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pretzel-box · 3 months ago

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PROLOGUE: WELCOME TO URBANSHADE

Word count: 3,3k

Tags: GN!reader, Graphic mention of surgery and experiments on a human body

Summary: You get hired by Urbanshade, thanks to your father, but every start has its obstacles. And some obstacles might feel deeper than they should be.

The time on the wall clock showed it was just a few minutes past noon. Warm sunlight gently crept into the waiting room through the tall panoramic windows of the building. A quick glance to the side, catching a glimpse of the clock, was enough to tell you that it would still be a few moments before it was time to move from the comfort of the leather chair you were currently sitting on. Your freshly disinfected hands clung nervously to your phone as you swiftly scrolled through the list of contacts you had saved over time. You were so focused that it startled you slightly when another caller ID popped up on the bright screen, displaying the picture of your father's face.

This particular man had called you a lot lately, sticking his nose into your business after you dared to ask him for a tiny favor, hoping he would help since you are his beloved only child. But one thing you didn't expect from him at that specific moment was that he would take the opportunity to call you, considering that he was somewhere on the ocean.

He works as a high-class businessman, primarily sponsoring a company called Urbanshade. You didn't know much about them, but your dad mentioned something about how they specialize in underwater mining with some high-tech inventions. This explained his temporary stay on one of Urbanshade's ships, where they were testing and showcasing another new underwater mining robot of some sort, called Trenchbleeder. Your dad had funded the whole project over the past few months, so he was more than excited to see how his money was being put to good use.

"Did they call you yet?" Despite the slight static, the seagulls, and the waves in the background, you could make out the strict tone in his voice. Of course, he was curious. You had asked your dad if he knew someone who would hire you, his child. And naturally, the first thing he applied you for was a position at one of Urbanshade's research facilities. They weren't really looking for new employees in the first place, but your dad was very close to the higher-ups, so he bought the job for you. The fact that he paid the company to hire you made your stomach twist in discomfort, but it was too late to turn back and say no. "I risked a lot by doing that for you."

He referred to the payment he had made on your behalf, and you could feel the pressure he had placed on your shoulders.

You nodded, even though your dad couldn't see it over the phone. "I'm at their building, sitting in the waiting room. We're signing the contract today." You tried to sound confident, but you knew your dad could see right through your facade. "They should be calling me into the office soon."

Your name was called loudly through the room before your dad could reply, and he would probably have given you another warning not to mess it up for his reputation's sake. "Sorry, Dad, it's time."

You ended the call with a swift push of the red button, putting your phone on mute so nothing would distract you during the meeting with one of the higher-ups at Urbanshade. The lady at the reception told you where to go, and another employee guided you to a glass room, where a middle-aged man in an expensive-looking suit was seated. His arms were crossed, and the way he scanned your application papers made your stomach turn.

The man must have noticed your little stare from the other side of the glass wall because he looked up from the file, and it wasn't hard to miss the coy smile on his lips. The previous expression on his face was quickly replaced with a more welcoming one. "Ah, we finally meet. Your father has already told me a good deal about you."

"I am grateful for the opportunity to work for your company, Mr. Wiltshire." First impressions count, especially at a company like Urbanshade. So you took the opportunity to present yourself in the best possible light, even if it meant pretending to be something you're not—in this case, motivated and interested. Your hand almost raised itself to offer a polite and respectful handshake.

"I assure you, we are the ones who are honored to welcome you to our team. Welcome to Urbanshade."

A few months passed after Urbanshade recruited you, and it didn't take long for you to get the hang of all the small details involved in your job at the luxurious office—details like how the overpriced coffee machine worked, how to sort the endless stacks of paper files, and even how to avoid getting on your new boss's bad side. At this point, you'd even admit it feels like being a well-paid version of an intern since your higher-ups only trusted you with minor tasks so far.

Despite the simplicity and comfort of the tasks, you volunteered more than once for harder assignments, showing your most motivated side in the hope of getting a little more action in your otherwise boring life. But every single time, Mr. Wiltshire blocked you off with a polite smile and a shake of his head. "You're not ready yet."

It was frustrating; you felt there was more behind it than just a lack of skills, but you couldn't force your way into the deeper levels of the job without risking ruining it all for yourself.

A high-pitched female voice suddenly pulled you out of your regular daydreams, making you aware that you were indeed not alone at the moment. "Ah, look who's here!" Your black-haired co-worker beamed at you with the fakest smile you had ever seen, making you raise your eyebrow slightly. The action didn't go unnoticed by her, and you could feel her sharp acrylic nails digging uncomfortably into your left shoulder. "Be a sweetheart," she started again, leaning in from behind and speaking directly into your ear, "and take care of my files too, alright?" She no longer tried to hide her snarky tone and instead showed you her true nasty attitude. "We don't want Mr. Wiltshire to see how much you slack off at work, right, hon?" The pain slowly disappeared as she lifted her hand from your shoulder, wiping it off on her expensive business blazer. A glance over your shoulder to meet her gaze was enough.

Her smug smile hit a nerve deep inside you, but you swallowed your newfound anger like the smarter person and just nodded without a word. In the end, it wasn't worth the drama, and maybe you could use the opportunity to score some extra credit points with your boss if he saw you doing some well-executed extra work.

The fake woman left the moment you tried to open your mouth to give her a straightforward answer, leaving you behind like some worthless object in the middle of the office. By this point, it wasn't really offensive to you since you strongly disliked that woman for her weird attitude toward you, and every second without her was surely a good second. After watching her leave and get into the elevator at the end of the hall, you turned around too and slowly made your way to the coffee machine in the plain break room, pouring yourself a nice cup of dark liquid into your favorite mug. You would surely need it if you had to put in some extra hours to get the work done. With newfound motivation, you left the room and headed to your co-worker's personal office.

It was a neat space inside a glass room, furnished with minimalist-style furniture and a nice office chair made of quality leather. Some of the woman's personal items were scattered across the mahogany table, and your lips curled up as you felt the smooth surface of the table, thinking you could earn one of those fancy offices yourself if you worked hard enough.

Then you saw the stack of brown files on the table. It was in an unacceptable, messy state, with paper corners sticking out from all sides and some mysterious stains on the front covers. Yet, the weirdly pleasant smell of cigarettes and old paper hit your nose, filling you with a strange, comforting feeling all over again. Your eyes also didn't fail to notice the bright yellow note on the stack, with a hastily written message in black ink:

"Please sort by Thursday night. Return Z-13 file to higher-up when done."

Reading it gave you a sudden boost of excitement, seeing that there must be an interesting file usually in the hands of higher-ranked people. You didn't question it but rather saw it as an opportunity to dive deeper into the business that Urbanshade conducts, sensing a way to escape the boring intern tasks and join them on the front lines, maybe even leading a mining operation in the exciting underwater world.

Your hands took the small note from the files, discarding it without a care into the bin, assuming your co-worker was aware of it since she knew about the work the files required. It was another simple job of sorting papers and making sure everything was in its place before returning them to the basement archives below the building.

The warm, rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee replaced the smell in the small office as you took a careful sip from your favorite mug. The dark liquid was the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the tension of the day. Your fingers traced the rim of the warm cup absentmindedly as you scanned the chaotic stack of files on the mahogany desk.

Determined to make a good impression by sorting through the files with precision, you placed your mug at the edge of the desk, within easy reach. You started to carefully separate the documents, making piles according to their categories, when your mind began to wander.

You reached for another file, but just as you were about to grab it, your elbow knocked against your mug. Time seemed to slow as you watched in horror as the mug tipped over, spilling hot coffee across the desk. The dark liquid cascaded like a wave, soaking the neatly sorted papers in seconds.

"No, no, no!" you gasped, frantically grabbing at the files, trying to salvage what you could. But it was too late—the coffee had already seeped into most of the pages, leaving large brown stains that spread and blurred the ink in matter of seconds. The once crisp documents were now soggy and wrinkled, some of the text smearing into an illegible mess.

Your heart pounded as you stared at the ruined files. A wave of panic surged through you. These weren’t just any papers; they were official documents, meant to be returned to the higher-ups. And that one file—about something called Z-13—it was supposed to go directly to someone important. You remembered the note and its simple instructions, now crumpled in the waste bin, and felt a sinking dread.

Grabbing a handful of napkins from the small break room drawer, you desperately tried to blot the coffee from the papers, but the evidence of your mistake would be painfully clear, no matter how hard you tried to save the files. The edges of some files were curling up, the ink bleeding out, and some of the pages were beyond saving. The more you wiped, the worse it seemed to get.

You slumped into the leather chair, your hands trembling as you stared at the coffee-stained disaster in front of you. What would Mr. Wiltshire say? Worse, what would your father think if he found out? The pressure to prove yourself, to show that you were capable of handling the job, suddenly felt crushing.

With a deep breath, you tried to calm your racing thoughts. There had to be a way to fix this. Maybe you could reprint the damaged documents, or perhaps there were backups somewhere in the archives. You needed a plan, and fast. But first, you had to get rid of the evidence of your mistake—before anyone saw the mess you had made.

Forcing yourself to think clearly, you carefully gathered the soaked files, praying that you could come up with a solution before anyone found out about the spill. And then you saw it, the important file with big red letters on the cover, slightly drenched in warm coffee. The damage seemed to be at a visible minimum, making you slightly relax despite all the panic in your body.

Your finger traced over the paper cover before picking the file up from the messy table. It was slightly heavy, and as you felt the weight of the file in your hands, a ripple of curiosity surged through you. You hesitated for a moment, wondering what kind of secrets might be concealed within these pages. But the urge to know won out, and you carefully opened the front cover, revealing a neatly typed summary that seemed to offer a glimpse into the contents of the file.

The first thing that caught your eye was a series of police reports, meticulously detailed and organized, each one stamped with the official seal of Urbanshade. They were followed by a set of photographs, their glossy surfaces reflecting the dim light of the room. The first image you saw was a clear mugshot of a young man. His face was striking, not in the sense of beauty, but in the way it conveyed a deep weariness, as if the weight of the world had been pressing down on him for far too long. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and they censored his eyes, leaving them to your imagination.

His expression was a frown in each of the photos, a look of quiet defiance mixed with something else—something that sent a strange sensation through your chest. It wasn’t pity, exactly, but a deep unease that you couldn’t quite place. There was a coldness in his expression, yet also a flicker of something more, something human and raw, buried beneath the layers of exhaustion and anger.

You turned the page, your fingers brushing over the edges of the police reports that followed. The papers were old, some of them yellowing with age, but the text was still clear. Your eyes skimmed the lines, taking in the grim details of a murder case that had been closed years ago. The words felt heavy, each sentence a stark reminder of the horror that had unfolded.

The reports detailed a series of brutal killings—nine victims in total. The descriptions were uncensored, each one more gruesome than the last. As you read, a chill ran down your spine. The level of violence, the cold, methodical nature of the crimes, it all painted a picture of someone deeply disturbed, someone with a darkness that ran far deeper than you could have imagined.

And there, at the center of it all, was the young man from the photos. His name was typed in bold letters at the top of the report: Sebastian Solace. The name seemed almost ironic—“Solace” suggesting peace or comfort, while the man it belonged to was associated with such unspeakable acts.

You stared at the name for a long moment, trying to reconcile the tired, defiant face in the photos with the monstrous deeds described in the reports. The file mentioned psychological evaluations, interviews, and even some speculation about his motives, but none of it seemed to add up. There was a note in the margin, scrawled in a hurried hand, suggesting that the case was far from closed, despite what the official records stated.

A photo paperclipped to the back of the file caught your attention—a grainy image of a dark, empty room. The caption underneath simply read, „Day of Execution“ The picture showed the electric chair that they used in Solace his execution, but any sign of his presence was missing in it.

Then you turned the pages and the police reports changed into a large series of lab reports, endless lists of medication and a collection of pictures that left you in a nauseous state.

You read and read for what felt like hours, your eyes moving mechanically over the pages as the horrors of Sebastian Solace's life unfolded before you. Each detail seemed more grotesque than the last, painting a picture of a man who had been systematically stripped of his humanity. It wasn’t just the surgeries—those brutal, invasive operations where limbs were removed and reattached like parts of a machine. It was the utter disregard for the person he once was, the complete and total annihilation of his identity, his very soul.

The deeper you delved into the file, the more your hands began to tremble. You could feel your stomach churning as you flipped through page after page of graphic images and cold, clinical reports. The pictures were the worst—high-resolution photographs of Sebastian’s disfigured body, his skin pale and sickly under the harsh fluorescent lights of a laboratory. There were stitches crisscrossing his limbs, metal tools embedded in his flesh like cruel mockeries of life-saving instruments. His eyes—those once defiant, tired eyes—were vacant now, lifeless, as though the man he had once been was already dead.

Your breath hitched as you turned to a page detailing an experiment labeled "Procedure 17-C." The accompanying photograph showed a close-up of Sebastian's chest, where wires and tubes had been inserted into his heart, his blood replaced with a thick, unnatural fluid. The caption beneath it coldly described the experiment’s purpose—to test the viability of synthetic blood in deep-sea environments. The thought of what he had endured, of how much pain and suffering had been inflicted upon him in the name of science, made your vision blur with tears.

You forced yourself to continue reading, even as nausea clawed at your throat. The reports became increasingly more deranged, describing how Sebastian’s body had been treated like a puzzle, dismantled and reassembled in ways that defied all logic and ethics. The word "specimen" appeared frequently, a stark reminder that to his captors, Sebastian was nothing more than a test subject, an object to be used and discarded.

It was around page 35 that you couldn’t take it anymore. You shoved the file aside and staggered to the bin next to you, emptying the contents of your stomach. The bile burned your throat, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the anguish in your heart. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to steady your breathing, but the images lingered in your mind, imprinted there like a brand.

Sebastian Solace—the name now felt like a curse, a grim reminder of the horrors that could befall anyone who crossed paths with Urbanshade. And the Hadal Blackside... it was no longer just a place. It was a living nightmare, a twisted abyss where humanity was stripped away,

The weight of the file in your hands felt unbearable as you reluctantly picked it up again, your fingers trembling as you closed the cover. The secrets contained within were like a lead weight on your soul, pressing down on you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. When you finally set the file back on the table, it was as though you were laying down a burden too great for any one person to bear.

But even as you tried to distance yourself from what you had just read, the haunted eyes of Sebastian Solace refused to leave you. They stayed with you, those hollow, lifeless eyes, staring back at you from the depths of your memory. They were a reminder that in the Hadal Blackside, there were things far more terrifying than the dark waters and the lurking creatures within. There might were men—once human, now monsters—who had been twisted by the same forces that now ensnared you.

You were tangled in their web now, caught in a nightmare from which there was no waking. And as you sat there, in the dim light of that office room, you realized that the true horror wasn’t what had been done to Sebastian. It was the knowledge that, in time, the same fate could await you, if someone found out what you saw.

#sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace #sebastian solace fanfiction #AsAboveSoBelow #sebastian solace fanfic #sebastian solace x gender neutral reader

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emilybeemartin · 1 year ago

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Hey! Hey, would you like to be a park ranger?

USA Jobs just posted a bunch of national park ranger positions for summer 2024--everything from small historic sites to the big flagship parks like Yellowstone and Yosemite. These are seasonal positions specifically for interpretive rangers, which means you begin around May-ish and end around September-October-ish. Interpretation is the branch of the NPS that does educational programming and frontline visitor services, like working in the visitor centers, leading guided walks and talks, and just generally interacting with the public in a friendly, helpful way.

If you have a four-year college degree in just about any subject (honestly, I've worked with people with degrees ranging from theater to business to geoscience), or 12 months' relevant work experience (customer service, retail, education, camp counseling, etc), or a combination of the two, you're eligible to apply. All you need is a resume and transcripts if you're using education to qualify.

Just go to USAJobs.gov and search for "park ranger interpretation" in the search bar. The key things you're looking for in the results are listings from the National Park Service, the code GS 5 (which is the entry level for this position), and the phrase Not to Exceed 1039 hours (which indicates it's a seasonal position).

Some tips!

>Each application requires you to answer a questionnaire about your experience with things like customer service, preparing educational programs, researching scientific topics, etc. Be generous with yourself on these, because other folks will be. Even if you don't think you're an "expert" in something, consider your past work creatively. Have you presented research projects in class? Have you worked retail? Can you keep up a professional demeanor when somebody's upset? You have the qualifications. Rate yourself as such.

>Be thorough and specific in your resume. The NPS isn't a one-pager resume organization. They need to see evidence that you have the qualifications you say you do. The best way to ensure this is to copy, word for word, the phrases in the above questionnaire and insert them in the relevant places in your resume. So if the questionnaire says "Can you research, prepare, and present scientific information to a lay public," go to the appropriate place in your resume and write "I researched, prepared, and presented scientific information to my peers" or something similar. I kid you not, my current resume is ten pages long.

>Cover letters are optional but helpful! There are lots of templates online to help you write one; be sure to be professional. Mine is around 250 words and has three short paragraphs:

1- Position I'm applying for

2- Quick summary of most relevant work/education experience

3- Additional skills/rizz that makes me stand out (for me it's writing/illustrating, which helps me create visitor programs)

>Two things the NPS loves that will boost you are foreign language skills and being a US military veteran. Highlight these elements if you have them.

>Are you a schoolteacher? Check out the Teacher-Ranger-Teacher program.

>The big flashy parks are posted as standalone listings, but most of the others are bundled into "Multiple Locations" that are based on region. Consider applying for many of these smaller monuments and historic sites---they get far fewer applicants and are easier to secure. And many are absolutely beautiful. Want to work at Arches? Also apply to Natural Bridges. Want to work in Yellowstone? Also try Lassen Volcanic. Prefer history over science? You have dozens of amazing options from every facet of American history.

>Apply today! Apply now! Many of these parks cap their applicants because they get so many, and the rest will close after a week or so. A glance at the ones that were posted today and yesterday show them either closing on October 15 or 22. Some regions haven't posted yet, so keep checking the website in the next few weeks.

I love my work as a park ranger---it's such a rewarding way to spend a summer (or two, or ten), and it can open doors to other things. You won't get rich, but you will make great friends and great memories, add a killer section to your resume, and spend four months immersed with smart, passionate people in some of the coolest places in the US.

Plus you get a SICK HAT

#jobs #national park service #park ranger #job search #job seekers

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brienneoftarth1989 · 9 months ago

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If we ever meet again

Larissa Weems x fem reader

Summary: growing up you were a student at Nevermore. You had a massive crush on your headmistress but due to your age and the fact you were a student meant you couldn’t do anything about it. 12 years later you got a job at the academy you attended as a child praying that the woman you had feelings for was still there.

Warnings: None

Requests open

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Growing up you loved your time at Nevermore. You loved your friends, your classes but most of all you loved spending time with your Principal Larissa Weems.

It was safe to say you had a bit of a harmless crush on Larissa but obviously being a young student, there wasn’t much you could do about it other than admire her from afar. When you were a student there you were sixteen which meant she was about twenty-eight years old.

Did it bother you that there was a twelve year age gap between you? No it did not. You did try to spend as much time around Larissa as you could, for example you would help around her office and complete tasks for her.

To be honest you didn’t always want to do everything she asked but you just enjoyed the company around her. Over the next few years you spent as much time with Larissa as you could considering you were a student and she was your principal.

However the day you left Nevermore was the most heartbreaking day of your life. Saying goodbye to not only your classmates but Larissa was such a hard thing to do. You didn’t want them to know you were hurting down inside so you tried your best to disguise it.

I think Larissa could tell you were quite upset to leave as she told you before you left that it was never really going to be goodbye forever. You did always wonder what she meant by that considering you felt like you would never be returning to Nevermore.

However there was one thing that you were sure of and that was you wanted to get into teaching. After you left Nevermore you went straight to university to get your teaching degree and then getting a degree in botanical science. That subject always did have a way with you back at Nevermore.

You spent about 6 years at university and once you were finished you decided to go travelling for at least a year as it was something you always wanted to do but never got the chance. When you came back you found a small teaching job at one of the schools but it wasn’t teaching what you specialised in. However you needed a job.

In the meantime you did keep an eye out on the Nevermore school website to see if any job applications came about. However there wasn’t much going at all. That wasn’t going to stop you from finally getting a job at the school you grew up in.

After another 5 years and a number of different teaching jobs you finally decided to check to see if Nevermore had any teaching jobs for the upcoming school year. As you were scrolling through you saw one for a botanical science teacher. This was just your luck.

You spent that evening touching up your CV before applying to the job. All you had to do now was wait for a response. That week after a bit of waiting and hoping for a response was the longest week that has ever seemed to have existed.

You were at home scrolling through your phone when an email notification popped up. You were quick to open it to see that you had been selected for an interview with the headmistress. The email had been sent by the school’s office and it didn’t state who the headmistress even was.

Was principal Weems still in charge or was someone else running the school now? I guess there was only one way to find out. You accepted the interview and they later emailed you the details of your upcoming interview.

You had less than a week to prepare yourself for it. You made yourself look up all the relevant information and jotted down notes that you thought would be relevant to your interview. Now all you had to do was face the interview itself.

The day of your interview went great. You got dressed into a smart suit pants ensemble before grabbing all your notes and heading to Nevermore for the time you needed to be there.

Arriving at Nevermore brought you so many memories. It was like nothing had changed. You made your way to the office and waited for your name to be called. There were a few other people also waiting to be interviewed which only made you more nervous.

Knowing you had competition made you worry that you wouldn’t be able to bring something to the table that they might be able to offer. After about 20 minutes of waiting you were finally called into the office where the headmistress was conducting interviews.

You grabbed your stuff nervously before heading into the office that you had been in so many times before. Your heartbeat settled when you saw the one and only Larissa Weems. You sat down opposite her with the desk separating the both of you.

“Principal Weems, it’s so good to see you again” you smiled at her. “I told you it was never goodbye” she smiled as she looked over your CV. The fact that she remembered that was enough to make your heart flutter. “How have you been y/n? It’s been a long time since our days at Nevermore” she smiled at you.

“It’s been good. After my studies here I went to university to get my degree in teaching and botanical science. I then went travelling for a year and then spent the last 5 years teaching at a variety of schools” you told her.

“Aww that’s great to hear. Now, let’s get started with this interview” she smiled. The interview went well. She asked you a number of different questions which you were able to answer perfectly as well as adding your own touch to.

The interview lasted about 45 minutes but it felt like the two of you had been talking for all of 10 minutes. You still got that feeling when you saw and spoke to her which surprised you. Larissa said that you would hear from her in about a week once all the interviews had been conducted.

So in the meantime it was just a waiting game. That week seemed to drag but by the end of it you finally received a call from Larissa. “Hello” you answered the phone waiting for Larissa’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Morning y/n, I’m calling you today to let you know that after interviewing all the other candidates I would like to offer you the job” Larissa told you from the other end of the phone.

“Thank you so much Larissa. I would love to accept the position” you told her, trying your best to hide your excitement. “That’s great to hear y/n! I will email you shortly with everything you need to know. I look forward to working with you at Nevermore” Larissa said before you both said goodbye and hung up. This was the start of a new adventure.

Flash forward to a few months later and you were now finally settled in at Nevermore. You absolutely love teaching your classes and you love that you have onsite accommodation which means you never had to leave the place unless you wanted to go.

You have been getting on well with all your colleagues but there was one you wanted to spend a little more time with as you really got to know the woman you had a huge crush on many years ago. At the moment the two of you have had many chats in the canteen while having lunch and surprisingly you have learnt a lot.

Larissa is currently single which is great for you, she loves fashion as well as her love for Nevermore. It is clear she has such a passion for this school and she also loves going to this cafe called the Weathervane to get herself a hot chocolate most days.

Now you were just finding the courage to ask Larissa out on a date but you were just trying to find the right opportunity to do so. You were currently finishing up teaching your class before heading to the canteen to grab some lunch hoping you would also bump into Larissa so you could ask her a very important question.

You made your way down there quite quickly due to the fact you haven’t had much to eat at all today. You grabbed yourself a tray before helping yourself to the selection of food in front of you. You helped yourself to some pizza, chips and beans before grabbing some cutlery and heading to the tables reserved for teachers.

You sat there as you happily ate your lunch as you scanned the room for Larissa. After about 10 minutes you saw the tall beauty enter the room before grabbing her lunch. When she turned around it looked like she was going to head back out of the canteen but then she caught your eye. ‘

You immediately blushed and looked back down at your food. When you next looked up you found Larissa standing in front of you which only caused you to blush again. “Is it alright if I sit with you y/n?” she asked, waiting for you to answer. “Yeah, of course it is,” you told her. Larissa immediately took a seat next to you as you both happily ate your lunch in peace.

“So how have you found it here these last few months?” Larissa asked as she then took a bite of her pizza. “Yeah it has been absolutely amazing. I love all my students as well as my colleagues” you said smiling at Larissa. “Oh does that mean you love me as well” she teased as you felt yourself blush once more.

“Oh you do don't you, hence why you are blushing” she said laughing but getting more serious. You looked at her seriously for a second debating whether now was the right time to say anything.

“Alright Larissa, I will admit I have a slight crush on you. I have done since I was a student here. However I didn’t want to say anything even now in case I ruin our professional relationship” you sigh as you just looked at Larissa. “You have known all this time haven’t you?” you asked as she had this devilish grin plastered on her face.

“Oh of course I have darling. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure that one out. I understand why you didn’t say anything as a student but even then I could tell. Like who would really want to spend all that time with me? I am flattered though. I was just waiting for you to admit it to me” she smiled at you.

Did she feel the same way? “Ok well now that is out in the open then I guess I have something to ask you. Would you maybe like to go out for hot chocolate with me tomorrow afternoon?” you asked as you felt yourself blush once more. You really needed to get a hold of yourself.

“What? Like a date?” Larissa smiled. You couldn’t tell if she was still joking around or if she was being serious. “Yeah, like a date” you smiled trying to read her emotions. Larissa was quick to look around the canteen before looking back at you to make sure no one else had heard what you asked. “Yeah, I would love to,” she smiled.

You felt the excitement build up inside of you as you had finally landed a date with Larissa. “How does 14:00 sound tomorrow at the Weathervane?” you asked Larissa as you finished eating your lunch. “That sounds perfect. I look forward to it” Larissa smiled as she rested her hand on top of yours.

The two of you chatted for the rest of the lunch break before heading your separate ways for the rest of the day. The two of you exchanged your personal phone numbers before spending most of the day texting each other even though you both should be working.

Your date at the Weathervane went amazingly. The bond between the two of you got closer and closer and the two of you were already planning your next few dates. You couldn’t wait to see where this new adventure with Larissa would take you. The next step was definitely to ask Larissa to be your girlfriend and the thought of it just filled you with excitement.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #fanfics #larissa weems #larissa weems x teacher #larissa weems x you #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x reader #larissa x you #larissa x reader #larissa x y/n #nevermore #nevermore academy #principal weems #principal weems x reader #weathervane #fluff #Larissa seems fluff #brienneoftarth1989

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yakuza4you · 2 months ago

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ustulation; a burning lust 𖥔 ݁ ˖

彡 : ̗̀➛ content tags/warnings: MENTION OF CHEATING!! majority smut, on the border of cnc, mirror sex, breeding kink, use of makeup in a sexual way, spanking, hint of bdsm, dacryphilla, perverted behavior, throat fucking, creampie, might've missed one or two? lmk

彡 : ̗̀➛ characters: kiryu kazuma (vague mentions), majima goro

彡 : ̗̀➛ relationship: majima goro x reader

彡 : ̗̀➛ a/n: sorry if i misinterpreted majimas accent!! also, i don't write this every time, but when I say something about "majimas eyes ___" I mean his eye and his eyepatch I just don't want to have to mention that every time.. 😭 I changed the plot mid writing so if it seems patchy, that's whyyy!! anyways, enjoyaa

While smearing the lip stick applicator across my lips, my phone buzzes next to me. Taking only one quick glance at it, a message notification pops up shortly after the buzz. The notification covers the background consisting of me and my boyfriend; Majima Goro.

My stomach twinges seeing the background. I knew I shouldn't have agreed to this hangout.

- decided to leave early, wanted to grab the food beforehand, we will be waiting for you to get here at 7:00 tho like we agreed, dw

Quickly rushing to respond to the group chat, I drop my lipstick gently as possible before typing on my cellphone,

- okay, ill be on time, i swear haha

My friends had planned out a hangout, considering how long it had been since the last one. Also, considering how late I was last time, I gave myself 2½ hours this time around to get ready. Not saying they were upset at me for being late, but a little annoyed.

Finishing up my makeup with the last layer of lipstick, I click the cap back on and shuffle it into one of the drawers of my vanity dresser. I give myself a look of approval in the mirror, making faces at myself in admiration.

"Whatcha doing, pretty?" His sudden appearance causes me to snap out of my own trance, his hands wrapping around my waist and a warmth cradling my backside closely.

While he waits for a response, Majima also takes a look at my face. Bringing two fingers up to my lips, he smears them across my bottom lip. I contest by trying to pry them off, groaning at him, making a mess out of my freshly applied makeup.

"Just getting ready for the night out that my friends planned." I moan annoyed, pulling the lipstick out of my drawer again. Continuing to look at myself, I could feel his eyes glare over the dress I had planned to wear for the night. Majimas hands inching further down, examining the tight fabric.

"Ya tryna get attention that's not from me tonight?" His tone is strained, voice leaking of jealousy. I gasp from the sudden intrusion of his fingers, finding way through the designed holes at the sides of my dress before snapping them back out of the holes.

"Majima, stop being annoying. I only have 30 minutes until I have to go." I try to remove his hands off of my hips, but they dont budge. "Aren't you meeting with Kiryu soon anyway?" My tone drops, my head lowering into my chest as my boyfriend presses more into me. Not like Kiryu was going to be there anyway.

"Naw, I couldn't give a shit." His lips meet my neck, lips slightly chapped as the sharp edges of his lips bring slight discomfort with each kiss.

Trying to resist him, I attempt to push him away but to avail. I know I want this. I just can't disappoint my friends again.

My face is forcefully turnt to the side, my lips evaded by his own. The deep red pigmentation from my lips transfers to his through the kiss.

"Ya really tryna say no to yer boyfriend, hm?" Majima mutters in between kisses, his lips softening from his own saliva. His gloved hands travel down my thighs and up into the dress. He pushes my pelvis flush against the dresser with his from behind, one of his hands leaving from under the fabric and to my chin.

"That's it, princess." Hearing another ping from my phone, I flip it over without looking and begin to bask in his touch. My lace panties are exposed as he rolls up my dress over my ass.

"No fucking way ya were leaving the house with my favorite pair on?" Majima laughs, groping at my ass. He gets a kick outta this, delivering a smack to my flesh.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." I whine out, the sting lingering right after contact. I grip the dresser beneath me, my face clenching up from the pain.

"Naughty, naughty, naughty girl. Sorry what?" Another smack hits my ass, doesn't help that he's still wearing his gloves too.

"'m sorry, Goro. Won't happen again." Nothing but a weak whimper leaves my lips, slightly incoherent from the pain. My demonear changing within a second just from his few actions.

Desperately, I try pleading with him, "Please, please, please." Not even knowing what I'm begging for anymore.

My eyes meet Majimas deep brown ones in the mirror, his head buried into the crook of my neck. Soft grunts slip between his lips, his hands exploring every inch of my body.

One by one, the straps of my dress are pulled off my shoulders. As only my boobs hold it up, his eyes watch in the mirror. A hardness forming up against my ass, Majima moaning at the perverted sight alone.

The way the leather fabric rubbed against my skin, the way his caressed up and down my shoulders, peeling the dressing slowly down. I'm left in only my black lace bra & pantie matching set; his favorite to see me wear, but it wasn't for him tonight.

"Who were ya wearing these for, hm?" This time, Majima talks to me as if I were an enemy. His voice dripping of that blood thirsty seriousness. My eyes glue onto his, not able to look away as if he's killing me with just his eyes alone through the mirror.

I shake my head 'No' as a response, my throat too tight to speak correctly. The sound of leather hits the ground, his jacket.

Next, the sound of his belt clicks. Pulling it through the loops with one hand before tossing it as well. "Get on ya knees and face me, sweets."

Immediately, I do as he says by uncomfortably shifting to face him and groaning, my knees painfully hitting the hard floors. I palm at the tent in his pants, asking for forgiveness, assuming that he had caught on.

"Who? Better to be honest with me now, cause I already know." As soon as I hear those words, my heart drops to my ass, my movement slowing. Avoiding eye contact from him, goosebumps cover my now pale skin. "I'm gunna fuck you until I get ya to say it yourself." My cheek is greeted with a burning sensation, in result of a slap to it.

Taking my hands into his, I'm guided through the action of unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down. Majima wearing nothing underneath the pants. Scooping his dick into his fist, beginning to pump it on my lips. Barely kissing the tip with each stroke.

"Apply some of that expensive lipstick of yers again. Mark me up, I wanna see red pigmentation mixed into yer slobber by the time 'm done fucking yer throat." Already swiping the tube off my dresser, tossing it into my hands. I paint another fresh layer onto my mouth, sobbing at the situation I got myself into. Tossing it away from me, I slowly meet his eyes again, pursuing my lips together in a pouting manner.

Holding myself up hy his thighs, I obediently grab onto the base of his cock, placing a wet kiss to it. Looking at my artwork left behind as I pulled away. Hesitantly, I carefully wrap my lips around his girth, earning myself a moan of approval above me. Fuck, he's so thick. My mouth fills surprisingly quickly.

Majima follows my lips with his eyes, pleasingly enjoying how well the lipstick stains his dick. His head rolls back from the sight, the reaction causing him to twitch in my mouth. I swallow more of him down my throat, his pubic hair tickling my nose now. Struggling for air, every time I breathe through my nose, my throat tightens around him.

Resisting the urge to gag, water builds up in the corner of my eyes, picking up any eyeliner I applied earlier. Majima grabs fistfuls of my hair, starting to thrust into my soft mouth as if it were his own pocket pussy.

Using my struggle to breathe to his advantage, he purposefully goes deeper into my throat so I involuntarily breathe in. My eyes begin to blur from the strain; the first tear accompanied by many more to come, falling down my reddened cheek and rolling off of my puffy lips.

"This isn't a punishment, baby. I jus' wanna make sure ya know that I won't let my pretty girl slut 'erself around and get away with it." The sting of his words causes my eyes to flood with tears. I begin to have waterworks, feeling bad for myself, for even thinking I was even going to be dishonest to my boyfriend tonight.

Majima pets my head, mocking my own face by pouting himself. Spit bubbles leak out of the corners of my mouth, my lipstick practically gone and now all over his cock. His face contorts over the pain I'm in, coercing him over the edge.

He jerks forward, both of my air ways covered by him fucking my throat and his pubic hair up against my nose. Majima gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as his warm cum coats the back of my mouth.

Already knowing what he wants, I force myself to swallow it all down. His cum a salty savory flavor that attacks my taste buds as it goes down smoothly. A ring of red pigmentation builds up around the base of his cock, where my lips are resting.

As I feel his hands loosen its grip in my hair, his dick leaves my mouth in one swift pull out. Majima rubs himself, dropping any remaining cum off onto my face. His dick is left a glistening mess, stained rings of a washed red color decorating it.

"I'm not done with ya, pretty girl." He pants, one of his hands cupping my cheek as he squeezes it. Aggressively, I'm pulled off of my feet and put in the same position as I started in; facing the mirror with my pelvis pressed firmly against the vanity dresser.

I feel Majimas dick hard against my ass, pushing into the plush flesh. The way he hovers slightly over me, the height difference prominent. Oh my god. While trying to hide my embarrassed face, I forget about the mirror in front of me, allowing Majima to see every movement of my front side.

"Look at me, sweets." He speaks into the reflection, searching for my eyes within it. Getting the encourage to look up, he catches me off guard, holding my face into the mirror. My mouth gets no rest, now sucking onto his two fingers. The leather taste heavy on my tongue.

As he has me distracted, my panties are pulled down my legs eagerly. His dick teases my sobbing cunt before pushing himself inside. While mumbling random pleas incoherently, his pace begins with a quick snap of his hips. He continues to hold my face straight, watching my face react to his brutal pace.

"Look at how I make ya feel, pretty. How could ya forget to the extent ya'd wanna go out with somebody else?" He snickers, giving my ass a rough smack, not bothering to soothe it afterward. I cry out, accidentally biting down onto his fingers. Any attempt at speaking is muffled, I'm left completely at his disposal.

I'm slightly elevated from how tall he is, having to stand on my tippy toes in order for him to properly fuck me. Majima holds me up with his free hand by my hip easily to give him better access.

The edge of the dresser pushing into my stomach uncomfortably, adding to the overall pleasure, oddly enough. Majima continues to play with my mouth, saliva coating his glove as he shoves his fingers down my tired throat.

Every thrust from him sends a burning shock into my ass, bruises beginning to form from how much trauma it has endured in short time. My cries out please him instead of concern him, taking them as a sign to keep going.

His eyes stay locked onto mine while he claims me. As my legs begin to give out from under me, he finally gives my mouth a break in order to hold me up with all of his support. My legs involuntarily kick up, my body being held up by just him now.

"I'm so... close, Majima." I manage to speak coherently, warning him that I'm about to cum. His pace grows uncoordinated and untamed. The way his face buries itself into the crook of my neck, his grip on my hips tightening. He is too.

"Gonna fill ya up. Don't care if ya want it or not." He sighs out into my skin, creating a moist patch on my neck. My eyes sting from how much I've cried, my face flush from how badly I wanted to cum. Mind turning into mush, all I could think was about squeezing around his cock as I came.

The coil in my stomach burst, sending waves of euphoria down my body. I involuntarily froze, my cunt squeezing around my boyfriends cock. Everything become hot in a flash as my cum coated him. My orgasm didn't stop there because he didn't stop his pace.

Majima continued to chase his high, groaning from how tight I had gotten around him. Warm liquid lubricated my cunt even more, making it easier for him to easily slide in and out of me.

Spontaneously, one last thrust was given to me. This time, he held himself deep inside of me, making sure to release all of his cum inside of me. The overstimulation from already having an orgasm causes me to tremor, eyes blurring out from the extra euphoria. Majima latches onto my neck, messly kissing all over it.

Just before he finished, he pulled out of me, releasing his last few drops of cum at the entrance of my now dripping cunt. Gently letting me back down, he makes sure I have my balance before backing up to take a look at his work.

"Such a pretty pussy, all mine too." Majima bites one of his fingers, pulling his glove off before sliding it down my cunt. His finger enters me, finger fucking his cum into me to make sure it all stays in. "Ya understand now, sweets? If ya feel like ya ain't getting enough from me, just ask, baby."

Turning me around, he pulls my twisted panties from my ankles back up. Our cum mixed together pools in them, the feeling uncomfortable to adjust to. Majima examines my makeup ruined face, lightly tapping my cheek before placing a kiss on my lips.

Still feeling some guilt, I try to make light of the situation, "Since I'm almost an hour late now, I guess I couldn't go anyways." I laugh it off, wiping partially dried tears off of my eyes. He takes the time to button his pants up before giving me a smug laugh.

He grabs my makeup wipes and telling me to hold still before helping me clean my face. I grab his wrist, leaning into his touch as I hold eye contact with him the whole time. Never again am I pulling a dumb stunt like that again.

"But, really? Kiryu? Ya could've picked any other better option. I don't even think I'm mad. He's that bad of one." Majima snarkly comments on my choices, trying not to rub too much alcohol into the wound. A long night of talking was ahead of us.

...

crds to @cafekitsune for the dividers!

#yakuza #yakuza 0 #yakuza 1 #yakuza 2 #yakuza 3 #yakuza 4 #yakuza 5 #yakuza fics #yakuza smut #yakuza4you #majima goro #yakuza majima #majima goro x you #majima goro fics #majima goro smut #majima goro x reader

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lenaboskow · 5 months ago

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How old is Tommy is supposedly to be? Is the age gap bigger than with abbey

SO abby was 42 in s1 and buck was 26? which would make their age difference 16 years. but here's the tricky part: 911 messed up buck's age, and made him 30 in s6 when he should've been 32... for storytelling purposes I've chosen to believe that 30 is the correct age for s6 (i'll make a post on that later) making him 24, and the age difference 18 years. wow.

now, let's look at tommy. we don't know his actual age, but we know enough to guess.

we know he was in the military before joining the lafd, and while he doesn't say how long he was there for, he does tell us he was a pilot. some quick research tells me that flight school can take up to 18 months. let's assume tommy joined right out of high-school, this puts him at 20 when he graduates. the liklihood of him enlisting to get flight school paid for is high, especially considering his relationship with his father and probable inability to pay for civilian flight school. this means after he does his 10 years of commitment, he's at least 30 when he gets out of the military (if he went that route. he may have only done a few tours if he paid for flight school, which would put him around 25 when he gets out)

let's be generous and say he's 25 when he gets out, and immediately applies to the lafd, and immediately gets hired. the hiring and training process takes around a year, from application date to academy graduation, so now he's 26. he finishes his probie year at 27. his familiarity and all that in chimney begins (set 19 years ago now) means he's at least been there for a few years (he's not treated like someone who just finished being a probie). let's be generous and say he's 30 in chimney begins. that means today he'd be 49.

that's an 18 year age difference, the same as abby, minimum. now, like i said before. he probably went to flight school paid by the army, which would at minimum put him at 54, making him 23 years older, which is a larger age gap.

do with that information as you will

#911 #911 on abc #911 abc #anti bucktommy

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skrrts · 4 months ago

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who said we can't be sad & silly? (one-shot) ;

✧ reader x seonghwa ✧ genre: nonidol, slice of life, fluff, pre est., cheer up ✧ word count: 1,5k ✧ warnings: small mention of feeling insecure & disappointed

another failed job interview and while you can't hide your disappointment, seonghwa decides to surprise you with a lego build and the two of you act just a little silly to cheer you up

a/n: something silly and short for @solaris-amethyst because interviewing for a job is always so challenging 🥺 ; all fluff just two adults being silly

The bus was fifteen minutes late, and you felt like you’d hit rock bottom. The dirty sky, the clouds promising rain when you didn't have an umbrella, and two boys whispering to each other because you stood there all dressed up, waiting for public transport, it made you feel out of place even more.

You really just preferred to get one of those copy-paste messages that didn’t bother with your name or got it wrong.

“We are sorry to inform you that we decided to go with another applicant…”

By now, you knew the headline meant another rejection because winners got phone calls, not quick, impersonal messages sent to those who wasted time applying for jobs they didn’t even want but needed, bills needed to be paid. Many companies didn’t even bother with that anymore.

You dreaded job interviews, not because you had to dress up and pretend to be your best self for an hour, but because of the growing hopeful feeling that this would be the one, only to have them realize you weren’t right after you got comfortable. You noticed the small indicators: how the job description changed, the friendly tone becoming rushed, and them looking over your resume repeatedly instead of talking to you, asking unnecessary questions already answered in your application just to get the time and excuse themselves.

Today was one of those days. The hiring manager didn’t consider that the department head only wanted someone with years of experience, which you didn’t have because nobody was willing to give you a chance to prove yourself.

text to hwa♡: i finally understand those angry people on TikTok we keep joking about text to hwa♡: we should start charging HR for every minute they waste, like a stupid amount of money text to hwa♡: for them, applicants are just an extra coffee break, but what about our time?

You hated to whine to your boyfriend, but he was the only one who didn’t judge. It was hard to explain to your parents, who had held the same jobs for longer than you’d been alive, how tough the job market was now. All they saw were reports about empty positions nobody wanted. 'How hard could it be?'

Raindrops finally started to fall, but at least your bus arrived, and you got a window seat. You looked at your phone, but there was no message from Seonghwa. Of course, he was likely on his way home too. You were glad he enjoyed his job at the daycare so much and that the kids loved him. How couldn’t they?

It was thanks to your four-year-old niece that you met this wonderful man. When your brother was late from work and you, still a student with free time, helped out, Seonghwa was the teacher who stayed late to wait with your niece until she was picked up.

It was the third time when you came that Seonghwa finally asked for your number, then you had coffee, and the rest was sweet history. It was more tempting to think about that memory than the job interview.

The way home wasn’t too bad, but you wondered if you looked as pitiful as you felt when you kicked off your shoes and dropped your coat and bag by the door without bothering to put them away.

“What a... argh!”

“Hey, no cursing!”

You jumped when a voice answered you. Seonghwa’s face appeared, leaning back. He was serious about the no-cursing rule, trying to get his five-year-olds to stop cursing because they picked it up from their parents. He also stuck with that rule at home.

“Hwa!” You kept forgetting you gave him a key for your ten-month dating anniversary a few weeks ago.

His face softened. “I’m sorry. It’s a habit!” His words hinted he felt bad, and you hurried to shake your head.

“No, no! It’s okay! I was just startled. What are you doing here? I thought you had the closing shift at the daycare today.”

Seonghwa mumbled, obviously hiding something. “Oh yes! I mean, I was supposed to, but someone asked if I could switch with them, doing opening hours instead.”

As you came closer, he stood up quickly, trying to hide something.

“Well, it was good timing! We can spend time together. I took the day off tomorrow, so we can stay up late, watch the third season of Bridgerton, and sleep in. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed, and we can do some home wellness. I still have that set Yeosang gifted me for my birthday.”

God, how was he so sweet?

Hwa was rambling, sincere but clearly trying to buy time. There was a hint of guilt, knowing he likely took the day off because of you. He always worried when you were sad and hated leaving you alone.

“I’d like that, sounds nice. I actually bought some ice cream when the weather announced it would get hot this weekend. Perfect for a lazy evening on the couch.”

Seonghwa walked towards you as you tried to see what he was hiding. Before you knew it, you were in his embrace. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him and sighed, your face against his shoulder.

It wasn’t like you were about to cry, but being held like that helped more than any optimistic message from well-meaning friends who didn’t understand constant rejection. They all got the job of their dreams so quickly, unlike you.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s not easy, but it’s on them if they couldn’t properly advertise their offer and put someone clueless on the job. What does that say about the company?”

Seonghwa leaned back, cupping your face, and looked at you with love and adoration. You never knew how he did it, being so gentle and patient, never losing faith. There had been moments when you saw it crumble, but in a relationship, both sides needed to show it, knowing the other would be there to pick it up. He could count on you always.

“I really thought this time might be it because they invited me within two days and didn’t let me wait a month like the previous one…”

“I know, and there are no words to make it feel better, but I have an idea how to cheer you up a little.”

The small grin on Seonghwa’s lips was too cute, like he was proud of his idea and likely put in a lot of effort.

“Is that so? Should I be worried or excited?” you chuckled.

He waved, pressing a quick kiss on your lips as he took your hands and led you to the living room to show you what he was hiding.

“I think you’ll appreciate it.”

He led you to the circular carpet in the middle of your small living room.

There, with great love for detail, Seonghwa had built a small office room out of Legos. From shelves to a desk with a computer and an extra table where two figures sat, nothing was missing. One figure was a cute orange cat, likely meant to be you, and the other was an angry-looking Lego figure with fangs, probably added with a marker.

Seonghwa smiled as you couldn’t hold back a soft laugh.

“Is this the evil interviewer?” you asked, picking up the figure.

Seonghwa took the cat, wiggling it cutely. It must be one of his Animal Crossing figures. You knew how much he loved and took care of his collection, so bringing one here meant a lot.

“Exactly! Look how he’s naturally evil! His job is to disappoint others! He just calls them in to say, ‘Oh, you really thought you’d get this job?’” His voice deepened as he voiced the Lego figure.

“That’s so mean! What do they do about it?”

Seonghwa chuckled and pulled out a small pink bunny, giving you the other. “Well, the cat has this cute friend who’s always there for them! Together, they tear down the office, so the evil guy also loses his job and feels really bad about it!”

The bunny figure kicked off the little laptop on the table and made a victorious sound.

“Just like that! What can he do about it? Nothing, because these two are the best team! You should try it! Very freeing, no holding back, tear it down.”

You looked at Seonghwa, who was all in his element. The time and effort he put in made your heart swell with appreciation.

“Okay!” You winked and had the cat hit the little chair until it fell over.

“Just like that!” he cheered. “Let it all out, the anger and frustration. Lego man deserves it!”

The two of you acted like kids on the beach, tearing down a sandcastle you’d built for hours just for that very purpose. When only blocks remained, Seonghwa pulled you onto his lap and sighed.

“How are you feeling, love?”

There was still concern in his eyes, but you shook your head.

“Better, a lot. Thanks to you. Did I ever tell you how amazing it is to date someone working in daycare who lets me be so silly?”

You could see he was a little flustered by the compliments.

“Ah, it’s nothing! I just don’t want you to feel sad. It’s not easy, but I’m here with you, always. It’s also safer than angry TikTok videos, though I see the temptation.”

Your head rested against his shoulder, and you looked at each other, but then your thoughts took over, being silly.

“I feel like those angry Lego videos could be a viral hit too, don’t you think?” you joked, then blinked.

“Should I set it up again?”

Seonghwa smirked.

“Just watch! Cat and Bunny will avenge all those poor applicants who faced evil recruiters online! It will be a hit!”

#seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #seonghwa fluff #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #reis writes #sh tag #fluff tag

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snapscube · 11 months ago

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Hi! we saw that you had a 20 age limit for the mod apps! We were considering applying but we're only 19 and will be turning 20 in April. Was curious if you were okay with us submitting an application and starting after we turn 20 or if you would prefer us not to? Just wanted to ask first :D thank you! -Woomy

I appreciate the enthusiasm and the interest but applicants must be 20 at minimum AT THE TIME of application, I'm sorry! This is planned to be a pretty quick turnaround from application to implementation into the server and 20 is just the minimum I have set to ensure a specific baseline of emotional maturity and general ease of communication, just as much for my own comfort as for the needs of the community.

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batfambrainrotbeloved · 4 days ago

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Hey, just wondering if you could give us some insight into how the sleepy kitten cafe staff met Alan/got close to him/what they think of him. Also curious to see what all the bats think about cardinal. Did they ever meet in costume?

P.S: Keep up the good work!!

Of course!! I touched a little bit in "Jerry the Raccoon" but that was mostly Tim & Zeek (and it was not my best chapter- but I refuse to edit it for my own sanity)

Also so far? No. Cardinal manages to maintain a distance 24/7 with bats (almost as if hes tracking them during patrol- wild right??) But overall

Bruce is tearing his hair out, but admits they are useful and more effort than they're worth.

Babs adores them, and is on a mission to find them out and take them under her wing

Dick finds Bruce plight funny- but is kinda unnerved how similar Cardinal is to a talon in some ways. (also just creepy in general)

Jason "Game recognizes game" but wishes Cardinal would stop running so he could ask him more questions

Cass never gets close. But not bothered by them.

Steph thinks Cardinal is badass but keeps her distance, doesnt trust the vibes

Damien acts like he doesn't care about Cardinal (He so does, hes obsessed- lowkey fanboy behavior)

Alfred thinks its nice Bruce has someone else willing to deal with Gotham, who ISN'T under his nagging control. Theres some respect there.

NOW Sleepy Kitten fam backstory (as of rn, subject to change as lore provides)

Well Alan Draper (Originally Alvin) was a normal civillian persona Tim had- but in order to MAKE a persona, people need to know you. Otherwise it takes a quick asking around to realize you aren't who you say you are.

So when Tim was Fifteen or so Alan "moved to Gotham" from Chicago and started taking classes at Gotham University. He started showing up at the cafe out of pure convinence before Obi and Gwen worked there (officially)

Obi's dad had a run in with a rouge, got injured, and couldn't work both shifts. So they turned to part time student and began running the store. They'd gotten used to Alan hanging around and they talked on ocassion but mostly enjoyed silence when the other was working. Slowly but surely Tim grew to love being Alan- one of the few times he could be stress free anymore and yet not be so alone. And Obi dealing with the stress of taking over family buisness had one customer whose ever presence was comforting.

A few months pass and they consider each other pretty close friends to the point Alan had a spare key to the cafe in case of emergencies. Soon after some of the other staff quit and Obi opened applications- Gwen showed up, nervous as hell having never worked a day in her life and already applying to like ten other positions.

But Obi was desperate and soon enough Gwen was at the cafe just about every hour of the day and night. It got to the point where she would hang out even after her shift.

Then by pure forced proximity, Alan grew to love her company just as much as Obi- though in a way that forced him out of his shell just a bit.

It was clockwork of Alan, Gwen, and Obi all at the Sleepy Kitten on random day hours chatting away while working.

Events of the chapter transpire, with Alan showing up with this guy who 100% belongs in a gang, but Obi takes "minding their own buisness" HARD and trusts both Alan and Gwens opinions (Gwen who just saw sad guy and forced to help)

Now Obi has basically permenantly taken over the cafe, but still takes some art school classes on the side with some of the profits that don't go back into the cafe.

Gwen and Zeek have an apartment together in the far narrows since Gwen was desperate to move out, and Zeek was company and free security, who also needed a place. Apartment is just a block or so from the cafe too

Alan lives outside downtown but commutes often, works odd hours but whenever he is free, will set up in the cafe and enjoy the peace for a bit with his friends.

Long story short- they were coworker friends, except Alan refused to take a job literally ever.

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space-noods · 7 months ago

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Boss Gojo Imagines

Boss! Gojo who has had flings with every assistant he’s had.

Boss! Gojo who as the CEO of the company was raised to be very weary of letting anyone close to him. Although he would bed many women, he had only a few he called friends.

Boss! Gojo who fired his last assistant after their short term rendezvous and is in need of a new one.

Boss! Gojo who, whilst procrastinating, decides he will conduct the interviews himself. He reasons that it would be easier to test the new secretary himself. See if they could maintain a professional relationship.

Boss! Gojo is tired going through the numerous interviews. Each person was qualified, many over qualified. But they were all boringgg.

Boss! Gojo who was about to resign for the day, until you showed up. Like your competitors, you wore a bright smile and held an impressive resume. Unlike them, you were nonchalant; as if you were meeting with a friend rather than competing for a highly coveted position in the elite Gojo company.

Boss! Gojo who was surprised at how easy the conversation flowed between the two of you. So much so, that he had spent at least 30 more minutes with you than every other applicant.

Boss! Gojo who can’t stop himself from asking,

“How are you so confident you’re going to get the job?”

You looked past him, scrunching your nose thinking.

“I’m not confident at all. Honestly, I only applied on a whim. I guess since I have no hope, I have nothing to lose, right?

This type of thinking was such a breathe of fresh air for him. In the rigid society he was born to, every action had to calculated. Every conversation meticulously planned out. Nothing was organic. Nothing was natural. And here you were, smiles and all, taking a chance without considering the risk.

You had an email for you that same day.

Boss! Gojo who isn’t surprised by your work ethic. Anyone who made it so far into the application process was a a good worker. But he was surprised about your energy. You managed to maintain a positive and almost carefree vibe despite the stress and tribulations.

At first, he was obviously drawn to your personality, but what really impacted him, was how quick you acclimated to him and his personality. By the end of the month, you had learned his favorite snacks, how he likes his coffee (if it could be considered coffee after how much sugar is put into it), and his habits. When he felt clingy, you let him cling to you. When he felt withdrawn, you gave him space. It felt like you were made for him. This was the first time in a while someone was so attentive to him. The first time in a while where he felt seen.

Boss! Gojo who treats you like a hidden snack. Anytime he’s overloaded with work, he’ll seek you out to indulge in your sweetness.

Boss! Gojo who demands you meet with him once an hour. He claims that it’s for check-ins, but really he just wants to see you.

Boss! Gojo who was already an affectionate and touchy person. This has somehow doubled when you started working. He would use you as an arm rest, lay his head on your shoulder, hold you by your waist. Anything to get his hands on you. You were like an actual plush toy to him. Any time you two had to attend meetings, you would be confused as his girlfriend instead of his secretary.

When Shoko first saw you and him, she had assumed that you two had already hooked up. She was pleasantly surprised to hear Satoru deny the claim. When she questioned if he’s been having any sex recently, the loving gaze he sent your way was enough of an answer for her. It was weird. In just a couple months, you had changed Satoru completely. She even noticed that the two of you were on first name basis. When you walked back, you had a cocktail in hand for yourself and a mocktail for Gojo. Shoko couldn’t help but roll her eyes at how intimately you two behaved.

Boss! Gojo who secretly started increasing your wage. While you never complained about your finances, he was aware of your recent graduation and history of low wage jobs. He wanted to make sure that this would be the best paying job you’ve had. Not only would it make you happier, it would also make you less likely to quit.

Boss! Gojo who hates seeing you tired, but can’t stop himself from forcing you to work overtime. Especially when you both would fall asleep in the office. Waking up to see you was the greatest feeling in the world. Unfortunately, the extreme guilt of making you work overtime would weigh heavy on him, so he would forced you to go home.

Boss! Gojo who seethes seeing how close you’ve gotten with the other workers. The same charismatic nature that attracted him was now attracting others. And he hated that too.

Boss! Gojo who demands you start eating lunch at his office. To make up for the ‘inconvenience’ he buys the most extravagant and excessive lunches. You often get sent home with all the leftovers.

Boss! Gojo who has become inseparable from you. Your office was moved into his, you would join him on every retreat. Sometimes he would even send you accessories so that you could match with him. Your phone and his sharing a matching home screen.

When he first started showering you with presents, you denied them excessively. As the days went on, you would accept them and return them by the end of the day. Satoru would, of course return it to your desk, only to find it in his own the next morning. The game of give and return would go on for days until he had you walk into his office where he would put the necklace/ accessory in you and pour until you finally accept it.

He was immensely endeared to you when he found a homemade phone chain on his desk with a little note. He was almost start struck when he saw you had a matching one. This snowballed into a fascination with matching between him and you.

Boss! Gojo who notices immediately when you don’t show up for work one day. Instead of you sitting pretty at your desk, it was Ijichi. Now don’t get Gojo wrong, he also likes Ijichi. But not seeing you there was almost painful. His entire schedule and demeanor relied on you. On your smile, your banter, your everything. He needed you. At these thoughts, Satoru felt a burning pain right where his heart was. Why was he acting like this. Why have you made him so dependent? All at once, the memories of everything he did with you flooded his brain. The matching, the jokes, the smiles. He was undeniably obsessed with you.

Gojo Satoru was in love with his secretary.

Epilogue

During his epiphany, you sent him a little text explaining your absence, you had randomly gotten sick over the weekend and couldn’t make it to work. You asked him not to worry and that you would be better by tomorrow. By the time you sent that second text in, Satoru had already put you in for a week of absence and was making his way to your house, hands full of medication and sweets.

_________________________________________________

Notes:

Thanks everyone for reading! This was the winner of the poll! I hope everyone enjoys it! I’m not an amazing writer and I really struggle keeping things concise lol so I hope this wasn’t a total snooze fest.

I know when relationships like Boss and worker are written about, they tend to be a lot… steamier for lack of a better word. I really did try, but I also really liked the childish swooning thing Satoru had going on. Idk maybe one day I’ll try again 🤔

Not edited btw! Pls ignore any small mistakes!

#jjk x y/n #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk x reader #x reader #reader insert #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #drabble #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk shoko #imagine

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deception-united · 5 months ago

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Hello, i would like to ask for some advice. I'm currently planning on writing a fight scene where one character (the villain) has a knife, but the other character (the protagonist) is unarmed. Do you know how i can make a fight like that?

Hi, thanks for asking! Writing a fight scene where one character is unarmed can be a great opportunity to showcase their resourcefulness and determination, or lack thereof. Here are some tips:

Use environment to your advantage. The protagonist can use their surroundings to their advantage. Describe the setting in detail and have them look for objects to use as improvised weapons, such as chairs, tables, or something like a broken bottle. In a moment of danger and desperation, practically any old thing laying about can be repurposed as a makeshift weapon.

Emphasise evasion. Since the protagonist is unarmed, they'll need to focus on avoiding the villain's attacks. Describe their movements, footwork, and body positioning as they dodge their antagonist's advancements to create a sense of tension and urgency. They may use corners, walls, or obstacles to strategically avoid or deflect the attacks.

Highlight their intelligence. If it's in-character, take this as an opportunity to show the protagonist using their wits to outmaneuver the villain. They might use distractions, feints, or clever tactics in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

Make the villain a formidable opponent. Give the villain skills and abilities that make them a credible threat. This will raise the stakes and make the protagonist's defeat expected, and their subsequent victory—if applicable—more satisfying.

Keep it intense and fast-paced. Use short sentences, active verbs, and vivid descriptions to create a sense of urgency and intensity. By describing the close calls, near misses, or successful hits, the readers can feel the danger and tension of the scene and emphasise with the protagonist.

Consider the protagonist's skills and training. Detail the protagonist’s background and skills. Are they trained in hand-to-hand combat? Are they resourceful and quick-thinking? Incorporate any training or experience they have into the fight scene to make it more believable and realistic.

Highlight the villain’s skill with the knife. Are they a professional killer, or just someone who’s desperate and dangerous?

Don't forget about the villain's motivations. Make sure the villain's actions are motivated by their goals and personality. This will add depth to the scene and make the conflict more meaningful. Are they a professional killer, or just someone who's desperate and dangerous?

Establish the reasons and lead-up. Why is the fight happening happening in the first place? Was the character aware of the villain being their enemy, or that they're after them? If so, why weren't they armed? How did the villain catch them off-guard?

Make the stakes clear. Make sure the readers understand the importance of the fight. What are the characters fighting for? What will happen if the protagonist loses?

Describe their mentality. This applies to both the protagonist and the villain. For the protagonist, show their fear, determination, and thought process during the fight. Are they calculating their next move, or are they acting on instinct? Is the villain overconfident, or are they taking the fight seriously?

Keep it realistic. Even if the protagonist is skilled, getting through a knife fight fully unscathed is extremely unlikely. An injury could also be used as a turning point in the fight, adding to the protagonist’s struggle and making them more vulnerable and susceptible to further harm.

Keep in mind that a great fight scene is not just about the physical actions, but also about the characters' emotions, motivations, and personalities. Feel free to check out my previous posts about fight scenes and how to make them realistic for more tips! Happy writing ❤

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#ask #writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #creative writing #fight scenes #deception-united

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surftrips · 1 year ago

Text

COOL FOR THE SUMMER

OBX WRITING WEEK DAY 1 — AU W/ JJ MAYBANK

word count: 1502

summary: in which JJ and Y/N are working together as camp counselors for the summer, cut off from the rest of the world for eight weeks straight.

a/n: this was super fun to write, i'd love to write more blurbs for them because i think a summer camp setting is so cute haha. welcome to day 1 of obx writing week, make sure to support all the other authors under the tag! :)

“Ughhhh,” Y/N groaned. She was in desperate need of a job for the summer. None of the internships she applied to had gotten back to her, so she was left to scour the internet for entry-level positions, when finally she stumbled upon something promising,

Hiring camp counselors! $16/hour, room and board included. Provide high-quality educational and recreational opportunities and enjoyable experiences for camp participants. No experience needed. CPR-certification preferred.

She had spent a summer in her junior year of high school as a lifeguard, but she wasn’t the biggest fan of the outdoors. And from what she could tell, this position would require her to be outside a lot. But what choice did she have? It was either this, or be unemployed and broke for four months. She sighed and uploaded her resume without much thought.

Exactly one week later, she received a call from an unfamiliar number in North Carolina. She almost didn’t pick it up, but she quickly realized the camp position was located on the Outer Banks.

“Hello? Is this Y/N Y/L/N?” a faraway voice asked.

“Yes, this is her.”

“Hey, Y/N! This is Lucas, I’m calling from Camp Cedar Brook. We saw your application for the counselor position and would love to offer you the position! Are you still interested?”

“Oh, of course! Thank you!” she said.

“Great! We’ll email you the onboarding details this week, but welcome to the team! It’s going to be a great summer!” Lucas said excitedly.

Y/N hung up the phone, a little less excited now that the reality of working at a summer camp was setting in. Being in charge of little kids. Having limited phone access. Cut off from the rest of the world. Working outdoors in the scorching Carolina sun. Just eight weeks of this, she sighed.

“Need some help with that?” a blonde boy asked her as she tried to gracefully carry her two suitcases up the creaky wooden steps to her cabin.

“No, thanks,” she was quick to dismiss him. The last thing she needed was a knight in shining armor, or rather, a muscle tee and cargo shorts.

“Hey, challenge by choice right?”

“What?”

“Challenge by choice,” he repeated. “Something the counselors here say to the kids. Are you new?”

“Yeah, is it that obvious?”

“Well, considering you’re trying to lug up two suitcases at once into the wrong cabin, yeah, it kind of is.”

Y/N quickly glanced up at the sign above the door. Shit, it was the wrong cabin. Not off to a great start.

“Can I help you now?” the boy asked.

She gave in, “Yeah, sure, fine.”

“I’m JJ, by the way.”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, that’s a pretty name.”

“Okay, JJ, can you please just help me carry this to the right cabin?”

After settling down in the right cabin and unpacking, Y/N finally had a chance to catch her breath. She pulled out the itinerary for the next day and audibly groaned. The day was packed with activities: ziplining, archery, climbing wall, and hiking. But it wasn’t all the outdoor happenings that caused her to groan, it was the fact that the returning counselors were being paired with up a new one as their “mentee.” And luck behold it, she had gotten JJ.

She crashed down onto her bed, mentally preparing herself to deal with him tomorrow.

When she woke, it wasn’t to the sound of her usual alarm, but the jarring blow of an airhorn which had to have been right outside her window.

Y/N pulled herself out of bed, tousled hair and all, to see who had interrupted her precious sleep. Pulling the thin curtains aside, she saw nothing but the glaring sun before her eyes adjusted to the blonde boy on her front steps.

“How are you literally everywhere all the time?” she said, opening her door.

“Good morning, gorgeous!” JJ turned around, “Oh, we’ll work on that last part.”

Offended, Y/N quickly adjusted her hair.

“I’m just kidding!” he said. “But to answer your initial question, that’s literally in my job description.”

“To be super annoying and ignore my personal space?”

“Princess, it’s a summer camp. There is no such thing as that here.”

“Okay, don’t call me that. And second, why are you up so early? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until 11 am.”

“It’s 10 am,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, and?”

“Won’t it take you like an hour to get ready?”

He was right. She must’ve slept through her original 9 am alarm or put it on snooze while half-awake. She was going to be late if she didn’t start getting ready right now.

Without saying anything, she slammed the door shut and proceeded to put herself together. JJ smirked on the other side of the door, knowing that he had won this round.

The first activity of the day was archery, something Y/N happened to be terrible at. Her Hunger Games obsession in middle school was unfortunately not enough for her to enroll in archery lessons.

“Okay, so what you’re gonna want to do is line yourself up with the target,” JJ was explaining.

“Got it, now what?”

“Alright, now place your feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your back straight.”

Y/N was losing confidence in herself. “I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t. Come on, now point your bow down and put the arrow in the string.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, perfect! Now use three fingers to lightly hold the arrow away from the string. Then you’re gonna point toward the target again.”

Y/N was getting more nervous. What if she missed terribly and hit someone? She had already embarrassed herself several times in front of the boy and didn’t need another reason to be made fun of.

“Pull the string back, aim, and release,” JJ said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Quickly, she did just that. And she hit it.

Granted, not the center of the target, but at least she was on the board.

“There you go! Not bad for your first try!” JJ put his hand up for a high five, which Y/N gave into. “Let’s practice that a few more times then you can teach the kids.”

“Teach the kids?”

“Yeah, did you forget you’re a counselor?”

“No, I just thought I would get more time to learn, that’s all.”

“Listen, if you want private lessons I’ll be happy to provide that for you, but for now, this is all the practice you’re gonna get.”

Y/N groaned at his comment, lightly pushing him away. She felt her hand lingering on his chest for a moment, and his heartbeat picking up.

“Ahem,” JJ cleared his throat, pulling them both out of their heads.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, let’s just get back to work.”

Y/N and JJ spent the remainder of the hour lining up shots and practicing. She was getting significantly better, considering she had barely even picked up a bow and arrow prior to this. JJ hit the center nearly every time, but Y/N was slowly proving to be a match for him.

By the time the kids showed up, Y/N was able to guide them on her own and most of her campers were able to hit the target, or get very close. They even split themselves into two teams and made it a competition to see who would get the most points. JJ won, but it was a really close game.

Later that night, Y/N found herself sitting by the campfire next to JJ, who had visibly mellowed out since the morning. His high energy was too much for her at 10 am, but she could get used to this calm JJ.

“So, how was your first day?” he asked, nudging her shoulder with his own.

“Honestly, Maybank. Not that bad.”

“Maybank? Oh, we’re on a last name basis now, Y/L/N?”

“I guess we are, I think it’s more professional, don’t you?” she smiled.

“Who said I want to keep this relationship professional?”

“Who said anything about a relationship?”

“I don’t know, your hand on my chest earlier didn’t mean anything?”

Y/N blushed, not expecting him to bring it up again so soon.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked when she didn’t respond.

She went to push him away again, but for fear that they would end up in the same situation as this morning, she held back. Instead, she said, “It’s not as bad here as I thought it would be.”

“Of course not, I’m here.”

“Ughh, how many more weeks of this?”

“Just 55 more days, princess.”

She allowed him to lean into her side as they sat and watched the flames sparking in front of them. This was going to be a long summer.

#obxweek23 #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx #outer banks #obx x reader #obx imagine #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #jj maybank x you

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fantasticsandwich · 3 months ago

Text

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 4)

The aroma of freshly ground coffee wafted through the air, encasing your senses as you and Cillian stepped into the threshold of the cafe. A buzz of chatter from the crowded space filled your ears, punctuated by the clinking of porcelain and the hiss of steam frothing milk. The cafe's modern decor, a blend of industrial chic and cozy warmth, seemed to draw in half the city, leaving you and Cillian at the end of a winding line of impatient patrons.

You fidgeted with the hem of your sweater, an eclectic pattern of colors that you had chosen to appear both sophisticated and approachable. Entering the queue, you the weight of the many eyes skimming over both you and Cillian—some curious, others envious. He stood beside at your side, the epitome of effortless elegance, his dark hair catching the soft glow of the pendant lights above.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while,” he remarked. “I hate when something I like becomes popular.”

“Seems so,” you replied, your tone light but your mind elsewhere. You slipped your phone out of your pocket, thumb flicking across the screen with swift, practiced motions. Emails, job listings, opportunities—they cascaded down the display as you filtered through them with a sense of urgency that belied the calm front you tried to project.

“Are you looking at anything interesting?” Cillian asked, peering over at your screen with a curiosity that felt too close, too keen.

“Just looking at some job postings,” you said, minimizing the list of applications before he could glimpse the titles. You knew he didn’t truly understand your need to earn your keep, to build something for yourself without the crutch of connections or favors. “It’s difficult to find something with flexible hours and decent pay. I want to find something that fits, you know?”

“I figure it’d be,” he said with a shrug.

Once he retreated out of your personal bubble, you scrolled through one listing after another, occasionally pausing to submit your resume into the void of potential employment. Each tap on the 'apply' button was a tiny leap of faith—a hope that somewhere out there was a chance for you to prove yourself capable, independent.

The cafe was stifling. You removed your cardigan and settled it over your arm, only for Cillian to sweep it into his arms. You glared as he draped the sleeves over his shoulders, tying them into a knot. It was an eyesore against his monochromatic ensemble, but as always, he wore it well.

You shuffled forward in the line, your eyes trailing over the scuffed tile floor of the bustling cafe. Cillian loomed beside you, his body heat seeping through the thin fabric of your blouse as he leaned a little too close for comfort, arms pressing into your side.

“I love this,” Cillian whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Our weekly meet-ups are all that get me through the week.”

You nodded, a quick jerk of your head, wishing your frazzled hair would shield you from the intimacy of his gaze. Your attention shifted to the chalkboard menu above the counter, where playful script offered promises of bold new flavors and exotic blends. You considered ordering a raspberry mocha or the spiced chai latte, something to break the monotony of your usual orders.

“Hey, Lee, what do you think about those new items> Do they look—”

“No. You know how particular your stomach is,” Cillian cut in, his tone laced with feigned concern as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "You should stick with the usual, and I’ll get the new stuff so you can still try it." Before you could protest, Cillian turned to the barista, his charismatic smile in place. “Two of the usual, please. And could you grab one of those pre packaged blueberry muffins?”

Whatever. I’m eating on his dime, you thought as he swiped his card.

With a sigh trapped behind you lips, you smiled and watched as he paid for the order, his flamboyant duct-tape wallet—the same one you made for him during a particularly boring summer—flashing briefly before being tucked away. The idea of eating another stiff, cellophane-wrapped muffin seemed ridiculous when there were trays of fresh pastries just a few feet away. But he was paying, and arguing seemed like it would cost more than you were willing to spend.

“Come, let’s find our table. Did you know the owner started reserving the one in the back for us? It’s nice when loyalty is rewarded.” Cillian steered you gently by the elbow toward an empty table in the corner. Releasing you, his fingers curled around the back of the chair, sliding it out with a graceful swoop that seemed practiced, almost theatrical.

No sooner than you sat, a broad-shoulder man rushed over with their drinks. “Here you go,” he said, gently placing them down. “I knew what to make as soon as you walked in.”

You settled into the seat, your eyes drifting to the cup placed before you—a frothy concoction topped with swirls of caramel and a mountain of whipped cream. You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, feeling its smoothness against your palms, the heat barely penetrating the barrier between them.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, more out of habit than genuine gratitude. Bringing the cup to your lips, you took a tentative sip, the sugary liquid flooding your mouth with an intensity that made you wince. It was cloying, too much, like the heavy-handed perfume of someone trying to mask their insecurities. With each visit, the sweetness seemed to grow, or perhaps it was just your weariness of this routine that soured the taste.

“Say 'ah',” said Cillian, tilting his drink to you. “I asked you to open your mouth. I'm giving you the first sip.” He tilted his head, curved lashes rising and falling with each blink. “Or do you want me to make you? Would you like that?”

“I want none of that. It's embarrassing.”

“Fine.” Cillian snatched his drink back, his lips curling into a contented smile as he savored a flavor that you could no longer stomach. His phone appeared in his hand—sleek, the latest model—as if by magic, and he began to fuss over their table setting, rearranging the silverware and napkins with meticulous care.

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand to halt your movements as you reached for a muffin. “Let me get a picture first.”

Sighing, you withdrew your hand. You should’ve just shut up and drank from his cup. He was probably punishing you now.

You were forced to watch as he positioned his phone just so, angling it to capture the perfect composition of their prepackaged desserts. The shutter clicked repeatedly, a staccato rhythm that echoed the tapping of your foot beneath the table. With a sense of dettachment, you observed the scene through the screen’s glow, detached, as if viewing it all from a great distance.

The cafe buzzed around them, a hive of activity and chatter, but in their little corner, only the soft light of Cillian’s phone display and the artificial sound of captured moments filled the space.

“Perfect,” Cillian finally declared, his voice threaded with satisfaction as he admired the digital gallery of confections and cream. “I can make even cellophane wrap look appetizing.”

“So talented,” you replied, tone flat, the single word falling short of enthusiasm. You watched him now, as he edited and filtered reality into something palatable for public consumption, something that would garner admiration and envy in equal measure.

Finally allowed your beverage, you eagerly dug in, first savoring the whipped cream before it could’ve further melted into the beverage. Scooping some into your mouth, a dollop of whipped cream perched precariously on the edge of your straw.

It was then that the inevitable happened. The whipped cream betrayed you, a small glob landing with a soft plop on your nose. You froze, a flicker of annoyance crossing your face as you reached for a napkin. But Cillian’s hand was quicker, his fingers skimming your cheek, then swiping the cream off your nose. He lingered a second too long.

“Got it,” he murmured, tongue slithering out to lick his fingers. He wiped his saliva on the sleeve of your cardigan, which was still settled around his shoulders.

Your breath hitched. Although a more sensible part of yourself fought the urge to scream at him for the act, a quieter, darker corner of your mind began to race.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, drawing back slightly. You eyed your portion of the desserts, the artificial brightness of the strawberry topping almost mocking in its vibrancy. You scooped up a small bite, the saccharine taste doing little to satisfy the craving you couldn't quite name.

Cillian watched you, his dark eyes gleaming. He seemed oblivious to the fact that your routine outings had become a suffocating ritual, a showcase for the curated life he projected onto his Instagram feed.

“Isn’t it delicious?” he asked, his tone expectant, a hint of coercion nestled between the words.

“The same as always,” you echoed, though the flavor was as hollow as the affirmation. The consequences of defying Cillian’s vision for your friendship loomed large and his approval was a drug you had been conditioned to crave.

Your spoon clinked against the plastic container, a soft sound. You ate mechanically, your thoughts drifting away from the table, away from Cillian and his veiled demands. You imagined stepping out of this scene, leaving behind the cloying sweetness and the confines of expectations. In your mind's eye, you pictured yourself tasting something real and complex, something that didn't leave you longing for more.

Your eyes wandered from the busy baristas steaming milk to perfection, to the patrons hunched over their laptops or lost in murmured conversations. The clinking of cutlery on porcelain provided a rhythmic backdrop to the muffled chatter around them. You inhaled deeply, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling your senses, yet you found no comfort in the familiar scent. Instead, it underscored a sense of monotony that had been creeping into your days, a desire for something more than these meticulously staged outings.

“Y/N?” Cillian's voice threaded through your thoughts, smooth and commanding. His eyes were fixed on her, expectant, as he leaned forward slightly, his posture perfect, his smile practiced. “You seem distant today. You know you can share anything with me, right?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you assured him, pressing your lips into a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. “Just thinking about a paper I have due.”

“Your dedication is admirable,” he replied, his tone laced with an affection that felt like a velvet glove masking a steel grip. “Admirable, but irritating. You need to learn to relax a bit. Don’t worry, I’m here to take care of you.”

You nodded. You watched him as he adjusted his phone on the table, the screen alight with notifications—likes, comments, a digital chorus singing his praises. It seemed that he had already uploaded the images, a new record. Cillian seemed to exist in two worlds simultaneously: the one before you and the one inside his phone, each moment curated for maximum effect.

“Let’s take a selfie,” he suggested suddenly, his voice light but insistent. “We haven’t updated our cafe chronicles in a while.”

Before you could respond, he had positioned his phone, the lens aimed at capturing the dessert and you smile. You obliged, tilting your head just so. You braced yourself for a barrage, but he merely snapped one image.

Your stomach curdled. Was it alright? How could he be satisfied by only one picture? Were you ugly and was offering to take a picture with you merely a way to maintain the farce of friendship? He was always buying you things, and you had never stopped to wonder what he was getting in return. Was it a sick sense of charity?

“You’re so pretty here,” Cillian declared, reviewing the photo with a nod of approval. "Our followers will love this."

“Our?”

“They’re mine, but they like seeing you, too. I guess I should share you, sometimes.”

“Right. Yeah, guess that makes enough sense.”

You couldn't help but wonder if there was anyone out there who saw past the facade, who understood the reality of the smiles and the sweetness that left a bitter aftertaste. You longed for the authenticity that no filter could provide, a life where moments were lived and not merely documented for the hollow validation of strangers. You wondered what kind of person Cillian was without that glassy shield.

“Your turn,” he said, pushing the phone toward you. “You should post something too. Keep up appearances, you know?”

“Right,” you murmured, your fingers hovering over the device. You glanced at Cillian and then back at the bustling cafe, the world spinning around you in a blur of motion and sound. You glanced up at Cillian, who was animatedly discussing his latest social media strategy, his features alight with enthusiasm.

“Imagine the likes we’d get if we posted every weekend.”

“What’s your goal with this?” you abruptly asked. “Why do you post so much?”

He paused, his gaze lifting from the screen to meet hers, a half-smile playing on his lips. “I have dreams, Y/N,” he said softly, almost tenderly. His dark eyes held a glimmer of something fierce, something hungry. “I want to be more than just a face in the crowd. Modeling—that’s what I see myself doing. My face on billboards, in magazines…”

Your heart skipped a beat, not from surprise but from the sudden realization that he had been serious about his ambitions all along.

“Then I support you,” you murmured. The words felt hollow, even to your own ears, as if they were being swallowed by the grandeur of his dream.

But as Cillian spoke, detailing his strategies for building a portfolio and networking within the industry, your attention waned. You nodded mechanically, your mind drifting. Your could hear the passion in his voice, see the fire in his eyes, but it was like watching a play through a thick pane of glass. You couldn't reach him; you couldn't touch the world he was so vividly painting with his words.

The conversation began to feel like a soliloquy, his voice the only sound in the room, resonating with aspirations that soared high above your understanding. Your gaze settled on the phone still clutched in his hand, the screen alive with notifications—each one a confirmation of his allure, each one pulling him further away from her. The light from his phone cast a glow on his sharp features, throwing shadows that danced across his high cheekbones. He was talking about headshots now, about finding the right angle to accentuate the stark lines of his jaw. You tried to listen, tried to be present, but a storm brewed within her, dark and relentless.

Cillian was sensitive, his heart an exposed nerve, and the world he so desperately wanted to conquer was unforgiving, ravenous. The beauty industry would devour his gentle spirit; you could almost hear the snap of its jaws in the distance. Your stomach churned at the thought of him, caught in the maelstrom of criticism and rejection, those princely features twisted in pain.

A shiver ran down your spine upon drawing a cruel conclusion. You wanted to see him crying, but you wanted to reserve the sight for yourself. He would look pretty even when crying—you had seen it before, the way tears clung to his lashes like morning dew, the way his blue eyes deepened into stormy seas.

Your lips parted, breath catching. It was a troubling realization, one that made your cheeks flush with heat. You didn't want the world to witness that vulnerability, to see him stripped bare of the confidence he wore like armor.

“You’re beautiful. The world will love you," you managed to say. “It will devour you whole.”

He paused, his eyes locking onto your, and for a moment, there was silence. “You really think so?” he asked, tentative hope threading through his words.

You nodded, your throat tight. “It’s impossible not to,” you said, and it was the truth. But buried beneath that truth was a coil of scales and green, that dreaded jealousy snaking around your heart. It was a silent plea that begged him not to share his beauty with anyone else. In a world where you often felt mismatched and uncertain, his adoration was the anchor that kept you from drifting too far into the sea of your own insecurities. The only thing you had was him, and the thought of losing even a sliver of that connection was more than you could bear.

“Y/N?” Cillian's voice sliced through your reverie, laced with a hint of suspicion. “Really, what’s wrong? You seem spacey today.”

“Sorry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Only tired, that’s still all.”

As you finished eating the desserts, youur restlessness clawed its way up your throat, desperate for release. With each bite of the overly sweet cake, you tasted the blandness of repetition. The same cafes, the same dynamic, the same Cillian — it was a pattern woven into the fabric of your daily life, one that now chafed and constricted.

You pushed the plate away, the remnants of frosting clinging stubbornly to the porcelain.

“Next time, let’s try somewhere new,” you ventured, your voice steadier than you felt. “Maybe something less curated? We could take a stroll around town and see where we wind up.”

“New?” Cillian laughed. “Why fix something that isn’t broken? This place is us. It’s our spot.”

Your gaze fell to the empty plate, the hollow echo of ‘our’ ringing in your ears. No, you thought, a slow-burning defiance taking root. This isn’t us; it’s you, and I’m just along for the ride because you pay for everything.

“Guess so,” you murmured, the word sticking in your throat like the last taste of artificial sweeteners. Cillian continued talking, oblivious to the seismic shift occurring within.

You bit your lip, gaze lingering on your phone before shifting to your bag, the dog-eared textbook inside. Reluctantly, you retrieved the device and opened your emails, sifting through the job listings yet again.

“Applying to jobs? You can do that anytime.” Cillian’s lips curled into a half-smile, though his eyes narrowed slightly—a fleeting shadow crossing his otherwise immaculate features. “Why are you worrying about that, though? If you need money, I can talk to my father. He’s always looking for competent people at the company.”

The offer hung in the air between you, a gilded temptation laced with implications. Your fingers paused on the page, the words 'cognitive dissonance' blurring before your eyes. You took a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in your chest.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, more to yourself than to him. “I want to earn my way, not just land a job because I know someone who knows someone.”

Cillian leaned back, his expression unreadable as he regarded you through half-lidded eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, the phrase an echo of acquiescence that seemed to dance on the edge of something darker, something you couldn't quite place.

Turning back to the textbook, you tried to lose yourself in the psychological complexities it held, your mind tracing the intricate pathways of human behavior and motivation. Yet, a part of you remained acutely aware of his presence, the weight of his gaze, and the unspoken challenges that brewed like the coffee behind the counter—bitter and potent.

“Really, Y/N,” Cillian said, his voice smooth like velvet but edged with something colder. You could feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “You don’t have to do this. I can make things easier for you. You’re not just anyone to me. But you aren't family either.”

“You’re not getting it. You’re just a friend, and connections can be so easily severed. I’ve done it since secondary school, and now that we’re entering adulthood, I don’t want to keep relying on you. I want to feel like I’m doing something for myself for once.”

“Fine,” Cillian’s voice dropped, a shadow passing over his face that matched the darkening sky outside. “But remember, my offer to take care of you is always there. It would be much simpler than all this.”

You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cafe’s air conditioning. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, hands trembling slightly. Your ambition battled with the gnawing doubt that his words left in their wake.

“Simple isn’t always better,” your murmured, your attention ostensibly back on your phone, but your senses were hyper-aware of the man sitting across from you.

Your fingers paused over the screen, the list of job postings blurred by a growing resolve. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you met Cillian’s gaze with an icy detachment.

“What do you even want?”

“I need to contribute to my brother's school fees. He deserves that chance.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the cafe's buzz dimmed under the weight of his scrutiny. “Which school is he at?”

“Some snooty international boarding school,” you replied, your protective instincts flaring. You didn’t know why, but you didn’t want him to know.

“A prestigious place. Must be expensive.”

“Very.”

“A good education is vital yet costly. Surely, for people of your financial status, there are scholarships, grants…”

“None that cover everything,” you interjected, your tone laced with the fatigue of countless hours spent searching for financial aid.

“Then work harder,” Cillian suggested, his words wrapped in a honeyed tone that did little to sweeten their bite. “Or not. You could always reconsider my proposal.”

“I already said no to the job.”

“Not that one.”

You recoiled, as if the words were a physical blow. “Stop joking about that,” you stated, your voice quiet but fierce. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

An unreadable expression crossed Cillian's face before he masked it with a charming smile. “As you wish. But the world isn’t kind to dreamers who walk alone.”

Your heartbeat quickened, not from flattery but from the veiled warning in his tone.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper as you clammbered out of your seat, sidestepped away from Cillian. Your fingers trailed the cool, marbled countertop of the cafe as you headed towards the sanctuary of the restroom. Inside, the air was perfumed with lavender and vanilla, an artificial calm that did little to soothe your troubled thoughts.

Standing at the sink, you turned the cold tap and splashed water onto your face, watching as droplets clung stubbornly to your glasses before tumbling down. You looked up, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. The girl reflected back at you had eyes wide with determination, yet shadowed by doubt. With a trembling hand, you pushed the glasses up the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath, trying to wash away the worry etched into your forehead.

“Can you believe we happened to come here at the same time as them?”

“As who?”

“That’s Y/N L/N,” a hushed voice pierced through the quiet, followed by the sound of stifled giggles.

You stilled, your heart skipping a beat. You recognized the voices of fellow students, their words weaving through the space between the stalls and sink, ensnaring your attention.

“The one who's always with Cillian?” another whispered, a note of envy threading through her tone.

“Exactly! I thought they were just friends, but seeing them here together, they must be dating. She’s so lucky; he looks like he walked out of a fashion magazine… Vogue, who?”

Your hands paused, water dripping from your fingertips. Their words wrapped around you like a velvet robe, heavy with implications you’d never dared to consider. To them, you were no longer invisible, no longer just a friend clinging to the edges of Cillian’s spotlight. You were the object of speculation, the center of a narrative spun from half-truths and assumptions.

Your reflection in the mirror now seemed different, caught in the crossfire of jealousy and admiration. It was unsettling, this new role you hadn’t auditioned for. And yet, part of you reveled in the novelty, the taste of a life where you weren’t just surviving but thriving in the eyes of others.

“Seriously, what does he see in her, though?” the first voice added with a scoff, the sound sharp enough to cut through your fleeting fantasy. “She’s not even that pretty, and she doesn’t even dress well.”

“Who knows? Maybe she's not as plain as she looks. Or maybe it's her brain. Isn't she a biomed major?”

“Whatever it is, I wish I had it.”

You exhaled slowly, the air leaving your lungs like the deflating of a balloon. With one last glance at your uncertain reflection, you adjusted your clothes and stepped out of the restroom. Your eyes scanned the café until they settled on Cillian. He sat at a corner table, his princely features bathed in the soft glow of your laptop screen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you said tentatively, approaching him.

“For you, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Cillian replied without looking up, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.

You leaned over his shoulder, watching as paragraphs morphed under his command. You noted how he supplemented your notes with additional information, his edits weaving through the essay like intricate lacework. A warmth spread through your chest at his helpfulness.

“Your argument here is strong, but you’ve missed some spelling errors, and the grammar is wonky in some bits,” Cillian pointed out, highlighting the words with a click. “You need to pay more attention to detail.”

The feelings of admiration died.

“Thanks for catching those,” you murmured, trying to match his attentiveness with an appreciative smile. Yet, as Cillian continued to point out every tiny mistake, you felt the weight of his scrutiny. It was as if he were peeling away layers, exposing the flaws you had worked so hard to hide beneath vibrant colors and earnest smiles.

“Here, another one,” he said sharply, almost triumphantly, correcting a misspelled term with a swift stroke.

“Right. I’ll remember that.”

For a moment, you stood motionless, observing Cillian's meticulous grooming mirrored in his meticulous editing.

“Your words are comprehensive,” he commented, finally meeting your gaze. “But sometimes, it feels like you're not quite sure of yourself. You could be more assertive.”

“Maybe,” you conceded, tugging at the hem of your blouse. “I don’t know how to write well. I just want it to be perfect, you know?”

“Just rest up and let me worry about perfection,” Cillian said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the screen’s glow imprinting on your eyelids. The day replayed itself behind your closed eyes: all of it now seemed trivial compared to Cillian's insistent editing, his fingers deftly correcting your words as if they were errant children straying from the path.

Opening your eyes, you glanced at the computer screen. His changes were precise, the document almost gleaming with perfection under the cursor's blinking supervision. But it was your essay, your thoughts—your voice, now polished by someone else's hand. You felt a pang of something akin to betrayal, though no promise had been broken.

"Is it better now?”

“Better,” you replied, your voice lacking conviction. You noticed then how the light caught on the angles of his face, a visage crafted to be admired, to be envied. It struck you—how many others had been captivated by that same light, only to find themselves lost in the dark?

“Thanks,” you added, a necessary courtesy.

“Anything for you.”

You turned back to the screen, retreating to your essay to calm yourself. But even there, doubt crept in, whispering that perhaps you were losing yourself in the pursuit of an image—a place beside Cillian, envied by strangers and shrouded in false admiration.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere male #cillian

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