#i think he employs it a lot but usually with a smile

[jlf23tumble]

Petty Harry Styles is definitely an underrated gem.

Throw in the sarcasm, too? Next level!

[blindmagdalena]

imagine being hired by vought to be a sort of housekeeper to homelander, doing his laundry and cooking for him in his penthouse. he’d immediately grow to love having someone to come home to, and would automatically slip into husband mode whenever he finds them doing him some wifely act of service (conveniently ignoring the fact they’re paid to be there, of course)

ao3 link

Working for Vought, specifically Homelander, turns out to be an insanely simple gig. Typically, you never even see him. You're free to do your cleaning in peace, picking up after America's favorite hero. He rarely ever leaves a mess, but there's enough to keep you employed. Tidying up his towels, replacing his hygiene supplies and tooth brushes. You're trained specifically on how to clean his suits. You empty and stock the fridge. He goes through a lot of milk. You always make sure to get whole. He lodged a complaint the one time it was less than. You were told initially that your cooking services wouldn't be necessary. Homelander isn't known to be, well... much of an eater.

Still, you didn't want the food you stocked at the start to go bad, so one day you prepare a few meals and put them in containers in the fridge. You include little notes with instructions on how they should be reheated. You sign each one with a little heart simply because that's how you've always done it, and pin them to the fridge. You think nothing of it. Homelander is dumbstruck by it.

At first he's affronted that you would leave him cold food in his fridge and expect him to heat it up for himself, but there's something distinctly... loving about it. Coming home to his laundry clean and his shelves dusted never felt like that. It was nothing more than a reset, an automatic process that he didn't dedicate any thought to. But this? This is personal. This reminds him that a living, breathing person was in his home, tending to it, and that person... cooked him a meal, and left him a little note. With a heart.

The next morning you get a text that you will indeed be cooking for Homelander that evening! You're in the midst of it, staying later than you usually do, when he walks in the door. You aren't making anything fancy, just steak and mashed potatoes, but he sucks in a breath like he's inhaling the scent of a gourmet meal. His smile is broad and gleaming. It makes your heart skip a beat.

To your surprise, he introduces himself. He shakes your hand firmly, and holds your stare as you remember your manners and manage to spit out your own name. "Charmed," he says through that radiant smile, and you feel like he means it. His eyes are somehow much bluer in person. His gaze flickers to the stove, and he clicks his tongue. "Not to question your craft, but is this really enough for two?" Looking at the steak currently searing, you falter. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you having company? No one told me." "Well of course I'm having company, you silly goose. You're standing right here, aren't you?" He asks, putting his hands on his hips. It's cheesy, like a moment straight out of a sitcom, but you fluster anyways. This man has such presence to him.

"You... want me to eat with you?" You ask, bewildered.

"Be a shame to cook up a storm and not even feel the rain," he laughs, as if you're the one thinking strangely here. He's already gone to the fridge, and pulled out a second steak. He offers it out to you with that same charming television ready grin. "C'mon. I can hear your stomach growling."

Tentatively, you take the package from him. "Okay."

That night, and each night that follows, you cook Homelander a meal at the tail-end of your shift, and sit down to eat with him. It's surreal, but after the second night, it occurs to you that you've never once seen sign of him having company. There's never extra dishes, or towels. No remnants of a party in the trash. If he does have friends, they're certainly never here.

You can't help but wonder if he's lonely. The thought humanizes him from the larger than life image you had of him in your mind, and you have an easier and easier time engaging him in conversation. He's funny, if not a little strange. There are times when you don't really know how to respond to the things he says, but he often moves on quickly enough to keep things from being awkward.

Truth be told, you're starting to quite enjoy his company.

Homelander begins showing up earlier and earlier into your shifts. The next week, it's barely after 4:00pm when he strides through the door, greeting you with a chipper, "Heya!" and a little salute.

You turn off the vacuum, and despite being a little caught off guard, you smile at him. For the first time, you say, "Welcome home!"

For a second, you worry you've said something wrong. That smile slips off his face, and he stands frozen a touch too long in the doorway. However, before you can add an amendment, his lips stretch back out and he closes the door behind him. "Good to be home," he says. There's less of that showmanship in his voice, you think.

"I didn't know you'd be home so early, I haven't finished-" "Oh, don't mind me, you do your thing. Pretend I'm not even here," he insists, taking a seat on his couch.

You expect him to occupy himself in some way. A book, perhaps, or even just his cellphone. Instead, for the next hour you're keenly aware of the fact the only thing he seems to be entertaining himself with is you.

After that, you cook dinner as usual, and the two of you eat amidst pleasant, casual conversation. It's the same as any other night, and yet somehow this evening feels distinctly different. You can't name exactly what it is, but something has changed.

Homelander begins filling out your time with new requests; he's suddenly become quite fascinated with plants. You had mentioned to him before that you like to keep them, despite the work they take. Your shifts grow longer to account for your new tasks.

All the while, he's been more and more present during your shifts. Although he doesn't directly take or distract you from your chores, you're always keenly aware of of his gaze on you while you work. You try not to overthink it, but the weight of his attention is heavy nonetheless.

One day, you're sweeping up a mess of spilled dirt, struggling to maneuver around the legs of a piece of furniture, when Homelander hops up to intervene. "Let me get that for you, sweetheart," he says, lifting the entire cabinet up as if it weighed nothing at all.

You lose yourself for a moment, standing dumbfounded before abruptly remembering to sweep the dirt out from under it, your heart racing. Your mind keeps replaying the pet name, and with every echo of it, your cheeks feel redder. Homelander smiles, watching you all the while. The next day, you arrive to find an enormous bouquet of roses sitting in a vase on the kitchen counter. There's a note with your name on it, and a simple message: Thanks for all your hard work. Keep it up! The note is signed with Homelander's sprawling signature. Smiling widely to yourself, you tuck the note into your pocket, and lean in to inhale the sweet smell of the flowers. On another occasion, it's time to clean the blades of the ceiling fan in his room, but you can't find that darn step ladder anywhere. Homelander must hear the way you're shuffling around and muttering under your breath—you swear the man hears everything—because he steps in to check on you. "Everything alright in here?" He asks, peeking in from the doorway. "Oh, fine, fine, I just can't find my step ladder anywhere. Have you seen it?" You ask, feeling flustered. Getting put behind schedule never fails to trip a thread of anxiety in your chest. "Can't say I have," he answers, stepping inside. He looks around the room. "What'cha need it for?" "Ceiling fan. Uhm, it's okay, I'll get to it later, if that's alright with you? I'm sorry, I could have sworn I left that ladder-" You stop yourself, realizing Homelander is suddenly striding directly towards you. Uncertain, you begin to take a step back, but he's fast. He puts an arm around you, and without warning you're being hoisted up into his arms as easily as a doll.

"Up y'go," he says, supporting not only your weight with ease, but resting you snug against his chest. You squeeze your knees together, arms pulled in tight, as if making yourself tiny will somehow protect you from the embarrassing quicken of your breath, or the rampant beat of your heart. "There you go. Who needs a step ladder when you've got me?" He asks, grinning down at you with that familiar dazzling spread of pearly whites. His smile feels better suited to a Hollywood audience than this quiet little moment, but the only thing you can really focus on is the fresh, woodsy smell of his cologne. "Uhm, I-I still don't think I can reach-" You stop, noticing the ceiling fan is now within arms reach. "Oh." Looking down, your eyes widen. Neither of your feet are touching the ground. Instead, Homelander is hovering well above it, holding you adjacent to the fan. You can't help the nervous laughter that suddenly bubbles out of you. "Oh my god," you laugh, looking around. "You're flying!" "As I'm known to do from time to time," he says, voice dripping with satisfaction. His gloved fingers tap absently at your waist, basking in your awe over what is, to him, a wholly unremarkable feat. The sheer normalcy of you makes his every move seem a marvel. He savors your wonder. You're so enamored with the novelty of it, you remember belatedly why you're up here. Clearing your throat, you reach up with the duster, and gently spin the fan, collecting the strands of dust and the like that had gathered on each one. You try your damnedest to focus on that, and not the fact Homelander's face is less than a foot from yours. Out of your peripheral, you can see that his grin has softened into a content, absent smile. Your stomach does cartwheels as you finish dusting the fan, bringing the duster back down. You clear your throat again, pretending it's not a nervous habit. "All done, thank you," you say quietly, smiling back at him.

"Any time, sweetheart," Homelander purrs. There it is again, that coy little nickname that sends your mind into a tizzy. As if that weren't bad enough, he winks at you, floating gently back down to the ground. Your legs feel so much like jelly, you worry you'll collapse the moment you're on your feet. Luckily, even once he's set you down, he leaves a hand lingering on your back. "You got a thing with heights? Your heart's pounding," he points out, much to your mortification. You try to laugh it off. "Oh, no! No, just wasn't expecting it. I'm fine with heights," you say, fumbling with the duster for a second before slipping it back into the cover. "Good," Homelander responds, an oddly cryptic depth to his tone. His smile lingers. "That's good. Alrighty, I'll leave you to it," he says, tipping his head in a polite little nod before he heads for the door, leaving you to your own devices, and the rapid fluttering in your stomach. Later that same day, you're thoroughly perplexed when you spot the step ladder exactly where it's supposed to be, certain you had checked there a dozen times over.

Two weeks from the day you first shared a meal, he presents you with a gift after dinner. "Oh, sir, you shouldn't-" "Please, please! Don't be so formal. It's just a little thing," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "Y'know, to show my appreciation. You take such good care of me. Just wanted to return the favor." Butterflies swarm rampant in your gut as you tug loose the pretty red ribbon tied around the box. Uncertain of what to expect, you feel a measure of relief when you lift the lid, and see a lovely apron folded inside it. "You wear this print a lot, figured you could use something, you know, matchy. Feminine," he says, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "Your other one's seen better days."

You exhale a soft laugh, touching the fabric. It's soft beneath your fingers, and of excellent quality. The gift is a thoughtful one, and it feels appropriate, despite what the expensive looking wrapping made you think. "You like it?" He asks after a beat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I do! Yes, thank you. It's very nice. I've enjoyed working for you, sir—" You stop when he points a finger at you, his brows raised, and you correct, "—Homelander." He smiles, dropping his hand. "And eating with you. I can't say any of my other clients cared whether or not I ate," you say, chuckling. You think you see his nose twitch strangely at the mention of your other clients.

"Right, well! C'mon, let's see how it looks," he says, taking you by the shoulders and guiding you over to the mirror near the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. Homelander takes the box from your hands and presents it to you, allowing you to lift the apron up and let it unfold. Odd, it feels a touch heavier than you expected. You sling it around your neck, but before you can reach back to tie it, Homelander has taken it upon himself to do it for you. He cinches it at your waist with a sharp little tug, grinning at you from over your shoulder as he meets your eye in the mirror. "Loooook at that, perfect fit," he purrs, tying the ends off. "It's beautiful, thank y—" Smoothing your hands down the front of it, you stop. There's something in the right pocket of the apron. Glancing up, Homelander has a mischievous glint to his expression, but his brows raise, and his lips curl down. He's playing dumb.

Curiously, you slip your hand into the pocket, and feel smooth velvet against your fingers. Wrapping your hand around a firm rectangle, you draw it out, and feel your stomach flip as you stare at the distinctly luxurious looking black box now in your hands. "Oh, geeze, totally forgot that was even in there," Homelander says. His tone is terribly unconvincing, but he does sound very pleased with himself. "Whelp, you've already accepted, so I guess it's yours now." "I—" "Go on," he urges, giving your shoulders a little shake. He's watching you eagerly through the mirror. "Open it up. It's all yours."

Swallowing, you crack the box back on it's hinges. Your jaw drops, your chest tightens. You stare at the shimmering three-stone drop diamond necklace in utter disbelief. You don't even feel Homelander let go of your shoulders, or hear him slide off and drop his gloves to the nearby table. "Oh my god," you whisper. You probably couldn't afford the box this thing was sold in, let alone a single stone on it. "I don't think I can accept this, sir," you say, slipping back into the habit of formality as your brain struggles to catch up to reality.

"Oop, too late for that," Homelander dismisses, plucking the delicate necklace up from the fabric it lay in. "Here, allow me," he says, ignoring your shellshock while he drapes the necklace against your skin, his bare fingers brushing the back of your neck as he gets it fastened.

Breathless, you tentatively touch the bottom diamond. Your mouth feels full of cotton, and your heart is racing. Is this really happening?

Meanwhile, Homelander grips your upper arms, beaming. "Look at you. You know what they say about diamonds; they're a girl's best friend," he laughs, those canines of his looking sharper than ever.

Giving your arms a squeeze, Homelander leans close to your ear. "Happy two weeks," he whispers, the heat of his breath on your neck prickling goosebumps all the way down your spine. "Thank you," you whisper back, pushing out a bewildered little smile.

Homelander lingers there a moment, the warmth of his hands on your arms seeping through the fabric of your shirt. His smile has relaxed some, and his gaze is slightly distant as he looks you up and down in the mirror. You see a flash of pink as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue. It isn't until you clear your throat that his eyes snap back up to yours, regaining presence of mind. "I should get going," you say gently. His fingers flex on your arms, and the corners of his mouth twitch. "Right," he says, lips pulling into a thin smile that doesn't reach his eyes. This is always his least favorite part of the night. With obvious reluctance, he drops his hands from your arms. "Right, ah, let me—" "Unless..." You interject, turning to face him. Homelander's brows shoot up to his hairline. He blinks. "Unless...?" "Unless you'd like me to stay," you say quietly, your stomach tying itself in knots. "Not as your housekeeper, but maybe as just... Company?"

"Company," he echoes, his parted lips slowly drawing into a smile. This one does reach his eyes. "We could watch a movie."

"I like movies," you say. The words sound dumb to you as soon as they leave your lips, but Homelander looks at you like you've just spun a beautiful sonnet. "Great, I have movies," he says, putting a hand on your lower back as he gestures you to the living room. His smile is broad now, eager and a touch boyish. You feel a little surge of endearment amidst the adrenaline. "What do you want to watch?" "Dealers choice," you say, slipping out of the apron before you take a seat at the couch. Homelander immediately busies himself with the television, flipping through Vought+'s enormous repertoire.

Still in a mild daze, you don't process any of the titles that fly by on the screen. Instead, you're hyper aware of the weight of the necklace hanging from your throat, and the lingering heat that Homelander's hands left on your skin.

So much for a simple gig.

[ickadori]

++ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

[summary] nanami comes to the school per gojo’s request, but finds you instead.

[cws] fem reader -> reader is a student. unedited.

Nanami wasn’t a teacher, but he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that a lot of the younger sorcerers saw him as one, and even admired him to some degree.

It was… troublesome.

He knew what becoming overly attached to people in this world meant and it wasn’t worth it. It would only make their death that much more painful when the time came, and Nanami had already experienced enough pain to last him in the next lifetime. So he kept everyone at a distance, even Ino, and especially you, but you had always been good at closing that distance time and time again and finding a way to burrow yourself into his thoughts and under his skin.

This is just another one of those times - except this time, his usual resistance had been nowhere to be found. You had managed to chip it away bit by bit with your salacious ways - a brush of your painted nails along the back of his neck whenever you passed him by, a sly bite of your lip whenever you caught his stare, a brazen spread of your legs whenever you wore a skirt in his presence, a brush of your breasts against his arm whenever you solicited him for his help, voice set in a low tone as you invaded his personal space.

You had employed those same tactics today; a low cut shirt coupled with a skirt that was completely out of regulations, and freshly painted nails that housed the same design as the tie looped around his neck.

He had come to the school on rare business with Gojo, and you had somehow managed to corner him in an empty class instead, eyes practically shining as you ensnared him in your trap.

“How nice of you to stop by to see me, Kento.”

“I’m here to see Gojo, not you.” He stepped around you, fully intent on leaving the room and you with it, but your hand snagged hold of his jacket. He looked down to your hand, then followed your wrist up to your arm and so forth, tired eyes clashing with your playful ones. “I don’t have time for your games today.”

“Luckily for you, this isn’t a game. I genuinely need your help.” You smiled, and he should have shaken you off and left right then instead of letting you step closer. “I’ve been having a bit of trouble with something, and Gojo-sensei is always too busy for anything one-on-one.”

“We’re both aware that I’m not a teacher here. I can’t help you.” There’s only an inch of space between the two of you now, and the faint scent of your perfume wafts up from your neck, and Nanami feels a strong urge to duck his head down to get a better smell.

“Oh, I think you can..” You look up at him through your lashes, teeth softly biting down into the plumpness of your glossy, bottom lip before you’re releasing it. “It won’t take up much of your time - pinky promise.” You cheekily offer your pinky to him, and to keep the smile on your face he lets you hook it around his larger one.

You lead him to one of the desks of his youth, and he settles down into the wooden chair, briefly wondering if they were always this small and uncomfortable or if he had really gotten that much bulkier in his older years.

“Like I said earlier, something’s been giving me a lot of trouble recently. I just can’t seem to get it right.” You plop yourself on top of the desk he’s sitting in front of, and his eyebrows raise just a bit as your hands move to clench the ends of your skirt. “It’s a bit embarrassing, so promise not to laugh, ‘kay?”

Your shoes hit the floor, leaving you in a black socks, and Nanami breathes through his nose when you settle your feet on his shoulders.

He swallows.

“What are you doing?” His voice is a low rumble, something churning deep in his gut, and he sucks in a sharp breath when you spread your knees and lift your skirt, revealing your lack of panties. Your lips take a moment to spread, the stickiness of your slick to blame, and his mouth runs dry at the sight of your clit just barely peeking out.

“I haven’t been able to come the last few days, and I’ve been trying so hard, Kento. I even think about you while I touch myself, because you’re so handsome and I like you, y’know? But I still can’t do it…so, can you watch and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

And that’s how Nanami found himself frozen in his seat, eyes zeroed in on the way you rub fast, tight circles around your clit, hole clenching around nothing as it drools.

Your chest heaves as you work, and he thinks he might croak in his seat when your other hand dips down to push two fingers inside your pussy, a loud, dirty squelch sounding as your slick bubbles up around your digits.

“Ah, Kento,” you gasp, and a bead of sweat trails down the side of his face, over sharp cheeks and an even sharper jaw before disappearing into the neckline of his shirt. “You see…‘s just not working.” Your calves tense, fingers slipping out of your hole to spread your juices around, and Gods is he thirsty. “I need your help, Sir. You’ll help me, won’t you?” Your fingers, still wet and glistening, curl around his tie, and Nanami doesn’t resist as you tug him closer and closer to your heat, your overwhelming scent muddling his thoughts until you’re all he can think about.

Once again.

[morgana-larkin]

Hey,your fics are amazing, just binged read the oneshots and can't wait for the next chapter of 'worth it'.

But here's a small prompt, maybe mel and r is not close,r is an 8th grade teacher like Jacob but rarely even stops by the break room. She's only friends with him, Mel thought maybe r doesn't wanna be friends with the elementary staff so she let her be. Then one day when Mel is doing groceries, she bumps with r, realizing she goes to the same day and same store when doing groceries. They greet each other politely when they cross paths but Mel thinks it's ridiculous how they see each other on a grocery store but not in the very place of their employ where they work together. Then after like months of that, Mel and r cross paths again as usual, and was like 'hey kid,how come we see each other here and not in school'

Hey, thank you for the prompt, I thought the idea was super cute ☺️. I’m glad you’re liking my one shots enough to binge all of them! That comment made me smile, and the next chapter of ‘Worth It’ will be out soon, possibly tomorrow. I would have had this out this morning but I kept changing the beginning because nothing fit. Anyway, here’s the story, it’s short and sweet. Not edited in the slightest as always. Hope you like it!

On another note, I have 2 prompts that I’ll be working on after I finish the chapter of Worth It. So if you sent me a prompt yesterday, don’t worry, I’ll be working on it.

Grocery Store Rendezvous

Warnings: none

Words: 1.5k

« Hey y/n! Are you going to stay and chat with us today? » Jacob says as you enter the break room. You only enter the break room to get coffee but then you always leave right after. You look and see Melissa looking at you, eyeing you curiously.

« Nope, just came to get coffee. I got to grade some tests today, especially with report cards coming up. » you say to him.

« You know one day you’re going to come in here and stay. » Jacob says, teasing you a bit.

« Maybe, but that day is not today. » You say , pouring the coffee in your mug then you go to leave.

« When that day comes, I’ll take a picture. » he tells you and you smirk.

« That doesn’t make me want to stay even more. » you tell him and give him a little salute on the way out.

The truth is you don’t stay because of Melissa. She scares you but in the best way. From the first day you started working here a year ago, you were actually stunned by her beauty.

You don’t see her much though since you’re an 8th grade teacher and teach on the second floor. You became friends with Jacob since you work closely with him but you never had a reason to speak to Melissa. You were also incredibly shy so you just admire her from a distance and when you go to get your coffee in the morning and at lunch.

It was Saturday at noon and you parked in the parking lot of the grocery store you go to every Saturday. You walk in, get a cart and start going through your list.

You were turning into the spice aisle when you bump into another cart.

« Oh sorry, I didn’t… » your sentence goes unfinished as you see the person you bumped into. It was Melissa.

« Oh hi y/n, funny running into you here. » she says.

« Well actually I come here every Saturday at this time. » You tell her.

« Oh really? So do I. I wonder why we haven’t seen each other before. » she says to you.

« Well it’s a big store so we could have been on opposite sides of the store. » you with a small chuckle. « Well I gotta go finish my shopping, I’ll see you around Melissa. » you tell her with a nod.

« Alright see ya y/n. » And you go and continue your shopping.

You continue your shopping, but not even 5 minutes later, you run into her again when you go to get some chocolate milk and she’s getting some cheese.

« Y/n? We haven’t seen each other once for months, and now twice in the same day? » she says in disbelief.

« Ya I guess so, how ironic. » you say as you grab some chocolate milk.

« Chocolate milk? Really? » she says and quirks an eyebrow.

« Don’t diss it the chocolate milk. It’s good. » You tell her and she puts her hands up a bit in surrender and you laugh.

You two go in separate directions until you’re checking out and run into each other at the same cash.

« Wow, we’re 3 for 3. » Melissa jokes.

« I guess so. » You say.

You both go home after that. You drove home smiling that day, you got to speak to Melissa, multiple times.

On Monday at school, you do nothing differently. You still only go to the break room to get your coffee then leave. The one small difference is you blush a bit when you pass by Melissa. You don’t know it but Melissa noticed the blush and smiled a little when your back was turned.

The next Saturday you two run into each other again, and Melissa wonders why she sees and talks to you more at a grocery store than at work.

Months go by and every Saturday you and Melissa keep running into each other, sometimes multiple times in one day. About 3 months of this happening, Melissa has had enough and decides to ask you the question that’s been bugging her.

« Hey kid, how come we see each other here and not at school? » she asks and you stare at her.

« I don’t know. I guess there’s not really a reason for us to talk to each other at school. » you reply sheepishly. The 2 of you walk down the aisle while talking.

« You don’t need a reason, you can just say hi. »

« I thought you were the type of person who didn’t like people just saying hi to you. » You counter.

« Ok fair point, but I wouldn’t mind if you did it. »

« Why am I different? »

« Do you see me talking to other coworkers outside of work? »

« Ok first of all, we don’t even talk in school. And 2, idk who you talk to at all. » you tell her.

« Why don’t we start talking in school? » she asks and you freeze.

« Why? »

« Because we don’t talk in school like you said, so let’s change that. » she points out. And only then do you realise the hole you dug yourself.

« Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea Melissa. »

« Why? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? » she asks and stops walking and crosses her arms.

« What? No that’s not it at all. » You say, you really don’t want to admit your feelings for her.

« Then what is it? » she pushes.

« it’s not important. » you say, hoping that will put an end to the conversation. It did not.

« It’s important to me! » Melissa says, getting annoyed.

« Why? »

« How about you answer the question I asked first. Why don’t you want to talk to me in school!?! »

« Because you scare me! » You spill out, and you can tell by the hurt look on her face that you just have to say it. « I like you and that scares me. And I don’t mean friendship like, I mean romantic like. » You tell her and her hurt expression turns to a happy one.

« I like you too. » she says. « Romantic like. » she adds and you can’t believe your luck. For once, the woman you like, likes you back. You two finish your grocery shopping together and you check out together as well.

« Come over to my place. » she says to you and you stare wide eyed, Melissa never invites anyone to her place.

« Ok, sure, when? » you ask and she smiles.

« Are you free right now? »

« Well I’ve actually got a couple of frozen groceries to bring home but after that, ya. » You say and she smiles.

« Give me your phone. »

« What? » you say confused.

« Give me your phone so I can add my number so I can send my address. » she says and you immediately give her your phone. She adds herself and you smile at the nickname she gave herself ‘Mel 👩🏻‍🦰👑’

« R u trying to say that you’re a ginger queen? » You snort.

« Maybe. » she flips her hair and you laugh.

You get in your cars and you drive home. As soon as you get home you text her.

You: this is y/n , I just got home, send me your address, your highness.

Mel 👩🏻‍🦰👑: your highness? I like that. Here’s my address

Mel 👩🏻‍🦰👑: *sends address*

You: I’ll be there in 20 minutes, your highness

20 minutes later you knock on her front door. She answers it and immediately welcomes you in. As soon as you walk in, she puts her lips on yours. You kiss her back and she smiles into the kiss.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile.” She says and you smile at her.

“So have I.” You say and you lean in to kiss her again.

On Monday morning you come into the break room to get your morning coffee as usual. This time, instead of leaving, you sit next to Melissa and she smiles at you. Melissa gets a questioning look from Barb and you get a questioning look from the trio. You then hear the click of a phone camera and you look to see Jacob taking a picture.

“I told you I’d take a picture.” He says and you smile. At this point you don’t care, you got Melissa.

Melissa stands up to go put something in the garbage and gives you a kiss on your lips, getting gasps from everyone. You smile and blush and she has a smirk on her face. After thinking that you wanted nothing to do with her and the rest of the group, it turns out you were avoiding her because you liked her. She smiles at that thought as she sits back down next to you, and she pulls your chair closer to her.

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[thethirdtriplet]

Head cannon for the Batkids:

So, we’re all aware that out of all Bruce’s kid Tim is the only one that’s ever gotten away with lying to him on more than one occasion.

And we know how smart he is, right, so if over the years he just keep doing it, lying to Bruce, about small things that wouldn’t really harm anyone. Just so he could observe and keep track of how much he can get a way with, for future reference of course.

But he gets so good at it that Bruce, Bat “the most paranoid person on the planet” man, immediately trusts his words, just like that.

Honestly why wouldn’t he? Tim hasn’t given him anything to doubt. He’d been carful over the years. 1-Hiding his tracks, 2-being overly truthful, 3-keeping his reputation as clean as possible.

1-He breaks something? Bruce wouldn’t know, cause he hid the evidence, bought a replica or straight up gaslights Bruce into thinking it never existed.

2-He stirs up trouble with the YJ, he’d tell Bruce with all honesty what happened, to the point where Bruce just expects the truth when Tim reports a mission to him, unbeknownst to him, that half of it is lies.

3-He keeps this up in his years as Robin to stay in his good graces, obviously, he’s polite, diligent, reliable and responsible, who wouldn’t trust a boy that’s so mature for his age?

Of course then his sibling find out about this certain skill of his and employ him to lie for them.

——————————

Dick, broke a chandelier he was not supposed to be swinging on? No problem; Timmy’s on it:

Dick: *tries giving Tim the puppy dog eyes that have virtually no effect on him*

Tim: *sends him an unimpressed look*

Tim: Bruce, just look at that ancient looking chandelier and tell me it wasn’t going to fall on someone’s head one day or the other?

Bruce: …

Tim: *sighs exasperatedly*

Tim: Do you have such little faith in your own son that you would believe he would endanger himself doing something that could potentially injure him, that you specifically told him not to do.

Tim: *sends a pointed look towards dick*

Dick: *sends him a sheepish smile*

Bruce: …

Bruce: *relents*

Bruce: I guess you’re right.., and the chandelier is quite old,..I’ll have to buy a replacement..

Bruce: *walks away*

Tim: You owe me, for this.

Dick: Yeah, I know, but thanks anyway Timmy!

——————————

Jason, scratched the Batmobile, he wasn’t permitted to drive? Bribe Tim; to deal with Bruce:

Jason: I’ll cook for you, anything you want, as payment.

Tim: *sighs*

Tim: Bruce, are you really sure you were careful with the Batmobile, last nigh? I seem to remember, you were in quite a rush to catch up to two-face, who was escaping in his getaway car.

Bruce: I checked on it last night, and don’t remember any scratches…

Tim: You were dead on your feet last night, barley even able to change out of your gear, write a full report, then head to bed, it shouldn’t be surprising that you missed a few scratches on the car.

Bruce: …

Bruce: I guess so… I’ll just have to keep a more attentive eye on it, next time…

Bruce: *walks away*

Tim: I’ll be expecting breakfast burritos, to appear on my plate, in the morning.

Jason: You can expect anything you want, and I’ll make it happen, after that save, nerd-bird.

——————————

Damian, snuck in an injured cat to take care of, before sending them off to the shelter? ‘Force’ Drake, to help:

Damian: While I usually wouldn’t resort to you for assistance, Drake, I must reluctantly admit, I am in need of it.

Tim: I’ll only agree, if you name the cat Drake.

Damian, who already named the long haired, black furred, blue eyed cat, after Tim: Very well.

Later on:

Bruce: *spots the new cat*

Bruce: Tim, is it just me or does Alfred the cat look.. different.

Tim: I’m not sure what you’re talking about, B.

Bruce: I could have sworn his eyes were yellow, not blue?..

Tim: Are you sure, though? Perhaps you’re mistaken. Maybe it’s a trick of the light? There’s a lot of reasons, as to why you could have mistaken the cat’s eye colour.

Bruce: …

Bruce: I guess… if you say so…

Later, later on:

Damian: Drake, Drake, the cat, has been adopted, as of late, by a loving and nurturing family (as loving and nurturing a family can be, in Gotham).

Tim: Cool.

——————————

Cassandra wants Bruce to attend her recital, but he’s busy? Ask Tim for help:

Bruce: Odd, I remember I had a few more cases to finish today…

Tim: Ohhh, those? Yeah, you gave them to me, not long ago.

Bruce: …I did?

Tim: Yeah! Just last night, when you told me you promised cass, you’d attend her recital, tonight. So I suggested, to handle those cases for you.

Bruce: …

Bruce: That does seem like something I’d do, thanks for reminding me, Tim, I’m glad I can count on you.

Tim: Of course, B.

Later on:

Cass, hugging Tim; to show her appreciation.

——————————

Duke, may or may not have skipped school after first period? Get Tim to help:

Tim: Bruce, is the school absolutely sure, he hadn’t attended his classes, I mean you can obviously see, from the security camera, that he entered the school gates this morning.

Bruce: The teachers stated that he didn’t answer when his name was called in class, and that they didn’t see him all day, on school grounds. None of the security cameras captured any sight of him, other than when he entered, through the gates.

Tim: Ohhh, I see, he must’ve been honing his bat-skills, you know sneaking around, undetected, in school, that must be why no one noticed him, not even the security cameras.

Bruce: …

Bruce: You’re right. I’ll be speaking to the principal about the staff’s inability to locate him, when he was obviously on school grounds.

Bruce: Then, I’ll talk to Duke about refraining from using his bat-skills in our civilian lives. Even if it’s for training purposes. Although I’ll have to commend him, for attending the whole day, undetected.

Later on:

Duke: Are you sure I can’t do something to repay you, I mean, you saved my hide, just now.

Tim: Well.. there is this new juice bar I’ve been wanting to check out, I could use the company.

Duke: No way! I heard about it too, hold on let my grab my phone, then we can head out.

[crimsonedquill]

Could you do some headcannons for when they are jealous and things get… interesting? (Gender-neutral MC) If your not comfortable I completely understand, and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

How they take out their jealousy on you (Hogwarts Legacy)

I'll be the first to admit that smutty HCs are my guilty pleasure, so don't worry, we're good 😅

Tried to make this as gender-neutral as possible, though you know how it is, things always get grey area-ish when certain... body parts are involved. Anyway, hope it meets your request (which I very much enjoyed writing! 🖤)

Content warning: NSFW (18+). Unfiltered smut.

Poppy Sweeting 🦡

Even though you’ve been dating for a while, she still feels that hot sting of insecurity whenever she catches someone leering at you, knowing very well that you could have anyone you want (at the very least certainly better than her)

That said, she usually isn’t very upfront with her emotions, which is why you’re more than a little surprised to hear her request the next time things get hot and heavy between you two

“Could I… be on top this time?” she asks when she withdraws her tongue from your mouth, looking at you with an expression that immediately causes a rush of heat between your legs

You gladly indulge her, if only to see where this newfound confidence is coming from. Hardly any time is wasted in shedding your clothes, and soon she’s mounting you, leaving a trail of slick arousal on your leg as she moves up your thigh

Her movements are sloppy and her rhythm is showing a rather clear lack of experience, though you find yourself hardly in any position to care as she moves atop you with a ferocity so… dominant, using both of your bodies to maximize your shared pleasure

There are hardly any words to describe how she’s feeling. She’s so… in control, never breaking eye contact as she moulds you into a moaning shaking mess

She doesn’t look away even when you finish, wanting to see you come undone before her own climax has her falling apart on top of you

You’re too tired to talk about what happened afterwards, but she doesn’t need to. Softly wrapping herself in your arms, she smiles as she knows that you belong to each other.

Ominis Gaunt 🐍

He hears the way you talk to that Ravenclaw during Astronomy. It’s innocent, but not quite subtle enough to mask the flirtations and suggestive hints

Of course, it doesn’t take long for you to notice something’s wrong when he starts acting all petty, ignoring you and asking whether you’d rather not spend time with “them” instead

The only way to get to him when is being like this is to get right in his face, so that’s exactly what you do, confronting him in a bathroom after classes

There’s a lot of shouting. He reacts to you, you react to him, and within moments you’re exchanging every accusation and insult you can possibly think of

You don’t know whether you’re simply not thinking straight because of your anger or whether it’s the fact that you’re both hot and bothered, but without really giving it any thought you stride over to him, asking him if it’s the insecurity about his own cock that makes him act like a petulant little child (gripping the front of his trousers for emphasis)

That’s all the encouragement he needs. Within moments, he has you on your knees and forces himself between your lips, holding your head as a low, guttural grunt passes through his gritted teeth

He usually takes it slow with you, but this is no time for softness. He grips your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, hissing at you to take it all like the filthy little cunt you are

His release is hot and sudden, leaving you eager to swallow all of him as he braces himself against the wall, moaning your name with a lust that makes you easily forget any ill words spoken between you

After you clean up and leave the bathroom holding hands, you share a kiss and promise each other that you will employ make-up sex as a solution to arguments more often from now on.

Natsai Onai 🦁

You remember well the first time you got a taste of Natty’s particular brand of jealousy. You both felt confident enough to take things a step further after your first couple of dates, and you had been so bold as to conjure a bedroom in your Room of Requirement, having a clear sense of where that night’s events would lead

As soon as your bodies hit the sheets, however, it became clear that whatever control you thought you held was but a figment of your imagination

You feel the ties around your wrists as her lips pull away, a slightly taunting grin masking the absolute excitement she feels at having the so-called hero of Hogwarts right at her fingertips, away from all the flirty looks and comments

She makes a show of stripping out of her clothes, cautioning that she wants your eyes only on her tonight. You ache to touch her, to explore every lovely naked curve, but there’s no use fighting the tight straps

Natty, on the other hand, has your entire body at your disposal. She relishes the control, placing open-mouthed kisses on every bare inch, every single one leaving you just a bit more unravelling than the last

Eventually, she moves her fingers in place to where your excitement is most palpable, the warm throbbing betraying your need

You gasp and twist and plead for her to release you as she gets to work, but she rebuffs every single one of your attempts, enjoying the hold she has on you far too much to let you go so easily

By the time you are falling apart, she instructs you to look her in the eye as she asks who you belong to

“You!” you cry out, and finally she allows you your release, smiling as you shake and quiver until she crawls up to you, placing a wet kiss on your lips before she makes the straps disappear with a flick of her fingers.

Sebastian Sallow 🐍

Of course Possessive Slytherin Bad Boy™ gets jealous easily. It doesn’t take much other than you exchanging a simple look with someone else in the corridors for him to get all clingy and needy.

What many don’t realise is that you love this little part of your relationship. Driving him to the edge with subtle looks and flirtations turns you on more than anything, mostly because it’s always a surprise how far you can push him each time

One time, when you’re taking things a bit too far, you end up having a bit of an argument. It’s not anything serious, but you’re still a bit surprised when he storms you, grabbing the front of your robe as he pushes you against the drawer

“It seems that you need a little reminder,” he snarls before his lips violently crash into yours, robbing you of your breath

You try to get a word in, but he makes perfectly clear there are no words to be said. You gasp in surprise as he turns you around and bends you over the drawer, yanking your trousers and underwear down before you have a clear sense of what’s happening

“Sebastian…” you mutter, but your comment is drawn out by a cry as his palm meets your flesh in a firm strike, your apparent shock met by a content growl

It doesn’t take long for him to drop his trousers and enter you, your hands clamping down on the wooden panelling as you feel him stretching you, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from crying out in unrestrained lust

There’s no love here, no soft passion. It’s raw, primal fucking, and it has you utterly falling apart at the seams

His hand finds its way to your throat as his teeth graze your ear. “You’re mine,” he grunts, and you hardly find yourself in any position to disagree as the feeling of his throbbing inside you rips away any rational thought

His climax is announced by a loud groan, and you find it difficult not to pass out as he claims you as his own.

You’re his, and you’ll gladly be reminded of that.

Imelda Reyes 🐍

It’s not exactly out of character for her to get pissy, but this training session is different. You’re not playing any worse than the others, though you still find yourself on the receiving end of most of her criticism and outbursts, to the point where you decide to confront her afterwards

She’s just getting out of the shower by the time you enter. Her athletic frame wrapped in a white towel, she gives you the stinky eye and asks what the fuck you want

As always, you’re naive enough to try to approach things rationally at first, though it’s clear enough that she doesn’t want to see reason. Only after much meandering (and a lot of creative insults) you get a sense of what this is all about.

You assure her that you care only for her, but she doesn’t believe it. You ask what it would take to convince her. After a few seconds of contemplation, she drops her towel.

Understanding the hint, you move in place on the floor and press your tongue against her folds, the overwhelming taste of her arousal confirming to you that she probably had this in mind from the moment you walked in

You gently fuck her open, using the tip of your tongue to spread her wetness around her lips. She gasps and grabs your head, egging you on with whispered curses and light taunts

But you know how she likes it, and you’re determined to erase every shadow of a doubt from her mind. So you begin ferociously probing her, your hands sneaking around and your nails burying themselves into her arse as she begins whining and pushing your face further into her cunt in a desperate attempt to drive you deeper

You soon have her barrelling towards her orgasm, and she comes with a scream, her juices coating your lips as her knees buckle, her convulsing body only held up by the power of your jaw

As soon as she’s able to walk, you get up and ask if she’s convinced. She only casts you a mischievous smile, telling you that she might need a little more persuasion – her bed, tonight.

Amit Thakkar 🦅

Jealousy works a little differently with Amit. It’s not that he gets mad – his insecurities do, however, translate to performance issues in bed.

After ten minutes of kissing and ‘fondling’ like he’s never touched another human body before, you pull back to ask what’s wrong. It’s only after a lot of effort that he manages to find the courage to confess to you, telling you about his lack of confidence in his ability to please

You’re a bit surprised to find out that he feels this way, but it doesn’t change the way you feel about him. Taking one of his hands into yours, you tell him to follow your lead, gently catching his lips with your own

You take the time to put him at ease as you progress slowly, only relieving yourself of your trousers and undergarments so as to not make things too complicated

He gasps as your fingers close around his length, though he doesn’t pull away, the presence of a steady throbbing signalling to you just how eager he is despite his fears

Stroke by stroke, you feel him growing in your hand, and you gently take his hand to guide him towards your own centre, softly kissing his neck to ease any worry he might feel

He’s clumsy and it doesn’t really feel like he knows what he’s doing, but gradually you both work yourself into a steady rhythm, your breaths meeting in quick gasps as wet sounds fill the room

He’s the first to cum, but he manages to surprise you by working you to your own orgasm soon after, a strained whimper heralding your release as you spill all over his hand

After cleaning yourselves up, you settle against his shoulder and ask about his feelings. He admits to still being afraid, though he knows that with you he doesn’t have to be. You end up kissing and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Garreth Weasley 🦁

He’s particularly whiny about seeing you flirting with other students. He constantly follows you around, pestering you with stupid questions as you try to work on your potions or practice your charms.

Eventually, you get so fed up with him that you back him into a corner between classes. You take a good few minutes to cuss him out and ask what the fuck his problem is

Poor boy doesn’t know what’s happening to him. He grows red in the face and tries to utter a sensible response, but all that comes out of his mouth is rambling.

His embarrassment, though, is nothing compared to the shock when you suddenly seize hold of the small bulge in his trousers, a wicked grin spreading on your face

He gasps as you work yourself into the fabric, earning a chuckle from you as he instantly grows hard in your hand

The words feel hot to his ear as soft fingers begin to massage his length: Does my Garreth feel insecure? Is my poor boy worried that someone else will steal me?

He braces against the wall, groaning as you pump him mercilessly. You smile and decide to let him in on a little secret: I’m addicted to this hard, beautiful cock of yours. You can have me whenever you want, whenever you like. All you need to promise is to stuff me, to stretch me until I’m swoll with your cum –

He cums hard. You watch him unravel before withdrawing and making a show of cleaning him off your fingers.

You leave him with a lack of breath and a giant mess to clean up. That should be enough punishment for daring to question your loyalty to him.

[enderpearlll]

Yandere! Bob Velseb - My Favourite Employee. PT 1

An AU where you’re employed at Grills & Boys and Bob is your boss. That’s it. These are headcanons and I’m writing a second part with more yandere tendencies so… Yeah. Hope you enjoy.

Gender-Neutral reader, but pet names such as “darling” and “sweet pea” are used.

TW/CW: Yandere content, boss/employee dynamic, etc…

• Having recently been let go from a previous job, it was up to you to quickly find another so you could pay the bills. Luckily, you found a local restaurant that was willing to hire as quickly as you applied. It had a fair pay, and decent hours so you decided that working at Grills & Boys would be beneficial.

• When you went in for the interview, you had to talk to the manager; who was pretty well known around town. You were anxious about the whole thing, seeing as you never had much experience in food service. But your new manager Bob Velseb was awfully understanding of your situation, and was kind enough to hear you out.

• Bob was a joy to be around, and he didn’t make you feel pressured at all! He had a southern accent and a hearty laugh which only added to his charming personality, which immediately knocked down any worries you had. Bob was also oddly attentive to your every move, a weird look in his eyes when you would fidget or talk. It’s like he was staring into your soul…

“Thanks, Mr. Velseb—“ “Of course, don’t worry ‘bout anything! And you can call me Bob, no need for formalities.” “O—Oh, okay… Bob.”

• But you ignored it, and thus began training at Grills & Boys. Your new boss Bob was really involved in the process, (even though he would usually rely on another employee to train the new hires) and would be eager to answer any of your questions with a smile. Any mistakes you made were quickly taken care of or swept under the rug by Bob, who constantly reassured you that it was no big deal.

• You were a server, so you spent most of your time helping customers and taking orders. Most of the time you had decent customers, but of course there was certain people that were straight up assholes. Of course Bob wouldn’t let any mistreatment of you slide, and would immediately come to your aide. He would not let you deal with an angry customer if he had anything to say about it.

• He may be a friendly guy but man, when he’s angry it’s a sight to see. You’ve never been on the receiving end of it but you have witnessed unlucky coworkers or angry customers that tried to insult you deal with it. Of course, when everything is done and said Bob is immediately worrying about your well-being. He reassures that he’s not angry at you at all, and is constantly asking if you’re alright.

“I think he was just having a bad day boss, I don’t think that a permanent ban was necessary—“ “Nuh uh, he deserved it either way darlin’. Never really liked him anyways, hah!” “But he was a regular!” “Don’t worry about it pumpkin, how are you doin’? He didn’t hurt ya did he?”

• You quickly realize that you have a lot of privileges that none of your coworkers have. Aka, favouritism at its finest. Bob is constantly joking around with you, making you your favourite food from the menu for lunch everyday, letting you take longer breaks, acts more lax if you make mistakes, letting you take leftovers home, etc… Did you mention the pet names? He calls everyone else by name but you don’t think he’s said your name once.

• Bob feeds you a lot. Like a lot. “Ah, I think I’m good Boss.” “No worries sweet pea, just take ‘em! Don’t want you going hungry on me, okay?”

• It’s surprising to both you and your coworkers. Because to them, Bob had never really gotten close to anyone besides you. To you, a feeling of guilt is constant when you’re pampered while your coworkers suffer with extra work to do (because Bob gives you a really light workload while your coworkers are left behind doing the work YOU were supposed to do).

• You begin to grow close to Bob, despite the writhing feeling of guilt in your guts. He even asks you to help out in the kitchen, to which your coworkers are floored at. “Woah, he NEVER has anyone help him cook! Are you dating or something—?” “NO! Also, What? I thought that was normal, he asks me to do that almost every week!”

• He loved telling you little facts (that were rather morbid, actually and creeped you out more than they interested you) and would pick up on little habits and quirks you had. Bob was really attentive when it came to you, and from this he’s able to tell what you’re thinking or feeling. You’re amazed at first, it’s like he can read your mind. Bob also liked to tease you a lot, just to fluster you.

• It gets to a point where Bob begins to worry about your safety and well-being outside of work. He begins to call you outside of work, often to check up on you. “Hello, Bob? What’s up? Do I have to come in or—?” “Oh, no! I just wanted to check up on you dear! Did you eat yet?”

• Bob begins to crave your presence more than he should, and as a result you receive more hours. More hours than you could handle. You barely do your actual job and end up hanging out in the kitchen with Bob or run errands for him. It’s like he’s distracting you from doing your own job. You work from opening till closing for most of the week, and it takes a toll on your schedule and your personal life.

• Bob is far too nice to decline, and even if you did call in sick or give away your shifts he’d just keep calling you nonstop. You’re stressed with how much hours you have to work, and you always work opening and closing alone with Bob. He’s nice and really easy to work with, but you rarely see your other coworkers anymore.

“Hello? You okay darlin’?! You ain’t hurt or sick ain’t ya!?” “Bob. It’s eight in the morning.” I know, but you were supposed to be here with me, sweet pea...” “Oh, um… I gave my shift to someone else.” “Oh. Okay. Anyways, you sure that you’re okay—?” “Boss.”

• One night when you and Bob were closing he had offered to walk you home, seeing as it was late and all. You were rather reluctant to do so, seeing as he was your boss and you were perfectly capable of making it home safely. But Bob was persistent, and you couldn’t really decline him when the concern on his face was so convincing. You had a friendly conversation, which was mostly Bob prying into your personal life.

• Now, your boss had been oddly sparing with physical affection. He would often place a hand on your back, wrap an arm around your shoulders, etc… It was odd. Now that it was a chilly autumn night and you were visibly freezing, Bob took initiative to help you by offering his coat.

• It was oversized and was practically a cape, but you took it anyways. But the look on his face when you shrugged it on was almost creepy. You watched his eyes light up, and his whole body began to tremble and shake (you’re pretty sure it’s not because of the cold,) with excitement— Was he drooling?!

• Eventually you arrived at home, waving at Bob with an awkward smile on your face. He seemed to glow with glee as you smiled at him, waving back vigorously. As you took off your jacket and shoes, you felt a pit of dread in your stomach. You feel like you’ve made a grave mistake… Ah shit, you forgot to give Bob’s coat back too. Oh well, you’ll deal with everything tomorrow, you’re probably just worried because of stress… Right?

[heich0e]

tags: p.2 to THIS DRABBLE but can be read alone i think, yakuza!suna/escort!reader series masterlist

It took you a long time to learn how to walk in heels.

It didn't come to you naturally like it does for some, the movement instinctively fluid and swanlike and effortlessly simple. You had to practice at it, starting with shorter heels and smaller steps and a slower pace, before eventually working your way up to any degree of grace.

The process wasn't without its failings, to be sure. Not without stumbling or blisters or icepacks that you had to press to your aching feet at the end of a long day. But you got the hang of it eventually, it just took a bit of time.

It feels like a lifetime ago now as your steps click across the marble floor of the lobby with an easy, steady gait. You listen to the rhythmic noise each meeting of your heels make against the tile and remember the girl you were all those years ago, in much shorter heels, with a whole lot less life under her belt.

She'd never be able to walk in these shoes.

Especially not in this place.

The day had started out like any other, showing up to the club in the evening and getting yourself ready in the little room you'd been assigned to for the day. It was neither particularly luxurious nor notably shabby, the same as the rest of the suites that line the hallway at the back of the members only club at which you're employed—each close to any average hotel room, though perhaps a little more sterile. First you showered in the adjoining washroom, and then you changed into the outfit you'd brought with you for that evening. You were just in the process of styling your hair when a knock at the door interrupted you.

Your eyes flashed to the clock hanging on the wall, a little startled—you still had almost 25 minutes to the start of your scheduled shift, so no one ought to be calling on you so soon.

"Come in," you'd called out, though your voice sounded a bit confused.

Your manager's face appeared around the edge of the door once it creaked open, and your confusion only grew.

Kaito has never been someone you like. He isn't far from your age, from what you can tell, but he's a man who errs perpetually on the wrong side of sleazy—what with his over-gelled hair, his tastelessly flashy suits, and his sharp, insincere smile that always has the infallible effect of setting your own teeth on edge.

That day was no different.

"You're out today," Kaito said as you dipped your body in his direction in greeting. You froze, still hunched in your shallow bow.

"What?" you asked him as your head popped up in shock, your tone cold.

You'd checked your schedule at least three times that day. You were sure you'd been on the schedule to start at 7, and the guy manning the front desk had given you the key to this suite when you checked in, so clearly when you'd arrived half an hour prior he'd seen your name there too.

"Change of plans. You were requested." Kaito shot you a particularly implicative look you didn't like, and you cared for the way his gaze slipped down to the dip of your neckline even less. "You've been so popular lately."

"Who called for me?" You questioned him, clearing your throat pointedly as Kaito's canine caught his lower lip in a subtle bite. His eyes flickered up to meet yours after another moment of appreciating your tits.

"Who do you think?" he asked you as his brows lifted tauntingly.

Heat flared in your face at his words, and at the sudden prospects they implied.

"A driver will pick you up in half an hour," Kaito added dismissively before stepping back towards the door to leave.

"Why can't Toma take me to the hotel?" you asked, referring to the club's driver who usually took you to your calls out.

(You're fond of Toma—a quiet man in middle age who always treats you kindly. Just knowing that he'll be there waiting to pick you up at a scheduled time always feels like a quiet reassurance on nights like these.)

"They've been nice enough to send one of their own tonight, and you're not going to the hotel," Kaito paused to explain.

Not going to the hotel?

"Inarizaki has been incredibly good to us, you know." Kaito's voice suddenly lost the affectation of charm that he usually laid on thick. The mere mention of the name was enough to make goosebumps raise along your skin. Still hesitating in the doorway, Kaito glanced over at you—and for a moment you wondered if the look you were seeing behind his eyes was insistence or worry. "Just... be sure to return the favour, yeah?"

You're not sure where you were dropped off by the driver.

It's not that you find yourself in some remote place on the edge of town—you're in the heart of the city's centre, on a street you've travelled a hundred times—the high rise just isn't one that you've ever frequented before. As you step across the threshold, you can't help but think the sumptuous interiors remind you more of a luxury hotel than a complex of condominiums like the sign says outside.

There had been a note waiting for you in the back of the sleek black car that had picked you up at the club, though all that had been written on the piece of paper was an apartment number and a code—which you could only assume was for a door. It's tucked away in your pocket now, out of sight, and you've committed the code to memory.

As your heels click against the marble while you cross the glistering lobby towards the elevators—the tap, tap, tap counting out your pace metronomically—something squirms in the pit of your stomach.

Up on one of the highest floors of the towering building, your fingers shake slightly as you type in the code to the keypad outside the specified door. You pause and fight to steady them after you begin to press the six digits into their corresponding keys—no one likes a girl who's trembling, after all—and after a few breaths you manage to get it right: the light on the upper right hand corner of the automated lock blinks green three times, and you're able to turn the knob of the door.

It's quiet when you step inside, which surprises you.

You half expected to be walking into a party, or an orgy, or the former that would eventually lead to the latter. But instead, you're met with a perfectly still, and pristinely tidy, living space.

You hesitate for a moment as the front door swings closed behind you, processing the shock, and then you bend down to slip your shoes off of your feet. If he wants you to put them back on later, you'll do so without complaint—but for now you don't want to make any presumptions. Next you shuck your thin coat, folding it over your arm, and you tiptoe across the threshold of the genkan—creeping further into the home as quietly as you can.

Your pulse is thrumming under your skin unpleasantly, the unfamiliarity of the place setting you on edge.

"Hello?" you call out weakly in the condo, but you receive no answer back.

You're alone.

Or you seem to be, at least.

You pause in the middle of the expansive living space, next to a long L-shaped sofa in the centre of the room with a square table in front of it. Along one side of the high ceilinged home is a kitchen so sparkling you can't help but think it's never been used. There's a broad dining table with eight chairs poised before a wall of windows not far from you too, with a remarkable view of the city just beyond the glass. Along the opposite side of the space to the kitchen is a set of stairs that passes more windows, leading to a second level that you can't see much of from your place on the first floor, but can only assume is where the bedrooms are found.

The place is gorgeous, you make no effort to deny it. You just don't know where the hell you are.

You rest your hand on the back of the sofa as you stand beside it, and the leather is buttery-soft under your touch. You run your fingers along it to appreciate it for a moment.

"Oh, you're here."

Your eyes snap up to the top of the stairs, in the direction of where you hear the words originate.

Suna stands at the landing of the second floor with a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips and a towel around his neck. His hair is wet, seemingly fresh from the shower if the droplets of water clinging to his tattooed neck and chest are anything to go by, and he's got one hand ruffling through it with the edge of his white towel. He peers down at you, his usual secretive little smile on his face.

"Hello, Suna-san," you greet him with a polite little bow.

"I wasn't expecting you here so soon," he remarks, letting his towel drop to rest around his neck again and shuffling towards the staircase's railing. He leans over it, peering down at you. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, I only just arrived. Thank you for sending a driver for me," you say quietly, averting your eyes down towards the coat still looped over your arm. You bite the inside of your cheek as you gather up the nerve to say more. "There's really no need for you to go out of your way like that. I'm more than happy to be escorted by the club's—"

Suna clicks his tongue, interrupting you before you can finish your thought. You don't even have time to be frustrated, because his reply is so perplexing. "No can do, unfortunately. This place has to stay just between the two of us."

Your gaze snaps up to him again in surprise, and you catch the way the corner of his mouth curls up more noticeably. Even from the opposite side of the grand room you see the flash of mischief behind his eyes, warm and mirthful. He lets his long arms dangle over the railing, leaning his body further out across it.

"I wouldn't want just anyone knowing where I live, after all."

Your heartbeat is still racing in your throat, but it feels less threatening now—a hum of anticipation singing underneath your skin. You swallow over the knot of your pulse.

"You live here?" you ask him, your voice sounding a little higher than you intend it to—the surprise you feel evident in the tone even in spite of your efforts to conceal it.

He hums, pushing himself back from the railing and descending the staircase at a lazy pace. Once he reaches the last step, and eventually the main floor, that hammering of your pulse kicks up in intensity again.

"What do you think?" he asks, looking around at the home—his home—around you.

You glance around, though you barely register anything you're looking at, too overwhelmed to take anything in. You clear your throat a little before replying, "It's very nice."

Suna tilts his head to the side, a look of quiet confusion on his face as he considers you. He approaches you slowly, his eyes fixed firmly on you all the while.

"You're nervous," he remarks.

He reaches up, his fingertips brushing against the skin of your shoulder—not dissimilarly to the way you'd been appreciating the smooth leather of his sofa a few moments prior. You shiver at the gentle touch.

"I'm not nervous," you say, a lie if you've ever told one. But you shouldn't be nervous. You've been doing this job for too long to get so rattled over a simple change of scenery.

But the change of scenery isn't simple. Nothing about Suna Rintarou is, after all.

It's not lost on you just who the man you stand before is. Just what he does that affords him such a beautiful home. Why it's imperative that the address be kept secret.

Suna Rintarou is a dangerous man, even as he stands at your side running his fingertips along the ridge of your clavicle with the ends of his hair still dripping wet from the shower and hanging in his deceptively sweet eyes.

But it's not his profession that you fear might bring you harm, it's the little smile that shows his teeth which spreads across his face when he catches how you shiver under his touch, and the way it makes your heart knock against your ribs when you see it that scares you more than anything.

"Okay, you're not nervous," he says quietly, but there's a knowing, placating lilt in his low voice. He reaches up and takes your coat from your arms, laying it over the back of the sofa. Next, he catches your wrists in his large hands, his touch slipping slowly along your arms until he uses his hands to guide them up around his neck. You let him move you how he wants to—obliging, just as you were trained to be—and in one easy movement he wraps an arm behind you and hitches you up to his waist.

You cling to him tightly, your lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from his own. The hem of your dress has crept up in the movement, now rucked up around your hips like a belt. You can feel the heat of Suna's skin radiating through the thin lace of your panties where your core is pressed against the firm plane of his lower abdomen, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat when the sensation registers.

Suna groans a little at the soft sound you let out, pulling you even more firmly against him as his mouth descends upon your throat. The hand he's not using to support your weight cradles the crown of your head, tipping it back slightly so your neck is bared to him more openly. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses right over the place when your pulse is beating most violently.

"I planned to give you a tour," he murmurs into your skin, and your fingers tangle in his hair as you feel the brush of his teeth against the sensitive little spot where your throat slopes down into your shoulder. He pulls away, staring up at you with eyes heavy-lidded with desire. "I think it's gonna have to wait."

Suna carries you over to the massive dining room table on the other side of the room, but keeps his mouth pressed to yours all the while, his tongue sliding noisily against your own. Your head is spinning so terribly as you try to match his pace that you hardly even realize what's happening before he lays you down flat against the cool marble tabletop, and you hiss as the stone meets your heat-flooded skin.

Suna pulls away and stares down at you from above, your legs still wrapped around his waist. The weight of his gaze is overwhelming, and you turn your face away as you fight to catch the breath that evades you. The cityscape lit beyond the glass makes you pause for a moment, even prettier from up close than it was on the other side of the room. Suna's hands slip up your thighs, inching towards the delicate waistband of your underwear.

"This view is nice," you comment breathily, and in the faint reflection that you can make out in the window's pane you see Suna glance in its direction only briefly.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, before taking your chin in his hand and tipping your face back up in his direction to kiss you again. You whimper against his lips as you feel his fingertips dip beneath the lace between your legs, and he pulls away from your mouth only far enough so he can mutter a final, rasping "I've seen better."

[headkiss]

Hello! For a Christmas prompt, I was thinking maybe secret Santa with Eddie (and the hellfire gang) or first Christmas gift with Eddie who employs the assistance of Dustin to figure out how to make it the most perfect gift ever?

hiiii i went for the second one and i hope u like it <333 | 0.6k words, fluff and fem!reader

“What do I get her?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know. You’re the one dating her,” Dustin’s quick to reply.

Eddie should know by now that asking for Dustin’s help comes with his attitude and sarcasm. He should also, in theory, know what to get his girlfriend for Christmas but here he is.

“Obviously, but it’s our first Christmas together,” he picks at the hem of his three quarter sleeves. “It has to be good, you know?”

“How about some jewelry? Girls like that,” Dustin shrugs.

“Did you get Suzie jewelry?”

“No, because Suzie is not like other girls. Duh.”

“I don’t even know why I try with you,” Eddie shakes his head.

It’s later that night when the idea comes to him. You’re not someone who needs a gift, you’ve told him multiple times he doesn’t have to get you anything. What kind of shit is that? Of course he’s gonna get you something.

He was sitting on the couch in the trailer, mindless TV playing, fiddling with his guitar pick necklace when he thought about it.

You fiddle with that necklace of his, too. When you’re cuddling, your head on his chest or his shoulder. It’s a habit you share, and he’s noticed that you don’t have a necklace on usually. That maybe you’d like one, too.

He gets up and gets to work. Finds an empty chain in his collection of jewelry, grabs one of his many picks. He nicks his finger cutting the hole into it, but he doesn’t mind.

Then, because he’s Eddie, he has to include music as a gift, too. He makes you a mixtape. Songs that remind him of you, that you have memories of. Cheesy shit that he’d never hear the end of from Dustin or Steve.

It was all worth it to see your reaction when he gave it to you.

You’re sitting on his bed across from him when he hands you the box.

“Eddie, I told you not to get me anything!” Though your wide smile tells him this was definitely the right move.

“Just open it, would you?”

“Okay, okay.”

You rip the wrapping paper away carefully, as if you wanted to preserve his wrapping job even though it was messy and had much more tape than necessary. You see the mixtape first, reading every song title he scrawled onto it.

“It’s perfect,” you say and you mean it.

Even just months into your relationship, you’re sure that there’s nobody better for you than Eddie. He’s sweet, always seems to be able to make you smile or laugh, and he’s romantic even if he keeps it hidden. It’s clear in the way he holds you, soft and secure. In the way he looks at you.

“There’s more,” he points to the necklace that had fallen to the bed.

You pick it up, look at it and then at him. You didn’t think he’d notice how often you fiddled with the one he wears. Then again, he seems to notice a lot of things.

“Eddie.”

“You like it?”

“Love it. So much.” You hold it out for him to grab, “will you put it on for me?”

“‘Course.”

He moves to stand behind where you sit on the bed, sweeps your hair over your shoulder for you to hold out of the way. His fingertips graze your skin as he places it around your neck, fighting with the clasp a bit before getting it.

He leans down to kiss the side of your neck before pulling back. You turn to face him, your smile even bigger than before, if that was possible.

“Thank you so much, Eddie.”

“Looks good on you,” he taps the pick that now rests on your chest. “My girl.”

You reach up and pull him down by the back of his neck for a kiss. A thank you, an appreciation, sticky sweet.

You pull away before either of you get carried away, “my turn.”

Eddie grabs the wrapped box you give him, much neater than his was. He thinks his favorite gift ever is you, but the sketchbook and drawing supplies you give him are perfect, too.

[unyandere]

Yandere clown x reader who did war crimes

Tw: war crimes, yanderish behaviour, misunderstandings (in the somehow good way), detailed description of a crime.

Yandere clown Who was having a bit of a bad day, his performance that morning was worse than usual and his tricks didn’t seem to amuse the public anymore, he was still the star of the circus, but he was already thinking of leaving the circus, but then he saw you with the circus’s director, talking about getting a job in the circus, possibly as an acrobat or as a mage since you knew lots of “Amazing” tricks.

It was love at first sight, your beautiful hair, your perfect angelic face and that voice of yours… it seemed sooo perfect.

The director said that he’s have to think about that for a day or two and asked you to come back on the last day the circus was in town to get your answer.

As soon as you got out the Yandere clown approached the director and asked him to make you join.

The director was a bit hesitant at first, saying something about you being known for your violence and unpredictability, but gave in after the clown threatened to leave the circus if the director didn’t make you join. To be fair he was willing to do something much worse if the director said no…

So … you got the job! You were an acrobat that performed just after the clown’s performance, sometimes even performing with him during his act.

You two worked really well together creating amusing performances for the public.

After most shows you two went out eating some food.

“So what did you use to do before becoming a clown?” You asked one time while eating lunch, spending time with the clown wasn’t bad, he seemed like a pretty cool and trustworthy guy and while you didn’t really care about his private life you liked to engage in conversations with him.

“Accountant, and you?” The clown on the other hand was really curious about your past, he still remembered what the director said before employing you.

“Ah! I did all kinds of things, but I never got a real job!” You were still a bit uncertain if the clown could be trusted with those info.

“Like what?” He asked smirking, expecting something about gangs or maybe drugs.

“I did kill a couple of guys, a former boss of a cartel, a couple of gangs and some things like that,…” you said with non-chalance.

The clown thought you were joking, there was no way someone as cute as you could ever harm someone, you looked so weak and defenceless!

“Oh, really? You strangled him with your little itty-bitty arms?” He asked sarcastically.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the sarcasm.

“Oh no, that would have been inefficient, I used some nightshade berries, did you know that those berries contain lots of atropine? Just a couple of them can kill a grown man in a matter of minutes, and while it can be traced most people mistake nightshade poisoning with other types of poisons and give useless antidotes giving time to the poison to kill the victim. And if you mix the berries in a box full of blue berries an unsuspecting individual could mistakenly eat even more than a couple of them!” You explained.

Now, to say that the clown was a bit shocked was an understatement: he didn’t know you were this good at making jokes! He almost believed you killed a guy with poison, but you were so harmless and innocent, you were obviously joking!

“I see~ I didn’t know you were so good at making jokes!” He said winking at you.

You mistook his winking as a way of telling you he’d keep the secret. So you decided to tell him a bit more about your past.

“You know those weren’t the only thing I did” you said looking at him.

“Oh, really?” He said expecting another joke.

“Yeah, you know the so called Ghost massacre? I was the one behind it!” You said waiting for his reaction.

The clown laughed.

“You mean the one in which all those people were crucified in a square?” He asked, looking at you with a smile.

You both had a twisted humor, he thought, it was fate that made you two meet.

“Yeah, do you know how difficult it is to kill so many people, to build some good crosses, put them in a square without anyone noticing and bringing the people on the damn crosses?! My whole body hurt so bad for two weeks!” You commented remembering the pain you felt at that time, you had to come up with a good excuse, but your doctor pretty much believed everything you said.

“Oh my! Then next time I’ll help you carry your crosses! How does it sound?” Jest the clown, taking your last joke as the proof that you were made for him, who else but his soulmate could have such a similar humor to his!

On the other hand you took his joke as a promise.

You thought he said that he’d help you with your crimes and you were sooo thrilled at the idea.

Your hands missed the feeling of putting poison in a cup to get your victims.

And so your strange relationship started.

A clown convinced of being with someone as funny as him and a (probably) war criminal convinced of having a loyal accomplice.

[pholla-jm]

Pretty Boy

IMAGINE: PRETTY BOY~ SANJI X F!READER GENRE: FLUFF WARNINGS: NONE ************************

Sanji flirts with any woman with a pair of legs, and you were definitely no exception. His straightforward techniques kind of made you scared, and shy away a little. Especially since his techniques were very different from yours. He was upfront about it, straight forward. 

You on the hand were very subtle with it. Dropping hints here and there. Making them question what just happened and let them ponder about you. You were all about personal space, eye contact, and body language. You weren’t one for words. 

For personal space, you didn’t get too much in his personal space, but just enough to make him freeze up. For example, when you were in the kitchen grabbing a drink or a small drink. Sanji usually tries to stop you from getting it, claiming that you shouldn’t have to do any physical labor while you are around. 

“It’s okay,” you softly say, reaching your arm around him, not really moving from your spot, “I’m a big girl. I can do it myself.” Sanji swears his heart stops at hearing your words. You were close to him, but not close enough. He could smell the faint trace of your perfume, and all he wants to do is pull you in closer to feel your warmth and smell more of your lotion/perfume. However, he holds himself back every single time. He swears he has the willpower of a god for not craving into his desires. 

For eye contact, you like to use something called the ‘lash method’. Every once in a while, when Sanji makes eye contact, you initiate the lash method. 

Sanji was clearing up the kitchen. Beside him, you were the last one in the room. 

“I can get that out of the way for you.” He says, offering to grab your now finished plate. You look up at him to see that he was holding a hand out. The light behind him made him almost ethereal. You look slightly back down at the empty plate, then back at him. But you didn’t move your head up. Instead, you looked back at him through your lashes. 

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” You say and his heart beats about ten times faster. 

He would serve you forever, just to have you look at him like that again. 

Body language is very important to you. When you can understand how to read a person, it is very easy to understand them. So you employ this language as well. Positive things that you did around Sanji included, constantly smiling, leaning in slightly, mirroring his actions, and tilting your head slightly while he was talking to you. 

Sanji definitely noticed this body language from you. And he enjoyed it very much. Especially when you leaned in slightly into his touch. 

But one night, you decide to be bold. Really get his heart beating and his brain to stop working. 

One night you offer to help Sanji with the dishes after a rather large dinner. So there were a lot of dishes. 

“Are you sure you want to wash the dishes, mi amor? I wouldn’t want your hands to get pruny.” 

You turn around, to see that Sanji was right behind you. So you had to tilt your head up slightly to look at him. He had a small pout on his lips, the mere idea of you doing physical labor bothering him. But he knew if he told you, you would only fight back. And he definitely didn’t want to do that. 

You smile up at him. The same smile that causes butterflies to swarm his stomach. 

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. That’s what gloves are for. I’ll be fine.” 

Sanji swears his brain stops working. Only one word repeating in his head. 

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty. 

Once you see his reaction, you couldn’t help but giggle a little before turning back around to head to the sink. 

“You think I’m pretty?” He finally speaks up. 

“Of course,” you say, turning your head slightly with a small smile on your face, “you are my pretty boy afterall.” 

His heart skips multiple beats at your words. He put a hand on his chest, trying to calm down his heart. “You’re going to be the death of me…” He mutters. 

Of course you hear his words and laugh.

[obsidiancreates]

The Smartest Dumb Person She's Ever Met (Shules Shawn Genius Reveal Fic)

“Shawn, this is ridiculous.” Even as she says it, Jules knows her smile completely undercuts her protests as Shawn sets out more and more and more plates of food.

“Babe, I told you, we are finding our new go-to takeout spot tonight,” Shawn insists. “We’ll just dump all the leftovers on Gus! He’ll love it, maybe even more than he loves watching debates about rash cream side-effects.”

“I don’t think he loves watching those, Shawn.”

“Then why does he spend hours on it every few months?”

“Well, maybe, because he has a day job. We’re not all so lucky to be employed by spirits and whims,” Jules teases lightheartedly as Shawn sits down and starts putting together a sampler plate. “Speaking of which, we didn’t talk about what I should expect from living with a psychic.”

“Aside from constant swooning and daily hair updates?”

“Aside from those.”

“Well, Jules, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what to expect, because I don’t know either.” Shawn hands her the plate, and sniffs. “Truth be told, this is uh… this is the first time I’ve moved in with somebody.”

Jules smiles softer. “Mine too. But I just mean… how often do you have visions outside of cases? And what about your dreams, are those affected?”

“No, not as far as I know- but I have been told I talk in my sleep.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Because you know me.” He kisses her before dishing up his own plate. “But uh, yeah, no psychic vision dreams for the most part.. … Well, sometimes, but not usually. And I can control the visions at home, don’t even worry another second about it.”

“Really? Because I thought you were completely beholden to them at all times.”

“Ehhhh… more or less.”

“Shawn.”

“Alright, so maybe a minor one here and there- but I’ll save the big stuff for the cases. No dramatic psych-outs in the living room.”

“Thank you.” Jules takes a bite of one of the various dishes on her plate, and coughs. “Oh my god, they used so much black pepper!”

“Let me try- hck! Oh my- ekch! That is just stupid, how much there is-”

“Get some water-”

“On it, on it, holy-”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn doesn’t have psychic visions or dreams, just like he promised.

But he has something else going on.

Jules starts noticing it after the first few days of lovey-dovey, disgustingly happy mushiness finally starts to settle into domesticity. She sits at the table and Shawn has a big stack of toaster waffles already drenched in syrup ready for both of them, even though he’s not a natural early riser, because it’s a day they both have off and it’s more Brunch than Lunch, and Shawn… isn’t eating.

His head is tilted, his eyes narrowed, and that usually means he’s having a vision. But this morning he’s just barely reading the newspaper- Jules is sure he’s not actually reading it, his eyes aren’t moving right for that, in fact they’re barely moving at all. They’re narrows and still, taking the paper in as one whole picture, probably absorbing nothing.

And she starts to realize he gets that look a lot, with no visions following them. He gets it when the delivery guy drops off their food, he gets it when the news comes on, he gets it when Lassiter comes over to drop off something Jules left in his car during a stakeout, and again and again and again.

And then it just goes away, and he doesn’t say anything. And she assumes, well, it’s a minor vision. He has them a lot more often than she had previously thought, clearly. Small, apparently unimportant visions that he just brushes off.

And then he tells her that they should stop getting takeout from the place two blocks away because the delivery guy is about to quit from being overworked. There’s no fanfare, no hand to his head, no sharp inhale- just an offhand statement that slips out right after he closes the front door.

It’s not the first time she’s heard him make a random prediction, not even close. But something about the understated nature of it makes her pause, and after a second she asks, “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve seen the state of that car they have him driving, it's one rough road away from falling to pieces. Plus his shoes are completely tattered, and his jeans, basically everything that’s not given to him as part of the uniform, but they’re also all stiff still- he just bought them and they’re already wrecked because of how many deliveries he’s making. That’d piss anyone off enough to quit, especially at his age.”

She hadn’t noticed that- at least, not all of it. She knew the car was a piece of junk, and the clothes were tattered, but thinking back she sees what Shawn means by them still looking stiff and out-of-the-box new. And somehow, somehow, she feels like if she points out that she hadn’t caught onto all of that herself, something… big, would just… slip away.

“That’s a shame, I like him,” is all she says instead. “He has a nice smile.”

“He just got his braces off, he’d probably literally skip for joy if he heard you say that,” Shawn says, handing over her food. Again, no fanfare, no theatrics- he just says it, unthinkingly, almost distracted as he digs into his honey cashew shrimp and chicken. 

It’s different. 

It has to be a vision, but it’s different. 

And again, Jules gets a feeling that pointing that out would break… something, about this moment. So she makes a note, and tucks it away in her mind, and hopes she’s able to remember to follow up later.

“Good for him.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn talks in his sleep most nights, as it turns out. 

It’s not very comprehensible majority of the time- usually all she can make out, when she’s even awake to hear it, is Shawn mumbling something to or about Gus. At first it’s a little offensive, frankly, that her boyfriend dreams about his best friend constantly and she never hears her own name, but it quickly becomes just… normal. Like most of Shawn and Gus’s codependency. Some days she feels like she’s dating both of them, just a little bit. It bothers her less than it probably should, certainly less than she would expect if she was an outside observer. Gus was Shawn’s original rock, his strongest pillar, his tightest tether, and she knew she’d never truly be able to match that even before she and Shawn got together. 

She should probably ask Gus about some of Shawn’s more daily psychic dealings, actually- he’s known Shawn for their whole loves, so he must have lots of advice for her about how to deal with it. And how to deal with the rest of Shawn’s… quirks. Which she loves about him, she truly does, as messy and intrusive as some of those quirks are in their lives. Psychic visions, murder scene dates, fearing that Shawn’s going to get himself killed with his daily recklessness. She had kissed him on that Canadian overlook expecting all of it, thinking she had finally come to learn everything she needed to learn about him.

And then, all those months and years later, she’s laying in bed unable to sleep and reading a book to try and calm down when Shawn mumbles out something shockingly understandable about the case they’re both working.

She freezes, as though her silent eye movements while reading could somehow disturb the moment.

“Doesn’ ma’ s’nse,” Shawn mumbles in his sleep. “Th’ t’re tr’cks…”

Jules slowly lowers her book.

Shawn rolls over, facing her now, still fast asleep, lightly snoring. Jules watches him like a deer caught in headlights.

“T’res don’ ma’ch,” Shawn mumbles out. “Tr’d too w’de…” His brow pinches, his lips pursing a little. There’s a long beat of silence.

Jules holds her breath. Like with the delivery boy, something about this moment just feels… big. Important.

Shawn’s face smooths out. “M’gn’ts.”

Magnets. 

Jules thinks about the case that they’ve been working together all week, a hit-and-run. They’ve got one witness who got a whole license plate number, they’ve got the plate number matching a car of that exact description, and the only problem is they’ve also got  a suspect who vehemently denies ever driving that route in his entire life. And like always when things seem straightforward, Shawn had declared that he wasn’t convinced they had the right guy. 

But that doesn’t help her figure out what magnets have to do with anything. After a moment she doesn’t have to figure it out on her own, because Shawn makes a soft noise of sleep-laden realization.

“Th’ s’x an’ th’ n’ne.” His hand twitches, roughly tracing out the numbers on the sheets. “Fl’p ‘em…”

Magnets. 

License plate number magnets. Moveable, alterable plate numbers.

“S’me car m’ke, s’me num’er, diff’ren’ t’re.” There’s a note of satisfaction, even in the sleep-slurred mess that is Shawn’s voice. He smiles a little in his sleep, and moments later… he’s snoring.

Jules sits, book almost falling out of her nonexistent grip, stunned into silence.

Shawn just cracked the case. In his sleep. With logic and authentic detective deduction. 

… But that’s not possible.

Shawn doesn’t work like that. He doesn’t pay attention to clues, reason out possibilities, connect dots. He receives visions, he relays them, he makes connections with the help of his abilities. And maybe she’s seen some times that contradict tha belief, but- but it’s just not how he works. She would know.

… Maybe he does get psychic dreams. Maybe he just doesn’t know he gets them? But there was a thought process there, and a natural one for it to come to him so easily in sleep. She’d heard every step of the process, followed him on each conclusion.

… But the tire treads not matching? Jules relaxes, closing her book and turning off the lamp. That had to be psychic. No-one else noticed or said anything about tire treads through the investigation. How would he even pick out and remember that detail, anyway, without spiritual guidance? He’d seen only photos of the crime scene, and not great ones at that- darn trainees.

… Psychic dreams. Has to be.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jules, look at that.” Shawn smiles and points at the ducks in the pond they’re having a picnic by. “There’s a bunch of baby ducks over there.”

Jules gasps and looks over eagerly, but quickly frowns. “Where?”

“Right there, in those tall hot-dog looking things.”

“Um, the reeds?”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

Jules squints, searching for signs of ducklings. “Where are you seeing them?”

“Right there, look.” Shawn leans and points harder , like that will help somehow. “You can totally see the hotdogs moving.”

“I think that’s just the wind.”

“No, look, the moms are circling the hot dogs and luring the feeders over to them.”

“What?” Jules looks at the edges of the pond now, and realizes that, yes, the ducks are luring the people with the food towards the reeds- and finally, the ducklings swim out into view.

“Told ya.” Shawn takes a bite of an eclair. 

“How did you even see that movement from here?” Jules looks back at Shawn in awe. 

“You kidding? They were totally moving all over.”

“But it looked like the wind.”

“The wind is blowing the total opposite direction. Look, you can see it in the ripples.”

“Huh.” Jules looks back at the pond. “That’s really impressive, Shawn. I had no idea your eyesight was that good.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been asked to be studied by science for my eyesight, but they said it would drain all the color out of them, and then of course I’d have to become a supervillain.”

“Or a mysterious warning corpse in the basement of a haunted mansion.”

“Neither of which I felt up for.”

“Right.” Jules giggles, and looks back at the pond. 

She has no idea how he noticed that. Not unless it was psychic, somehow. And further, she has no idea why he’s acting like she should be able to notice it, too. And, like before with the delivery boy, it’s not the first time he’s done this. But it’s the first time it feels…

Like something she needs to pay attention to.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn?” Jules sets down the bowl of brownie batter when she realizes he’s stopped licking the spoon and is staring, eyes glazed, at the wall. It’s probably just a vision. She should just consider it a vision. There’s no real reason to think it’s not.

“Shawn,” she tries again, shaking his arm slightly. He startles, just a bit, and then clears his throat and puts the licked-”clean” spoon down on the counter. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” His eyes flick back to the wall. “... Jules, uh, does the wall look…” He pouts a little, shrugging. “Suspicious, to you?”

“Suspicious?” She looks at the same spot. “It’s… a wall.”

“Yeah… but there’s something a little off, isn’t there?” Shawn walks over to it, and taps his knuckles against the plaster. “... Sounds off, actually. Come here, listen.”

She obliges, leaning in close. Shawn taps one spot on the wall, and then the spot he said sounded strange.

“... What am I supposed to be hearing, Shawn?”

“It’s more hollow over here.” Shawn taps the first spot, and then taps the second. “Right here, it sounds more uh… almost like wet cardboard.”

She listens again. “Okay… I think I hear it now. But you didn’t hear the wall from over at the counter, did you? Was it a vision?”

“There’s a ring around this spot,” Shawn mumbles, like he didn’t hear her. He smacks his lips, and then jerks away from the wall as the focus suddenly drops away into his usual energy. “Man, we’ve got a leak in the walls! I knew that landlord was lying when he said it was all up to code.”

“A leak? Shawn, we tapped the wall a little bit, that doesn’t really tell us anything.”

“Yeah, maybe… but I’m calling someone, tomorrow, just- remind me in the morning.” His eyebrows twitch up, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he realizes something. “If I play this card right I might be able to knock a bit off our rent.”

“Shawn, you are not blackmailing our landlord over a leak that might not even exist.”

“I’m not! Not yet! Just planning to, possibly. So we can have more money for date nights!”

“It’s illegal.”

“Alright, alright. …How illegal, exactly?”

“Shawn.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s trickery. It’s lying. It’s wrong.

But she had been sitting at her desk, reviewing the latest round of new Detective’s Exam scores, when she’d remembered Shawn saying years ago that he had taken the exam when he was 15, and got 100.

A perfect score.

And maybe that meant very little to her once, when Shawn was just the strange somewhat charming guy who came into her life only on occasion to make a case more interesting. But now, dating Shawn and seriously considering spending the rest of her life with him, now as soon as she had recalled that tidbit it began to haunt her. Every time she watched Shawn around the house, and even in the station. It echoed in her head while she watched him look over reports, scan crime scenes, even while he was just watching movies and predicting things about their endings. 

I got 100. … Why? What did you guys get?

He hadn’t even been bragging. 

So now she sits on the couch, a thick binder in front of her, guilt twisting in her stomach at what she’s about to do. 

She’s about to lie to her boyfriend, with the full intent of tricking him into the taking the exam again, just to see.

When he walks into the house, slightly out of breath and carrying something that looks suspiciously like the pineapple statue put into evidence during the last case, he startles upon seeing her and hides the statue behind his back. But his excuse dies in his gaping mouth when he sees how stressed she looks.

“Babe? Everything okay?” He sets the statue- it’s definitely the same one put into evidence- aside as he moves to sit next to her.

“Fine,” she sighs. “Just- Chief Vick asked me to help review the Detective’s Exam after someone complained there were errors in it.”

“Hmm. That person should either pass immediately, or be barred from detective status forever.”

She giggles softly. “That’s a little extreme. It’s just, this is going to take forever, and I was hoping to go out today and finally try that spa that opened up.”

“Well you totally should!” Shawn looks at the binder. “Just, leave it for another time, it can’t be that pressing. After all, Santa Barbara already has it’s best detective.”

She rolls her eyes fondly.

“And, she just so happens to be dating an equally awesome but more brunette psychic detective.” He kisses her on the cheek. “So she should go out and treat herself while her awesome boyfriend tries to divine if there’s actually a mistake.”

“Oh, the spirits know that kind of thing?”

“Some of them, some of them.”

“Well, let them know I’ll still have to check their work, so they better show it.” She gives him a kiss back and stands. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The guilt gnaws at her as she drives to the spa, as she picks her treatment, as she gets her facial and her massage and her body scrub. She knows she had to- she knows Shawn well enough to know he’d never retake the exam if she just asked him outright. He’d be suspicious why she was asking him to, and she’s not sure she can tell him without making him think she’s doubting him.

She’s not. He is psychic. 

But he might also be more.

And if he is, he’s hiding it- maybe not as much as he did when she would only see him at the station, or planned dates, but he’s still hiding it. She sees him seeing things, noticing details, making connections, and when he does he never seems to…

She’s not sure. She just knows that he treats these moments like they’re something a normal person can do when they can’t, or like they aren’t happening at all, or even…

Even like they’re psychic.

She takes the long way home, breathing deeply the whole time. Shawn lies to her every day- she’s not blind to that. Usually about a case, usually because he’s more than likely doing something she could get reprimanded for just knowing about. She doesn’t like it, but even though he lies he doesn’t trick her, at least as far as she knows. 

When she gets home, Shawn isn’t there. She finds a note on the coffee table, stuck to the binder. Gus called, be back soon, XOXO.

She smiles, takes a deep breath, and opens the binder.

There’s mostly Doodles. His artistic skill on display ranges from shockingly masterful to shockingly kindergarten-like, some doodles belonging in a gallery and some not even qualifying for the fridge under a free pizza place magnet. Aliens, dinosaurs, scenes from movies, random invention ideas…

No answers, at first, which disappoints her. Until she notices that one doodle seems to coordinate to one of the questions, and it’s like a Rosetta Stone.

Not all, but many of the doodles seem to relate to the answer to a question in some way, and where there’s not doodles there’s not-answers that show knowledge of the actual answer. There’s snark and quips and jokes that contain answers, and every once and a while she even finds something straightforward smushed among the almost deflective content of the pages.

Deflective.

He’s deflecting that he knows the answers. The more she flips through, the more she sees it. Shawn went out of his way to answer without answering, to show his knowledge without admitting he has it. He couldn’t just not answer, and he couldn’t just pretend not to know- but he couldn’t outright show it either.

“Oh my god.” Jules closes the binder and puts her face in her hands. “Of course. Henry.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jules finds Henry’s detective’s exam score a week later. It’s high- not perfect, but high. She finds Shawn’s score to compare. Like he’d said. It was perfect.

She goes digging through the file archives on her lunch break, and finds the actual exam itself- someone preserved it, because a fifteen year old got 100.

It’s not like the one Shawn did in their living room.

It’s still got doodles, tangents, signs of distractibility- but the answers are much more plain. Forthright. It reads like an actual potential detective, taking the exam seriously, trying his best.

And she’s pretty sure she knows who gave Shawn that exam.

Of course, of course. His dad was a cop, a revered one, of course Henry taught Shawn some skills- more than some! How did that never occur to her? It feels silly now, to think Shawn wouldn’t have at the very least picked up a few tricks of the trade, even if Henry hadn’t taught Shawn outright.

She puts the file back, smiling and satisfied with knowing she was right and Shawn does have genuine, non-psychic detective skills like she’d suspected.

… The smile fades when she starts to wonder why he pretends he doesn’t.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Carlton, can I ask you about something?”

Lassiter looks up from his paperwork and sets his pen aside. “Anything to save me from the banality of filling another report out.”

“You… met Shawn’s mom, right?”

Lassiter’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes going a little wide. “This isn’t anything about you and Spencer’s… relationship progress, is it?”

“What? … Oh, god, no! No, I’m not looking to propose or anything.”

He sags (well, relatively- Lassiter never truly sags or loosens up) with relief. “In that case, yes, she did my last psych eval.”

“Right. And you-you talked with her a lot?”

“As much as was required by the situation.”

“Was she… like Shawn, at all? It’s just that, well, even though she’s been in town three times now, I’ve never actually talked with her beyond some passing comments.” She’s barely involved with Shawn’s life- if Jules didn’t know how absent Madaline is from her son’s existence prior to dating, she’d have assumed Shawn’s mom hated her by how little they’ve actually interacted.

Lassiter thinks for a moment, looking out into the bullpen, and then looks down and picks his pen back up. “Not really, no. Closest she came was recognizing the Clint Eastwood movies I was telling her stories from. She was generally professional, somewhat soft-spoken, and somehow got me to open up without even half of the pressing nature of her son.”

Jules nods. “Did she… mention Shawn at all?”

“Only at the end, after I shared my innermost thoughts. … You know, I take it back. That was the most Spencer -like thing she did during our sessions.”

“Huh.” Jules looks down at her own paperwork. That answers nothing about why Shawn is pretending he isn’t a good detective. It can’t be his dad, Henry would be much softer and more proud if Shawn showed off that skillset, surely. Madaline seemed like a good lead…

“She was weird, though. Outside of the relation to Spencer. She didn’t even record our sessions, she claimed to have… dammit.” Lassiter frowns as he tries to remember. “Something about being able to remember everything she hears with almost perfect accuracy.”

Jules’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I thought she was bullcrapping, but I got ahold of the file and didn’t actually find any errors in the quotes she included- she must’ve tapped the room or something.”

“Carlton, go back. Perfect memory? Shawn’s mom?”

“See, I believed her about it until I learned that. With Henry’s recall, and a mom with perfect memory for sounds, there’s no way Spencer should be as airheaded as he is. Not unless his brain short-circuited from overwhelming competency it just wasn’t built for.”

“Oh my god.” Jules puts her face in her hands. “Carlton, what if that’s exactly what it is?”

“What? What are you on about?”

“Nothing, just- it’s nothing.” She fixes her ponytail and then stands up. “I’m taking my lunch break, I’ll bring you back a coffee.”

“Uh, and a danish.”

“And a danish.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Henry swings the door open with a readied scowl, but it drops away when he sees it’s Jules standing on his porch. “Oh, Detective O’Hara.”

“I’m here on a personal matter, actually.” Jules smiles a bit. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure, sure, come on in.” Henry steps aside. “I actually just grilled up a catch from this morning, if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, that sounds great.”

Minutes later they’re both sitting at the table, Jules sees a little carving in the top of the old piece of furniture, a shaky scratching of Shawn and Gus Club right by her elbow. It makes her smile.

“So, ah, what is this about?” Henry gestures at her with his fork. “Shawn’s treating you right, isn’t he?”

“We’re great,” she assures. “I just wanted to ask a few questions about Shawn’s gift.”

Henry leans his head to the side, frowning. “I uh, can’t really help you there, Juliet.”

“Not the psychic one.”

Henry pauses, his frown deepening. He looks up at her with something… unreadable, in his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“I’m not doubting him,” Jules rushes to reassure, and it does seem to loosen something in Henry’s twisted expression, but not by much. “I just… I’ve always known Shawn was a little smarter than he let on, you know? But I’ve had reason to believe, since we moved in together, that it’s much more extreme of a mask than I thought.”

Henry puts his fork down entirely. “What’d he do?”

“Just… little things, that I used to think were maybe minor visions or feelings, but sometimes… sometimes he just says things that blow my mind. He notices way more little details than he used to let on, for example, and then today Carlton mentioned that his mom has an um…” She take sout her phone to look it up again.

“Eidetic tonal memory,” Henry fills in before she can even begin typing. “She does. I have a visual one.”

Jules looks at him, quickly tucking her phone away. “And then Carlton said that maybe Shawn struggled with handling that- well, he didn’t say it in those exact words-”

“Shawn does not struggle with his memory, except for when he wants to.” Henry’s mouth is puckered, like he’s eating a lemon dipped in sour dust. “You’re saying you think he’s faking visions.”

“Not all of them.” That’s just not possible, with everything he figures out. “But some of them, and I just- I just can’t figure out why he would fake them for some of the things he does. I mean, the other night he talked in his sleep and basically walked me through his process step-by step by accident, and then the next day he came into the station and pretended it just came to him when he reexamined the scene photos.”

“Shawn has always had an overenthusiasm for drama,” Henry starts, speaking quickly and with heavy exasperation. “He likes things to be public and dramatic as much as possible, especially when it’s an embarrassment to himself and to me.”

“That’s a little harsh, I think.”

“Trust me, it isn’t. Shawn has never wanted to embrace his full potential, Juliet- yes, he has both a visual and tonal eidetic memory, and on top of that I trained him to be a detective for his entire life. I knew, I knew he had the ability to be the best detective this department has ever seen, if he just-!” Henry stops himself and rubs one hand over his head. “But he likes living in a fantasy more. He likes slacking off, and refusing to apply himself, and avoiding responsibility, so he… indulged his psychicness, over his actual detective skills.”

“... I’m not sure he has,” Jules says carefully, watching for Henry’s reaction with a readiness to run. 

Henry laughs a little, bitterly, and looks up. “He’s not a real detective, Juliet. No matter how much I want him to be, or how much he insists he is.”

“Just because he’s not on the force, it doesn’t mean he’s not a detective.” 

“It might as well.”

“... You should be proud of your son, Henry. He’s helped solved a lot of cases we’d have had to let go cold without him.”

“I am proud.” He says it quickly, defensively- but not inauthentically. It occurs to Jules that this is the first time she’s heard Henry declade Pride in Shawn, in all seven years she’s known them both. “I am. Just not of his methods.”

“... Well, um, thank you, for the food, and-and the information.” Jules stands up. She’s starting to form a new theory about why Shawn hides his skills. “Do me a favor and, don’t tell Shawn about this? I just don’t want him to feel weird that I’m, well… investigating him.”

Henry shrugs and pretends to zip his mouth and throw away the key.

“Thanks.” She gives him a smile that has to be forced out, and leaves.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well I bet you can’t quote every line from The Breakfast Club without looking it up.” They’re playing a game of low-stakes wagers while they make baked mac ‘n cheese for dinner, and Shawn is losing badly- mostly because he’s only making bets that have Jules showing off her best skills.

Shawn looks at her, genuinely offended, before it smooths out into acceptance. “You’re right, I can’t. Not unless I’m given a big buzzing button, to replace the slurs.”

Jules nods. “Fair. How about you just point to me and I’ll make the noise for you?”

“Now that is a plan.”

She feels bad about tricking him again. She does. But she watches him run through the whole movie script, doing the dances, dramatically flailing around the room- and she sees something she’d been completely overlooking for years. 

She laughs as he finishes it off, sweating and panting but grinning at her. “How do you remember all of that but the other day you couldn’t tell me if you’d even locked the front door?”

Well I remember important things, Jules.”

“Home security is important, Shawn.”

“When you’re not a detective dating a psychic, maybe.”

“Ha-ha. I’d still rather not come home from a date to our TV missing.”

“... True. Fair. I’ll work on it.”

“Seriously though, Shawn, sometimes your memory makes no sense to me. Do you think ADHD medication would help with some of the… little details?”

“Uh, no.” Shawn shakes his head. “No can do, tried it once and swore it off forever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it uh… stuff filtered in but didn’t filter out, you know? Like Gus at a buffet.”

“Gross.”

“It was, it was gross. Both the meds and the buffet.”

“I can’t imagine. It would be awful, just… being unable to stop things sticking around in your head.” She watches him from the corner of her eye as she pulls the dish out of the oven.

Shawn’s posture tenses a little. His mouth parts and the tip of his tongue comes to touch the middle of his top lip. He shrugs, and nods. “Yeah. What a-” he interrupts himself with a chuckle that Jules can only tell is bitter and nervous because of how long she’s known him. “What a sucky thing that’d be!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn, this is too much,” Jules says as he leads her, his hands covering her eyes, somewhere for a date. 

“Are you kidding? You saved my life on this case, again, and you totally prevented a huge disaster with getting the detonator away from that guy.”

“And you are the one who noticed he had a detonator in the first place.”

“The spirits noticed, Jules. But I will take credit for this.” He moves his hands away from her eyes, and she gasps.

They’re in some kind of outdoor dining area, an archway of flowering vines set up above a table covered with a floral cloth and light-blue chinaware. As Shawn comes around to her line of vision she sees he’d hidden a nice suit under his usual jacket when he first told her he had a surprise planned, and his tie…

“Shawn, are you recreating the play?” It had been a particularly great date, for a variety of reasons- but mostly, because Shawn had actually managed to sit down, watch the play, and not turn it into a criminal investigation. He’d still kept up a running commentary and restless fidgeting of course- Jules would have been worried if he hadn’t- but otherwise it had been proof to her that he could take this seriously.

“Maybe.” He offers her his hand and leads her to the table. 

“Shawn, these plates are exactly like the ones from the date scene, how did you-”

“I may or may not have, solved a little case for the owner of the theatre and taken payment in the form of old props.”

Jules laughs, picking up the menu on the table. “Is this the actual menus too, then?”

“Unfortunately, no, but I think Gus- I mean, I, recreated them pretty well.”

“Mmm. Let me guess, you ‘managed’ the recreation, and Gus did the work on it?”

“I also turned on the printer.”

“Basically did the whole thing yourself.” She looks over the menu again- it had been held up briefly during the play, a larger version of it shown on a projection screen behind the actors, and she wouldn’t have remembered it if asked before this moment but now, seeing the recreation, she’s almost certain it’s exact.

It had been on stage for maybe one minute, maybe less.

“How did you even remember this?”

“Psychic recreation, Jules. I traveled back to the past in ethereal form. Your future self was there too- clearly, my gifts rub off on you fifty years from now.”

She laughs again, softer. He’s lying of course- he likes to lie for the humor, and the fun, and because no-one can truly call him out on his powers because even he doesn’t understand them as he often admits. But it feels different now.

He’s not lying entirely for fun. Partly for fun, sure- but he remembered the play, he remembered the menu, because he has an eidetic memory and can’t forget things and in the days since she spoke with Henry to confirm it that fact has been haunting her.

She has trouble sleeping some nights- it’s gotten better since Shawn moved in, having someone curled around her making sleep feel safer- because of the things she’s seen, experienced, endured. She still has nightmares about the clocktower, about sitting in a hospital bed waiting to hear if she has Thornburg, about desperately hunting down clues to Shawn’s whereabouts with Gus and having no idea if they’d even find him alive by the end. The images, the emotions, the sounds… they all stick with her, forgotten until the moment they strike.

What is that like for someone with Shawn’s memory? If her memories push in unwanted, what about his? The looks into the distance, the glaze over his eyes right before he reveals something, the visceral reactions when he remembers something he doesn’t like- it breaks her heart now, knowing that at least some of those are because his mind shoves near-perfect flashbacks at him. 

And with observation, she’s realized that it’s usually unwanted and not sought out- just like his visions. It’s hard to tell them apart from the outside, which just makes her even more concerned- does he even know the difference most of the time? Does it affect all of his thoughts, his imagination, the way he fills in blanks? Is that why sometimes his “visions” are so wrong, because he’s so used to them working the same way as the rest of his mind that he can’t tell what’s Him and what’s The Spirits?

“Hey.” She’s jolted out of her spiraling thoughts by Shawn reaching across the table and taking her hand. “Are you okay?”

She plasters on a smile. “Fine. Just- thinking about how lucky we are. To be here, after everything we’ve gone through.”

Shawn smiles back and pats her hand once before withdrawing his. “Lucky, or just awesome and unstoppable as a team? You, me, Gus, sometimes Lassie- we’re literally a dream team.”

“We are.” She tries to push her concerns about her boyfriend out of her mind, ordering food from a waiter wearing a costume clearly not sized for him- Shawn is always making seemingly impossible things happen, and Jules has no idea how he roped a real restaurant into this, aside from it being either a favor or a blackmail- but Shawn doesn’t blackmail people as far as she’s ever known, so probably a favor.

Shawn is impossible. More and more so every day. And the most impossible is his contradictions. She watches him fumble with his napkin, and remembers him leveling a gun with a steady confident hand on more than one occasion during a case. She listens to him recount a completely wrong story that she keeps correcting the details of, and looks at the perfect recreation of a scene from a play they saw once, months and months ago. She watches him exclaim in surprise over realizing the plates have a design of playing labradoodles at the edges, and thinks about how he saw the reeds moving in a different direction than the wind was blowing from almost impossibly far away to pick up on such a detail.

“Shawn.” She sets her fork down and interrupts his gushing about how cute the design of one of the puppies on the plate is. “I need to tell you something.”

His smiles drops, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ shape, eyes alight with panic. 

“I’m not breaking up with you.” The quick assurance makes Shawn sigh and slump in relief. “And-and I want you to know before I say this that I’m not doubting you either, or your psychic abilities.”

The tension in Shawn returns. “What?”

Jules bites her lower lip. “I just… can’t pretend not to know anymore, Shawn. Because it’s been just… awful watching you do everything you can to pretend you’re not intelligent.”

“... Jules, I-I don’t-”

“I talked to your dad.” She immediately wishes she’d started with anything else, the way Shawn shuts down and clams up. “No, that’s not what I- Shawn, I know you have an eidetic memory, and that you’re probably hyperobservant, on top of being psychic.”

Shawn’s mouth is tightly pursed, eyes searching, body language just withdrawn. Jules plows forwards, swallowing thickly.

“I’ve been seeing it since you moved in. You’re so smart, Shawn, and-and your detective skills are amazing. One night you solved a case in your sleep, and you mumbled the whole thing, and I was just blown away by how you were able to come to those conclusions and connect those dots.”

Shawn looks down, briefly licking his lips. “Chief Vick never asked you to review the detective’s exam, did she?”

“... No. And, you just proved my point. You made that connection so fast, Shawn.”

Shawn shrugs. “What-what is this? Why right now? On our date?”

“Because I love you.” She reaches over, pries his hands away from his sides and holds them. “And I want to understand why. Why do you pretend you’re not one of the best detectives I’ve ever seen? Your psychic visions are one thing, Shawn, but your skills… they’re genuinely incredible.”

Shawn won’t look her in the eye, traveling his sharp gaze around anything else around them. “You know me. I just uh, love putting on a show.”

“That’s what your dad said.” She feels his hands tense in hers. “But I don’t believe either of you. Well, I believe that’s part of it, but not the full thing. … Your dad said you’ve never really embraced it.”

“Of course he did.”

“But you do, embrace it. You do every day. I watch you get completely antsy and out of your mind without a case, and I used to think it was because you were just… chaotic, and-and bored, and maybe some kind of psychic restlessness but it’s not, right? It’s because you need to be able to solve something. Because you like being smart and solving cases, but you don’t like people knowing. Why?”

“Jules…”

“I’m not asking you to bring me in on your process, or to admit to anyone else when you solve instead of divine. I’m just… trying to understand you, Shawn, because I want us to work. And for us, this, to last… we have to know each other, and I feel like I’m just learning about you all over again.”

Shawn is silent for a moment, and then takes a deep breath and meets her eyes, reluctantly. “Gus knows,” he admits. “You probably figured that, but, he does.”

Jules nods. 

“Did my dad… talk about uh…”

“... He mentioned he trained you since you were young.”

“... Yeah. … I don’t know how to, uh…”

She waits. He seems… lost.

“... I learned how to properly stalk a perp through a hideout before I learned how people get sick from each other,” he says. Jules blinks in confusion until he continues, “I learned most things about being a cop before I learned everything else. And it wasn’t… he’s not proud of me, you know? When I was a kid I wanted to be just like him, and I couldn’t be, and he was disappointed in me. Eight years old, I could close my eyes and tell you the clothes anyone in the room was wearing, could tell you who was married and who wasn’t, how… how many hats, were in the room, and it didn’t matter. It was…” He scoffs. “Adequate. That’s it.”

Jules rubs her thumb along the back of his hand. “You got bitter about it.”

“Bitter’s a strong word.” It’s not- it’s just right. It’s in his voice, his eyes, his posture. But he doesn’t like these words, she knows that about him. He doesn’t like these words and these feelings, and he likes to pretend they don’t exist, and he doesn’t experience them. And how hadn’t she realized that was a problem before now? How had that just settled in her perception of him without setting off alarms that maybe something wasn’t okay?

“Shawn, you’re more than adequate. Your dad said so himself, he told me he is proud of you.”

“... He-he did?” The genuine surprise, it makes Jules’s heart shatter all over again.

“And more importantly, we’re all proud of you. Me, Gus, Carlton is even if he won’t admit it either- The Chief, she’s so proud of you and the work you do! Even when you mess it up or cause major problems, she still defends you and knows you do good work.”

Shawn’s mouth finally untightens, slightly, one corner twitching up for a brief smile. But it fades all too quick. 

“What’s the rest of the reason, Shawn? It can’t just be because your dad didn’t give you the credit you deserved. You’ve been doing this for years.”

“Well, like I said Jules, it’s not as fun. You know? You-you solve something psychically and everyone is in awe! Throw in some jokes, make a scene, plus the bad guys always seem to confess way faster when they think I divined certain things, it’s just better!”

“You could do the same with your deductions! I mean it, Shawn, they’re amazing, the way you solved that case with the hit-and-run was incredible. I don’t even know how you came up with the magnets.”

He puts a finger by his temple and gives her a somewhat prodding, questioning look. She frowns at him and raises an eyebrow, and he puts his hand back down with a defeated nod.

“... I don’t want to be my dad.” Shawn shrugs. “I don’t want to be my dad, and as amazing as he is I don’t want to be Gus, and I don’t want to be Lassie, or even-even some… ideal, me. I want to be… me, Jules.”

“I’m not asking you to not be you.”

“Not on purpose, but- this is me, Jules, this is who I am. I can’t live my life with everyone expecting me to remember everything completely perfectly no matter what, or asking me about every little detail of everything all the time, or saying I should know things or be smarter than what I did or-or have to be better than that-”

It’s like when the last piece of a case finally fits into place.

“Oh.” Jules squeezes his hand, and he cuts himself off to look at her with pinched brows and still parted lips. “Shawn… that kind of pressure is insane to put on a child. I’m so sorry.”

He blinks, frozen, and Jules stands up to come to his side and kiss his forehead. She crouches down by his chair. “You, are more than a detective,” she assures. “You are funny, and fun, and sometimes you’re so stupid and reckless that it literally hurts to watch, but that doesn’t mean that what you do right doesn’t matter. You don’t have to match your stupidity to your intelligence just to balance them out.”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Isn’t it? … Oh, my god, and after-after Yin you started going more overboard-”

“Jules-”

“-because he called you out and you had to hide even more-”

“Jules.” She looks into Shawn’s eyes and they’re… glassy. Red. Watering.

“You, being good at what you do, did not put me in danger,” she says softly, reaching up to brush her thumb over his cheek. “You being intelligent will not push me away, or change what I expect of you, or make you lose anyone you care about. But it might make us lose you, if you keep trying to bury it and compensate for it.”

“... I-I…”

“You know you’ve gone too far the opposite direction a lot these last few years, don’t you?”

He’s silent.

“... I understand these feelings run very deep, and all the back to your childhood. I understand that you probably resent what made your dad tain you just as much as you resent him and his training.”

“I don’t resent-”

“Shawn.”

“... I’m… working on not resenting him. Especially after he got shot.”

“I know. But you’re not working on how you feel about yourself because of him, are you?”

“... This is… very uncomfortable.”

“I know.” She wipes away an escaped tear. “You don’t like people being able to really know you, do you?”

“I like you knowing me. And Gus.”

“Do you? Because I had to figure all of this out on my own. Shawn, are you so used to hiding what you could be to be what you want to that you don’t even know how not to hide anymore?”

He flounders, opening and moving his mouth with no words, looking at the ground to her side. “I-I don’t know,” he finally gets out.

Jules nods. “And that’s okay.” Has he ever heard that before, in response to him not knowing something? Maybe. She won’t know unless they keep talking about this. She hopes they keep talking about this.

“... But you uh…” He presses his wrist, sleeves pulled down and gripped in his palm, to his nose for just a second, and sniffs. “You’re not saying you don’t believe I’m psychic anymore?”

“No, I’m not.”

He nods. “... You know, uh… Lassie is the whole reason I even got started, on the psychic detective thing.”

“Really?”

“Really. We still have this uh, table and everything for a few more hours, if you want to hear the story.”

She recognizes it for what it is. You know now, I’m uncomfortable with it, but I’ll try to not be, for you. So she sits back in her seat and listens to Shawn describe how he figured out a case through watching the news, and when Lassie didn’t believe him about it he claimed it was a psychic vision, and then he realized that works.

It recontextualizes even more things for Jules, even more of what Shawn must feel and think, and she wonders if she’ll ever fully figure him out. 

She’ll just have to spend her entire life with him, she supposes.

[inkyquince]

Well I got TWO whole thoughts in my head. Someone ask about them so I can go crazy.

1. Dilfs (or dilf inflicted by I, inkuquince the 1st of their name) going to the brothel. Going anywhere. Just to get their urges out before they do something they shouldn't.

Content warning. Incest but it's mainly thought about. Implied noncon. Very bad dads. Mention of murder but it's Eden, cmon.

Characters. Leighton, Sirris, Briar, Doren, Eden.

For Leighton it isn't strange, yknow, hes seen there a lot. But this time, he asks for a very specific whore. Forbids them to speak when they try to ask what he wants. Just to call him daddy. Fucked from the back so he can enjoy the superficial similarities between them and his kid. They get paid extra when he groans out your name as he cums.

Sirris noticing that one of the students in his class looks like you. Finds it really cute. Cuter when you two befriend each other. You invite them around for a sleepover and they wander to his photography room when you're asleep. Purring that he's been such a nice teacher, works so hard for his two kids. His camera is left running as they sink down on his cock, but he makes sure it captures their body, not their face. Just so he can breathlessly massage his cock and imagine it's you.

Briar getting one of his workers to come into his office on a break. Has your underwear hanging from his finger. They know the drill. Squeal out for their daddy to fuck them as he takes them from behind, as they wear your underwear, gently tugged to the side. Bonus points if it's Briar had gotten one of his workers pregnant with you years ago, and he still knows where she lives. Refuses to employ her and doesn't let her see you. Pays her a lot to fuck off and keep her mouth shut. Pays her more to get on her hands and knees, wear your underwear and take it. She looks like you. His pretty baby. She knows what's he's thinking of. Fucks her in the ass, especially if you're amab.

Doreen feeling dirty. Was just at the beach, enjoying his time with you, even cheerfully letting you sit on his shoulders while he wades into the water, feeling your crotch against the back of his neck. You went to go get some lemonade your little friend was selling nearby when he sees them. They look kinda similar to you. Skin, ass, hair. Legs. He really likes your legs. He knows what usually happens on this beach. So do they. They smile coyly and gesture for him to come closer. He can just... Quickly relieve himself using their thighs. Be quick, eyes trained on their legs and think of you, in their place. He should feel more guilty, but he can't.

Eden knowing he's your father, but your mother ran away from him when you were young. But he knows. Kept track of you. And you're so perfect. First he'd want to take you back to his cabin, teach you everything he knows and keep you safe from the town. Blow your mother's brains out if she took you again. But you look... Just enough like his old love... He can't help it. Breaks in while you sleep, just to collect some of your underwear. Would have taken you too. He heads back home. Maybe sees a wolf person, with faint similarities to you. Might just hold that poor pup down to roughly fuck them full. Doesn't take them home though. No, that collar is for his own little cub.

[eddiemadmunson]

CEO Aemond Targaryen

So, once upon a time, me and my bestie @hamatoanne​​​​ were talking about headcanons for CEO Aemond and his secretary. And I was asked to turn it into full oneshot 😏😈 So here it is, bestie 😁 Enjoy 😏😏

Paring: Aemond x female!reader Word Account: 5500, yeah, it’s long  Warnings: 18+, oral sex (f and m receiving), spanking, dirty talk, tying up, choking A/N: English is not my first language, Aemond is older than Aegon here...          Y/L/N: Your last name 

“Hi, how are you, my baby?” your mother asked you when you answered her regular Saturday night video call. “I am fine mum,” you smiled at her softly. “You look tired, Y/N,” your mother frowned and examined your face. “I didn’t have much sleep this week, we had to finish one very important project so I worked some extra hours,” you admitted and yawned. “You work too much, baby,” your mother sounded really worried. “Don’t worry mum. It was emergency situation, Mr. Targaryen really needed to close this contract before the end of the year. He usually lets me go home much earlier,” you tried to calm your mother down, but she was in her “momma bear” mode and nothing could calm her. “I don’t like that man. He makes you to overwork yourself, Y/N!” your mother accused him. “That’s not true mum, he just wants to work with the best and most dedicated employees. And I like to think that I am the best, mum,” you said firmly. Your mother was worried about you and you understood it, but she was acting like if your boss was some modern slave master. Aemond Targaryen was very ambitious man, he inherited Targaryen corp. when he was only 25 years old and a lot of his father’s old business associates thought that he won’t be able to keep the company on top of the business. But he was better than all of them combined. He was clever, ambitious and ruthless. His father Vicerys Targaryen was a good businessman, but he was too soft and he rather let his brother Daemon to take care of things. Aemond liked to have everything under his control. He sacked a lot of employees who (in his opinion) lacked the abilities to work for him.To be honest, if it was up to him, he would kick you out the first day he met you. But your father was a good friend of Daemon and Daemon agreed to take you as his intern when you were still at school and after you graduated he employed you as Viserys’ assistant because you were really good. You were efficient, smart, you could recite laws, you memorized old cases with other companies. You were perfect assistant. Even Aemond had to admit it after few days. You slowly became his right hand, he took you on all the business meetings with him, he sometimes discussed the contracts with you, he asked you about your opinions on his opponents. You seriously loved your job. Mr. Targaryen was strict, and he almost never asked you anything personal, but you admired him. He was your age, but he already achieved so much in his life. And you were lucky to be a witness to his greatness. “I know you are the best, darling. That’s why I think that you deserve to work in some nice office with kind people and not with that creepy man,” she sighed. “He is not creepy, mum. You have never met him, how can you say that he is creepy!” you protested. “I saw him on TV, he might have only one eye, but it holds so much anger and cruelty, he seriously gives me chills through the screen,” she said dramatically. “He would be thrilled to hear you mum,” you chuckled. “He loves to have this effect on people. Most of his opponents think twice before their try to double-cross him,” you smirked and your mum looked even more worried. “Is he ever cruel to you, baby?” she asked worriedly. “No, mum, don’t worry. Well, he isn’t warm around people, he never talks about anything personal, he keeps his distance from everyone, but he isn’t unfair or cruel to me, he treats me with respect, mum,” you smiled warmly at her. You talked with her for few more minutes before you both said your goodbyes. You ended the call and sighed, you kind of lied to your mother about Mr. Targaryen keeping his distance from everyone. Maybe it was only your imagination, but you could swear that he is trying to find excuses to touch you or to get close to you lately. You were signing new deals yesterday and when he passed you the pen, his fingers touched yours and you were sure he did that on purpose because you caught a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth when he heard you gasp at the contact. You were standing next to copy machine the other day and he stood right behind you, breathing his hot breath on the side of your exposed neck, telling you that he needs more copies for Aegon and Daeron. You fought the urge to take a step back and press your back against his strong chest. Because who were you kidding, you weren’t blind, he was very attractive man, he was also very intelligent and he had this dangerous aura around him. But he was your boss and it would be really inappropriate. You could swear that you saw him watching you in the corner of your eye but when you rose up your head he was looking the other way. But sometimes when your eyes met, you could almost felt the sexual tension between you two. But you were probably going crazy. He was strictly against relationships at working place, you just saw things that didn’t exist.

  *********************************************************************************

You didn’t know that you were right. Aemond Targaryen wanted you and he wanted you badly and it was getting on his nerves. He tried to fight that feeling at the beginning, he really did, but you were so smart and good at your job and that was something what made Aemond very aroused. And of course you were a very beautiful woman, but outside beauty wasn't that important for Aemond. His obssession with you started few weeks ago, after he had a very long and hard day, he prepared a deal with a Baratheon corp. and your job was to read it and find possible mistakes. His head was hurting, he was tired and he wanted to go home so badly, when you told him that he made a big mistake, giving them a percentage share they wanted but he refused to give it to them before. He was angry at you first, because you pointed at his mistake, but he quickly relized that you saved him a lot of money and mockery. You were smart and ambitious and he found these traits very sexy. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, he couldn’t stop looking at you when you weren’t looking, he couldn’t stop subtly touching you or walking into your personal space. You were driving him crazy. He was fighting those feelings and urges, but he was slowly but surely losing this battle. He resented bosses who fucked their secretaries and assistants. When he was growing up it was publicly known that his father Viserys was cheating on Aemond's mother Alicent with his secretary Aemma and he despised him for it. He always found it highly unprofessional when he caught his brother Aegon in his office with his secretary jumping on his dick or with his head between her thighs. He kicked out most of those girls because they didn’t do their jobs they were only entertaining his brother.  So office romance was something like a dirty word for Aemond Targaryen until you came into picture. He wanted you and he wanted you badly. It took him few weeks of inner struggle but he decided that he can’t deny his feelings any longer. He was not focusing on his work as he was used to, he kept thinking about you, your name escaped his lips when he was stroking his cock in his bed before he went to sleep every night. He subtly tried to touch you or get close to you to get your reaction and you didn’t disappoint him. You reacted so good to him. He loved to watch your flushed cheeks. And your almost silent gasps when he touched your skin went straight to his cock. He decided that tonight is the night he tells you that he needs you to stay with him in his office after the office hours because he needs your help with the contract with Lannister corp. You didn’t protest like a loyal, hardworking employee.

    **********************************************************************************

You walked nervously through the empty building. Mr. Targaryen gave you two hours to have a dinner and refresh and now you were walking back towards his office, feeling really nervous for some reason. Maybe it was because he was acting so strangely lately with all the touches and hidden looks. You knocked on his door politely and he invited you in. “Good evening, Mr. Targaryen,” you smiled politely at him and sat on the chair across the table from him as usual. “Good evening miss Y/L/N, sorry to ruin your evening but this has to be done today,” he explained and you nodded. “That’s not a problem, sir,” you said and immediately started studying the contract in front of you. You suddenly felt his eyes on you, you looked up but he was reading something on his phone, you shrugged that feeling off and started reading when you felt that again. You kept reading, ignoring the feeling of being watched for a while. You kept focusing on the papers in front of you subconsciously biting your lower lip which didn’t escape Aemond’s attention, he was indeed staring at you, admiring your beauty. You suddenly looked up catching him staring at you intently. “Is everything alright, sir?” “Yes, keep reading, please, don’t get yourself distracted, Miss Y/L/N,” he smirked slightly. “It’s not easy when you stare at me,” you mumbled but he heard you. “Do I make you nervous, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked you slowly. “A little bit,” you admitted, immediately regretting your words. “Should I leave my own office, so you can focus on your work?” he mocked and you shook your head. “No, of course not, I just thought that I am doing something wrong,” you tried to explain. “You are my good little employee, Miss Y/L/N, just keep reading,” he watched you intently as you squirmed on the chair as you got back to reading. Did he just call you HIS LITTLE employee? Why did it sound so sexy? You noticed some motion in front of you and it was Aemond casually placing his hand on the desk, his long delicate fingers started silently drumming on the surface. Was he impatient that it took you so long to read it? But you couldn’t focus when you felt his eyes on you and now his fingers were moving in front of you.  You didn’t think that fingers could be sexy before you met this man. They were long, elegant, adorned with silver rings with Targaryen crest and on his left wrist sat very expensive watch. You kept glancing at it and he noticed that. Aemond was very pleased with himself, you obviously wasn’t immune to his charms. He kept teasing you for a while at one point he took anti stress ball and started to roll it on the desk with very suggestive moves. You subtly pressed your thighs together, trying to get some friction, feeling that you were getting wet by his actions. Aemond was very patient man and he loved to play with you like this, but he felt he need to finally have his hands on you. He slowly stood up and walked behind you, looking over your shoulder, pretending that he is studying the contract. You felt his presence behind you and the small hair on your neck stood up.   “What do you think about this part, don’t you think that I am too generous when I offered to give them 30%? Don’t you think that 25% would be enough?” he asked casually as if this was a normal situation. “If you want to make this deal with Lannisters you have to give them at least 30% they are too proud to be happy with anything less, especially Mr. Tywin,” you stuttered when he leaned even closer to your body.  “You are right, Miss Y/L/N. That’s the main reason why are you my favorite, you are very smart and observant,” he praised you and you almost moaned when his lips brushed against your ear. It was like a touch of the ghost but you felt it. Suddenly he was gone from your personal space and you felt like you need to get out of here or you will do something stupid. You thought that he stepped away from you so you quickly took your purse and stood up, ready to go home, but to your surprise he was standing right behind you. “Are you rushing somewhere, Miss Y/L/N? I don’t recall telling you that we are done for today,” he said and watched you with hungry, intent gaze. “I thought that all you need from me today is review your deal with Lannisters,” you tried to say calmly but your voice and knees were trembling. You have never been this close to him. Fuck, he was even more beautiful this close. He looked more like a fairy tale Prince than an heir to a business empire. You looked up at him since he was much taller than you.  “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” you asked him shyly and gods, he loved the word SIR coming out of your mouth. You always said it in such submissive way that he wanted to have you on your knees in front of him, sucking his cock while you look at him with respect and adoration. “Yes, Miss Y/L/N, there is something you can do for me. But it’s something that is not part of your job duties,” he smirked and stepped closer to you, his big hand gently touched the side of your face, his thumb pressed against your bottom lip. “You drive me crazy,” he confessed and continued when he saw your confused look. “You walked into my life with your happy smiles, bubbly nature and warm personality, slowly melting my walls with your genius ideas, perfect business ideas, witty comebacks and professional attitude. I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. You are constantly on my mind, I can’t focus on my work, all I can think about is you,” he continued and you watched him with your eyes full of shock but also with growing desire. Because truth to be told, he was also constantly on your mind, you imagined so many times how it would feel to feel his lips on yours. "Will you let me kiss you, bunny? But I am warning you, once I start I won't stop until I devour you whole," he finally said and let go of your lip, looking at you questionably. You trembled but you got on your tiptoes and kissed him softly on his thin lips. He wrapped his long arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, parting your lips with his tongue, kissing you back, slowly at first but with each passing second the kiss became more intense, you had to bite his lip in desperate need to take a breath and it was like if you woke up a beast inside him. He let you take a breathe and then kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your hot mouth, your lips molding into each other. You felt his hand on the hem of your tight skirt, he lifted it up so he could place you on the desk, he throw away the documents without care, stepping between your legs, tilting your head back so he could have better control over the kiss. His long pale fingers started slowly unbuttoning your blouse. He loved the little whimpers coming out of your mouth when his fingers brushed against the delicate skin of your breasts. "So fucking beautiful, so perfect," he gently bit and kissed his way down the column of your throat slowly, kissing you with a slightly open mouth up and down you neck, brushing along your collar bone, continuing to the top of your breasts. "Can I take it off?" he asked you in husky voice. "Yes, sir, please sir," you moaned out and Aemond loved that you called him sir in this hoarse voice. He unclasped your bra with skilful ease. Aemond didn't waste time and cupped your breast onto his big hand, it covered it perfectly, his thumb rubbed against your hard nipple. "So pretty," he kept mumbling before he latched his mouth on your other breast sucking your hard bud into his mouth.  "Oh my god, it feels so good, sir," you moaned loudly, your hand messing up his usually neat hair, as you tugged at it in need to pull him closer to your chest. He feasted on your chest for a while and his hand slipped into your soaked panties.  "Look at you, little bunny. You are so fucking wet for me. Tell me, are you usually dripping like this for me? Are you horny for me, when we work together like this, late into the night?" he asked you as his fingers played with your clit, smearing your wetness all over it. "Yes, sir. Sometimes I dreamed about your long fingers inside me, or about your lips eating me out," you admitted without any shame and he loved it. "Let me also confess something, do you have any idea how many times I imagined having you bent over my desk while I fuck you from behind, bunny? With your panties in your mouth so you won't scream my name and alert everyone in the building? Or how many times I imagined you riding my cock on this leather chair?" he whispered into your ear while his long fingers slid into your pussy. "Fuck bunny, you are so tight. I will barely fit, but you will be my good girl and take it all, won't you?" he groaned as your pussy clenched around his fingers. "You love it, when I call you my good girl, don't you?" he smirked when you nodded. "I need words Y/N, talk to me," he demanded. "Yes sir, I love it," you whined when he curled his fingers, hitting your g-spot. "That's it, bunny. Can my girl take another finger?" He asked you and when you eagerly nodded he added third finger to stretch you out for him. "Such a good girl, such an obedient bunny, I am so proud of you, little one," he praised you and you almost cum at that moment, he felt it and immediately pulled out his fingers. You protested loudly and he chuckled. "Stop being little brat, I am in charge here, you will cum when I say you can. And I want you to cum on my tongue, bunny," he smirked and before you had a chance to process his words he knelt in front of you and took off your panties, spread your legs wide so he could fit there with his broad shoulders. “Such a pretty pussy, let's find out if it taste as good as it looks," he smirked and licked you pussy from the bottom to the top, sucking your clit gently inside his hot mouth. Your moans and his groans made a perfect symphony. "So fucking delicious, bunny. I want to eat your pussy on every lunch break from now on," he announced and started devouring your cunt with his tongue and lips, he kept licking and sucking it until you were begging for him to let you cum, with tears in your eyes. "Please sir, please, I will be a good girl, I will do anything, but please let me cum, please I can't take it anymore, it feels too good, sir please," your pleads made his cock rock hard but he wanted to taste all of you before he will drive his cock into this tight cunt. “You can cum bunny, soak my face with your juices, you were a good girl, you deserve this," he finally let you cum and you exploded, riding his face, moaning something incoherent. "Get yourself together, bunny. We barely started," he chuckled and you watched him, still out of breathe as he started slowly taking of his tie and black shirt. You watched in awe as he revealed his strong chest and muscled abdomen to your eager eyes. It was really mouthwatering sight. When he reached for his belt you stopped him. "Can I do it, sir?" you asked him while biting your lower lip, looking so hot that he considered fucking your mouth, but then he only nodded watching you hopping down from the desk, your trembling fingers reaching for his belt. You slowly unbuckled it and took off his pants. You gasped when you saw his cock hidden in his briefs. You could tell it was really big, he wasn’t kidding about it barely fitting inside you. You slowly dragged the last piece of his clothes down and his cock sprung free, hitting his abdomen. You wrapped your hand around it, giving it an experimental stroke. "Fuck bunny, don't be a tease," he groaned. You grabbed him more firmly, your hand moving up and down his impressive length. He watched you intently, his eye never leaving yours. He stopped you when you wanted to wrap your lips around him. “Later, I need to be inside you, bunny,” he announced and placed you back on his desk. He reached out for a condom but you told him that you are on the pill. He didn’t waste more time, he gave his hard cock two firm strokes before he lined himself up with your soaked cunt and he looked you deep in the eyes as he slowly pushed his cock inside you. You opened your mouth, cursing lowly, he was really big and it hurt but it was delicious pain mixed with growing pleasure. “You are doing great, bunny. Such a good girl for me, taking my big cock inside your tight cunt without protests,” he praised you, making you even wetter than you already were. It took him a while before he slipped his entire cock inside you. He waited few seconds giving you time to adjust to his size. “Please, move, sir, or I will go crazy,” you begged him and wrapped your legs around his waist. “Are you ready, bunny? I’m gonna fuck this pretty cunt so good,” he groaned and pushed his two fingers inside your mouth, groaning in satisfaction when you swirled your tongue around them, wetting them for him, he pulled them out and started playing with your clit. He finally started moving his hips, in deep and slow thrusts, Aemond formed a maddening pace. You were moaning and screaming under him, desperately trying to grab something to hold onto. “Fuck, Mr. Targaryen, you feel so good, you fuck me so good,” you whined and he chuckled darkly. “Call me Aemond when I am balls deep inside you, little bunny,” he told you and hit your g-spot, draining a loud moan from your swollen lips. “Aemond!! It feels so good!! I am so close, you will make me cum again, please say that I can cum,” you begged him again. “Hold it, bunny. Be a good girl for me, and wait for me,” he ordered and you tried your best to obey him, but the pleasure was overwhelming. He tortured you even more and pulled you up to his chest and started sucking on your nipples, his hips kept thrusting inside your pussy, the wet sounds were echoing through the office walls. “I c…can’t,” you sobbed, feeling your orgasm coming like a train, you couldn’t hold it any longer, but Aemond was also on the point of exploding. “Cum for me, bunny. Cum on your boss's thick cock. Give it to me,” he finally allowed you to let it go and you cried out and exploded around him. It was so intense that you almost blacked out, you moaned his name, your walls squeezed his cock, making him groan in your ear, biting your shoulder as he spilled his hot seed inside you. His thrusts became sloppy and he kissed away the tears from your face. “You did great, little bunny. I am so proud of you,” he praised you and you hugged him tightly, your heart still beating in insane speed, your legs were trembling. He slipped out of you and reached for a box of tissues to clean you up as best as he could. “I want you to know, that I am strongly against boss/assistant flings. So Miss Y/N/L, I am officially asking you, if you want to be my girlfriend and continue to work as my assistant.” You were speechless for a moment by his straight proposal but you were happy that he didn’t see this as a onetime thing which would make working together very awkward.   “I would love to be your girlfriend, Aemond,” you smiled happily at him and he seemed satisfied with your answer. “And as your assistant I advise you to make another copy of your contract with Lannisters because I don’t think that they would appreciate crumpled pages with cum stains,” you giggled and he laughed along with you.

Since that day you two were inseparable. Aemond was as always very professional and focused on the work and you tried your best to do the same but sometimes it was hard. Especially when he looked like a ancient god, dressed in all black, his trousers were fitting his strong legs and fine ass perfectly, his black shirt and tie were also fitting his body perfectly, his hair was in a neat bun as always. You kept staring at the rings on his fingers, remembering the feeling of the cold metal on your skin, when Aemond wraps his fingers around your neck or when he fingers you and the cold rings brushes against your hot clit. You clenched your thighs and tried to ignore the rising desire inside you. Aemond fucked you many times at his office, but always after office hours. Right now it was a lunch break, the whole building was practically empty and Aemond was at his office, making a phone call to one of his business partners in Spain, he was speaking Spanish and it get you even hornier. You got up and slowly walked to the door and locked it. Aemond watched you with a raised eyebrow but he didn’t say anything. You slowly approached his sitting figure, getting down on your knees in front of him. You reached for his belt and you hesitated when you saw the dark warning in his blue eye. But you were adventurous and you wanted him badly today. You ignored him and opened his zipper fly and took out his already growing cock out. You licked his head, keeping an eye contact with him. You swirled your tongue around the leaking tip, sucking it like it’s a delicious lollipop. Aemond kept talking in Spanish with his partner but you could say that it took a lot of self restraint to keep his voice steady. You slid your mouth down half his cock before pulling back up and teasing his tip as you kept your eyes on him, eager to see his usually calm and composed face twist into pleasure. You kept teasing his tip before sinking your head back down, taking as much of him as you could into your mouth. You placed your hands at the base of his thick cock, stroking the parts you couldn't fit in your mouth. He was talking much slower now, in short sentences, you felt his walls crumbling down at the moment he brought his big hand down to yank at your hair, guiding your mouth deeper down on his hard cock, controlling the movements of your head, he shoved it down to take his entire length, causing you to moan and gag around him, the vibrations of your voice went straight to his cock. You hollowed your cheeks to give him even better pleasure and sucked him harder. You heard that he ended the call with his Spanish partner. “You horny little brat, that was very important phone call… fuck,” he cursed as you took him even deeper, gagging around him as his tip hit the back of your throat. “Are you so desperate for my cock, that you have to suck me off in the middle of the day,” he asked you darkly and you moaned in answer. “Do you want me to cum inside your mouth, bunny? Is it what you want?” he asked and you nodded, your tongue licking the underside of his throbbing cock. “I don’t think you deserve that, Y/N. You are a naughty girl who is disobeying her boss, you should know that I don’t tolerate disobedience,” he said and yanked at your hair, pulling you off his cock his hand wrapped around your neck, bringing your face in front of his. “Do you know, what happens to girls who disobey their bosses, bunny? They get punished!” he smirked and took off his tie slowly. “Turn around, my little cum slut,” he ordered and ignored your disappointed whines that he didn’t finish in your throat. “Place your hands behind your back, Y/N,” he ordered and you obeyed immediately. He tied them up with his tie, making sure that they won’t hurt your skin. He bent you over his desk, hiked up your skirt and pulled down you panties. “Look at you, you are soaked, bunny. Do you enjoyed sucking my cock so much that it made you this wet?” he asked and rubbed his fingers against your pussy lips. “Yes, sir!” you whimpered, trying to rub your clit against the edge of the desk to get some friction which didn’t go unnoticed by Aemond. He didn’t say anything but you yelped when his big hand landed on your ass. “Aemond,” you moaned loudly, surprised by his action. He has never spanked you before. You were shocked but also extremely aroused. “You are acting” slap, “like a spoilt” another slap “little brat, bunny,” two more slaps landed on your ass cheeks and you were dripping. He caressed your red cheeks lovingly, examining his work. “I have to say that I love to see my handprints on your ass, my love,” he chuckled and gave you another two spanks. “I see that my naughty little bunny likes it, when I spank her when she misbehave,” he slipped his fingers inside your pussy, groaning at how wet you were for him. “Yes sir, I love it!” you groaned and rolled your hips against his fingers in desperate need for more friction. “The lunch break is almost over, fuck me please, Aemond. Please, baby, I need it. I am so desperate for your cock to fill my pussy, Aemond please!!” you begged him, knowing that in 10 minutes your colleagues will start coming back to their offices next to his. “You beg me so nicely, bunny. You almost made me forget how unprofessionally you were behaving earlier, and you know how much I hate that,” he growled and you felt the tip of his cock against your entrance. “You don’t deserve my cock, Y/N,” he teased you, brushing his tip along your entrance, coating it with your juices. “I will be good, please. It was a moment of weakness. Aemond, don’t be this cruel, please, baby, please,” the tears were running down your face now as you were truly desperate. “I love it when you beg me like this, bunny. Who am I to resist you,” he sighed and slammed into you in one swift movement. You were so wet that it almost didn’t sting like usually. “Fuck, bunny. So tight, so soft, you were made for me, my perfect little fuck bunny,” he grabbed your tied up hands for support and started pounding into you from behind, you were laying on the desk, completely at his mercy and you loved it, the feeling of being dominated like this by him, he groaned loudly and spanked your ass again, your pussy clenched around him tightly. “Fuck bunny, you are my perfect little slut, don’t you?” he demanded and you eagerly nodded. “Yes, sir. I am your slut, only yours, use me as you wish,” you babbled and he cum inside you, spurred by your words and by the way your pussy was clenching around him. His thrusts became sloppy and he slowly pulled out of you. You started protesting while he put your panties back. “I know you didn’t cum, bunny. But you need to learn, that as much as I enjoyed your little adventure, this is a working space and you can’t distract me like this. So as a punishment you will go around with my cum leaking out from your pussy. And no, you are not allowed to make yourself cum in the bathroom, you need to wait until we get home and I will fuck you against the door as soon as we walk inside because you are so fucking hot when you are this horny and desperate, bunny,” he kissed you lovingly and untied your hands, sending you back to your desk with playful smack on your ass.

[babybluebex]

headcanons of boyfriend!joseph quinn pls? 💕

AH yes finally, i can gush about my boyfriend!joe hc's bc i have a LOT of them

first of all he's such a cuddle bug

waking up next to him and he's so warm and he's still sleepy

wrapping you up in his big arms and tugging you into his body and kissing your back as he mumbles "good morning, my love"

he loves holding you and feeling your (not so) steady heartbeat

he syncs his breathing to yours when he's holding you

getting him up and out of bed is a feat

"joe... joe honey you've gotta get up"

*grumble grumble* "don't wanna"

"too bad, you've gotta"

and he's dramatic and rolls his eyes "fine fine"

he also is super into small gestures

like he'll buy you flowers bc "i walked past the vendor on the street and they made me think about you"

he'll let you have the last bite of dinner

lots of little hugs and kisses "just because"

he likes to have your face in his hands and he admires you for a minute before he leans in and gently kisses you

you ask him what that about and he shrugs "just admiring my woman"

he likes little pet names and bc he's british they all sound so lovely

calls you love and darling, and you're his all the time, his love or his darling

just a hint of possessiveness, not enough to be toxic but enough to be cute

you got him a special kitchen apron for his birthday that has his name embroidered on it and he adores it, thinks its the coolest gift ever

he's very much the boyfriend to cook dinner for you and slow dance with you in the kitchen

he has a whole spotify playlist dedicated to just dancing in the kitchen, and it's a bunch of 40s music and some sweet love songs

he's got his arms around you and slowly swaying to the music, and he buries his face in your neck and lightly kisses it

he said in an interview that he likes to cook and in my head that translates to him being a bomb ass cook

like every dinner he makes you is delicious

he'll always ask how you like it and you can tell he's a little unsure of himself, so you assure him that it's great

the relieved little smile he does

sitting on the couch and watching tv with him, his arm is around your shoulders and he's lightly rubbing your arm as you yawn

cuddling up on his chest and he kisses your head "get all comfy, love"

he'll carry you to bed if you fall asleep on the couch

changing directions, but he likes seeing you wear his shirts and stuff

if he wakes up before you (usually doesn't, he usually sleeps in) he likes seeing you pad into the front room in his shirt and your panties, yawning and rubbing your head

pulls you into his lap and kisses your cheek and you're mumbly "you're up early"

"yeah, couldn't sleep... do you want some tea?"

he'll text you throughout the day, just little things

i also hc that he does the double xx after every message

"what are you thinking for dinner xx"

"{insert song here} started playing at the shop, made me think of you xx"

when he has to go away for his job, he'll leave you one of his favorite shirts bc he knows you like to cuddle them

he'll facetime you whenever he can, even if it's weird times for him

like if it's 3am where he is and you're sitting down for dinner, he'll wake up and talk with you and be with you

(what he doesn't tell you is that he never actually fell asleep, he's been up all night, so excited to see you)

he'll call you from the makeup trailer and introduce you to his costars and the makeup crew and he's so pleased to be like "this is my girl :)"

seeing him in a costume that's so unlike his usual self, like seeing eddie was a shock bc it's so different

"what do you think? do you like it?"

"aw, joey, you're so handsome... will you grow your hair out like that?"

"for you? i might. i hate it, though, gets in my mouth"

"well don't do something you hate, babe!"

"but i'd do it if you wanted me to 🥺"

UGH his big ole eyes

they're KILLERS

when he asks you for something he'll employ his big ole doe eyes bc he knows you can't say no to him

not that you ever would but yknow

big eyes mcgee over here

i like have to cut myself off here before i overload this post with headcanons, but there's some hehe

[lol-jackles]

I understand producers wanting a no risk lead and Jared earned that credibility and reputation. I don’t disagree with everything you said about Jared.

But I’m still surprised that Jensen didn’t earn the same reputation being co-lead and surprised he has not been given the opportunity to lead or co- lead again on another show. He seemed to have built a strong reputation with directors and producers and execs in the industry so shouldn’t he be on that same short list? I just don’t get what jensen is missing that jared or max theriot, Tom Ellis or Justin Hartley seems to have. What is that “x” factor?

The work he did on Smallville, Spn, Big Sky and The Boys, why didn’t that earn him points to have studio execs ensure he stays employed and part of a show?

Even in an industry that 97% are unemployed, Jensen seems to be a standout actor that gets constantly overlooked. Why?

Jensen was going to be a lead in Greg Bertlanti's unnamed project, but then Zaslav happened. But you ask a very good question on why the networks' bean counters don't have him on a Short List.

First, my wild guess is while Jensen's scene stealing talent improves the episode he's in, it's not the same as having screen presence to create a story, which is a must for lead actors to carry a show. For example, Jared's two-minute screentime in "The End" was not scene stealing, he became Lucifer for the sake of the story and left a memorable impact on the viewers' impression.

Think of every time spin-offs were created to capitalize on the scene stealers’ popularity, only for the scene stealers “special-ness” to evaporate into the ether when they have to carry the show by themselves.  Rebel Wilson had her own tv show called Super Fun Night. but it failed because fans expected to see the whacky side kick persona, but instead got a Rebel Wilson playing a normal woman who is sometimes socially awkward.

Second, Jensen has a bit of a branding problem.  If an actor doesn't understand what their brand is, then how do you expect casting directors to see it as well?  

Actors make the mistake of trying to please every customer by changing who they are and not understanding that getting hired starts with choosing a brand for themselves and sticking to it.  Say you own an Italian restaurant and I come in and say, “Oh, gosh! You know what? I want Mexican food.” And then you say, Okay, we’re cooking Mexican food now.”   This is what a lot of actors do.

I used to joke that Jensen was like an active from the show The Dollhouse. Actives are neutral human husks until they're downloaded a personality to carry out a specific mission.  You don't know what the true nature of an active unless you're willing to watch several episodes to look for clue crumbs to their innate personalities.  

I tell young aspiring actors on how to discover their brand by pretending to write a profile for an online dating site.  People usually don't write descriptive sentences but use adjectives: funny, athletic, intense, quirky, great smile, etc.  To help them along, ask their trusted friends and family members to make a list of 5 qualities that pop into their heads.  Then use the impression that appear over and over again because now you know that is you, your essence.

Too many times actors wait for an agent or manager to show up and tell them who they are. Or they ask me, “what do you think I am?". Actors have to decide for themselves and figure out their acting “singularity”  -- that exclusive combination of attitudes and behaviors that make them an original even when they're typecasted. Some people describe Jensen as a version of Dean-lite, but that doesn't make Jensen an original then.

Third, Jensen is not a natural born-leader. Most of us aren't, but like acting, you can constantly work on the craft. Leaders are supposed to protect their team, but Jensen was still soft-bashing Jessica Alba twenty years later. I don't care if Jessicca was a bitch, a real man is not supposed to betray a woman’s confidence. He can still talk about the difficulties of working with Jessica while respecting the position she was in and up against. In contrast, Jared immediately defended his female co-stars when it was popular to dunk of them: the Olsen twins, Paris Hilton, and Snookie.