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lilac-5ky · 5 months

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The Assistant (officeAU!Geto x Fem!Reader x officeAU!Gojo)

based on this request, tumblr hates me.

Plot: Senior Partner at the prestigious Gojo Group's legal department, Geto Suguru never expected to fall for his newly-hired personal assistant. But when his lifelong best friend and boss takes an interest in you, Suguru fins his own feelings rapidly escalating into an uncontrollable obsession.

Tags: Office!AU, Geto POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Secretary!Reader, Lawyer!Geto, CEO!Gojo, Office Sex, Oral Sex (m.receiving), Doggy Style, Degradation, Praise, Pining, Jealousy, Obsession, Sexual Coercion, Abuse of Authority, don't get your hopes up; this isn't a threesome, MDNI obviously.

A/N: Number one bestie, you still owe me Gojo smut. But here, 14k words to quench your thirst for Suguwu.

Masterlist | AO3 | Requests

“How about this one? She’s pretty hot, don’t you think, Suguru?” Satoru waves yet another paper in Suguru’s face, his excitement wearing off the moment he catches his best friend pinching his nose bridge between his fingers.

“Satoru, we are picking associate candidates, not swimming-suit contest winners.” Suguru chides in a calm tone, crossing out the woman’s name from his list with a red line that’s identical to the line above and the ones that rank above it too.

This is the 78th candidate whose CV is rejected by the two men, their task of finding Suguru the perfect assistant turning rather daunting after five emptied cups of instant coffee.

Suguru insisted he could’ve done it alone—similar to how he’d insisted he could’ve kept handling his own affairs by himself and argued against a congratulatory party in honor of his promotion. But certain wishes outweigh others, and in the legal department of Gojo Enterprises, Satoru’s word is as good as the law—one of the many perks that come with being the president’s only son.

“What’s wrong with swimming suit contests?” The white-haired man sulks, long limbs hanging gracelessly from over his chair’s backrest. He zooms in on the woman’s picture one final time before crumpling the paper into a ball that’s flung straight into the garbage bin by the door. "Hey, that was a three-pointer!"

Sigh.

Even though the two of them have been friends since Suguru can remember himself, sometimes it feels as if only one of them outgrew their fourth-grade selves. It’s nothing new for Satoru to confuse play time with work time, yet as the man who will come to inherit the entire Gojo empire, he should at least focus on how to better the company, not tear it apart.

“Nothing wrong with swimming suits or gravure models, but we should choose someone based on their skills. Remember what your father always says: a business is only as successful as—”

“‘Its team is,’ yeahyeahyeah , spare me the preach. My ears are tired of that old man’s nagging.” Satoru spins around in his chair, the rollers squeaking under his weight. “Just because someone’s pretty doesn’t mean they can’t be competent. Take me for example.” His thumb and forefinger shape an angle below his chin.

A quiet chuckle evades Suguru as he sorts the files before him and slides the next batch across Satoru’s side of the table. “Fine, if we don’t find someone who checks both criteria, then you can be my assistant.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Satoru rips another instant coffee packet open. “My hands are full already.” Throwing his head back, he empties the powder into his mouth and washes it around until the sugary substance dissolves.

“I can see that,” Suguru murmurs, masking his distaste by returning to work.

The stacks of paper soon decline, with Satoru needing a cursory look to dismiss the candidates and Suguru meticulously processing their accomplishments down to their high school extracurricular activities. Work at the firm is hard enough as is. He’s seen far too many young, ambitious interns crack under pressure and pop pills into their mouths like candy just so they can keep up.

Narrowing down his options, Suguru gets a decent idea of what he’s looking for: adaptability, flexibility, and drive. Those traits are common to all three finalists, with two of them having touched a variety of fields and the other having a background in volunteer work.

He’s all but decided on candidate number 99 when a paper plane crashes into the side of his head.

“Oops!” Satoru’s shoulders scrunch up coyly, though both he and his partner know it was very much intentional.

Suguru catches the plane, appreciating the craftsmanship behind the carefully folded wings, before he sets it on the table.

“Satoru.” His voice gains a slight edge after he spots candidate 42’s face decorating the underside of the aircraft, a comically large mustache drawn on top. “Was anyone else to your liking, or did the rest become fodder for your fleet?”

He watches his friend fish a paper crane out of his jacket, clearly pleased with himself, and he has every right to be, considering the paper is seamlessly trimmed without any scissors. Cute. Suguru smiles, withholding his praise lest it become another point of distraction.

Rolling his chair away, Satoru jumps up and slams the desk with enough force to break it. “Number 98!” He declares.

“98?” Suguru asks, and in seconds, Satoru is found hovering above his shoulder, one hand drumming against the leather chair and the other covering the (presumed) woman’s picture.

“Good grades, prestigious papers, and all that education shit you’re so fond of.” His forefinger trails between the lines. “University of Tokyo, Department of—blah blah , Essex something something, worked three years as a paralegal for the Kamos. Whole damn package, and the best thing?” He draws his palm away, slowly enough to build anticipation. “She’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Satoru, I told you—”

Whatever was supposed to complete that sentence withers at the tip of Suguru’s tongue, amber irises blown as they take in every detail of your face, animating your features as if you’re truly there with them, and for a moment, he tricks himself into thinking you are.

He sees your lips—those pretty lips he swears taste like honey without kissing them—drawing away from your teeth, the mellifluous sound of your laughter coating the rumble of prints being made somewhere in the background. He knows that a picture can’t possibly hold such power, and yet the subtle floral notes in your perfume reach him, prevailing so easily over the stench of ink and coffee and enchanting him into agreeing with his friend.

She is gorgeous. Perhaps the most gorgeous woman he’s laid eyes on.

You are.

“Come on, Suguru. This one’s super cute!” Satoru argues in your favor, his jaw piercing his friend’s shoulder. “Seriously, if you’re not hiring her, then I am. I can always lay off one of my—”

“Looks like you are off the hook, Satoru. This one will do.”

“And this is the kitchen. I recommend making the most of our espresso maker or heading to the cafeteria on the first floor—unless you don’t mind your coffee tasting like watered-down sugar.” Suguru nods toward the pyramid of instant coffee boxes stacked in the corner, conscious of the doe eyes that track his every gesture.

The picture barely did you any justice. You are so much prettier in person with your well-fitting two-piece suit and the pocket notebook you carry, penning down everything he says, down to the locations of kitchenware and the names of employees you meet along the way. He can’t tell whether you’re not confident enough in your ability to memorize things or simply overzealous. No matter the case, he finds your little habit endearing, but then again, the opinion of a man who endeared himself to you ahead of your acquaintance is not to be taken at face value.

“What’s the matter?” He cocks his head to the side, gaze drawn to the pen stilled in your grasp. “Too much info?”

“More like too many handles and blinking lights. One wrong button, and the whole building detonates.” You glance at him over the pages, your tone delineating a smile he cannot see.

He returns it, piecing the bang that typically never bothers him behind his ear. “Sato—I mean, Senior Partner Gojo received this as a gift from Zen’in Naobito when we moved to this building.”

“Is that so? I thought Zen’in Group was notoriously at odds with Gojo Group.”

“Oh, they are. But it’s common business tactics to trade one overpriced gift for another to see who breaks bank first.” Suguru hums, grabbing a clean mug from the rack and initiating the twelve-step process required to brew a single cup of coffee. “If I remember correctly, our side sent them a private sushi chef. His work hours were paid; the fish, not so much. Sugar?” He smirks, stirring the amount you call in your coffee.

“What happened after? Off the record.” You tap your notebook shut, and the smile he thought he heard is there, seen on your lips and felt in his heart, warmer than the beverage his hand offers.

“They kept him around for about a month before politely declining our generosity. I guess there’s a limit to how much bluefin tuna the rich can stomach.” His narrowed eyes crinkle fondly while he watches you blow the steam from your face and take your first sip. “Hope it’s to your liking.”

“The coffee or the story?”

“Both. But mostly the coffee.”

“It’s really good.” You nod appreciatively. “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.” Suguru disposes of the used coffee beans, failing to, however, rid himself of the soft smile perching on his lips. “It’ll take a while to get used to it, so feel free to come to me whenever you need more coffee. Or another story.”

“I could never disturb you for something like that.” You shake your head along with your hands. “What kind of assistant asks her boss to make her coffee?”

The word “boss” carries a negative connotation coming from your lips; the few inches that keep you apart rapidly expand into miles, and he hates that. It’s a gap he doesn’t want to see widened any further.

“How about you think of us as partners, then?” Suguru takes a leap while the distance’s short. “None of us gets paid to make coffee either way.”

You seem hesitant to agree, holding the weight of his stare until your determination crumbles. “Fine. But only till I get the hang of it. Then you’ll be greeted with a cup of freshly brewed espresso on your desk every morning.”

“That’s very thoughtful, but I’d rather be served tea instead. Red with one sugar?”

Overzealous , he decides as you hurriedly flip through the pages to scribble his order.

He wonders what your handwriting is like. Whether it’s scrawled and stumpy or eloquent and delicate, which isn’t the most fascinating thing to wonder about a person, but he can’t help himself from trying to pierce through the hardcover for a glimpse at your thoughts, unwittingly attracting your attention.

You share a look that flourishes over a second and withers within an eternity, its remains scattering into an airy chuckle as the machine cuts in with a sudden choo .

“I’m s-sorry!” You bow your head, bottom lip sticking out while you fail to suppress your amusement. “I didn’t expect it to sound like this. It’s just like—”

“Mhm, it does resemble the bullet train to Sendai a bit, doesn’t it?”

Suguru doesn’t necessarily think of himself as a funny man. But witnessing the little dance your fingers perform as you struggle to keep the cup steady, he might as well be the funniest man in the whole wide world.

“Shall we get going?” He prompts. “I still haven’t shown you to your office.”

“Please lead the way. Partner.” You add, unaware that the man who cruises you by almost trips over his feet. In his mind, at least.

Walking among the cubicles where various paralegals have their noses buried within tower-height stacks of memoranda, Suguru goes over your shared schedule and what is expected of you in the upcoming days, silently praying that you don’t question his insistence to wipe his sweaty palms against his slacks. He hasn’t been this stressed since he and Satoru were studying for the bar exam, and even then, it wasn’t him he was stressing about.

He recites, and you diligently take notes, up until the compact desks lessen and you find yourselves standing in front of an open space with its own reception. The senior partners’ offices—or, in other words, your boss’ and his boss’ offices.

“Hey, Shoko. Got anything for me?” Suguru asks the disinterested brunette seated at the front desk.

The woman’s eyes dart between the two of you. She acknowledges your presence with a curt bow, hardly bothering to put out her cigarette in the tray behind her. “Just this.” She pulls a yellow folder from one of the drawers and hands it to him, smoke wafting when she speaks. “It’s a letter of intent; Nanami brought it himself. Says it’s important.

“How much longer do I have to keep this up?” Shoko asks, a red imprint from where her wrist was previously propping her cheek against her elbow.

Suguru takes out the papers, skimming through the lines before stuffing them back inside and giving her a tiny smile.

“Thank you for your service, Shoko. You are fired.”

“Yay!” The woman excites in the same deadpan tone, grabbing her bag and almost knocking you down with how quick she is to flee the company premises.

“Is she—”

“Don’t worry about her.” Suguru’s attention returns to you. “She’s just a friend filling in for us.”

The way he uses the term friend is deliberate. Normally, he wouldn’t care what people make of his and Satoru’s relationship with the third member of their group, but he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

Tucking the folder under his armpit, Suguru proceeds to lead you to your office, situated in the same open space although much closer to the wooden door that spells his full name and title in capital gold lettering—another of Satoru’s fanciful insistences.

Your desk is half as wide as the reception’s, yet twice as spacious as the cubicle ones. The company’s logo bounces across an idle computer screen, dust particles dancing amidst the glaring light of high noon. There is a telephone and some stationery that’s either sorted in a silver pencil holder or frames the hefty planner at the center, though it’s the sticky notes dangling from its pages that end up piquing your interest.

Suguru suffered through the teasing of a lifetime for spending his entire weekend summarizing case files just so your first days wouldn’t be hectic.

(“Good for you, Suguru.” Satoru snickered from his sumptuous recliner, a tennis ball bouncing from the wall back to his hand. “Getting your first crush at the age of 28. What’s next? Drawing your initials in little hearts for her to see how well your names fit together?”

“Shut up." Suguru clicked his pen against his head, stretching his feet below the workbench-turned kotatsu. "Some people happen to function better in organized environments.”

“Mhm , all I’m hearing is Suguru and Y/N sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Satoru sang at an annoyingly gleeful pitch.)

“This,” you reel him back to the present. “You did this?”

Your eyes gleam like twin stars in their sockets. Clear, brilliant, and bright, but most importantly, boring into his.

Good for you, Suguru. Getting your first crush at the age of 28.

Suguru nearly waves his hand over his face to disperse his friend’s voice. It’s not a crush. He doesn’t think it is. Admitting to what is beautiful and reacting to it is a natural human response that has nothing to do with feelings of any kind. This is ephemeral.

“Y-yes.” A dry cough clears the hoarseness in his throat. “Thought it’d make your life easier if you knew where to focus instead of running around like a headless chicken.” He shifts through the pages in your hands. “Naturally, the indicators attached to closer dates are more urgent than the ones pushed further back, though they’re also sorted by color. Green means you can do it at your leisure, while bright pink means—”

“Danger, death, don’t skip?” You smile, and he nods eagerly. A bit too eagerly. Just like a schoolboy who was praised for giving the right answer, even though you were the one who answered correctly.

Maybe kissing on a tree wouldn’t be so bad.

“Thank you for doing this. And for hiring me.” You suddenly grow timid, bottom lip trapped in a shy smile as you extend your hand to him. “Working for this company is a great opportunity on its own, but working under—with ,” you correct yourself, “someone who values their juniors and goes the extra mile for them is like hitting the lottery.” A chuckle slips. “Apologies, the different colored sticky notes got to me.”

Soft. So damn soft. Your hand is so fucking soft, enveloping his own, that he curses himself for not coming up with the idea of a handshake when he first welcomed you at the lobby. It is a problem because he doesn’t want to let go, and when he does, he does so begrudgingly, his rougher finger pads dragging over your smooth skin and lingering above your polished fingernails with such delicacy as if they were freshly bloomed rosebuds.

“There are more in the drawer.” He nods toward the first drawer, a smirk coming as an afterthought. “Paper clips too.”

“Don’t tell me there’s a stapler in there too!�� You gasp dramatically.

“Guess you’re gonna have to see for yourself.” His head droops to the side, and he smiles.

Your head droops to the side, and you smile back. You. Smile. Back.

The notion settles in his heart before registering in his brain, nestling where nothing can pry it off and inking itself as an indelible memory that’s bound to haunt him throughout the review of the Tengen shares redistribution, on which he better get started.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it.”

He manages about three steps away when your voice has him stopping in his tracks.

“Mr. Geto, you shouldn’t have!”

There are quite a few things he shouldn’t have done. For starters, waking up two hours ahead of his alarm, mixing the salt with the sugar in his morning tea (though something tells him that was the work of someone else), wearing his watch on the wrong wrist, and letting himself be smitten with his brand new assistant, whom he’s barely known for half a day. But you don’t know about any of those things. At least he hopes you don’t.

So, which one is it?

He turns around slowly, jaw almost dropping at the flower field spanning between your arms, roses redder than the blood boiling in his veins and peonies pinker than the tinge rising high on your cheeks—an arrangement bound with ivory wrapping paper.

“How do you like your welcoming gift?” The harbinger of disaster, conveniently known as his best friend, boss, and apparent competitor, makes his entrance.

“You are—”

“Gojo Satoru—local entrepreneur of the year, number one in Forbes’ 30 under 30, featured on the cover of Times magazine, most eligible bachelor in the world after his highness, the Archduke of Austria, and ringleader of this establishment—in the flesh!” He introduces himself like a certain character from Game of Thrones would, taking an excessively dramatic bow and rushing to your side with a wolfish smile that sharpens his otherwise gentle features.

“And you must be Y/N, right?” Without hesitation, Satoru hops into first name basis, cerulean eyes casting an indiscreet look over his sunglasses as he bends forward, hands kept on his knees. “My, you are even more beautiful in person! The picture did you no justice at all!”

And just like that, every single word that’d steadily been brewing in Suguru’s mind is taken away from him, Satoru praising you with the same ease and unparalleled confidence he bought the extravagant bouquet in your embrace, one that befits a lifelong lover more than a newly acquainted colleague.

“Mr. Gojo, I—I don’t know what to say.” Your eyes remain glued to the flowers, tense shoulders slightly squirming.

“Hmm, how about you start with dropping the honorifics? I hate having barriers between me and my employees.” He didn’t seem to hate barriers when he made Ijichi address him as Grand Emperor Gojo for a month straight as punishment. “We are all the same age here. Call me Gojo unless,” he smirks playfully, tilting his head to where you can no longer escape him, “you feel bold enough to call me Satoru.”

“Satoru.” The monotone intonation of his name carries a warning the white-haired man heeds, sparing you in favor of using his friend’s shoulder as an armrest.

“Suguru! Are you done with showing our”—our?—“lovely new assistant around?”

“What’s with the flowers?”

“The flowers?” Satoru chuckles boisterously. “What are you talking about? That’s how I welcome every new member of our team!”

“I don’t remember receiving any flowers when I signed my contract.” A mumble is met with a light elbow to his neck.

“You get paid enough to afford your own.” Satoru huffs, switching back to his amicable persona in the blink of an eye—your watchful eye that’s been studying them without daring to interfere. Another chuckle, accompanied by a poke to Suguru's cheek. “Tulips or dahlias? Name it, and I’ll turn your office into a greenhouse.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Are the two of you close?” Your voice forces the two men to break from each other, a furtive glance shared among them.

“Suuuuper close!” Satoru squeezes his friend’s shoulders into another unwanted embrace. “Been best friends since—third grade, was it? Hah, remember the time you called principal Yaga mom during morning assembly, and he started growing out his beard ‘cause he thought he wasn’t manly enough? Hilarious.”

Anger seethes in Suguru’s guts like a shaken can of soda about to combust, fizzling out before it can reach its boiling point. “Satoru.” He grits his teeth. “Weren’t you supposed to be at the shareholder meeting?”

“The shareholder—” He repeats, almost surprised, laughing awkwardly to himself. “Oh, turns out I wasn’t needed much. Left Ijichi in charge; he should be fine. Probably .”

A caricature of Ijichi suffering a mental breakdown while trying to placate those senile, cymbal-hitting monkeys plays in both their heads, barring yours.

“Ijichi is President Gojo’s personal assistant.” Suguru explains, pinching Satoru’s sleeve away from his body—except he doesn’t budge. “He’s been working under Satoru for the past four months as his secretary, reporting directly to his father since his only son wasn’t so good at budget handling and had his allowance cut. Isn’t that right, Satoru?”

“Let’s not talk about such tedious subjects in front of Y/N.” The man pulls away at once, running a hand through messy strands of white.

“I actually don’t mind—”

“Measuring up to all your quirks and abiding by your crazy filing system should bore her enough on its own.” He cuts you off, speaking behind his palm as if his words are meant solely for you. “Has Suguru shown you his little planner? Took him two all-nighters to put it together, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

He rests assured in his victory, not counting on you being the one who knocks him down a peg.

“Mhm, he already did, and I already thanked him. I’m a firm believer that a clear desk means a clear mind, and a clear mind means efficiency.” The flowers are at last unloaded upon your desk, their lengthy stems covering about two-thirds of the furniture. “Cluttering your workspace with a bunch of unnecessary items will only stagger your progress and make you fall behind. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Gojo?”

It’s rare to catch Satoru at a loss for words, yet there he stands, completely still and utterly speechless at your mercy, his expression akin to that of a wrongfully sprayed kitten.

The two of you turn to Suguru, seeking some sort of recognition that would settle the score. Any other person in his shoes would side with the authority in the room, but your referee decides to sit this one out.

He knows what Satoru is thinking. Substance is dull without style, and tri-colored dango tastes best in spring. He never had to choose one over the other, but giving you a piece of his mind would make him look indecisive—or worse, shallow—and he doesn’t want that. He wants to look good in front of you, or else he wouldn’t have worn his most expensive suit and bailed out of the most important meeting of the month.

He dug his own grave, and unexpectedly, the helping hand that pulls him out belongs to the one who first cast dirt upon his casket.

“Thank you for the flowers, Mr. Gojo. They might not have a place on my desk, but they’ll sure make a lovely centerpiece for my table at home. Peonies, right?” Your smile is effortlessly disarming. “I don’t know much about flowers, but I hear they symbolize good fortune.”

“They do?” Satoru asks, slapping the stupefied expression off his face. “I mean, yeah! Of course they do!” He bounces back, soft dimples obliterating a deep-carved frown. “I hope your time here brings you lots of good fortune. I know the place already seems more fortunate with you around.”

You chuckle warmly, locking eyes with an impressed Suguru. No one’s ever made Satoru both lose face and helped him save some over the span of a single five-minute conversation. No one but Suguru himself.

He made the right choice by hiring you.

“The rumors about the future head of the company were true. You really are everything they make you out to be.”

“Huh? What rumors? What do they say about me?” Satoru chases you to your desk, an imaginary tail wagging behind him as he watches you pick up your notebook and flip to a blank page.

“How do you drink your coffee?” A tap of your pen. “I know it’s not much, but...I’d like to repay your kindness.”

Oh no. Here we go again.

“I’m pretty easy. I drink my espresso with six sugar cubes, my cappuccino with nine pumps of caramel syrup, sweet condensed milk, whipped cream, and caramel drizzle on top—and, of course, the six sugar cubes. In the summer— oh crap, I almost forgot, I also like mocha, both white and regular, again same toppings—I usually go for iced lattes with—”

Two minutes into taking his order, and about twenty seconds after your pen stops moving, you glance at Suguru for help. The man simply shrugs, amusement hinted in his cat-like eyes.

There is a good reason why the kitchen’s loaded on instant coffee, and that’s because it’s the only thing that can quench Satoru’s sweet tooth on the spot. You’re going to have to figure that out on your own, just like every other unfortunate soul in this company did when they stupidly offered to treat him.

“That reminds me!” A finger snap concludes his monologue. “Suguru, you know what day it is?”

“Tuesday?”

“You mean one-plus-one Tuesday. Ah, you have no idea how much I've been looking forward to my weekly croquette sandwich; wouldn’t have gotten out of bed if it wasn't for it. Erm , and you ,” he says, again running his fingers through his hair as he bestows you with another laid-back smile. “The two highlights of my week.”

Suguru sighs, convincing himself it’s the prospect of leaving so much work behind that doesn’t excite him and not the sight of Satoru’s affections being subtly reciprocated.

“So, you coming?” Satoru asks.

“I’m gonna have to pass.”

“What?” He gapes, hand clutching his chest like a child who just found out they’re adopted. “Why?”

“Because we are meeting with Tengen’s representatives at the end of the week and they’ll withdraw their investment unless we have a clear model for their merger.” Suguru reminds him. “Besides, Satoru, you don’t need me to buy lunch when you can literally buy out the place with one of your cards.”

Fixing his glasses higher over his nose, Satoru opens his mouth to complain, deciding against it at the last minute. He shoots a haughty look in Suguru's general direction. “Well, if you’re really that busy, then—ah, guess it can’t be helped. Least you can do is be responsible and send a replacement. And who could that replacement be—hmm, if only there was an available candidate.”

He scopes the place with a palm horizontal to his eyes, stopping once he supposedly detects your presence. “What do you say, new girl? Perhaps this could be our chance to get to know each other. I bet there’s so much you’re dying to ask me.” He says with a stare far too playful to be deemed salacious.

Round glasses come off as Satoru leans against your desk and plays up his charms. You are drawn to the blue spirals in his eyes, mesmerized by their sublime beauty, and in a way, it’s nature’s will for the stars to seek the skies, but Suguru can’t stand for it. Not when such bitterness floods his palate, spreading into his bloodstream like poison that prompts his body to move against every volition that isn’t his own.

“Let’s go.” He rasps in a nearly menacing tone, claw-like fingers closing around Satoru’s shoulder. “Your treat.”

"She is scary!" Breadcrumbs fall from Satoru's mouth as he takes another bite out of his lunch, tonkatsu sauce overlining his cupid's bow. "Terrifying even."

"I thought you said she was hot." Suguru states wryly, still in the process of peeling the fifteen layers of wrapping paper that encompass his sandwich, when he pauses to offer Satoru a couple of napkins.

He mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like thank you, and wipes his lips clean, only to dirty them with another sloppy bite.

"She is," he agrees after gulping down, snowy eyelashes fluttering shut to a moan that has people from different tables turning heads to theirs. "Both scary and hot. Scarily hot. Mmm, so damn good~"

Another obscene sound vibrates in his throat, and this time, Suguru fails to hide his disgust, staring at his friend like a disappointed mother at a parent-teacher conference.

"What?" Satoru asks, the blue in his eyes expanding as he touches his cheek. "Is there something on my face?"

"Satoru." Suguru shakes his head, speaking in a quiet voice all the while pleading with him to stop acting grossly in public.

It's safe to say his request isn't received well, although it takes just one mention of your name for Satoru to let go of his grudge and perk up again.

"Did you see how mean she was to me?" The giddiness in his tone fails to match his words. "Ready to walk all over me with those heels. Bet she would have if you weren't there."

"And? Giving up already?" Suguru teases.

"Who said I am?" Satoru chugs his coke. "Just hafta try harder."

Any joy Suguru might have felt at his friend's misery ends up parching in his throat, squinted eyes casting an inexcusably hard glare on the sandwich he grips with malice.

"God, did ya see her smile? Bet her lips taste like heaven."

"And what does heaven taste like?"

"Probably as good as this," Satoru says, nodding to his half-finished meal, "but sweeter. Infinite times sweeter. I'll let you know once I find out for myself."

Every word that comes out of Satoru's mouth causes Suguru's fingers to clutch tighter and tighter until the croquettes explode out of his sandwich, splattering the table and his hand with bits of potato and sauce.

"Ah. Sorry, I wasn't—" Suguru drops the remains on his plate, cleaning his fingers one by one. He isn't even sure what he's apologizing for.

"Want me to get you another?" Satoru offers. "I could go for seconds."

"It's fine. Not hungry anymore."

Gardenia or tuberose?

The same question repeats in Suguru's brain, begging to distract him from the slew of paperwork he's been asked to sign, but not from the actual distraction that is bent over his desk, making him question not just his sanity but also his self-control.

Tuberose.

He doesn't think much of either is left when he breathes in the perfume dabbed around your shirt's open collar, alluring to the point where he catches himself chasing after your neck like a hound dog—heavy breath hitching in his chest.

Gardenia.

He doubts he has any left when his amber eyes peer into your cleavage, tracing the contour between your supple breasts down to the first popped button of your shirt—large palms aching to seize them.

Tuberose.

He realizes he is not half the decent man he was about a month ago when his cock twitches at the sight of your pencil skirt riding higher on your thighs, the black seams of your sheered stockings promising a fast track to your tight little cunt—and how he’d love to gain access to that.

Gardenia or tuberose; who cares?

Figuring out the notes in your perfume is about the last thing Suguru cares about when every inch of his body urges him to blow your back against the lavish mahogany, signing the rest of these documents in a mix of your spit and tears. But it's what helps keep those intrusive thoughts from spilling out.

"One more signature here." Ignorant about his dark impulses, you shuffle through the papers and point at another blank place of signature he needs to fill. "It's a referral agreement for Miss Mei's services. She said the terms were verbally agreed upon, but feel free to go over them again and suggest any adjustments."

"That won't be necessary." With a few quick flicks of his pen, Suguru jots down his name. "Thank you for your hard work."

He struggles to meet your eyes without first halting at your tits as you collect the documents and hug them (regrettably) close to your chest, pulling away from his desk to stand before him.

"Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Geto!" A sweet smile is plastered on your face, and he can't help but wonder whether you'd continue smiling at him if you ever caught a whiff of the filth festering in his brain.

He doesn't like what his feelings have matured into. He's not proud that every time your eyes cross, he muses over what they'd look like rolling to the back of your skull or how sometimes he'll lock his office door and beat his cock to the thought of your pretty nails digging in his thighs while he bullies his length into the heat of your throat.

He hates that those aren't even his own thoughts but were rather instilled in him by Satoru, who couldn't be more vocal and descriptive of his own fantasies if he wanted to. He's the same way about his advances, and it drives Suguru insane to see his friend making such quick headway because he remains Mr. Geto while he gets to be Satoru.

It's all because of that damn merger...

The first time Suguru heard you address Satoru by his first name came right after a business meal he was forced to sit out of. Someone had to deal with the last-minute amendment Tengen requested to their already-filed and approved work plan, while another entertained their prospective investors. Seeing as Satoru was the face of the company, he couldn't possibly miss such an important meeting, and so they divided responsibilities.

Suguru stayed back to deal with the crisis, but not without sending you on his behalf—all pretty and dolled-up in your navy halter dress and black pumps, shining like the evening star by Satoru's side, only to come back completely drained of light with the worst shoe bite known to man.

Ever the observant gentleman, Suguru ran to the nearest drugstore, returning to the office with his heart in his mouth and a bag full of supplies that dropped from his hands the moment he saw his best friend kneel before your feet, tying the shoelaces of a newly bought pair of sneakers.

Thank you, Satoru.

The same scene repeated itself many a time, his lesser romantic gestures outdone by a price tag he couldn't match and words he couldn't brace himself to say just yet.

A fluff of white hair orbited around your desk at a constant, like a bumblebee who'd discovered an inexhaustible source of nectar, and you grew close enough not to swat it—him—away. You'd answer his jokes with mirthful chuckles, and he'd answer your “Here's your stomach ache of a cappuccino, Satoru” with platinum-coated Mont Blanc pens and luxury Moleskine agendas. Plural.

Light touches, flirty smiles, and heart-eyes in both your voices, whose volume bypassed his closed door as an irritating buzz that had Suguru wondering whether there had been a change of offices.

The breaking point came two nights ago, when, in the spur of jealousy, he heaped you with enough work to keep your desk lamp burning all night long. He regretted it as soon as he got into his car, and then he stepped on the pedal, driving to that one Chinese place he and Satoru frequented while they were still students—driving again like a maniac to ensure the food reached you hot.

But great minds think alike.

By the time Suguru made it back into the office, a proper candle-lit dinner was held over the scattered papers on your desk that then doubled as coasters. A second chair was drawn near yours, two silhouettes huddled together. Shoulders nudging, chopsticks lifted—and he refused to stick around long enough to watch his best friend feed dumplings directly into your mouth, along with whatever was bound to follow.

Which pulls him back to the current reality of his foggy windows and the cold tea on his desk, with present-you staring at him, oblivious to his dilemma.

He knows he has no right to feel this way. You aren't his property, and contrary to what the media wants the world to believe, Satoru isn't some heartless womanizer who changes girls the same way people change socks. In fact, Suguru can't remember the last time he saw Satoru this invested in a person. You hitting it off is a good thing. He should be happy.

He should be.

He really should.

But he isn't.

He really isn't.

And he doubts he'll ever be, because in his whole life, he's never envied anything that Satoru has. Not his money, not his status, not his prestige—not anything. You're the first thing he's ever envied—the first he's ever wanted. Because you are his assistant, and within the wretched spiral of his desires, that should amount to something.

You should be his.

"So.” Suguru takes a sip of his tea, trying his hardest not to cringe at its unpleasant, lukewarm taste. "Any special plans for the holidays?"

You shake your head slowly and then with more confidence again.

"That's good." He blurts out, masking his relief with a low chuckle. "I mean—"

“I get it.” You chuckle back. “Not a big fan of the holidays, are you?”

“Not a hater either. Satoru,” he mentally curses himself for bringing him up now, “is the one who gets all excited about Christmas. Gives him the perfect opportunity to put on a show without being chastised by President Gojo. Hard to argue back when he brings up the morale of the team."

“Well, everyone seems to be excited for the party." You add. "Especially the interns; heard them gushing about it with Assistant Manager Haibara."

"I don't suppose Intern Fushiguro was with them, was he?" Suguru smirks as you confirm his suspicions. The boy might be Satoru's protegee, yet the two are like night and day when it comes to means of entertainment.

"It's Intern Kugisaki and Intern Itadori's first Christmas at our company, and the press always finds a way to glorify anything related to the Gojos." Suguru continues. "The annual Christmas party isn't an exception. Outsiders need a special invitation, and only a select few make the cut."

"We should consider ourselves lucky, then." You point out.

"Mhm," he hums. "Come think of it, it's your first Christmas with us too. Are you excited?" A teasing lilt colors his voice.

"Definitely am!" You humor him. "Especially after hearing about the ugly sweater contest."

"Fan of the sport or the prize?"

"Both. But five days at a deluxe resort in Okinawa do sound enticing."

"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you." Suguru folds his arms over his chest and tilts back against his chair. A condescending look spreads over his features.

You mirror his stance, sticking your right heel out. "And why is that? Are you competing perhaps?"

He snorts as if the notion alone is plain ridiculous. "I'm not, but Nanami is."

"Nanami? Manager Nanami?" You blink in disbelief, trying and mostly failing to contain your laughter. Not like he can fault you. A man as practical and square-minded as Nanami sporting sweaters that feature 3D reindeer heads is a sight one must see in order to believe.

"He's oddly passionate about this." Suguru explains. "He's won every contest for the past four years, just to enjoy a little time off."

"I should give it my best then."

"I'll be cheering for you." He promises with a wink, picking up on the faint blush that dusts your cheeks. A small victory.

You bite your lip and cast a gaze to the floor before lifting your head in search of the clock on his wall. He sighs internally.

"So." You return to the beginning of your discussion.

"So." He repeats with a softer tone.

"I guess I'll be seeing you at the party?"

"Guess you will." He nods, gesturing toward the door. "You may go. I need to finish these first.

You nod back and hold onto the door knob, turning around one last time to bow at him. "There's an extra umbrella on my desk. Feel free to take it."

Before Suguru can even consider his answer, you turn into smoke, leaving him with a hopeful smile he scolds himself for. A thoughtful gesture can't possibly undo all the sorrow and anguish he experienced over the course of a mere month.

And yet he still finds himself skipping to your desk, grinning now at the little piece of paper that dangles from the umbrella's handle. It's not a spare, that's for sure.

As lightning cracks the gloomy skies above, Suguru faces toward the window, tracking the thunder's tail down to gray cement, where colorful umbrellas dance around like anemones. Yours twirls like the most beautiful flower of all, vivid petals drawing into themselves as you're ushered into a white SUV by a hand belonging to a man he knows all too well—driven away while Suguru stands there watching, feeling as if cold rain pours over him instead.

He sets down the umbrella and returns to his office.

After the fifth replay of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" blasts over the speakers, Suguru begins to reconsider the answer he gave you less than 24 hours ago.

He hates Christmas—the buzz, the fuss. The forced happiness and the self-inflicted festive glee. The repetitive songs and the continuous camera flash. The stuffy atmosphere and the nausea-inducing blinking lights. How every snack gets labeled with an ambiguous "Christmas flavor," as if a holiday can have a taste in the first place; he hates all that.

But most of all, he hates not being the one to stand beside you under that damn mistletoe—a spectator among spectators and an outcast even among them.

Champagne trembles in his hand as he watches the crowd gather around you and Satoru, smothering you with cheers that sound a beat above the music, excessive clapping synchronized for the sake of a four-letter word chanted like a prayer. Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

You don't give in to their demands. Not immediately, at least. There is some awkward fumbling, a hand weaving through semi-combed strands of white, and the pointy end of a heel dragging incomplete circles. You shake your heads in unison, giggling, making a very weak effort to get yourselves out of this predicament, though the people know exactly what they want. Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

It's quick and painless. Chaste, as Satoru leans forward and pecks your cheek, grinning a shit-eating grin from one ear to the other when he pulls away and waves off the jeers. Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Louder this time. His lips move soundlessly, wordless speech bubbles emerging in faux protest as if he isn't dying to kiss you, as if you aren't dying to be kissed by the most important man in the room, as if this poorly executed play isn't staged.

Suguru finds himself wishing you'd get it over with, yet he can't bring himself to turn away. Much like everyone else, his gaze is fixed on you, enchanted by you since day one, and imprisoned in a dismal spell that continues to wring his heart for all its worth, threatening to leave him shattered.

You take initiative this once. Stepping in front of Satoru, your fingers seek the hem of his cream-colored cashmere sweater. You pull him to you, reeling and reeling and reeling, and—

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Geto!" A pair of impressionable eyes widen before him, stretched arms springing from the man's body as he jumps before Suguru like a jack-in-the-box.

"Haibara." He acknowledges with a sigh, uncertain of whether he should be thanking him or scolding him for blocking his view.

By the time his junior pulls aside, the spectacle is already over. Everyone has returned to their previous positions, resuming their conversations away from you and Satoru, who are left gleaming like Christmas ornaments, tinged red from head to toe.

"Mm, these taste so good! Mr. Geto, you need to try one," Haibara says, lifting a platter of canapés from the buffet behind them.

Suguru forces himself to smile as he throws a salmon spread into his mouth. He swallows without understanding any flavor, washing the crumbs away with some more champagne, the buzz of alcohol promising to dull out his affliction.

"Are you enjoying the party?"

"Very much so!" Haibara answers full of excitement. "So many new faces have gathered since last year; I'm so glad to be a part of this. Nanami even let me help with his sweater design!"

"Is that so?" Suguru chuckles wryly, scanning through the guests for the blond.

He spots Nanami loitering by where your desk is normally stationed (the majority of furniture relocated for the sake of opening up the space), and while he cannot see the front of his burgundy sweater, he can easily make out the antler headband sitting on both his and Itadori's heads, the two men seeming to have joined forces.

The discussion between Haibara and Suguru soon turns stale, with the former gushing about the inner happenings of the sales department and the latter absently nodding in approval, his attention monopolized by the exchange between you and Satoru.

Even when the occasional guest butts in, you remain inseparably bound to each other through your clothes (both of you dressed to the nines despite your intent to partake in the contest), your gestures, and the hands that gain familiarity over time. His slips around your lower back as he whispers in your ear; yours throws a playful punch at his shoulder, while you giggle at whatever he just said.

Probably some crappy Christmas pick-up line, Suguru decides. Something like, Wanna pop by my apartment later? No need for any mistletoe when we're both under my sheets, followed by a Satoru! Not here; people are watching .

"Mr. Gojo and Ms. Y/N sure look friendly." Haibara's observation comes as the final nail in the coffin.

Suguru murmurs in a low tone. "Think she's interested in him?"

"Hard to find a person who isn't interested in Mr. Gojo." Haibara earnestly replies.

“Right…”

"But the same goes for you too, Mr. Geto." Haibara's voice prompts Suguru to face him. A soft smile plays on the younger man's lips, his cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink. "I've been looking up to you since I first started working here. All of us do, even Nanami."

"You do?" Suguru draws confidence from his junior's timidity, enough to bestow him with a lopsided smile. "Why is that?"

"Because you are a hard worker!" Haibara declares. "Mr. Gojo is brilliant, but he was born into it. For us to reach him, that's impossible. You, on the other hand—you built yourself from the ground up. You are not only meticulous and good at your job, but you are also immeasurably kind! Both before and after your promotion, you've cared for us juniors and made the company a hospitable place for everyone. You are the goal we aspire to reach; you are our role model."

Working with someone who values their juniors and goes the extra mile for them is like hitting the lottery.

A role model, huh...

Your words mix with Haibara's, swirling round and round at the languid pace of alcohol in his brain, inebriating enough for him to not reject them like he otherwise would. He knows what needs to be said. I'm the one who's grateful. I wouldn't have gotten this far if it weren't for such capable juniors. Satoru is the one you should be thanking instead.

Satoru, Satoru, Satoru .

It's all him; it's always him. Everyone and everything in this room is here because of him, yet for the second time, Suguru is thanked for his efforts. For the nights he spent reviewing reports, fixing typos, and making overseas phone calls. For buttering clients up and spending every waking minute of his life networking. For talking people through their breakdowns and promising them their work makes a difference; that they matter.

It's almost enough to make up for all the unconditional praise his best friend received since birth, though Suguru refuses to let that be his consolation prize. Not when the perfect winning prize lies right ahead of him and waltzes into his office. Alone .

A glassy sound is produced as Suguru drops off his champagne and smiles at his colleague from over his shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Haibara."

The door creaks softly behind Suguru as he enters his cloakroom-turned office, the faint click of a lock muffled out by the fading party music, its people fading with until it’s just you and him, away from distractions and interruptions, but more importantly, away from Satoru.

You haven’t noticed him yet. Your back’s turned on him, the golden threads of your sweater twinkling in the dark while you rummage through the coat racks, feeling out every texture with your fingertips. Wool, nylon, leather, and finally, cotton. The dark-colored jacket is slung over your arm, with your other hand digging into each pocket for… something .

Something that falls to the wayside once you become aware of the man’s presence and let out a tiny shriek.

“Mr. Geto!” There you go with that damn honorific again. “What are you doing here?"

"Am I not allowed into my own office?" Suguru sneers as he paces farther inside, his palms clasped behind his back.

"Y-you just scared me, is all."

He settles against his desk to study your startled features. You look even more beautiful when there's no one to steal your shine—a modern-day princess Kaguya, beckoned by the moonlight to return to its cratered land, although he’s made up his mind. Unlike the emperor in the story, he won’t let you escape him.

"Wasn't my intention." Drowning out his adoration, he cocks his head to the side and nods at your jacket. “Leaving already?”

“No, uh.” You fidget awkwardly, shoving whatever it is that your fingers caught back in your pocket. “Satoru asked—”

“Satoru, huh?” His tongue clicks in distaste. "You do anything Satoru asks?"

“What?” You question your own hearing, though he knows you heard him just fine. He sees it trembling in your eyes—feels it fanning against his jaw as he pulls away from his desk and stands before you, looking down on you in more than one way.

"I said, you'd do anything as long as Satoru is the one asking?"

"I...I'm not sure I understand."

"You don't?" His tone is syrupy, yet not sweet—a smile too condescending to be compassionate. "Allow me to rephrase, then. If Satoru asked you to spread your legs for him, would you?"

"Mr. Geto, I think you had too much to drink.” You chuckle nervously, gesturing toward his shoulder while simultaneously avoiding his stare. “Should I call you a cab? I don’t think you’re in a condition to drive.”

“No.” Suguru snaps, swatting your hand away. “No, you don’t get to play good assistant now. I asked you a question. Answer.”

He doesn't miss the hesitant bow of your head, which only confirms his suspicions. You want his best friend, and for once, he doesn't care that you do. It doesn't upset him. If anything, it offers him greater incentive to keep going without regard for your feelings or his own.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" The last vestige of bitterness follows him to the coffee table, where he grabs a seat by one of the two chairs, wood screeching like nails across a blackboard. Mounting one leg atop the other, "Can't say I blame you. President Gojo is growing too old to be running things, and Satoru already handles the majority of his affairs. Won't be long until he assumes office, and when he does, whoever is on his side will benefit the most."

Your silence encourages Suguru to continue. "But as things currently stand, you aren't all that important to him, are you? And if you were to suddenly lose your position, his interest in you would probably diminish."

"What do you want?" Your voice is meek when you speak—a pitiful sound begging to tug at his heartstrings.

Except he has no pity left.

Suguru leans forward and spreads his thighs over the cushion. His elbows prop against them, with his intertwined fingers providing a seat for his clenched jaw—dark eyes ever drilling holes into your fragile skull.

“It’s not about what I want, but about what you want. You said that working at this company is a great opportunity, and you’re right. It really is. I’d hate for you to lose it over a simple matter of allegiance.”

“Allegiance?” You echo.

He nods. “Don’t you think an assistant should be loyal to the one who hired her? You get paid to do what I say, not whore yourself to Satoru. If I tell you to jump, you should jump, and if I tell you to drop on your knees and stick your tongue out, that’s exactly what you must do. Getting the picture now?”

“Is that…so?” A hum answers your question. “Very well.”

Amber irises harden below knitted eyebrows, their transparent warmth giving way to opaque desire as he watches you approach with steady strides, his cock stiffening in his pants from the sharp intonation of your heels alone.

Something has shifted within you, though he can’t pinpoint exactly what. It’s like he sees you for the first time, confidence emanating from your very being as you drop off your jacket and gracefully sink on the floor before him, pleated skirt pooling around your bent knees—cherry lips licked together as your hands trail up his slacks and undo his belt, zipper next.

Is this really happening? Was it really that easy?

“Could you lift your hips, please?” You ask demurely, in the same considerate way you’d offer to refill his cup every morning.

A moment passes before Suguru obliges, part of him failing to separate fantasy from reality. He’s dreamed about this so many times that if it weren't for the soft palms rubbing up and down against his thighs, he’d be pinching himself awake. But you are definitely real, and you’re definitely there, and despite his conscience screaming that this is all wrong, he doesn’t let a future regret hold him back.

Shimmying out of both underwear and pants, Suguru’s cock springs free, already hard and twitching in anticipation, its slight curve pointing at your agape mouth. Your warm breath sends tingles up his spine as you inch closer, your lips rounding and then puckering hard around the fat tip. It's almost enough for him to lose composure, kissing his teeth when he feels your tongue drag a teasing circle on the underside of his shaft, wet and hot and far more skilled than he's ever imagined.

You let go before any praise evades Suguru, studying his lustful expression with a complacent smile that ends up rubbing him the wrong way. How many smiles have you offered Satoru while looking up at him like that? How many times have you practiced your technique on him to hone it to perfection? How many laughs have the two of you shared at Suguru's expense, knowing he's hopelessly wrapped around your dainty little finger?

Quick to wipe the hubris from your face, he takes hold of his cock and delivers a derogatory smack across your cheek.

"Test my patience one more time, and you'll be crawling out of here." His voice retains its smoothness even as he rubs the leaky slit against your lips, smearing a thin coat of glossy precum before he pushes his way back inside. "Better give me a good reason why I should keep an ungrateful slut like you around."

Suguru takes his time to explore your mouth, mapping out the wet cavern in its entirety. Your teeth are tucked behind your lips, their gentle firmness complementing the expert strokes laid by your tongue. Your cheeks hollow to accommodate him, air sucked and drool wetting his throbbing cock, some of it trickling to your chin. It's an extremely tight fit that grows tighter with every inch he stuffs you with, hitting the back of your throat long before he's wholly sheathed.

"Fuck." His head tips back in pure bliss. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

Doe eyes flick up, their lecherous innocence holding him captive. He thought he'd forsaken all affection held for you, yet his heart begs to differ, lurching at the sight of your bare knees bruising against the polished marble.

He's tempted to call it quits and pull you to his lap, praying that the sweet words piling in his brain seep into your ears like poetry and register as an apology. That, somehow, you forgive the selfish arms cradling you and excuse the greedy lips drinking from your mouth as if it were a chalice; that you allow a heathen like him to express his reverence with deep thrusts and profound pleasure that will make you worship him as much as he longs to worship you, names tangling in a breathless mantra.

He's about to do just that when suddenly he's reminded of how moments ago you were locking lips with his best friend in front of a live audience, and the resentment within him swells anew, expanding like a black hole set on devouring him. He shouldn't hope for more, because you won't be coming back for more. After tonight ends, you'll go running back to Satoru, and he'll be lucky if his attorney's license doesn’t get revoked.

So much for being a role model.

Might as well enjoy himself while it lasts.

Brushing the sticky strands of hair away from your face, Suguru pulls them into a makeshift ponytail that he uses as leverage to drive himself in deeper, letting out a stuttered groan once he bottoms out. Tears well in your eyes as he holds you completely still, heavy lashes blinking rapidly to filter them out.

"Lookin' so pretty with my cock in your mouth." Suguru rasps in a candied tone, his thumb rubbing against the apple of your cheek with tenderness before he forces your head to bob back and forth on his length. "Wonder what Satoru would say if he saw you like this. Perhaps we should call him in, mm ? Have him see what good that little mouth is when it's all plugged and can't talk back. Maybe he'll want to take turns using it. Maybe you’ll walk outta here with a bonus. My capable—ngh—assistant promoted to office slut."

There’s no way for you to respond. Even if he pulls back this instant, the wit he fell in love with will still be gone. Right now, you’re nothing more than a hole for him to take out his frustrations—no better than an average whore choking on dick.

The party music continues to blare strong in the background, your soft gagging barely enough to mute the rounds of applause that still reverberate in his gauged ears—so he fucks your face faster and harder, his hips slamming forward in tandem with the mean fingers gripping your skull, each thrust producing a sound more sinful than the one before.

He’s hellbent on erasing that kiss from his memory, keen on replacing his friend’s taste with that of his cum, and he’d be damned if he didn’t feel amazing in the process, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your jaw purely addictive.

And when he catches you rubbing your thighs together, he almost busts on the spot.

“You—hah—you really don’t care who it is, do you? Whether it’s me or him,” Suguru stammers, his tone whinier than he’d hoped. “As long as there’s cock in your mouth, you’re satisfied, aren’t you? Be honest; you aren’t even doing it for the job. You just get off on being used.”

He’s slowed down enough for the pleasurable vibrations on his cock to be felt, your eyes screwed shut with a hand lost between layers of skirt, searching for some sort of relief—relief he decides you don’t deserve.

“Ah-ah-ah! Who said you could cum, hm ?” Suguru chastises you by yanking you off his cock, a string of saliva chasing after your jaw as you stumble backward. “Told you to give me a reason not to fire you, and you did what exactly?” He tilts his head curiously. “That’s what I thought. Absolutely nothing. Not even worth the trouble.”

“W-wait!”

Before he has the chance to leave you high and dry on the floor, you scramble across your garments and tug at his pants in a pathetic attempt to get him to sit back down. He indulges. Not like he was serious about leaving anyway.

Your palm wraps around the base of his cock as you lean closer, licking a sloppy stripe from the base to his tip, and then all the way down again, sucking one of his balls into your mouth while simultaneously jerking him off.

“Fuck, you’re nasty.” Suguru breathes out, grabbing at the arms of his chair—his hips bucking into your palm. “Such a nasty little slut. Must really want this cock, huh? Come on. Show me how much you want this.”

Your eyes shine as though he praised you, and this time, you hold nothing back. You moan like you’re the one who derives pleasure, humming and even mewling as you switch from one ball to the other, your nose nuzzling to his warmth.

You pump him without a break, furiously rotating your palm over his cock head and squeezing right below with a ring shaped by your thumb and forefinger. Only he knows how he manages to hold back, pleasure so dizzying that his head spins, rearranging the furniture in the room.

“Th-that’s enough.” He voices amidst a broken moan, gently prying your wrist away—your mouth unlatching soon after.

Everything falls back into order as Suguru provides you both a much-needed reprieve, which you spend soaking in each other’s expressions. Dark strands of hair have fallen from his bun, clear beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. The shadows cast by the blinds conceal his flushed complexion, whereas the contrasting light exposes yours. Your chest heaves with every labored breath you take, mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and lipstick transferred from your lips to his cock, painting the pink tip scarlet red.

You look utterly debauched, but it’s not enough for him to call it a day. He wants more of you on him and more of him on you—more evidence that tonight wasn’t a figment of his imagination, taking place in the men’s room in between insufferable business meetings. Rather than keeping things a secret, he wants the whole world to know what transpired behind the closed doors of his office, and that sparks an idea.

He needs to put more of him in you.

With a small smile playing on his lips, Suguru helps you up, steadying you against his arms until you're able to stand on your own. You thank him with a hoarse voice and wobble on your heels as you're made to follow him to his desk, assuming position without him needing to speak a single command. You bend over the hard surface like you did the previous day and all the days before that, except your skirt's now rolled well over your thighs, and nothing obscures his view of your panties.

“How eager,” Suguru murmurs as he caresses the curve of your bare ass down to your clothed cunt, parting with a sigh when his pointer traces over the drenched fabric and prods it into your slit. “So wet from sucking my dick? Sure you weren’t thinking of someone else?”

“N-no.”

“No?” A smirk rings in his tone. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“Y-yes. I mean, n-no��oh fuck, r-right there!”

Your hips push back against Suguru’s hand, grinding against the long fingers that tug your panties to the side and slip into your wet hole.

He lazily works you open, each thrust concluding with his fingertips curling right into your sweet spot, coaxing soft whimpers to spill from your lips.

He pulls out once he feels you're sufficiently stretched, taking a second to admire the thin essence that dribbles down his digits before he uses it to lather up his cock, fighting back moans of his own whilst fisting himself to the lewd sight of his assistant offering herself to him.

Under different circumstances, he would've taken things slow. Under different circumstances, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and sitting where you could comfortably watch him disappear between your thighs. You'd call out his name, and he'd lap at your juices until you're unable to hold yourself from cumming all over his face. Only then would he pepper your trembling thighs with kisses and tell you how well you did for him—what a good girl you are; his good girl.

“Doesn’t matter.” Suguru says for himself to hear, and it really doesn’t. Those ideal circumstances he dreams about are a thing of the past.

With a firm hand pressing on your back, he straightens you against the desk and runs his swollen cock head through your folds, voice laden with desire when he whispers, “Let’s see whose name you moan now, mm? ”

His thoughts hush as soon as his girth catches into the tight entrance of your cunt—a sigh gritted through his teeth as he finally sinks in.

He gives you a second to adjust, when in reality, it's him who needs the breather. All the longing and desire, the frustration and despair that'd been pooling in him for the past few weeks, culminate in this one perfect moment where your velvet walls hug his throbbing length, constricting around every inch he feeds inside you.

It's cathartic.

He remains breathing through his nose for a good while, too scared to open his mouth, lest he say something embarrassing enough to want to smack his head with the silver name plate on his desk right after. He's aware of how ridiculous it'd sound if he suddenly blurted out that he loves you, yet the warm feeling coursing through his veins can only be described as such.

Luckily, his final choice of words ends up being far more sensible.

“S-so fucking tight—”

“For a whore?” You interrupt, your droopy head lifting from over your slumped shoulders to bestow him with yet another winsome smile. God, you’re pretty.

“Never called you a whore.” Suguru's lips crack into a smirk of their own, while his fingers knead the fat of your ass, spreading your cheeks for him to see the point where you connect. A pearly ring has formed at the base of his cock from your fluids combined, his balls snugly squished between your hips. God, this is so hot.

His gaze shifts away. If he keeps looking, he just might cum without getting to even fuck you properly.

“You didn’t? My bad. Must have been someone else.”

"Aren't you cheeky?" A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest, escalating into a loud groan as his hips pull back and jerk forward in a thrust that knocks both the wind and smugness out of you, the recoil causing your body to jiggle against the desk. "That fucking audacity of yours is what got you in this place to begin with."

You try to say something that he doesn't care to hear, muting your words with a sharp thwack across your ass. You whimper in response, clenching so hard around him that he repeats the motion on the other cheek for good measure, your pathetic whines going straight to his cock. It's scary how much he enjoys this.

"Talking about other men," Suguru begins his recital of your crimes, his hips rutting in time with the smacks inflicted on your reddening flesh. "Accepting gifts and whatnot, letting yourself be paraded around like a fucking trophy"—the hardest slap yet—"guess that really makes you a whore."

Your body doesn’t know how to react, whether to moan from the pain or cry from the pleasure, with your upper half squirming and your lower half stilled against him, taking everything he gives you without complaint.

He pounds into you like an animal, wrapping strong arms around your waist to bring you closer, his cock barely withdrawing before being slapped back inside, fucking straight into your pulsing core.

“D-don’t worry.” Suguru sounds delirious when he talks, with more and more ebony locks cascading from his disheveled bun down his face and shoulders. “We’re gonna fix that, mm? Gonna be mine from now on. Mine to kiss." His weight is held against your body as he leans forward, large frame dwarfing you as he plants his lips on your nape. “Mine to touch,” his arms squeeze even harder, “and—ngh, all mine to fuck. My. Fucking. Assistant.” He growls, punctuating every word with another thrust.

Suguru feels himself nearing his release, his balls tightening the longer your pussy grips him, until a knock on the door causes the sweat on his body to go cold and forces him to sober up.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

With quick reflexes, Suguru slaps a hand on your mouth, concentrating every bit of his willpower on figuring out the best course of action, all the while the knob rattles at Nanami's attempts to break into the room, complementary pangs echoing against the wood.

“I just need my coat; open up!”

Whatever took over Suguru seems to have vanished into thin air, leaving him to fend for himself. It’s only then that the severity of the situation becomes apparent. Not only did he coerce his assistant to fuck him, but he did so at a company event where reporters from every major news agency have gathered for a chance to dig up dirt on the Gojos. If word gets out, they're all done for. Suguru, Satoru, the company—every person’s livelihood that depends on the Gojo name will go to waste.

He's hit rock bottom, drowning in self-deprecation, when your fingers curl around his hand and drag it away from your mouth, your thumb squeezing the inside of his palm in a motion that compels him to trust you.

"Manager Nanami?” Your voice sounds so worn out that it's barely recognizable, but it's good. It makes your next sentence more believable. "I'm so sorry for the holdup, but I wasn't feeling too well. Could you, um, give me five to ten more minutes? I promise to bring your coat out myself."

For what feels like an eternity, silence reigns both inside and outside the room, the two of you holding your breaths while the man on the other side of the door decides your fate.

“Fine.” Nanami finally speaks. “Please don’t take too long. I have a train to catch."

"Thank you so much!" You sigh in relief, your forehead pressing forward against the furniture.

A few moments pass before Suguru braces himself to talk, feeling too flustered to let relief wash over him just yet. "Why did you do that? Why would you—"

"Because I'm your assistant." Only half of your smile is visible from that angle, yet it somehow appears more genuine than the previous ones. "You said it yourself. An assistant should be loyal to the one who hired her. It's my duty to look after you."

Your words make Suguru come face-to-face with a realization that, for the longest time, he's conveniently ignored. You aren't equals. You never were. No matter how hard he's tried to bridge the gap between you, it's still there, paralleling the one between him and Satoru, except in both cases, the sore loser remains no one but himself.

"Now, let's hurry up." Your ass rubs impatiently against his pelvis, reminding him that his cock is still snuggled in your cunt. "We don't have much time."

Postponing soul-searching for as long as he can, Suguru picks himself up and slips a hand between your thighs, easily spotting the neglected nub that throbs above your abused pussy lips.

His thumb swipes over your clit, testing a combination of short circles and light flicks that have you seesawing back and forth between his hand and hips, soft moans of pleasure playing like music in his ears. He much prefers them to your sobs.

"F-feels so good, ahh."

"Such a good girl. Learned her lesson, hm?" He hums, lusciously massaging your insides with his cock, his pace far more forgiving.

He gets to relish everything this time. From the intimate way you hold onto his free hand while pushing back to meet his thrusts, to the stuttered Mr. Geto's that complement your pretty whimpers. He feels himself burning up, the heat from your core circuiting his own body and permeating the deepest parts of his soul. He's drunk on you, feeling more heady when inhaling your perfume than he did sipping champagne all night long.

"Mr. Geto, I'm gonna—" The rest of your sentence is cut off, sharp nails digging into his flesh while your shoulders tense up.

"Gonna cum, sweetheart?" Suguru asks, adrenaline rushing to his thick cock that insists on kissing your cervix while his fingers continuously assault the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "Go ahead. My pretty assistant worked hard for it, didn't she? Proved how much she—f-fuck, she deserves her boss' dick. Cum on this dick, baby. Wanna feel you cum all over me."

"Please, Mr. Geto, pleasepleaseplease , right there, ahhh , please fuck me." Your begging has him losing his mind, the dam between his thoughts and his tongue breaking as he goes on to praise your very existence, no filter whatsoever.

"You were worth the wait. Wanted to do this since d-day one," Suguru pants out, shaking his head with a faint smile. "No, even longer than that. Been wanting you since I saw your picture, fuck—" He bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "Feels like I've been waiting on you forever."

His confession overlaps with your release, your walls spasming and contracting while the rest of your body goes limp. Suguru knows he won't last much longer, his pace growing sloppier by the minute as the aftershocks of your bliss reel him in, sculpted abs clenching in sync with his heavy balls until his hips come to a complete stutter, ropes upon ropes of his creamy seedy sputtering into your warm cunt.

A string of curses is unleashed as he groans your name, and he's still shuddering when he pulls out, staring wide-eyed at the mess he made. His cum flows out of your hole in a steady stream, trickling down your thighs as if taunting him to plug it back in. He doesn't think he's ever finished this hard in his life, and yet his cock insists on twitching even in the comfort of his palm.

Mesmerized by the sight of your spent pussy squirting out your shared fluids, Suguru makes no real effort to dress himself until his eyes spot the sparse drops that have dribbled from his weeping tip to the carpet below, and panic rings in his head like an alarm.

Frantically, he scans the dimly lit room for some paper—a cloth or a towel; anything that'd help him clean up—only to be struck with disappointment. He keeps none of these items around, and while he's mostly proactive about emergencies, he doubts plowing his assistant qualifies as one.

He's off to find the light switch (not without awkwardly tripping in his pants like a penguin first) when you sneak up behind him, your outfit put back together, with a tissue hanging from your open fingers.

"Whores always clean after themselves." You smile sweetly as Suguru accepts the offering.

The dark-haired man crouches to pick up his pants after wiping his cock clean. A smirk is plastered on his face as he tucks himself back into his underwear and crumples the used paper into a ball that gets tossed in the bin beside him.

"Gonna keep holding that against me?" He asks once he's gone back to looking somewhat presentable.

"Hmm, probably until Monday." Your chuckle placates his heart, only to make it thrum against his chest a second later. "Unless...you don't mind speeding up the process."

Your eyes pierce through him, shining brighter than the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. He almost wishes the room were kept in darkness, for the sole reason that his surprise remains hidden, hope lumping in his throat.

"What are you suggesting?"

You clutch onto your jacket while pacing around the room, halting in front of the stacked bookshelves mounted on one of the four walls. Your head tilts slightly as you explore his collection of hardcovers and attempt to read the cursive characters on one of his certificates, your smile losing its vibrancy as you go back to facing him, your eyes focusing anywhere but his.

"Rather than neither of us doing anything special for the holidays," you finally speak, "how about we do nothing special for the holidays together?" You lick your lips together, cringing at the way your voice cracks over the last syllable. "Say, outside Meiji Memorial Museum around 6 p.m. tomorrow?"

Suguru catches himself holding his breath, nitpicking your words even when they leave no room for ambiguity. "Are you asking me out?"

Your head is held low as you nod. "I figured after what just happened, you might be interested."

The lump in his throat dissolves only to recur immediately after.

"What about Satoru?" He asks in a hushed tone, prepared for disappointment.

"Satoru is," a small smile creeps up, "he's the most amazing person I've ever met, and will probably meet in my entire life. But," you gnaw on your lips, briefly meeting his eyes, "I have a preference for dark-haired workaholics." He nearly disputes the color of his own hair, relying on the reflection in your eyes to confirm his identity.

"Is that how you see me?"

"That's how most people in the office see you. If you were to ask me, I'd add kind to the list. Generous. Warm. Sly," you giggle before whispering the next word, "sexy."

Heat rises to his cheeks as Suguru wordlessly gawks at you. To say he's taken aback is an understatement. Part of him feels so ecstatic that he could grow wings and fly off into the night sky, while another part wants him to fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness.

He's such an idiot. No, more than an idiot, he is an irredeemable bastard who deserves none of your sympathy after what he did, and yet you don't seem to blame him one bit. If anything, you gaze at him with more affection than you've ever shown to either him or Satoru, affection that obliterates any doubt.

It's him. For once, and for all, and against all odds, it's him who gets to stand under the mistletoe beside you.

"If you're gonna reject me, please do it now." You squint in the cutest way imaginable. "I don't want to ruin my make-up."

Suguru smiles, allowing himself to openly fawn over your concerned expression.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that. Might wanna," he says, vaguely gesturing at your face.

Your knuckles turn black after rubbing below your eyes. Horrified, you dig another tissue from your pocket, hurriedly scrubbing wherever you deem necessary. "Better now?"

"I'd still dash straight to the elevator if I were you." Suguru chuckles at the face you make, taking a step forward. He runs his tongue along his lips, his voice reduced to a purr when he speaks. "You're right. Don't think I can wait until Monday to see you again." The proximity between your heads begs to be nullified, and he's made up his mind. He can't afford to lose you. Not as an assistant, and certainly not as a woman. He's shameless like that.

Bringing his palm to your cheek, Suguru pulls you toward him, planting a soft peck on your lips that tastes like finally.

By the time he draws away, you're both smiling—breathless, despite the kiss lasting less than a second. His hand glides from your neck to the curve of your shoulder, caressing tenderly, while yours rises to his forehead, having mustered enough courage to tuck the the loose strands of hair behind his ear.

"I should probably go first." Your announcement prickles his heart like a thorn. Walking into this room, he'd braced himself for losing you, yet now he can't even stomach the idea of spending a minute without you. "Don't want Manager Nanami to lose his train."

Not being left with much of a choice on the matter, Suguru nods, sighing softly as he watches you grab Nanami's coat and loop it around your arm, heading for the door. Your goodbye is postponed as you turn around with a jewelry-sized box in hand, the same item you were caught fumbling with when he entered the room earlier.

"This is from Satoru." You explain. "I don't know why or what's inside, but he said I should be the one who gives it to you."

When Suguru accepts it, you smile again and bow your head. "Merry Christmas, Suguru."

On second thought, he's so happy he could die.

Suguru is tinged red from head to toe as he sends you off with the same wish, undoing the silver ribbon that holds the box together after the door closes behind you. It's too small to contain an explosive mechanism, that's for sure, but he doesn't hear much of any rattling as he shakes its contents. His confusion grows tenfold once he lifts the lid and is greeted by the folded piece of paper within.

Unfolding it, the note reads a single sentence whose meaning registers in waves that crash over him along with the memories of the past month, the truths and the lies debunked with every repetition of those seven pesky little words.

Now you know what heaven tastes like.

A/N: I know what y'all wondering, and yes. Nanami did win the competition. Oh, and Satoru totally didn't plot behind the scenes for Suguru to make the first move. totally.

Hope you enjoyed this, and I'd love to hear your thoughts, since this is my first time writing for Suguru.

Disclaimer: He did nothing wrong and he remains a pookie.

Somehow.

#geto suguru #geto x reader #gojo x reader #geto smut #jjk geto #getou suguru #getou suguru x reader #getou x reader #getou smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru

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olderthannetfic · 2 months

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I have really mixed feelings about the small proportion of F/F fiction (original or fanfic), because yeah sure, people have their desires, they should write what they want, I get it. It all works out when I hear it from person to person. But somehow the logic only ever applies in one direction? "There are more male protagonists because men only care about male characters! Women also mostly care about male characters, because that's the majority of characters they get!" And then somehow we also yet kvetch when men write female characters (because it's incorrectly or something, nevermind if women are writing male characters correctly). Why don't we expect gay men to feel compelled only by femslash for the same reasons (but gender swapped) as the lesbian slashers/fujoshi? All of those very rational justifications are applied selectively, "for me for not for thee," and it all only leads to "idk I just don't wanna write femslash", for Reasons. Do we get to call them microaggressions yet?

No, you don't get to call other people's fantasy life a microaggression.

That is indeed "for me but not for thee" in the sense that you get to want what you want but other people aren't supposed to follow their id.

Do you also police gay men who spend too much time on drag and obsessing over female divas? That's an actual real world behavior that's somewhat equivalent. It frequently goes unchallenged, at least by progressives, because men are allowed to do whatever they want with chick stuff, while women are "stealing" if they dare to stray into dude stuff.

(God, I've seen so much more policing of drag kings being ~problematic~ for acting out stereotypical gender than policing of drag queens for the same. It's nuts!)

Fujoshi are often queer, but it's absurd to think we're mostly lesbians. We tend to be bi or asexual women with gender stuff going on, though there is a mix of everybody, including lesbians. There are also a lot of AFAB non-women who get lumped in with us. On the rare occasions I find a man willing to admit to being a similar demographic, he usually does like gender play in his hobbies and entertainment. It's just that men face even more pressure than women do to fit into tidy categories. Bi women get told we're whores. Bi men are told they don't exist.

Yes, I know plenty of lesbians who write more m/m than f/f, but in the big picture of all of AO3 or all of fanfic or all of media, they aren't the demographic driving these numbers. They're vastly outnumbered by the bi women, the asexual women, and the straight and gnc women.

The men we should be looking at as an equivalent aren't cis gay men but bicurious soy boys and the like.

Do most of us fujoshi object to equivalent men doing an equivalent thing? I've seen it sometimes, and I agree it's hypocritical. I'd like us to afford men the same ability to play and take on identities in their art. I remember enjoying Ranma fandom back in the day and reading quite a lot of f/f that was probably by men. It had some of that same sense of distance and fantasy that I so enjoy in m/m aimed at fujoshi. (I do consume some by-cis-gay, for-cis-gay content, both m/m and f/f, but it's often too literal and too bound up in specific named identities for my taste.)

On average, the people I see complaining most about men producing f/f material are the same people who think that because I have a clit, I should center my life around women exclusively. In other words, people spouting radfem ideology, perhaps on purpose or perhaps without realizing.

I do agree that some of the ways of expressing a lack of desire to write femslash can get pretty douchey. I want us to move away from some of the less accurate ones like "There are no compelling female characters" because of this.

But the reason for all these jerkass explanations is that women and people perceived as women who like m/m are constantly asked to explain ourselves. These aren't usually microaggressions: they're openly hostile. People get defensive and try to answer with important-sounding reasons about identity and pain because society at large won't accept "I like this" as the true explanation.

Pleasure is never enough of a reason for a woman to do something.

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punksocks · 8 months

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To Tame The Untamable: Lilith & Obsession:

*just based on my experiences, only take what resonates

**This is more so the like analysis portion, for synastry & placements that trigger obsession see part 2

Black Moon Lilith is fascinating. Even in her presence in your birth chart, she’s less of a planetary body and more of a philosophical (I.e. mathematical) point. She’s elusive and hard to pin down, and yet her influence is permeating. Similar to how Scorpio placements bleed through a birth chart like ink bleeds through paper. Lilith has a distinctive presence (Lilith’s energy is especially felt with hard aspects- square/opposition/conjunct to the angular houses -1st,4th,7th,10th).

Lilith is so weighted yet so elusive, and that is definitely a cornerstone of why she triggers such obsession in others. Even in her original mythology, her husband, Adam, couldn’t control her - and she was made for him ! There’s something inherently rebellious and hard to categorize about the impact of her energy. She’s dark, sultry, and heavy. She’s the eternal antithesis of the traditional feminine. Because she’s always sitting in this outsider energy, there’s an inherent challenge to power that is attached to her presence.

There’s something shocking about what she brings to the native’s energy. She swings in extremes so that people with heavy Lilith placements are often derided for being so outside of the norm. Too s*xy, too opinionated, too smart “for their own good”, for having too much of a strong impact in general. The reality of the situation is that Lilith is here to show you how to live outside of a traditional lens and embrace this energy you already have. She’s here to help you step into your power (while keeping your approach balanced and not over indulging in it, of course).

…So… what’s the deal with the men?

I had to restart this paragraph like 3 times lol. From the top, we live in a society ! Lol

Social roles have certain social rules depending on cultural structures. I often wonder what all of this, all of these dynamics would look like if the gender fluid or the matriarchal societies didn’t get so eroded by colonialism but obviously that’s an essay for another day lol. The dominant culture is a not so distant run off of conservative religious power structures. So as a result, our sort of default social standards are set to be white, patriarchal, heteronormative, and many other strict social categories in line with those ideals. The more you culturally align with these ideals by default the more power you tend to have. And, through a sort of simplified lens, to be socialized within, or at least in closer proximity to those ideals can create a curiousity about those on the outside. Those who cannot and do not align with those defaults have this something else. Something else about how they exist in the world, sometimes on the outskirts, does compel people that are committed/used to living within these strict categories.

There’s something about people with that outsider energy, that exude this inherent wildness that sort of captivates the attention of those that don’t have it. Like an it factor with a bit more darkness attached to it. I think there’s a power in like finding your identity outside of these circles. And when any sort of feelings come into play it can make things more volatile. I think the grip that Lilith tends to pull on guys lies in the power dynamics at play in many relationships in -patriarchal- society. If she’s uncontrollable does that mean you have any power at all? It can be dizzying to be vulnerable in a relationship and lose any of the power/control you’ve had your whole life (I assume lol, I’ve never been a man and they know how I feel about them lol).

I think that’s why relationships tinged by Lilith energy/synastry can quickly become a lot. A lot of passion, a lot of drama, a lot of vying for power. When you’re a femme, much of your social power lies in your attractiveness (even when it comes to stuff that should be neutral like getting a job, or getting a fair chance if you get in trouble, etc). And I think it’s so interesting that Lilith has such a strong effect on the girls. She makes you attractive and gives you power but makes you damn polarizing and makes the power you have into this double edged sword.

On the flip side (Mm yes very 90s of me), this is just shadow side energy. Which is to say Lilith doesn’t make anyone do anything. Her energy just exposes the other side of people (all people, but that’s another essay for another day). If a man, any person really, was going to have positive intentions towards you Lilith energy wouldn’t warp this. She just shows you the darkness some people try to hide. If you’re dating someone and they try to cross your boundaries and get controlling after the second date- this was always going to happen, they just were compelled to try to box you in earlier than they may have intended with someone else.

But yeah in summary, Lilith triggers obsession in others because entitlement. Whoever is acting this way had those controlling and obsessive tendencies all along- it was just brought to light. And when someone shows you who they are, take it from me, it’s best to listen.

Disclaimer: 1. This is a generalization of how things can go, not how they always have to go, so yknow grain of salt 2.With great power comes great responsibility, stay safe out there y’all :0 3. Ok so we live in a society lol, and so we have a lot of social conventions we tend to be used to by default. Romanticize even. And I definitely think obsession is one of those conventions. Desire can be enticing. To want to be wanted. But if it’s taking over your life? I don’t think that should be aspirational. I think everyone wants someone to be obsessed with them until they actually are then it’s this wild uncontrollable thing -and frankly that’s terrifying. (We’ve seen the show You right? It tends to go bad lol.) Live your life ofc, just be careful not to romanticize ab*sive/controlling tendencies in others because it’s unhealthy at best and dangerous at worst. Just my two cents.

(Also omg this whole thing took me so much longer to write than I intended lol, thank you so much for the support everyone <3!)

#astro observations #astro notes #astroblr #astro community #astrology #lilith astrology #astroloji #lilith culture #lilith aspects #lilith

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johannestevans · 10 months

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Patriarchy does damage to us all, and Barbie (2023, dir. Greta Gerwig) clearly depicts that.

We went to see Greta Gerwig’s Barbie at the weekend and I was honestly surprised by how much I engaged with it — it’s a fun, entertaining flick, but where it really took me by surprise is in the three-dimensionality and nuance it applied to the male-female divide in the film, and especially the care it extends to its male characters.

As a gay man and especially as a trans one, I’m often left a little cold when it comes to some films’ explorations of gender dynamics — they often end up simplifying gender roles to a simple binary where men and women exist as homogenous blocks of society, assuming all men are masculine, all women are feminine, and assuming that all of them are cis and straight.

Barbie is refreshing for a few reasons — there aren’t many films where the titular female character proudly proclaims she hasn’t got a vagina — but one thing that really stood out to me was the variety in the male characters and the way that the film really criticises patriarchy whilst realising the ways in which patriarchy harms men in similar ways that it does women.

I honestly felt pretty seen and reflected in the character of Allan, who exists very much outside the expectations the cishet Kens project onto one another, and although the film doesn’t deeply explore queer relationships beyond the blatant gay vibes between Barbie and Gloria, it’s really unusual to see so many queer-coded characters in a film like this, particularly so many male ones.

Ken is kissed on the cheeks by his fellow Kens; there are multiple Kens with queer vibes; two of the businessmen hold hands as they run after Barbie. In general, the film doesn’t hold its male characters to the same stringent expectations of cishet masculinity so many films do — and there’s an inherent play with every male character’s gender in this film.

You get the sense watching it that part of the wonder of the world is that it exists in the minds of the kids playing with it, that it’s not yet tainted by the often obsessive focus many cishet adults have with binary gender roles.

Especially as a kid growing up, knowing I was different, knowing that I didn’t conform as certain adults wanted me to with strict gender roles as imposed on girls — or even boys — I was always aware that sometimes I or other kids would be playing with dolls and action figures, and adults would interrupt effectively to panic that we weren’t being strict enough about those toys’ imaginary genders.

The plot as it plays out in Barbie, larger than life as it is, feels similar to that process, funnily enough.

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

#musings #barbie #barbie 2023 #stereotypical ken #allan barbie

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hylaversicolor · 7 months

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the big eva and ocelot meta, or: how to use religious iconography and symbolism in a godforsaken, cunt serving, and incredibly transgender way

this meta started out as a way for me to learn more about ocelot by looking at eva. and then it turned into the opposite, i guess. because ocelot never, ever speaks directly about his motivation, except for one time at the beginning of mgs2 when he says he’s glad sergei noticed that he’s abandoned mother russia, and even then he hides through ambiguous wording and camera angles. (x) everything else we learn about ocelot is from other characters or is obfuscated by conflicting personas or both. we know why he does what he does (he was obsessed with big boss, eva says) yet he doesn’t state this in his own words. but you can use eva to analyze ocelot, and vice versa. during mgs3 they are both mysterious philosopher agents with ties to the book of genesis sent to help snake on his mission, often with nearly identical dialogue. (x, x) so in mgs3 when eva says “snake, huh. well, i’m eva… are you here to tempt me?” we can assume ocelot feels something similar. when eva says “don’t die on me” at rassvet, we’re meant to remember that moment when ocelot says the same thing to snake in the sewers, many scenes later. and when eva says “when i’m riding, the wind hits me so hard that it hurts. that pain keeps my mind off the pain of having to be someone else. it's not easy always fooling myself like this. it's only when i’m on the bike that i’m free to be the real me.” it’s in the back of our minds when ocelot also rides a bike later on. of course they are not exactly alike; the bike means something different to eva than it does to ocelot, and besides, ocelot is younger, less experienced, more hotheaded. eva, for all her cleavage, is reserved.

taking a detour for a moment to address the ocelot drag king thing that went around twitter recently. shinkawa and kojima noted that mgsv ocelot’s design was meant to inspire such questions from the player “like ‘is that a man or a woman, a woman dressing as a man’ kind of thing,” or “something like takarazuka” (x), japanese western-style theater “with all-female performers” (x). here’s a passage from jennifer robertson’s “the politics of androgyny in Japan: sexuality and subversion in the theater and beyond,” describing tarakazuka:

The femininity embodied and enacted by the musumeyaku serves as a foil for the masculinity of the otokoyaku. Much of the training of the Revue actors involves learning a vocabulary of gendered gestures, movements, intonations, speech patterns, and the like. An otokoyaku, for example, must stride forthrightly across the stage, her arms held stiffly away from her body, her fingers curled around her thumbs. In contrast, a musumeyaku pivots her forearms from the elbows, which are kept pinned against her side, constraining her freedom of movement and consequently making her appear more "feminine." In keeping with the patriarchal values informing the Takarazuka Revue, musumeyaku have represented the fictional Woman with little if any connection to the actual experiences of females. The otokoyaku, however, have been actively encouraged to study the behavior and actions of men offstage (as well as in films) in order to more effectively idealize men on stage, be they samurai or cowboys. Personal or contrary motivations and desires aside, both musumeyaku and otokoyaku are the products of a masculinist imagination in their official stage roles. (American Ethnologist, August 1992, vol. 19, issue 3, pg 423)

if, like all things with ocelot, we take this concept and run with it to eva, then ocelot is the takarazuka otokoyaku and eva is the musumeyaku. it’s all a performance. it’s all camp.

ocelot performs masculinity. he is (arguably) a gay character who lives and breathes his own interpretation, informed by the spaghetti westerns he watched and absorbed as a teenager, of the most idealized embodiment of western masculinity in existence: the american cowboy. his movements, his bravado, his persona are all exaggerated in mgs3. but his performance is also a mask behind which he hides his true self. ocelot physically conceals his whole body; his red gloves are his trademark. eva, by contrast, shows off her body. but while ocelot hides himself by hiding his skin, eva hides herself - crucially - by showing skin. and while ocelot's whole Cowboy Thing is him performing a fantasy version of masculinity, the opposite is true for eva. she is performing femininity just as much as ocelot is performing masculinity, only instead of playing a western cowboy dandy, she’s doing an over-exaggerated femme fatale. they are both acting. they are both camp. ocelot’s masculinity is rooted in westerns; eva’s femininity is, presumably, rooted in whatever charm school training the philosophers must have given her.

this juxtaposition informs the way their roles play out throughout the course of snake eater. ocelot can go off and do whatever; he has more freedom by taking on the persona of a man. eva is more limited in her performance, confined to a pseudo-caregiver role. she must support snake, care for him, give him food items. during the interrogation scene she is the one who is forced to step in and intervene, because out of all the players in the room, the personality she’s crafted for her role is most suited to sensitivity to snake’s torture. (x) she uses her vulnerability to exploit her enemies, turns people’s preconceived notions about her against them. ocelot and volgin both underestimate her; when she successfully evades volgin on the bike, and bests ocelot in hand to hand combat, these are not traditionally feminine activities, yet they are the things she truly excels at. also ocelot has had everything put together for him, even if he doesn’t see this. (x) he has been given incredible privilege at a terrible price. eva doesn’t even have that privilege. she is working to support snake completely on her own.

yet even though eva is unfailingly on snake’s side throughout the game, helping him, giving him items, often physically close to him, seducing him, etc., she betrays him in the end. ocelot is the opposite. he is farther away; he often watches rather than intervenes when snake is in trouble. it’s not obvious that he’s been on snake’s side the whole time. and yet by the end of the game, where eva (who had gotten the closest to him) betrays snake, ocelot (who had been farther away) does not. this speaks to mgs3’s theme of “there is no such thing as a timeless enemy” - also because after the events of the game, snake and eva (though parting ways as enemies) end up as allies again, and eva and ocelot, who had been enemies in the game, become allies as well, and remain allied for life.

ultimately, due to eva’s role being confined to a traditionally feminine one in mgs3, ocelot emerges as a more compelling character. behind that femme fatale persona, though, there is a lot going on. a lot of it, i think, relates to the way eva was raised as a charm agent. as a result of her philosopher training, she can only think of human relationships in absolutes. she equates sex and love in her mind and cannot conceptualize ambiguity:

eva: do you love her? snake: no, nothing like that. eva: do you hate her? snake: does it have to be one or the other - love or hate? eva: between a man and a woman? you bet. […] eva: you were interested in the boss. snake: she was different. eva: really? how do you feel about me? snake: i should be asking you the same question. eva: me? i can fall in love - if it's part of the mission. even with you.

this is meant to be a callback to mgs1, but it’s also eva in her element, in action, working. she unzips her top as she says these lines, revealing her breasts. there’s some meta commentary here about eva fooling or charming the player, using her own sexuality as a weapon, but still being objectified nonetheless because kojima wrote her to do this. in the context of the game, yes this is eva acting of her own accord, molding her appearance and mannerisms to appeal to her target, but she is doing so as a result of philosopher training. this isn’t eva’s true self, not really. the only place she feels free to be her true self is when she’s on her bike, with the wind hitting her so hard “that it hurts.” we see eva performing increasingly risky bike stunts as mgs3 goes on. i think the stress of playing her role only continue to increase as time went on throughout operation snake eater. but not because of being forced to fool john: i think she took some pleasure in that. rather:

eva: the boss was the only one i couldn't fool. she was the only one who knew i was a fake. she told me everything. why did she open her heart to me like that? at the time, i couldn't understand it. but now I think I do. snake, she wanted you to know the truth. she chose me to tell you. that's why she saved my life. i’ve lied to you so many times, but not this time. my orders from the government were to obtain the legacy and to eliminate everyone who knew the truth about what happened. in other words, I'm supposed to kill you. but i can't do it. not because we loved each other. and not because you saved my life. but because i made a promise to the boss… and i intend to keep it. i just wanted you to know. and… you have to live.

because the boss was the one person to understand her, to look at her and see that at her core, she, like ocelot, is the embodiment of a 404 error. but this lack of self, or lack of recognition of the self, ironically, is what makes her human. the boss looks at her and instantly sees that the only way she can feel anything at all is to ride her bike so hard that the wind hurts her. she sees the pain of having been transformed into a blank slate by the philosophers, ready and willing for anyone’s preconceived notions of femininity to be projected onto her, because the boss went through the same ordeal - but unlike eva, whose earliest memories are presumably of philosopher charm schools, the boss did not start as a blank slate. she had a life, a personality, a family first, and had all that taken away in order for higher powers to reduce her to something malleable and ready to be manipulated for the sake of nations and empires. the boss is eva’s connection, her lifeline from the sterile, casually cruel world inhabited by the children of the philosophers, to the emotions and the messiness and the nuance embodied by the rest of humanity. and this connection goes doubly deep because the boss probably encountered eva in one of the philosopher charm schools while searching for her own son, who she knew had to be at a philosopher facility too.

and by choosing eva as the one to pass on her message to snake, the boss gives eva’s life new meaning, a renewed sense of humanity. in eva’s mind now the boss and snake are connected. she is part of that love the boss had felt for snake, and she inherits it by proxy. i don’t think she loved john as a human being, at least not during mgs3. even after mgs3, i don’t think she comes to understand this connection that the boss and snake had, but she still clings to it. and i think that, just like ocelot who was far away and fixated on snake, once eva is the farthest away that she’s ever been from snake at the end of mgs3, now she becomes fixated on him too. just like ocelot, snake represents humanity to her. their connection is less about love and more about trying to make sense of her own emotions, her personhood. the boss endures and haunts eva into perpetuity because i think she is a reminder of what eva could have had.

big mama: your father never wanted you. i’m sorry. human life isn’t meant to be manipulated like that. i knew that. but—i wanted you.

eva allows her own pursuit of humanity to convince her to do inhumane acts. we know ocelot joined the patriots to stay close to john (the same reason he eventually joined foxhound). eva joined the patriots, i think, because staying close to john brought her closer to the boss. that, i believe, is the reason she wanted the kids so badly. eva in mgs4 is motivated by guilt. we can see that she takes in war orphans as the leader of the paradise lost army (ironically facilitating the creation of more child soldiers, and perpetuating the vision of the philosophers even as she’s trying to dismantle their legacy). in mgs3, eva and ocelot are a pair of young philosopher spies aiding naked snake. in mgs4, eva and ocelot are a pair of aging ex-patriot spies from another time forcibly dragging the past along with them into the present. they both mistake solid snake for naked snake in semi-lucid moments; they share similar last words; they both are ultimately killed by foxdie. they kill and steal and lie and torture and maim, but in their minds it’s all out of necessity. take this analysis of paradise lost by john leonard:

The hostility of Chaos raises troubling questions about God. If God is good, all-powerful, and the ultimate source of matter […] how can we account for the existence of an evil Chaos? An evil Chaos would suggest either that God is not good or that he is not all-powerful. Many critics try to get around this problem by arguing that Milton’s Chaos (despite appearances) is not evil but good. (Introduction, Paradise Lost, Penguin, 2003)

zero, by mgs4, is the alpha and the omega. he has surpassed the limitations of his moral body and become an all-seeing, all-knowing system of AIs: in the metaphor of adam, eve, and the snake, zero is god. we can see that eva feels somewhat complicit in this transformation: “zero created the patriots to manage and control the american state […] but i am partly to blame. i bear some of the guilt for creating the organization.” ocelot’s feelings are less apparent.

back to the beginning of this essay: ocelot only explains himself once throughout the entire game series, and while he does, the camera conceals his face. importantly, his red gloves are gone in mgs4. his black gloves show us that this isn’t ocelot anymore. but since his fingers are uncovered, we can infer that ocelot is in there somewhere and he is speaking his truth. so when liquid says “cigars… father's favorite.” that’s really ocelot (with the cigar blocking his face…there’s so much in that) saying “cigars…john’s favorite.” when liquid says, “snake, we were created by the patriots. we're not men: we're shadows in the shape of men. […] the patriots saw fit to create us, and in doing so became our only raison d'etre […] so long as we both live, the world will not know an age of light […] the only choice left to us is death." that is ocelot saying “when i saw what the patriots had done, my only reason to exist became to take them down.” when liquid screams “do you see this, zero?” that is 100% ocelot saying, “watch us, zero, we’re going to undo everything you did to john.” and when liquid gives this odd, regretful glance after the confrontation at the river, (x) i think that is ocelot reacting (albeit late) to eva saying, “adam…” a scene prior.

john: ocelot and eva wanted two things…to bring me back to life, and to end the patriots. […] for me, and for them […] nothing was more important.

in the words of steak bentley, mgs4 shouldn’t have been about big boss. (x) i agree. forcing everything to connect back to big boss and to zero shrinks the universe, imbues the story with this weird predestination, makes everybody’s contributions to the plot feel less significant, weakens both mgs4 and mgs3 in hindsight by showing the writers’ lack of faith in their new material.

but you can also look at it in a meta sense of ocelot and eva saying “this story’s not done yet, i’m still going to get revenge on big boss’s behalf. this is going to be about big boss whether you all like it or not.” metal gear solid 4 is really the story of two people who loved big boss so much and carried so much guilt over the part they played in zero’s betrayal that they created this entire overly convoluted plot to make john relevant again. the irony of it is that if they had just let him fade into obscurity (the first time, after snake eater) the LET project might not have even happened at all. by mgs4 i think they both recognized this. and yet they continued to drag it out - understanding, i think, on some level, that they were doing it all essentially for nothing. and through eva and ocelot’s actions, john ends up getting….not exactly a redemption, but at least closure. i don’t know if it’s warranted or even deserved, but he gets it nonetheless. and still eva and ocelot spend most of their time away from big boss and die without seeing him again. the thought that john would be able to survive, that he would endure and live and reconcile with solid, get one final moment of “i understand.” at the boss’s grave - this kept eva and ocelot going for decades.

by the start of mgs4, for eva and ocelot, everyone else is gone. john is out of their reach, the boss has been dead for fifty years, they killed the rest of the patriots themselves after zero betrayed john. the kids that eva had wanted, too, are no good, since liquid is already gone and solid needs to die in order to bring the cycle to a close. the only way they can access their own humanity (that ocelot had found in snake and eva had found in the boss) is through clinging to each other.

big mama: naturally, ocelot and i planned to free [john] from zero's prison. we enlisted naomi hunter, an authority in the field of nanomachine research, into our organization. and we used frank jaeger to kill dr. clark. ocelot tortured the DARPA chief, donald anderson - also known as sigint - to death…and made it look like an accident. […] with para-medic and sigint dead, zero was the only one left. but we, too, paid a price. i lost ocelot. ocelot wasn't fighting for the pentagon, or the russians. and certainly not for zero. he was fighting for big boss. he idolized him.

#adam and eve in the garden of hrt. if you will.#txt #mgs #revolver ocelot #eva #meta #calling all besties #anyway. i didn't proofread this. but (guys its fine voice) guys its fine

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oceanwithouthermoon · 6 months

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Talking about Saiki and SA here a bit, btw, just a warning~

Thinking about how you said Saiki was a victim of SA and you’re literally so right. I feel like people sometimes just blow right past the fact that Kusuke is like that with his brother, but I think it can add a lot to interpretations of his character. But even if it only goes as far as what is shown in canon — which I almost doubt — it still remains the fact that Kusuke is doing all of that knowing fully well that his brother can hear him. It’s literally sexual harassment.

People point it out more often with Teruhashi and her brother (back to the reasons you said, people think it’s more serious if it happens to women). But the things he does, that’s all sexual harassment. And yet when Kusuke does similar things, it’s often brushed aside. Just,,, a bit crazy to me.

(And that’s not even mentioning when people completely disregard this part of Teruhashi’s story and act like she’s one-dimensional,,, but that’s another story)

But all this to say you’re literally so right. Anyways love you mwah =^•w•^=

THANK YOU SO MUCH. I NEEDD PEOPLE TO ACKNOWLEDGE THIS MORE.

(heed the sa warning + abuse and incest warning before opening, i talk a LOT here.. im mostly just reiterating what happens directly in the manga though.. ALSO EXTREMELY LONG POST WARNING..)

I always viewed kokomi and makoto + kusuo and kusuke as like.. paralleling each other ? not sure if thats the right word, but IMMEDIATELY when i saw both of these dynamics i made the connection.. i guess since it was so clear to me, i assumed that it was so obvious and on purpose that everyone else knew too, but so many people just.. ignore it..

i think most people that read/watch saiki k have recognized the fact that most main characters are meant to parallel or relate to saiki in at least some way, (if anyone who doesnt know what im talking about is reading this, im sure at least someone on here has done a better breakdown on that, i just.. dont know where to find that..) but this particular connection is one i dont see often and i genuinely believe that its almost entirely because of the whole "sexual assault/harassment isnt as serious when it happens to men as when it happens to women" thing.. most of the fandom acknowledge that what makoto does is awful and kokomi is a victim, so why is it different when its kusuke and kusuo ??

its EXACTLY the same.. what we see on screen with the saikis is WORSE, actually.. and what WE see from these two relationships isnt the full extent of what the two victims experience off screen, and i strongly believe that its heavily implied that both kokomi and kusuo have been through much worse with their brothers than whats shown..

we have no idea what kusuke couldve done BEFORE moving away and creating the telepathy canceler (and dont say that he couldnt have done anything cuz they were kids, cocsa [child on child sa] is still a thing and still valid, ESPECIALLY since they were both kid geniuses and kusuke definitely KNEW better.. but yea, kusuo implies that hes been like that for a long time, way before we ever saw them, sooo..) and its highly likely that whatever happened that we didnt see, before or after the move, was WORSE than what he does ON screen (i honestly dont want to think about what a guy with an incestual obsession with his brother does with cameras everywhere in his brothers home..) and what we see him do is already insane..

literally using his brother to get off, manipulating him and forcing him to play the games that give him sexual pleasure.. actually, speaking of, ive seen some people say that what kusuke does isnt really incest because the only reason he uses kusuo is because hes a masochist and kusuo is the only person that can overpower him.. this is a total misfire LOL, his upbringing alongside kusuo and his relationship with him is the REASON that hes a masochist, the ENTIRE REASON why thats what he gets off to.. its not just CONVENIENT that kusuo is there to get him off, he SPECIFICALLY seeks kusuo out and forces him to do things that give him sexual pleasure.. he believes that kusuo is the only person in the world that can ever give him sexual pleasure, what about that doesnt sound incestuous?

and one of the worst parts of it is, kusuo BARELY acknowledges how weird it is.. in fact, he's COMPLACENT in a lot of the games, obedient even, being bribed into them the same way he does with simple things like bringing kuniharu to work.. this is the biggest reason why i believe the off-screen stuff is probably worse, because kusuo is obviously conditioned to think that letting your brother get off to you is just.. fine.. we hardly see him try to get away from this situation beyond simply calling him gross.. theres one moment during the cat tank situation where kusuke tries to get him to grab the limiter off of his crotch specifically so that he can see him in that position and kusuo looks terrified and cant do it, BUT its unclear whether the expression of fear was entirely his concentration because he didnt wanna break the limiter or because he didnt want to let his brother get off to that, and i think its mostly the former ? idk, i dont remember this part that well but im preeeetty sure..

he does acknowledge that MAKOTOS behavior is bad when he sees it, but he never thinks its a big enough deal that he needs to help her or anything, (except for maybe the okinawa situation) which i know is probably just for the sake of not letting the gag manga get too serious, BUT it can also be explained pretty easily by this whole thing.. the way kokomi is treated is literally the same way kusuo lives his life, even down to their incestuous brother being possessive to the point of berating their potential love interests.. (which in this case happened to be each other, kusuo and kokomi..)

so yeah, kusuo just. doesnt really know how bad it actually is ? or maybe he does, but doesnt acknowledge it because he doesnt WANT to.. him barely acknowledging it and being complacent is part of why some people dont really get that its sa and incest, but his complacency obviously plays a big part in how its effected him too, like thats purposeful.. like i said, hes been CONDITIONED not to acknowledge it..

to me, it looks like a classic situation in which kusuo doesn't acknowledge his trauma because he knows that if he did, it would change his outlook on his life, his family, and his childhood FOREVER. he would never be willing to tell anyone or ask for help on his own accord, and accepting that there was anything wrong in the first place means, to him, dealing with that issue by himself for the rest of his life.

why would he ever admit that anything was wrong if nothing would change either way? the only thing that WOULD change is HIM, and why would he want that? isnt it better to be blissfully unaware than to knowingly suffer in silence?

plus, he genuinely does love his brother and knows in the back of his mind that kusukes feelings toward him comes from their unhealthy upbringing and relationship and its more complex than just "hes an evil guy blah blah.." because he isnt really evil and kusuo KNOWS that.. actually, he might be the only person in the world who COULD understand..

so yeahhhh.. kokomi and kusuo are both CANONICALLY victims of sexual harassment.. (and incestual abuse at that..) and, by my interpretation, implied victims of sa as well !! (im not really sure where the line can be when it comes to this sometimes, like when your brother sniffs your bedsheets and rubs himself on them or gets off to you right in front of your face or tries to get you to grab something positioned over his crotch so he can see you in.. THAT position.. but i already said that its pretty likely that both brothers have gone farther than that off-screen..)

anywayyyy.. this is so important to me and i wish people would talk and write about it more instead of pretending it never happened and mischaracterizing every one of these characters, especially for the sake of a ship like i was talking about in my other post.. it sucks that people so often just cast kusuos canon issues aside..

#i really wish this was talked about more..#i referenced a really old draft to write this that i never posted because i couldnt figure out the phrasing #so thank you for giving me the opportunity to finally talk about this in detail lol #saiki k #tdlosk #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusuo #saiki kusuke #teruhashi kokomi #teruhashi makoto #sa tw #incest tw #abuse tw #meows post #meownalysis

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dyakojaythedevil · 5 months

Text

UNSCHEDULED obsession | Part 1

Pairing Fem!Reader x Choso | Geto | Mahito

Warning Slightly violent | Reader is half curse and 120 yo | mentions of murders and sacrifices | Guys it includes smut in the next parts, so if you're underage plz don't even start :>

Enjoy the dirty time ;)

Blood. Blood every where. Blood in the air, blood on their faces, on their shoes, on their hands, on their souls. Blood of all the Jujutsu sorcerers they murdered to get to the old temple in the middle of jungle, buried in the heart of a stone cave.

"This curse better be worth the effort." Mahito mumbled under his breath as the three of them walked into the temple, his tone as annoyed as a spoilt child who didn't get the toy he wanted. Their steps slowed as they reached the glass tomb. The three men circled around the tomb, their gazes narrowing as they watched the body lying in it.

The body of a young girl, h/c hair spread on the gold pillow under her head. Her face pale and designed with black marks, two dark lines starting from her forhead, crossing her eyes and ending in three small beauty dots on her cheeks. She didn't seem in piece, judging by her slight frown and shiny, non-smiling lips.

Similar marks could be seen on the bare skin of her body. Her arms were folded in a cross on her chest, which had a deep hole in it, right where her heart used to beat decades ago. Geto eyed her form carefully and a deep smirk appeared on his face as he answered his young teammate "She is worth it."

"AAh~" A deep moan left your dry lips and you slowly opened your eyes after a century. Everything was blury, a strong wave of cursed energy surrounding your form as you were lying on a soft matress. "What's.. goin' on..?"

You helped yourself sat up and a smooth laughter echoed in your ears. You rubbed your eyes, blinking a couple of times to help clear your gaze. Finally you could see better and the first thing your eyes noticed were these young men circling around you like scavengers circling around a dead body, their eyes staring hungrily right into your soul.

You frowned deeply and your left hand clenched slightly into a fist. But before you use your energy to harm any of those weirdos, the man in black kimono stepped closer, "Easy there, pretty thing," he started, trying to calm you down before explaining simply "We brought you back to life. A 'thank you' would be nice!"

Your frown deepend as your gaze searched around you, your mind wandering through your latest memories. And then it hit you. You lost the battle, you were sealed away by those damn sorcerers. How many days has passed, or maybe years?

"Ah, fuck!" You cursed under your breath as a wave of pain ran through your forhead. When -THE FUCK- have you become so weak? Your hands grasped at your hair and you cursed a couple of words in quiet whispers. When the slight pain disappeared, your eyes fell on your naked form. There was a wound on the middle on your chest, neat stitches sunken deep into your pale flesh.

"My heart..." You mumbled and slightly rubbed on the wound. "They took it away to seal you properly," the asnwer came from the same man from earlier, "We sacrificed some monkeys to bring you back."

His last sentence made you turn around, only to see three bodies laid down on the floor, skins bloody, necks pulseless. They seemed young, too young to be sacrificed for whatever reason, but in that very moment, you couldn't care less. The only thing that was roaming around your mind, was the threatening reminder that these men surely had a reason to bother to bring you back to life.

You stood up, your legs shaking for a second, threatening to disappoint you. But luckily you managed to hold yourself up. You turned to the man with dark kimono and darker hair, wrapped up in a lazy manbun at the back of his head.

"What do you want?" You asked coldly, your voice low. The guy smirked, pleased with how quickly you got to the main point. yet he kept cool and decided to start with an introduction, rather than an answer to your qustion.

"I'm Geto Suguru, a curse user. And these are Mahito," Geto paused a moment to point to the young guy beside him. Mahito waved to you with a smile, his skin covered in stitches, and his eyes glistening with a psychic shine. "And Choso." The third man didn't bother to move a muscle, continuing to stare right into your eyes.

"That wasn't my answer." You reminded coldly as your gaze turned to Geto once again. The man's smirk widened and he licked his lips. "Alright, then let me get to the main point right away. We want you to work with us to get to a shared goal."

"And what shared goal do I have with you?!" You asked, kind of annoyed by his confidence that seemed to be reaching the skies. You crossed your arms infront of your chest and pretended that the light breeze sneaking through the open window isn't giving you shivers.

"Our goals aren't exactly the same, you see.." Geto started, but was soon cut off by Choso who seemed to be annoyed by the slow progress in the conversation, "We're getting rid of some sorcerers, Zenins involved."

Zenin~! The name rang in your ears over and over again.

Now, that sounded like a good kind of shared goal! You cocked an eyebrow, letting the corners of your mouth curl up in a curious smile. "And what are your reasons for such fearless decision?"

"We all got our own reasons, pretty thing. Revenge, fun, curiousity, but those aren't important. The important thing is that we're all walking the same path, so wht not walk together?"

You took a couple of minutes to think about it as the four of you stood there in silence. Finally, you spoke, "Alright, I'mma listen to what you have to say, but first, give me some damn food.." You said, your eyebrows bending into a deep frown as you added, "And clothes. I'm done watching you check me up and down like a pervert."

Geto's smirk deepened even more. He didn't really seem bothered by your threatening tone, and that pissed you off further. Instead, you noticed Choso turning his gaze away from the corner of your eye. A slightly pink shade was covering his cheeks as well as the bridge of his nose, which was already designed by a black mark.

"Here you go, pretty thing." Your attention was back to Geto who put some clothes on the bottom corner of the bed. The three of them walked out the room and Geto informed before closing the door behind him, "The dinner's ready. We'll be waiting for you. Take your time re-meeting your perfect body."

Then you were left by yourself -well, if not counting the corpse!- to check yourself up in the mirror in the corner of the room. Your looks hadn't changed at all. Which wasn't really a surprise for a curse like your kind. You eyed the wound on your chest once again.

"Those mother fucker Zenins..." You mumbled. A sigh left your lips as you reached for the clothes Geto left for you. It was a baby blue kimono, long enough to cover down to your ankles. You took a minute to feel the sweet warmth of it before heading out the room, searching around for the three man.

The house wasn't that big, but surely enough for three. You hoped it would be enough for four as well. You stepped into the kitchen, finding Choso and Geto sitting around a round table. Geto pulled out the chair next to him, encouraging you to sit. As soon as you did, they started the meal. You started as well, feeling starved after a long sleep of God knows how many years.

"Now, for the plan," Geto started. You just nodded as a sign to assure him you're listening, but you didn't stop enjoying your delicious meal. "We're thinking about attacking Jujutsu High, Tokyo. But first we need to make sure we have enough power to beat them up, especially with Gojo Satoru on their side."

"Who is that?" You finally asked in confusion. Geto mumbled a "oh" before answering, "Right, I forgot you were gone for a hundred years."

That made you choke on your food. You started to cough harshly, eyes tearing up. Geto seemed unbothered, ignoring your coughs. But Choso handed you a cup of water as the other man continued, "He's the strongest sorcerer of all. He owns The Six Eyes, making him a really powerfull enemy."

"And how can I be a help in your plan?"

"Well, I was thinking about doubling our curse techniques for the upcoming battle." You frowned once again -this guy has sweared to fix that frown on your face, hasn't he? You put your spoon down to look at him from the corner of your eyes. And he's doing the same, his never-fading smirk still there on his face.

Choso was watching the two of you carefully and he broke the silence with an unsure tone, "I thought we wanted to send her to Jujutsu High as a spy to weaken Gojo Satoru."

"You see, Choso, there are so many good ways to use a pretty thing like her for our own good." Geto chuckled before getting back to his meal. The combination of his tone and words sent a shiver down your spine. But Geto changed the subject as if his earlier words meant nothing, "Since we should wait for the right time to start our plan, what do you think about a tour around the town? We can buy you some clothes as well, as you'll be around here for a long time now."

You could feel that this wasn't just about 'walking around Tokyo' and 'buying clothings'. He was up to something, that was for sure. But what?

"Sounds like a good idea. Can we go after we finished dinner?" You suggested, trying to hide the curiousity in your tone. Whatever was going on in his mind, you preffered to find out sooner than later. It wasn't like you couldn't beat him if he tried any funny trick on you. True, without your heart, you weren't that powerful. But you were still one of the most powerful curses of all.

"Fine with me." was all Geto mumbled as an answer.

"By the way, where is the other one? Mahito.. was it, right?" You asked when you noticed that there's no sign of the said young man. Choso answered whispering, "He doesn't really eat meals. He's always out at nights, so never eats with us."

You eyed the man carefully and caught him looking at you. But Choso stole his gaze away as soon as your eyes met, the pink layor on his cheeks still there.

A psycho who probably feasted on people instead of food, a mysterious pervert that surely had some not-so-innocent plans for you, and a weirdo that couldn't stop peeking at your form for some reason. What a nice group of suspecious men to work with.

What a great way to restart your life after a century!

Just as planned, Geto and you left the house after dinner to take a walk around the neighborhood. Tokyo had changed quite a lot since the last time you were there, with the amount of curses roaming around freely being a good example.

"So, what is the real plan you're thinking about?" You finally spoke out, tired of the silence and all the theories of possible ideas in your head. Geto let out a chuckle, "Too impatient, pretty thing."

"You see~" Geto startd, his tone low as the two of you walked shoulder by shoulder, passing by strangers who looked at you in awe; probably because you looked like a remarkable couple thanks to your kimonos, shining amoung others. "As I mentioned before, I'm planning to double our cursed techniques for the up-coming battle. And that's your technique, isn't it?"

You hated that suggesting grin on his face when he said that. Yeah, geto was right, that was your technique. you could either double someone's cursed energy for a period of time, making them more powerful, or lessen it. Both being done by means of sex. And the man next to you seemed to know that.

"And what if I refuse the suggestion?" Geto's laugh rang in your ears. It sounded fake, too fake, actually. It felt as if he wanted to sound like that. "Oh, pretty thing, how funny of you to think that was a suggestion."

By the time he said that, you were heading towards a less crowded place. You weren't sure where to go so you were just following him around and didn't pay much attention to your surroundings. Not until you found yourself alone with him, within a seemingly abandoned alley.

When you noticed your not-so-safe-and-lovely situation, your hands both turned into fists, ready to beat him and run. But the man seemed to be faster as you felt a strong wave of pain through your whole body. Your knees weakened and you stepped back until your back hit the wall behind you. You slid down a bit, using the wall as a source of strength to keep your balance.

Geto's chuckle echoed in your ears once again. You looked up at him with disgust written all over your pale face. Geto walked to you slowly, standing only an inch away and bending so your faces were on the same level.

"You felt that, sweetheart, didn't you?" His sadistic tone made you feel nausea. "What was that? What have you done to me?"

Another wave of whisper-like laughter left his lips as he stepped even closer, caging you between his body and the wall. "You see, Y/N, bringing you back to life, without your heart, wasn't easy. We had to do much more than just murdering some useless Jujutsu sorcerers and sacrificing some teenagers. Each of us left a part of ourselves inside you, literally."

He paused a moment to put a finger under your chin, making you raise your head to look him directly in the eye. And by the second he touched you, you could feel your body go weaker and weaker.

Geto's triumphantly smirk deepened as he explained further, "I used one of my most powerfull curses to replace your heart, filling the hole in your chest. And since you have no real heart to pump blood in your veins, Choso used his own blood to make sure life runs through your pretty limbs. And you see that perfectly done stitch on your chest, sweety? Mahito made it with his own skin."

All the new information, combined with whatever curse Geto was using on you, made your head dizzy. The more time passed, the less you could understand. Eveything was getting blurry. You didn't even realize when your body trembled down on the cold street. Now you were sitting there patheticly with the smirking man knelt infront of you.

"Hurt or disobey me, and my curse would rip you from inside. Hurt or disobey Choso, and his blood would tear your veins apart and spoil your bone and flesh. Hurt or disobey Mahito and his stitches would tighten and rend your limbs one by one." Every threatening word was said from between his gritted teeth.

"So you're telling me..." You started, conciousness soon to leave your form judging by your slow progress in making real meaningful sentences, "I didn't really have a choice from the very moment I opened my eyes, do I?..."

"Oh~~ Of course you do, pretty thing." His tone sounded sweet as honey and smooth as butter. But it just sent a shiver down your spine as you already could say it was all fake; just another sadistic attempt to degrade and manipulate you further.

And you were proven to be right as your gaze blurred into pure darkness, all senses leaving your weakened body. And just before you lose conciousness, you heard him;

"Obey us or be killed!"

Author's Note yuhoooo~ So, first part done :> I'm so excited to see the reactions! Well, the speed in uploading the next part would greatly depend on the reactions this part will get, so~ I hope you guys like this ^^ Oh! And I'm not a native English speaker, so I'll be glad if you mention my grammar mistakes so that I can correct them :> Thank you~ <(^0^)/♡

Check Part 2 here...

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #choso kamo #choso x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #mahito #mahito x reader

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yanderehsr · 7 months

Note

Assalaam alaikum (its a traditional greeting from where I’m currently staying) This is my angsty request:

Can I request yandere ex-fiance sylvain x betrothed reader. For context, Sylvain and reader were betrothed at a young age by their families to conjoin the families. We all know how sylvain hated being his family and seen as crest stud so he will hate reader too who bears a crest and is part of the reason why he is being force to marry early. Reader on the other hand is dutifully fulfilling their role as sylvain’s fiancé as they don’t want any of their siblings to suffer in their place. Reader cooks sylvain’s favorite food, invites him for teas and all kinds of couple activities. Sylvain being himself decides to flirt with other girls despite having a fiancé already and is skirt chaser with new girls every week just to spite reader and his father. Seeing how their fiancé doesn’t even respect them as a person and is often caught in indecent scandals, reader is hurt as they’re the only ones trying to make something good in the unfortunate situation but is hated by sylvain. One day reader after being stood up by sylvain once again is comforted by one of the kinder students (ashe, dedue or ignatz even) and they fell genuinely in love with the student. How does sylvain feel that reader is no longer trying to make the relationship work and is now interested in other men and frankly speaking replace him in their heart? How would he get the reader back?

-Thank you for reading my request (I’m so excited that you’re doing three houses, do you still remember the anon that sent the jing yuan x neglected wife reader request, that was me. It was such a long time ago, and your blog has grown since then. This request has similar vibes but I see Sylvain to be the kind of yandere that needs a wake up call to snap into yandere mode)

*Gasp*, so it's you who requested that, nice knowing that you still read from me, Sylvain is actually one of my favorite fe3h characters, 4th place in fact😆

Hope you'll enjoy😄

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour

The arrengement happened before either of you were born, that didn't mean that Sylvain didn't hate this situation, he hated it more than anything else, and the only thing he could take his anger out on was you, it was stupid and even he knew that, but he was a child and that was all he could do.

Sylvain ignored you, he hated you, sure it was the situation he really hated but it was you it effected, the two of you should be a couple but this whole situation had made you feel lonlier than ever before. You had to go through with his angry looks and indifferent responses for so so long.

"Just go away, I don't have time for you today"

But that didn't mean that you didn't try, you tried so damn hard to make this not only easier for Sylvain but for you as well, if this was going to happen then why not make it a happy relationship at the very least, so you cooked for him, you stood up for him and what did you get in return, he ignored you, flirted with others and left you alone, over and over again, it was tiring but you held out, or you thought you could at least.

"I-I just don't understand what he has against me"

"There there, I am here to listen to each and every word, so vent all you want"

You had met Ignatz at yet another ball Sylvain had left you at, yet another party where everyone would laugh at you as soon as he left and you were all alone, that's when you met Ignatz who allowed you to rant about it, get everything you had been holding in for the last 10 years off your chest.

*THUMP* *THUMP*

A new spark had been ignited that day, not for Sylvain but for the kind boy who listened to you and comforted you when you needed it, he treated you with respect and kindness, much different to your fiance.

Someone who did take notice of this was Sylvain, you who were such a constant in his life was suddenly spending less and less time with him, you smiled at him less and less, and one day it had all dissapeared... he would admit, he missed it, missed you.

But Sylvain saw you with Ignatz, saw your smile not be directed at him your fiance, but at Ignatz, His heart clenched tightly, a painful feeling in his chest as he saw this, for some reason he felt like ripping the boy from the golden deer apart and get you back, he felt jealous.

Sylvain through jealousy realises what he had, and what he is losing right now, someone to love, someone that treated him with kindness, he feels saddened that he has pushed you away, why did he do that. Maybe it was too late now... you were leaving him...

... Wait you were still his fiance, you were still his, this arrangement was made by not one but two nobles, you couldn't break this off that easely, he will be better for you, he promises, Sylvain cleans up his act, stops flirting with others, now he just needs you to stop cheating on him and he will finally have happiness, with you tied to his side through marriage.

"You need to remember I am you fiance, our love was destined since birth, nothing will sepperate us, I will admit that I have acted stupid so far, but just because I have acted stupid doesn't mean you can cheat on me"

#yandere #yandere fire emblem: three houses #yandere fe3h #yandere male #yandere sylvain #yandere sylvain x reader

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firebloodanddragons · 1 year

Text

The Midnight Relief - Part 3 (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) NSFW

Summary: A knight of the King's Guard comes look for you in the middle of the night. Aemond is back from Storm's End and he requests your presence but nothing has prepared you for what you will find in his rooms.

Tags: SMUT, Porn with Plot (sort of), Vaginal Sex, Soft Aemond, Bottom Aemond, Breeding kink, Targcest (Reader is Daemon Targaryen’s bastard), Angst, Insecurity and Vulnerability, Mention of Underage Prostitution, Death, violence and murder.

Author’s Notes: I hoped you’ll enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As I worked on this chapter, I wondered many times what would make Reader stand by Aemond after learning about Lucerys's death. So I developed her backstory and made it somewhat similar to Aemond's life. I wanted them relate to each other and to bond over death instead of letting it create a gap between them. I was also eager to write a Reader who was different from the goody-two-shoes pure girls we usually pair with characters like Aemond and let's not forget whose daughter she is. You can't be Daemon's daughter and be 100% angelic. Anyway, I can't wait to read your reaction and thank you again for your positive response. Happy New Year. Cee

(PART 1) (PART 2)

“Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath. Which side will it be, greatness or madness? It is a saying born from the mouth of the Targaryen lords that spread to the ears of the people back when Maegor The Cruel was still alive. People used to say that the second son of Aegon the Conqueror was the polar opposite of his half-brother, Aenys I. While Aenys was peaceful, loving and artistic, a weedy and fragile man as thin as a twig, Maegor was quarrelsome, heartless and brutal, a tall and strong man as large as a bull. Two completely different men yet two brothers born from the same father. Two sides of the same coin.”

You didn’t know how your mother could possibly know so much about the Targaryen dynasty or why she was so fascinated by their family history. For years, you had thought her interest for the house of the dragon was the obvious consequence of the heartbreak Daemon Targaryen had left her with, that unconsciously (or not) it had been her desperate way to keep her heart close to the Rogue Prince. But as you grew up you began to believe the opposite. It was her obsession for the Targaryens that had drawn her to Daemon for the dragonriders represented everything she had desired in life: glory, power and especially freedom.

Her sombre face – that only brightened when she would hear the name Targaryen - came back to you as you observed each side of the gold coin flipping between your fingers. The crowned head of late King Viserys The Peaceful shone in the moonlight while the three-headed dragon looked dull, certainly because it was the side that your mother had kissed for years back when the coin used to be hers. Even though you were no real Targaryen and merely a bastard of the Prince of the City, you wondered if she had tossed the coin at your birth and if she had, which side it had landed on.

The door to your dorm slammed open, waking up all the serving girls sleeping in their beds with a start. The crash made you jump with surprise and you quickly hid the gold coin under your pillow, fearing someone might steal it if they knew of its existence. A young and bearded knight of the King’s Guard entered the room. Silently, he had a look around, scanning all the women’s faces one after the other with unknown purpose. When his blue eyes landed on you and noticed your silver hair, he finally declared in a blunt tone of voice. “You! Prince Aemond requests your presence, immediately.” Nothing more, nothing less. It was the first time Aemond had sent a white cloak to find you. Usually, he would entrust an upright and meek servant he could easily intimidate with the task, menacing them to be discreet and sneaky if they wanted to keep their toil or their tongue. ‘Prince Aemond wishes for your service in his rooms at nightfall’ was the regular message since Aemond was determined to keep his nocturnal activities with you a secret and his reputation for decency intact. Something wasn’t right. Every girl stared at you as you got up, put on your red dress over your night gown and left the dorm with the guard in silence. Surely, they were wondering questions similar to yours considering their whispers and glances you chose to ignore but couldn’t help but despise. You blamed yourself for caring so much. You followed the knight down the stairs and he led you to Aemond’s door without a single word. You could see the tension eating at him. His jaw was clenched and there was a certain anxiety behind his harsh blue eyes. What the hell was going on? Arryk – that was the knight’s name (or was it Erryk?) – knocked and without opening, announced. “My prince, the serving girl is here.” He got no answer but he still gestured you to enter almost as if he was afraid to grab the handle himself. You furrowed your brow but you did as he said anyway, not because he had asked you to but because you wanted to know the reason behind the knight’s odd stiffness and Aemond’s reckless summoning.

The prince’s rooms were plunged into the darkness and cold. There was no flame burning in the fireplace that was as clean and empty as when Aemond had left for Storm’s End to obtain Borros Baratheon’s support and the hand of one of his daughters three days ago - a decision made by his family that had hurt you despite Aemond’s assurance that you would never leave his side.

“My prince?” You said, searching for him in the dim moonlight and in the obscurity but he was nowhere to be found. “It is I … Y/N.” You got no answer, just a terrifying gloomy silence that made you anxious and look around you for comfort. “Aemond?” You called his name, now too worried and fearful to care about etiquette.

Your informality managed to draw Aemond out of the shadow and he abruptly wrapped his arms around you as he slammed his hard chest against your back. Startled by his stealthy embrace, you immediately gasped and almost yelped, but as soon as you recognized your paramour’s strength and his perfume - which was a mix of leather and cologne drown in dragon musk - your fear immediately vanished and your body leant under his touch. “You scared me.” You chuckled; you heart still pounding in your chest but glad to finally be in his arms. You had missed him dearly. “You know, fear has never been arousing.” You joked as you put your hands over his to make him tighten his embrace around you. Aemond did not reply. Instead, he hugged you harder and almost with desperate need and he nestled his head in your neck to breathe hard. His behaviour sucked the little playfulness warming your heart out of your chest and the impression that something was wrong reappeared straight away. You slowly turned around to look at Aemond with worry. You could barely see his face in the darkness but the little you saw was enough to sadden you. His silver hair was wavy as if rain had poured over him and his purple look – that was avoiding eye contact - was swollen and reddened. Had he been crying? “Oh my sweet prince.” You cupped his cheek – he was freezing against your palm- and caressed it until he suddenly grabbed your hand to kiss your knuckles desperately. He was glad you were here. He needed you. “My midnight relief.” He whispered, almost chocking on his words.

Concerned for Aemond’s welfare, you hastened to light a fire and a few candles and you prepared a hot bath for him as fast as you could. You thought he would complain about your slowness but the look that he gave you as you did all those things to comfort him was not his usual glare of impatience. Standing in silence in the middle of the room, his head down and his face livid, he genuinely seemed confused. When the water was finally hot and steaming, you gently took his hands in yours and escorted him towards the tub. There, you removed his humid clothes one by one, his boots first, then his leather tunic and trousers and finally his undergarments. He let you do without any complain or any reaction, almost like a doll a little girl could dress and undress at will. But when you reached his eyepatch to unstrap it, he winced and grabbed your hand as swiftly as a snake, his sad young face wrinkled by fear and pain. You surrendered to his refusal but only for a brief moment. “It’s alright.” You whispered as you stroke his cheek to reassure him. He eventually leant in your palm like a fearful cat and you used his moment of docility to remove his eyepatch but as soon as the piece of leather loosened around his head, his purple eye tightly shut and he grimaced again. “What is it my prince? What happened to you?” You asked and he opened his eye again. No word came out of his mouth but the fear lingering in his purple iris sent shivers down your spine. What could terrorize a man as fearless as Aemond Targaryen? “Get in the bath. It will make you feel better … or at least warmer. You’re freezing.”

Again, he remained silent and gave you no sign of approval or disapproval. Instead, he just let you settle him down in the bath. Catatonic, he didn’t react when his body entered the hot water as if its comforting warmth had no effect on him. Knowing him, you were certain he was lost in the memory of whatever had happened to him, remembering each detail on a loop. He was an obsessional man after all. You knelt quietly by the tub and plunged a clean clothe into the water to carefully clean and warm the young prince, starting with his shoulders and the top of his back that were still cold as ice. Unsurprisingly, he barely shivered when you rubbed his skin. So, you untied his long hair hoping some water on his head would bring him back to reality, to you. His silver mane was very tangled and smelt like rain and wet dragon. Therefore, you thought it would be a good idea to grab a comb and a soap. Besides, Aemond enjoyed when you took care of his hair. But the second you tried to stand up, the prince held you back by the hand, his eye begging you to stay. You nodded and sat back on the floor beside him. It took him a while before he finally uttered his first sentence. “Am I a monster?” Your eyes widened at the question and you exclaimed, “What? No, of course not.” But you could tell that your words were not enough to convince Aemond. “Have the Four Storms insulted you, my prince?” If they had, they would hear from you when they visit the keep. Stupid cunts! “Is that why so you feel so down right now? Should I tell the Dowager Queen of your mistreatment in Storm’s End? I –” “Starlight” Aemond sighed, cutting you off almost to calm you down but specially to tell you you were wrong. And for a second, you expected him to talk to you, to confess the truth. But it didn’t come. “Just join me in the bath. Relieve me.” He wanted to sound commanding but his tone was begging.

You nodded and stood up to take off your clothes as Aemond watched. Normally, he would have gazed at you with boiling lust, his hands itching to rip your dress off, his purple eye burning with a dark impatience but not tonight. Tonight, the One-Eyed Prince was nothing but distress. You entered the bath in silence and cautiously sat down on Aemond, straddling his lap. The warm water made you tremble with relief as the temperature soothed your body that was so sore and tensed after three tiresome and intense days working and worrying for your Prince. But your newly-found comfort was of no importance. The only thing that matter was Aemond, as always. Gently, you brought your hands to his muscular chest and started massaging him from his pectorals down to his abs, rubbing circles on his smooth skin, thinking that a little tender devotion could pull Aemond out of his dark thoughts. You were wrong. He didn’t shiver or reacted to your strokes. Clinging to the edge of the tub, he didn’t even look at - or perhaps notice, which was worse - your hands going down towards his cock until he felt your fingers approaching his silver hairs crowning his sex. Then, he grabbed your wrists to forbid you to slide any further and kept them in a solid grip. “Not now… Sing a song for me first.” His unexpected demand confused you for a moment but you asked anyway. “Which song would you like to hear, my prince?” “Have I ever answered this question before?” No, he always let you decide, not because he had no idea of the song that he wished to listen to but because you had a real knack for finding the lyrics that resonated with him. Aemond hated merry melodies, finding them silly and only made to be sung by jesters and drunken bards in taverns. What he loved were tragic lyrics, stories of doomed love and sorrow that he would ask you to sing at night sitting by the fireplace as if they were lullabies. And each time, he would listen to you carefully like a child and emotionlessly like a knight, secretly feeling each line deep in his heart that wasn’t as dark as everyone thought.

Aemond let go of your wrists and watched your beautiful face as you began to sing for him, your hands now in his hair to tenderly – if not motherly- run your fingers through the tangled strands and soothe his agitated mind. “Oh, I am waiting for my boy, noble sailor. His hair is chestnut brown His voice sweet as a blanket He'd promised me he'd come back to me a saviour What is this thing that drowns? Is it my son’s casket?” Prince Aemond always thought you had the loveliest voice, enchanting as a mermaid and sweet as a mother. He could listen to it for hours. And yet tonight it sounded like the sharpest dagger, a blade made of Valyrian steel clinking unpleasantly in his ears and begging for an eye. It was also the teeth of a roaring dragon, tearing flesh apart and crushing bones, and the screams of a frightened boy who had never seen death before. “Enough!” He vociferated, refusing to handle the pain you unconsciously caused him any longer. Your mouth shut and your hands froze in his hair. Aemond was looking away, unable make visual contact, his jaw as tightened as his fists. Rage was eating him from within but not only. You thought about leaving him, believing you were useless, but the fact the prince had not dismissed you somehow made you stay. Perhaps, despite your inability to distract him and to relieve him tonight, he wanted you to remain by his side. Perhaps even the worst company was better than solitude.

“Be honest with me” He suddenly said. “You know I’m always honest with you, my prince.” “A few days ago, when you told me you feared I would abandon you after my betrothal, do you remember what I said?” You knew the answer. “That for you own sanity you can’t let me go.” But the mention of this moment made you rather uneasy and perplexed. Why was Aemond talking about this now? Did he change his mind? Did he come to the conclusion that kicking you out of his life was the right thing to do? Was this the reason why you couldn’t comfort him tonight, why he didn’t want you? You sensed fear growing inside of you, the questions echoing in your head like a hubbub. “Hmm… That is not what I should have said.” Your entire body shivered at his words and you instinctively hold on to his hair as one would hold on for dear life. Desperately. And you found yourself pathetic for reacting that way. You shouldn’t be surprised if Aemond had indeed come back to his dutiful senses, that he had decided to abandon you for his betrothed, a lady that certainly was way more beautiful than you and undoubtedly more educated. It was a reasonable choice, the choice any lord and or prince would make. And yet… “I should have said, for my own sanity don’t let me go.” The terror knotting your stomach slightly loosened the same way your fingers clung at his silver hair unclenched and then you realized Aemond had been holding you by the waist all along, his short nails dug in your soft flesh. Whether it was to comfort you or out of a fear similar to yours you didn’t know. “How can you believe I would ever let you go, my prince?” “Because soon perhaps even in the morrow you and everyone else in this damn kingdom will call me a monster. You will reject me just like my own family have been rejecting me for years, just like they rejected me earlier when they learnt…” He brutally stopped, unable to continue his sentence. “Have I not stood by you all these years, my prince?” You asked as you stroke his wet hair tenderly. “You have.” He had a faint but grateful smile that barely could be seen on his heart-shaped lips. “So why would I leave you now?”

Aemond found the courage to look at you deep in your eyes. He could tell you were waiting for an answer, that you were eager to know what had happened to him, what was the cause of his unusual behaviour. He was no fool. He was just scared. Behind his mask of unbreakable strength and austerity, he was just scared like a little boy, like the child he used to be when he had no dragon and no one as supporting and devoted as you by his side. He was scared to be abandoned, to be cast away once more. He was scared of the curse his kind were said to carry. He was scared but he spoke anyway. “Because I am a murderer… I killed Luke.” He saw your face change, the worry in your features turning into incomprehension, the way you stared at him and almost pulled yourself out of his arms that refused to let you go as you removed your hands from his hair. He saw all that and he couldn’t see more. “What? Why?” You asked in shock. “Because I wanted to.” He confessed the same way he had confessed to his mother and grandsire earlier, with a coldness that concealed his shame. “Aemond...” “It’s the truth!” He growled. “I wanted the bastard dead. I’ve always wished him dead, since the day he took my eye … No, since the day he humiliated me by offering me that fucking pig. In my mind, he always deserved to die and only the Gods know how many times I’ve dreamt to gauge his eyeballs and present them to his whore mother on a silver platter. I wanted Luke dead. And now he is.” He could feel your eyes on him but he couldn’t even glance at you, too terrified to face your disappointment but he still found the strength to admit something he had kept hidden from his family because he still believed that despite your probable disgust right now, you would never mock him. “But I didn’t mean to kill him. I … I tried to stop Vhagar, I did. But she …” The images of his nephew and his dragon being torn to pieces stopped him from talking again and he sighed before eventually pulling your body closer to him to nestle his head in your chest and beg you, his purple eye glistening with repressed tears. “You must believe me. Please believe me. Stand by me.” As a response, your fingers found their way back to Aemond’s hair and your caressed it to comfort him as you kissed the top of his head. He wrapped his arms around you with all the strength and despair he had and kissed your breasts with a heart-breaking gratefulness. You were still here and that’s all he wanted. But nothing had prepared him for your revelation.

“I killed my mother.” You declared, your voice barely louder than a whisper. This was your darkest secret, the atrocity you had never told anyone but yourself when at night you would remember the macabre scene. And tonight, you were telling it to the man you held against your breasts, not to unburden you but to tell him you understood him. “What I said to you, that she died of syphilis holding my hand … that’s not what really happened.” Aemond glanced up at you and slowly unclasped his embrace around you to let you tell your story, curious to know what it was and why it happened. There was no judgment in his eye because somehow, he could already relate. “When I was twelve, my mother got so sick she was forced to be confined to bed. So, it fell upon me to provide for her. I turned to Madam Chataya and she hired me to take my mother’s place in the pleasure house. I was the only dragonseed whore in the Street of Silk, a blessing for the owner of the brothel but a curse for me. Men who dreamt to know how it felt to ‘fuck the blood of the dragon’ paid huge amounts of coins for a moment with me while others who hated the crown came to fuck me hard thinking it would somehow make the royals pay for their misery. And I endured this treatment every day because it was the only way to help my mother. But I got no thank you for it. All I had was more stories about Daemon Targaryen.” A tear rolled down your cheek and you chuckled to let Aemond believe you were fine. But your smile was too miserable and bitter to fool him. The prince thought about catching your tear but afraid it would stop you in your story he did not. “One day, her sickness worsened and she got a terrible fever that made her hallucinate. For a week she thought my sire was by her side and she couldn’t stop calling his name over and over again while I was downstairs getting fucked by all the sons of bitches of King’s Landing. ‘Daemon, you’re here. Thank the gods!’” The rage and hatred you had never managed to erase made your jaw shake and your eyes darken. “It drove me mad. So, one night as she was screaming his name again, I wrapped my hands around her neck… I tried to resist. Trust me I did but I hated her so much and I hated Daemon and I hated all the men who paid to fuck me. I was just a child, seven hells!” You sobbed loudly and sensed Aemond’s fingers lightly brush the skin of your back. “She struggled, trying to gasp for air, begging me to stop but even as she did, she still yelled ‘Daemon, Daemon!’. I was crying, begging her to stop saying his name. I just wanted her notice me, to care about me, to just be my mother. She grabbed my hands to free herself from my grip but she was too weak to push me away. I felt her dying in my hands and when her body became still and she was finally silent… I think I felt more relieved than sad. I killed my own mother, Aemond. So yes, I’ll stand by you. Because people like you and me, we’re not monsters, we’re just survivors that life broke too many times.”

A new tear fell from your eyes and this time Aemond couldn’t resist the urge to wipe it from your face with his thumb. His sympathy and tenderness warmed your heart and you were grateful for them. It was possibly the first time in your entire life someone gave you pure and unconditional affection. And it felt nice.

“Thank you.” You whispered with a faint smile that Aemond immediately caught with his lips. You gasped in his mouth but eventually welcomed his kiss with the same softness he gave you. Your fingers woven in his silver locks, his roaming up and down your back, your mouths were brushing each other, enjoying the delicacy that was so needed after such emotional confessions when your bodies began to yearn more for one another. Your chests met harder, drawing a sharp breath out of both your parted lips and you used this moment to give the prince a passionate kiss. You pulled at his bottom lip and he moaned gutturally before he urged to smooch you, encouraged by your sudden eagerness, his hand holding the back of your neck firmly. You could feel his cock swelling between your thighs, close to your hole that would soon be aching to be filled. You tried to ignore the growing hardness and the knot that was tightening your lower belly more and more which each second passing. You refused to seem sexually depraved to the prince’s eyes, but as soon as Aemond pressed your core to his shaft you grunted lustfully and began to move against him. “I need you.” The words escaped your lips as you clung to his hair. “As I need you.” Your mouths couldn’t be separated. It was as if you needed the proximity and the mix of both your breaths to be and feel alive before the dreadful curse looming over you would make moments of intimacy like this one too rare.

Aemond grabbed his length now erected and ready for you and guided it towards your begging entrance waiting for him under the water. Remembering what you had taught him before leaving for Storm’s End, he teased your clit with his tip and watched you squirm in his arms with an amused smirk on his lips before entering you almost smoothly. You wriggled a bit as he slid inside you to take him deeper. “Always such a tight warm hole for me.” Aemond purred as he took hold of your hips to sheathe his long shaft to the hilt. Your wet walls fit so well around him, taking every inch of his length perfectly. “Do you like it?” You asked then winced a bit when Aemond pulled out and pushed back inside of you with strength. Your grimace brutally calmed the prince’s burning ardour and he froze. “Did I hurt you?” He worried with an apologetic tone when he understood he should have perhaps given you more time to adjust to his girthy presence before moving. His reaction moved you. Never a man had shown any concern for you. You had always been treated like a toy, a doll all men with enough gold or power – Aemond included - could use or abuse to their will. The prince’s sudden softness brought a single tear to your eye and you blinked to prevent it from rolling down your cheek. “No.” You whispered and your face beamed with gratefulness. You kissed Aemond again to reassure him and slowly adjusted yourself to his cock by undulating your hips, a necessity knowing Aemond’s tendency to be hard, rough and extremely passionate. But then he said something that caught you off guard. “Keep doing that.” It took you a solid second to understand what he meant and wanted from you and when you finally did, you stared at him confused. Did he want you on top? A part of you couldn’t believe this to be true. And he noticed. “Ride me.” He ordered, making his wish perfectly clear this time. “You sure? You never allowed me on top before, my prince.” “I’m your dragon, aren’t I? Dragons are meant to be ridden. So, do it.” His command sounded so sensual to your ears you suddenly clenched around him, feeling an arousal you had never felt before. Aemond hissed as he slammed his head back against the edge of the tub and he put his hand on your hips to silently tell you to move. You took a comfortable position on top of him, hands on his shoulders, your breasts close to his face, and slowly you lifted yourself up only to sink back on his hard cock as soon as his tip threatened to leave your hole. Aemond grunted as you welcomed him back inside inch by inch and he breathed hard. He seemed to enjoy it so much. So you did it again and again and again until he began to moan so desperately you decided to accelerate your pace. You took a hold of the edge of the tub right above the prince’s silver head and started to bounce on top of him, flooding the stone floor more and more each time your entrance eagerly met his balls. “Seven heavens, you feel so good.” Aemond managed to compliment between two growls and you beamed. “No, you feel so good, my dragon.” The position was indeed amazing, empowering even. The proximity, the intimacy, the sensation to be in charge and to have Aemond, a prince, all to yourself. You could get used to this. “Indeed, it seems you’re enjoying me quite a lot.” Aemond hissed under your frantic rhythm. You were so wet around him and he was sure that wasn’t the water. You nodded and chuckled as you kept your pace steady but passionate. But soon, your desires began to scream loudly inside of you, encouraging you to take more, more pleasure, more power, more of Aemond. You let them guide you and your movements turned into a furious riding, similar to a wild rodeo except that the beast you were straddling was no wild animal but a very docile dragon staring at you with a burning but calm adoration through his lidded eye, his hands worshipping your body but occasionally clawing at your skin. “Fuck I love riding you.” You admitted and Aemond smirked at your coarseness, definitely amused but proud to see you enjoy his cock so much. “Keep going then, my fierce rider.” He joked and submitted to you even more to observe you take what you so eagerly wanted. He loved dominating you but there was something truly satisfying in seeing you fervently enjoying yourself on top of him. He made him feel somewhat adored, a feeling that had been too rare in his young life.

“Touch me, please.” You asked and one of the prince’s big hands gladly left your waist to slide down to your fold, ready to find your throbbing clit and send you over the edge, a generous gesture he was happy to offer you. “Not here.” You stopped him, almost breathless. You took his hands in yours and abruptly brought them to your bouncing breasts that left unattended for too long to your taste. “There.” Aemond obediently cupped them as if he was holding two beautiful fruits and instantly started to toy with your sensitive perky nipples, pinching them and rolling them between his fingers. You grunted as he did and dug your nails in the wooden edge of the tub when you felt yourself almost fall on top of the Targaryen prince. Your breasts brushed Aemond’s face in your fall and, unable to resist their delicious shape, he claimed one by catching it with his mouth. He immediately started sucking it loudly, twirling his tongue around the nipple as his cock began to throb in your cunt. It was no secret he liked your breasts in his mouth but you never saw the prince adoring them like that. Usually, he would suck at them for comfort, not for lustful purposes. As he kept on devouring your teats, Aemond’s hand slid down your sides to find your waist again. He grabbed you firmly and you felt him adjust himself underneath you, forcing you to stop your eager bouncing on top of him. You clearly understood what he was trying to do. So, you bent on top of him even more, pressing your forehead to his, to help him a bit. “You don’t mind?” “Not if you bring me to the stars with you.” You whispered closed to his lips with a smile and he chuckled almost silently. “Hmm… I can do that.” “I’m sure you can, my dragon.” He took your words as a challenge anyway and rapidly became entranced. He thrusted his cock inside you hard and deep to make you mewl and then when he reached the end of your squelchy pit, he began hammering you from underneath. The water in the tub became agitated as you took each of Aemond’s mighty thrusts with loud lustful cries that only encouraged him to accelerate and soon your walls began to clench more and more around Aemond’s throbbing cock. You were aware of the power of a tightening cunt around an aching shaft and you could definitely tell by looking at Aemond’s face wrinkled with pleasure that he was very close to reach his high. So, you tried to warn him, afraid he was too lost in lust to realise he was very close to milk his cock inside you. “Aemond, careful. You will—” “Let me… let me.” He panted almost begging you.

You eyed at him with surprise but also seriousness. You did not want him to make a reckless decision that he would regret later. He sensed your state of mind and caught your look. His purple eye was lidded, reflecting the incoming burst growing inside him but he was still very conscious of his actions. “That’s alright. I truly want it. I want to know how it feels to breed a woman… to breed you.” Just as before, his words made you moan and shiver and you ultimately nodded and buried your face in his neck, offering him your body to do as he wished. Your submission set Aemond’s loins on fire and a solid hand wrapped around the back of your neck as he bit your shoulder like an animal in heat trying to breed his mate. He did not hurt you though. His hand and teeth were just merely to keep you in place as he kept chasing his release inside you with a rough and fervent pace. His need was bringing you closer to your climax. Seeing Aemond so desperate, so eager to cum inside of you was the most arousing thing in the world. And after a few perfect thrusts, your walls began to flutter and you finally came loudly, crying in his neck. Your cunt furiously clenched and unclenched around his cock as you went up and down your high. “Don’t muffle your screams, not tonight, not as I put my seed in you.” The Targaryen commanded as he felt you cum around him and push his aching cock towards its release. “Aemond!!” You shouted and he finally spurted his semen into you as he growled lewdly for long seconds, his voice following the rhythm of his manhood emptying itself in your comforting hole.

When there was nothing else that he could give you, the prince’s body became limp and he let himself sink in the tub, dragging you down with him. You laid against him, his cock still inside you keeping his seed as deeply as possible, your head on his beating chest, and you silently listened to his thundering heart. You were both tired and panting, unable to move and to talk. But even if you could, what would you do? What would you say that your silence and embrace couldn’t show already? You rubbed your face on Aemond, trembling but very satisfied and you wrapped your arms around him. He responded with his fingertips caressing your back and that’s all you both needed right now.

‘Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath. Which side will it be, greatness or madness.’ You didn’t know if your mother had tossed a coin for you and if she had, which side it had fallen on. But as your body was still united with Aemond’s, you began to think that if you tossed a coin right now it would show you madness because you were mad about your prince.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #the midnight relief

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