, as he’s left the line you’d drawn far behind, marred it with his touch, and is luring you over to stumble over the edge with him. 

“Is this one of them?” 

“Probably,” and his lips brush against yours — he tastes sweet, the taste of kettle corn lingers, as his fingers cup your cheek now, and find purchase on his shoulder. It’s brief, a soft press that leaves you far too breathless, as if his touch had taken the air from your lungs, only to leave heat behind, “definitely,” 

“Is that a good thing or—” and your lips find his this time, a gasp you swallow with a smirk, and he melts into your touch, eager fingers grasping at the front of his shirt. And he responds in kind, his fingers tracing a path, as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand settles on the back of your neck. 

His touch set every nerve ending on fire — a desperate wildfire that burned a trail across your mind and body — leaving only the crave of his touch behind, that left you wanting more, needing more.

“Was that good?” you murmur, as you take in your handiwork, his pink lips were bitten red by your kisses, his marble skin a lovely flush, and his gaze far too needy. God, it’s far too easy to get lost in him — pull your anchor from the shore and get lost in his gaze and touch, “god I shouldn’t ask that, we shouldn’t be doing this—” but your body refuses to pull away, and you don’t think by the grasp he has on you, that you’d be able to anyway. 

But he only gives you the same answer to each of your statements — he kisses you again, slower and more languid this time, as the two of you walk towards the bedroom, your hands reaching for each other and the walls, as you both stumble into his bedroom. 

“We don’t—” he says, between kisses, “I didn’t—” 

“I didn’t either, but—” you can’t stop touching him, you don’t want to, despite the logical part of you screaming at you to leave his room, it’s overridden by just how much you want him. He’s frustrating, he’s an idiot, he’s sweet, he’s cute, and he’s a little pathetic — but you liked that in a man. Every sense of logic is screaming at you to stop — but it all turns to white noise  “but I don’t want to stop.” 

He’s grinning as he pulls you into another kiss, his arms wrapping around his waist, pressing you against him, “That addicted already?” lips parting as he kisses down your neck, pulse jumping under his touch. 

“You’re just lucky Geto didn’t get to me first,” and he furrows his brow, before his teeth graze against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, drawing a gasp from your lips, “Satoru, what was that for—”  

“So everyone knows you’re mine? Including Suguru,” he’s sucking lightly at the mark, soothing his tongue, “and I’ll make sure he knows,” 

“Oh, I trust you’ll be subtle,” and he’s guiding you towards his bed, both of you falling onto it, his knee pressing your legs apart, as he hovers over you, his ocean gaze dark as a storm ridden sea. 

“Oh you know me, princess,” and his knee presses against your clothed cunt, rubbing against it teasingly, “subtlety is my specialty,” 

“Subtle as a truck,” you murmur, and he’s laughing as he kisses you again, making your lips curl, as his hands slide up your sides, squeezing your hips, “Satoru, please,” 

“What’s the fun if I don’t get to tease you?” he’s kissing needy kisses to your neck, as his knee doesn’t relent, grinding lightly against your increasingly wet core, slick leeching through the thin material of your shorts, “gotta make sure you want it right?”

“You treat all the people you bring home this well?” and he’s pausing, lips against your neck, “I didn’t mean anything—” 

“You’re the first,” you stare up at him, and he’s hesitant for once when usually he’s always barreling forward, “I’ve never brought anyone here,” and he licks his lips, a deeper flush settling over his porcelain skin, “I’ve never actually—” 

And you blink, “Really?” 

He huffs, “Is it that surprising—” 

“I mean a little, from the way everyone acts around you, and the way you act—” 

“Well, ‘act’ is the key word, now isn’t it?” he’s licking his lips as he looks down at you, “it’s easy to act when you know what they expect from you — a role to play,” 

“Well, the role’s been filled, so how about you just be yourself for me?” you murmur softly, a featherlight touch as you trace the curve of his jaw, and his lips find his smile under your delicate touch, “so I can ask, is this your first time like you asked me?” 

And he’s leaning up to kiss you, your hand resting against his chest, his heartbeat galloping under your touch, “And if I said yes?” 

You smile, before flipping him onto his back, his gaze wide as he stares up at you, “Then we better make it memorable.” 

“Please, I want to—“ his soft pants left his perfect lips, chest heaving as your fingers curled around his erection, far too hard from just what you had done. You’d stripped yourself and him bare — your inhibitions left far behind — as your lips kissed the tip of his aching cock.

“Lemme make you feel good, Satoru,” you murmur, looking up at him with fluttering eyes, your fingers smearing his pre cum along his length, and he’s pressing his head into the pillow, “s’big, can’t wait to feel you inside me,” you murmur, and you slowly pump him, drawing moan after moan from his lips. 

“Won’t last long—can’t—“ he’s biting his lip, his hips thrusting into your touch, before your lips suck at his tip again, and he’s gone, cumming hard all over your face and fingers. God, it never felt that good when he touched himself. Your fingers even brushing against him made him want to cum almost instantly, your soft touch and lips were enough to send him over the edge over and over again.  

He’s panting, eyes fluttering open to see you licking your lips clean with your tongue, as you meet his gaze with a grin, slowly sucking on each one of your fingers until you’ve cleaned yourself of his cum. 

“Princess, fuck,” he’s lying back on the pillow, as your lips slowly kiss back up his body, your tongue dragging between the fluttering muscles of his stomach and chest. 

“Already hard again?” You murmur, a smirk on your lips, “so sensitive for me,” 

He’s keening at your words, a whimper leaving his lips. His eyes are blown out in pleasure as he meets your gaze, and you kiss him again, sloppy and messy, as his tongue brushes against yours, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection. 

“Please,” he can’t help the words leaving his lips, “I need you,” 

“Is this the first time you’ve begged for something?” You tease him, smirk on your lips as your thumb teases one of his nipples, pulling a gasp from his lips, “such a good boy,” 

He hissed at your praise, “fuck—“ 

And you’re grinding against him, he’s already embarrassingly hard, blood rushing back to his cock as if it never left, as it drags against the all too wet fabric of your panties. And every small moan that leaves your lips leaving him needing more, his pre cum mixing with your cum that seeps through your panties, and is the second time he comes with you gonna be just grinding against each other on this bed? But he can’t help it if you keep nibbling at his neck like that, your pretty little pants in his ear, the head of his dick catching on your clit — so fucking good. 

“Toru, c-close, ngh, g’nna cum—“ and he’s nodding, forcing his eyes open to watch you cum, your chest shaking, as you hover above him, your eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as you said his name. 

“S’good,” he’s grunting, “Cum f’me,” and you both do, the slick and stickiness between your bodies almost unbearable, as you both pant, as you rest your head against his shoulder. 

The silence sinks in for a moment, as you kiss his cheek, “we can stop here if you want,” your voice is soft, nose brushing against his neck, “don’t want to make you—“

And he’s flipping you onto your back, his fingers finding the waistband of your shorts, your breath hitching as he drags the material down your legs, and tosses it behind him, “I want this, I want you, and I won’t stop saying it until you believe it,” he leans down, breath warming your breasts through your shirt, before his lips suck at your clothed nipples, making you shiver, “you like that, huh?” 

“Shut up,” your cheeks burn, but he’s only tugging your shirt over your head and off, his gaze hot as he drags his eyes down your exposed body, and it makes you squirm, “Satoru — please—“ 

“Now who’s the one doing the begging?” he leans down to suck on your nipple, while his fingers toy with the other between his thumb and forefinger, “I wanna learn what makes you feel good — wanna make you cum under my touch, wanna taste you,” he switches sides, his teeth grazing the skin of your breast, sucking a mark before soothing it with his tongue, “mine,” 

“Satoru, fuck, I want—“ and his fingers trace down your body, making you gasp, he’s kissing down your chest and then your stomach, tongue dipping into your bellybutton, “you fucking—“ 

“Gotta make you feel good don’t I?” he has a shit eating grin on his lips, as he settles between your thighs, and his fingers press against the growing wet patch on your panties, “though it looks like you’re already feeling good,” 

You bite back a whimper, “Are you gonna make me feel good or are you gonna keep talking—“ you moan when his thumb bears down on your needy clit, rubbing it through the nearly translucent fabric of your underwear. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” And he’s snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin, “couldn’t hear you,” 

“You fucker—“ and he’s kissing your clothed cunt through the wet fabric, nose brushing against your clit, making you nearly shake, as he inhales before he moans. 

“So sweet, must taste even sweeter,” he murmurs before tugging your underwear down, before you’re kicking it off, making him chuckle, “so eager,” and you scowl up at him, ineffective from the way lips are parted, “you’re so cute,” 

“I’m not cute,” you pout, and he’s laughing, a noise you could drown in, just as you do his eyes. 

“You’re very cute, and I’ll tell you as many times as it takes you to believe it,” and his lips press soft kisses to your thighs, “my cute bodyguard, you gonna guard my heart as well as you do my body?” 

And before you can reply his breath is warming your soaked cunt, his fingers parting your folds apart, your clit was puffy, your sex slick with your mixed juices, “so pretty, this all just for me?” And you hiss as he holds your outer lips apart, “so this is what your pussy looks like, huh?” And your thighs are twitching, trying to shut, but his palms hold you apart, his heated gaze meeting your shy ones, “you’re perfect, don’t hide from me, you’ve done enough of that,” and he kisses your clit, making you moan, “and I won’t have that anymore,” 

“Satoru—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping pussy experimentally, tip of his tongue flicking against your clit, fuck, how can he this good at this? Your toes are already curling as he groans, his fingers sliding under your thighs, and tugging you impossibly closer to his face. Your fingers weave into his white locks, “‘ngh— 

“Be a good girl and take it,” he grunts against you, slurping your juices, the sounds of his tongue buried in your cunt, fucking you open, dragging across your walls, “taste s’fucking good, how’d I hold out this long without tasting you?” And your eyes flutter open at his groans, seeing him grind down on the sheets, so fucking horny from eating you out, “g’nna just cum from your taste alone, Princess,” you’re so incredibly soft, so soft, despite your walls being so tough, and it makes only eat you eat you from the inside out. 

You’re so close, and all you hear is the sounds of his greedy tongue swallowing you whole, and the sound of your heartbeat and short gasps. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your thighs twitching under his touch, hips jolting forward to meet his touch, his tongue so fucking deep that you can’t see straight, “Toru, please, I’m so close—“ 

And you feel him groan into your pussy, redoubling his efforts before his fingers find your clit and rub at it while he sucks at your cunt. You cum hard, fingernails digging into his scalp, as your back arches as he eagerly eats you out through your orgasm. The wet squelch of your cunt and his tongue slurping against you, drinking every drop you offer him. 

And then finally he’s pulling away with a pop, his chin and mouth dripping with your release and his spit, pink tongue darting out to clean up your cum from his face, wiping off the rest as he looked up at you from white lashed half lidded eyes. 

And you can’t even speak, still coming down from your high, as he kisses up your body again, your thighs still shaking from your orgasm, your fingers reaching for his cheek, tracing his jaw, before cupping his cheek. 

“How the fuck do you know how to do that well?” And he flashes a pretty smile, as he drags his thumb down your lips. 

“I said I was a virgin, I didn’t say I didn’t know how to do some things — and as you know, I’m an excellent student,” and you huff, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m naturally good at everything,” 

“And always so humble,” he laughs, before he kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his sweet lips, and you’re rolling him over onto his back, his erection slick with precum, pressing against your sensitive cunt, “let me make you feel good now,” you murmur, his cock twitching against you, “wanna ride you, Toru, need you in me,” 

And he’s hissing, as he moves to sit against the headboard, “You keep talking like that princess, I’m g’nna cum before you even—“ and your fingers are reaching between your bodies, and you’re stroking him, smearing his precum over the length of his shaft, making his hips jerk, “fuck—” 

You’re so fucking pretty — your teeth baring down on your bottom lip, as you straddle him, hovering still, his aching tip barely brushing against your dripping cunt, “are you sure?” you murmur, eyes meeting his own, and his lips quirk into a smile. 

“Never been more sure of anything,” and you sink onto him, thick length parting your folds, and he groans, as you fit him in your pussy, inch by inch, until your hips are flush. And fuck, he’s never felt anything better — pleasure runs up and down his body, as his hands find their way to your hips.

You’re tense at first, your back slightly arched, and when he shifts under you, a moan is ripped from your lips, as you begin to adjust to his size, “s’big, Toru, gonna make it hard for me to last too, feels too good,” you’re mumbling, and he’s holding his hips taut, making sure not to move — or else, he’s sure he’d cum in one stroke, “g’nna move ok?” and he’s nodding desperately, your walls already fluttering around him — slick and warm, better anything he’d ever felt. 

You lift up to the tip, before beginning to rock steadily up and down, as he moans, your sweet cunt swallowing him eagerly, as you began to fuck yourself on his cock. Your chest bounces as you ride him, and he can’t resist leaning forward to take a hardened bud in his mouth, your moan making his cock twitch inside you. And he knows why people become addicted to sex — hell, he knew was an addict for it now, but only with you. 

“Fuck, never felt anything this good before, sweetheart, feel s’perfect for me,” he’s grunting, the coil in his stomach growing tighter, as your pace grows more and more sloppy. He wasn’t going to last long, and neither were you from the way you were groaning his name again and again. The wet squelch and smacks of your bodies meeting again and again, only making it harder to hold back, and when he looks to see a white ring of your precum pooling around the base of his dick, he’s nearly gone, “fuck, baby, need you to cum with me,” 

“It’s okay, pretty boy, cum for me,” he keens at the praise, but he’s stubborn, as you established, and he won’t cum until you do too — and so he ensures it, reaching between your bodies to rub meanly at your clit before meeting your thrusts with his own. 

And his tip brushes against that spot that has your vision blurring and toes curling, “Toru, ngh, I’m—” and you’re cumming hard around him, making him spill his warm and thick seed inside your cunt, and he’s groaning you name as he does, your body slowing as you both come down from your highs, your head resting on his shoulder, as your bodies grow limp, resting, his back pressed to the headboard of his bed. 

His fingers trace the curve of your back gently, as he turns his head to press soft kisses to your neck, “Am I still just a distraction?” his lips curled into a smile, and you chuckle, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“Definitely,” but you lean back to cup his cheek, and look at his pretty face again, “but one worth having.” 

You don’t wake from your alarm the next morning. 

Instead, you wake to banging on the door. You both jolt awake, and he’s pulling you into his arms, even as you move to get up, he won’t let go, strong arms around your waist. You’re easing his arms off, trying to be gentle, “Toru, let go, and wait here, your father had a panic room installed in your closet, you hear anything, go inside—” 

“No, I’m coming with you,” and you shake your head. 

“I’m hired to protect you, not the other way around,” you leave his embrace, and face him, his crystal eyes blurred over with worry, “I can handle this,” you reassure him, your fingers intertwining with his, as you press a kiss to his knuckles, “I promise,” 

“But—” and you kiss him gently, silencing his protests, before you slip away into the hallway. 

You enter the living room, shutting the bedroom door without a sound, stalking through the hall, as you grab a knife and pepper spray from the chest of drawers that was pressed to the wall of the hallway — you had several self defense tools hidden all over the apartment. Your heartbeat thunders in your ear, mouth dry, as you approach the door from the side. 

“Who is it?”

“It’s Mr. Gojo, open this door,” and you sigh, relaxing, as you check and unlock the door for him. 

Shinsaku Gojo was only a man you were able to meet once before your work for him began. And it was a privilege even to see him then. His schedule was always packed — multiple meetings, multiple clients, and multiple women, all vying for his attention. Even as you spoke with him the first time, his eyes were on his phone the entire time, except when he had warned you, not to let anything distract you from protecting his son. 

And you had done just that — and even worse, his son had done the distracting, “Mr—” 

“Where’s my son? He hasn’t answered his phone all morning, and neither have you—didn’t you hear from your agency?” his voice is raising, as he dials your number again, and your phone vibrates on the couch. He scoffs, disconnecting the call, as his hard gaze turned back to you, “what if there was a threat? You left your phone—” 

“Dad,” Satoru emerges from the room, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, “it’s not her fault, she forgot it last night when we were watching a movie,” 

“Watching a movie?” he sneers, his cerulean gaze the same as son, but without any of the warmth Satoru had — an icy tundra compared to a warm pool, “she should be watching you, that’s her job—” 

“She was watching me — something you never bothered to do,” and his father’s eyes narrow, “she’s shown more concern for me than you ever had — and she only met me a few weeks ago. What’s your excuse for being a pathetic piece of—“ 

“Satoru,” your fingers brush his shoulder, shaking your head, “sir, I take responsibility for this lapse of judgment. Don’t blame your son,”

Satoru lowers his voice, “it’s not your fault—“ 

“It is. I disregarded by duty to protect you,” your cheeks burn with shame — “what if i had missed an alert you were in danger? What if I failed to protect you because I wasn’t focused? What if—“ 

“Nothing happened,” he says softly, and the twitch of his fingers tells you he’s gonna reach for you, but you step forward, shaking your head. 

“Nothing did,” and you turn to his father, “I’ll protect Satoru until you can find a suitable replacement for me. But I compromised my mission to protect him. I would like to resign as soon as possible,” 

“No! I—“ 

“Agreed,” his father says, “I’ll have your replacement here in an hour, make sure you’re packed up by then,” and his father leaves without another word. 

You brush past him to gather your things, but he’s caught you by the wrist, “Why did you do—“ 

“Gojo,” and you can’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, “I can’t let my feelings get in the way of keeping you safe—“ 

“I don’t care—“ you cut him off. 

“I do, I couldn’t stand if something happened to you because of me. What it was an emergency last night and you got hurt because of my own carelessness—“ 

“It wasn’t careless what happened last night—“ 

“It was,” you say, walking to your room, “and it won’t happen again.” 

You left. You had expected a fight, an argument, a dramatic show of tears — but nothing. Satoru hadn’t even opened his door to watch you leave. The other bodyguard arrived quickly, and you left the penthouse and didn’t look back. 

It was for the best. 

You had a duty, a role to play, and more than that, you couldn’t let him get hurt because of your inability to compartmentalize. Even so, Satoru’s father was kind enough not to have told your father what happened — or you supposed it was pity in exchange for your quick and easy resignation. 

Fuck. Why were you still thinking about this? You rolled over in bed, burying your head under your comforter. A week out, and you still couldn’t stop worrying about Satoru, about his safety, about the hurt on his face, about that night… 

You had fucked everything up, and fucked Satoru up in the aftermath. 

You poke your head out, and stare at your phone on your bedside table — 7:45 PM, no new messages — you had written out six different messages to him again and again, before deleting them. You wondered how many more you’d write before you finally would rid your mind of him. 

Would you ever rid your mind of him? 

And that’s when your phone rings. But it’s not flashing Satoru’s number — it’s his father. You scramble for the phone — why was he calling? And you can only think of one reason. You can’t say a single word when you pick up — his father already hissing his first question.  

“Where is he?” your words are lodged in your throat, stuck on your heart that had leapt from your chest. 

“What?” 

“Where’s Satoru? He came to you didn’t he?” he growls, and you hear a slam, assumedly his fist against his desk, “he shook off his new bodyguard, and his phone is off,” 

“He hasn’t — I haven’t talked to him since I left—” your mind is running a mile a minute, racking your brain, placing the call on speakerphone, as you text Satoru, where are you? “Where did the bodyguard see him last?” 

“He had him at the dorms, he said he was going to see a friend, and then gave him the slip,” his father groans, “you hear anything from him, otherwise—” 

“I’ll let you know,” you cut him off at the threats — you had more important things to do. You checked your messages, but your messages hadn’t gone through, and you tried calling him — but it went straight to voicemail. Satoru was upset — he could’ve blocked you or turned off his phone to piss off his father, but you didn’t see him doing that. He was an idiot, but he knew his father would lose his shit. 

And then you remembered. The tracker you placed on Satoru — you never took it off. You had sewed it into the insole of his daily shoes (the man had far too many clothes and shoes, but he rarely found the energy to not wear anything besides the shoes he always wore). 

You turned it on, biting your lip as you watched the tracker loaded, and his location popped up — and it wasn’t at his apartment. 

It was in Shibuya — you typed in the address and he was at a house. 

You furrow your brow, who did he know who lived in Shibuya? And then it clicked. 

Fuck. 

Those girls. 

Satoru groaned, fuck, why is his head hurting so badly? 

It wasn’t exactly unusual the last few days. He hadn’t been sleeping much since you left, he spent most of his nights watching TV and rotting in his bed. But everything reminded him of you — his bed, his couch, and even the shows he watched (he had continued one of the shows you both had started one late night). 

His apartment was a disaster — a mess of empty soda cans, empty wrappers of candy and old takeout containers. But he couldn’t be bothered with it — to clean it up or call someone to clean it up. His bodyguard had taken up residence in your room — or rather the guest room — and hardly emerged, keeping an eye on him through cameras his father had installed around the doors and hallway. 

Not that he really needed to, Satoru rarely left his apartment, even had skipped classes for a week — sending an email that he had a very contagious illness and that he’d be happy to attend class if necessary. They sent him materials to work on classwork from home, piled untouched on his kitchen counter, with a possible smudge from the hot fudge he had last night. 

He had made progress — instead of staying in bed, he moved onto the couch for his afternoon nap, and he had just fallen asleep when there was a banging on his door. He groaned into the couch pillow he had just gotten comfortable on, before pulling it onto his head, trying to block out the sounds of the knocking. 

“Satoru! Open up,” he hears Suguru’s voice through the door, “open the fucking door, I know you’re not sick,” 

He pulls himself up, groaning, as he wipes the small amount of drool from his lips, as he meanders to the door, throwing it open. 

“You look like shit,” Suguru says, brushing past him to enter. 

“No ‘hello, you look like shit?’” He mumbles, still rubbing his eyes, “what are you doing here?” 

“I should be asking you that,” he stands, hands in his pockets, as he takes in the mess with a wrinkled nose, “although I see you’ve decided to redecorate,”

“Hilarious,” Satoru replies, lying back on the couch, “did you come here just to hassle me?” 

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say that wasn’t part of it, but the other was to see if you’re ready to pick yourself back up after your breakup—“ 

“It wasn’t a breakup,” Satoru snaps. 

“If it wasn’t, then why does it look like you haven’t showered in several days since she left?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, and Satoru scowls. 

“I’m sick,” he turns away to face the couch, “I don’t have the energy to shower,” 

“But you have the energy to eat about half a dozen mochi doughnuts?” Suguru holds up an empty doughnut box, and Satoru holds a couch pillow to his chest, “Satoru, come on, it isn’t like you to wallow like this,” 

“I’m not wallowing—“ 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re sick, right?” Suguru says sarcastically. Satoru doesn’t need to look at his best friend to know he’s rolling his eyes, “well you don’t seem like you’re sneezing or coughing so go take a shower or something,” Satoru gives a weak fake cough, and he could feel Suguru’s glare, “fine, rot in bed, but you have to get up sometime, just text me when you’re ready to,�� 

And Satoru hears Suguru’s footsteps recede to the door, swinging shut with a click behind him. He buries his face in the pillow. It wasn’t a break up. How could it be when you didn’t even have a relationship to begin with? You had made that clear enough when you left without another word to him. He didn’t leave his room until he heard the door shut behind you, and he made his way out to watch you leave out the front door of the apartment. And you didn’t even look back. But you weren’t the type to. 

He felt like he was always looking back — one way or another. 

And even now, as he came to — he was trying to remember what he had done after Suguru left. Someone else had shown up — knocked at his door. Offered to get him out of the house — offered him free alcohol and a distraction. 

And he had agreed — if only to forget about you for a moment. Drinking was the only thing that made him forget — if he only could somehow forget how terrible alcohol tasted. 

His head spun, so was this a hangover? It’s certainly worse than the one he had before — the last one felt like his brain was fuzzy and nausea clawed at his stomach — this time, it felt more akin to someone taking a blender to both of those organs. And his neck, he stretched it both ways. How had he fallen asleep? 

And then he tried to lift up his hand to rub his eyes, and he couldn't, wrist straining against something — his brow furrowed, what was arm caught on — and his eyes fluttered open. It was dark — the only light came from another room, peeking through the crack at the bottom of, what he assumed was, a door. And then as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked at his arms. 

Ropes. Twisted around both his arms, binding his wrists and forearms to the arms of a chair, and his vision blurs — what? His legs jerk instinctively, but ropes dig into the flesh of his ankles, and he glanced down only to find what he expected. 

“You’re awake,” the light flicks on, he lifts his head, blinking away the fog in his head and the burning tears slipping from his eyes, “didn’t realize the drug would knock you out for that long,”

He blinks again and again, light flooding his eyes, until he can see and sees a familiar face — “Misaki?” the light sends a piercing jolt through his head, “or is it Yumiko?” 

“Well that’s flattering, you can’t even remember my name?” she sighs, crossing her arms, “well I unfortunately don’t have the same luxury,” and then she adds with a quirk of her lips, “it is Yumiko,” and she steps forward, as his eyes squeeze shut, his head still banging, “sorry what I gave you to knock you out can cause some light sensitivity,” 

It’s slowly sinking in, “I don’t know what kind of weird kink you have, but I’m not interested,” and she scoffs, pressing her knuckles to her chin, “where am I?” 

“Do you think I’m really going to tell you that?” she raises an eyebrow, “I did send you threats after all, you don’t think I’d be that stupid to tell you where I am,” 

He needed to buy time, he needed to find a way to get out of here, and to do that, he needed time, “What? Are you obsessed with me or something? Do you want my body?”

“I’m going to stop your overinflated ego there,” she sighs, leaning against a table that was behind her, “I have a debt to pay and you’re the price,” 

“Debt?” he repeats, “is this where you explain your whole plan? And villain speech? Because I usually I could care less, but I’m feeling a little generous with my time, as I’m a little tied up at the moment, so—” 

“Do you ever shut up?” 

“It’s known to happen on occasion,” she rubs her temples, and then something occurs to him, “how did you get my address? You showed up and invited me,” 

She shakes his head, “You think I couldn’t find out your address after sending you threats?” and she sighs, “You know this is why I tried to do this at the first party — get it over with so I wouldn’t have to deal with this. But then you crushed your beer cup, your little girlfriend got in the way, and that idiot Misaki accidentally switched her shot glass with yours, so I couldn’t get you dosed,” she grits her teeth, “and then the rest of the semester, your girlfriend was up your ass the entire time — but she wasn’t your girlfriend was she? She was your bodyguard,” he says nothing, “you don’t need to confirm it for me, I already found her information, her name, her address—” 

“What do you want? Money? My father will pay anything to get me back. Tell me who you need to repay and he’ll do it,” and her lips curl. 

“So serious now — and so cooperative, maybe I should have kidnapped her too while I was at it,” she shrugs, while she grabs her phone from the table — a burner — “my father will be here to escort you to where you need to go. The yakuza will take it from there,” his blood runs cold, “Don’t cause a fuss and i can promise your girlfriend will stay safe,” 

He grits his teeth — he was so stupid. This was exactly the kind of shit you were trying to protect him from. And it was the thing he landed himself in the moment you left. But he didn’t care — because it was better this way, because you were safe this way.

“Wow, you’re pretty cute when you’re all quiet,” and she’s walking over, and he’s flinching as she drags a manicured nail down his cheek, before tilting it up, “it’s just that mouth that’s a problem,” and her thumb brushes down his lips, “don’t bite, or we might have a problem,” 

And he doesn’t, but then he smiles back, “you might like it when I bite,” he smirks, “why don’t you come here and find out?” And she raises her eyebrows, leaning closer, and he smashes his forehead into hers, “fuck off,” 

She stumbles back, losing her balance, and leaning against the table as she clutches at her forehead. Satoru watches her, trying to wriggle out of his constraints, rope chafing against his skin, red welts rising on his skin, but he only manages to get one hand free before she’s starting to get her bearings, and then he’s trying to free himself, his chair tipping over. And now he’s lying helplessly as she stumbles forward over to him, clutching a knife she grabbed off the table. 

“I have to hand you over to the yakuza, but they didn’t say you had to be completely unharmed,” she presses the tip of the knife to his cheek, “maybe we’ll do something to that pretty face of yours,” he grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. 

CRACK. 

He hears a body slump over, and the clatter of the knife against the cement floor, and his eyes open to find you kneeling beside him. He’s blinking, murmuring your name, “What are you—” 

“Well I never did remove that tracker did I?”  You’re cutting the ropes on his wrists and ankles with the knife, “and I’m lucky you wear the same damn shoes everyday,” 

“Why did you come for me?” he says, as you finally free him his restraints, your fingers gentle as they examine the welts and bruises left on his skin, “you could have just told my father where I was or the police,” 

“I could’ve. I saw where you were and I figured it out—“ and your voice wavers, “but all I could think was that I wanted to find you. And I didn’t wanna wait for anyone else. I didn’t want something to happen just because someone else was too slow,” the lump in your throat grows only larger, as you sit, “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you,” 

“Why?” he asks softly, his fingers brush against your cheek, and he knows why — he does, but he needs to hear it. 

“Because I just want…to be the one to protect you,” you admit, tears burning at your eyes, as your thumb traces over his rope burns and bruises, “I wish that I could have,” 

“You did a pretty good job, considering I almost was about to get my face cut up,” and he gently wipes your tears away, “imagine what a tragedy that would be,” 

You give a watery chuckle, cupping his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” and he opens his mouth, “no i really am. I shouldn’t have slept with you, only to cut and run after. I thought…I thought I was doing you a favor,” 

“How?” And you sigh, blinking away your tears. 

“I put your life in danger by doing that. I couldn’t do that. I knew the only way you’d let me go is…if I lied to you and said I didn’t care about you,” you bite your bottom lip, “and I’m sorry because I only hurt you more in the end,” 

He kisses your lips gently, chastely, his breath warming your lips as he parts from them, “you did,” and you scoff, pushing him playfully, “but as long as you promise not to do it again, I think I can find it in my incredibly generous heart to forgive you,” 

You kiss him again, softly, your fingers sliding to the back his neck, into his undercut, “I promise,” and he grins, before leaning back to kiss you again, when a cough behind you catches your attention. 

“My father will be getting here shortly you idiots, while you gaze fucking stupidly into each other’s eyes,” she sneers, and you raise an eyebrow. 

“You think I’d come here without calling the police? They already have picked up your father — and they should be almost here—“ and the sounds of an ambulance and police sirens come into earshot. 

“Good timing,” Satoru mutters, as Yumiko tries and fails to stumble to her feet, and you get up and pin her to the ground. Satoru raises an eyebrow, and watches, as you glance back at him, tilting your head in question, “nothing, it’s just…hot to see you in action,” 

You laugh, “Did she hit your head too?” And he shrugs, as he gets onto this feet with shaky legs, “Satoru—“ 

And he sits next to you, leaning on your shoulder, “just let me rest here for a minute,” he mumbles. 

For the first time since you left, Satoru felt like he could finally rest. 

And Satoru did rest, he realized as he blinked awake to the ambient sounds of the hospital room, the distinct beep of the heartbeat monitor, the dim light of the moon filtering through the shades, and the distant sounds of people walking through the hall. He hears the sounds of sheets rustling, and his gaze snaps over to his left. 

His gaze softens. You were fast asleep beside him, your arms tucked under your head, your breaths were soft, as they were the night you two had spent together. He sat himself up — fingers running through your hair gently. You had fallen asleep before him that night, face buried in the crook of his neck, and your legs entangled with his. And now you slept beside him on a chair, leaning on his bedside. 

His fingers carded through your hair again, and you stirred, as he swore under his breath, your eyes fluttered open, “Toru?” you mumbled, still half asleep, and he hummed. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he sighed softly, “why are you sleeping here? You should have gone home,” you sit up, stretching, as you furrow your brow, eyes scanning him for any sign of an injury or distress. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay — you were unconscious, but no concussion thankfully. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t wake,” you sigh, words tumbling out almost faster than you can think of them, “they mostly kept you for observation, but are you feeling okay? Should I get the nurse—“ 

And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you, as he sighs, burying his face in your neck, “I just want to stay like this for a while,” he murmurs, “I got everything I need right here, got it?” He feels you nod, and he feels the hint of your tears on his skin, but says nothing, only his lips quirk, “you did mean your promise?” 

“I did, I won’t leave like that again,” and he’s leaning back, head tilted, and you chuckle, “I mean I won’t leave you at all, how’s that?” 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, leaning closer, and his heart squeezes when he hears your breath hitch as he does. His eyes flicker to your lips and back, “can I kiss—“ 

But you kiss him first, softly, your fingers brushing his cheek, and god, why was it that a single touch from you melted him away to nothing? Whittled his world view to a pin where all he could feel, all he could see, was you. 

And then you kiss his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, and then your teeth graze the soft part of his neck, drawing a pretty gasp from his lips, as you suck lightly on his skin. 

He’s whispering your name, breath sucked from his lungs as if your teeth had pierced through his throat instead of just his skin, “what was that for?” 

And you smile, “so everyone knows you’re mine.” 

“You’re changing your major?” Suguru raises his eyebrow, as he lounges on Satoru’s couch, holding his head up with his elbow propped against the top of the couch, “your father must’ve been thrilled about that,” 

“He lost his shit, but that geezer can fuck off,” Satoru shrugs, “he threatened to not pay my tuition, but once I threatened to go public with his dealings with the yakuza, he saw it my way,” 

Suguru tilts his head, “His what?” 

You bring over tea from the kitchen, placing it on the table, “After what Satoru found out from Yumiko and her father, their debt to the yakuza would have been paid off by kidnapping one of Satoru’s father’s close relatives, but I was wondering why was the yakuza so eager to do so?” 

“Apparently my old man had the brilliant idea of entertaining the yakuza on some deal he was making,” Satoru explains, leaning back on the couch, as you sit against his legs, “and when he backed out, the yakuza wanted to push it through anyway — and well, thus their blackmail of Yumiko’s father, once they found out his daughter went to school with me.” 

“Yeah, turns out her father had gambling debts owed to the yakuza,” you sighed, “she got caught in the crossfire — I almost feel bad,” 

“Speak for yourself, she drugged me, tied me to a chair, and held a knife to my face,” Satoru scoffs, sipping his tea that he had you drown in sugar. 

“Well you didn’t complain when I did that last night,” you reply, making both Satoru and Suguru choke, and you laughed, squealing when Satoru lifts you into his lap to bury his face into your back. 

“You two are officially sickening to be around,” Suguru grimaces, still coughing from choking down his tea, “I think I liked it better when he was wasting away in his apartment,” 

“You wasted away after I left?” You turn to look at Satoru, who shoots a glare at Suguru, “sorry Geto, that’s not happening again,” and Satoru softens his gaze, pressing a kiss to your head. 

“Alright, that’s it, I’m leaving,” Suguru gets to his feet, as he glances back at you two, “don’t rush to get up, I’ll see myself out,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t worry we weren’t going to,” Satoru pulls you closer, and Suguru narrows his eyes, before his lips curl into a grin. 

“Just for that, I’m sending your girlfriend a picture of the mess you looked like when she left,” Satoru gapes at him, while you bite back a laugh. 

“Suguru!” Satoru calls, but the door’s shut, and you’re starting to giggle. He’s pouting now, “so my girlfriend thinks it's funny to see me in the pathetic state she left me in?” 

“Oh your girlfriend finds it very funny, and she might even make it her boyfriend’s contact picture,” you smirk, and he’s biting back a smile, “What?” 

“This is just the first time we called each other that,” he mumbles, a slight dusting of pink on his cheeks, “it’s nice,” he admits. 

“Well, I am yours, aren’t I?” you smile, and he presses a kiss to your lips, as he would again and again. 

“My one and only.” 

✧ a/n: so this fic was so freaking long. i'm sorry it took so long to post this - i got a little sidetracked by prof geto haha. but i'm hoping to start on the next one soon :). i think i'll put a poll up on which one i should write next! edit: forgot to tag the people who requested this, its now added in T_T

✧ taglist: @teatreeoilll, @intrxspectiv, @marvel-fanaticz, @ilovemybabes, @lwustyz, @jayathelostdragon, @vampzys, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @soilmayo, @iwassentfromhell, @lobotomy-kaisen, @gojoallmine, @forest-hashira, @h3artpiecexx, @lailarratx, @gummibat, @hanlay, @ilovewoo9, @nvmlolo, @h6avenly, @eriyvesa, @alexandraioann4, @eclipsephase, @sokkasmoon, @aizzon, @makotome9, @daddytojji, @fluffy-pancakes01, @imjustmememe, @spookyy-gracee, @forest-fruits-jam, @that-goth-bisexual, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @lookinreality,

[citrinesparkles]

hi again! austen anon dropping by to say that i've been really busy so i haven't gotten through all of your tim works just yet, but...

"late night" stuck with me because of how much the dialogue made me laugh, especially the sarcasm that comes as a side effect of sleep deprivation! i could totally picture two people going back and forth—and yes timothy, i could also fall into a minor coma. and the reader here was a little TOO relatable with the grumpiness that come with just wanting to fall asleep and being on the precipice of it but having it slip away right at the last second

i love that your writing always feels like peering into snippets of people's lives!

AUSTEN ANON <3 oh my dear you are so delightfully sweet- amazing timing too, bc i've been busy myself and havent been logging in HJDKFHKJSH

omg 🥺🥺 im so glad you enjoyed!! i really love writing little slice of life time moments (as you've probably guessed hfjkdshf) so im so so glad someone enjoys them :)

thank you for this, sweetheart- you have no idea how much it means to me that anybody enjoys any of my shenanigans jdkfjskdf

[alisblackgf]

okok hear me out.... yk the scene in s1 where the old guy (mr han i think) hugs hyun su and hyun su basically kills him with his monster wing thing what if reader took mr hans place and hyun su killed reader, but then reader comes back as a neohuman and they reunite in s2 (i hope this made sense pls im bad at explaining)

someone cooked here. LMAO anon you're a genius

rememberance

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cha hyun-su x gn!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: hurt/comfort(?)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you died by his hands, and he never forgave himself for it. that was until he saw you standing alive and well in front of him.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i didn't know if i wanted to make it an established relationship or not, so that's up to you! also when i finished this i thought it was way longer than it actually was. hopefully you still enjoy it!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of death, blood, basically anything you'd see in sweet home

"it's not your fault."

your voice echoed in his mind continuously. part of him wishes he could forget, the other part of him wishes it'd stay forever.

he remembered the way your arms wrapped around him, even when your skin was pierced by his wing.

"it's not your fault," you whispered, your grasp slightly loosening due to your injuries. you could feel yourself slipping away.

you used your final breaths to reassure him, relief taking over your features when his wing turned back into his arm, and the pure blackness of his eyes returned to the eyes you'd stare into with adoration.

once he fully processed the situation, he held you tightly and cried into you. you held him back for as long as you could, and once he felt your arms let him go, he cried harder.

he remembered how your lifeless body felt. the weight of you was still there, but everything else that made you you was gone.

it had been a year since it happened. he thought it'd get better with time, but it hadn't. he catches himself thinking about you more often than he should, but he can't—he won't—let himself forget you.

he didn't think that his determination to keep your memory alive would lead to hallucinations of you. was he hallucinating?

eun-yu stood next to him, and upon seeing you, she ran up to you and hugged you. you hugged her back and gave her a soft smile. she pulled away, and your gaze landed on him.

he definitely wasn't hallucinating.

he looked different than when you last saw him. his hair grew out a bit more, and you observed his shirt.

it looked cut up, and you could only assume it was from his wing. the same one that "killed" you. you winced at the memory, convinced you could almost feel the tears in your skin again.

you had changed, too, though. your hair was different, more suitable to the outbreak of monsters, and your choice of clothing was, too. it's not something he expected you to wear, but it looked good on you.

he walked towards you and you stood before him, unmoving, just as shocked as he was.

"hyun-su?" you reached out to touch his face, and once he felt your touch, he gave a shaky sigh and tears began to fall.

you wiped his tears and gently shushed him, pulling him into an embrace. he buried his face into your neck, mumbling apologies.

"i'm sorry," he cried into you, just like he did when your pierced skin leaked blood onto him.

"i know. it wasn't your fault." you held him tight, expressing that your grasp wouldn't falter this time, and you let him stay in your arms as long as he needed to, because this time, you weren't going anywhere.

[iridescentdove]

If it is not too much trouble, may I please request a Yandere? Platonic! BSD x Arlecchino! Reader, let's say that the reader has played an important role in almost everybody's life.

For example, she took Kouyou under her wing when she failed to escape the Mafia, advised and convinced Fukuzawa to save Yosano, treated and viewed (15) Dazai as only a child and not the demon prodigy, never once used or placed Chuuya as the second choice, etc. Things like that, but the reader is still in the Fatui and does run the House of the Hearth and looks after orphans while also training them to be enlisted in the Fatui. So, they probably view reader as a parent figure and someone dear to their hearts and don’t want anything bad to happen to them.

A LIFE OF OUR OWN.

Yandere!Platonic!BSD x Arlecchino!Reader

A/N: I immediately worked on this request on seeing it omg anon you guys do not know how much I love Arlecchino ... also for here I use "Father", but that's only because in the game Lyney & Lynette call Arlecchino that. Feel free to pretend it's mother or something else!

You're the second whole of their hearts.

They'll do anything for you ...

Father.

It's not a coincidence. To take one for an example. KOUYOU, that poor little girl who did nothing wrong. She was such a sweet kid, someone nice ... and yet she was there in the Port Mafia. Taken away and unable to live her life like a child should.

In an attempt to leave the mafia with a man she liked, it was rather unfornature enough – both were caught red handed.

And that man? He was killed.

KOUYOU was desperately holding on, wanting him to open his eyes, to survive and still find a way. And yet deep down, she knew that it would be impossible.

Good things never last.

She began to see the light as something meaningless. That the moment a flower born in darkness is exposed to light, it will wilt and burn away to nothingness. She can't escape. Not anymore. But that also wishful thinking.

That was until you came along and helped her up.

It was like a moment's heartbeat, the moment she looked up. You were right there – holding your hand out.

Even if you weren't expressive as to be expected out of sympathy for what happened, she can tell that you were no ill-intentioned person. So what did she do? She took it. Your hand. And gave you a smile ... one that faintly shined of hope.

Of course, she never left the mafia. But she had you to take care of her ... and treat her like a true daughter.

She was ecstatic to have family of her own.

You even gifted her a little plushie. Of course, of the the most fine and exquisite type of material. Your rich ass is flexing without even saying it out loud. slay

And you never treated her as a second choice.

Just like CHUUYA. As the time passed, he too joined the Port Mafia by boss orders. Honestly – you probably didn't give much of a shit, but that obviously changed.

Even now, your fatherish figure still remains after years. And that may as well never change.

He takes some great pride on his abilities, and he's rather smug about it himself. Although – sometimes he does question himself, and his humanity. Due to basically being merged and being Arahabaki's vessel.

But no, fuck that. You treated him as your own child, and although had more better things to do in the Fatui – this kid was insecure as hell and needed a parental figure.

CHUUYA adores you from the bottom of his heart. You showed him what it was to be human. To be alive. You gave him good reason and even let him visit the orphanage you looked after. Since he was merged with basically a God, you found it curious as well.

Well Arahabaki doesn't have a Gnosis so he's luckily safe

And then also, boom. Your attention extended towards his partner! DAZAI himself, of his young age. And from that time on, you already knew something was up with him.

Honestly – it can't be doubted. He was destined to live in the darkness forever. Nothing in the world can compel that deep etched loneliness in his heart; and even his late friend ODASAKU had acknowledged that.

Even after their unfortunate deaths, you were right there.

He was almost weirded the fuck out at first. You're not treating him like a monster. Or a demon. Not even his position and affiliation. You straight out threw those ourt the trash and instead? You treated him like your son.

It comforted him a little. To know he finally had someone to call his own. At first – just like anyone, he thought he'd lose you.

But you proved him wrong in various ways.

No matter how hard he tried, you kept him his side. Trained with him and succeeded in his defeat (much to his surprise), and gave him a few fatherly hugs and gifts that he would need and like. And DAZAI couldn't help it either.

He wanted you to be his real father quite badly. You were always there, and his eternal loneliness?

What's that again?

No. Even with that in mind, you never stopped to pursue and keep going with the mafioso. You'd go as much as to take him and meet with the rest of the harbingers, maybe taking CHUUYA and other executives from time to time.

Of course, avoiding The Doctor because it might as well just give back DAZAI his trauma.

And when he keft the mafia? You came along with him. Words cannot express how happy and relieved he was. He didn't want to loose his only comfort, his family. And if any9ne ever tries to threaten your familial bond?

He's gonna pull out the fucking demon prodigy card and show them how demonic he can be

In any case, same is due to everyone else. Like the fact you just always seemed to be there in the right place, at the right time. Like when YOSANO was being forced into healing soldier after soldier in the war.

The poor girl. Safe to assume the Fatui didn't really care about such and didn't participate in the war.

Much unless the Tsaritsa commands them to stop it, they may as well do that. But as of now they didn't really care. But that was only an 11 year old child ...

A child. You just had to take her in, didn't you?

And if not – in any case, you went ahead and got FUKUZAWA to save her. You reasoned with him, quite the good convincer yourself. You were a woman of a hundred, if not a thousand faces that could easily fool others.

So he took her in to the agency.

Although YOSANO was never told about what had happened in the sidelines, the moment she saw you walking away from the both of them – she just had that feeling.

She wants to thank you, if it's the last thing she did.

From the time that came on, you continued to do what you did and appeared, woving yourself into the hearts of everyone. At first, it was obviously never easy. But that wasn't a reason to give up. And you're you, would you seriously give up from that?

Many of them expresses gratitude in multiple ways, sometimes a bit unhinged – which you were yourself. There's not a sane bone in your body.

At least, that's what people like to think.

You've come this far into giving others a new life, being a father figure that everyone cherishes dearly and adores. Oh, and if anyone try to tear away that dream or hurt you – even a single scratch on that body of yours ...

There will be hell to pay.

You'd think they got very protective of their father. They can all quite collectively agree that they need no other familial figure in their lives other than you. Dearest you, who saved them from their shameful lives and gave them a future.

Even one who isn't supposedly a kid like SIGMA – he came from a book. He doesn't have a family. But correction, he does.

And it's you.

Or anyone else from multiple affiliations across. The Decay of the Angels, the Hunting Dogs, supposedly those that caught your eye in these several factions.

Suppose the easily jealous ones of seeing you paying attention to kids more in the orphanage, or giving a certain triplets more of time can get them boiling with anger quite enough. Even if it was wrong, it just seemed so right.

And so? They try to steal more of your attention away. This is one of the time they truly act like children once more.

CHUUYA would most likely not want anyone even gazing at your direction. Must they make things worse? You're around kids almost 24/7 and taking care of them yes, but you should only be taking care of him!

DAZAI acts like a child throwing a tantrum. No! No! No one can be with his father other than himself! How dare those kids call you their father?! He's livid, and tries to hide his anger and jealousy, yet he was visibly so eerie and tense.

KOUYOU can bet it was saddening to see you paying attention to work at the Fatui. Come on now, can you blame her? If you took her under your wing, you better be responsible. So she tries to invite you to her own missions and do fun together, just like when she was little. She wants your care.

YOSANO can tolerate it mostly, although at some point she comes with a breaking point as well. She's normally kind and likes hang around you and feel protected and loved, but oh, when you're not looking? Let's see ... pulls out chainsaw

So if a child or two goes missing in the orphanage?

Let's just say it wasn't anyone's fault, dear father :)

[heyyyitsgrey]

Carlisle Cullen- NSFW Alphabet

LETS GOOO- continuing my smut streak

Here you go anon, I hope this meets your expectations lmao. Once again, Carlisle isn’t my cup of tea so let’s hope this is up to par.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

This man is a god when it comes to aftercare. He knows exactly what you need and when. He is particularly fond of cuddling after sex, although if you want to do something else, that is what y'all will end up doing.

He makes it a priority after having sex that you 1) have water and 2) go to the bathroom. I mean he's a doctor STD prevention is going to be a very big thing for him. (Can vampires get STDs? Can they give them to someone else?? These are the questions we should be asking)

B = Body part (Their favorite body part and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of his body is his hands (in both a sexual manner and a non-sexual manner). He loves how you react to his touch when he trails his hands over your body.

His favorite part of your body is probably your chest. It's his favorite place to line with hickies because no one can see them when you're wearing a shirt. Plus, he can hear your heart racing easiest from your chest.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically…I’m a disgusting person)

He loves cumming inside you, but ever the gentleman, Carlisle would only ever cum inside you with your permission. Otherwise, he loves cumming all over your thighs. (He would clean it up though don't worry)

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He would love having you sit under his desk (either at work or home) and just be his cock warmer. Although, he wouldn't bring it up in fear of making you uncomfortable or feel exposed.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I feel like he wouldn't have that much experience, I mean before he was turned it was the 1600s (I think?), and waiting for marriage was a very big thing then. Despite his general lack of experience, he would still know how to please you.

F, = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

The obvious answer here is missionary (because his dad was a priest- get it??), but I think his favorite position would be you riding him. He likes it when you’re on top. He’d like being able to control your hip movements and how much you move. He’s a doctor, being in control in all aspects of his life is a necessity .

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

He’s probably something in between serious and goofy in the moment. When y’all are done and he’s started aftercare though- he’s completely serious until you’ve drank some water and gone to the bathroom. (It doesn’t matter if your human or not-he’ll make sure you take care of yourself)

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Like the other guys' hair growth isn't an issue for Carlisle, he'll go to you and ask what you think. Whatever you say is what he does. And yes, the carpet does match the drapes.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He tries his hardest to be romantic all the time, during sex especially. He wants you to know just how much he adores you (although there’s no way for his level of adoration to be properly expressed without hours of overstimulation)

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Hmmm because he grew up in the 1600’s I feel like he’d have an aversion to masturbation. He’d feel guilty jacking off but he’d love to watch you masturbate.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Overstimulation is one of his biggest kinks. Turning you into a blubbering mess, crying for him to stop could get him off on its own

He’d like the idea of exhibitionism but he’d probably never bring it up to you. For example, his dirty secret of getting you to suck him off under his desk.

He’s a voyeur (he will not admit it) but only when watching you get yourself off- if you have sex with someone else mmm have fun with the aftermath of that

Temperature play would be another of his favorites. Pouring hot wax on your skin and then using his hands or a piece of ice to cool the skin around it? Oh yeah sign him up

Cock warming (is that a kink?) would be yet another thing he doesn’t bring up. But god, the idea of his cock just in you (or your mouth) not moving, for some reason it makes him hard.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

His all-time favorite place would be in his office/study. Fucking you over his desk with the threat of someone walking in looming over your heads? Yeah, that’s peak sex. He’d also like to have sex in your bed in the privacy of your shared room.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

There isn’t anything specific that turns him on. You could say his name (not in a casual conversation way but in the same tone you would in bed) and he’d have a boner. OOH also bedroom eyes…give him bedroom eyes and you better start running.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

If you're injured that’s a hard no. The only thing you should do when injured is rest, and forget having sex. Impact play is completely off the table, the idea of you being hurt at his hand makes him sick, for god's sake he’s a doctor that’s the opposite of what he should be doing.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man would love getting head. I feel like he’d like having you on your knees, it’s a control thing. Plus, feeling you gag around his cock pushes him closer to cumming in your mouth- When you’re giving him head he’d prefer cumming in your mouth one hundred percent.

He’d love giving head. He’s pretty skilled at giving head, depending on how horny you are he could make you cum with his mouth in just a few minutes. It plays into his overstim kink, seeing how many times he can make you cum with just his mouth is like a game to this man.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

Carlisle would prefer a slower pace, everything around him moves super quickly, so sex would be the one thing he wants to be slow. He gets off at a slower sensual pace. Trailing his hands all over your body, leaving trails of kisses down your body.

Q = Quickie (Their opinion on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He prefers proper sex to quickies, he wants to make sure you feel properly appreciated. However, if one or both of you need to get off before he goes to work he’s not opposed to it.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He wouldn’t be one to experiment all that much. Temperature play was only brought into the picture after you thoroughly explained that the wax wouldn’t leave your skin burnt. Forget risks altogether. The most he would risk is getting caught with your and his pants down. It doesn’t matter if you're human or vampire, risk and experiment are not his thing.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Since he’s a vampire he has heightened stamina and can go on for a while. If you’re human he’ll go as long you want or can (if he’s in the mood for overstim). If you’re a vampire it’s the same situation, he’ll go until you can’t.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He only owns one toy, a vibrator. He’s never used it on himself, it’s specifically for you. He added it to his little overstimulation game, and it’s one of the best decisions he ever made.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He’s not that much of a tease. Most times when he teases you it’s when he’s in the middle of overstimulating you. He’ll look you in the eye and say “Come on love, one more yeah? I think you can handle one more. For me,”

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not loud, nor is he all that vocal. He’s the most vocal when you're giving him head. A lot of the time, the sounds he makes are drowned out by the sounds you make.

He loves it when you moan, it is the best signal that what he’s doing is making you feel good. But, if your fucking in a place or when your not supposed to be he’ll cover your mouth. “Be quiet love. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He’s big on safe words (and say it with me now- it’s a control thing). He wants you to be comfortable at all times, so the best way to guarantee that is a safe word. Plus, when you're too fucked out for full sentences a safe word is the best way to stop.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Hmmm- he’s just slightly bigger than average. He’s not that thick. Overall, it doesn’t matter cause he can make you see stars anyway.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is slightly higher than that of a sixteen-year-old boy. (So really fucking high) If he had the time you’d fuck twice a day, but alas he doesn’t.

Z = ZZZ (…how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s a vampire, so he doesn’t have the need to sleep. If you’re a human, after you’ve gone to the bathroom and drank some water, he’ll hold you as you sleep. If you’re a vampire, after cleaning up, you’ll more likely end up cuddling.

[hazelfoureyes]

Sending in anon because I'm a coward... 😩

I'm a new reader, and I just have to say-- your "a doe in fall" series is just... AMAZING!!

I could go on, and on and on about how much I love it. But what gets me the most is always Alastor's dialogue, because as someone who is also on the aro/ace spectrum, I just get it so much. Especially the subtle hoping that reader can like... Read his mind about how he feels for her, and the weird sort of stockholm syndrome we sometimes develop with ourselves after being alone with only our own company for so long, and it really is, lol, like you just get so used to being alone for so long because you know the idea people have of you, you can't truly live up to, so you don't want to "disappoint" them that you actually aren't like they are, so you just sorta... Keep them occupied at arms length-- Therefore you're forced to adapt to your company being the only love you have for a long time. it's like an obligation.

And when or if the special somebody who understands you comes along, you realize... "Wow, I've been living like this for so long, is this what it feels like to be loved and appreciated, in spite of my oddities, or maybe even in favor of them? Strange..."

Emphasis on the "strange" part because, when you're so deeply entrenched in your own soul, sharing your space for another almost feels more like learning how to swim rather than an instant "click", sparks, fireworks and whatnot. The excitement of the magical "other" has been long since drowned and snuffed out of you.

So, when this somebody who is similar to you, or just simply understands, doesn't try to change you or ignore you, but instead envelopes you and adores you, the appreciation is deep and overflowing. But there's a part of you always pinching your heart, a sort of awareness of something that isn't the case, wondering "Is this a dream? what if it is and I'll wake up and this is not at all what I was thinking?".

Haha... ANYWAY, sorry for the slightly morose and LONG read 😂 But I always think of how similar I am to how you write alastor and it's scary in a way, but comforting (especially since he's my first and biggest fictional crush) except in this case my profession would actually be burlesque. Especially since I work in the exotic dance world. It's fascinating being aro/ace in the SW world, I could go on forever- But yeah, I absolutely love your writing!! Makes me feel less alone in this world. Annnd surprisingly I always feel so sensual after reading, I love love love it!! Reading before work always gets me in the mood to dance and pretend I'm Y/N, lol!!

Much blessings ❤️❤️

*cracks knuckles* listen here babycakes, I eat this shit UP. Exploring Human Ace Alastor is my BREAD AND BUTTER. I go into ESSAYS in the AO3 comments in this 😂

you really understand, which makes me so happy and is confirmation I’m conveying him the way I want to.

Now I’m gonna ramble and echo you basically 😂

I really think Alastor (atleast in this story) feels that excitement and strangeness of how open he can be around Autumn (since she doesn’t have a proper name cuz she’s reader 😂). He’s a fish out of water despite the fact he’s actually being his most authentic self. Like you said, it’s new to him just to be … Alastor. To be honest and upfront. His normal operating mode has been so restricted for so long he’s struggling with how to be himself. And then that fear—- well what if I’m too much? What if I ruin this, when I finally have something worth keeping? He’s never gotten this far and the fear of losing that comfort is terrifying but so is the actual comfort itself. It’s new and foreign.

A deep uneasiness that’s if he fully embraces this he’s gonna just fuck it up and it’ll be his fault this time. Not a misunderstanding or misalignment of needs but a confirmation he wasn’t good enough anyway.

“it is better to have loved and lost than never loved at all” he would say that’s bullshit

and because of the situations he’s been in before, he’s never gotten to actually explore physical intimacy in a “safe” environment. He was always going into interactions because he had to if he wanted to keep people around. It was a necessity, not something he actually sincerely wanted to participate. So he tried to keep them happy with other means of affection and intimacy to maintain some safe distance but eventually, always, things would fall apart. At a distance or up close.

that’s why that most recent part was called Learning. Alastor is trying new things to learn more about what he’s okay with or doesn’t care for even offering in the future. Autumn is learning (that night, tho she doesn’t understand it yet) that he’s still figuring out how to meet her halfway (even tho she’s not even asking for that) when he’s used to being forced to meet people where they are. And Detective Brady, of course, is learning he may have found motive for Tommy’s disappearance.

I’m really glad you’re enjoying his portrayal and that you’re resonating with parts of him! That makes my soul hum! 💖 your line of work mixed with your Aro/Ace-ness sounds like such an interesting conversation if we’re honest! That’s a small aspect I love about Autumn. She’s in this field that’s (wrongly) considered to be hyper sexual and full of air headed wanton whores, but she’s the first person to be like “oh! You aren't into this stuff. Let me adjust my expectations. I’ll ask for clear verbal consent, not initiate, and I’m totally okay with never fucking again if it’s for your love and company.”

I work in the SW industry in a sense (Personal Assistant) and one of my biggest pet peeves is all of the shit people project on SWers.

sorry for the essay I could talk about this for ETERNITY

omg and THANK YOU! 🥺💖💖💖💖

Referencing:

A Doe in Fall (Human Alastor x Burlesquer Fem Reader)

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

[mintsv]

can u do play fighting w gunwook scenarios plz 🙏

play fighting w/ bf! gunwook ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 🫐 ⋆˚˖

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park gunwook x gn!reader

synopsis : scenario / imagine kinda thing about you and your boyfriend (gunwook) having a play fight when he crashed into your house on a particularly lazy sunday.

genre : fluff, the slightest angst

wc : 1k

-> note : thanks for the request anon ^^ i hope you like it! (also i know you said scenarios but i kinda got overboard and it's a whole imagine now i hope you don't mind 😅)

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today was a really boring sunday for you, the plans you made with your friends were suddenly cancelled and your boyfriend had dance practice, so you were absentmindedly lying in bed scrolling through social media while sighing for the umpteenth time.

the ring of your doorbell caught you off guard, your ears perked up and you were basically running to the door just hoping for any kind of social interaction. the moment you opened it, you thought god was playing tricks with you. there stood your adorable boyfriend wearing his black t-shirt that looked a bit too good on him, a bouquet of fragrant tulips held in front of his chest and of course his sickeningly cute gummy smile. (sorry if that was too descriptive i love gw)

"hi~ are you surprised?" he said that so casually like you haven't been CRAVING for him the past 2 hours so you greeted him with a well needed hug, gunwook pushes you slightly backwards to close the door behind him without breaking the hug.

"I thought you had dance practice?" you look up from his chest, judging him because you thought he skipped for you.

"don't worry i didn't skip, i was too good at it so the teacher let me off early!" you nod in response as he hands you over the tulips.

"it's so pretty! what's the occassion?" you ask again, admiring the prettily arranged bouquet with your favorite scent and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks from your boyfriends sweet antics.

"nothing really, i just wanted to give you these since they have your favorite scent and all, do you like it?" you thought he asked a dumb question, well of course you liked it but you were worried you've fallen a bit too hard for your boyfriend now.

"no, i hate it." you said sarcastically, playfully hitting his chest and turning away so he couldn't see your flushed cheeks but you panicked when you saw him he held the area where you hit his chest and started to frown like a sad puppy.

"you.. hate it?" he starts wiping his fake tears and sniffling. you were quite gullible so gunwook continued his silly act and he was surprised himself how you could believe his horrible acting.

"no no wait i didn't mean that, i was joking i love it i really do wookie! please don't cry.." you start to get really nervous so you run to him, comforting him.

gunwook turned away from you, pretending to sulk like a little kid and you really believed him because you start to get so worried that tears have pooled in your eyes unconsciously.

"wookie i'm sorry i didn't mean it.." you hug him, burying your face in his broad back. gunwook's ears perked up when he suddenly heard your (real) sniffles and he immediately turns around.

"wait wait y/n are you crying? i was just joking i'm not sad. I'm perfectly fine! it was just an act─"

"you're not sad?" your tears stopped before they could fall to your cheeks, it finally clicked for you and you start crazily trying to beat him up.

gunwook used his forearms as a shield while you were basically clawing and punching him, gunwook was saying a bunch of sorry's and giggling while you struggled to get revenge on him considering his rather bigger frame. your efforts were soon wasted when gunwook fought back by tickling you, forcing you to surrender almost immediately when his well built arms entrapped you.

gunwook lifted you up to his shoulder like he would carry a wood log. carrying you all the way to your bedroom before he continues tickling you on your bed. your giggles felt addicting to him (not in a creepy way) and he couldn't help but grin ear to ear.

the anger you felt before was soon forgotten as you two continued to play fight, you had tried to get gunwook off you multiple times but it was near impossible to beat him in a physical fight so you had to think of another way to make him off guard.

it was as if a light bulb lit up above your head as you thought of the perfect strategy. you quickly place your hands at the back of his neck before lunging forward to kiss him. gunwook's arms froze around your waist and you took the opportunity to flip him over so that you'd be on top of him.

"hey that's not fair kissing wasn't in the rules!" gunwook complained, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as you failed to contain your laughter.

"are you really laughing right now?" he takes the pillow beside him before landing a straight blow to your head (gently). you fought back by taking another pillow hitting him right on the face.

the pillow fight continued for about 5 minutes before you gave up, exhausted. you land on the spot beside him, breathing heavily while your hair stuck on your forehead from the accumulated sweat. although gunwook seemed entirely unhinged from the 5 minutes of arm swinging. he was laying beside you panting a little but his gaze fixed onto you, a small admiring smile grazing his lips.

"so about the kiss.. do i have to playfight with you first or can i get one right now?" you turn to him, his face still slightly pink making you chuckle.

"i never knew you could be this cute." those words spilled unconsciously from your mouth, resulting in a scoff from gunwook.

"i'm not." he said.

"sure.."

gunwook wanted to prove to you so badly he wasn't just cute so he did the 'manliest' move he could think of. he leaned in and pecked your lips for a split second, it seemed that the universe wasn't on his side because the moment he saw you smile at him in such a close proximity he thought his heart had stopped. his flushed out face and thumping heart really didn't do him any justice because you thought he had become impossibly cuter.

"gunwook-ah we should play fight like this more often, it really brings out your cuter side"

"shut up."

[ohmygraves]

I was wondering if you could write a 141 how they react when you give them gifts. I love giving gifts, it makes me happy. Maybe even happier than the person receiving it sometimes. I bet some of them will like the excitement you get more than the gift itself, happily accepting everything you give just to see that smile.

ooh, i have to agree to that, anon. i honestly think that ghost and gaz would be the type to enjoy your reaction more than actually caring what you get them. just seeing you be so giddy when you hand them the gifts are enough of a treat, y'know?

you gave ghost a little knife carving kit, a little thank you for all the times he mentored you and saved your ass. you knew he liked knives and you thought that it was a nice activity to do instead of working out or smacking johnny's head if the scot misbehaved. and maybe he could use the knife or add it to his collection.

still, you are very excited to give it to him no matter what, as you want him to enjoy your gift. he could see you basically jumping in excitement when you see him, holding a small bag and with a giddy look on your face, cheeks flushed red and bright eyes as you hand him the gift bag.

now, ghost doesn't particularly care about gifts himself. since he doesn't have many things in general, his barracks room is really just basic necessities. trinkets like these are not something he enjoys collecting.

oh, but to see you all so excited and the way you try to contain your joy and happiness as you explain what you got him? now that's adorable, it made his heart clench that he thought he needed to get it checked with the medics.

"... thank you, love." he said softly, looking at the small box of knife carving kit in the bag. you cheered, telling him that you'd like to see the result when he finished it, bouncing off somewhere else. he hoped that you didn't notice that his eyes are basically softening looking at you walk away, the corner of his lips curled upwards under his mask seeing you so happy.

gaz's cap was getting really worn out, and you noticed that the bill had a slight tear on it, revealing the material underneath the fabric. so, as a good friend you decided to get him a new cap.

you knew that he liked some good joke, so you got him a trucker cap that says "women fear me, fish fear me" at the front, with a graphic of a bass. soap thought it was funny, and you did too. you're sure that kyle would like it just as much.

well, you didn't know that kyle has like twenty baseball caps in his barracks room, so he didn't need a new one. he collects caps.

when you see him one day, a gift bag in hand, you didn't even notice that the cap that had a tear on it was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a similar cap in color. you were too busy giggling at the idea of him wearing a cap that says "women fear me, fish fear me" to pay attention, and yet when he opened the gift from you, he didn't even complain. your cute giggles and laughs were enough to make him happy.

"really, love? 'women fear me, fish fear me'?" he scoffed, a smile on his face as he took off his hat, wearing it on his head proudly. he didn't care that soap immediately had to take pics of him, he only cared that it made you laugh.

i feel like soap would love anything you give him as well, but it's in a sense that "awh, ye got me noodle maker because ah'm too lazy to cook ramen noodles in the commons room 🥺" like this man would be excited with anything you give him, no matter how stupid the gift is.

you hand soap a wrapped gift box, knowing that he will get excited over this. you'd seen this infomercial a few times and you know that he would enjoy this gadget, given how silly it was and how oddly specific the function is. the infomercial was so silly.

of course, you gave him a slap chop.

opening the gift, his eyes went wide, smiling giddily as he looked at you, eyes glimmering. "bonnie, is this th' one where th' lad threw a slicer out th' window!?" he looked so excited and happy, you were so happy knowing that he liked the gift.

you nodded, saying that it could practically chop anything he wanted. it'll make things so much easier when cooking. soap hugs you, squeezing you as he practically squeals, thanking you for the gift. you said it was okay, and now soap can make all the salad he wanted. you left him to try out his gift, needing to go back to work.

ghost raised his eyebrows looking at you, crossing his arms as he looked at soap. "no bloody way someone like ya would eat a fuckin' salad, johnny..." he scoffed, knowing that the chance of soap eating fruits and vegetables are close to zero, since the scot is a picky eater.

soap sighed, looking down at the gift you got him. "seein' bonnie happy is good enough gift."

he'll make some crushed doritos at the top of his sandwiches or something.

price i feel is the same as soap, but only when it comes to the aesthetic of the item? he's easy to give gifts, likely smth related to fishing or cigar. he won't comment if you give him a cute shaped ashtray for example, or a floral patterned cigar holder.

as a token of appreciation to your captain, you decided to get him something that you thought he might use. price smokes a lot, so it was easy to find something to get him. you, however, are not great at picking the style for it.

ashtray is arguably one of the simplest items around. it's a small dish with sometimes notches to hold the thing you're smoking. as long as it catches the ashes, anything can be considered an ashtray. likewise, there are a lot of shapes and designs of an ashtray that you just spent lots and lots of time picking, scrolling through hundreds and thousands of pages online to find something that's both useful and nice.

you ended up ordering an ashtray in the shape of a ball, made of alloy and had lots of intricate designs of a dragon and bird. it was not only heavy, but also quite big for an ashtray, truthfully.

you started to second guess if this was a good idea, given that it looked like something that your asian grandpa would have on the table when he takes a smoke break out in the porch, sipping coffee while enjoying some hit of nicotine. maybe you should give it to someone else instead, or resell it and get something better, but soap had seen the massive ashtray and were laughing at how big it was, and his big mouth spilled the beans to the captain about how you got him a particularly garish looking ashtray. because of course, everyone told you that what you got him was a bit much for his very simple aesthetic.

having soap basically ruined the surprise, you had to give price the present either way, a bit hesitant as you handed him the box. you were worried that he'd just make fun of it, that he'd laugh at your choice.

"a bit heavy for an ashtray there, doll?" he hummed, looking at the patterns. it seems like it was somewhat like a carving of ancient chinese murals, the typical dragon and phoenix flying through the sky. it looked out of place on price's desk.

"well, i'd have to say the lid is quite a game changer," price added, smiling at you. "covers up the pile of ashes inside."

you were relieved that he seems to enjoy it for its intended function at least.

"have to say though, love, i didn't expect you to pick this style..." his fingers traced over the pattern on top. "it looks beautiful. thank you."

you're not sure if he's just being nice or if he actually enjoys such aesthetics, but you're glad to see it on his desk being used every time you go to his office.

[princessasmosprincess]

Hello merry Christmas :) I saw request was open and was wondering if you could do scenario where the brothers and Solomon (separately) celebrate the holiday with mc and their family in the human world ? Thank you and happy new year! :)

Merry Christmas, Anon! 🎄🎁

It's been a while since I've gotten a request and I really wanted to finish it before Christmas is over in my timezone and I just barely made it ^^;

I hope you like it!

***

The Brothers + Solomon at Your Family's Holiday Party

Lucifer is the perfect party guest. He makes effortless conversation and can get along with pretty much everyone. As devilishly handsome as he is, Lucifer looks good in an apron and he'll definitely take advantage of that. He'll help in the kitchen if needed, he might even help out with the dishes and somehow not get any soapy water on his expensive looking clothes. Throughout the night, he keeps you near as much as possible, with an arm slinked around your waist or a hand in yours, gentle but possessive gestures. It's not that he thinks your family will take you away from him, he just wants everyone to know you're well taken care of. Your family may wonder how you got such a catch, but it's very clear that he's chosen you.

Mammon is a favorite with your older family members, though they might not have known what to make of him at first. He joins in on their card games and loses just as many games as he wins. He tries to keep you near him for good luck and that does seem to work, hopefully the two of you end up with a small pile of riches to show for it, be they candies or cash. He'll insist on bringing the flashiest gifts, but somehow he knows exactly what each of your family members would like, even though he hadn't met any of them before the holiday. Mammon's natural confidence and model good looks make him the center of attention at your family party, and his ego will inflate accordingly. Despite all this, he is a very good party guest, and it is clear to everyone that he adores you.

Leviathan is very shy with your family at first. It takes all of his strength to make the most basic responses to their questions and even then, he beats himself up inside for being "weird". If you get pulled away, he panics. Don't worry too much about him, though. He's stronger than both of you think. He'll gravitate toward the kids table, maybe building Legos with them to soothe himself or starting an impromptu Mario Kart tournament. Of course he's a champion gamer and he shows everyone all his special techniques to get a high score. Levi becomes the new favorite of all the kids. As you leave for the night you'll have several cuties telling you to never break up with him. He's blushing, he didn't realize he made that much of an impression (also he's internally freaking out because you breaking up with him didn't occur to him until now, please promise you won't!)

Satan, like Lucifer, is a perfect party guest. No one would ever know he's actually so guarded and calculating. He's taking mental notes of every interaction the two of you have with your relatives. If any of them seem not quite right (backhanded compliments, rude remarks veiled with insincere smiles) he files away that information for later. If he finds your family to be relatively harmless, he's relieved. Satan has a good handle on his anger, but sometimes he needs a break from all the stimulation so he doesn't have an outburst. If he disappears, you might find him taking a breather with one of your family's furry friends (he's ecstatic if it ends up being a cat). Let him rest until he's ready and he'll come back refreshed and ready to impress your family with his charisma.

You don't have to worry about Asmodeus at all. Even without charming your family members, everyone will love him. He fits in well with the adults, but with the young kids as well. Asmo wants to know all the tea, all the family drama, and he'll give his input on things. He'll especially be on the lookout for any of your childhood photos or stories your family wants to tell. I hope you're comfortable with lots of public affection, because he's another who will keep an arm around your waist the whole evening. He might go as far as sitting on your lap or pulling you down to sit on his, and he'll attack your face with kisses every chance he gets (he'll stop if you ask him to, he promises to be on his best behavior). Please do let him indulge in cuddles a little bit, what's better than snuggling by the fire after dinner as everyone winds down for the night?

With the power of love, Beelzebub is able to quell his normally voracious appetite, and when he does that he basically becomes the perfect boyfriend. He's kind, friendly, AND he eats well? He's constantly complimenting whoever is in charge of cooking, and they'll fill his plate again and again. He'll silently glance toward you to ask if it's ok to take more, and when you nod in approval, he happily digs in. That's another thing, with the way he looks at you, your relatives know it's true love. It's very important to him that you have your special time with your family, his family means so much to him. So he might sit back when you socialize, while the kids try to use him as a jungle gym but he doesn't mind. As long as you're happy with your family, he's happy.

Belphegor is a good party guest when he sets his mind to it. It's probably best to keep him away from plush surfaces, especially when there are lulls in the festivities, because he will tend to doze off (I remember reading someone's headcanon a while ago that Belphie is the type to seek out the party's designated baby sleeping room and crash there, and I totally agree). If this happens, you can tell your family he's suffering from jetlag (whether this is true or not). He's definitely the most subdued of all of the brothers, but he's a surprisingly good conversationalist and gets along well with your family. He may lightly tease you (he still is a bit of a brat) which your family might take as a good sign of his affection for you. Though he's no stranger to loud family gatherings, Belphie will need a few days to recover from all the socializing, so I hope you don't mind him napping longer than usual.

Please, for the love of Diavolo, keep Solomon away from the kitchen during your family's party. Everyone will thank you. Solomon's gifts are the most creative, definitely embued with magic, and I don't think he'd be able to help himself from doing a few minor magic tricks for the kids before the party is over. He'll make an excuse, it was a simple trick, anyone could do it. But you'd know the truth. He chats freely with your family, no shortage of fond remarks from him about you. It's been so long since Solomon has spent this much time around human families, he's taking it all in and enjoying having you by his side. If you were worried about the party going smoothly, you don't have to. Just, maybe toss out that plate of cookies for Santa and replace them, our witty sorcerer may have tampered with the recipe when your back was turned.

[transmascaraa]

I've been wanting to ask for a while. What would a Gaming boyfriend be like with a Feline Reader? just like Lynette.

I'm glad you write for Gaming, I found little content about it.

bf!gaming headcannons!

you decided to spend some time with you bf, but ended up falling asleep on his lap...

bf!gaming x feline!gn!reader

author's note: first and foremost, I LIKE THIS REQ SO MUCHHHHH. and i think it's adorable honestly. also, you're welcome<3 i'm glad i'm writing for gaming, i find him as a really good bf, and he should get MORE attention. he's su underrated, especially with content like this about him, but i'll be here posting about him so if you ever need more, feel free to request, and i'll make it as soon as i can! anyways, i hope you like this💗

"you're so cute... y'know that?"

-your boyfriend lover you a lot

-ESPECIALLY because you were a feline<3

-you had the fluffy ears, the soft tail, and even your face was cat-like!

-and lions, they're basically huge cats

-so it made him feel like you two were meant to be even more.

-he's not a lion, no, but dances as one.

-and... when the two of you get some alone time, it's spent on a bit of talk and cuddling until one of you falls asleep.

-you came home with a tired smile.

-work was boring, then the walk home while it's raining, tiring.

-but thankfully, your sweet boyfriend is there for you!

-"hey, my love! what's got my kitty so tired-looking?" he asked, concerned a bit.

-"hey... mmh... nothing. it was raining on the way back." and you, of course, hated rain.

-"aw... well, you could've called me if you needed an umbrella or something.." he shrugged at you.

-"what's done is done. now, i'm gonna go dry myself, see you on the couch." and you went up to your room to dress up, AND dry yourself.

-he waited for you on the couch, but then realized something...

-you didn't give him a kiss when you came in!

-he doesn't care how wet or dirty you were, but the routine should countinu-

-"gaming? teyvat to gaming? you there?" you swished your hand in front of his face.

-he let out an awkward laugh.

-"o-oh.. sorry, i was just thinking about something!" he said, smiling awkwardly.

-"yeah, whatever. come here." you put your hand on one of his cheeks, and kissed him.

-he was left a bit speechless.

-"sorry, i was in a rush." you said.

-"yeah, it's okay..! a-anyway... do you wanna like- talk for a while?" he asked.

-"sure!" you replied, already laying your head down on his lap.

-"okay... so... what about work was so tiring?" he questioned, petting your ears gently.

-you started purring.

-"just... boring..." you settled yourself in his lap even more comfortably.

-"oh okay. hmm... do you wanna fall asleep?"

-"mmh... yes, please..." you purred even more, slowly closing your eyes.

-"alright, goodnight, my little kitty..." he said as he kissed the side of your head, while still continuing to pet your head, and your cat ears.

-you don't remember a better pillow than his lap...

~~~~~

WOOHOO I'M DONE‼️

it's really cute tbh

i like it and i hope you like it too anon<3

[forgeofthenine]

Is it the holiday season, or are you just a genius cause my yearning heart is being well fed by your tiefling headcanons. I hope this ask inspires :)

I’d go feral for some good pining headcanons; what are they like in the gray space between flirting and relationship? Especially if there’s mutual understanding that this might not be the best time (i.e. there may or may not be a mindflayer invasion in progress) and so they hold off on initiating anything, but have to watch as their crush dives headlong into danger? I love imagining ill-timed interruptions punctuated by longing looks.

Alternatively, how good are our darling tiefling bachelors at dancing? Would they learn a jig or two if their SO loved dancing?

Here's a lil' something something for you about pining, Anon. I didn't decide to write a full set of dance headcanons (despite it being on my to do list right from when I started the blog) but I am going to post something similar 👀

What the bachelors are like while pining for you

Dammon

This man pines so hard

He's touch starved to hell, quite literally, but has no clue about it

Dammon was sure he was fine right up until he met you and was hit with the realisation that he wanted more

The way he shows his affection is also anything but subtle, expect to know right away

It's never the type of affection that makes you feel guilty if you don't return it or makes you feel like you feel pressured

He's very easy going and good at reading people, he slowly increases how much affection he gives you until you both find a comfortable balance

Soon you'll find all your weapons and armour is repaired or replaced to the highest quality

Dammon is overjoyed if you return the same affection, even if you both know dating is off the cards for now

Bring this man some home cooking and he'll want to marry you right then and there

It's a grey area you both find yourself in for quite some time, to the point you both often get asked if you're together

The way he blushes when people ask is absolutely adorable, even more so when he hesitates to correct them

Towards the end you both basically already live together, both slowly easing into a romantic relationship without realising it

Dammon is more than happy once the ilithids are dealt with to make things official, finally not needing to correct people anymore

Zevlor

This man is the king of pining, absolute reigning champion

He knew he was in deep right from the moment he first saw you

It's something he keeps under wraps very well, to the point that you probably won't realise for a while

He tends to sneak peaks at you when you aren't looking, or he comes up with mostly reasonable excuses to come and speak with you

If you call him out on either thing then he'll heavily deny doing any of it, despite the blush on his face giving him away

Even if there wasn't an ilithid invasion happening Zevlor would still be cautiously optimistic about ever having a relationship with you

He's wary of a potential age gap or coming across too strong and scaring you away

A part of him also reminds him that you'd likely want a suitor your own age

The best way to quell those worries is to simply return his advances with some of your own

It could be anything, so long as he thinks you're interested he'll keep up his very subtle flirting

Soon, the two of you are already regularly having meals with each other and finding ways to spend hours together

Zevlor is absolutely already thinking of the life he'll have with you after this

Rolan

Rolan is a dick at first, he honestly is so out of touch with his own feelings that he doesn't realise he's into you

He's completely oblivious to anything that isn't directly spelled out for him, including how much he actually enjoys your company

It takes Cal and Lia teasing him relentlessly before he finally comes to terms with it

Once he does it hits him like a brick to the face

And after that, it's like a switch flips

He can barely speak to you now without second-guessing himself or tripping over words

It's enough to make you wonder what's going on until the siblings start teasing you both, much to Rolans embarrassment

He's always quick to shoo them away and apologise but his feelings are already clear

You're both smart people, it's easy to know now isn't the time to start a romantic relationship, but it's harder to listen to reason when your feelings get involved

After weeks of you both tiptoeing around each other, feelings clearly returned, he finally has enough

Rolans the fastest to take action on his pining, impatient and hating the uncertainty

You'll find yourself in Ramaziths Tower and kissing the tiefling that runs it in no time

Rolan is quick to pull you into him, kissing you passionately before making you promise you'll stay safe

[southparkhcsocs]

I'm so fkin tired rn (so sorry if there r any misspellings) but I wanted to leave a request b4 I forget it again

Anywayyy, how about the main 4 + butters w an s/o that accidentally turned them on in a public place. Just feeling a lil silly today, nothing much

I hope you have a great day (or I hope you had a great day) author, keep up the good work :)

-☀️ anon

Love this and got a bit too carried away so....

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

I also forgot it was meant to be public when i drew Kyle's so sorry so sorry

Stan Marsh

why do you have to be so cute all the damn time?

you make him so desperate

he begs you pleads with you

to let him fuck you right then and there

"no" "please" "no" "please" "no" "but i need to be in you" "...fine"

Kyle Broflovski

sorry i forgot it was meant to be in public

but you're visiting his family

staying at his mom and dads house

singing after you showered was something you always did

bending backwards was something that you always did

being loud

well..

only Kyle is allowed to make you be loud

competition on what makes you louder

you singing

him fucking you

we all know who won

and so does Shelia

Kenny McCormick

ok ok ok ok ok

If you thought you could get away from breathing and not turning Kenny on you're dumb soz.

but fr you're just walking to street

idk where you're going

maybe just for a nice walk

but you look up and him and you see that smile you know all to well

and you bet your ass he isn't going to wait until you get home

no way missy

he needs you NOW

Eric Cartman

So you stretched

so what

thats totally not the reason why he basically dragged you back to his dorm and pounded you until your were raw.

even if he told you in the middle of the street that he need to fuck you.

stop being so vain

Leopold "Butters" Stotch

You called him cute.

he stopped you from crossing the road without checking

you said "you're adorable"

and that was it

went back to your dorm

and he showed you how "adorable" he can make you

into a cute little puddle you go

soz no saucy for Butters I really couldn't

[lemotmo]

I don't understand why they keep walking into this. Wow. 🤣

Q. When you remove the scene context from his dialogue you deliberately diminish the character. The context provides the importance. Of course you already know that. It's why you chose to remove it. You're not very good at this, are you?

A. You're correct, anon. I shouldn't have removed the context. Allow me to provide it for you now.

'can never have too much closet space, right Evan'.

The context of this scene is: Buck is on his first ever date with a man. He's clearly nervous, as most of us would be. He runs into his best friend, whose opinion, as Tommy is well aware, is insanely important to Buck, and he was not prepared to run into him in the middle of said first date. So he panicked and made things awkward. In other words, he acted like Buck.

'look, Evan I think you're adorable, but you're clearly not ready'

The context is: After Buck's nerves get the best of him, and, again he acts like Buck, Tommy had the opportunity to grant him the grace he obviously didn't get when he himself came out. Instead he called an Uber and left Buck standing alone on the restaurant's curb. (No one in that scene was trying to 'force' Tommy back into the closet. That take is super gross and the definition of overreaching to force a narrative).

'mm okay so not like that'

The context is: This is just Buck also being Buck, and wanting to fix something he thinks he messed up. He wanted to try again so he called and asked to meet. He messed up the coffee order. And this was the way they worked Tommy into the bachelor party.

' they had Henley's in the 80's'

' who are you all supposed to be, The Wedding Singer?'

The context is: Tommy shows up to Chimney's bachelor party (he gets props for showing up at all, it was nice of him). Buck had told him the theme, but Tommy chose not to participate in the costume part. The context for the Wedding Singer line was to point out that not only was Eddie dressed on theme, he actually coordinated with Buck. Then the writers wanted Tommy away from the bachelor party so they sent him to fight a fire. The rest of the bachelor party was a deliberate parallel to the story Eddie would later tell Christopher about the day he met his mother. Buck and Eddie separated themselves from their friends and spent the entire night talking and hanging out with one another. As it turns out, paralleling that story was the entire point of the bachelor party.

'sorry I'm late, that fire was a beast'

The context is: they needed a second kiss and something else 'light' to put in the ending song overlay. They also needed a way to allow the group at large to find out without Buck having to tell everyone individually. Thus making Eddie the only one Buck intentionally came out too. They made a point of showcasing Buck's parents and Eddie's reaction to this. And Hen confirmed she knew he was queer all along.

'well enjoy it while it lasts'

The context is: Buck and the group involved in the cruise rescue were given medals for their efforts. Buck was, once again being Buck, and wanted to soak up the attention, because Buck has a praise kink, but Tommy wasn't interested in playing along.

'well I certainly hope so' (daddy kink joke)

The context is: The audience had just spent the previous 45 minutes watching the man Buck considers his dad basically die, and Buck wanted to talk about it. When he attempted to start the conversation, Tommy turned it into a daddy joke.

The scene context doesn't help him, anon. When you provide the scene details it actually makes him look even more like a plot device. And makes the obvious Eddie of it all even more apparent. But ask for context and receive it. You're not very good at this are you?

I know Nonny! They should know by now that they're fighting a losing battle. They don't seem to get the context of what will happen when they send passive-aggressive messages like this to Ali. :b

She is lethal with words. :)

I don't think this needs any additions, so I'll just shut up. LOL!

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[strawb3rrystar]

Hi! I saw your requests were open, so here I am.

Maybe Blitz, Stella (if you write for her), Andrealphus and Mammon (if you write for him) with a reader who is a workaholic and insomniac? No pressure though, since you just opened requests. Ty if you do this, I love your writing!

Highstrung spark plugs.

Pairing: Blitzø, Andrealphus, Mammon x GN! Reader

Warnings: Self-destructive tendencies, established relationships, Mammon and Andrealphous being assholes

Word count: 273

✰Masterlist

Blitzø will appreciate your workaholic nature because he just believes that you're more hardworking than his other employees. But when he finds out that it's causing you more harm than good, he'll get overprotective. Constantly looking over your shoulder and forcefully limiting your work hours. He'll also be the same way with your insomnia. Tries to help you in any way he can. If you have trouble falling/staying asleep, he'll try and stay up with you. He fails miserably and ends up passing out, but it's the thought that counts.

Andrealphus finds your workaholic nature to be adorable. Whether he knows it's self-destructive or not, he still gets a kick out of it. He loves watching you run around trying to get everything done, when there's plenty of servants to do it for you. He doesn't really care if you're an insomniac because he, himself is kind of one too. Of course, he needs his beauty sleep. Which is just an excuse to sleep into late afternoon. Basically, both of your sleep schedules are fucked.

Mammon loves your workaholic nature because he's lazy as fuck. So, he'll just have you do everything for him! Of course he has his Fizzy's as well, so he won't work you too hard. But he'll probably give you most of his paperwork to do. He doesn't really care if it's self-destructive, though. He finds your insomnia to be more annoying however. He doesn't like the idea of you being awake beside him. Instead, he wants you to be all cuddly against him while he falls asleep. And it pisses him off to no end when you don't.

Star's notes -> I don't have insomnia, nor am I a workaholic, so I hope this is okay <33 Also, this is my first time writing for Andrealphus, so I hope I wrote him okay too.

(Thank you, sweet anon, for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @sunshines-bright @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @sweetadonisbutbetter @little-miss-chaoss @sunr1s3-strab3rr1

@naathanuwu @solicitedfreakiness @f4gg0t-4-0b3y-m3 @sketchpawz @elmolovesw33d

@samohxt2-0 @astrolovedy @facelessfionna @chazzzsh3rk | Join the taglist

[wayfayrr]

For both botw and totk, I've had this odd habit overall where once I've done every single mission possible and basically completed the game, I leave the kork seed puzzles alone beyond the minimal needed so I had an excuse to continue playing. By the end I've ended up slowlt finding every puzzle bit by bit to extend more time on the game and feeding link good food/getting him to rest regularly between each discoverable one and entirely traveling to them on foot to re-explore the games map again for nostalgias sake. I always felt so horrible how exhausted he possibly felt constantly functioning at 100% at all times. :( the korok puzzles at this point is just a reason for me to spoil the absolute heck out of him. I always couldn't help but wonder if he'd get joy out of the extended time or not. The thought overall always made me giggle.

(Btw you're an absolutely incredible creator and writer, and the time and effort you put into your works and community is awe inspiring. I hope you're staying safe and well especially! Thank you for the time you give us <3)

Honestly that is a really good way to keep on playing (especially since neither of them have a new game+ or hero's mode like the rest of the games) I think he'd really appreciate the fact that you don't want to fully complete the game in order to spend more time with him!!! You like being around him and want to do it more than what the game really intentionally allows

I think that both of those links are more than a bit messed up from their stint in the sheika juice (hence why they can go so long without sleep) but like the others they more than appreciate a good nap there's also the whole thing of them not being 'real' and not needing anything a living person would but ehhhh what difference does that make The fact that you're treating them like they need to eat and sleep is so !!!!!! You make him feel real, and you keep coming back and keeping him out of the void!!!

theres nothing else he could really ask for that would be possible to give you, well besides your touch, but it's not like he'll be able to get that any time soon.

(Thank you for the kind words too!! I absolutely adore this community and most of the people it's allowed me to meet so I'm happy to be able to give back in anyway I can <33 and it's so lovely to get anything like this 💖 I'm staying safe and I hope you are too anon!!)

[shalomniscient]

hihi sev! i adore ur work sm oml can i req an enemies to lovers with zoya? :D (pretty basic im sorry auahag)

but imagine, reader in a rival gang or maybe she’s a salva doctor. but either way they DESPISE each other. a heated battle or argument eventually blooms into sexual tension?? (i’m so bad at wording this i apologize)

OH ANON I HAVE IDEAS (or well. one idea specifically BUT I CAN WAFFLE) FOR THIS ONE 👀👀👀

what is this feeling? || zoya x reader

cw. petnames (princess), sexual tension (?)

notes. yeah this is based on that wicked song. also made this sft sorry anon 😔😔😔 also i went with salva doctor because if you were a rival gang leader, well. i think zoya would simply just kill you fhskskdjjs i hope this fits ur expectations anon

You always knew following your sister to Syndicate was going to be difficult. The people would always distrust you, and with good reason. Eastside has brought them nothing but pain and suffering, so why should they trust two doctors from there? For a while, SALVA was mostly empty, but soon enough, through word and action the unofficial hospital's reputation improved, and more and more people flocked to its doors—including gang members. Your sister had simply shrugged when you asked her about it.

"It's good that they're starting to trust us," she'd said over a bowl of instant noodles. "Even the gang members. At least, when they turn into Corruptors, I can use them to study Mania."

And that had been the end of that conversation. And she'd mostly been right about trust in SALVA spreading, though with one notable exception: the Commander of the Legion, Zoya. Ever since first showing up to the hospital, Zoya has never let herself be treated within SALVA. She lets her subordinates be treated, but avoids it herself. Which you wouldn't much care about, if she weren't so irritating.

She is, truly, insufferable. You'd rather deal with one of those Yagyu or Red Falcon pricks—at least they have the sense to shut up and follow your orders so you can treat them properly.

Zoya, on the other hand, simply refuses to even acknowledge the absolutely horrendous gash on her arm, as if it would simply disappear if she continues to act nonchalantly as she stands against the wall of the emergency room, a watchful eye on your nurses and assistants as they patch up her subordinates. She also has a particular habit of calling you everything but your title or your name.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale a long-suffering sigh. "Can you sit down so I can actually stitch you up?"

Zoya offers you a look from down her nose, and you hate how ridiculously tall she is. Really, what the hell did she eat growing up to become that absurdly tall?

"I'll pass, princess," she hums, and you grit your teeth.

"It's doctor," you snap. "And it wasn't a request."

Zoya rolls her eyes. "And I told you already, princess. I'm fine, I don't need your help."

"You are bleeding all over my ER walls, for fuck's sake."

"Tragic," the gang leader drawls, and you swear your jaw creaks from how hard you're clenching it. With a snarl, you spin on your heel and stomp towards a nearby tray of equipment, grab some gauze, saline, thread and a needle before marching right back. Zoya arches a brow, then makes a sharp hissing noise as you unceremoniously pour out the saline onto the gash on her arm.

"What the hell?" she growls, moving to step away from the wall, before you grab her wrist and her eyes narrow. She stills, but not in agreement. No, this is the stillness of a predator before it pounces on its prey. You swallow despite the thick atmosphere, and just your chin out, meeting her dangerous gaze with as much stubbornness as you can muster.

"I am going to treat you," you say firmly, "whether you like it or not."

You think Zoya might’ve killed you right then and there, were it not for the jovial laughter of some of her legionnaires. One of them, a large, burly man with two nurses trying to wrap his bicep with a bandage, places a hand on his knee and chuckles.

“The pipsqueak has fire to her, eh Boss?” he says, and your brow twitches. Are members of the Legion simply allergic to referring to people other than their Commander by their proper titles? “Just siddown and let her patch you up. It ain’t fair that we get to feel better while our Boss isn’t in tip-top shape, ain’t it fellas?”

The other legionnaires in the room yell their agreement, and you would’ve had a headache from the sheer disorder in your ER room right now, but finally seeing Zoya’s stone facade crack and the slightest hint of a genuine smile bloom across her face made it all well worth it. She crosses her arms, then sighs.

“Fine,” she acquiesces, then turns to you. “But make it quick, princess.”

You scoff. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on spending that much time on you either.”

Zoya snorts, then strides over to an empty hospital bed, and plops herself onto it. She braces her injured arm palm down on the bed, extending it so you can stitch it properly while you pull the privacy curtain around the bed. You chance a glance at her face while she’s focused on looking at her wound, and though she has an excellent stone face, you notice the slightest furrow in her brow—so the legendary Legion Commander can feel pain, after all.

You grab a stool and sit by the edge of the bed, then get to work. Zoya barely reacts beyond the slightest twitch of a muscle in her jaw as you continue cleaning the wound with saline. You can feel her gaze on you as you wipe the wound down with gauze, then start the first few stitches.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, after a while. “Here, in Syndicate? This isn’t a place for pretty little things like you.”

Despite the harshness of the question, there is no malice in her voice. It is simply a question, one she’s right to ask. You don’t stop your stitching as you reply.

“I’m helping my sister.”

Zoya’s palm shifts on the bed, causing the muscles in her arm to flex. You pause, waiting for her to still again so you can stitch properly. “That’s all? So Syndicate’s a little family project to you?”

“Stop moving,” you growl. “And no, it isn’t. I’m helping my sister, but I’m also helping people like you who delight in making my life difficult.”

Zoya scoffs at that, fingers digging into the thin linen sheets of the bed. You can feel her gaze turn into a glare, but you don’t care. Zoya’s never liked you, anyway. She respects your sister—and yeah, you get that. Iron is just like what she’s named after. She’s solid, reliable, and won’t bend or break under intense pressure.

You’re… well, you’re just you.

You close your eyes and shake those thoughts away. Now is not the time.

“Syndicate deserves doctors who are here out of their own convictions,” Zoya sneers, her hand suddenly reaching to grab you by the collar of your white coat and pulling you close, “because at least then they won’t run at the first sign of trouble. Pretty little things like you who aren’t strong enough to blaze their own path should stay in Eastside.”

You meet her cold gaze with your own, your hand squeezing her wrist. It would do nothing to her, you know this, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to cower to her. She could kill you, but you won’t let her win.

“Am I going to have to pin you down, or are you finally going to behave?” you say, your voice frigid, icy compared to Zoya’s fire. And you see it flare in her eyes as she looks into your eyes, as if searching for something.

This close, you can truly look at her. And though you hate to admit it, she’s… attractive. A sharp jaw, defined cheekbones and that silky-looking silver hair that frames her sharp, wolfish eyes. Maybe under different circumstances, the rush of your heart in your chest might’ve been from butterflies and not pure loathing.

Then, of all things, Zoya’s eyes flick lower to your lips, and your breath stutters in your lungs. Her grip on your collar slackens, but for some reason, you don’t draw back—you can feel her warm breath fanning across your lips, and she leans closer, her eyes narrowed in something you can’t quite place but God, does it make your blood sing in your veins. Her lips brush yours and then—

“Doctor?”

Both of you spring apart as if you’d been burned. Zoya releases her collar and looks away from you, while you clear your throat and do your best to slow down your racing heart.

“Yes, nurse?”

“The legionnaires are all patched up,” she reports. “They’re ready to go. Will you be much longer?”

“No,” you answer quickly, going back to sewing Zoya’s wound, but this time twice as fast as before. She pointedly doesn’t look at you the whole time, but her fingers are curled tightly in the sheets. You wrap up in record time, then gather all the used material and dump them in a nearby biohazard bin.

Zoya stands from the bed, and glances at your handiwork on her arm. Her face remains impassive, but she looks it over without complaint, then slings her jacket over her shoulders again. She reaches for the curtain, but before she slides it open, she offers you a glance. Her eyes are stormy with a mix of emotions you can’t quite identify, with an underlying darkness that makes your pulse jump.

“Thanks,” is all she says, before she steps out of the private bed area, leaving you alone, and you lean against the bed, sucking in a breath and running a hand through your hair.

Fuck, she’ll be the death of you one day.