#GIVE THIS MAN A MODELING JOB NOW | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

supreme-leader-stoat · 8 months

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You're fresh out of college and looking for a job. Everyone is hiring. Nobody who's "hiring" is actually hiring. You finally get a call back from somewhere you barely remember applying to (though the voice on the other end sounds synthesized). You pull up the job listing again real quick. The company name and the fact that the listing is for "Minion" are kind of concerning, but you know what, you've interviewed with enough evil corporations by now, you can handle one wearing its true colors on its sleeve. At this point it's a matter of making rent or moving back in with your parents, and as much as you love your family, you can't imagine spending another summer dealing with your brothers' antics. You agree to the interview.

The man who greets you is an enthusiastic older German(?) man who's either way too into cosplay or just that committed to the bit, judging by the lab coat. He made cookies. The tray of cookies is proffered to you by a ten-foot-tall robotic caricature of a 50s businessman. You take a deep breath to calm yourself. You bite into one of the cookies. It's delicious.

You ask the boss about his business model. "Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that, I bounce from project to project a lot." He mentions that his end goal is becoming the undisputed ruler of the surrounding counties. "Really? Not the whole world?" you ask. "I like to set realistic goals," he replies.

As he gives you the tour of his "evil lair," ingrained instincts are screaming at you to report this guy to some kind of authority figure. You remember the salary. You decide that you can always bust him after getting your first paycheck.

The boss asks when you can start. Caught off guard, you say "tomorrow?". Your boss(?) says he'll see you then.

On the way out, you bump into your stepbrother's girlfriend. Your boss introduces her as his daughter. You both silently agree to sidestep the subject for now and act like this is your first time meeting.

You show up to your first day of work. Your boss is putting the finishing touches on a giant machine that was definitely not there yesterday. You are nonplussed. You ask him what it's for and he launches into a convoluted explanation involving his parents always forcing him to put his shirts on backwards so the tag was in front. You think he should probably talk to a therapist.

Your brothers' exotic pet breaks down the wall. You stare at him. He stares at you. Incredulously, you say his name. "Oh, good, you two already know each other!" your boss says. You mention that you used to live with him. "What? Perry the Platypus, you never mentioned having a roommate."

This is what I like to imagine Candace Flynn's life is like, post P&F.

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kathaynesart · 2 months

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The eye of the hurricane. I like to think Cassandra sometimes called the brothers by the nicknames their dad used, given they were probably pretty close before his passing.

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT (SOON) MASTER POST

Man oh man, this one was way messier and off model than my last few updates but whatever, we got to keep this ball rolling! Life's been crazy so I've had to take some unwanted breaks in between updates. Thanks everyone for your patience as always!

One thing I wanted in this flashback was to really get a sense of how the brothers worked as an experienced team with Leo at the helm as a proper leader. It's something we never got to see much of in Rise and I felt it was important to include since half the team is already gone by the time of Replica. Team Dynamics Ted Talk under the cut!

We know from Casey Jr that Leo stressed the importance of listening to your team. A big part of that also means knowing how to communicate with them in general.

With Michelangelo, he keeps it short and succinct, trusting his brother to know what he's doing when in his element. This trust goes a long way with Mikey, having spent years of his youth as the baby striving for the respect he felt he deserved. Leo knows it's best to not bog Mikey down with details, allowing him to improvise as needed. This unspoken freedom has only grown over time as Mikey has dipped deeper into spiritual arts that, frankly, go completely over Leo's head.

The greatest sacrifice Leo has ever made was read Donnie's Big Book of Bad Guy Codes. While he doesn't remember ALL the numbers, he has memorized the ones that matter and it has helped tremendously in avoiding miscommunication with his genius brother. More importantly it silenced any of Donnie's usual belly-aching. As Leo's "twin"/"equal" the two still butt heads from time to time. Donnie respects his brother's authority (mostly) but will still push the boundaries of what he's allowed on a semi-regular basis. Give Donnie an inch and he will take the mile and then find a loop hole that allows him to go twenty miles more. This is partially due to him often being the one left behind at HQ, making the turtle just a TAD stir crazy. Leo does his best to keep him in line regardless.

Big brother Raph will forever and always be big brother to Leo. As such he holds a place of authority in Leo's heart and is someone he still regularly seeks counsel from in both the ways of leadership and more. Raph is always happy to support his younger brother and does a surprisingly good job (albeit after years of practice) of walking the line so as not to step on his brother's toes in the process. At least not since the secret of "the Key" blew up in their faces several years ago. They don't talk about that anymore. Leo is the leader now and he's done a great job in recent years as far as Raph is concerned. He trusts him to make the right call. The two have a close bond and regularly use mind meld to quickly communicate rather than speak ...this will be important to remember for the future.

Hope that overall feeling came through for this group!

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k9wa · 2 months

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𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable.

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin.

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’”

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely– i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings.

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.”

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing.

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them.

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up— his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?”

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…”

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out. “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?”

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move.

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.”

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received.

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers.

his own dream, now his downfall.

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl.

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

#i have a few leaks and drip marketing and thats it #but idc thats enough hes everything #boothill #boothill x reader #honkai star rail #boothill hsr #boothill honkai star rail #boothill x you #boothill headcanons #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr boothill #also #i know his synaesthesia beacon replaces the phrase and not only the word #im just not writing all that #UNEARTHLY

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 21 days

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[Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours] - Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

To your surprise, Kyle, or Gaz – the model-like man introduced himself as – is such a considerate person with a nice sense of humor, at least compared to Soap or Ghost.

That day you trapped yourself in the predicament with John, he seemed to sense your embarrassment, hence he just handed his boss a backup shirt without making fun of you like his boss, so you have a lot of time for the man.

Like now, he’s sitting and sharing a plate of biscuits with you, enjoying a tranquil tea time accompanied by the pleasant smell of Earl Grey.

“You don’t have jobs to do today?” You raise your cup and ask, before taking another sip and watch Kyle finish his bite and reply.

“Ghost’s in charge of dealing with the enemy today.”

“Ehmm, okay” You refuse to figure out what ‘dealing’ means “What about others?"

"I killed mine yesterday.”

Okay, you truly don’t mean this, but let’s just end this topic and move on. With a few biscuits down to your stomach, brainwashing yourself to forget what you heard seconds before with the sweetness, and buying you some time to come up with a better subject, you open your mouth again.

“Every time one of you comes here, you just scare all my customers away.”

“Isn’t that better?”

“I need customers to earn money, Kyle.”

“You have us to pay you.” He points at the badge pasted on your wall. Of course, you’re not the one who put it on, you rather read the military smut out in front of all British than do it, but if you try to take it off, Soap will put a new one back, so in the end you just compromised and let him claim your shop publicly.

“This place isn’t only served for you guys.”

“It isn’t?”

Is it possible to refute when Kyle flashes you a smile that you almost get blind and start wondering if he can replace himself as your lights and save you the electricity bill? Maybe counting this as one of Kyle’s humor will be better than explaining. All required is to ignore the evil glints in his majestic brown eyes while he questions you.

But even though Kyle said he doesn’t have work today, he doesn’t stay long after he finishes his tea.

“Gotta head back to help the boss.” He grins as he turns the knob and waves you goodbye.

What’s weird is that after Kyle leaves your shop, customers start flooding back. Many of them are familiars of the shop, as you’re sure they’re 141’s lackeys too.

You remember them see you as one of the henchmen… Although they're not as afraid as when they first visit the shop because of your hospitable attitude, you can still sense the attentiveness in their demeanor.

No matter what, you’re going to figure out what’s actually happening.

“Hey, you.” You walk to one of the minions' sides. “Mind to tell me about why you guys always disappear when Gaz or Ghost or others come here?”

“We…” The guy’s eyes avert, shooting his friend a glance for help “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” Raising your eyebrow, you lower your voice to make it menacing

“It really is, ma’am, nothing to bother with the Sirs.”

“Show me, they must have sent some messages to inform you guys, right? Let me take a look, or I will…” You will what? Actually, you have no idea what you can do to these guys that can lift you up and throw you into a trash bin like a shot “Wait a second.”

Quickly running back to your kitchen, you come back with your most intimidating weapon –

“Or I will hit you with my pan!” You wiggle your arm as a threat.

“…”

They don’t look scared of the pan for a tiny bit. Wait, you should take your kitchen knife instead, who the fuck will pick a pan? You idiot.

yet to your satisfaction, they still fish out their phone and let you have it, and you don’t waste any time as you open the texting app.

‘Announcement: Boss will arrive at the tea shop in 10 minutes, clear the shop immediately.’

So they really are scaring your customers off. Give the phone back to the poor guy with pity in your eyes, you bring him a few more biscuits.

You’re strolling through the aisles in the shop. You’re out of flour and sugar, and every Wednesday the groceries are on sale. You never miss these chances to build up savings.

What a nice shopping trip. Quiet, leisure, just enjoying your own time, picking up different brands of cereal and calculating which is cheaper like a competent broken adult. Things never go wrong when you’re alone.

“Hey lass!”

Well, you’re kidding, things go south too quickly. The voice’s too familiar. It must be a hallucination.

“Lass? Bonnie?”

Don’t look back, keep walking. It’s not the detergent man with a stupid chicken crest yelling at you.

“HEY!” A hand pats you on your shoulder and makes you jump. Sighing internally and prey there won’t be any trouble caused by the man, you turn around and face him.

“Oh, Soap, Hi.” Shit, looks like you just can’t have a break from these men. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Even though the nan outside tells me te shut the fok up?”

“Yes.” you shamelessly admit, pro tip to confront people without shame “Why are you here by the way, Soap?”

“Oh, we’re in need of some things, so Ghost pulled off during our way home.”

You take a glimpse at his basket. A rope, a roll of duct tape, and a knife.

They must be going on a picnic. Yes, don’t overthink. The rope is for securing the tent, the duct tape is for concealing the holes on it. Knife? they surely will need it when cutting apples.

The image of Ghost slaughtering… peeling apple you mean, with Soap and Gaz playing red light green light and John napping in the tent is so vivid in your mind that you need to restrain the laugh with a clear of your throat before you grunt in affirmation and restart your steps.

With Soap depriving you of your last respite, you choose to grab what you need and head to the counter. All you want is to get home, have a nice shower, and lie on the bed reading the new fic you found last night.

“Do ye need help?” He watches you shove the products in your bag, but 5 huge cartons of milk are too heavy for your weak limbs, you can feel your arms trembling under your attempt.

“It’s okay, my car’s near the door. I can carry this myself.” Again, cheekiness works every time. You don’t care about strangers staring at you struggling with the bag and exit the supermarket in a crab way, as long as it can bring you back into peace faster, and you almost tear up when you see your car, the white of it is like the lighthouse in the atramentous night.

Hey, but you don’t remember your car has a goddamn huge dent at its boot.

“Oh yeah, forgot to tell ye. Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours, and he’s contemplating whether he should kidnap the driver when they come back and make them shut up, or just kill them.” Soap looks at you stopping in despair as he recognizes what you’re looking at. “So it’s your car aye?”

You don’t answer him, you just watch Ghost materialize from the Shadow beside your car and give you a nod.

Fuck your life.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

Car -1, Peaceful night -1

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww

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ozzgin · 4 months

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Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)."

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock.

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message.

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

"There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days.

You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows.

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?"

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window.

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?"

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied:

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake.

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused.

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else."

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing.

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat.

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport.

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks.

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society.

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation.

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly.

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail."

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary.

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment?

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously.

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology.

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office.��Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa.

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport.

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead.

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment.

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans.

Just you."

#yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere robot #yandere android #robot x human #android x reader #robot x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere imagine #yandere fic

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princessbrunette · 7 months

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All i can think about is rafe cameron buying you stupidly expensive lingerie sets for christmas😵‍💫 and then after breakfast he asks you to model them🤭

SANTA BABY ♡

gettin me in the festive spirit hehehe this made me wanna spend xmas with the cameron’s so bad :((

cw: christmas duh, family bonding time, i aged Wheezie down to be like 6 years old bc i think it would be cute idk LMAOOO , suggestive themes but nothing too crazy ❀

At his core, Rafe Cameron liked to think he was a family man. He’d often flip out, misbehave, and shit talk his family members it’s true, but Christmas was a time he liked to put it all behind him (Atleast until the new year starts, and he can start up his usual BS)

As you can imagine, Christmas at the Cameron’s was something extravagant. Humungous white christmas tree with silver decorations at the centre of the house, the outside of the house decked with lights that required enough power to start up 3 yachts, fake snow on the porch and Frank Sinatras Christmas album playing round the house at each corner. The years had only softened Ward, and whilst he could be cruel, hard on Rafe and borderline forgetful of Wheezies existence — Christmas was where he shone brightest, just wanting to do right by his kids and now, you, his sons girlfriend.

Receiving presents from the family was a whole different ballgame to your usual Christmas at home, Ward having grinned ear to ear when he handed you the box with the Tiffany’s heart tag charm bracelet glittering under the Christmas lights of the early morning (Wheezie being Wheezie woke everyone up at 6AM sharp.) Rafe, who’d insisted you’d curled right up to his side on the couch wearing his robe resisted an eye roll, his dad always having to out do him, but you seemed elated and he felt his heart warm.

They went all out, Rose handing you a literal 90’s Blumarine runway piece she’d simply overheard you talking Rafes ear off about, the next 5 minutes spent by you and Sarah fawning over it. Sarah’s gift was next, a set of SKIMS dresses you’d been saving to your Pinterest which she couldn’t help but notice, and of course Wheezie proudly handing you a glittery macaroni necklace she’d crafted you at school, which you had no choice but to act like it was the best gift of all.

Come Rafe’s turn, he simply offered his family a smile and patted your side, turning his head to look at you. “I’ve got her presents in my room, figured I’d give it to you privately.” He teases, ignoring Sarah’s ‘Barf’ comment from her cross legged position on the floor beside her little sister.

The family dispersed for a little while, Sarah helping Wheezie set up her new toys on the carpet infront of the tree, Rose and Ward going to start up the food in the kitchen (Ward insists on cooking everything themselves instead of having the chefs do it, because it was tradition.) Before you could wander in there and offer your help, you were being pulled back gently by the arm into your fluffy robe clad boyfriend wearing a poorly masked excited smile. “What, you don’t want your present from me?”

He slides a box from under his bed when you get up to his room again, covered with thin pink gift paper to hide the logo. He sits on his chair, robe falling between his legs and bare knees exposed outwards. “C’mon, sit on santas lap.” He grins and you mirror him, skipping over, happy and spoiled and perching on his leg. He puts the box in your lap and you peel away the paper to see the Agent Provocateur logo with the iconic black ribbon. You widen your eyes at him as if to say ‘Okaaaay, good job’ before wedging your fingertips carefully beneath the cardboard lip and lifting it, seeing 5 sets before you that was perfectly accustomed to your taste.

You remember your trip to the city with Rafe, it was business of course — but you were happy to tag along and walk alongside him watching him handle things for you and his family. You’d spotted the fancy lingerie store, practically pressing yourself up against the glass of the window as you look inside rambling about how you had so many of the sets saved to your Pinterest, pointing out each with your finger smushed to the glass. Rafe nodded distractedly, phone pressed to his ear, leaning on his hip in his gridded shirt and khaki pants that fit too good, before gesturing to you with his thumb that the two of you needed to get moving again, or else you’d be late to the appointment with a buyer. You pout and peel yourself away from the store.

But that was like what, September? Did he go back and buy it all for you? Order it once he’d returned home with you? You’d know Rafe to hold a grudge, but didn’t know his memory served in a positive manner too. “Rafe…” You coo, plucking out the sets and holding them up to admire the intricate lace detailing, spotting matching garters and whatever else you’d mentioned laying in the box. The thought of him fumbling through your underwear drawer trying to figure out your bra size made you giggle, wrapping an arm around his neck in an appreciative squeeze.

“How’d you remember?” Your voice was high in awe, wanting to hold on to this sweet side of Rafe forever.

“Please, I pay attention sometimes y’know.” He smirks modestly, eyes on the box as he admires his work. “So you like it? Yeah?” His hands finding your hips and giving them a soft squeeze.

“Love it, Rafey.” It comes out muffled, because you’re busying yourself with pressing big wet kisses to his cheek, and then eventually his mouth. He pulls away a fraction, lips still brushing yours and eyes cracking open.

“Gonna try it all on for me though, right?” He drawls in that classic Rafe way that you can never say no to and you nod so vigorously you nearly headbutt him. He pats your butt with a pleased hum and pecks you once more. “Atta girl.”

#anon #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fluff

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xlpoww · 9 months

Text

bad for business

hi!! this is my second attempt at writing since middle school- so excuse me for it being so short/bad lol!! i had started recently watching one piece with my boyfriend and then the live action came out and i fell even more head over heels in love with sanji this is a result of that

no warnings!

word count: 620

opla! sanji x f!reader

songfic-> bad for business by sabrina carpenter

CONTINUATION (but also not a part 2) jealousy, jealousy

life on the baratie wasn’t always easy, lovely nonetheless. you couldn’t imagine trading it for anything, even if it meant having to watch your flirtatious crush work his magic on every lady in the room.

good for his heart..

sanji vinsmoke is a flirt. no one talks sweeter than the young chef with dreams of the all blue.

“now what for the lovely mademoiselle?”

his voice floats through the air with a charm none could replicate. you don't even have to turn your head to know the question was paired with a charming smile. he might have even winked at the girl.

her flustered giggle fills the air as she blushes up at the blonde. ordering with a smile like she’s won the lottery, her blue eyes lock on him as he retreats to the kitchen for the wine requested.

with a chuckle and and shake of your head, you continue clearing the table in front of you. the tall blonde man was quite the smooth talker, and did a wonderful job to keep the woman with deep pockets coming back. so who were you to complain that he was so sweet?

his heart was already spoken for.

…but very bad for business

you’re no stranger to the lustful stares of the restaurant guests, and have learned to mostly turn a blind eye to them. though, every once in a while a girl takes it a little too far with him.

as you walk by her table, tray full of food in hand, you can’t help but notice her heated stare. it wasn’t directed at you, but your best friend speaking to another round table of guests. slightly on guard, you continue on towards table 6, smiling sweetly at the brunette man who winks at you as you place the ribs down on the table in front of him.

“I didn’t realize Baratie had started hiring models? how much do they pay a pretty thing like you huh?”

you feign bashfulness, looking off to the side with a giggle.

“not enough you make it seem”

of course you’re more than used to the gross things some of the guests would utter about you (to your face nonetheless); so you knew to brace yourself a bit. but the man doesn’t escalate any further, shaking his head with a laugh that hints to you the size of the tip you’ll be getting. you turn back to him, once again smiling and telling him to let you know if they needed anything else, tucking your tray under your arm and walking back towards the kitchen.

all of my friends think i've gone crazy-

“that blonde at table 8 seems to have her eye on you-” you jest, walking up to sanji with a waggle of your eyebrows. he scoffs at you, a smile forming as he winks

“doesn’t every woman who walks into the restaurant?” he brushes past you, placing a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he goes. you find yourself turning your head to follow his movement, grabbing onto his hand and using it to pull him closer. he seems surprised when you tug him down to your level to whisper in his ear.

“i'm sure i could show you a better time than she could” a wink finished off your flirty statement. it’s a it of a struggle to hold in the satisfied giggle, and you walk back off to go take another table’s order.

sanji’s face is dusted with a pretty pink as he stares after you, not that you would have been able to notice.

you would also fail to hear the teasing of some of the kitchen staff after you left,

“damn casanova, i’ve never seen you left so speechless”

“she’s gonna give you a run for your money lover boy!”

there was a way only you could make his heart race.

-but they don't know me like my babyyy

#opla #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji #one piece #one piece x reader #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #fluff #jealousy #flirting #reader insert #bad for business

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blackhairedjjun · 1 month

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alright i have an imagine scenario right now:

you're an employee at a jewelry company, nowhere near rich enough to buy the products you market. you're at your company's flagship store for the launch of its new jewelry line, and you've got none other than famous model choi yeonjun as its brand ambassador. he arrives with his hair slicked back, wearing a pristine white suit and sporting a few key pieces from the line; though he gives the cameras his best smoldering looks, you aren't particularly impressed. you've met enough rich assholes at your job to last you a lifetime, and yeonjun doesn't seem much different. you watch him pose for the photographers and chat with other guests for a few moments, but shift your mind back to work.

he talks to you exactly once, to ask where the bathroom is. at least he was polite to you, unlike a lot of the VIPs you've met.

the next day is a weekend and you spent it at the plant market, looking at freshly potted flowers about to bloom and seedlings of vegetables ready to be cared for. you might not be able to afford the fancy necklaces and rings that you sell, but at least you have the luxury of growing your own veggies and flowers in your tiny apartment balcony.

you were not expecting it to rain that day, but it does. it's a downpour crashing down from the sky, and though you consider running for it, you're also weighed down by two bags of plants in both hands. so you stand under one of the market tents next to a row of tomato plants, waiting for the rain to stop. it doesn't.

just then you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see a young man in a hoodie and cap, sunglasses perched on top of his head. he's carrying an oversized umbrella, large enough for two. "um, hi, excuse me," he says, stumbling over his words, "you were the employee at the jewelry store yesterday, right? do you want help? we can share my umbrella..." he glances down at your bags of plants, then back at you.

it takes a while for you to recognize him until it hits you: choi yeonjun. three things run through your mind at once: first, you're impressed that he managed to remember you when all you did was tell him where the bathroom is. second, you feel a pang of shame for assuming he's a rich asshole when he's making such a kind offer to you. and third, even in a worn-out black hoodie, he's still ridiculously handsome.

you step into the umbrella with him; you feel his fingers brush against yours as he takes one of your bags to carry. "thank you," you tell him. he smiles at you and butterflies erupt in your stomach.

it doesn't feel so bad to be wrong about him this time.

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt drabbles #yeonjun drabbles #txt soft thoughts #txt soft hours #txt imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun soft thoughts #yeonjun soft hours #bhj: violet's works

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bakubunny · 9 months

Text

tattoo artist!bakugou

inspired by @heartofjasmina’s tattoo artist!bkg hc. 🧡

18+ content, mdni. you will be blocked.

tattoo artist!bakugou seeing you walk into his shop for the first time not thinking much of you when you say you’d like to schedule a consultation with him because you like the work he’s put online. you’re suddenly questioning your decision because this man can’t be much older than you and he looks like a fucking model hiding out in a tattoo parlor, not an established artist with at least ten years under his belt.

tattoo artist!bakugou being thankful you’re separated by a counter when you show him pieces similar to what you’re thinking of: a bold but classy floral tattoo that starts at your hip and wraps over the majority of one ass cheek, curling its way up the lower back just slightly. he knows how to remain professional because it’s his job, but he can see how hard you’re blushing and his thoughts are racing. your mind is more distracted than it should be by his huge, strong hands and a gruff voice that sunk into your bones.

tattoo artist!bakugou knowing the moment the consult started that he should hand this one off to the bubbly, pink-haired artist who’d knock it out of the park just as easily as he could; he’d rather spank and grope and eat your ass than tattoo it, and he didn’t want to risk looking like a fucking tool with his dick hard while trying to lay ink into your soft, pretty skin. but fuck, you were just too damn cute, probably already soaking your panties because of him if the flush on your cheeks was any indication.

tattoo artist!bakugou trying to ignore the ever so slight way your ass pushed into his hands when he applied the stencil before you both checked the final placement for any last adjustments, but he definitely noticed. at least he could get away with staring a little bit without looking like a creep.

tattoo artist!bakugou being smart enough to put up a few partitions to give you some privacy, but stupid enough not to block off the whole shop on the books. on a fucking saturday no less, the busiest day of the week. seeing you laid in front of him in a pretty, pastel thong he wanted to rip right off your body, circumstances be damned, had him swallowing hard.

tattoo artist!bakugou, whose hands are massive and hot against your skin as he works. you’re (shamefully) already clenching and fluttering around nothing but your own arousal before he’s even finished the outline. you breathe deeply to will yourself to relax in an attempt to make it stop. (it doesn’t.) because there’s no way he doesn’t know and isn’t put off by it.

tattoo artist!bakugou, who can just barely feel you clenching under his hand as you shift more often than you should. he’s irritated that there’s a swelling ache in his groin every time, but relieved that you’re faced the other way, unable to see what’s impossible for him to hide. “quit yer fuckin’ squirmin’,” he mumbles, “‘m tryna work, here.” he’s wondering how red your face just got from him calling out your subtle movements, a smirk touching his lips.

tattoo artist!bakugou, who can see your body go rigid before your breathing slows as you try to calm your body again, and eventually it does. “‘s a good girl. just relax for me,” he says, the words slipping out like butter before he stops to think. his stomach drops because he’s a horny fucking idiot and now he’s trying to stay calm, hoping you won’t think anything of it.

tattoo artist!bakugou, who knows you must have felt something because can fucking see the wet spot on the pathetic piece of fabric you’d call panties. he can smell the scent of your arousal and fuck does he want to bury his face inside you and inhale it. “atta girl, you’re almost done.” your body is hot and aching and you’d swear if he says anything else like that, you be might too weak to stand once he’s finished.

tattoo artist!bakugou rubbing antibiotic ointment into your skin after the final pass as you swallow a groan. he hands you a mirror to see his impeccable work and you thank him. he’s wrapping the tattoo and taking off his gloves as he calmly goes over aftercare instructions when hot fingers trail across your thigh, closer and closer to your cunt.

tattoo artist!bakugou, who’s leaning into your ear, whispering, “you been thinkin’ about me this whole time, haven’t ya, sweetie? be a good girl n tell me the truth.” your face is burning with shame but of course you whisper, “yes,” your legs opening even though you know they shouldn’t.

tattoo artist!bakugou telling you to, “look at what you fuckin’ did t’me,” as he gently teases your clit, holding back a groan of his own with the soaked fabric of your thong at his thick fingertips.

tattoo artist!bakugou rubbing your eager cunt as you push into him, his other hand clamped tightly over your mouth. “maybe i’ll let ya cum for me if you’re good. better not hear a fuckin’ peep outta ya ’nless you want everyone t’know what kinda girl you really are.”

banners made by @cafekitsune.

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cupcakeinat0r · 3 months

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A Nerdy Middle-aged loser Miguel with a dad bod who teaches your genetics class

Head Canons!

Professor O’Hara was an intimidating man, to say the least. Despite his menacing exterior, he came highly recommended and sought after as a professor due to his ability to clearly get the material across. At times, it felt cutthroat, but he only meant well. He was just very passionate about his job and wanted everyone to learn.

You didn’t think he was scary at all. In fact, that first day of lecture, you new you were doomed. All you saw was a poor, misunderstood, teddy bear of a man. You thought it was so endearing how his glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, or how he filled out his button ups and vests: equal parts of muscle and squish <3

n you totally stared at his huge butt and dick print oops what I didn’t say that what-

Professor O’Hara who’s scowl would melt away when you’d hurry into class, completely dismissing that fact that you were late. People who had him previously would be so confused that the Miguel O’Hara is stumbling on his own words during a lecture. Little did they know that it was because you, his very pretty and very eager student, was sitting front row and center. You’d fix your hair or apply lip gloss hoping you’d get his attention, and you succeeded.

Professor O’Hara thought you were so cute. He loved the way you dressed, the way you’d raise your hand and ask such good questions, the way you took notes, making them look equally as adorable as you. It didn’t help that you were a total ace in his class. Your brains n beauty were going straight to both of his heads……..

Professor O’Hara who although was naturally pretty distant and quiet with students, was trying very hard to be vocal with you, making sure to let you know when you were doing good. “Good job today, Mama.” “Thank you for being so involved in class today, mama, I appreciate it.” “Aye, Mama, make sure you get some sleep before the quiz tomorrow, mkay?” “Have a safe weekend, mama, and please, if you need anything, you have my email. It doesn’t matter what time it is.” and if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, he’d definitely leave notes for you when handing back your work <3

Professor O’Hara who now wakes up earlier and takes longer to get ready in the morning. For you. He would put on his most expensive cologne knowing you liked to ask for help. You’d smell it every time he bent over your desk behind you, enough so that the timbre of his low voice tickled your ear and his belly just barely grazing your back.

Professor O’Hara who was developing his own crush on you, even though it was definitely wrong. Besides, you were a model. He was convinced that even if he were a student, he wouldn’t have a chance with you.

Professor O’Hara who always felt his eyes gravitating toward you in the mass of seats when lecturing, as if he forgot what you looked like and needed to see your face again. You’d tilt your head n give him a smile each time he did, as if telling him you’re following along, and this rattled him. He’d smile back right before shying away from your gaze, clearing his throat and starting wherever he left off on in his lesson. You thought that was cute.

Professor O’Hara who was always there for you when you were troubled, his office becoming a place you frequented for comfort. He was a great ear, elbows on his knees and brows furrowed as he listened to your trials and tribulations. Pobrecita preciosa. He hated seeing you this way. His bear hugs always seemed to make the troubles go away.

Professor O’Hara who would praise you after seeing all the work you put into his class. Anytime you were stressed, he’d take you some place other than his office to relax, maybe buy you some tea or your favorite pastry. He’d take those opportunities to learn more about you, asking you in a gentle, sweet tone about your other studies, your goals, your life etc. he’d hopelessly fall for you even more when watching you speak about things you were passionate about, seeing how your eyes sparkled. He’d try to keep his composure by maintaining a stoic expression, but a small smile would crack every time. He was a melting mess.

Professor O’Hara who would keep all your assignments and reread them at home since you liked to leave him little notes like, “ So lucky to have you as a professor” “Amazing class today!” “Looking forward to our tutoring sesh tmw<3”, the curvy letters of your pretty hand writing feeding into his desires for you, those same desires going from wholesome to more lustful.

Professor O’Hara, who’s walls you break down with your kindness, intelligence, humility, and beauty. He’d play with your hair during tutoring sessions, buy you things that reminded him of you, call you ‘mama’ when no one else was around. He loved the way you knit your brows together telling him he shouldn’t be spending money on you as he’s already doing so much for you already, to which he replies, “You deserve it, and more, mama”.

Professor O’Hara who, when you stay after class to help him clean (because you volunteered to, otherwise, Miguel would never let you lift even a finger because you’re a princess), instead of picking up stray mechanical pencils, he would imagine you picking up stranded toys in the living room. He’d imagine what it’s like living life with you, having a life with you, then immediately shoo those absurd thoughts away after realizing he’s falling for you after only months of knowing you.

Professor O’Hara who genuinely cares about your well-being, wants to see you succeed and get everything you want and deserve. Who wants the absolute best for you.

A/n: Just some hcs before I continue the story…. I won’t edge y’all for long so just bear w meeeeee <3333

Tags <3

@safixiovi @mukeovernetflix @mochikisses @miguels-cock-piercings @miranexx @bunnibitez @deepdiveintothedeephive @faretheeoscar @sillygardeneggperson @librababe99 @sariespi @little-lovelace @monstersimp @oharasfilipinawife @obi-mom-kenobi @maomaimao @pomakori @rxckstarss @mochimoqa @princesatracionera @queerponcho @froggygal @yaysposts @koko-1025 @kikaaauu @lauraolar14 @anotherprettyprincess @ce3stvu @m4dyy @kaidxra

Want more DadBod!Miguel? Here’s my master list, bae!!!

#miguel o'hara #professor!miguel #dadbod!miguel #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara fanfiction #atsv #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara headcanon #miguel o’hara atsv #spider man 2099 #miguel fic #miguel fanfic #miguel o’hara x y/n

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audisive · 2 months

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♪ MILLION DOLLAR MAN. (💌)

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: you need a bodyguard, and simon's the only one you can trust. for now.

tags: fluff, angst (ish), hurt/comfort, romance, soft!simon, bodyguard!ghost, model!reader, trust issues, hints to a panic attack, you have a bad dad (and family)

There's an ugly yellow folder on your vanity, sticking out like a sore thumb.

That's the first thing you see.

There's a hitch in your breath before you speak. "Vel," you walk over to your desk and call out to the lovely girl with your coat over her arm, your favorite maid. "What's this?" With manicured nails, you pick up the folder cautiously with the feeling of familiarity and déjà vu.

Veliana tilts her head to the side, the clueless little bird she is. "A folder, miss." You huff a smile out at her simple response, the pretty little thing never knowing better. "Please give Noah a call." You tell her and she nods her head automatically, still smiling at you.

When she carefully places your coat on the rack, she scurries off to who knows where. You're left in the comforts of your too-large room, a delicate piece of work that you'd paid thousands of dollars for after your face had snatched the interests of magazines, reporters, and such. You find that there are even uglier men inside when you open the flimsy thing in your hand.

Veliana is breathless when she comes back to you like the obedient girl she is, handing over the phone with your manager's name on it.

"What's wrong, darling girl?" Noah asks, annoyance seeping into his tone despite the usual pet name. "What's with the profiles?" you question right back, flipping through the folders, carefully scanning each gruesome man with horrifying detail. You already know the answer, but you dread it.

"About time you actually considered my suggestion," he voices out. "You need a new bodyguard."

You find that your new bodyguard is just as noticeable as the folder you threw away without much thought. There's people staring at him when they would be gawking at you.

Simon Riley is a trusted man; at least that's what you try to tell your manager. A remarkable 6'4 military man who should be off in a bar with beer – he drinks whiskey, imbecile – or resting in a broke-down apartment, not babysitting his model of a friend. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded it if he acted just a little annoyed at you, but he doesn't even spare you so much as a glare. You're not sure if you should be glad or not.

You have to admit that you do feel a little smug when your manager avoids yelling at you with Simon glaring daggers at him. Then again, there's this anxious feeling pooling at your stomach when he gets a little too close. He's certainly scarier than the last one.

His large hand calms you down when it lands on your lower back and sneaks his warmth through your thin clothing. You let out a breath, as if he'd just commanded you to do so without a word.

Simon should be in his awfully empty apartment, sleeping the day off or making a small trip to the groceries for necessities fresh out of deployment. But when he opened the door to you, who's clearly so troubled and almost begging to help you out with.. whatever it was you asked, how could he say no?

"It's just temporary, I swear. I just need some time to do a proper background check on the other bodyguards."

Given that your shitty father's in jail with unfinished as well as illegal business, it wouldn't be proper of him to let a civilian walk around with danger right at her back. That's what he says to himself, anyway.

He's just not so sure he signed up for the right job as a bodyguard. Truth be told, he would've preferred to be your boyfriend.. but as long as he has rights to protect you, then he won't complain.

He's well aware of the men coming for your neck for a variety of reasons. Some out of jealousy – Simon thinks that the fashion industry might as well be a warzone. Maybe that's why he accepted this in the first place – and some because of your problematic family.

He's also heard about your past cowardly bodyguards, if you can even call them that after they'd left you in the face of death. It's a wonder how you're still alive, but he wouldn't dare question it.

It doesn't help, not really, when there's an ear-deafeaning explosion and a panicked angel in his arms, clutching onto him for dear life. "Simon," you all but whimper, labored breaths and uncontrollable tears slipping out of you.

He hushes you, coos at you as sweet as he possibly can. He soothes you and cradles you against his chest as he shoots back at death and carries you to safety when the storm of chaos calms. And he never leaves. Not once.

Not even when you're well and sitting on the cold bed of an even colder hospital room. You'd begged him to stay and lay with you, and when he does, you insist that you owe him your life, and he tells you he's just doing his job.

Still, you can't help that you push yourself closer to him. "Thank you," you whisper, "for staying."

"'M yours to keep." Simon gruffs out, "my loyalty and life belongs to you. All of it." And so does his heart.

(bodyguard!ghost is just modern knight!ghost to me :3c)

divider by @cafekitsune !

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exhaslo · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 26- Stressed!Miguel x Stranger!Reader (Public Sex)

*Requested by Reader ;) Also, early update due to working both jobs tmw *

To be forced to take a day off came to a surprise to Miguel. Everyone in his inner circle, his brother and even his AI, Lyla, had given Miguel an intervention on his mental health. Miguel had been working far too hard lately and it was showing. So, everyone thought it was a good idea to give him a day off and gave him a spa day. Miguel was in disagreement, but ended up giving in due to the appointment already being made. It was just one day. He could get back to work the next day.

Miguel let out a heavy sigh as he entered the spa. There were a few things that he got signed up for. This was just a temporary relaxation. He was going to go right back to work tomorrow. Looking around, Miguel decided to enter the massage parlor first. Afterwards, he will enter the sauna and let the steam relieve his stress.

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

You hummed happily as you skipped your way into the spa. You have had a rough couple of weeks and needed a day off. Luckily, you managed to get a day off from both of your jobs and managed to win a free spa day. You swore you could see the sparkles in your eyes when you looked in the mirror. You were going to enjoy today.

Exploring the spa, you took advantage of the all paid expense. First, you got a massage, then you got a scalp care, face treatment, everything you could possibly do. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you laid against one of the cozy chairs, getting your feet worked on now. Next was going to be the sauna. You were going to sweat away all the remaining stress before showering and leaving the spa for the day. You had already been there for a while and you were loving it.

Once your feet were done, you inhaled deeply. Now this was heaven. Heading towards the sauna, you stopped at the locker room and stripped the remainder of your clothing. You grabbed one of the towels the spa offered and wrapped it around your naked body. You were a little nervous since the sauna was a shared space and you were going in there naked, but it was a weekday and the spa was pretty empty. According to the worker, not many people even went into the sauna during this time of year.

"Soooo, all to myself!" You chirped quietly.

Entering the sauna room, you gulped at the heat. It was pretty warm in here. The room was a decent size, but to your disappointment, there was someone already inside. You made your way to the opposite side of the stranger. He looked to be asleep. Worried since it was hot in here, you slowly made your way beside him. The stranger was tall, toned and handsome. He caught you by surprise. The man looked like he could be a model!

"E-Excuse me," You whispered, nervous to be talking to a naked man.

Not getting through to him, you sighed softly. You needed to wake him up. Glancing at his chest, your eyes widen as you saw his towel poking high. Now it wasn't just the room that was hot. You felt your cheeks burn as the stranger's erection was poking against his towel. Normally, you would look away, but his dick was huge. You had also been sexually frustrated these last few months so the fantasies started to ravish your mind.

Miguel had closed his eyes for only a moment. He did not even notice that he was dozing off. The sound of your voice brought him back to his senses. Miguel tried to ignore you, knowing full well the position he was in. He could hear your voice tremble in embarrassment as you tried to wake him up. This stranger who smelled so sweet. This stranger who was now staring at his hard on. What was he to say? Miguel's ears perked as he heard your heart rate speed up. Oh. Looks like he wasn't the only one who needed some relief.

"Do you want to touch it?" Miguel asked, hoping to spook you away. You squeaked, scooting away from him,

"S-Sorry! I thought you were asleep! I-I didn't mean to stare!" You panicked. Miguel opened his eyes, observing you in that small towel you were wearing,

"I'm sorry for putting you in this position," He watched as you held onto the towel for dear life, "I'm Miguel,"

"(Y/N)" You were hesitant before glancing back at his dick, "Um...Is it okay...If I do?"

Miguel was surprised by your comment. He thought he was just being funny. He cleared his throat, giving you a nod. Not exactly how either of you expected this day to go. Miguel groaned lowly as you slowly approached him, moving the towel and hesitantly touching his large dick. Your hands were soft, yet sweaty from the heat. Miguel covered his mouth as you admired his cock.

"S-Sorry! This must be super weird!" You gasped, quickly moving away. Miguel grabbed your wrist,

"Wait-" He swallowed hard as he felt his mouth dry, "It's not part of the spa, but-"

You knew where he was going with this. You bit you lower lip, rubbing your legs slightly. Were you really about to agree to having sex with this hot stranger? Honestly, your mind was so focused on getting relief that you agreed. Miguel groaned lowly as he brought you in for a feverish kiss. The towels you both wore fell as he pinned you against the sauna wall. The heat making your minds foggy, forgetting that you were in a public place.

You wrapped your arms around Miguel's shoulders, your fingers tangling with his hair. Miguel responded with a grunt as his harden erection started to grind against your dripping cunt. Your body trembled in delight, finally about to get what you've been waiting for. A solid and quick fuck. Something to really relief you.

"Just gotta ask, do you go up to any naked-"

"Before you finish that, no," You huffed, muffling a moan as he kept rubbing his dick between your folds, "You just caught me on my day off to get some much needed stress relief."

"Heh, same here."

Miguel entered two fingers into your dripping pussy, wanting to warm you up before ravishing you. You covered your mouth, trying to surprises your moans. Miguel groaned as he watched you. You looked so sexy, moaning against his hand fucking your pussy. Your hips moving along with his hand, desperate for more. Miguel was careful to listen to anyone coming by. He was enjoying himself and did not want to get interrupted.

You moaned into your hand as Miguel's fingers furiously pumped into your pussy. Your hips moving with his hand as you tried to chase your upcoming high. You gasped as he curled his fingers right at your sweet spot, finally making you cum. Miguel removed his fingers, stroking his dick with you juices. He lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You still couldn't believe that you were going this. You were really going to fuck this sexy stranger.

Miguel grunted lowly as he bit your shoulder, pushing his thick cock inside your pussy. Your body arched as your tight gummy walls started to squeeze him. Miguel felt his mind grow hazier from the steam. This felt good. His dick was being sucked by your sweet pussy. How was he supposed to know that he needed this. Your whimpers were getting louder as he came to a stop. His dick was only half way into you and you were already about to cum.

"Solo un poco más. Por favor, necesito esto. (Just a little bit more. Please, I need this.)" Miguel groaned lowly. You whined lowly, spreading your legs as much as you could,

"S-So big," You gripped his hair, "G-Gimme a sec,"

Miguel agreed, paying attention to the door. The heat was getting to him. He needed to make this quick. Watching you relax and squeeze his dick more, Miguel continued to push his way inside you. You cried out a moan, slowly grinding you hips against his. Miguel took his as a sigh and started to thrust into you. Your eyes widen as you moaned loudly. Miguel flinched as quickly swallowed your moans as he pounded his dick inside your velvet walls.

Your mind started to sway as you cam hard against his dick. Miguel was bullying your poor cunt, not giving you a chance to relax or adjust. His tip hitting you cervix as his balls slapped against your ass. His dick was so thick and long that you swore you felt him enter pass your cervix. Honestly, you did not know. All you knew was that he was fucking your brains out and you were loving it. Miguel was not showing any signs of stopping as he brought out another orgasm from you.

"That's right, cum for me," Miguel groaned as his dick started to form a white ring from your juices, "Esto se siente tan bien. Un coño tan bonito y apretado para mí. (This feels so good. Such a nice tight pussy for me.)"

"M-Mig-" You moaned as his dick twitched inside you.

Miguel told himself not to. But he could not think straight. Miguel grunted as he slapped himself against you roughly, cumming inside you. He leaned you against the wall, gasping for air along with you. He groaned lowly, grabbing both of your towels. You reached for yours, wrapping it around you as you both exited the sauna. Miguel helped you walk since your legs were trembling from the rough sex he just gave you.

"That...was amazing," You panted softly, shivering as you exited the sauna. The only heat left in your body was Miguel's cum dripping out of your pussy.

"You know, if you're not busy...I can take you out for a coffee...As a thanks." He muttered. You felt your cheeks heat up,

"I'd love that...and if you're not busy...We can continue this little stress relief...at my place?"

Miguel just stared at you before agreeing. He exchanged numbers with you and the two of you proceeded to do as agreed. Miguel took you for coffee before heading to your place and fucking you dumb there. The two of you enjoyed the stress relief, not wanting to stop. Miguel's dick drilling your poor pussy was mind blowing.

The two of you ended up calling out of work the next day.

#kinktober #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel

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sourlove · 2 months

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Street Rat ~ YANDERE BAKUGO KATSUKI

TW: OBSESSION, DELUSION, YANDERE THEMES

Okay but imagine street urchin Bakugo with a spoilt brat darling. You work in a fancy clothing store on a posh street, modeling clothes in the window front for the adoring eyes of your admirers.

Bakugo is one of those admirers. But he's not like the rest of them. He's special.

Why else would you blow kisses whenever he was around? Or drape over your chair so prettily like that? It was all for him, he knew it.

"Hiiiii Katsuki," you drawled with a lazy grin. He was dead tired but he couldn't go home without seeing you before the store closed.

He came every day without fail and if he was lucky, he would find a pretty trinket in the trash piles that he could gift to you. They were never good enough, no matter how well Bakugo polished and cleaned them but he liked giving you presents. Why risk selling them for money when he could potentially be rewarded with a beautiful smile?

"Hey beautiful," he murmured, pressing a hand to the glass window, not too hard, in case the store owner yelled at him for leaving grimy fingerprints again. "I missed you today."

You giggled at that. "Aw I bet you missed seeing my pretty face, huh?" Bakugo nodded fervently and you laughed, throwing your head back.

He admired the smooth curve of your neck, wishing he could reach out and touch you, just once. But if he touched you now, he would probably leave dark smudges on your perfect skin. No matter how hard he tried to clean up before he saw you, it wouldn't be enough to not dirty you.

"You're so sweet, Katsuki," you cooed, kicking your legs up on a stool so Bakugo could glimpse of the smooth expanse of your thigh. His eyes drank it in hungrily and you smirked. "Anybody else would be lucky to have you."

"You're the only one I want, baby. There will never be anyone else for me," he said gruffly, eyes boring into you. God, you were so perfect, so flawless, just for him.

"Oh come on Kats, you know we just can't be together," you sighed dramatically. "Someone like me, well, I deserve the best, don't I?"

"You do, sweets, I swear you do. Look I-I'm putting something together for you, no, for us! It's gonna be great I swear-"

"Y/N! Closing time!"

You glanced up from admiring your nails and called out an answer to your boss further in the store. You spared Bakugo a bored look. "Look, I've got to head home. You're cute and all, but do you really think you can afford me?"

That stung Bakugo a bit. If it were anyone else, he would have beaten them into a bloody mess but he would never do that to you. But he couldn't just let you keep brushing him off like that. You had to notice him. You had to finally take him seriously.

Bakugo swallowed thickly, mind buzzing frantically. "What if I could get money? And a house? And lots of fancy things for you? Would you love me then?"

How irritating, you thought, glaring at the man. You give them an inch and they think they deserve a fucking mile. Well, it's not like he had any actual hope. You smiled wickedly.

"You know what, Katsuki? If you get a really nice mansion and lots of money and hell, a real fucking job, I'll marry you!"

Bakugo's mouth dropped open. Marry...? You would marry him if he just got those measly things?

You snorted at his expression and left the display area, calling over your shoulder, "Good luck, Kats!"

Bakugo trudged away slowly, still reeling from your words. A house, a job and money. Just three things and you would finally be all his. He began to laugh, softly and first, then louder until he had doubled over with tears in his eyes. You would marry him! Him!

A manic grin stretched over his face, making his cracked lips bleed. "I hope you won't regret ever saying that to me, baby. I'll make sure that you become mine~"

READ PART 2 HERE

A/N: Don't forget to like and repost if you enjoyed this! Part 2 is up now! xxx

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ozzgin · 5 months

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I love your work! you have such a fun take on yandere's and I would love to see what kind of yandere hcs you could cook up for a host-club / paid to go on dates with you yandere ❤️ double points if you can make it so that the reader is never really one to cross a line or think the yandere really likes them...

If you don't want to do this prompt tho I completely understand ❤️

The idea makes me a little nostalgic as it gives me Ouran vibes. Also reminded me I've never played 'Men of Yoshiwara' past the prologue, which also has male courtesans ready to service you. In any case, it's definitely something I can expand on! :)

Yandere! Host x Reader

You've never considered yourself to be the type frequenting host clubs. Yet the loneliness is becoming noticeable and perhaps it's your lack of experience keeping you out of the dating scene. Mingling with paid professionals could prepare you for a future boyfriend. Except your assigned host has other plans in mind for you.

Content: gender neutral reader, inexperienced reader, obsessive behavior, manipulation

Ah, you definitely don't belong here. He can tell within seconds and he hasn't even reached the table yet. You're nervously readjusting the sleeves of your shirt - do you usually not wear such outfits? - and merely glance around the room for a brief moment before casting your eyes back down in sheepish modesty. Well, not necessarily a sight of unpreceded novelty. Many people are intrigued by the idea of a host club, so even just idle curiosity is enough incentive for one to end up among the charismatic crowd of paid affections. Today it's you who has stumbled into the hungry mouth of the wolf, and he happens to be the one to entertain you away from whatever unpleasantries are currently consuming you.

He gently stretches his slender fingers across your shoulder, a feathery touch light enough as to not startle you. You look up and acknowledge his presence, ready to stand up for introductions. His hold on you is firm, letting you know there is no need to leave the comfort of your sofa. "Now then, this isn't a job interview. You don't need to be so formal." He explains with a chuckle. You nod. Embarrassingly enough, your eyes are glued to his face for longer than what you'd consider polite admiration. A waste of good looks is your immediate thought. Surely someone as stunning as him could've worked as a model or actor. You suspect he isn't as enthusiastic to meet you as his voice leads one to believe, so the ability to pretend certainly isn't missing.

One peek at the table next to you, and the answer quickly presents itself. An older woman is inspecting the menu, surrounded by multiple bottles of champagne whose name even you recognize. You doubt the average acting career could provide this amount of luxury. The corners of your lips curl slightly upwards in a pitiful self awareness. Sadly for this guy, you're not a big spender. Whether he, too, is aware of this disappointing fact is impossible to tell. His handsome features remain cheerfully relaxed. "Tell me about yourself. What brings a darling like you here?" He inquires graciously, resting his chin on the back of his hands as he settles before you with an intent gaze.

You narrate your hardship: whether because of your looks or your awkwardness, something impedes you from having acquired a partner; and so the idea of gaining experience through less orthodox means came to fruition. Your host listens carefully, refilling your glass every now and then with a compassionate frown, lips parted in unspoken sympathy. Of course, he understands. Naturally. Once you're finished, he straightens himself in newfound determination: worry not, he will be your coach in love.

Thus begins the unusual partnership. You hadn't expected the man to readily agree to such a ridiculous request. A handful of visits have made it clear to you he's in high demand, most likely one of the top earners. Why would he waste his precious (and otherwise profitable) time with a humble customer like you? Maybe it's bad form to refuse lower paid offers too often, so he's keeping you for balance. You'll never know. His professionalism betrays no hint of annoyance.

You cannot help but marvel at his masterful lying. It becomes quite clear to you why so many people fall helplessly in love with paid hosts. Everything is executed with the utmost care for detail. The loving caress of the cheek he occasionally initiates, seemingly unprompted. The long, ardent stares into your eyes, as you must practice your eye contact. His hot lips brushing against your fingers while he spoils you with diminutives and sickly sweet words of appreciation.

You frequently have to remind yourself that everything is dictated by a contract. A code of conduct meant to be replicated for you and all other clients coming afterwards. How many other poor souls fawn over this alluring devil? You wouldn't want to burden him with an additional customer who forgets boundaries. You know your place too well.

Admirable manners. Frustratingly so. He wishes you'd just give in already and drop the shy act around him. You've caught his interest from the moment he spotted you in that cluttered, crowded room reeking of overpriced alcohol and solitude. Everything about you signaled blindingly clear: you're someone others can easily take advantage of. To think you would've landed right in his hands, to be molded as he pleases. The little sob story about being inexperienced with men, your clumsy attempts to follow along his flirts. Oh, you're just begging to be defiled. Again, and again and again, until there's nothing left of you. Then he'd caringly patch you back together and start anew. His very own corner of innocence.

The indecent daydreams are cut short when you proudly announce, during one of your dates, that you finally feel confident enough to pursue a genuine partner. You have booked a nice hotel room for this occasion; One last gesture of grandeur to show your gratitude for all the advice and love (even though it wasn't genuine). He's sitting on the edge of the plush mattress, dumbfounded, fiddling with the thick, ornate border of the bed runner. Huh? What the hell are you talking about? He's spent all this time getting to know you. What gets you flustered and bothered, what makes you excited, sad, anxious, angry, bored. He taught you how to come out of your shell. Why, so you can go ahead and waste yourself on some fucking idiot?

"My, aren't you eager. You haven't even had your first kiss." He says with a cheeky smile. "I think I can manage-" you want to say, but he quickly interrupts with a curt: "No one likes an amateur kisser". You're immediately silenced. His voice sounds cold, with a hint of anger in it. "I'm sorry, darling love, it's true." He resumes in an entirely different tonality, dragging his words with an eerie kindness attached to them. He tuts a little, turning towards you and patting his knees. There, there, don't look so deflated. If a simple observation like his hurt you this much, how would you handle the much meaner, downright heartless world out there?

Such is reality. Men are cruel and you had the bad luck to be born with a gentle heart. He delicately guides you to sit in his lap, cupping your burning face between his large hands. He knows this expression too well - you're humiliated. And thus, can he truly allow anyone else out there to see you so vulnerable like this? No, this kind of intimacy is reserved for him. You must understand. He has disciplined you to his liking, and simultaneously learned all the nooks and crannies of your being. It's too late to go back to a simple host and client relationship.

"Why don't you practice with me first, love?" He breaks the silence, placing his lips against your forehead in encouragement. You feel a sudden pressure faintly throbbing underneath you. "T-the kiss?" You ask hesitantly, trying to ignore the sensation and squirming in his tightening hold.

"Everything."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere host #male yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere original character

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