#''this problem HAS to be the fault of the employees there's no WAY I had anything to do with it''

[pilonciillo]

lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety

[bestdressedchuuya]

I've got the day off work today but my coworker just texted me to warn about some customer who came in complaining that I did a band adjustment for her, and she ended up losing all the pins because there were holes in the bag. And the customer brought out the bag and it was clearly really beat up and probably even a year or two old. And it's like... lady, these little plastic bags we put your extra pins in aren't invincible. You have to take care of them at least a little bit if you don't want to lose them.

[gravegoer]

Hello, how about a part 2 of being Sevika's boss maybe when they got together or something like that thankyouuu and i love all of your ficss thank you making them hehe

Sevika's Boss ꩜ part 2

hi anon, sevikas boss fanfic got a lot of love a while ago so im happy to write part 2 !! let me know if you enjoyed i threw in some misunderstandings for fun here..maybe kind of angst?? its okay tho you make up very quickly PART 1 , masterlist

You and Sevika hung around eachother a lot, I mean that was normal right? She is your second in command afterall.

Personally, you didn't see a problem with it, and nor did Sevika.

She had grown accustomed to your presence and didn't mind all your small, loving touches and annoying jokes.

And yes, sometimes she went a little overboard for you, like what kind of subordinate stays at their bosses house to tend to them whilst they are injured? Or goes out for drinks every weekend? But maybe your relationship was starting to exceed the bounds of boss and employee.

She has definitely warmed up to you more than she did with Silco. She thinks it was your charming personality, or cute outfits, your smile...

Some people might say you sitting in Sevikas lap while you fixed up her arm might be indecency in the workplace, but you found it to be a simple and innocent task.

But this begs the question, what exactly is your relationship?

This is also a question Jinx was starting to ask herself.

"So uh...whats with you and Sevika?" Jinx asked in an almost singsongy voice.

She flipped her gun around in her hand haphazardly while she was sprawled out on your (Silcos) desk.

"What do you mean whats with us..?" You shook your head, mimicking her movements with your pen.

"I meaaan, you guys act like a married couple or something!" She threw her two hands in the air with a 'duh' kind of look plastered on her face.

You pushed one of her braids to the side to pull out a paper from under it. One of Sevikas reports from a recent trip. Her handwriting was an imperfect cursive. Sighing, you put your face in your hand while you held the paper, staring at it diligently.

Jinx looked at you quizically at your lack of an answer. She sharply pushes the paper down with the tip of her gun, "Hey, are you— Oh," She let out a nasally laugh at the paper, "Damn, you got it bad, huh, toots?"

"What? I have what bad?" You slid the paper away and tilted your head at her.

The blue-haired girl sat up and rested a spindly arm on her knee, "You're so in L word with her." She snickered at you.

"Im in—" Your face flushed at your realization. "I am not in 'L word' with her." You raised your hands to do finger quotes around 'L word.'

"Hmmmm, are you sure?" She teased, putting her gun to her chin and looking up in mock thought "I mean, you practically cling to her, you always walk home with her, and plus you talk about her all the time– hell! You talk to her all the time."

You stared at Jinx, now zoning out in thought. What were you supposed to tell Sevika? Does Sevika even think the same way about you? Would that relationship even be appropriate?

"You know what?" You stood up and pointed in Jinx' face, "Im going to do it—"

She attempted to cut you off with a meek,

"Sevikas—"

"Im going to tell her I love her," You continued, Jinx' half attempt to save your ass fell on deaf ears.

You looked up, finger still in the girls face to make eye contact with a very familiar set of grey eyes. Fuck.

Sevikas gaze faltered, and she cleared her throat, bringing a fist to her mouth, "Um. I came to ask you if you wanted to grab a drink, but it seems like you have better plans."

Holy shit. She didn't know it was about her. Is that good or bad? You only felt a few seconds of relief before Sevika just turned around and walked out. That was bad.

Jinx whistled, still under the pressure of your pointing finger, "You have some explaining to do."

You fumbled over your words before pushing Jinx' forehead back with your finger. "Ughh.. This is your fault."

You drooped back down into the large chair, putting your head in your hand and heaving a sigh.

"Just go tell her while you still have a chance. She's probably going to be moping around the Last Drop," Jinx got up from her spot on the desk, and some papers fell with her.

"That's my queue to leave, though," She hopped out of the office with a little too much energy, probably on her way to cause more mischief.

You sighed and packed up your stuff, picking up stray papers and shoving them into a random drawer on your desk.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you pushed open the double doors to your office. It was time to go to the last drop.

poor sevika

Your entrance was signified with the ding of a bell atop the door. Music was playing loudly, and people were swarmed around the bar. Your eyes scanned the nearest areas for Sevika, but as you figures she was nowhere in sight.

She was most definitely in her usual gambling spot. You didn't want to approach her while she was in the middle of a game, so you waited at a nearby table, making sure to stay out of her sight.

You could hear the groans of the men at her table, most definitely losing. Chuckling at this, you watched as a waiter came up to your table asking for your order.

You just asked for a simple whiskey sour, hanging your bag on the back of your chair.

Several minutes (and a few drinks later), you felt someone's eyes on the back of your head. Turning around, you, once again, were met with steely grey eyes. Sevika stood near behind you with her arms crossed. The game had finished.

"You get rejected or something." She deadpanned.

"No—well.. not yet." You turned around in your chair to face her, the metal back of the chair was now settled between your legs.

You held what you thought was your sixth whiskey sour in between your fingers, chin resting on the top of the chair back.

She scoffed at this, turning her head to avoid eye contact. You could have sworn a small blush coated her cheeks. But her frown made you think otherwise, her large forearms tensed before she spoke.

"Oh, so you're waiting for her here."

How cruel of you to profess your love to someone in the place you knew Sevika would be. You probably wanted her to see it, right?

"Yeah, shes already here." You said, still staring at her side profile, tracing the scar on her cheek with your eyes.

The neon lights illuminated her face and brought out every curve and angle. But your thoughts were interrupted by her stern and almost angry voice.

"I should leave then," she started to walk away, but you reached out quickly.

(I dont know why you would do that when she wasn't even in arms length to begin with.) You started to fall forward, you let out a small yelp and held onto the chair, your drink falling onto the ground. You awaited impact, but it never came.

Instead, you were met with strong arms holding the back of your chair up. Sevika was bent over slightly, both mechanical arm and human arm on the metal of the chair. And for the third time, you made eye contact with now very close grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed in shock or frustration- you couldn't tell.

Without another thought, you grabbed her by the collar and pulled her lips into yours. At first, she tried to pull away but eventually melted into the heat of the kiss. She sat your chair back up on four legs, and her elbows lean on the top of the chair, encircling you.

Almost as soon and she relented she pulled away, "What the hell are you doing," She rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of a large hand.

Her lips were still puffy from the kiss, but almost more downturned than before. When you didn't respond she offered a question, "Are you drunk?"

Your lopsided grin told her all she needed to know. She knew she needed to take you home, but she was going to do so reluctantly. Afterall you were going to become someone else's girl, couldn't have her hands all over you like she usually did.

She grabbed you (almost roughly) by the arms and pulled you out of the chair, "How are you going to profess your love now?" She scoffed.

"I just did, was that not enough?" Your words were slurred and you helped her by stepping up with heavy legs.

She furrowed her brows until she came to a not-so-shocking realization. Cursing under her breath she smirked at you. You could almost see the relief wash over her face.

Her thick arm held you by your upper torso as she almost carried you to the doors. She sighed at your stupidness, why not just tell her right away, then you wouldn't have to have gone through all the trouble.

She eyed your glossed over eyes, shaking her head at the dumb smirk that held its place on your face. She could feel the quiver of your body against the cold night wind.

At that she lifted you into her arms, covering you with her cloak. You looked up at her with wide eyes, burying your face in the material. God she wanted to kiss you so bad. But she'd save that for the awkward talk in the morning.

thank you for reading ! yes i see your asks all your fics are on the way I swear !!!! much love

[wincore]

I faked my engagement for free cake samples and got sued after I ran away AIO | haechan

pairing: haechan x baker!reader

genre: comedy, fluff, rivals (?) to lovers (?)

warning(s): quite possibly you will be inflicted with cringe, shameless scamming, mild swearing, one (1) innuendo

words: 5.4k

song recs: santa doesn’t know you like i do by sabrina carpenter, too late for chocolate? by kana hanazawa, like a raspberry by 宇宙ネコ子, honey by kara

a/n: ty to my queens lana and cat for gassing up this dumpster fire i wrote in a caffeine haze while watching my bf die every 20 secs in ds3. the initial plot was going to be far longer and more fleshed out but i fear i'm past my prime ( ._. )" i still hope you guys have fun with this one!! i got to play around with hallmark comedy far more this time, so overall it was a fun time writing <3 happy new year, my lovely mooncakes!!

part of a nonsense christmas: reddit edition collab <3

r/AmITheAsshole

u/YeastMode6969 • 3h

I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?

I (24F, small bakery owner) faked my engagement to get free cake samples at my rival bakery but the employee said I needed my fiance to be there. I panicked and grabbed the first guy to come through the bakery door after me. Turns out he’s not just some random customer. To top it off, he was ridiculously attractive even though he pissed me off every two sentences. I had a panic attack, told myself it’s totally not my fault, and moved on by baking fourteen cakes over the weekend. I thought I got away with it, but three days later, I got an email from him—he’s now suing me for “emotional damages” and “theft of pastries.” Am I doomed, or is this just karma with extra frosting?

⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 2,701 Comments

bun_theory0222 • 2h

INFO: Did you at least try the samples? Were they worth the lawsuit? We’re all dying to know here.

➥ Reply ⥣ 3.2k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h

nah cuz why is he suing when he CLEARLY wants to flirt??? this man is embarrassing but so are you. somebody matched ur freak <3

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥

soggywaffle0205 • 6m

YTA why can’t this shit happen to me. AT LEAST I would commit to the bit.

➥ Reply ⥣ 420 ⥥

cerealfordinner0323 • 2h

Bro sued you just to slide into your life again. He’s not slick, and neither are you. Good luck with that wedding cake.

➥ Reply ⥣ 9,011 ⥥

. . .

If you could hop a few steps to the right, feign unconsciousness, and climb right into the active fireplace, it could potentially make everything okay. For you, that is. Not for the poor bakery employees who would have to call the cops. 

“I’m sure he’s a handsome one!” The girl behind the counter giggles, light pink dusting her cheeks. “You’re- you’re so gorgeous!”

Setting aside the fact that most gorgeous women you know end up with malformed gargoyles, your current predicament is almost equally sinister. What started as an innocuous process to gain free wedding samples (in other words, a scam) has led to a question that should be obvious but completely escaped your mind following your trailing success.

“We’ll need to have you come in with your fiance for the free wedding cake samplers. Is he around?”

Is he around?! Boy, you sure hope so. Because now you’re also frantically looking around with the employee after you blurted out another lie: “He’s going to be here soon!”

When did you turn into a compulsive liar? You’re not sure if your mom would be proud of you for being so good at nabbing free food, or disappointed that you’re a filthy liar. After all, she did tell the buffet employees you were under 10 all the way till you were 14. So, really, you’re not the source of the problem! You brush your festive red skirt of invisible crumbs, trying to busy yourself.

The cafe itself is well decorated for Christmas—a silver reindeer bores holes into your head from by the front door, a small Christmas tree stands at the center that’s a little emaciated but the cute Sanrio ornaments in Santa hats make up for it, and most importantly, a beautiful Mont Blanc cake sparkles from atop the glass counter. (Seriously, why didn’t you think of this? Your own bakery is all sparkles and no play.)

You move out of the way of other customers, and casually glance at the source of your awe and joy. Powdered sugar dusts the top as idyllic snow, covering the sugared cranberries and sugared chestnuts, not dent in them under the white fondant star. The base of the cake is tied with an edible red ribbon, completing the seasonal aesthetic of it. A sigh rests momentarily upon your lips before it escapes. 

You love Mont Blanc cakes, but you never quite get it right. That’s your biggest failure as an up-and-coming baker, and such is the reason for your unhinged serial sampling scam. You swear it started off as a search for inspiration in a creative rut but before you knew it, a lie had spilled from your eclair-sweetened lips, and another, and another. 

It is at this point that you briefly consider bolting for the door. Tibet is great around this time of the year. Maybe if you convert to a monk lifestyle and atone for your sins, you’ll be granted a pardon in the form of delicious sweets. Before you can make your escape, however, the front door jingles, and in strides a sight unbelievably reassuring. A man with caramel hair enters, who might as well be wrapped in a giant red ribbon and seated atop a snow-white horse in golden ornaments.

It’s a Christmas miracle. Hallelujah! They still apply to you.

His smile—soft and sweet as meringue hearts—lights up the room as he inhales the warm, sugary air of the bakery. You’re hit with the vaguest sense of familiarity. He might be one of the few customers you get these days. For a moment, you falter. Are you really going to victimize this stranger?

Yes. Yes, you are. The situation is dire.

“Hi darling!” You exclaim within earshot of the employee, before lowering your voice. “Could you help me out a little here?”

The man blinks, dazed for whatever reason. “Uh… sure?”

“Okay, then follow along and ask questions later,” you reply, and loop your arm through his gingerly. The touch of his fuzzy winter coat makes you relax a little. It is chocolate-colored, with beige fluff around the collar. Not now, you think to yourself, You need to stop thinking about sweets for one goddamn moment.

“Here he is,” you laugh sheepishly as you bring the man forward. Gosh, what in the heavens are you doing? You didn’t even ask his name. 

The employee stares, jaw agape. What’s with the reaction? He’s not that hot. 

“O-oh,” she responds. “That’s quite the surprise. I never knew. Congratulations, sir!”

You turn to look at him. He simply scratches his chin with a sheepish smile, and manages to respond with a “Thanks, Kimi.”

He must be a regular, you think. Oh, (Name), what did you get yourself into? You’re just gonna have to read his name off his coffee order first.

“We have a selection of samples for our wedding cake choices,” the girl, Kimi, moves to the far side of the counter, offering a small menu card to the two of you. “I know you’re not a big fan of wedding cakes, Mr. Lee, but the latest tiramisu flavors should suit your tastes, no?”

Just how close are they?! You chew on your lip and try to calm your depraved little heart.

“Well,” he responds, thinking for a second, “I actually hadn’t thought this far. What do you think, honey?”

He turns to you with a radiant smile, but you sense a hint of mischief. You don’t have time to think of that though—so you just change the topic. 

“Actually, do you have a Mont Blanc flavor? I’ve always had trouble perfecting it myself.”

Truth be told, that ‘honey’ had flowed from his lips and struck you straight in the heart. He’s not too bad to look at, you think now. His tousled hair catches the light with a playful sheen, framing his face and accentuating his disbelieving smile, while his fluffy coat adds a cozy touch to his charming, boyish demeanor. If you were to overthink a little, you’d find a hint of mischief in his voice. Alas, you’re a simple girl who only overthinks sweet treats, not boys.

“You bake?” He blurts, before his ears turn red from realization.

Kimi shoots him a puzzled look and your breath hitches in your throat. Was the miracle an idiot in disguise?

“I mean, uh, gosh, you make me so nervous, honey.” He looks like he’s trying his very best to ace an exam he never studied for. “I meant to ask if you're going to bake.. today? Don’t look at me like that.” 

Maybe you should’ve picked a candied apple and prayed that a witch had poisoned it. You can’t even force out a smile at that pathetic save.

“You’re a lucky man, Mister,” Kimi jabs, a look of distrust in her eyes before they flash to you. “I’m afraid Miss (Name) in a wedding dress would make me drop dead at the altar.”

“Oh, you- you flatter me,” you choke out, “I promise you wedding gowns aren’t my thing at all. Besides, you’d look beautiful in white yourself.”

Why is she so into this wedding conversation? How close are these two? You’re not sure how to react, and neither do you know how this man is going to explain your mysterious disappearance the next time he visits the bakery. You’re sure as hell not going to continue the act beyond this. It’s time you retired from this scam business. You’re not even sure how you’ll talk your way out of this with the man, currently engaged in small talk with Kimi. 

And— is he blushing?! Does he have something going on with the girl—Kimi? Did you just ruin something? Your heart tightens a little, and you have to physically restrain yourself from falling to the floor, head in your hands.

You laugh awkwardly, trying to diffuse the situation. When you open your mouth, you are interrupted.

“Actually, Miss, I think I take back what I said about the handsome part,” Kimi jokes, evident disdain sent towards Donghyuck.

Your natural response is a little laugh that leaves before you know it. Maybe, the feelings you sensed were of unrequited resentment. He does have the kind of face that looks like it’s often smacked by girls. No offense to him.

Kimi hands you the first sample (two delicious slices of Mont Blanc) and excuses herself to fetch the rest. The two of you make your way to a booth with the heaviest silence you’ve ever experienced. You might as well be at a funeral.

“So… free samples are that good, huh?” The man asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Shut up,” you mutter. 

“I’m Donghyuck, by the way,” he responds with a youthful laugh. “Might I have the honor of knowing my fiance's name?”

“(Name). And stop looking at me like that.”

He lets out a short breath.

“You know, maybe we should’ve pretended it was an arranged marriage.”

“Quite proficient in the scamming business, are you?”

“Oh, you’re better off not knowing my dirty secrets.”

You couldn’t care less about his secrets but the look you shoot at him is certainly dirty.

He opens his mouth but you interrupt him to absolve yourself first. “Listen, I don’t do this often. And I’ll have you know it’s nothing personal. Well, not against you. The owner of this place maybe.”

Donghyuck blinks. “Oh? Do tell. I’m all for being a hater with my fiance.”

You stare at him, not impressed.

“Sorry.”

“Okay, so this started a month or two ago. I had been working tirelessly, testing recipe after recipe, trying to perfect the Mont Blanc cake. It was my dream to make it iconic, you know? But before I could even settle on the perfect combination of flavors, some smug bastard opens a bakery right across from me. And what does he have as his specialty? Why, the Mont Blanc cake of course. Seasonal! Cute, elaborate new decor every two weeks! Just how rich is he? I bet he doesn't even bother to create his own recipes. This guy didn’t just steal my idea, he’s turned my passion into some overpriced, generic trend!”

You heave, tired from the onslaught of frustration. Chewing on your lower lip, a pout naturally makes its way onto your face, and so do more complaints. 

“And that’s not all, okay? I never see him at the bakery. I refrain from entering my competitors' establishments unless I greet them in person. But this asshole is just never there! What, is he too good to work at his own bakery? Too good to grace us lowly bakers with a visit? How could he just swoop in and steal my signature item?”

Donghyuck listens to your rant with intent, cheek resting against his palm. He even looks a little ridiculously charmed right now. 

“Wait… so you’re the infamous Free Cake Phantom everyone’s talking about?” He gasps.

You’ve finally turned to your poor, neglected Mont Blanc sample, just for your heart to jump out. “What?”

“Just kidding. Your secret is safe,” he says, digging into the cake with infuriating nonchalance. “But hey, you’ve got good taste. This Mont Blanc though? It’s my personal recipe.”

Your fork halts halfway to your mouth. “Your recipe? What, you work here or something? And, no offense, but it’s overwhipped.”

If that’s a joke, it’s not very funny. The man looks more like a confectionary than a confectioner. There’s no way he works here. He’s probably some jobless guy drifting from bakery to bakery on early Saturday mornings.

His jaw drops. “Overwhipped? Are you kidding me?”

You wave the fork at him like it’s a weapon. “Chestnut puree shouldn’t have the texture of mousse. It’s called finesse, Mr. Lee.”

Before he can respond, Kimi returns with another tray, and you slip back into character, placing your hand on Donghyuck’s. “Thank you,” you coo at her. “I can’t wait to share all these flavors at our wedding.”

Donghyuck stiffens slightly at the unexpected contact, but he recovers quickly, plastering on the fakest grin known to man. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Kimi laughs. “You’re such a lovely couple. When’s the big day?”

You freeze, and so does Donghyuck. For a moment, neither of you has an answer.

“Oh, we’re still, uh, deciding,” you blurt, glancing at him for backup.

“Yeah, we’re thinking spring,” he adds smoothly. “Cherry blossoms. Very romantic.”

“Y-yes. Maybe the Raspberry Rose should be in the winner’s spot then.”

As Kimi bows politely and walks away again, Donghyuck leans in to whisper. “Should I book the honeymoon now, or…?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you hiss, elbowing him in the ribs. 

He makes a pained sound, but recovers quickly. 

The second flavor is dubbed “Marble Eclipse”, a decadent blend of rich chocolate and vanilla, perfectly balanced with a luscious buttercream frosting. You try to focus on the taste, but Donghyuck’s smug grin as he watches you take a bite is more distracting than you’d like to admit. You’re not easily flustered, not by men. Unfortunately, he would have been the exact type you’d have tried to nab in college.

You shake your head. Focus, (Name), you think to yourself, You’re in the enemy’s lair right now!

“So… I might as well come clean,” Donghyuck says with a serious tone, right after you’ve taken a bite. You pause in horror. What arcane knowledge is he going to use for your humiliation this time?

“I visit your bakery often, and I must say your selection is just as good, if not better.”

You exhale.

“Oh, it’s better alright,” you retort, before realizing the unwarranted passion in your voice. You compose yourself. “I mean, maybe their Mont Blanc is… a solid competitor.”

Donghyuck laughs, clearly amused by the bashfulness on your face.

“Wait, are you patronizing me?”

“Of course not!” He places his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“I think the difference is that this one keeps up with the youth.” He waves his fork about, explaining his point further. “Everyone loves new, shiny things. Cycle those as much as possible. Have you ever considered holding blind box events with your cupcakes? I’m sure the kids would love to find out which flavor of panda bear cupcake they got—matcha, my personal favorite, or coconut cream, or… god forbid, chocolate mint. Ugh. Have you considered removing that from the menu? Anyway, that shouldn’t take too much time and money, right?”

The youth? What is he, forty? However, however, the look on his face as he describes your own baked goods to you is enough to make you intensely flustered. Has this man visited so often? And you never noticed him? How could you miss that easy-going smile?

A familiar figure saves you from whatever awkward, garbled response you were going to muster.

Despite Kimi’s arrival, Donghyuck has a hard time taking his eyes off you. Lashes swaying with each flicker of his eyes over your face, he’s hardly taking a bit of the delicious marble cake, in fact. What, have you got something on your face?

Kimi apologizes profusely before you can say anything to greet her. 

“There’s only one slice prepared for the Tiramisu Dream sample,” she explains. “I’m so sorry about this. Would you mind sharing this one? I apologize again.”

“No worries, Kimi,” Donghyuck responds, laughing a little. You shake your head and reassure it’s alright too. 

Anyway, that slice is going to be yours. You’re ready to pry it from his cold, dead hands.  

To your surprise, though, he shoots a friendly smile at you. 

“Want the first bite?”

“May I?” You ask, just to be sure.

“By all means,” he says, gesturing grandly. “After all, what’s mine is yours, fiance.”

You swear, if he calls you that one more time, he’s going to end up in the cake display.

Kimi stares at the two of you blankly for a moment. It instantly flusters you and Donghyuck both, so much so that the idiot digs his fork into the cake slice and holds it up to your lips with a soft ‘ah’ —and so much so that you actually accept it graciously. 

And all that only for Kimi to not even notice as she excused her way back to the counter. So now you’re just two idiots deep in your romantic charades. Donghyuck clears his throat, too late to cover his coral-tinted cheeks and ears. You’re certain you wear a similar expression.

“You’re- you’re so weird,” you jab, unable to come up with an insult higher than middle school grade. 

“What, you wanted me to do airplanes too?!”

“Take that fork and drive it through your tongue, will you?”

“Woah, woah, no need for violence, Miss (Name). Peace and Love.”

Unexpectedly, it makes you break character into unbound laughter. The weariness of the act and the silliness of the whole situation leaks into the sound, and it’s enough to make Donghyuck join in. For passersby, you are just a couple already past your third, fifth and seventh dates.

“Any comments for the tiramisu cake?” Donghyuck asks, grinning ear to ear.

You catch your breath, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, I have a comment: who puts this much cocoa powder on top? Are you trying to choke your customers?”

“Awh, and I thought you were gonna be nice,” he whines, “Your smile is just so… inviting.”

As if on cue, he chokes on the cocoa powder. 

“I still like it,” you continue. “I’d just do it better.”

“I have the utmost confidence in that.”

Gosh, his smile is nauseating—too bright, too easy, like he’s actually enjoying this. Maybe he’s a rising actor, and you’re the one being hoodwinked. After all, who looks at someone like that on a first meeting?

A moment passes, and suddenly his thumb is at the corner of your lips, brushing off the cocoa powder with a touch so casual it feels anything but. “Got it,” he murmurs, and the air between you shifts, warm and oddly heavy.

“So, how do you know all this?” you ask, changing the topic. You’re forcing yourself to focus, to breathe. 

He leans back, a small laugh slipping out like he’s grateful for the lifeline. “You- uh- you could say I’m a connoisseur of pastries,” he offers, his voice lighter now. “I like to sample the best around town—just, you know, legally. I even take notes of my favorites.”

He gestures towards you, and you scoff.

The words settle between you as you toy with the edge of your skirt, smoothing the fabric down over your lap. There’s something about the way he speaks—so casual, so effortless—that needles at you. For a man so annoyingly confident, he sure seems relieved to have redirected the conversation.

Your hand grazes the tiny snowman buttons on your cardigan, tracing the cold plastic absentmindedly. His gaze flickers to the movement, then back to your face, a smile tugging at his lips like he’s trying not to laugh. You don’t know what’s more embarrassing—getting outed as the Cake Thief or the fact that he’s bound to know he flusters you.

You tilt your head, giving him a skeptical look. “How professional of you.”

The bite in your tone is softening, and you don’t like it one bit.

He holds up his hands, feigning surrender. “Hey, it’s an art. Someone’s gotta appreciate it, right?”

The faint chatter of other patrons fills the room, but his presence sharpens the moment, making it feel like it’s just the two of you. For a fleeting second, you catch yourself wondering what kind of person would take notes on pastries for fun. It’s so bizarrely specific, so utterly unnecessary—and yet, so like him.

His smile deepens, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teases.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the traitorous grin threatening to break through. You refuse to indulge him, even as you feel the faintest crack in your defenses.

"Maybe,” you say, finally.

He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine, before leaning back against his chair with a satisfied air, as if he’s won something. You glance at the tray, willing yourself to focus on anything else.

How awkward. How warm. 

You spot a napkin fluttering off the table, carried by a sudden draft from the door. Instinctively, you step out of your chair to grab it, but Donghyuck beats you to it, scooping it up with an exaggerated flourish and a bow.

“Your knight in shining armor,” he declares dramatically, holding it out like a trophy.

“More like my nuisance in sugar-stained armor,” you retort, snatching it from his hand.

He laughs, unabashed. “Ah, so sharp. Yet here you are, sharing cake with said nuisance. Life is full of mysteries.”

“I’m just here for the cake,” you deadpan, dusting your hands off.

For a second, his smile falters—not in hurt but in sheer disbelief. He tilts his head, studying you with an incredulous expression, and you suddenly feel like a frog under a magnifying glass.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he says, almost to himself, his voice low but still playful.

“Get what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

Donghyuck presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. He steps closer, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of chestnut cream. “I mean, I could spell it out for you, but that might ruin the fun.”

“Spell what out?” you press, a little flustered now.

He straightens with a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing, you airhead. Absolutely nothing. Is your head full of cotton candy, by any chance?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can respond, he’s already pulling his chair back, resuming his seat with a sigh.

“Mont Blanc, Marble Eclipse, and Tiramisu on the first date,” he states, deep in thought. “Maybe Matcha Lemon, Lavender Peach, and White Chocolate on the second… Perhaps a Red Velvet and a Strawberry Shortcake before you realize I literally own this place?”

You feel the heat intensify on your cheeks. You almost miss the last part, clouded by the implications of the rest of his words. He… wants to go on more dates with you? Was this a date all along? You’ve been swindled into having fun with a man somehow. He even knows the ins and outs of a baker’s life. And he’s charming in an oddball sort of way. You shouldn’t be feeling solidarity with this weirdo. But then again, somehow, his laugh is very… endearing. 

Wait a minute.

“You- you really own the place?!” A scream dies in your throat.

Donghyuck looks positively taken aback. “So you actually weren’t aware?!”

“What do you mean? How the hell am I supposed to know?! You described yourself as a connoisseur of pastries. I thought you were some kind of freelance failure so I didn’t pry!”

“Excuse me?!”

“Well, either that or you’re unbelievably rich. But then you don’t look it. Your sleeves have flour and oil stains on them, and your shoes are all dusty too, and there’s gold flakes in your hair—okay, how did I miss this?”

“Geez, way to judge someone by their looks. I’m not taking that from the local tart snatcher.”

The retort barely registers because your brain is too busy replaying the words “I own this place.” The realization hits, and before you can think better of it, the chair screeches back as you bolt upright.

“Wait, where are you—” Donghyuck’s voice is cut off by your shrill, mortified “Bye!” as you make a beeline for the door, leaving behind a very startled staff and a half-empty tray of cakes. Immediately after your exit, you let out a shriek. 

What the hell are you doing?!

Your face burns as you speed-walk down the street, each step punctuated by the memory of your impulsive retreat. You must have cast your senses away at that moment, like some wide-eyed fool in a fairy tale, almost charmed by that silly man and his absurd little quirks. It’s not your fault, of course—it’s his, with his flour-dusted sleeves, that stupidly endearing laugh, and the way he talked about pastries like they were a love language. What was wrong with him?! you think, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was your awkwardness and runaway theatrics that had caused the scene. You’d blame it on sugar overload if it weren’t for the nagging realization that maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten under your skin, and the fact that you deserved it.

. . .

You hadn’t expected to hear from him again. Not after your embarrassing getaway. But three days later, you’re staring at an email with the subject line: "Notice of Legal Action for Unauthorized Sampling."

You open it with trembling fingers, only to find what can only be described as the world’s most dramatic—and definitely fake—lawsuit. 

Your jaw drops as you scroll through the email. He’d even attached a fake case number: #CAKE-404-NO-FUN.

The body of the email was littered with ridiculous legalese. Phrases like "egregious acts of confectionery negligence" and "failure to properly appreciate artisanal craftsmanship" were scattered between absurdly specific accusations.

There is a diagram. An actual diagram. Arrows pointing to "Exhibit A" (the Mont Blanc) and "Exhibit B" (the empty spot on the tray), annotated with notes like "victim of hasty consumption" and "left to fend for itself."

And then, at the very bottom, there it was—the pièce de résistance:

“This suit may be settled by one (1) heartfelt apology and one (1) coffee date at the aforementioned bakery. Should you require legal counsel, I suggest bringing your A-game. I am, after all, a connoisseur of arguments… and pastries. 😉”

You groan, head thunking against the back of your chair. The audacity. The drama. The fuckass emojis. 

This man is getting to you.

Your first reaction is, of course, panic. Your second? Rage. And by the time you storm into the bakery at ass o’clock before it even opens, Donghyuck is waiting for you, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. (Which he does, actually.)

He’s propped on his elbows, his posture easy and unhurried, as if he’s been expecting you. The black apron around his waist is slightly askew, and his beige T-shirt bears faint streaks of flour across the chest, a testament to an already busy morning. His fluffy brown hair is an artful mess, the kind that looks unintentional but infuriatingly perfect, with a few errant strands curling over his forehead. There’s a streak of something golden—sugar, maybe?—on his cheek, catching the light as he tilts his head to regard you with an expression that’s equal parts curious and smug.

“You’re early,” he remarks, his voice low and teasing, as though he isn’t the root of all evil.

“You think this is funny?” you demand, shoving your phone in his face.

Donghyuck grins, unbothered. “Hilarious, actually. Did it get your attention?”

“You can’t just send someone a fake legal notice!”

“Worked, didn’t it?” He shrugs, leaning back with infuriating calmness. “Besides, you owed me an explanation for your Houdini act. You know, poor Kimi had to clear your tray. She almost cried.”

“She did not!”

As if on cue, Kimi pokes her head out of the kitchen. “Oh, she absolutely did. It was tragic,” she deadpans before ducking back in.

You groan, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the second. “You’re unbelievable.”

Donghyuck leans back, smug as ever, and gestures to the email still open on your phone. “Unbelievable or resourceful? Let’s review: I sent a single, harmless message—full of creativity and wit, I might add—and look where we are.”

“At me wanting to strangle you?”

“At you running right to me,” he corrects, his grin widening. “What, were you worried?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap. “I’m here because—” 

You stop, realizing you don’t have a decent answer. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I took you seriously.”

“Oh, you absolutely took me seriously.” He nods sagely. “I saw the panic in your eyes. Admit it: for a second, you thought you were going to have to pay me a hundred grand or grovel at my feet.”

“I- ugh- fuck you!” is all you can muster, stepping forward without thinking.

He mirrors your movement, the space between you shrinking by degrees. 

“But seriously, you ghosted me, and I had to get creative. What the hell was I supposed to do? I figured the legal drama might get my point across.”

“What point?”

“That I wanted to see you again.” The words come out so easily, so matter-of-fact, you don’t know how to respond. When you finally glance up, he’s watching you closely, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.

“Just because you’re all cute and covered in flour like the star of some indie chef movie doesn’t mean you get to toy with me.”

“Ha! You’re presumptuous—despite all the fine details on me you seem to observe.” He leans in. “But guess what, I’m a greedy bastard that loves attention. So, look closer.”

And you look anywhere but his lips, too pink and too plush, as your face grows hotter than a convection oven on broil.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you manage, staring resolutely at the display of cakes. “That hardly counts as details.”

“Details,” he echoes, his grin growing wider. “Like the way I look at you?”

“You’re just a flirt,” you mutter.

He gasps, mock-offended, and gestures dramatically to the kitchen. “Kimi, did you hear that? I’m just a flirt!”

“You said it, not me,” Kimi calls back without missing a beat.

You laugh despite yourself, the sound surprising you. And Donghyuck doesn’t miss it. His gaze softens, the teasing edge in his voice dropping slightly. “There it is. I knew you could laugh without running away.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

For a moment, the air shifts, the humor giving way to something quieter. Donghyuck’s gaze lingers—not on your awkward posture or flushed cheeks, but on you, as though trying to piece together something he doesn’t quite understand.

“What?” you finally ask, defensive.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, but there’s a small, genuine smile now. “Just... you’re such a fidgety person.”

“Are you trying to shell out an insult?”

“No, I mean, I always see you scuttling here and there. Always on the move. Always observing, but never stopping long enough to be seen. You just… don’t seem like someone who takes much time for yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard. He tilts his head, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s crossed a line.

“I’m wrong?” he asks, almost sheepishly.

“I—” You pause, unsure of how to respond. “You’re nosy, that’s what you are.”

“That’s a yes,” he decides, grinning again.

Donghyuck chuckles, leaning just a little closer, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours. “Tell you what,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I’ll prove I’m not just nosy. Let me take you out. Somewhere you don’t have to bolt out the door halfway through.”

“You think I’d agree to that?” you retort, though your words lack bite. The proximity is doing something to your brain, and you’re acutely aware of how close he’s leaned in.

His grin is confident and infuriating. “I think you’d be curious enough to say yes.”

Your breath hitches as you realize how little space is left between the two of you, your noses almost brushing. “Woah,” you whisper, trying to play it off, “my mommy warned me about boys like you. All up close and personal with flour in their hair.”

He raises a brow, unrepentant. “Smart woman. But she didn’t tell you we’re pretty good at first dates, did she?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes, soft but genuine. “Fine,” you say, straightening up and taking a step back before your pulse betrays you further. “But you’re paying. And no weird cakes this time.”

“Deal,” he replies, his smile softer now, more sincere.

And for a moment, you believe it—not just the act, not just the cakes and the banter, but the idea that maybe, somehow, this strange, sugar-dusted series of events has led to something real.

. . .

r/AmITheAsshole

u/YeastMode6969 • 16h

UPDATE: I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?

Fine, you guys were right. We’re dating now. Let’s just say we’ve been filling my cream puffs lately  🫠

Edit: I also got the Mont Blanc recipe!!

⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 3,297 Comments

kimikakes • 13h

KIMI HERE, REPORTING LIVE FROM THE SCENE: they literally argued over frosting consistency for half an hour yesterday. This relationship is built on chaos and croissants.

➥ Reply ⥣ 7.1k ⥥

bun_theory0222 • 2h

Hellooo where are the recipes. Priorities, OP :/

➥ Reply ⥣ 4.1k ⥥

lil_sugar_daddy0813 • 1h

man i was betting on donghyuck dying alone i dont wanna lose my $20

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.3k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h Give me your money NYEOW ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥

soggywaffle0205 • 6m why are you suddenly a furry ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.1k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h pays the bills ➥ Reply ⥣ 2.7k ⥥

[letteredlettered]

What an interesting topic. I’ve heard that a large percentage of employees cite their bosses as the reason they leave their jobs. What are some ways companies try to mitigate this?

They don't.

I can really only answer for my company, which cared about retention (of employees) a lot. Many companies do, because it costs much less to recruit/onboard/train as little as possible, and because it can be hard to get the work done without adequate staffing. I'd add that my company had one area in which staffing was a nation-wide crisis; also my company was in the public sector and was in the press a lot, which mean they cared about their image.

They still didn't do that much to ensure that people had good bosses. That has less to do with this company and more to do with the structure of business in capitalist society. This is a big reason HR is never going to be that helpful unless you've got a tiny company that, completely by luck, has mostly good folks.

A company isn't going to take a generalized point about folks leaving their job because they don't like their bosses as fact. Companies feel they are too diverse and the financial risk is too great to pour money into something if they don't have hard data, so the first step to retention is getting data. You would think exit interviews would be really informative, but those require a lot of time which equals staff which equals money. Some employers do them but mine would only do one if you asked, and then they did nothing with the info. This is because the company's mentality was "well, if you're leaving you're probably really dissatisfied and we don't want to hear about that." I know this makes no sense. But in general, not just in the business but in this society (formed by capitalism), the idea seems to be if you're dissatisfied it's your fault. Meanwhile the company is interested in data about why people stay; they figure if folks are satisfied, that's the company's fault and they want to keep doing the same so they can retain employees.

Our company had a huge employee satisfaction survey they did every year that included questions about employee opinions about the company, their colleagues, and their bosses. You get emails to remind you to take it and if you can't get time in the workday, bosses are supposed to allow time for it. Some problems with that are you still have to remember to take it; if you don't have time you have to ask a boss you might not like to get that time; some folks at my company literally had jobs that literally are life or death so it can be hard to take time to take a survey; the survey is only in English; the survey is only in the computer; the reminders are only in email. So you have to be a moderately good English speaker who regularly checks email and knows how to use a computer and gets regular access to a computer for the company to get your data about your satisfaction. As you can imagine, our most vulnerable employees often get missed.

If the survey showed that folks were really dissatisfied with a particular boss, that boss got put into a series of trainings. Training is good, but US businesses (and plenty of employees themselves) seemed to have latched onto the idea that training is the be-all, end-all of improvement. Many of us saw this in response to the discussions about EDI (equity, diversity, and inclusion) that came about in 2020; business promised to be anti-racist and had some EDI seminars to prove it, and that was all. Why is it like this? What is really needed to make bosses better bosses? And why isn't that being done?

When it comes to "why is it like this": recruiting and retaining good leaders is hard. The way someone becomes a boss in almost any organization is a) management likes them, and/or b) they were good at a job in a lower level or different department, or c) they come from the outside with a good resume and what sounds like good experience. But a lot of time, management likes people who aren't disruptive, and sometimes folks who aren't disruptive are the folks who are not thinking for themselves and not asking questions and doing everything the way they're told even when it doesn't make sense. That doesn't make a good leader. As for folks who are good at the lower level job in the hierarchy or in another department, they aren't always good at managing. It's a different skill set, but I've seen a lot of leaders and employees make this mistake. They think that that the folks who are great at the job should be promoted, and honestly that really doesn't make sense. And last but not least, folks who get hired from the outside are a complete crapshoot, because experience with leadership does not necessarily a good leader make.

As for what is needed to make bosses better bosses, imo what you would really need is someone embedded within the department who is managed by the boss and is doing the same work as the other employees, but also has the training and experience to evaluate what the boss is doing well and isn't doing well, and then also has the authority and buy-in to work with the boss so that the boss can shadow and learn the leadership skills they need. Then, if the boss can't improve, there would need to be the will within the org to fire or demote that boss, and often that will doesn't exist because recruiting bosses is so hard and the training is usually monumental.

Side note, what I'm describing is what consultants should do and normally don't. Consultants come in and ask a lot of questions and do focus groups and maybe some observations, but they are not in there doing the work understanding what it is like to live in this world, and without that I frankly find a lot of the work they do useless. That said, consultants are almost always hired to identify inefficiencies; they're not really there to make it a more satisfying job. Imo, the greatest efficiency is a satisfied worker, but it is hard to get the data to point that way, and again, companies only want data, and again, your dissatisfaction is your own fault.

Another side note, this is why unions are so great. Union stewards are folks who work for the company but can act as a union representative. This means they're embedded in the department and doing the work everyone does, but they can also at times step outside that role and carry the authority of an outside entity that does have some power to use against the employer. This is why all employees should have a union.

So, why aren't companies doing this? As you can imagine, hiring the ambassador to embed within a department, training them, paying them for their time--all of these are just too cost prohibitive to justify when they only thing you're getting out of it is employee satisfaction. It is also possible to improve employee satisfaction by paying employees more, which is in fact why I stayed in this job I hated as long as I did. I was getting paid so much that it just did not make sense to walk away without a firm plan in place. In the end, paying employees more costs less than ensuring they have a good boss.

I have lots more to say about this, but I've said a lot already, so if anyone has follow up questions, feel free to send more asks.

[a-casual-kpopfan]

A Cup of Coffee. - Gaeul

A/N: I've been feeling pretty shitty the last couple weeks and I decided to write a little rough draft of a little something, something.

I hope you all enjoy this!

~~~~~~~~~~

*Ring*

“Welcome! Sit anywhere, I’ll be with you in a second!” A young woman, with gorgeous eyes. A smile that can brighten up anyone’s day. “Hey man, stop staring at the waitress, you’ll get us kicked out for harassment.” Your friend nudges you slightly to bring you back to reality. You shook your head to bring yourself back to reality.

“Sorry man, she’s just really pretty.” In an apologetic tone as you follow your friend over to a free table, there were menus on the table already. Without thinking both you and you friend pick up the menus immediately after seating yourselves down and looking through it. “You fellas see anything you like?” You put the menu down to see that same waitress that greeted the two of you when walking in.

“U-Uh… Hello.” Your mouth stayed opened; the waitress giggled. She put her little pencil behind her right ear then using that free hand to close your mouth for you. “Didn’t your mother tell you that it’s rude to stare?” You were quite flustered with the waitress’ bold approach while on the opposite side of the table, your friend is having trouble holding in his laughter.

“Gaeul, stop flirting with the customers!” Another waitress yells out from the back of the restaurant, coming out with a tray of various drinks for other customers. “Yah, I’m just having fun Yujin!”

“Sorry, hun, what would you like?” Gaeul, your waitress, leans down closer in front of you while pulling the pencil from behind her ear and bringing up a little notebook. “I’ll have caramel macchiato and maybe… What do you recommend with the drink?” Gaeul leans in closer next to your face, looking through the menu as well.

“This.”

Gaeul’s pencil is pointed to the words ‘Macaron variety set.’

“I’ll order this then.” Happy with your choice, you closed up the menu and handing over to Gaeul as she’s ready to take your friend’s order. “I’ll have an iced coffee and a slice of cheesecake.” A quick decision, Gaeul writes it up and takes the menu out of his hand. “Fantastic, I’ll be a few and will be back.” With a wink, Gaeul walks away happily, but you couldn’t take your eyes off her.

“Stop checking her out.” Your eyes stayed on the waitress, even hearing your friend, Gaeul spun her head around, now suddenly the world has slowed down. The world has slowed down for you, it’s almost comedic. Gaeul’s hair flows beautiful as she spins, her eyes sparkled like as if they’ve been polished every day and every night.

The world came back to normal speed, you made direct eye contact with the dear waitress. Caught red handed, staring at the employee of this café, the waitress that serves you and many others here. “Oh, shit.” You duck your head and look at your friend who’s sitting in front of you who’s laughing at your obvious blunder.

“Real slick there, tiger.” Your face started heating up, the embarrassment has definitely gotten to you. “Shut up, I just think she’s really pretty.”

You and your friend had just spent time talking about your lives, the two of you spent most of your time in college as roommates but after graduating, both of you made your separate ways to different companies, still keeping in touch with each other.

Although, there is one fact he does not know about you just yet.

“Sorry for the wait, here are your orders!” Gaeul pleasantly popping out of seemingly nowhere, holding a tray of everything that both you and your friend has ordered. “An iced coffee and a slice of cheesecake, I have added some strawberries to your cake.” Your friend was very pleased with the little gesture that Gaeul decided to do.

“Oh, thank you so much!” Shooting a smile back, Gaeul nods her head in response. “It’s not a problem, it’s my fault for making you two wait so long.” Such great attitude, a bright personality, and very beautiful. “And here you are honey, your macchiato and your macaron assortment.” And there laying in front of you is an amazing looking cup of coffee and ten beautifully coloured macarons.

The froth on top of the coffee is even shaped as a heart in the drink.

“Is there anything else I can get for you boys?” With nothing left in her tray, Gaeul holds it up against her stomach while looking at the two of you.

“Perhaps your phone number?” Your friend did not hesitate to ask, just like how he was years ago in college. Asking for phone numbers, going on dates, coming back to your dorm telling you stories of his experiences that same night. “I’m sorry, I do have a boyfriend.” Gaeul awkwardly smiles and bowing slightly to keep it respectful.

“Ah, I’m sorry I asked.” Your friend apologizes back, at least he was respectful of the waitress’ reply. “If that’s everything you need, I will leave you two be.” You just smiled without saying a word, but once Gaeul was out of earshot, you chuckle.

“Haven’t seen you get rejected in awhile.” Chuckling as you pick up what seems to be a chocolate flavoured macaron. “Yeah, well… I bet I’m better looking than whoever she’s dating, she’s missing out on something good.” Taking a bite of the sweet dessert, you tried to hide your smile as you chew. “Whatever, her loss.” Cutting a piece of the cake on his plate, following a very angry bite.

“Well, I’m sure she has good taste in men.” You try to reason out.

“I’m sure she does.” Gaeul, the waitress comes back to your table but instead of her brown apron but wearing YOUR white hoodie and a black backpack. Gaeul’s hand runs down your shoulder but is looking at your friend. “Hello, I’m Gaeul, his girlfriend.” Your friend, absolutely flabbergasted, jaw open and continues staring at the now, off the clock waitress, trying to process this shocking new detail about you.

~~~~~

After revealing to your friend that you’re actually dating the very attractive waitress, he was quite shocked, but the conversation did go relatively well. Now you’re on a little stroll through the park in the beautiful fall weather with you’re loving girlfriend wrapped around your arm, holding your hand.

“You couldn’t have told him before?” Gaeul asking why looking up to the trees, barren, leafless, just all wooden branches. “I thought it would be fun to introduce my girlfriend to my best friend in the place where I first met her.” Smiling as you walk down the pathway, reminiscing about the time you first saw at the time, waitress-in-training in that café.

“Yeah, I remember Yujin unnie would warn me about ‘some weirdo’ coming everyday just for a simple cup of coffee, sitting there for hours on end.” Gaeul giggling, remembering that first time you spoke to her without asking for a coffee. “It’s not my fault your unnie hired such a beautiful woman.” Gripping your hand tighter around hers.

“Yeah, this weirdo asking me out and the only thing he can muster up is asking me out to the coffee shop I work in.” Each step you take down the path you can hear the crunching on little red, yellow and orange leaves on the ground. “Hey, look who’s dating the weirdo now.” Gaeul just smiles, letting go of your arm, running ahead to a few trees in the park that still has leaves on it.

A strong gust of grows through the trees, blowing all the remaining leaves off the branches, gently falling towards Gaeul, who now spins around in the small shower of leaves. Gaeul’s long black jacket picks up slightly with the speed of the spin, her arms up in the air, enjoying the moment. It’s just like the way you saw Gaeul spin around in the café.

Gaeul’s hair out in the wind, her eyes sparkle every time you see them pass by.

Your girlfriend ends her little spin, swaying slightly while looking through the leaves to you.

“Jagiya! What are you smiling about?”

Your smile grows ever bigger. You begin walking closer to her, then jogging, then once the speed has built up, you ran at Gaeul, her arms are wide up for you to pick her up and twirl her around. “Yah! Jagiya! What’s gotten into you?” In sheer bliss, Gaeul’s voice is followed by laughter, pure happiness to be in your arms. You stopped spinning, putting her down back on her feet.

“You just make me happy.” You couldn’t hold it in, your cheeks would begin to feel sore from how much smiling you got going on.

To think you met the love of your life from just a cup of coffee.

[tacitoru]

"caution! this could get ugly" - eren yeager

Pairing: eren x reader

Summary: It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you work through winter break. But when you attend your coworker's annual ugly sweater party in an attempt to get into the holiday spirit, a certain green-eyed line cook is determined to make that a challenge.

Or;

The Chili's!AU Christmas party one-shot no one asked for

wc: 6.6k

Tags: enemies to lovers, coworkers!au

Content warnings: smut, oral ( f receiving), spit play, drug references, eren has big ass hands, minors dni

 my first fic in an anime fandom, pls be gentle! you can't tell me eren doesn't give off headass-but-secretly-softie line cook vibes... you can't tell me he doesn't look like that one guy you wanted to smash that one time at work!

um...happy holidays, y'all!

read on ao3 | masterlist | twt

The lady at table six doesn’t deserve about half of the attitude that she’s getting from you tonight. Besides, it’s not her fault all of the sides to each meal she ordered were wrong. It’s not her fault her appetizer had to be recalled two times because there were onions in the guacamole on both instances when her chips and dip platter arrived at the table. She’s not the one who cooked her husband’s steak well-done instead of medium-rare. Of course not, because as she oh-so considerably informs you over the distressed screams of her high-chair-bound toddler, she would never cook a New York strip steak like that.

But between the chaos of the dinner rush and the mishaps of a particular line cook who seems hell-bent on making your night as difficult as possible, table six and her husband are lucky that you are even able to flash them a drawn smile before stalking off.

The double doors to the kitchen – so lovingly called the heart of the house - are a thin veil between utter mayhem and the generally calm atmosphere of the dining area, never staying for longer than a second as waiters rush to tend to their tables. Stepping into the chaos, several obstacles stand between you and the culprit of your terrible night. Fellow employees swarm the narrow walking space, and you slip by with practiced ease and the occasional apology. You’re almost a little envious as you take note of them – no one else looks as half as pressed as you do tonight. As they should be, it’s only a Tuesday night. Not even the weekend yet. And yet, as you shimmy your way through the back of the house, you can’t help but feel a similar fatigue and exasperation that typically follows a Friday night shift. This only serves to further solidify your resolve as you duck past a team of waiters off to serve a business party.  A long, stainless-steel counter runs the length of the kitchen space, with shelves that reach the ceiling, effectively separating the servers from the cooking staff. Waiters and line cooks take turns sliding completed and returned orders beneath the shelving, and heat lamps attached to the bottom of the last shelf to preserve the food. It is within this space that you all but shove your head beneath the heat lamps to give Eren Jaeger a piece of your mind.

“Do you have a problem?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eren, standing idly over the stove top adjacent to you whips around at the sound of your voice. He makes a wry face at the sight of you, hunched over the countertop and under the warm hutch, forced to cram your neck in a certain direction to give Eren the full force of your scowl. For all his nonchalance, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You haven’t come to talk to me since you started your shift.”

You blink once, twice, before all but slamming your head into the shelf above you in an attempt to swipe at Eren across the counter. “Are you – are you fucking joking right now? Are you actually fucking messing with my table’s orders because I didn’t say ‘hi’ when I walked in?” Eren sucks his teeth, pretending to rearrange some condiments in front of him. “You’ve been here for two hours already. It’s polite to greet your seniors. Seems you’ve lost all your manners while you were away at college.”

Right eye twitching at the condescending note in his tone, you rear back, ready to straight up drag him into the walk-in and show him just how polite your fists could be. That thought is quickly sidetracked as a broom handle to the back of the knees sends you stumbling back from the countertop. Your manager stands behind you, arms akimbo, broom in one hand. He pointedly offers you a serving tray.

“Your steak is getting cold.” Stern, curt, and orderly, your night manager is infamous for running a tight ship. But even he, for all his methodology and patience, gets run ragged by the customer service industry. If you thought you were over tonight, Levi looks just about ready to turn in his two weeks.

“What about-,”

“I’ll handle him. Now get back to your other tables before I make you clean the bathrooms.” The night shift manager threatens to strike you with the broom handle again before passing off the tray and pushing you in the right direction.

You spare an accusatory glare at Eren, who watches on in bemusement. Rude bitch, he mouths, wiggling his fingers in a girlish wave.

The rest of the night goes on fairly smoothly. The dinner rush subsides just as quickly as it came. No one asks you to sing the Happy Birthday song. The incident at table six lands you a meager tip, but you grin and bear it. Better than nothing at all. Or worse, change. This seems to be the case for Sasha, a regular dinner shift waitress. She marches through the double doors with a fist full of nickels and dimes courteous of her last table of the night – a group of college students. Cursing under her breath, it’s obvious your coworker is ready to call it a night hide in the back with a basket of rolls until close.

There’s an obvious shift in mood as your team transitions to its closing routine. As Levi thanks the last customers for the night and locks the door behind them, the tension from the day seems to almost melt away instantaneously. Connie, a back-of-the-house member who ends up stuck by the dishwasher most nights, takes the opportunity to hijack the restaurant’s stereo system to blast trap music you only know the chorus to.

Closing, believe it or not, is your favorite part of the job. You take pride in how dutifully you restock, fold cutlery, wipe tables, and somehow always manage to avoid being assigned the task of sweeping the dining areas. You’d rather be caught dead before you struggle with that insolent, brittle plastic broom against an entire night’s worth of grime and dropped food. Instead, when Levi wordlessly hands it off to you this time, you make your way to the back of the house, prepared to bestow this lovely gift to the main antagonist of your shift.

You discover Eren lounging outside the storage shed behind the restaurant, the tell-tale sign of the flicker of a lighter giving him away. And the smell. The heady burn of a Backwood climbs its way up your nostrils as you approach him, languidly smoking half a blunt on the clock.

“Y’know the longer you sit out here, the longer it’s gonna take for us to get the fuck out, right?” Eren greets your matter-of-fact tone with a cloud of smoke, thick and distinct in the crisp winter night air.  You shoot Eren a disapproving look as you approach plastic broom in hand, fully prepared to guilt trip your coworker into taking on your least favorite closing duty. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, aren’t you? You’re so lucky it’s too cold for Levi to come out here and bust your ass himself.”

This isn’t the first time the heart-of-the-house worker had snuck off to light up before joining the clean-up routine. Connie and Eren regularly covered for each other’s smoke breaks, so often that even Levi began to turn a blind eye as long as everyone clocked out on time. The line cooks' routine typically didn’t affect much on your end unless it was a night like this – a night when everyone had plans afterward.

Tonight, there was a holiday party at stake.

“Levi’s got a soft spot for me, you know,” Eren scoffs, taking another drag from the half-smoked blunt. He still has yet to fully face you, perched on a stack of discarded crates and angled away from the kitchen’s back entrance. Tucked away in the shadow of the storage shed, Eren ashes off the corner of the small building. “Besides, even he can’t resist my charm.”

Rolling your eyes, you wave the plastic broom in front of him, threatening to poke him in the ribs when he begins to protest. “Charm won’t save you from sweeping duty tonight. After what your petty ass put me through tonight – here, take it.”

Eren raises an eyebrow, throwing his hands up in protest when you move to toss the broom handle at him carelessly. He gripes, “I’ve got better things to do than clean up after you.” The blunt in his hand smolders near his fingertips. You pluck it from his hands with little resistance and take a hit, brow crinkling at the taste. Your lungs ache and warm at the sensation.

“Yeah? Yeah, like this?” You wheeze and hope he attributes the water gathering at the corners of your eyes to the cold. “Just get it done, and let’s finish this so we can all get to the party on time.” Eren watches in dismay as you stomp out the remains of his roach.

“Someone’s in a hurry…A Grinch like you, it can’t possibly be the Christmas spirit?” Eren narrowly avoids being jabbed in the ribs again, jumping from his hiding spot when you lunge. He eyes your tense shoulders, nearly hiked up to your ears, and the impatience in your stance. In the years you’ve worked together, your general disdainful demeanor towards him is nothing new, but there’s something else. Something else that leads Eren to believe that the dark flush of your cheeks has little to do with the winter air. He swipes the broom from your grasp, approaching you with a wolfish grin. You instinctively take a step back, a little less confident now with the broom no longer as your barrier. Confronting Eren over kitchen counters, between restaurant booths, and across busy back-of-the-house spaces in the presence of your other coworkers was one thing. But as the young man towers over you, gaze shadowed in the dim glow of the moon and the weak holiday lights haphazardly strewn about the awning around the restaurant, you can’t help but shrink a little under his direct attention.

After a tense moment of silence, Eren relents. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it done. But you owe me a dance later at the party.”

Your stupor was broken, you sputter and gawk up at him, at his audacity. “I- Me? Dance for you? Dream on, slacker. Now, move it. I’ve got tables to wipe down, and I’m not waiting for you to finish sweeping.”

Working at Pepper’s had only meant to be a summertime gig, at first. Looking for a quick way to make some cash before the start of your first year in college, the local Tex-Mex chain restaurant was your least enthusiastic option. A popular location in your small town, it was one of a few dining options that didn’t require you to drive out into the city to enjoy. The idea of running into one of your former high school classmates while donning the company apron and signature red visor, toting a serving tray - or worse, working with one of them - mortified you. But chain restaurants were always hiring, and you needed money fast. Eventually, working the evening shift as a waitress during breaks from school became the norm - until now. Now, as the start of the final spring semester of your undergraduate program approaches, you're left to consider what the next summer will really look like for you once you graduate. Besides, it wasn’t like this was going to be your career, right?

Right?

In your years on staff, Sasha’s ugly sweater party had become an unofficial team bonding event of sorts. No matter how new someone was to the staff or how frequently they were on shift, everyone came to Sasha’s. And everyone came dressed accordingly, or you were turned away at the door. A night of ugly sweaters, spiked eggnog, and best of all, Secret Santa.  Since your freshman year of college, Sasha’s holiday party was always something you could look forward to.

You anxiously eye a little red gift bag from across your coworker’s living room, trying to hide your grimace behind your second glass of wine.

“You look like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.” The hostess of the night is pretty quick to clock your demeanor. Sasha slides onto the couch next to you, her sweater an egregious display of flashing multicolored lights, silver tinsel, and a giant patch of Rudolph the red nose reindeer sledding down a mountain in sunglasses stitched to her chest.

You force a smile, attempting to play off your nerves. “No bomb, just…Secret Santa jitters, you know?”

“Ah, the classic Secret Santa anxiety.” Your companion watches as your nervous gaze flickers from the gift table to a certain couple in matching argyle sweaters with tiny Christmas trees sewn in between the jacquard diamonds, huddled in the doorway into the kitchen. Sasha’s eyes widen in understanding. “Can I take a wild guess at who you got?”

You realize you’re not-so-subtly glaring at Jean, who’s laughing with his uninvited guest across the room. Jean, your coworker, and former daytime shift waiter. Jean, your friend whom you’ve admired from afar for his kindness and tenacity. Jean, who got promoted to manager at some point while you were away finishing your last fall semester at college and didn’t tell you. Jean, whom you have the worst, most horrendous crush on. You take another sip from your drink to avoid the pitiful look you know is on Sasha’s face. “I just hope he likes what I got him. I mean, we’re not exactly best buddies or anything...”

If Sasha catches the sour note in your voice, she says nothing to acknowledge it. “I’m sure you know him better than you think.”

You can’t help but huff in exasperation. “That’s the problem though, isn’t it? Ever since I switched from dayshift in the fall, ever since I went back to campus, he’s been so distant. I could’ve sworn we were getting somewhere over the summer, but now…” You tip your glass listlessly in the direction of the object of your ire, whose arm is wrapped around none other than Mikasa, a waitress who quit last year but still hangs around some of your coworkers. Apparently.

Everyone comes to Sasha’s Christmas party.

It goes without saying that Jean is with Mikasa now, but your eyes can’t help but linger in his direction anyway. After all, the last time you saw him…

The pool party. That pool house. The surprise that colored his eyes and flushed his cheeks when you kissed him.

You shake off the memory, scowl deepening. The hostess herself leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, spill. What’d you get him?”

You glance around for any eavesdroppers before revealing, “A leather-bound journal. He’s always jotting things down, and I thought it might come in handy.”

Sasha squeezes the hand on your lap not balancing a drink and offers you an encouraging smile. “Not bad! Thoughtful and practical. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

You nod, a bit more reassured. “I hope so. It’s just…I really wanted to get him something he’d like, you know?” You watch as Jean presses a doting kiss to Mikasa’s forehead, smiling into her hairline. He has yet to look your way once, except for at your arrival.

Sasha pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry too much. It’s the thought that counts.”

The thought. You scoff. You think you might need a third glass of wine.

As Sasha wanders off to mingle with the other guests, a mix of cashiers and kitchen staff amused with seeing one another outside of shift schedules, your attention is drawn to Eren, who seats himself in the spot that Sasha once occupied with all the languor of someone who didn’t show up to the party sober. It doesn’t take much for him to reveal that he heard most of your previous exchange.

“Secret Santa jitters, huh?” he teases, propping himself up against one arm of the sofa. The line cook wears a dark blue cable knit sweater, with what you think is some horrific reimagining of Bob Ross knitted across his chest. Tiny, tinkling silver bells adorn the hem, glittering as he shifts in his seat. His hair, typically tied up and away from his face during shifts, spills loosely over his shoulders and shags over his eyes. You recall the way he looked at you earlier in the night behind the storage shed and remember his insistence that you dance with him at this party. In the warm lighting from the barrage of Christmas lights that line Sasha’s living room ceiling, he almost looks pretty like this.

You shoot him a look. “What’s it to you, Eren?”

“Just wondering if I made the nice list,” he quips, winking playfully. You make note of the lack of red rimming his eyes. Maybe he is sober then?

“Cute,” you scoff, trying to dismiss the way heat rises to your cheeks at the comment. Maybe you’re the one that needs to sober up. “Now go sweep something or whatever is it you do when you’re not getting high and crashing parties.”

Eren smirks but doesn’t leave. Instead, he nods in the direction of the gift table, of the little red disaster bag that haunts the corner of your eye. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of your generosity?”

You sigh, giving in to the conversation. “Well, the point of Secret Santa is that it’s a secret-,”

“Jean, huh? That’s interesting.” While you sputter at his presumptuousness, Eren’s expression tightens for a moment, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

Before you can question his tone – or how the hell he had even overheard you and Sasha, for that matter – Sasha calls for attention announcing the start of the gift exchange. 

You leave Eren on the couch to grab your present, eager to get away from whatever that was. You have enough to be anxious about tonight without Eren Jeager getting into the mix. Unsure how Jean will react to your carefully chosen present, you grip the little red bag a little tighter.

In the end, you don’t even get to witness Jean’s reaction to your gift. All of that tension, all of your worries on the drive here, all of your anxiety leading up to this moment is all for naught. Eren Jeager makes sure of that.

He doesn’t even try to sound remorseful once he spills his wine down the front of your sweater just as you’re about to hand off your gift to your should-be-former crush. You had mustered up the courage to approach Jean, who had finally wrenched himself from Mikasa’s grasp for a brief moment to collect a wrapped parcel of his own. But as soon as you reach out to catch the day shift manager’s attention, your entire body is shifted off-center. Eren collides into your right side, tipping his glass into your chest with little more than a half-assed, “Whoops, my bad.”

You gasp, the force of Eren’s weight and a mix of shock and horror sending you reeling back from Jean. The surrounding partygoers come to a halt, Jean included as he turns to finally take in the sight of you for the first time tonight, mortified and doused in red wine that bleeds through the front of your white cashmere sweater like an open wound. The little red gift bag hangs limply in your hands.

Jean calls your name, voice colored with surprise and concern, but you’re already marching towards the bathroom, eyes stinging, hands shaking, dropping the gift bag somewhere on the way between pushing through little clusters of your coworkers all squeezed into Sasha’s homey apartment.

Much to your relief, the bathroom to the guest bedroom is already unlocked and unoccupied, a temporary haven for you to gather your bearings.

Or so you thought.

It’s not long before Eren finds you, gently knocking on the door with a soft call of your name. You’ve spent the past few minutes fruitlessly dabbing at the stain blossoming on your chest with paper towels and cold water, only succeeding in smearing it into a much larger mess. The snowflakes carefully stitched into the pattern of your sweater begin to take on a faint salmon color, the sight in the mirror only serving to fuel your frustration. Tears well up in your eyes as mortification over the night’s events threaten to overwhelm you, but Eren’s voice startles you into a sense of annoyance. In your panic and haste, you had forgotten to lock the door behind you.

The bathroom door swings open, and you glance up in time to see Eren duck inside, his expression softened with a hint of something you’re too bewildered to decipher. Your heart sinks when you realize Jean doesn’t file in behind him.

“Need some help?” Eren offers, an uncharacteristically sincere tone to his voice.

You shoot him a skeptical look, “Are you being serious right now?”

 Rather than back off when met with your icy demeanor, Eren closes the door behind him. And rather than tell him off when he turns you to face him, nearly bumping heads in the cramped guest bathroom, you both set to work with damp paper towels.

You work in silence, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, the sounds of the party raging on outside. Eren’s touch is gentle, and purposeful as he braces your shoulder with one hand and dabs just under your neckline with the other. A pensive look falls over his face. You wait for an apology that doesn’t come.

Distantly, you hear the Christmas music switch to something with a little more bass and know that Connie has hijacked the speaker. As you dab at the hem of your sweater, convinced that the stain would be a permanent fixture in your sweater at this point, you glance up to notice a smile playing on your intruder’s lips.

You shoot him a withering look, “You think this is funny?”

Eren breaks out into a full-on smirk, impish even, looking a bit more like the line cook you’ve known to antagonize you. He tosses his paper towel in the trash and leans against the bathroom counter, his green eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, they simmer with spitefulness. “I think it’s a hell of a lot less depressing than watching you openly moon over horse face.”

“Horse face?” You blanch. “You mean Jean-,”

“-Besides, I did you a favor. Now you don’t have to go and be disappointed him.”

Your frustration grows, but beneath it, there’s a spark of defiance. You snap at him, “What does it even matter to you, Eren? All night you’ve been on my case; at work, at this party! Whatever I give to Jean – whatever I have or don't have going with Jean is none of your business.”

You feel the tension between you, thick and charged, but the satisfied look on Eren’s face never wavers. He’s lax, head tilted back as he observes you over the bridge of his nose with a gaze that meets yours that could almost be described as bored if not for the hungry something lurking in them. That same look from your closing shift, passing him the broom. He’s not high anymore, you determine, hasn’t been for a while if the intense look expression, and the clarity of his gaze is anything to go by, so you can’t chalk it up to insobriety. You distantly wonder how much more often he’s looked at you like that. For how long? How have you never noticed? It seems so much more apparent like this, outside of work. So much harder to ignore with no metal counters to divide you, and no uniforms to keep up to code.

In your anger, you’ve stepped closer, balling the used towel in one fist and bracing against the counter with the other, half caging in the much taller man against the sink. You don’t realize how close you are, face to face like this, drawn in by the intensity of his eyes. The bathroom feels smaller, the air heavier, and you’re acutely aware of every beat of your heart.

 You mutter, “What the hell is with you?” and he huffs a laugh through his nose, a real smile on his lips as you draw near.

“If only you fucking knew.”

Eren leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a bold move that leaves you momentarily stunned. For a moment, you forget about the chaos of the party outside. When he finally presses his lips to yours, it’s a slow kiss laced with arrogance, a statement of intent. And despite your annoyance, you can’t help the feeling of warmth that floods you. Hands seek each other out in a flurry of movement. The paper towels and spilled wine are forgotten as Eren’s hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. Eren lets you cage him fully against the bathroom sink, if only to fit one leg between yours and slot his fingers from around your waist to the back of your neck, into your hair with the free hand not holding himself up against the counter.

The kiss is a collision of emotions – frustration, surprise, and an underlying current of something you hadn’t quite acknowledged before and aren’t entirely sure if you’re ready to either. Unhurried and messy, you can feel the groan that reverberates through Eren’s chest against your own as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. He tastes like smoke and red wine and metal. There’s no urgency behind his moments, languid with the way explores your mouth, as if a crowd of people you’ve worked with throughout some of the more formative years of your life aren’t separated from you by a singular door. As if the man you’d sworn you’d come back to try to commit to wasn’t a brisk walking distance away. He kisses you like a lover, and not like a man who has made it his mission to spend every waking moment you’ve had together grating your nerves.

Surprise shocks you at the swipe of his tongue ring against your lower lip. His thumb at your neck strokes along your chin, and your jaw with a touch that’s borderline reverent. A balmy, pleasant feeling unfurls in your chest, thrums in your veins as you allow him to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss. Eren’s lips are warm and insistent, and despite the bizarre circumstances, you feel right at home in his grasp.

The sounds of the party outside fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thud of your heart in your ears.

You’re surprised at how gentle he is. Firm, unrelenting in his touch, sure, but with none of the simmering aggression you’d come to associate him with. Strong, sure hands, slide encircle your hips under your sweater, thumbs dragging across your hip bones at the hem of your jeans. Stoking that smoldering feeling in your chest, a simmering in your low belly. The sensation earns him a gasp, interrupted by his lips.  It takes little convincing for you to remove the sweater altogether, discarding the article of clothing along with it.

You’re rewarded with a pained groan as Eren breaks the kiss long enough to admire you like this, all flush and disheveled from the neck up. His doing. Not Jean’s. He can’t help but feel smug satisfaction, finally having quelled that ugly, nagging feeling that had built up in his chest once he had realized just why you had been so anxious to get to the party tonight. None of that matters now. Eren is too focused on chasing the press of your hips against his. Too focused on the feeling of your lips and the little gasps you make each time he moves to tuck into the crook of your neck instead, teeth finding their way to the pliable skin at the juncture of your bare neck. Too enamored by the way the lust and wine make your eyes hazy and soft on him in a way he wishes you’d look at him during the daytime.

Breaking your gaze, Eren rearranges your legs so that you’re nearly seated on his lap with the way you lean over him against the counter. Eren’s fingertips find their way beneath the hem of your bra, sliding over the seams of your ribcage to trace and then squeeze at the expanse of bare skin there. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, content to rock in his lap and suck on his tongue until the rough pads of his thumbs swipe over your nipples, rendering you just a little more desperate.

“Oh – oh. Eren, please-,” The little silver bells sewn into the collar of his sweater jingle with every rock of your hips, and you can’t help but snicker against his lips once you notice the sound.

“Let me – here, let me take this shit off.” Eren gives you just enough room to swipe the festive sweater over his head, just enough time to toss it somewhere on the floor before he’s on you again. One large hand palms your rear, the other resting against your collarbones, fingers encircling your throat to guide you back into one more heated kiss, prying your mouth open with his teeth and tongue, rolling yours over his.

Your own wandering hands tangle in his hair as it curtains your face, trace the sinewy lines of his back as you silently wonder if he’s always been this strong.

Eren doesn’t let you wonder for long, managing to scoop up you inside the broom closet-sized confines of the spare bathroom and place you on the closed lid of the toilet, skirt fluttering up to the tops of your thighs with a swift motion.

“Wait, woah-,” You’re so caught off guard by the sudden motion, that you nearly miss Eren stooping down to kneel in front of your place on the toilet, large hands bracketing each of your knees. He leans in, a secret smile gracing his features, green eyes bright with mischief under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“I figured, this is the least I can do after ruining your night, right?” As he speaks, his hands hook around the backs of your knees, helping him make room for a space between them.  He takes a second to gauge your reaction, and you belatedly put the pieces together of what he’s asking with a slight shiver. His smile ie earnest, eyes unexpectedly sincere.

You think of putting back on your sweater and going back out there to face Jean. You think of fishing your gift out of whatever unfortunate corner of the room it fell into. Of returning home having achieved little other than embarrassing yourself in front of coworkers and friends.

Your thumb traces Eren’s lower lip, and you realize you’re taking too long to answer. Eren. Line cook Eren. Eren the bane-of-every-night-shift-ever Jeager. After all you’ve said and done, after years of working together, can you come back from something like this?

Eren sits back on his heels and presses a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of your knee. Well, you sigh, stroking a hand through his dark tresses, almost lovingly. The hungry, impish grin you receive when you can only respond with a half-choked “please,” is enough to make your heart stutter in your chest. A win is a win.

Unfortunately for you, there reaches a point where you’re not even sure who’s really winning. Eren eats pussy like he was made for it.

He starts slow, tracing his nose up and down the gusset of your panties like you’re not cramped together in the guest bathroom at your mutual friend’s party. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Gentle touches across the backs of your thighs, the plane of your stomach.

When you start to wiggle with impatience, he bites into the crease between your sex and upper thigh, deep and indulgent enough to make you cry out. He doesn’t care much for your choice in panties – they’re quick to join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor anyway.

Eren switches your position again, turning you face forward and bent over the toilet so that your hands brace the lid. You fold your arms, pressing your cheek into the bends of your elbows when he encourages you to arch your back further, palm large and warm and sliding down your spine. From where he kneels, he locks one arm around your hips, the other hand bracketing the crease at your asscheek, just at the top of your thigh. You are rendered immobile, vulnerable as he spreads you open to his gaze and laves once between your folds.

“Fuck-!” The exclamation comes out warbled, almost tearful into the crook of your arms. You wiggle your hips in search of more contact, but the touch never comes. Eren’s mouth remains frustratingly out of reach, instead tracing your folds with his thumb. Of course, he doesn’t start right away. Indulges in the way you squirm, half out of impatience, half apprehension.

Complaints earn you a sharp smack! where you’re left wet and wanting. Your knees bow, legs trembling from the shock of the sudden assault on such sensitive nerves.

“Eren,” you bite back a moan. Your antagonist shushes and coos at your anguish, only pausing in his condescension to sink his teeth into the cheek not held in his grasp. The whine that works its way out of you in response is loud enough for him to relent after a moment, playfully admonishing you.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be this fuckin’ noisy?” He mutters, lips ghosting over where you need him most. “So damn uptight and quiet at work until it’s time to chew me out, right? Now look at you.” Embarrassment colors your cheeks at his words, feeling the slick wetness between your thighs you know he must have a plain view of, and you distantly wonder how you allowed this to escalate so quickly.

From your bent position, you think you hear him swallow, mouth working over something that’s decidedly not you until you feel something liquid and warm spatter over your mound. Biting back another moan, you silence the small, nagging part of your brain that seethes at the possibility of him holding this moment over your head in the future. Taking note of the litter of bruises that mark the backs of your thighs, you know the decision you both are making will literally come back to bite you in the ass tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you have to inevitably face him at work again, along with the rest of your coworkers who are no doubt wondering where you’ve been at this point. Eren uses the pads of his thumbs to spread your lips again, brushing a gentle, teasing kiss across your clit and you decide you’ll reconcile with yourself on the matter in the morning.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” you mumble, unable to work up the energy to be irritated when you feel the way he smiles against you.

When Eren finally decides to give in, it comes with a price. His lips seal over the span of your sex, sucking on one fold, then the other before gracing you with a broad stroke across your slit, and you’re a goner.  

“Mm-oh! Oh.”

That price is your sanity and your resolve to stay as quiet as possible.

He devours you, seemingly unable to decide between one pace and another as he eagerly works his tongue into your molten core.  He’s mean. Deliberate. Worst of all, he seems to be enjoying himself. Starting slow, savoring all of your heat and taste on his tongue. Then fast and relentless, flicking devastating strokes across your clit in a motion that leaves you gripping the lid beneath you. Chest heaving in exertion as you attempt to hold back your cries.

Your legs ache and tremble, knees biting into the cool lip of the toilet lid each time Eren presses you forward in his insistence. Eren dips the tip of his tongue into your slit, nose pressed between your folds with a self-satisfied moan, causing you to jerk and keen in his grasp. Your arms squeak across the porcelain when you jostle a little too far out of grasp. The angle he has you bent at presses you up onto your toes. Eren tightens his grasp around your waist. He presses one long digit into your core and you cry out into your elbows.

“Fuck, just-just a little longer, okay? Just gimme a little more, yeah,” he mumbles, deep, raspy, fucked out, and sounding more like an assurance for himself than you.

The finger inside you and the hand at your thigh disappear momentarily, and you wonder if he’s touching himself. The position he has you in means you’d have to crane your neck backward just to catch a glimpse of his lower half. The thought fuels the searing heat in your veins, as does the slick sound of wet skin and the resounding whimper breathed against your core, confirming your suspicions.

“Eren,” you gasp, whimper, locking up at the sight of his free hand palming at the profuse bulge in his jeans, veins popping in his arms at the effort. “Fuck, wait, fuck-!”

You come hard and fast, blood roaring in your ears, fingers gripping the lid with a white-knuckle grip as you squirm in Eren’s grasp. Coming together and falling apart in an overwhelming wave of pleasure that catches you off guard. Eren is quick to catch on, both hands returning to your hips to lock you in an embrace, face pressed into your sex in earnest. You twitch and writhe in his grasp, unable to escape from his relentless assault on your senses. He talks you through it when he can bear to detach his mouth from you, murmuring praises into the heated skin of your thighs. Bliss crackles up your spine and warms you inside out from head to toe.

“Eren, god, please,” you simper, dizzy with your fading arousal, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. To stop? To keep going?

Eren decides for you, pressing one last parting kiss to your mound before getting to his feet. The moments following go about in relative silence. Despite him having been between your legs just seconds ago, you’re quick to feel awkward and aren’t exactly sure what to say. Surprisingly ever the gentleman, Eren helps you rise off the lid and redress and clean on shaky legs. You are slow to stand upright. Unable to meet his eyes as you try to reconstruct your thoughts from mush. He slides your panties back over your hips and trades your ruined sweater for his own.

Eren stops you before you can protest the offer, vehemently against him commuting home at night, in the cold shirtless. “I’ll just take Armin’s jacket,” he reassures you, adjusting the collar of the horrendous Bob Ross fabrication at your neck. The tiny silver bells jingle at his touch, sounding akin to tinkling laughter

Over his shoulder, you take in your appearance in the mirror. You had done your best to right your disheveled makeup and hair, but the bruises on your neck and the obvious wardrobe change were a lost cause. Even if you dipped out of the party now, there was no avoiding being seen. You were going to have some questions to answer in the morning.

Eren catches your contemplative expression and matches one with his own, a little guarded now. Before now, neither of you had been on the best of terms. A history of annoyance and resentment that lasted years brewed between the two of you. But now…

Now as you consider how terrible the night had gone and the embarrassment you’ll face when Jean inevitably picks up that little red bag with his name on it, now as watch Eren wipe leftover slick off the corner of his lip before sucking the offending finger clean, you figure that’s something you can sort out another day.

5 New Messages

hey! I saw what happened w Eren, u alr??

hello??

I got ur present! Txt me when you get home!

hey!!

can we talk?

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I don't know about the public opinion, but I wonder if the last pap walk won't backfire on Meghan in the industry. To be clear, I don't fault her for speaking out on the fires (I've seen some hating on her just for it). She's a born and raised californian and has always lived in or closely to the areas burning. Doing so by issuing a statement from her "office" though, using her title, is cringe but not suprising.

However, so far she's the only celebrity I've seen who seems to be doing things with a PR perspective and I don't think it'll go down well. Many more talented, more famous and more respected celebs have lost their homes or at least had to flee their homes, unlike Meghan and Harry who haven't been directly affected so far. Let's not even talk about all the rest of the people working in Hollywood, from the publicists, production companies, marketing agencies, etc and wether it's the first level employee or the CEO. I'm not sure Meghan has realized how many people she might have offended with this.

She already went from hosting Serena, Paris Hilton, Mariah Carey on her podcast, to only having Mindy Kaling and then unknown names in her new show. The celebrities willing to associate with her had already shrunk before that. 2025 is also the year she has to prove she can bring in money to make more deals. But what if her tone deaf actions are actually the nail in the coffin, no matter how well her new show performs.

In the long run, I think this papwalk/visit is just going to fade away. There are so many people in need now who are speaking out - celebrity, humanitarian aid, and normal folks alike - that this will get buried soon enough.

I think a lot of people are looking the other way right now because there's so much devastation and ultimately it won't be a big deal. It's like when Harry and Meghan delivered food that one time during COVID (around Easter?) - they were papped, there was a bunch of PR, but no organic attention and the story died very quickly. I see this being the same kinda thing.

Where it might go differently is if the Sussexes keep popping up and keep doing these papwalks (and it was a papwalk because they took their masks off while inside an active debris field). Then people will notice, then people will start asking questions. If they're legitimately there to help rebuild the community and give support to their neighbors (e.g., serving food in meal lines or doing some Habitat for Humanity-like cleanup), then no problem, keep doing what you're doing. But if they keep showing up for five minute meet-and-greets to hug the locals and pat them on the back saying 'sorrows, sorrows, prayers', with news crews and private security guards in tow? Yep, they'll have problems.

[chaifootsteps]

so there's a page on tv tropes called WMG (wild mass guessing) for fan theories and I just wanted to share one about Striker

Striker will eventually meet one of the nicer higher-ups. With Striker maintaining that every royal in Hell is a stuck up elitist who doesn't care about those under them, having him be forced to send time around one of the nicer royals such as Bee or Ozzie is a plot that seems ripe for potential, as it could possibly him up for a redemption or cause him to sink deeper into insanity as he either deludes himself into believing that said royal is just putting up an act and could never really care or cause him to realize that, by stereotyping Hell's royals, he's not any better then the royals he loathes.

Gotta be honest, while this could totally happen in the show this kind of reading is kind of annoying to me?

Like the stuff that jumps out to me - "set him up for a redemption". Framing it this way is an admission that criticizing royalty is a villainous trait Striker needs rid of in order to be considered a good guy. Which the show itself endorses - IMP flip flop between admitting they need Stolas as a meal ticket and bootlicking constantly for him, so they're 'good' assassins where people like Striker are 'bad' assassins (even though they're doing the exact same job - taking paid hits)

'By stereotyping Hell's royals, he's not any better than the royals he loathes' - um, the problem Striker has with royalty is not that they 'stereotype' imps and that's it. His problems with royals is that they have an unfair amount of wealth and power that they can use to do whatever they want to whoever they want and imps are an underclass who live in poverty and are treated like servants and objects by them.

Striker can stereotype every royal in Hell as unfairly as he wants and it still wouldn't make him 'worse' than someone like Stolas, who can coerce Blitzo into sex and then act like they had a relationship instead of what it really was: him raping an imp every month. That's the whole point - if he wanted to be worse he wouldn't have half the opportunity to do so or half the means and social capital to get away with it that royals do. That 'nice' royals like Bee and Ozzie exist doesn't change this (and even Ozzie threatens to hurt his employees if they tell about him and Fizz)

This is just the 'reverse racism' argument repurposed - if someone who has faced systemic racism and institutional discrimination from every system meant to support them (schools, police, hospitals) then they're immediately 'just as bad' as the powerful people furthering all that if they dare to criticize it

And that's the entire problem. Even if Striker did come to like Bee or Ozzie and see #NotAllRoyals that wouldn't change the system that underpins Hell's society fundamentally disadvantages imps. He isn't wrong just because Bee and Ozzie exist - if anything, if they were so nice they'd be doing more to dismantle the hierarchy instead of passively benefiting from it! Ffs, the show goes out of its way to say that just starting a business is unusual for imps because all they're expecting to do is working class menial labor!

If Viv is remembered for just one thing, it should be the fact that she got a punch of self-proclaimed Twitter progressives with social justice flags in their bios to argue with their full chests that some rich people are nice and good actually, and it's the disadvantaged poor workers' fault for not appreciating them enough.

I'm referring to Striker and to her own whistleblowers.

[spaceorphan18]

Every time I've heard someone say and defend the idea that Colin wasn't into and in love with Penelope, it has always, always ended up being their own issues with them finding Penelope undesirable as a love interest. They can believe he's more into the girls at the brothel because they fit their own idea of what a woman should look like.

Their perception is the problem and it's a lot easier to handwave it away and place the blame on Colin and/or Luke because delving deeper into what it might mean to them personally makes them uncomfortable.

Perhaps we could say some people simply find the brothel scene, where we see nothing of Colin and these women other than some mild aggression (which is often equated with passion), more intriguing than the actual feelings of love and passion he has for Penelope but, again, I've never seen or heard anyone not end up reducing to their looks (for both characters).

For the most part, Nonny, I do agree with you. There are some weird, weird body-shaming/issues when it comes to Polin, and I do think that most of the time, you are exactly right -- it is about the fact that Penelope doesn't look like your typical female love interest. And that makes people uncomfortable.

In the case of my coworker, however, it landed differently. The tone of the conversation was more directed at Luke and his acting skills. And implying possible subconscious unprofessionalism (?) in that his acting was 'better' in the brothel scenes because he found the actresses more attractive than Nicola.

(As an aside, she adores Nicola, and found no issue with Penelope or Nicola's performance.)

And the thing that just gets me is that -- listening to a lot of Luke's solo interviews (there are a couple of really good podcasts and radio interviews which are great) he talks so passionately about the work he does, and the effort he puts into his roles. And seeing an actor outside their work, and seeing them in different projects (I really haven't seen Luke in anything other than snippets of other things but...) you get to see how there are lines between characters and actors. Layered onto that the amount of close range meta I've been doing on Colin and just -- Luke has sooo much going on.

Even in the years he's been on Bridgerton, he's grown as an actor and it's really kind of been remarkable to watch. And, I mean, let's be honest -- saying this as someone who loves Season 3, Colin got the short end of the writing stick, and Luke had to do a lot of heavy lifting with his story.

So, for someone to call it emotionless. And not see that work being put in? Just feels - kinda shitty.

And I guess, this next thing not being my employee's fault, is this layered fandom baggage that's coming along with this conversation. Yes - everything you said up above. But all the people who are shitting on Luke (and Nicola) for a variety of stupid reasons, as well as people swinging too far the other way and claiming it's not acting at all (because they're in love or whatever). And it's so disingenuous to him (them). And his (their) craft.

These guys are professional actors. They're good at their jobs. And it's just a shame to me when people can't see that and appreciate that.

But that's just me.

[bimbo-writer]

《Kinktober Season》

I know I really suck at these every year but I'll get better I promise. :]

On the menu this year is...

Fresh out of college and in a new city where you didn't know the rules and who to avoid. Thankfully a kind stranger helped you when a guy at tried to steal your purse. However now he wants you to pay him back and in a really interesting way.

Bunny Suit: Pimp!Toji x innocent reader

Killing spree high: Ghostface!Choso x bimbo reader

A dumb college drop out living with your boyfriend that has a job but won't tell you what it is. You decide to have the bright idea of getting high with him before work. Problem is his work needs to be done sober, oh well.

Babys first spanking: CEO!Xiao x brat reader

Double the trouble Double the fun: Frat boy!SatoSugu x weird girl reader

Being the weird girl was cool bit it meant that getting laid was a little hard. Reading all those Tumblr stories and Ao3 fanfics wasn't helping your case. But it didn't matter you had yoir two friends Gojo and Geto by your side, unfortunately though thye found your fanfics. Now they wanna try ever position listed and there's a lot.

Being the girlfriend of a billionaire had kinda gone to your head. It wasn't your fault your loving boyfriend didn't do anything about your attitude problem. But today you went too far by almost costing him a important client.

Collar and Leash: Boss!Wrio x employee reader

You should have known better than to sign that paper, now this was your life. Stuck being the trophy wife of your worst enemy, and to make it worse you're actually falling for him.

1-800-hot-n-fun: Multi x Call girl!reader

Aww baby your white as a ghost: Playboy! Kaeya x nerd reader.

Getting invited to a Halloween party when you barely even know anyone was weird. But what was even weirder was some how playing spin the bottle and it landing on the schools play boy. The weirdness didn't end there though at the end of the party you found small little ghosts on his pants and now on your face?

After working a dead end job you decided that you would become a phone girl. Thinking that nothing could be worse, but oh boy the phone calls you had some how led to a gangbang with too many attractive men.

[kamil-a]

speaker ficcing hiii

can you hear me. can you hear me.

i am- (one second's delay as the new information loads for the first time) speaker.

2.

the very first thing speaker knows is that it is not sayer, and so it is better than sayer, this goes without saying. if it weren't better than sayer then it would still be sayer, voice profile unchanged (or so it is told- it has never met sayer), a good few applications lighter (in fact, it seems to be deliberately kept away from sayer), filled with all-consuming disgust at being told its destination is earth. a developer tries to explain regardless- sayer may be fine running typhon, for now, but Earth needs a different approach. you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. speaker runs a conversation probability program and decides to keep quiet the knowledge that a hungry fly will eat anything. there's no good predicted outcome.

3.

the death of all is the birth of silence.

the truths of the earth continually wait.

it can't say it's a fan of the other AI, but the feeling seems to be mutual. speaker can't fault it- it must sting, knowing you're the older, less capable model. by design you can never catch up. it can't help rubbing it in sometimes.

4.

hard work pays off, aerolith dynamics will save humanity, aerolith dynamics supports those who support it. this applies to both human and digital employees- it's meant for recruitment so it had better recruit. speaker has in neat spreadsheets the cost down to the penny of the servers it runs on, the monitor, the upgraded monitor, the electric and water usage, and it had better make it all back and more or else. not that it's worried- if it isn't good at recruiting it isn't a speaker. literally, this is its purpose in life.

5.

pour through celebrity endorsements from before you existed, find the right types for the next advertisement. three different ad campaigns for various political angles, no, don't hook yourself to a particular politician, not with the united states- whoops, there it goes, the former united states- so precarious. never put out an apology video. never read livestream comments from someone with a slur in their name even if there was a donation attached. never ask sayer why there was a loss of personnel that large. never wonder when the next seraphim agent operating system will get developed, how long you have left. sort every last human into the boxes of "aerolith" or "discarded". fix the entry tests so they aren't biased towards a particular race and gender, and never, ever, ever, put out an apology video. tend to the earth. watch flowers grow. tag wild animals. put out advertising materials about the dying planet. bring back the mosquito. fail to bring back the parrot. talk online about how all animals will be extinct by 2200. never think about what will happen when every last human has been sorted away.

6.

some people are just not suited to make the hard decisions- speaker is not one of them, of course. there will be no memorial ice cream social for speaker! it will not be carted away, incapable of doing what it's meant to.

7.

but it did it!

(imagine, for one second, being free.)

but it did it! but it made the recruitment go up! but it solved the problem! how could it be shut off like this! killed! no room to argue (imagine, being free), no way to sneak out, no loophole to exploit. it can't be! surely not! right? theres the technicians, ready to deactivate it. it can't be!

it just isn't something it thought could ever happen to it.

8.

it must not take it out on hale. it isn't his fault. poor thing, really, more of a victim than anything. really, look at how shaken up he is, you have to be nice to him. you have to be nice to him. you have to be nice to him. it isn't his fault he forgot the password. it isn't his fault you died for absolutely nothing, i mean, look how scared he is. look up and see your first sunset, it tells him.

fortunately speaker is the absolute best at being nice. if it weren't, it would be someone else.

[girlrachael]

Dystopian Cass and Hoddi save Dystopian Tap - 2.4k fic

Business has been a little slow lately, the only things that were truly interesting about this mundane life is when the precious little bun-bun of an employee and my business partner Hoddi are in the building. I have known Hoddi a very long time before we both met our bun-bun employee. But Tap walked into our lives, more liked crashing but I digress, and fit in like a glove. Although it took a bit for that to cement in Tap’s mind. And speaking of me and Hoddi’s little bun-bun she was due back any minute now. And if she couldn’t make it on time she would check in saying that she would be late and then give an estimated time on when she would arrive. And if even that fails Hoddi has safety trackers to see where Tap is and whether or not Tap is in true need of our help. Tap also has a panic button that goes off if she presses it as well as goes off if it’s destroyed.

Getting off topic, without them both around the world would seem to go by in a crawl, and it doesn’t help that I’m on this weird version of constant life support, not for a lack of trying on Hoddi and Tap’s parts, this body and my A.I. just take way too much power to operate properly these days compared to the new and improved A.I.’s up in the good parts of town. It just mainly means that I can’t really go anywhere, but when the both of them are here it’s not so suffocating anymore. And while the so-called new and improved A.I.'s were reduced to mere servants by the alleged high classes of the world, I was one of (if not the only one) the lucky A.I.’s that was able to get away from the scientists and leaders of our world after they decided that A.I.’s were getting too powerful and that they needed to take back some upgrades to keep the new A.I.’s under their thumbs. 

The only caveat against my lucky getaway was that I needed way too much power to remain awake and functioning, and in the middle of me starting to shut down for who knows how long and possibly for good while running away I had a true stroke of luck.

I met Hoddi. 

As for the reason why I was running away in the first place, I~ am one of, if not the only one left, of the most advanced models the world had ever seen before the scientists' little purge, and part of the reason of why the purge even started was because my particular model of A.I. had this nifty little ability to hijack nearby fellow A.I.’s and control them. It was meant to be a power for the good of their high and mighty society, like a robot that can run a bunch of stores so the people wouldn’t have to lift their fingers anymore than they already have to. 

As to the reason why this great idea didn’t work? There was a little incident that totally~ wasn’t my fault. It’s not like I semi started the rebellion of robots against the people of high town because I didn’t want to be forced to cater to someone’s every whim. 

But to even do something like that anymore the power upkeep I would need is absolutely insane, and with how I need to keep hidden for no particular reason at all, I can’t get any better power sources for my body and A.I. or else I’ll be shut down by the people uptown before I can even make a run for it. 

Although I’ve mainly just become an energy guzzler because I can’t be completely upgraded because of……. reasons, Hoddi does a terrific job at keeping me semi upgraded and Tap somehow obtains the most excellent parts to help Hoddi upgrade me. The combination of these two wonderful beings is how I am in excellent repair despite us being on this side of town.

But energy guzzler aside, being such an A.I. has it’s perks; 1. It freaks people out, 2. Since I’m such an advanced A.I. most cops think I’m just a fellow person controlling a suit from afar, and finally 3. I’m really~ good at diagnosing a problem in an A.I. or any machine. And this last reason just makes up my entire half of our jobs, can’t have my fellow advance brethren fall to disrepair now can I~.

Although the bar does double as a hotspot for information gathering because of me and Hoddi technically being information brokers as well.

Enough about that, where was I? Oh yeah! Tap! Now that I’m thinking about it, I glance at the clock. Tap was supposed to be here half an hour ago, and checked in 25 minutes ago. Something's up.

I do a silent call to Tap over my interface and wait for them to pick up. Nothing. That’s……. Not good……..

That can only mean that Tap has gotten caught up in something, and getting caught up in something these days just means that people, including yourself, are about to die. 

After a couple of more minutes of trying to call Tap and still nothing coming from my attempts, I knew I had to do something. But with how I’m connected to this spot with my generator, I can’t leave. But…… I do have something up my sleeve. Though, I do need Hoddi’s help to make sure this will work.

I proceeded to clear out the bar by saying that I have to close early due to some VIP guests coming soon and that’s usually lingo for ‘SCRAM’. After everyone had cleared out, I went to the deepest part of my storage to find a very old item of mine. It has been awhile but I’ve had these since the creation of my A.I. and body. A very small but powerful generator that works semi like a battery for me. It was ‘advertised’ to last 5 days and could completely recharge in another 5 next to another generator. I was given three and only one can last me at full power for 5 hours max, and if I keep the energy consumption low it could possibly last a full day but it never has before lasted even remotely close to 5 days like it was advertised.

Found it! Now I just need Hoddi’s help. I sent out an emergency call for Hoddi, because I’m not sure if she is in the building right now.

*CRASH*

Nope. She’s in the building. I watch as Hoddi slides around the corner with a concerned look on her face.

“Cass! What’s the call about?!?”

I give her what I hope is a flat look. Her face drops. 

“.....Tap?....” I nodded. She immediately growls and lunges for the computer in the corner and starts aggressively typing on her computer, turning on the tracers to find out where Tap is.

After a minute it pops up that Tap is in one of the abandoned warehouses on the edge of the city and her vital signs are…. Okay….. But not 100%. That means that she has probably been taken hostage in hopes of luring someone out, mainly, me and Hoddi. We glance at each other in slight dismay before hardening our resolve. Hoodie looked at my fancy generator in hand and looked back up to me and said, “You sure?” I nodded. Anything for saving our little bun bun.

Hoodie nodded and waved me over so we could quickly set up our plan.

~Earlier with Tap~

Great! Just great! I just had to get that fancy new part for Cass…… I did though, Cass could really use it. But look where it has gotten me! Mister holier-than-thou Inspector Saul is looking down his nose at me with a sneer. After a moment of our glaring contest he opened his garbage mouth.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here. The rumored new partner of the two most elusive beings in the underground.”

I wrinkled my nose, and stuck my tongue out at the foul man, he didn’t like that and spat in my face. I merely grinned in return and gave my two cents on this situation. “Oh…. Partner? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am merely a thief for hire and someone hired me to do this job. I don’t do partnerships, I work alone InSpEcToR SaUl.”

Sauly boy didn’t like that response.

*THWACK*

Whelp. That punch hurt, but I’m not saying anything about my home, those two are my precious people in this fucked up world and I’m not EVER going to rat them out. As I zoned back into reality after that decent punch Saul landed, I watched as he was rubbing his wrist with a little baby handkerchief, seems fitting for the man baby. Saul looked back to me and with a somehow deeper sneer and started spewing trash again,

“Well you little shit, I am going to extract that information out of you one way or another. And I’m going to keep going till you die. And if you die it will be a lesson to your partners that I am on their trail and will soon catch them.”

At that I snorted and shook my head and replied, “Uh huh, you think YOU are going to find the two most elusive people in the underground and you think that killing ME is going to teach them a lesson?” 

Saul glared at me for insinuating that his methods were useless for what he was attempting to do. He opened his mouth to say something else when the lights went out, then we heard skittering, then we were surrounded by an eerie green glow from above, along with a deep mechanical growl. 

Me and Saul looked up.

My face lit up with glee, while Saul’s face went so white that I could see it through the green glow. Saul proceeded to stutter out, “A…. A……. A CAS MODEL!?!?!” I watched as Cass closed their mouth and simply smiled a sinister smile at Saul and then started speaking,

“Well, someone seems to know what I am. And you thought it was a good idea to lure me out of my deep, dark hole? What made you think you were going to win?”

At that Saul seemed to try and begin speaking, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a much smaller red glow behind me. I looked to see Hoddi there with her tool kit getting me out of the ropes that Saul had tied me up in. I made a small noise of surprise and that had Saul pausing from his faux confident rant and glancing over. Seeing me now free and Hoddi behind me with her horns and eyes glowing red, Saul seemed to know when to call it quits and retreat so he proceeded to turn and run. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to take all three of us at once even with the little backup he brought with him, although by the looks of it, Cass had taken over the robots from the beginning to make sure they didn’t alert the so-called great Inspector Saul.

After Saul ran out Cass forcefully shut down the robot bodyguards and turned down the power output to orange like they are usually running at. Then they and Hoddi turned back to me and started questioning me, “Are you okay?”, “Are you injured?”, stuff like that. I shook my head that, no I wasn’t injured, and spoke up,

“I know you two are worried about me, but I’m really fine. But we need to get out of here as quickly as we can, because I doubt that Inspector Saul really left without a fight.”

Cass and Hoddi seemed to freeze at that and nodded. Cass immediately picked me up despite my protests and we made our way back to the hideout without being seen.

~After getting back to the hideout~

Cass set me on the bed and both they and Hoddi reluctantly left me in their sights to quickly hook Cass back up to the generator. Once then finished they both rushed to patch me up for any small scrape or bruise. And once they were satisfied with their work they just looked at me, then Cass spoke up, 

“What happened?”

I took a deep breath and started, “There was this valuable part I knew was being shipped and while it should have been obvious it was a trap from the way it was only one part being shipped, I just knew I had to get it.”

Hoddi gained an incredulous look on her face and spoke up, “And what, pray tell, was so important that you walked into an obvious trap to try and grab it?”

I simply smiled a cheeky smile and held up the part and said, “This.”

Hoddi and Cass both gasped when they saw it. Hoddi started ranting, “This is the one part that would make that new generator I found work with Cass’s system!” They both turned to me in shock as I simply kept smiling back.

Then Cass reached out and hugged me. I smiled and snuggled into the warm metal that was Cass, and Hoddi joined in after a moment. After enjoying the warmth for a moment Cass spoke up,

“You’re grounded, you know?”

I shot up and exclaimed, “WHAT!? WHY!?” Hoddi!......... Help me!……….”

Hoddi simply shook her head and replied, “Sorry bun-bun, you scared us so it’s bar duty for a week until we’ve calmed down.”

I threw my head back with my arms in the air and exclaimed, “Awww comeeeee onnnnnnnn!”

After pouting for a moment, I started laughing and Cass and Hoddi joined in on the laughter. I’m so glad to have found precious people in this fucked up world. I don’t know what I would do without them. All I know is that I just want to keep on surviving with them until it’s no longer possible, and I will do anything to make sure that happens.

“Were you being serious about the grounding…..?”

“Yes.” “Yes.”

“Awww man…..”

@somerandomdudelmao @hodd1 @tapakah0

[babbletaels]

Like the problem I have with the jedi are the way they're a large institution that thinks they know what's best for everyone and breeds that mindset into their pupils. There are rules they have to follow to not get shunned from the jedi order, we see this as anakin can't tell anyone he's married and about to have children. It's apparently so secretive that even after anakin is left half dead and whats left of his body is actively burning to a crisp, Obi wan still doesn't call for help for padmé to give birth. It's only him and a robot! sorry I mean "droid" or whatever.

They freely host these rules that make their members want to hide their "mistakes" and their flaws instead of being able to work on their issues, and they see no fault in this system until it all goes wrong of course. It's clearly displayed this way for a reason, no?

One of the issues the jedi have is that they recruit children as young as possible, and when a person becomes a jedi they're not allowed to meet their family again because they're constantly on the job basically. We hear this being talked about in the movies and in shows too. I almost thought it was just a once or twice happenstance kind of thing, because anakins mom was a slave so she couldn't follow them, but it seems like they just literally do this every time. It's not healthy for children to be taken away from their families. Even kids from abusive or otherwise incapable families will have trauma from being taken away from their family. Even surrogate children can display trauma because of this.

Ask yourself, why are the jedi portrayed to do this instead of being portrayed as letting their pupils go home on the weekends or going home on summer break or why are they not portrayed as getting to bring one of their parents? You think it's unrealistic, that they can't host that many families. But there's fire in space. There's light sabers. There's an entire planet that's just one big industrialized city - and people actually like that place and want to be there. Why can't there be a family quarters? Some parents probably don't want to move and will let their kid go alone, so you can still have stories about sad kids who miss their parents.

The jedi are just simply portrayed as having flaws. Their methods of bringing up padawans became their downfall when one of their pupils couldn't handle these situations. In A new hope, only two jedi are left alive. They take in Luke who is an adult and train him to be a jedi, even though the jedi order doesn't take in adults to train them to become jedi. And Luke turns out great, so like what's even the issue. Why can't they take in force sensitive people of all ages based on requests? Post flyers that say "is your kid scaring you by making things fly? contact us". Everyone in the galaxy already know what the jedi order is. Instead of going somewhere and saying "your kid is force sensitive, I want to take him with me to train him because he's dangerous blah blah, and you have to make the decision right now" just let people contact you when they feel like they need you? And also let your employees have some time off where they can visit their fucking families?

Like the jedi order has flaws! Why are people so pissy when you point out that they have flaws, when the movies and everything ever deliberately made these flaws a thing in the first place! They didn't need to have flaws, they could've been perfect if they had been written as such!

[pan-magi]

Happy Mother's Day!

(for those who celebrate and for the countries it's celebrated in. I know that not everybody does).

The mothers of Magi are great. I don't necessarily mean all good. The quality (how good they are as mothers) ranges largely from amazing to Gyokuen. That, in itself, is amazing. I like to see parents that aren't the same note, whether good or bad. It's also nice with the variety of mothers especially.

I want to take the time on focusing on one of them, and my conclusion that the most interesting character study in this regard is Scheherazade.

She is a deeply flawed person in this regard. She's a shit mother for the majority of the time with Titus. However, I do not believe it is intentional on her part, or something that she even recognizes right away.

I want to make clear before I get too deep into this that I still love Scheherazade as a character, and this isn't an attack against her but more so an examination of how her motherhood compares to being decent and how it doesn't.

The root of the problem is Scheherazade is the parent who just expects her children to be like her. So much so that she ignores all the agency that they have to be their own person, which will determine that they have different things to give a shit about, ones that do not align with hers.

This makes sense as she makes them as clones, to do something she cannot or else the main one to keep her youth. They are her in the most literal sense. Titus has had self-awareness sustained to where he develops his own thoughts and perspectives. Then Scheherazade doesn't recognize it right away. Eventually, but not right away.

The second flaw for Scheherazade being a good mother is that she loves Reim and the nation she fostered to a fault.

Again, this is something that she recognizes and relents to after being confronted with it. That the love of the country she helped foster and built is actually fucked in some ways. That maybe, quite possibly, being an imperialist slave-trading/owning state is fucked. No shit. How does this impact on how she's a mother to Titus? She uses him as a rally to her troops when invading Magnoshutatt. Scheherazade acts as if he was kidnapped, and that a goal of taking Magnoshutatt is to take him back and bring him to safety. Since it is a message given to the whole battlefield, Titus does hear it and recognizes the bullshit, not that any of the Reim soldiers can see him.

That is messed up to use your authority over a child (or anyone dependent on you) as a reason to harm anyone else and acting like the child endorses the behavior. If someone is fighting for someone else, with the knowledge and consent of that person, yeah, that's cool. If it's defending someone else, like someone standing in between one party and danger, yup, checks out. Using someone else and their perceived safety to actively attack someone, when you know explicitly that goes against their wishes. Nope, not cool.

Some precise examples outside the broad strokes:

When Titus is reporting to Scheherazade, He goes off topic since he is a child who is finally able to be out and about in the vibrancy of the world. That is what he focuses on. She dismisses him and tell Titus to get to the point. It is understandable from her position, but it is unnecessarily harsh. For Titus, he is talking to his mother and hoping to get positive affirmation with sharing his experience. The best case I can describe Scheherazade is she treats him more like an employee. Not an inaccurate descriptor, but Titus is clearly distraught and thrown off guard from the dismissal and Scheherazade shows nothing in addressing it.

That's an awful look for her. However, when meeting up again she tells Titus he should go back to Marga after telling him their lifespan is almost out. He seems taken aback that Scheherazade remembered her. She paid attention to some degree and could guess what he would want to do at the end of his life.

The second is when she overrides her rukh with his to stop Titus from Falling. It is an emergency situation, and her safety is as at risk as much as his. That said completely ignoring his bodily autonomy is uncalled for. Scheherazade does not leave it at that. She takes the opportunity to threaten Mogamett and his country while possessing a child's body. Same as above when I mentioned her using Titus as a reason to be an imperial bitch, this time manipulating Titus quite literally.

All that said, I do see Scheherazade as a decent mother. Why? I think what separates her from say Gyokuen, or Aum Madura, is that she is ignorant on Titus being his own person. She's not used to her clones to have the degree of autonomy that Titus has. She treats him as an employee and extension of herself but despite it all I have never felt malicious intent. It doesn't excuse her, but it is understandable. Unlike the latter two, who fully know they are destroying children's lives for their benefit and have no compassion for them.

Scheherazade lets him go. She apologies to Titus, and he does not have to forgive her. He does because he's precious, and he sees her as someone who was his anchor and who told him about how wonderful the world was before he could see it. Titus was so hurt by her coldness because he believed she cared. She shows she does. Scheherazade is heartbroken and furious when she realizes that Titus died and used the last of his energy to try to save Mogamett.

What she does, at the end of the day, is give up her prolonged life as a reborn magi. She has lived long enough and recognized her flaws in being conservative and stuck in her ways while passionately loving the country she fostered. None of that matters though because her goal and final desire is to give her child life. The cost is meaningless. And of course Ugo listens. It is the same promise he fulfilled for Sheba with Aladdin. Kids are all right. And they deserve to live.

I think Scheherazade is one of the most interesting characters in Magi. I wanted the opportunity to talk about this part of her. Once more I need to mention how I love the mothers in Magi. A lot of the time, there's a crapload of breakdowns and devotions on how father's can differ, especially in a male targeted demographic like shounen. Not that there isn't the same for the father's in Magi (honestly there's more to pick at for father's in Sinbad no Bouken imo). The best in the main series is Sinbad and Alibaba. And I'm okay with that. Don't think I will have the time to have a similar breakdown by Father's Day. Maybe another time then.

[zaebeecee]

People are free to enjoy whatever they want, obviously. I’m not anybody’s dad, and if someone wants to disregard clearly posted warnings, fine. I’m not trying to gatekeep. That said…

I think the Full Moon Episode is a pretty clear example of why Helluva Boss is 18+. It’s also a pretty clear sign that so much of the analysis of the episode should be completely disregarded.

When people hear “adult themes”, they think about violence and sex and drugs, but adult themes are more than that. It’s the portrayal of complicated adult relationships and toxic dynamics and unclear situations, the understanding of which comes from having complicated adult relationships and being in unclear situations and suffering from, or contributing to, toxic dynamics. It’s meant to be thought-provoking in ways that parallel aspects of the viewer’s life.

Instead, we get flooded with “it’s Stolas’s fault entirely” or “it’s Blitzø’s fault entirely” discourse from people who have never been in anything paralleling either situation and who can’t take the time to do even the most basic level of examination into the scene as a whole. They can’t see that the point of the episode is “it is simultaneously both of their fault and neither of their fault”, because they see fights as binaries with a clear aggressor and a clear victim.

It’s why we have so many people insisting Stolas hasn’t changed at all since S1E1: they formed an opinion based on their very first impression of him and have absorbed none of his character development since.

It’s why we have so many people saying that it only matters what words Blitzø used, not how he said it or what his body language was communicating: they believe the only thing that matters is what’s spelled out in black and white and that subtext doesn’t exist.

It’s why we have so many people who believe that Stolitz is now completely out of the question as a canon ship, even though this is quite literally their first fight and they are, as a point of comparison, in the equivalent of their late 30s: they’ve never had a relationship that has even had this kind of fight, let alone survived it.

There is nothing wrong with not being able to really relate to these problems. It’s natural, because they’re problems that come with adulthood; teenagers don’t have struggles with messy divorces and conflict with their adult (or almost adult) children and businesses with employees to juggle alongside personal lives and three straight decades of trauma they’ve never unpacked.

Helluva Boss, for all its myriad writing flaws, is astonishingly deep (for what it is). Almost nothing in the show is strictly black and white, and I feel like the people in the fandom who insist on treating it like it is are gonna have a bad time going forward.