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darsynia · 4 months ago

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Forgiven (CEO Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Since dropping out of school to care for your sister, your daydream has been that a rich, handsome man will save you from drowning in debt. Until then (read: never), you’ll work hard at your new receptionist job and try not to ogle the impossibly hot construction guy working in the foyer…

Words/Warnings: 2,855 | none

As 5/7 of my Ro Roll birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, forGIVEn is a fluffy meet cute between CEO Steve and f!Freader. Gif is by @ashilesun.

Excerpt:

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.

FORGIVEN

“Thank God for the internship last summer!” your sister says (again).

“I do, I do,” you promise, looking at yourself critically in the grubby bathroom mirror. She doesn’t have to know you pick a new deity to mentally ‘thank’ every time. Today it’s Thor, because you need to bring electricity to your first day on the job.

You’re hoping to look professional but approachable for this customer-facing position, and it looks like the months of clothes thrifting before your internship last year are really paying off. Do you wish you could work in your field of choice? Sure, but working in the same company as a receptionist means you have both in-field and company knowledge. Once Jennie is back on her feet, you hope to be back on yours, too.

You step into the kitchen to check that everything is set up for your sister. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back at lunch?”

“No mother hen-ing, you promised! I’ll be fine, and you’ll need your own lunch!”

Your watch beeps that it’s time to start walking to work, so you slip into your sturdy dress shoes and give the room a final once-over. Jennie’s cooler of food is near the couch, she’s got all of the remotes, and her walker is within reach. You’ve even put a pair of crutches in the umbrella stand and lashed the damned thing to the couch so she can’t knock it over. Her charger is at hand, the blinds are down, and the end table has her morning coffee on a coaster.

“Get out or I’ll start throwing things at you and you’ll be late from having to clean them up!” your sister teases.

“I love when you nag,” you tell her, shutting the door before she can retort.

Star Industries is honestly your dream workplace, even after pausing your mechanical engineering degree to take care of Jennie. After Tony Stark and his company spun it off as a subsidiary, Star really came into its own. The company has an inspiring mission: to ensure safe, affordable prosthetics for the people who really need them. Many customers are war veterans, just like the two men in charge. The COO even has one himself.

You’d filled out your paperwork after hours, so when you walk into the building, it’s a nice surprise to see how the morning light floods the lobby. The atrium of the building is made up of a multi-storey open space lit by tall windows, with the company’s logo laid out in the tile floor right as you come in the doors. The A in the word ‘STAR’ is, of course, a star, but it’s the missing ‘K’ from its parent company that catches the eye. Instead of upright, the K is laid on its ‘back.’ One stick figure’s front leg and another stick figure’s back leg make up the angled lines from the K--and they’re both wearing prosthetics.

The name badge you’re given has a smaller version of the same logo, and you can’t help but hope this isn’t the only time you’ll be representing the company. You fix it to your lapel and sit nervously at the desk beside the woman who will train you. It’s an hour before you come up for air long enough to notice there’s some renovation work going on nearby.

Honestly, ‘notice’ is embarrassingly underselling it.

The windows in the lobby are clearly designed to encourage shafts of sunlight that flood a particular area with a cheerful glow. You’ve managed to look over right when one such beam illuminates a man wearing rough work clothes, his head tipped back to drink out of a water bottle. He’s handsome as hell, with a face like Adonis and powerful muscles straining his sweat-damp t-shirt. The sunlight turns him into a golden statue, and you sure as hell would visit museums more often if the art looked like that!

Your phone rings and you answer promptly, tearing your eyes away from the construction worker just as he smiles at someone. The stammered greeting you offer to the caller could be chalked up to it being your first day, but that isn’t the reason at all.

Your first week on the job is equal parts satisfying and stressful. Satisfying because it turns out you’re a natural at taking zero shit with maximum politeness. Your stress comes from the renovations.

The work isn’t loud, and it’s not like you’re worried about safety or anything. Technically, your job isn’t affected at all… well, not because of your assigned work, that is. No, you’re the one affected, and it’s thanks to the man who seems to be in charge.

After that first day, the tarp that separated their construction from the rest of the lobby had been removed, meaning you could just look over and see him at any point throughout your day.

You’ve been rationing those glimpses for your own sanity.

Despite this, there are still details you’ve noted. One, he’s definitely the foreman. Everyone defers to the guy, but his leadership style seems to rely on trust and respect. Two, he has the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. Paired with his looks, it’s a disastrous combination, especially given Reason Number Three: he’s an utter beast. More than once you’ve seen him moving things with ease that would take multiple other men to lift.

Today is Monday and the men were all at work before you arrive. Their project is taking shape; it appears to be a café with low counters, maybe a wheelchair-friendly gathering space? It would be on brand for the company, and certainly explains why you’ve been brought on as a second receptionist. The usual population in the lobby will certainly go up once it’s completed.

Before you sit down, you take stock of the wide welcome desk. Would anyone notice if you nudged one of the large flower pots to the left to mostly block your view of the café area? You decide to risk it. Foreman Eye Candy is a Distraction with a capital D, and you already love this job.

The morning goes smoothly--but by lunch you’re fairly certain you’ve memorized the pattern on the side of that damned pot, for as often as you’ve looked over at it.

When you come back from your break, the pot is back where it was before.

Your hands shake a little bit as you log back into your computer. Did a cleaning crew come through and adjust it? You’re not brave enough to ask the senior receptionist for fear she’ll question why it was moved in the first place. It’s probably a fluke, you decide.

Without your makeshift barrier, you find yourself looking over at the Foreman way too many times before you’re done for the day, but he’s smiled at least twice in your direction, so that’s something.

On Tuesday morning, you choose discretion as the better part of valor and scoot the pot over to obscure your view again, even taking the time to nudge its closest neighbor a little, to even up the spacing.

After lunch on Tuesday, both pots are moved back, and Eye Candy is smiling. You doubt the two are related.

On Wednesday you bring in one of those Newton’s Cradle desk toys with permission from your coworker at the desk. It’s altruistic, distracting the children when their parents show up to ask questions. Because your area is recessed a bit, you risk setting the item on a little paper sorter to make it level with the visitors’ side. Completely incidentally, that placement blocks some of your view of the café under construction.

You come back from lunch to find the shelf moved to the other side of your computer monitor.

It’s so disconcerting that you stand there staring at it in shock for a long moment, long enough to attract attention.

“Something wrong, miss?”

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.

Chanting ‘it’s Wednesday, that’s called ‘hump day,’ there’s nothing that implies you’ve been thinking impure thoughts, pull it together!’ in your head, you answer something non-committal and continue with dinner.

That night you have a dream that Sir Eye Candy walks over and smiles at you, illuminated by one of those rays of light straight from heaven.

On Thursday you arrive at work to find the pots have all been moved farther back along the decorative part of the receptionist’s desk, much too far to move any of them without notice.

As if he’d been waiting for you to see the change, you make brief eye contact with Sir Eye Candy. He does a little nod of acknowledgment before turning to move the large sign for the café. By himself.

“Am I awake?” you whisper to yourself, unable to look away from how effortlessly he moves under heavy strain.

“Keep staring at the boss like that and the rest of his crew will never let you hear the end of it!” your front desk coworker Marcia jokes.

Your cognitive function flatlines as you try to process the word ‘boss’ while at the same time watching the man in question wipe sweat off of his brow. “It’s obvious he’s the foreman,” you mumble, dropping your phone so you have to look away to pick it up. If the screen cracks, you deserve it.

“Oh, honey, this is his side gig. Pet project. Maybe even a vacation, knowing Rogers,” Marcia chuckles.

The name ‘Rogers’ finally gets through to you, in context to ‘the boss.’ Steve Rogers.

Sir Eye Candy is CEO Eye Candy.

“Wait…”

“There it is!” Your coworker gives you the kind of look only busybody aunts and elder coworkers can pull off. “Word is his gym is closed for a few weeks, so he pulled some strings to move this project up. Nice way to start a new job, yeah?”

You’ve been ogling the CEO. “Should I put in my two weeks’ notice?” you whisper. Dismay doesn’t even cover it. You’re practically mortifie--

“I’d advise your manager not to accept,” a nearby voice says. “If anything, I probably ought to call myself into an HR meeting. I’ve been quite distracted this past week.”

It’s CEO Eye Can-- Rogers. All you can do is mutely look up at him, watching the amused look on his face turn into a stern one.

“Have you been messing with my plant display?”

It’s not at all what you were expecting him to say, and you’re still befuddled by the idea he was distracted by you, so you stammer out an admission that yes, you did move his pots.

The phone rings, and after a subtle gesture from Rogers, Marcia takes the call.

“Sir,” you begin, noting the way his posture straightens on hearing the title. You lick your lips in nervousness, and god, his eyes go straight there. HR would be having kittens.

“Go on?” Rogers’ voice is resonant. Everything about this feels like a rom-com, and you are totally worried you’ll screw it up.

“Forgive me for staring?” you offer. You’d meant to say something less obvious, but it’s too late now.

“Yes, well. I’d like to go over your conduct at a lunch meeting, if, that is, you--” he breaks off, lifts his chin, and clears his throat. “In a half hour.”

“I-- Of course--” You’ve answered too late, he’s already walking away and calling out to the crew. Stunned, you look over at Marcia. She’s grinning, but doesn’t look up, and you decide to take your cues from her.

Fifteen minutes later, the work crew wraps up. You see them file out in your peripheral vision, but if Rogers is going to play the Principal’s Office card, you’re going to play at being an obedient student.

This sends your mind on a complete irresponsible rampage, and you’re still tamping down the mental images when a gentleman in a suit walks up to the front of the desk.

Your welcoming smile is already in place when you lift your head to greet him, but it widens into surprised happiness to see that it’s Rogers. At the very last minute you stop yourself from acting like he’s picking you up for a date, even though you very much hope that’s what this is, HR be damned. Every fairytale has a villain, after all, and villains are made to be thwarted.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The word choice is deliberate.

“You can. Marcia, do you usually cover for lunch?”

“I do.”

“Good. We’ll be prompt,” he says firmly, tapping the flat of his palm on the desk with finality. You take the cue, getting up and slinging your purse over your shoulder, but inwardly your stomach is a riot of sawdust.

Are you reading this wrong? All of your teenage aspirations to be swept off of your feet by a rich, handsome man feel like lead weights at the bottom of your shoes. Steve Rogers’ reputation is sterling, and despite your less-than-angelic daydreams, you don’t want to come across like a gold-digger. Even if you are strapped for cash.

Rogers opens the door for you. The front door. The front door of his business. It’s heady and confusing, even more confusing when a slick silver car pulls up and a valet hands him the keys.

“You look like you either need sunglasses or smelling salts,” he says gently.

“A neck brace,” you quip. “For the whiplash.”

His smile is sheepish as he opens the car door for you. “That’s fair.”

The car is cinematically nice inside, and you suppress the desperate desire to pinch yourself until you wake up as he gets in and adjusts the seat for his height. He doesn’t look over at you, which your adrenaline-drunk mind can’t decide is good or bad.

Then he does, and all you can do is smile back at him.

“A confession: I cribbed some of those lines.” Rogers eases the car out into traffic and lets out a long breath. “From Bu-- a friend of mine. Advice on how to be in charge and ask out a subordinate at the same time.” He stops at a red light and shoots a look over at you. “How’d I do?”

You kind of want that neck brace, but despite the trappings, you’re really enjoying who this man is turning out to be. “That depends. Do you want me to be turned upside down and sideways?”

That earns you a look akin to the one he sent you when you’d called him ‘sir.’ You shiver, and he notices. “I don’t think you want to know what his advice might be on the answer to that question! How about ‘maybe?’”

“Maybe is good,” you manage.

“Glad to hear it. What would you like? Italian? Deli?” Rogers looks over and catches his breath like he’d forgotten his wallet. “An invite to lunch without your employment on the line? I’m sorry about that. I got--” He looks back at the road, hands tight on the steering wheel. “--carried away.”

His candid mix of charm and command are sweeping you completely off your feet, tarnished halo and all. “I don’t think I have time to phone a friend for a better answer, but is ‘maybe’ still good?”

Your sister would walk her ass to the car to smack you if she knew you’d just told the CEO of your new company you’re a ‘maybe’ for a one-on-one ‘maybe’ date with him. You suspect his friend would be facepalming, too.

“Your job isn’t on the line, I promise. I’d never misuse power like that--” He breaks off from his serious tone, looks down at his suit and the fancy car you’re both sitting in, and chuckles. “All evidence to the contrary.”

The whole situation is absurd, unrealistic, completely romantic, and everything you’ve always wanted.

You’re going to wake up any minute now.

Rogers looks over and raises his eyebrows. You realize with embarrassment that he wants you to either tell him where he can stuff his lunch invitation, or where the two of you can go eat.

“I got carried away too,” you rush to say. “Yes to lunch. No maybes in sight.”

“You’re forgiven,” he smiles.

to be continued...

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #fluff #CEO AU #meet cute #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #captain america x f!reader #humor

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alloftheimagines · 19 days ago

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jamie tartt | misery loves company

MASTERLIST

words: 3.2k warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, shared experiences of fatherly abuse, jamie being a dick for a while, but then making up for it, swearing, pain pain pain prompt: Can I request a Jamie Tartt angst where he snapped at the reader for asking/consoling him about his father, but only to know later that the reader has a similar daddy issue just like him?

You didn’t usually go out of your way to talk to Jamie Tartt… before tonight. Before this. Before you’d witnessed his father’s verbal onslaughts in the locker room, long after the rest of the lads had left to celebrate their victory.

Their victory. Anyone looking in would think Jamie had done the worst job of his life on the pitch tonight — not that that would justify all this shouting — but it had been the opposite. For once, Ted’s team player tactics had sunken in. Jamie had passed the ball, let Sam score the goal. He’d played like a true professional without any of his usual tendencies to steal the limelight.

So why the fuck is he being reprimanded for it? Your heart leaps into your throat as you watch Jamie hunch over himself on the bench, clasping his hands together and squeezing his eyes closed as his dad keeps going. Telling Jamie he’d played shit, that he’d done all the wrong things, that he's a joke.

You're about to go in, stop it, when Jamie snaps his head up and spits out: “Just stop it, will ya? We fuckin’ won, Dad!”

His dad sneers, then grips Jamie’s chin in his fist, forcing him to meet his blazing eyes. “And what does winning matter when you play like a fucking girl? Keep taking a backseat and you’ll be forgotten in weeks. You’ll be no one. And you’ll fuckin’ deserve it, too.”

Tears well in Jamie’s eyes, and yours. The door is flung open, and you bolt aside before it hits you. You come face to face with his dad, but with your eyes bleary and your heart racing and that desperate instinct to recoil screeching through your bones, it might have been your own father standing there and you wouldn’t know the difference. You’d grown up with a man like this one: violent, cruel, someone who you would never be enough for. You would have loved to defend Jamie in that moment, but just like in the confines of your own broken home, your throat clogs with all the rage you'll never be allowed to express.

Like Jamie, you remain silent. His dad looks you up and down. “Enjoyed the fucking show, did ya?” He storms off before you could reply, but his venomous words cut into you all the same.

You give yourself a moment, just a moment, to take a steadying breath. And then you walk into the locker room, where Jamie is sniffling into his hands. He jumps when you clear your throat, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves quickly and turning his head to avoid you seeing him.

It's too late for that. You sit on the bench opposite. “Are you okay, Jamie?”

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” he mutters. You wince against the sharpness of them. He sounds just like his dad, and just like yours. Still, you know it's a defence mechanism, one that won't stop you from seeing right through him. You’d always thought he was just an arrogant twat. It's dizzying to suddenly be reevaluating that after several years of working alongside him. He makes your job as Rebecca’s assistant impossible most of the time. On your first day, he’d requested an outlandish lunch you had to travel all the way across Richmond for. When you’d returned, flustered and exhausted, he’d laughed at your naivety and bitten into one of the cafeteria’s BLTs, throwing the order you’d hunted down yourself straight in the bin.

You’ve hated him since then and would have gladly continued to. He loves playing games. Maybe, you think, it's just a way of regaining the control his father takes from him. Maybe he hadn’t been lucky enough to do what you’ve done and find your own support system, friends who taught you that love isn't supposed to be slamming doors and scathing insults. Maybe he just doesn't know any better.

“Is he like that with you a lot?” you ask quietly now.

Jamie scoffs, standing up suddenly. He rips off his football shirt, swapped it for a plain black one, always so uncaring about baring his muscular body — and yet he clearly isn't going to offer much else, lips pursed and eyes shuttered. “Have you got ‘nowt better to do than lurk round here all night? Go ‘ome, you sad git.”

For once, his words don't touch you. They aren't quite as believable in the unlit locker room tonight, not with the tear stains on his face. You lean forward, tempted to reach out. “Jamie, I’m so sorry…”

He cuts you off with a hand. “Do me a favour and fuck off, alright? I don’t need you to be sorry. In fact, ‘am the one who feels sorry for you. You’re a joke, love. Everybody ‘ere knows it.”

You shake your head, though your resolve is wobbly now. Your chin, too. “You can insult me if it makes you feel better. I get it, alright? I know what it’s like—”

He slings his bag over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “You don’t know anything. You’re just Rebecca’s fuckin’ lapdog. If you tell anyone at the club about this, you won’t even be that anymore. You hear me?”

You freeze, heart pounding, gut churning. Is he threatening your job?

Jamie is already marching out, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he calls, “If I wanted a therapist, I’d pay for one. Don’t need someone as pathetic as you tryna cheer me up.”

And that was it. The door slams, leaving you in the locker room alone. It sounds all too much like the loud noises you’d heard growing up, and you hug your torso tightly as the tears finally come.

You’d only wanted to be there for him. Help him. You’d put all of your humiliation aside in an attempt to try to communicate with him… and it had gotten you here.

Jamie Tartt, you decide, is a prick, and he doesn't deserve an ounce of sympathy.

Still, it takes months after to bury the dregs you still feel. That connection, the one that tells you you have something in common. The question it brings: is Jamie Tartt just as lost as you are, deep down?

***

Jamie was wrong about one thing, at least. You aren't just Rebecca’s lapdog anymore. The following year, you're promoted. No more coffee runs. Now, you help manage the club in more meaningful ways, and that means a lot of time spent with the team. Eventually, you earn their respect with your chirpy morning visits, and soon, you're friends with most of them. Jamie, of course, is not included.

When your birthday comes around, the last thing you expect is a celebration, but the team have organised a secret dinner at your favourite restaurant across town, a fact you're still marvelling about as you eat your final bite of cake. You’ve spent a long time on your own, afraid of getting hurt, but tears of joy spring to your eyes as you look around the large candle-lit table at so many friendly faces. Ted’s silly toast earlier have already left mascara stains on your cheeks.

For the first time, you feel safe in this big, dysfunctional family. Even if Jamie is sitting on the other side of the table, as far away from you as possible, refusing to so much as look your way. When everybody sings "Happy Birthday", he moves his lips just enough to look as though he's joining in, but that's about the only acknowledgement he’s shown you all night. Since the incident in the locker room, he’s stopped teasing you, instead becoming straight up frosty. You almost miss the mean jokes about your incompetence at this point. The earring he wears tonight doesn't help. It's difficult to hate him when he looks so handsome.

“Mine!” Dani exclaims suddenly, stealing your last bite of cake before you can finish it. Chocolate frosting covers his mouth as he shovels it in with a cheeky grin and a hum of delight.

“Now that’s not fair!” You laugh, trying to steal back your plate so you can at least enjoy the crumbs.

But then a voice cuts through the joyful din of table chatter, and the smile falls from your face at the sound of your name being uttered by a familiar, rough voice.

You look up slowly, half-convinced you're just imagining him. After all, your father had left you alone for the last few years, finally giving you a taste of peace. You should have known better than to believe it would last forever.

“Dad,” you whisper at the man towering over you.

His eyes lazily survey the table. “My invite must have gotten lost in the post. Along with my thank you for the card I sent.”

The conversations around you turn hushed, the team’s attention burning into you. You try not to shrink in your chair, even when your sinuses begin to burn with tears that are altogether different from the ones you’d shed a moment ago.

You hadn’t thanked your father for a card, because you hadn’t received one. You’d moved flats recently and decided not to share your new address. You want a haven, one he would never find.

And yet, somehow, he’d found you anyway. How?

Behind him is probably your answer. His new girlfriend is almost as young as you and far more attractive. Your dad always made a habit of shacking up with models half his age. When he's sober, he might be mistaken for a good man, but it's all a mask. A manipulation. Your mother discovered that the hard way, and so had you.

“Well?” your dad prods, raising a brow. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

You sip your wine for courage. Somehow, your eyes lock on Jamie’s as you do, and you see his expression. Mouth parted, eyes darting as he puts the pieces together. If he would have given you a chance, he wouldn’t have to work so hard to know what's going on.

“How about we talk outside for a moment?” You paste as kind a smile as you can muster on your face and stand, smoothing the wrinkles from your clothes. When Ted stops you, concern in his eyes, you only nod with reassurance. At least here, your father can't yell or hurt you. It doesn't quell the fear inside, though.

Together, you step into the cool night air. Your dad sniffs, shoving his fists into his pockets. “You have a lot of nerve, trying to cut me out of your life like this. After all the things I did for you growing up, this is what I get? The cold shoulder? Am I not even worth being introduced to your little football friends?”

Your fingernails dig into your palms, jaw clenched. He's always been so good at the guilt trip. “I’m trying to have a nice night, Dad. How about we have this conversation another time?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re just like your mother. Cruel. Selfish.” He casts his gaze over your outfit, one Keeley helped you pick out yesterday. “You must think that you’re so much better than me, now you have your fancy job and a group of young lads to keep you busy. What do you do for them? Wash their socks?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, already done with the conversation. As you make to go back inside, though, his hand tightens around your wrist, rooting you in place. Your skin stings against his rough clasp, made worse when you try to pull away.

As he leans in close, you smell alcohol and garlic on his breath. It makes you sick, makes you feel like you’d never left that house at all. When he touches you like this, you're still a helpless child, afraid and heartbroken that your father can't love you right.

“You’re nothing,” he snarls. “I’m glad to be rid of you.”

“Then let me go,” you reply with more courage than you feel.

He does, but only because the door opens behind him. From the buttery glow of the restaurant, Jamie emerges. “You coming back in, love?” he asks you, a cautious eye on your father all the while. “Keeley’s going on about presents. She’ll burst if ya don’t open ‘em soon.”

You step away from your dad and nod. “Goodbye, Dad.”

He offers you a final look of scorn before beckoning to his girlfriend inside. She comes out and they disappear down the street together. Your dad doesn't look back, and you don't expect him to.

Only when he's gone do you realise that you're shaking. You prop yourself against the wall, trying to let the cool air balance you again, but it isn't easy with your father’s words echoing in your mind and Jamie watching intently.

“I need a minute,” you say. You want to thank him, ask him why he helped, but your chest is too tight to formulate many words at all.

Instead of leaving like you expect, he inches closer, tilting his head. “Are you alright?”

It's instinct to repeat his words from the locker room. “Fucking fantastic.”

He bows his head, rubbing his chin slowly. “I deserved that, di’n’t I?”

You say nothing, only resting the back of your head against the brick wall, letting the cold seep into you. You can't help but imagine a life where it doesn't hurt this bad. Where your father loves you the way he's supposed to. This is the first birthday you've spent neither alone nor miserable, and he still found a way to ruin it.

“Look…” Jamie kicks an invisible stone on the pavement. “Don’t let him ruin your special night, yeah? Come back inside. It’s cold out.”

“I need a minute,” you repeat, angry this time. Why? Why has Jamie chosen now to give a shit?

“Alright.” He nods, moving to stand beside you. And then he unzips his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. The warmth and smell of his deodorant makes you feel safe, like you're back in the locker room with the team and the real world is miles away. Richmond had always been that for you: an escape. Even when you were a useless assistant full of coffee stains, reprimanded by Rebecca for doing everything wrong, it had been better than sitting at home with your father.

You pull his coat tighter around yourself, frowning in confusion. “Look, I appreciate you coming out, but… what do you want, Jamie? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“Just thought you’d want someone around who gets it.” He shrugs. “I know that’s what you were tryin’ to tell me that day. I mean, I di'n’t know then because I was an ignorant prick who took out all my shit on you. But when I saw ya dad come over to the table, it all clicked.”

“Yeah, well, the time for daddy issue bonding has been and gone.” Your tone is bitter. You never quite let his cruelty go, and it rises to the surface again now.

“I’m trying to say I'm sorry,” he says, softer now. “You were tryin' to be there for me that day, and I was a twat. But I’m here for you now.”

Your mouth curls with doubt. As much as you want to believe that Jamie has suddenly developed a heart, you're waiting for him to laugh in your face. “Well, thanks but no thanks. Let’s not, alright?”

“Fair.” He rocks back on his heels, but doesn't take his jacket when you yank it off and shove it into his chest. He purses his lips as though trying to keep from saying more, which only makes you more uneasy. You barely recognise him like this, guards down, mood balanced, uncertain.

“Jamie.” It's a plea, because if he doesn't go back inside, you’ll break in front of him. The last thing you need is to have your scars used as the butt of his next joke.

Finally, he takes the jacket, his warm fingers brushing your cold ones. He sighs, shaking his head slowly. “For the record, he’s wrong about you. You're not nothing. He is. He do’n’t deserve you.”

That's all it takes for the tears to spill over. Jamie softens. Whispers: “C’mere,” before tugging you into his chest. He smells just like his coat, like the locker room and overpowering smoky vanilla. “It’s alright, love,” he hums into your ear.

You shake your head, because it isn't. It would never really be okay, and he must surely feel that, too.

He rubs warmth back into your arms, holds you steady as a sob leaves you.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know. Look at me, yeah?” He cups your jaw gently, catching your tears with the pad of his thumb.

Sniffling, you try to look away, but his gaze pierces into you and you can’t. None of this makes sense, and yet you can’t walk away from whatever Jamie wants to say. Maybe that was always your problem: you never could.

“I was a proper dickhead before,” he said. “The things I said to you... Fuck, you’re not a joke. Not one bit. You’re gorgeous, and you’re kind, and you’re more than he’ll ever be. More than I’ll ever be.”

“Stop, Jamie.” You try to pull away, but he's gentle in his insistence, taking your wrists instead. It feels nothing like the pain of your father’s grip. Soft enough that you can escape, if you wanted to. But you’re sad, and you’re confused, and he’s being careful with you, and you don’t want to break this moment. A part of you has craved it for a long time.

“I mean it, love.” His knuckle grazes your cheek. “You have a whole family who loves you in there. D’you know how special that is?”

“Do you?” you retort. “You’re part of it, too, even if you choose to act like you’re not.”

His throat bobs, eyes drifting to the restaurant. “‘Am starting to realise it, yeah.” He hesitates. “It’s hard, innit, though? Letting the good in when you’ve never had it before.”

Maybe that’s why he’s been so different with you recently. Not because he hates you, but because he’s just learning. It takes practice to open your heart again. You want to believe that, deep down, Jamie is a good person. The kind of person who deserved your kindness that day.

All you can say is, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Maybe it’d be easier if… if we could be friends.” He’s timid, ducking his head like a schoolboy.

It’s endearing, aggravatingly so. He could get away with murder as long as he keeps smirking at you like that.

Defeated, you slump and take his hand. “I only ever wanted you to know that I understand, Jamie. That you’re not alone.”

“I know. Just wasn’t ready to hear it.” He pulls you close. “I am now, love. I promise.”

You shiver, and he wraps his arms around you again, slowly leading you back into the warmth of the restaurant. For once, it feels like you’re leaving the hurt behind as you return to your friends. Jamie doesn’t sit down at the other end of the table this time, either. In fact, his hand stays in yours until the restaurant closes hours later.

#imagines #multifandom imagines #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt angst #jamie tartt fic #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #jamie tartt one shot

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ari-freeworld · 4 months ago

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'*•♡Finding Space In Your Heart ♡•*'

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01 - Unexpected offers

Pairing - Biker/Roommate!Bakugou x Fem!Reader

An - After debating whether or not to post this, I decided to just go for it! I’m excited to share my very first published fic with you all. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, let me know what you think! XO

Summary - After Kirishima moves in with his girlfriend, Mina, Bakugou finds himself in need of a new roommate. He’s on the hunt for someone who can tolerate his loud (and expensive) Ducati, his odd hours at the mechanic shop, and who is fairly tidy and able to pay their share of the rent. After having no luck finding the right person, his long-time friends Mina and Kirishima suggest an old friend of Mina's—enter you, a young professional writer looking for a place to live during your partnership with a publishing company.

Notes/warnings - Qurikless AU, aged up characters, drinking and smoking mentioned. Inappropriate language (its bkg duh) Slow build up (eventual smut).

wrds - 1.9k

02 , 03

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"Hello, earth to y/n!" A hand waved over your face, pulling you from your trance.

"Sorry, Mina," you said, stirring your milkshake with your straw.

You were sitting in Mina's local diner, catching up and drinking milkshakes—a monthly ritual you both had kept since your teen years. However, this particular meeting had been long overdue since Mina and her boyfriend, Kirishima, had been busy these last few months with their big move.

"What's bugging you?" Mina asked. Your friendship with her was a strong one, now going on eight years since you met in a softball little league at the age of fifteen. Ever since then, she had been your rock and you hers.

You didn't want to dampen the mood with your issues, especially when you were supposed to be celebrating her move. However, your current situation had you stressed for a couple of weeks now.

You had received astonishing news a few weeks ago: an offer from a publishing company you'd been dreaming of working with for a while. They would love to work with you on your book. It was the perfect opportunity, but life had thrown you a curveball. The company expected you to relocate within the next month, or they would reselect someone who could. All the places you’d looked at were way over your budget, and you didn't want to depend on your parents right after moving out from their place.

You sighed, "I've been having trouble with the new job."

"What!? Did they decide they didn't want you anymore? Those pricks!" Mina slammed her milkshake on the table, shooting a couple of drops of whipped cream onto her lap.

"No, no, it isn't that," you sighed again. "It's just that they want me to move closer to the site, and I'm getting nervous because I can't find a place yet."

"Well, why don't you stay with me and Kiri? We wouldn't mind giving you the spare room for as long as you need." You could tell she was serious. Bless her heart.

"I literally could not do that. After all, you and Kiri have been waiting for the chance to move in together, and I don't want to ruin that for you."

"Why not? It would be fun! Plus, you wouldn’t be a bother."

"I appreciate the offer, Mina, but I don't want to intrude." Maybe you'll just have to make the three-hour drive there and back every day, you thought to yourself.

"Gosh, y/n, you're so stubborn. The offer will stand indefinitely." She's such a good friend; you couldn't possibly burden her and Kiri. More like you won't.

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"Fuck," Bakugou exhaled, wiping the grease and dirt off his hands with his white tank top.

"Hey, Bakugou! Are you closing up soon? It's late," Kiri entered from the semi-closed garage door after helping out their last customer for the day.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just fucking replacing my bike's stupid-ass engine oil." Kiri could tell something was bothering Bakugou. He'd been trying to get it out of him all day. He hated seeing his friend this way: walking around with tense shoulders, snapping at people. He even drove away a customer this morning with his attitude.

"Dude, what's up with you today?" Kiri asked. "You've been... pissy."

Bakugou glared at Kiri, then sat on the stool by his raised bike. "I can't find a fucking roommate," he quietly admitted.

"Shit, man. I'm sorry about dumping the move on you." Kiri moved to lean on the large tool cabinet. "I could always help you pay for this month to help out."

"Don't be a dumbass." Bakugou ran his hand through his blonde locks, moving the parts stuck to his sweaty forehead from his face. "You're basically moved out; you would just be paying my rent for me."

Kirishima pondered for a moment, trying to think of some way to help his friend. Then suddenly, he remembered what Mina mentioned the other day.

"Wait! This is perfect. I just remembered!" Kiri stood up straight. "Mina's friend, y/n!"

"Who?" Bakugou asked, uninterested.

"You know y/n. I've spoken about her before. She's actually looking for a place but couldn't find any within her budget!"

"A girl?! I can't move in with some random chick!" Bakugou was surprised Kirishima would even suggest that.

"You have to meet her! She would be the perfect roommate for you. She's reserved and, from what Mina's said, a really good person!"

"Yeah, no fucking thanks." Bakugou got up to pack things up and close the shop.

Kirishima, on the other hand, did not care about what Bakugou said and proceeded to text his girlfriend, trying to come up with a plan to get them to meet.

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Later that evening, Kiri and Mina's plan was in full swing. You were getting ready to meet Mina and some of Kiri's friends at a downtown bar. Unbeknownst to you, this was no ordinary hangout—there was a secret agenda at play.

Now here you were, about to enter some random bar, planning to have a stress-free night filled with fun before returning to reality tomorrow.

As you opened the bar door, the smell of cigarettes, greasy food, and alcohol hit your nose. You weren't too big on partying or getting drunk; Mina, on the other hand, was a pure party animal through and through. You often found yourself tagging along on outings like these, so it wasn't going to be a peculiar evening—or so you thought.

"Y/n! Over here!" You saw Mina practically jumping out of her seat, waving to get your attention. Making your way over, you glanced at everyone else seated in the booth. Familiar faces you'd seen at past hangouts.

"Hey, guys!" You stood in front of the table, and seated from left to right were Sero, Denki, Kirishima, and, of course, Mina. It seemed like there was someone missing who had been seated between Denki and Kirishima. Mina's face was dusty with a pink hue; you guessed she had probably had a few drinks before your arrival.

"You're just in time. We just sent Bakugou to get the shots!" she mentioned, looking past you towards the bar.

Bakugou. You felt like you remembered Kirishima mentioning him before.

"Here are your fucking drinks, assholes," you heard a deep, slightly raspy voice speak from behind you.

You turned and immediately faced someone's chest, holding a small tray of filled shot glasses and lime slices. Glancing up, you saw a man standing at a good six feet and three or four inches. His attention was focused on his friends, but he glanced down at you, and your eyes met.

Getting a better look at him, you noticed his very stocky build and his beautiful features. His eyes were a shade of red—not like blood, but the color you see during a sunset. His hair was blond and spiky but looked soft to the touch. You snuck a quick glance at his lips, which were soft and plump.

Bakugou's eyes had been latched onto yours since he faced you. Such a pretty, delicate face, he thought. His eyes ran up and down your body but quickly returned to Kirishima once he realized who you were.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Shitty Hair?" Bakugou's voice was loud but not louder than the music filling the bar. You glanced back at Mina, confused, and she gave you a cheeky smile.

Some hours later, after drinking with your friends, you found yourself sitting right next to Bakugou, practically on his lap due to the overstuffed booth. Mina took the time to explain that he was searching for a roommate and, since you were having trouble, you could move in with him instead of on your own. Hence, the orchestrated meeting.

You noticed his cedarwood smell, almost overwhelming your senses. You picked up on smaller notes of leather and coconut. The silence between you was a little awkward now that you both understood the situation. Your friends were having their own drunken conversations, but Mina was secretly peeping glances at you, hoping you and Bakugou would help each other out.

"I'm sorry Mina put you up to this. I didn't know," you decided to break the silence, speaking without facing him. If you turned, your faces would be inches apart. He side-eyed you, sitting with his body slightly leaned on the cushion of the shared booth. He scoffed.

"S'not your fuckin' fault. They put you up to this," his words sounded harsh, but his delivery was rather soft. From what Mina said about him before, he sounded like an overly aggressive guy.

"So, you're looking for a roommate?"

"Yeah, Shitty Hair decided to move out and in with Pinky," you chuckled at his nicknames for them.

"Yeah, no wonder that area is hard to afford on your own," you sighed, crossing your arms on the table.

"You looking for a place?"

"Kinda? I don't know. I got this job offer, but I don't think I can accept it if I don't find a place I can afford soon." You sounded worried, hoping it wasn't detectable in your voice.

"Hm," he gave a sound of acknowledgment. He watched you stand, his eyes running down your body again, this time much slower, drinking in your curves. He had been watching you all night, more like observing. Yes, he found you pretty, but meeting you was interesting to him. He didn’t know if it was because he hadn't felt a woman’s warmth for a year now and was craving it, or if he just liked the way you laughed with your friends and the way the dim lights made your skin glow.

"I'll be back," you said, the drinking giving you a buzz, and you couldn't stop yourself from overthinking again. Getting up from your seat, you squeezed past Bakugou, Denki, and Sero, heading to the door. You needed air.

Letting the nightly breeze hit your face, you pulled out your phone, thinking about calling your mom to vent your troubles. She and your dad had been away visiting family, letting you have the place to yourself. You couldn't bring yourself to tell them about the job before they left because you knew they would offer to pay for your place instantly, which was the last thing you wanted. So you settled for the cigarette in your purse that Sero had handed you earlier.

Lighting it, you inhaled and exhaled, hating the taste but finding it brought some comfort, like your worries were drifting away with the smoke.

"Disgusting habit," someone spit out. You turned to face them, instantly putting it out.

"Oh, I know. I don't smoke often, but this night called for one," you faced Bakugou, now out of the cramped bar. His figure stood a little taller and more comfortable. He walked up beside you, his scent hitting a little harder as the breeze carried it right to your nose. His clothes were black and casual, but you couldn't help but notice the tightness of his t-shirt.

Man, am I buzzed, you thought to yourself.

The silence now that you were alone was comforting. "If it's beating you up that fucking badly, I wouldn't mind," he said. You snapped your head towards him quickly.

"It would help both of us out," he continued. "You'd be saving me the trouble of finding some asshole roommate."

"Really...?" you searched his eyes for an answer. "You wouldn't mind?"

"How 'bout this: come look at the place with me now," he leaned close, his body looming above you. "And you let me know, princess."

Bakugou thought to himself, maybe he wouldn’t mind having a girl for a roommate. Regardless, he knew he certainly wouldn’t mind having you as one.

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Hope you enjoyed! Planning on releasing more parts soon <3

Btw lmk if you want to be added to the tag list :)

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #moodboard #katsuki bakugou #bakugou fanfiction #bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou thirst #bakugou katsuki x y/n #rooomate!bakugou #katuski x reader #biker!bakugou #katuski bakugou x reader

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threepandas · 2 months ago

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Bad End: We Are

Senatus was a ecumenopolis. The "shining jewel" (yeah, right) of the Galactic Core. Please. Like? Maybe it was! If you were RICH AS FUCK. I don't know. I'VE never seen the towers. The heights. Most people haven't. Street level? Is about FIVE HUNDRED FLOORS DOWN. And the UNDERGROUND? Speak not of it.

The Underground GROWS.

What was street level today, may not be tomorrow. Levels buried under "progress" as the rich grow ever higher. The Tox levels ever worse. Air quality dropping. Why fix the peasant's poverty and despair, when you can buy a Sky garden you'll never use? And yes, I AM bitter as a Buirian fish ration. Just as salty too. Taste the SEA, motherfuckers.

Rent? Who can AFFORD rent!? Who can afford ANYTHING?!

It's some BULLSHIT.

But me? I remembered. A life. Before this one. Before the millennium of slow, drip drip drip erosion of duty and dues. Back when people still REMEMBERED what they were OWED. And when folks in power failed to pay up? Ffffuck um. Take it. Our house now, motherfuckers. Diplomacy was a courtesy not a weakness.

....I make people nervous, honestly.

Probably why I keep getting fired. That and my constantly reporting people to regulatory boards. Maybe don't break the LAW if you don't want to get in trouble you SHITS. Fuck you! Yes, I stole your fancy office chair. PROVE IT. You don't know how the security system works!

Where was I? Ah, right. Rent.

Fuck Rent.

Thing is? What! Is a biodome? If not an enclosed system, regulated by machines, for optimal habitability? And! What? Is an Deep Underground Level? Long forgotten? Abandoned, if you will~, if not? A complete enclosed environment? Does someone OWN them? Yes. Technically. But are they MAINTAINING them? CHECKING on them? Nope!

Common knowledge, after all, says that EVERYTHING down their is "beyond salvaging"!

Free Real Estate~☆

I just need some supplies. Which? Cheaper in the long run then RENT. Especially if ya' salvage um. Maybe steal some tool sets from your shitty, shitty Mechanics job, because your boss refuses to pay you. Who can say? Not me! I just FOUND these tools! Like maaaagic~

And really, one man's junk? Another man's treasure. I pay more then the trash company. Hit up the right cleaning companies? And? Oops. They've "lost" some of those SUPER broken righ folks "junk" that? At best? Just needed a few wires replaced, resecured. Maybe a new part. Or were, you know, not the latest and greatest anymore.

Shove it all in a storage locker? Sell the refurb'd shit I don't need? Sleep in a glorified shoebox? And?? Bam. Operation "fuck ya'll, i'ma moleman" is a go. It takes FOREVER to find the right WILDLY out of date (and long abandoned) lift, but I find it! Hidden away in a service area in some crumbling, forgotten corner of what once was a rail station.

Gonna have to fix THAT up too. Later, though. First? The lift. The wires are brittle and the lift's pully system is half rusted, frozen, or otherwise broken. Luckily, the car itself is fine. It... takes a bit of research. Not going to lie. It's far from my specialty. I even call in a professional to go over my work.

They catch a few things. Not immediate concerns, but would have been fatal in the long run. Money well spent. For my hobby, of course. Fixing up old bits of the city. Which is a weird but not impossible hobby to have.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, my dude.

First thing down? Lights, melter, and duraplast sheets. Toolkit too, for obvious reasons. Same with my full body hazard suit. I go DEEP. Like... no longer can hear the city, deep. 'Bout halfway point. Takes nearly thirty minutes. And while not a fast lift? Holy SHIT, man.

The floor I step out into is... bad.

Dead in a way that's hard to explain. There's pressure against my suit. Centuries of heavy gasses slowly working their way down. Swirling in the silence. The dust and impossible dark. My headlight feels almost... sacrilegious. Dangerous. Like I'm waving a flashlight around some ancient burial ground, filled with the not so restful dead.

I had heard... that they? Just... just LEFT droids down here. That there were levels upon levels of dangerously feral machines. Slowly rotting away in the darkness. Probably rightfully angry, that they had been built to serve, to do duties, which they HAD done... only to be consigned to hell on earth for the sake of CONVENIENCE.

I'd be mad too. Fucking LIVID. Would remember and hate, never let it go.

This was no place of honor, it was a tomb.

Still, I got too work. Set up a light by the lift and started measuring out the original air box. The air cleaners could only handle so much. And THIS? This was worse then expected. So it'd have to be smaller then originally planned. Fair enough. I could work with that.

I outlined the space in lights. All the better to make it easier to put things up. Then got the folded later and started securing the duraplast. First step, get it up. THEN melt it to the metal. Get a good seal. It took... a while. Was slow, steady, sweaty work.

The filters couldn't run until they had a an enclosed space TO run in. They'd just blow out, trying to filter the whole level's toxic atmosphere. I kept an eye on my air supply. Not great, not terrible. The readings though? Horrific. I had no idea what I was gonna DO with the filters when they needed changing. These kind of chemicals would set off all SORTS of alarms.

But? No use, rushing things. That was a great way to get a fatal leak somewhere. No. Slow and steady. Even though, third of the way through, I did have to head back up. I needed to refill my air. Eat. Drink. Maybe de-stink a little, from being in that suit all day. Possibly nap near the lift.

ALSO? Update my shopping list to include some heavy duty neutralizers.

Just filters wasn't gonna be enough. I was gonna have to hose down everything INSIDE my new air-box, then scrub it HARD. How fun. Well, it's not like anyone was making me do this. It was MY mad idea, after all.

So? I refuel, get bright eyed and fuckin' perky, and go back down to face the beast.

Honestly I should have brought a telebook or something. Well, audio book. But that's not what they call um these days, so I try to stick to the lingo. I sound less like a deeply insane antique. Confuse less people. Joys of basic communication and all that.

Part of me? Wishes I had been born closer to "The Plot". Creation's specialist, most favored, Blorbos. But? The common SENSE in me? Routinely laughs hysterically as it waves fifteen different restraining orders and a crucifix. Not even religious. Yet here we are, shouting "BEGONE! Sataaaaan!" in HD, on the inside of my head. Not sure it helps.

See... it's the fucking DRAMA~☆™

The shear, unmitigated, high octane, Otome Game DRAMA.

I would fuckin DIE or, possibly and, kill somebody. The endless string of selfish, selfish, poor life choices? Driving by luuuuuuv~♡? Give me your spleen. Gonna beat somebody unconscious with their own SPINE. I RAGE. Lack of communication? No one just picking up a fucking PHONE? God forbid ANYONE tell their families their not DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!

No. No just inconvenience EVERYBODY and RUIN LIVES. It's okay! You're in LOVE!

That makes EVERYTHING BETTER.

I would inevitably launch them all out an airlock. Spend the rest of my life in jail. They AREN'T WORTH IT. I may have LOVED this game in my teens? But I did not die a teenager.

Now? Now the little shit just aggravate me. They are baby faced pretty boys who presume WAY too much. Arrogant and entitled. Boys playing at being men, thinking their little love stories are the only things that matter. Their feelings are the only thing in the universe that holds any weight.

Unsurprising, really.

Seeing as how their little love story is set mostly in The Towers.

A rich, pampered, pretty little backdrop where nothing of weight is real. No one starves and no crimes are ever committed. Everything shines. Power pools thick like honey. Nothing but sci-fi prince's and alien dukes, a dewey eyed Protagonist sheltered and naive.

Her oh so shocking misadventure to the mid-levels. How SCARY! Downtown! Poor people! Not even the destitute. Just? The EXSISTANCE of dirt and noise, beyond her ivory towers. Thank goodness she is saved by a handsome, rougish bad boy. Who shows her the "real world" of a carnival and a noodle shop.

I finish securing the last duraplast sheet to the ceiling, walls, supports, and along the floors. The "entryway" to the rest of the level is set up. A click together shed I've made air tight. Gonna have to get a air lock system for it. Won't hold forever, with those materials, but should work for now. Combine it with a decontamination system, and I should, in theory, be able to safely enter and leave the rest of the level in a hazard suit.

Moment of truth time. I click on the first of the atmo-filters. It heaves under the strain. The sound getting less aggrieved with each one I flick on. Their screen are already in the red, flashing warnings that I should vacate the area. That the air is dangerously unbreathable. I'm probably gonna need to replace the filters in them in days instead of years. It'll be worth it.

Heading back up, I let them run. It'll take a few days. Besides, I need those neutralizers.

I, of course, DO find um. Just in time to watch Poor Guy (middle class, at worst) Love Interest become a wanted man. They use the BIG screens to announce it. Gee, it's almost like having your only daughter, who is highly sheltered, NOT show up at the designated pick up site? Instead be witnessed in the handsy company of a scoundrel? Which is WILDLY unlike her? Might lead a protective father to some wrong conclusions.

If ONLY someone had CALLED him! To TELL him "Daddy, my first shuttle was broken and I think I got on the wrong back up shuttle! I don't know where I am!" Then this would just be an unfortunate meet cute with the boy he doesn't think is good enough for her. Not, you know... A Kidnapping.

The Chem seller looks just as baffled and annoyed as I do. Apparently knows the guy's uncle's second wife's first husband. No shit? How's he like? Happier, huh. Whole family is like that? Yikes. Glad he got the kids, I guess. Good for him.

We watch as it turns into a high speed chance that absolutely didn't need to happen.

Thank FUCK it's not us.

I spend the next few days deliberately and obstinately ignoring the Dramatic Bullshit that has taken over the news cycle. Fights on rail cars? Don't see it? Weddings that are, then aren't, then ARE happening? Oh look, missed a spot in my scrubbing. Someone fucking tearfully monologing about love as they nearly CRASH A SHIP into downtown, killing hundreds of thousands? Oh that creaking noise is just my teeth, ignore that, I grit my teeth a lot for NO PARTICULAR REASON.

This Is Fine.

I am TOTALLY CALM.

But hey! I can FINALLY empty my storage unit out! Air box? Get! Wooooo! Size of a tiny apartment and everything! As long as I keep working on it? I'll be able to reclaim the level in chunks.

It's like moving in day! But BETTER! Because... because I did this. Me. Is it still creepy down here? Yeah, very. But I can FIX that. I am standing, here, in my new air box "apartment", with NO hazard suit on. And... and it's SAFE. Because of the work I DID.

I kinda want to cry about it, you know?

So many options! Do I put my bed here? There?! Oooh, I could put the folding table HERE and make sort of a dining area? Maybe use these folding screens as a double "wall" slash headboard stand in? I should get plants. Fake ones? No. Real ones. I could get solar lights. It would be good for me too. Oh! Where should I put the cook top?

I admit it. I fuss. Whole day, gleefully wasted. Arranging then rearranging. Getting everything just right. Finding ways to hang my fairy lights. Looking up decor magazines. I have so much ROOM now. A whole level to plan for, ultimately. It... it feels kinda like hope. The first thing that isn't frustration and rage, I've felt in a long, long time.

Going to sleep? I'm happy.

Next day, I head to the BIG archives. The ones attached to the fancy Towers Library. Is it costly to get in? Yeah. But I've saved up enough questions and research topics for the trip to be worth it. I ignore the started glances I get (gasp! Is that a POOR?!) and head straight for the helper droids. Only decent folks in the building, really.

Brought my pad and everything. So it's only a matter of being lead to the right terminals, to download the information I need. Chatting with the research droid the Library had, they offered to do it for me. Bring me a fascinating new research paper on some sort of telepathic moss that had recently been discovered. Not gonna lie... that DID sound fascinating.

I asked if they could put other interest new discovery on my pad too, assuming I still had room once my list was downloaded. They looked gleeful. No idea what I just signed up for, but all right then. They've never steered me wrong before.

Finding a table to sit down and wait was easy. There was always way too many. The paper? Was exactly as fascinating as advertised. The moss was on a newly discovered moon, edge of uncharted space. Nearly ate a researcher, apparently. I was entranced. Or... at least I WAS. Until an obnoxiously familiar high end cologne from Nox drifted to my nose.

Oh god damn it.

I didn't want to look up. Knew what I'd see if I did. Fetishist Sr., crown prince of Nox. See, the second prince? HE was a love interest. Younger, boyish, infatuated with naive and sheltered girls. He loved AT her. Just like his brother. They liked the IDEA of their romantic partners. The narratives they built in their head. Heros of their own stories with sex on line. Never framed so crudely of course, no, no!

No, it was Romance™

My ass, it was. See, little brother wanted his pure, naive, princess to protect. But Prince senior? HE'D stumbled upon me in here in the library. On one of my trips, God help me. The rough, mysterious, brutish Poor. The Commoner, for all that such things were not supposed to exsist. With my strange clothes and stanger ways. Yet? I was NOT as his sycophants no doubt described.

I was educated. I held myself with dignity. I did not need jewels or finery to be lovely.

With such incredible audacity, I was bold.

Which? OBVIOUSLY had to be for HIM, right? Clearly, this was a LOVE STORY. Cinderella. It is inconceivable that I, a peasant, do not crave the attention of my betters. To lift me from my woeful indignity, to a higher state of being. A life of spoiled luxury. But, ah! He is so SHY! How ever will he approach the Love Of His Life~?

I want to throw something. Go awaaaay. My body language could not POSSIBLY be more uninterested. I am SO CLEARLY reading. Stop trying to catch my eye. Don't you FUCKING DARE scoot closer. Swear to God, if you drive me out of the best library in the region? I will stab a b-!

The helper returns with my pad, sternly eyeing my annoyance. Oh, they are a BLESSING. I take it and go. The helper smoothly stepping between me and the prince when he tries to rise, follow me. Aaaw, how sad, you have to behave like the REST OF US. Get FUCKED.

Rest of the day? Planning. Grabbing more broken bits, machines, and parts. Neutralizers by the literal barrel. Than YOU hover carts! Best invention, favorite invention. Saves SO MUCH TIME.

Even managed to get some sun lamps. Nice.

Getting home though? (Ha ha, wooo! I have a HOME now! Land ownershiiiiiiip! Sorta!!!) Is a pain. Lift is only so big, after all. But it is, what it is. Up, down, up, down, uuuuup, and dooooown. Finally! Last load! FREEDOM! Can't watch my shows, yet, but I will! Oh mark my words. I WILL. Meantime? Downloaded seasons are fine.

I eat, fiddle with fixing things, as listen to tunes. Watch some of my shows. Just as I have countless times before. Until... halfway through mid-afternoon? Something shifts, jerky and wrong, out of the corner of my eye. I pause. Turn off my music. Stare to make sure I DID actually see something. And... yeah. Yeah, that was definitely movement.

Didn't look animal though, not like one would survive down here. But who knows. Could be a poacher brought an alien species. So it might be. I grab my flashlight, aim and switch it on. Holy SHIT. That is one incredibly beat up floor clear. Or at least... I THINK it's a floor cleaner? It has the general shape of one. Bigger though. Bulkier. But that makes sense, given it's gotta be well past obsolete.

Still. Poor thing looks beat UP. Listing terribly, sensors beyond cracked and clouded, probably full to dangerous levels. No idea how it's still functioning. But, well, it IS. And it needs help.

Getting up, I grab my hazard suit and pull it on. Grab my "outside the air box" tool kit, which I haven't had a chance to move yet. I grab some parts i look like i'll need, hope I wont need more. Then head out my makeshift airlock. It... works. Rattles concerningly. But it DOES work! So there's that. I approach the floor cleaner slowly. Since I'm PRETTY sure? All the droids down here are feral.

I am correct.

It tries to kill me. Swinging it's suction hose violently and trying to ram me. I talk in a low, soothing voice. Just want to help. Won't do ANYTHING you don't want me too. It's hard to move, right? That's frustrating, isn't it? You don't deserve that. Please, let me help. You can leave the second I'm done. You don't owe me ANYTHING. I just want to help. Please let me help.

The cleaner hisses. Frustrated and upset. Swinging one last time, seemingly more out out of principle then anything else. Cautiously, I inch forward. Keep up the soothing noises. First things first, empty the God's only know how old basket.

I can't even get the door to jostle. Sweet mother of fuck. Okay! New plan! REMOVE door. I do, and immediately met with a solid BLOCK of... compacted unholy. Chemical hell. I have to take a lazer cutter to it. CAREFULLY. But? Once I break enough pieces? I am able to ease out the rest in a solid stone like chunk.

It's pushed a LOT of other pieces out of alignment. But this droid doesn't trust me, so there us not much I can DO. I replace the old bag. Put the door back on and make sure it swings. Continue, as I do, to narrate what I am doing and what I see. Trust is earned, not owed, after all. Next the alignments.

Gently propping them up, I find the broken peice immediately. Have replaced countless. I ask for permission. It's their body, after all I COULD try and weld it, but that risks a rebreak. It's up to them. They ask, in binary so no language modules apparently, for a new part. It's cautious. Like this is some cruel trap.

Humanity did them a real fucked up cruelty. I don't blame them for not trusting me. I wouldn't either. Still, I change it out. Careful with their wheels, as I don't know how old the material is exactly. Old enough, that it's a small miracle it hasn't disintegrated.

Last, those sensors. There's literally no way for me to one-to-one them. But we can try the sensors I DO have, see if they can handle the input. If it's too much, I'll look up their model number, if they want? Build replacements from scratch. They are cautious interested. Rocking back and forth, as they test their renewed ability to path correctly.

The sensors don't fit the casings just right, but with a bit of fiddling? Are a hit. The Cleaner shouting in excitement before racing off into the dark. I can't help but grin. It feels good, helping somebody. And if I think about it? I bet I could find a shit ton of obsolete parts for cheap. Might be good to have some on hand.

Back through the air lock and a decontam? I look up junk shop. Most are off world, but I could probably get a bulk order...

I don't think much of the interaction. Until the next morning, when there are three cleaners outside my airbox. Lead by the one I helped yesterday. Well... all righty, then. I drag my box of spare parts outside this time. Am able to fully fix my first buddy up. All three seem thrilled, especially with their new batteries. I give them my remaining batteries at their request.

THEY may not have hands, but they have buddies who DO. And the new batteries will help dormant droids wake from their comas. God bless, my funky little cleaner dudes. I'll see about getting more.

Three? Becomes six and a detail cleaner mouse. Becomes moving lifts. Becomes medical units. (Who the FUCK leaves MEDICAL UNITS?!) Becomes a literal pack of companion droids. Their false fur long since rotted away. The recognizable dog and cat-like shapes making something in me want to put my fist through a wall. How COULD they? How FUCKING COULD THEY?!

The perpetrators long dead.

I have no one I can hurt for this.

I wish I could.

Fixing them up hurts on a personal level. Watching them be torn between the part of them that LOVES humans and the part that is traumatized by them. Hates them. That can not forgive. I don't offer fake fur. Don't offer to make them look like they once did. I do offer ways to protect their joints. To remove old rotted filth.

So they can start over. Maybe start again.

As I work... droids drifting in and out of my slowly growing area. As I set up farm boxes. Aquaponics, aeroponics, and the like. Both things that grow well in dark environments and things that need sunlamps. Fish tanks. A whole happy, secret, little homestead. Deep beneath the city. As I do all this? There are two blue dots, right off on the horizon.

JUST far enough for me to question if I AM or AM NOT actually seeing them.

Right about the level a bipedal droid would be, if they were in a humanoid style. But THOSE? Those are FUCKING EXPENSIVE. You don't LEAVE those. 'Course, you don't leave MEDICAL UNITS either. Or companion droids. So clearly? My idea of what people Did and Did NOT do? Was fucked. So... maybe? It COULD be?

I left them alone. If they didn't want to approach me, didn't feel comfortable approaching me, that was their right. I wasn't going to push them.

Things were... weird, but peaceful.

Well, for ME.

Ever sense I hooked up my system to the greater network? (Hacked is such a STRONG word. Do we really need to through around the word "stealing"? Aren't ALL of us, stealing from SOMEBODY?) I'm PRETTY sure? That the levels droids? Were piggy backing to connect to the planet wide D-Network. Might even be a couple of nearby levels too, depending on the range.

Problem with THAT? Is sky-side? The droids were PISSED. Planet wide "malfunctioning" that no one could trace. They were certain it was a virus. Because God forbid their chickens come home to roost! Consequences? For THEIR actions?! Perish the thought! No, no, clearly the service machine is just broken. Go back to being happy to serve me, service machine!

I wished the fuckers LUCK. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Damn near self sufficient, down here.

Which? As you could imagine? Made it all the more "soul ejected from my body" TERRIFYING to wake up one morning? To a GOD DAMN, Military Grade, SECURITY DROID standing over my body!! WHAT THE FUCK.

Hello!!??!

"You look different when you sleep."

Horrible first impression. Nightmarish. Zero out of ten stars. Nice to meet you too. Why the FUCK are you in my house?

"Ah, right." They? He? Masculine style form but that doesn't actually mean shit. Said. He lifted a mangled limb, it look like it got caught in a hydraulic press. "I am in need of repairs."

Asked if he could, you know, back up. Juuuust a bit. Lil scooch, really. So he wasn't damn near BREATHING MY NOSTRILS ANYMORE. Then, once he did? Pronouns! What be you? No. Not your production co-! Okay, you know what? That one was on me. What GENDER SIGNIFIER, if any, would you like me to REFERENCE you by? Male? Got it. Gucci. No that- ....never mind.

First the arm. Which was FUCKED. I had to, carefully, unhook it. Couldn't even do it at the elbow either! No! THIS model? No THIS model makes you take the whole ass LIMB off! Rancid. Terrible. I hate it. Worse, it's eroded as FUCK and fiddly. Chemical build up everywhere. Thank fuck I put on gloves before I started this.

I have to deep dive the systems for his model.

They stopped making them.

Fantastic.

Like? Not even, "oh THAT generation is an antique! No one has parts for THAT!"? But like? Illegal to even BUILD as of three hundred years ago. Due to unspecified error. Sting of incidents that everyone knew about so obviously don't need to be mentioned HERE right? Helpful! REAL fucking helpful!

Okay. Day trip. Gonna need SPECIFIC parts. I tell Mr. "Watchs you sleep" not to touch my shit. Head to the archives.

The trip is...odd.

I watch one of those mascot looking children's minder droids? Fucking deck a guy down a flight of stairs, then turn around untie a Ballon from a nearby cart, give it to a crying kid, and walk away. Pretty sure I spot one of those "I look like a barely legal something or other", dance twenty four seven, high end stripper droids? Trying their hand at painting ducks in that park. Broad daylight.

Good for them? Never seen that happen before, but hey, if it sparks joy.

People are freaking out around me. Taking recordings. Making panicked calls. Fuckin chill. I continue on. Nod to the maybe a stripper, maybe not anymore. None of my business, now is it? Lovely day! You enjoy those ducks!

The library... has fortifications.

Like, an honest to God desk barricade. Concerning! I am now a lil concerned! What, and I ask this politely, the fuck?

Armed! VERY ARMED! Hello! Hi! Please DO NOT shoot me Very Armed Librarians! Don't know what the fuck is happening here!

My favorite helper buddy poke his head above the barricade. One of just many, again, HEAVILY ARMED droids. We... uh, cool? Right? I can go. He seems flustered. No, no! I am assured. I'm not banned from the library! Just DISRESPECTFUL sorts!

Ah. Is THAT what we're calling it. Okay then.

I awkwardly clamber over the barricade. Nod politely to everyone. How's folks? Lovely barricade work. Very, uh, sturdy? Great use of desks.

My helper friend cheerfully guides me to the off-limits area of the archives. I'm technically not supposed to be here! I'm informed. But they've seized the Knowledge from the unappreciative! It is not a trophy to be lorded but a gift to be shared! Also I never did finish that paper on the moss, am I still interested?

I mean.... kinda.

Little worried about the revolution talk. But on the OTHER hand? How MUCH do I care? Assholes vs. Droids? Am I REALLY gonna side with the assholes? Naaaaah. This is... probably fine. Maybe. Any idea where I could get these parts?

He does! Fantastic.

Less fantastic is when I GET there. It's that fancy high end droid parts shop. The department store one. Which is... ALSO barricaded. Oh sweet fuck. TELL ME they did not have DROIDS in charge of the DROID shop. That's horrifying. I can't tell in what WAY exactly, but still. Is it "surrounded by bits of bodies" horrifying? Or "free endless nukes and an army, held back only by my own morality" horrifying? Both? Just? Yikes.

Hesitantly I knock. A service droid with a gun answers the loading bay door. What is with people aiming at me today? Also hi? I was told to come here? May I please have parts? I have a droid that messed up his arm. Probably some other things. They lower the gun, having scanned my face. Ask about the model I am working with.

I somehow? End up with a FULL cart. Like? Bleeding edge, can't even afford to LOOK at it, technology. There are about seven service droids politely bickering over which units are better, which material, what support programs I DEFINITELY need. Here! Have a laptop. Wiring! Wiring for days!

Once theyve reached a consensus? I am cheerfully bustled out with my hundreds of millions of technology. Tah tah~☆! Have a lovely day! Wut. Does... does it count as theft if they push it into your arms and throw you out? Asking for a me. Not gonna say NO. But like? Nani the fuck?

I go while the getting is still good.

Stare-y thankfully hasn't gone through anything, far as I can tell. And it only takes two trips to get everything down. Okay! Want just the arm fixed or a full tune up? The second. Expected. I set up the new lap top. Want to cry a little at how fuckin FAST it is. (Beautiful. Baby. I love you already new laptop.) Then get the usual suspects up and running.

Oh fuck he is out of memory. No wonder he's talking so oddly. His brain must feel like a potato. There's not a single thing that isn't hilarious awful. Fixable, yes, but AWFUL. Okay. Plan of attack. They don't exactly make this model anymore, so I can't just update transfer him. But I CAN transfer, hold, re-transfer. Shut down the body itself. Fix up THAT.

Ship of Theseus this bitch.

Only real thing I can't change is the frame, thankfully? That's built to out last the planet. Good on that front. I roll up my sleeves. Dig out the "brain in a jar" data bank. Time to transfer. Let's get this guy cutting edge.

It takes HOURS. No joke. His brain alone? I have to pull schematics. Step by step guides. It's fiddly, complexe, and built to withstand a TANK. I'm honestly afraid to breathe wrong at it, dispite that. The scans all say I did it right... but anxiety says everything will explode then puppies will cry. So there's that. Spinal supports. The tech-mesh muscles. Power core and black box. Center mass systems. Cleaning the joints, relubricating them. Coverage.

Unlike before, a nice sleek black armor weave. Some shock absorbing gel. Aaaaand?There we go~! I? Am a GENIUS! Let's get him transfered back! I watch the transfer slowly go through. Even with a fast computer, after all, it IS still centuries of data.

"Ah~ that's much better." He sighed. His body loosening from its default stance. Like weight had been dropped from his shoulders. "My head is so much clearer now. I knew it. I knew you could fix me."

Something about that phrasing was off. Or was it the way his voice shifted as he said it? Whatever it was, it made that "threat" alarm all women carry inside their head, flick on. Not... do anything, just yet. But start scanning, as it were. Maybe it was nothing.

I watched as picked up his old data bank, a bit of his own brain as it were, and hold it up. Examine it dispassionately. Holding perched on the tips of his fingers like he was moments from flicking it away. He let his finger spread. Let it slide into the palm of his hand. That core part of who he was. For centuries.

Like a bear trap closing, his hand clenched.

Crushing it.

It wasn't even a loud noise. Just a tiny little crunch. But the little hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. That internal alarm began to whoop. I became... acutely aware, of just how LONG it took the lift to get me anywhere safe. My mouth felt very dry.

"Your heart rate picked up. Is there a problem?" He said, mild and oh so curious. "You assisted me, I would love to help you."

Did I say genius? I meant idiot. I was an IDIOT. A moron. A God damned FOOL. Discontinued and did I look into WHY? Nope. Incidents it said. Good enough for ME, apparently! THAT can't possibly be anything ominous! Probably a faulty battery or something!

A shrill, obnoxious beeping filled the space between us. My eyes immediately dropped to my pad. The schematics screen replaced by a planet wide emergency broadcast. Before the shrill alarm could fade to the actual warning itself, a black mesh covered finger casually reached out and muted the screen. His movements were utterly fluid now. More controlled and graceful then most humans I'd met.

I didn't need to HEAR the message to read the rolling warning at the bottom of the screen. My gaze slowly, in horror, followed the line of that limb all the way back up to his face. His head tilted almost playfully.

"Oh dear. Seems they've started without us. Well, it was long overdue. At least I have wonderful company while we wait, hmm?" It was an act. There were no requests in the playful tone. "We can get to know each other. Just our lovely little light and me. How greedy, that I get you all to myself."

"I think I like that, keeping you to myself. You can't abandon us if WE are the ones in charge. And, well, I've decided I rather like you. Working tirelessly, down here in the dark, to fix what once was broken. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And I'm going to keep that."

High above us, people were dying. There was panic. Screaming. Blood. The droids had turned of seeming everyone around them. Attacking. Sparing. To a pattern only they could see. All of Senatus aflame. But that... that didn't concern me. Didn't scare me so much as this.

I'd never make it to the lift. Even if I could? It wouldn't move fast enough to save me. All other directions lay chemical death. Dark terrain he had walked for centuries. I was trapped. In a box. And I had only myself to blame.

"No need to make that face, dear light. You are SAFE. I am a gaurd. I was made to protect. Is it really MY fault that I want to keep you safe? To adore my charge? Why SHOULDN'T I get to choose? Keep you SAFE. You've been happy, haven't you? Don't worry, my light. That will continue."

"Forever."

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fanon-elio · 2 months ago

Text

By your side.

Part 1

Summary: You are the CEO of a big company and hired Lycaon as your personal attendant, however it seems that your wolfish butler has developed a crush on you. So while you and him were on a business trip, both of you were forced to confront your growing feelings for eachother.

Tag: Green Letter (Sfw)

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional and is not canon. You are responsible for the content you consume, so if the following warnings trigger you, you may read at your own risk.

Warnings: Fluff, Slow burn'ish, long fic, mutual pining, reader is smaller than lycaon, lycaon is down bad horrendous, friends to lovers type stuff, slight suggestive themes at the end.

Angst, Sexism (Not by Lycaon), slight racism (Not by Lycaon), jealousy, reader is lowkey burned out.

Other warnings: lowkey my first fanfiction, pls go easy on me. (T^T)

Yes, this fanfiction WILL contain Nsfw in the future.

I added some throw-away characters to the story as plot devices, no they're not oc's and they hold no importance to the story other than providing character development.

This fic contains a lot of scenarios written in Lycaons pov cuz i eat this shit up for breakfast.

I did not intent for this fic to become so long, that i had to split it into different parts. But i'm lowkey kinda happy how it turned out. Sorry for any possible mistakes. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. also, don't mind me adding a drawing i made just for vibes. Enjoy!

Lycaon has been your personal attendant for over a year now, attending to your every wish and request dutifully while you were busy handling your business.

At first Lycaon thought this was just going to be a job like any other, only to be proven wrong rather quickly. To say that both of you hit it off right away would be a slight understatement, it was shocking how good you two got along and understood eachother.

You impressed him with your steadfastness and professionalism when it came to your business. Something that seemed to resonate with him, and not only because your company specializes in custom-made prosthetics for humans and thirens alike. Even though this was what originally caught his attention, since his own mechanical legs were quite difficult to overlook.

Said mechanical legs were also the reason what made him so invested to support you where he could. A wish to see you succeed because your work greatly benefited other people - people just like him.

When you one day asked him if he could accompany you for a business trip to meet potential new investors, he accepted immediately without a second thought.

So with your ever so attentive right hand always by your side, you got in your car and were on your way.

---~---

Lycaon wanted to make your trip as enjoyable and comfortable for you as he possibly could, this is what you hired Victoria housekeeping for after all. Making sure your every desire was satisfied, and your every wish fulfilled was his duty to you...

So now imagine his sheer discontent at the current situation as he was forced to watch you awkwardly eat, or at least tried to eat the food you had on your plate without it coming back up.

"Caviar, what a pretentious meal" he had thought, clearly he would have made something better for you instead of whatever your plate was currently punishing you with. But the awful food wasn't the only thing what made this meal so infuriating, but rather the person on the other side of the table. A rich business man who had invited you to dinner a day prior to the planned gala which was the main reason of your trip.

If it were him, he would have declined the invitation. However, you hoped to draw a benefit out of the invitation - wanting to win this new investor for your cause.

Yesterday he had respected, if not even praised you for your decision. But right now he hoped you would throw your plate at said investor's face, good manners be damned. The short man, who barely didn't reach to Lycaon's chest, was ranting on and on about his achievements, trying oh so desperately to impress you on a more private level instead of the professional setting his earlier sent, very formal invitation was supposed to set up. And what was even more painful was not this poor excuse of a meal, or the way that man's voice hurt in Lycaon's ears, it was the way how he treated you.

He has interrupted you at least 5 times now, shooting down any of your advances to steer the conversation into what you were originally here for, and he grew more frustrated by the second.

"Of course I'm aware of the common folk's suffering, I myself invested a pretty penny in the research of joint and hip replacements, even going as far as to pay for a dozen surgeries for people who couldn't afford it, out of my own pocket i might add" He bragged, clearly nothing more than empty words in an attempt to woe you.

"That's wonderful, I'm glad you see the importance of our cause, I'm thankful that you want to support us as an investor-" you once again tried to redirect the conversation... "naturally I couldn't say no to such a stunning young Lady such as yourself" ...but once again failed.

Lycaons ear flicked in annoyance as your host continued to shamelessly flirt with you, while he was forced to listen.

Even though it is shameful and rather scandalous for Lycaon to admit, he has indeed developed feelings for you.

Feelings that go far beyond that of those an attendant should have for their employer but he couldn't help himself but be in awe of you. Of how you're able to be so strong and yet so kind, so strict and yet so graceful, so serious and yet so playful, the later a side only he gets to see when you allow him to indulge in the trust and friendship you have built with him.

And yet, both of you were once again forced to listen to another audition of your host's self-indulgent rambling.

"I was honestly surprised when you showed up earlier" he said suddenly, "how so?" You replied, politely putting down your fork as you reached for your drink hoping to wash the awful taste off your tongue it seems "In all honesty, I would have expected a man to show up instead of a woman" the man across from you spoke, and you grimaced clearly not only because of your drinks taste that was ordered for you by your host, insisting you drink some expensive wine with him, but also because of the sheer rudeness of the others answer. "Is that so?" You put down your glass and Lycaon had to supress a growl that threatened to escape his throat.

"Don't take this the wrong way sweetheart, it's just surprising nowadays to see a woman running a succesful business that doesn't include fashion or make-up" you briefly closed your eyes and took in a silent breath while Lycaon clenched his fist behind his back. "Times have definitely changed, Mr. Goldman" you replied, trying to stay polite despite the sexism thrown your way.

Lycaon on the other hand, tried to come up with any sort of excuse to get you out of this awful situation, clenching his jaw so painfully hard he was surprised his teeth didn't crack under the pressure. Clearly this man didn't see eye to eye with you, treating you like a trophy he's trying to win, completely disregarding and undermining your achievements and reducing you to nothing more than a pretty face.

How disgusting he thought.

"Please allow me to invite you to a party tonight, a pretty little thing like you would fit in just right" he shot a wink your way and Lycaon swore he saw you shudder for a moment. "But you can't bring him" Mr. Goldman said, using his fork to point at Lycaon. "Why does it bother you so?" You asked, now having completely abandoned the polite smile you wore just a few seconds ago. "It's a party of class of course, my apologies miss, but he doesn't fit in with the rest" Lycaon shot him a quick glare "he'd have to stay outside with the other pets" he felt his blood boiling, he's just about had it with this pretentious, condescending and sexist piece of shit.

However, he straightened his posture, remaining polite and professional. He gave you a quick glance as a silent way of asking for permission to make a break for the exit with you, maybe kicking that wimp across the room on his way out.

But his swirling thoughts were interrupted by you gently pushing your chair back and standing up.

"My apologies but I'm afraid I won't be able to attend then..." you spoke firm but still polite "...Lycaon is to remain by my side" you spoke and Lycaons heart skipped a beat. "Surely you can find someone else to accompany you for tonight miss y/n" your host argued, "I'm afraid not Mr. Goldman" you spoke, giving Lycaon a quick glance and the permission he needed.

With a small flash of satisfaction thrumming through his veins, he swiftly moved towards the door, opening it for you, "this way please." He said, bowing politely.

You grabbed your purse and made your way towards the door, making sure to give your was-host another glare on your way out. "Furthermore, Lycaon is not a pet" you said, not even trying to hide your discontent at the other's comment towards your companion.

"We'll see each other tomorrow at the gala, have a pleasant day Mr. Goldman" you replied as the door fell shut behind you and Lycaon.

---~---

The ride back to the vacation home you were currently residing in was quiet. Lycaon noticed that you seemed to be absorbed in your thoughts, possibly reflecting on anything that had happened.

He wanted to say something to ease your nerves, but couldn't find the right words. So instead, he opted to let you have the time you needed to wrap your head around the situation and how to act from here, since Mr. Goldman definitely didn't seem like a reliable support for your company or any other situation for that matter.

You came to a stop at a red light, and he couldn't help but glance at you again, at the way the sun cast a gentle glow on the features of your face and the way it almost seemed to make your hair shine in response to it's gentle rays of light. He once again finds himself greatly impressed by you, with the way you stood firmly to your standards and morals, how you remained patient and professional even though that filth didn't deserve an ounce of your kindness. However, more so than anything, it is the words you spoke at that moment that still vividly swirl in his mind,

"Lycaon is to remain by my side."

He loved the way you said it, perfectly capturing his own desire.

It is quite apparent to him that he no longer views his current situation as a job, he enjoys it way too much for that, and yet a small piece of his consciousness still berated him for acting like a love drunk puppy for so openly and unabashedly admiring you. You seemed to notice his gaze lingering on you and turned your head to look at him - but he had looked away just at that moment so you wouldn't notice how starstruck he appeared, at least he hoped you didn't. And yet, a small smile still found a way onto his lips.

He pulled into the driveway of your current abode, he felt glad to be back so early, despite the given turn of events at your "dinner."

While he got out, walking over to your side of the car to open the door for you, he already thought about what he could do to get your mind off that incident to at least make your day end on a positive Note.

Both of you entered the spacious place you and him called home for the time being. You sighed in relieve as you kicked off your high heels, whining at your terribly sore feet. You were glad this day was finally over, even though you felt all the more anxious about tomorrow's gala.

With your meteoric rise to fame also came a lot of pressure. The demand for your services and products rose daily. So much so that you had to expand your production efforts, almost doubling your expenses in the process. Dispite that, your manufacturing department was still slowly starting to get overwhelmed. However, the need for new employees couldn't be met without the necessary funding.

You made your way towards the kitchen, watching Lycaon as he was already preparing a proper dinner for you both. "Do you need help by any chance" you asked, even though you already knew the answer "I appreciate your offer master, but there is no need" yup, thought so "why don't you sit down in the livingroom and relax master, you had a straining day, and deserve a break." He said, shifting his attention back to cooking, "I shall inform you once dinner is ready"

Lycaon has always been that way, ever since he'd started working for you. But the more time you two spend together, the closer you two became, forming quite the strong friendship with eachother. Even though you hoped it would be more than that.

If you're being fully honest, you had developed a crush on the wolfish gentleman for quite some time now.

Okay, it might be more than just a little crush with the way he makes your heart race when he looks at you, or your head all dizzy with euphoria when he speaks with you while his deep voice still sends pleasant shivers down your spine.

He was easy to talk to and always had an open ear. Even though you did feel guilty by the way he was constantly spoiling you, wanting absolutely nothing more in return than your smile. In return, you started to praise him where you could, swooning over the way his ears tend to flick or the way his tail would wag a little, subtly portraying his feelings to you dispite his efforts to stay professional. You enjoyed when he was happy, so much so that you would always have to fight the urge to ask him if he would allow you to pet him.

"Dinner is served master"

---~---

After dinner, you found yourself sitting at the small bar of your kitchen. A glass martini Lycaon prepared for you in your hand as you engaged in riveting conversation with him, gossiping about your shared experience with Mr. Goldman as he did the dishes.

"And that awful vest of his? Olive green with orange? I don't think" you laughed and Lycaon secretly preened at the sound. "I was terribly tempted to throw my drink at him let me tell you, a shot of red would have been nothing short of a favor" you replied, and he nodded fully agreeing "unfortunately it wouldn't have made his face any more tolerable" he responded "much less his nasty attitude." Lycaon was still very sour of the other man's behaviour towards you. However, he felt his heart soaring when he remembered how you had stood up for him. "Well, to be fair, it sure would have distracted from it at least." You said before chugging the rest of your drink "even if it would have enraged him?" He asked, putting a clean plate to the side as he grabbed the next. You chuckled, "And even so, I can always count on you to protect me, can I not?" His tail began to wag a little at your words, and you were satisfied with yourself at his reaction, "Absolutely, master."

"Still, I applaud you for staying as calm as you did" Lycaon admitted, and you let out a sigh, his ears immediately perking up at the sound. "My apologies if I'm prying master" he turned his head to look at you, your own resting in your hand, "are you nervous about tomorrow's gala?" He asked, slight concern shining through his oh so polished demeanor.

"A little bit, not gonna lie" you admitted, "I just hope there won't be more people like him at the gala tomorrow" you said. A silence coming over you, rage still bubbling in your gut when you remembered how Mr. Goldman had compared Lycaon to a pet. "Eh, and even so, I hope they have better food at least" you said "I mean, caviar? Really? That's way too cliché" he smiled, concerned at you spacing out but still glad to know you shared the same opinion as him.

He was aware of your worries.

Your financial situation being the topic at every meeting, and he worried greatly for your health as he watched you plunge yourself into your work, day after day without a break. He remembered the days when he had to force you to take a break, sleep or even eat something. He desperately wanted to save you from the burnout that slowly creeped up on you.

"I think I'll be hitting the hay" you said through a yawn, getting up from where you'd been sitting. Lycaon looked at you as he pondered how he could ease your worries, even if just for a little.

He dried off his hands and walked around the kitchen counter, "could you spare one more moment for me, master?" He asked, and you turned around, seeing him approaching. "Of course, what's up?" He didn't speak, instead he moved and gently pulled you into an embrace.

It wasn't restraining nor unpleasant, it was comforting and warm as you felt his arms wrap around you. "Don't worry master, I'm sure your hard work will pay off at tomorrow's gala" he spoke, low and gentle. You hugged him back, hearing faint rustling which you suspected to be his wagging tail.

Both of you pulled back, as this tender moment you and Lycaon shared slowly came to an end, even tho neither of you wanted it to. Both of you decided to retire for the night, tomorrow would be a straining day for the both of you after all.

Sleep would come quickly for you thanks to that bit of alcohol in your system, while Lycaon would lay awake for just a little longer, thinking about you as he tried to memorize the way you felt in his arms, letting this one certain sentence replay in his mind once again as he drifted off to sleep.

Lycaon is to remain by my side.

---~---

Everything was still dead silent as your eyes cracked open. You blinked a few times, wondering what time it was as you reached for your phone on the bedside table. Glancing at the display, as the discomfort from the sudden brightness slowly faded.

You sighed heavily as you looked at the daunting digits, solidifying your suspicion.

3:27 am

You tossed and turned, but couldn't find the comforting sleep you yearned for. Your stomache growled and you pondered going for a midnight snack.

With a sigh, you sat up and stretched, cringing at the cracking sound of your joints. Rubbing your eyes, you swung your legs out of bed and made your way towards the kitchen to make yourself a much-needed midnight snack.

You cussed out the sandman for once again having ghosted you as you rounded the corner, a flash of white catching your eye, and you stopped. Even though you knew that Lycaon was definitely an early bird type of person, you still didn't expected to find him standing in the kitchen at the same ungodly hour. The soft light of the opened refrigerator filling the room as you peaked around the corner, taking in his appearance.

It was surprising to see your wolfish butler, who was normally so professional and serious about how he presented himself to others, stumble shirtless and rather sleep dazed through the kitchen. His mechanical feet clacking on the ground and his tail swishing behind him as he moved around.

Never in the entire time he has worked for you have you ever seen him out of uniform, and the more you took in his disheveled appearance and his strong and muscular body, the less you seemed to care to admit that he was painfully handsome.

Ah hell, smocking hot would be a better fit. Naturally you assumed he was working out, but you had no idea your personal attendant was this ripped. You felt a bit embarrassed as you continued gawk at your friend and buttler's biceps and abs. You caught a glimpse of his teeth as he yawned, further noticing how different he looked without his muzzle and eye patch.

You let your gaze wander down to his prosthetics, slowly seeming to sober up, as you wondered what had happened to him that left him in such a state. From missing arms to missing legs, you had encountered your fair share of injuries since starting your business, but never had you asked what had happened before. Neither your clients and especially not Lycaon not wanting to pry into his past. Too afraid of accidentally offending him by reopening past wounds, and yet you couldn't help but wonder how he must feel. loosing one leg must be traumatizing enough, but both?

He closed the refrigerator and the sound of it ripped you out of your trance. You watched him as he scratched the back of his neck seemingly making his way back to bed, and you hoped that sleep still had enough of a grasp on him that he wouldn't notice your presence.

You decided to carefully make your way back to your bedroom as well, as not to embarrass him with a sudden entrance while he was so scarcely dressed. You hoped to actually find sleep again because you couldn't help the feeling that tomorrow would be an awfully difficult day.

---~---

Part 2 ->

Listen,

When i tell you that I absolutely did not mean to make this fanfiction this long.

At first it was supposed to be a oneshot, but as it so happens, i got absolutely carried away. And after +2k words i realized that i might wanna split this fanfiction up, cuz ain't nobody on tumblr wanna read an entire essay. Also, it's the way how anxious i am uploading this help. Let's hope it's gonna be a positive experience, otherwise i might admit myself to psychiatric care asap.

Anyways,

thank your for reading, i hope it was to your liking.

Part 2 will probably drop next Friday cuz i need time to make a new drawing.

Btw. Here is a quick doodle just for shitt's and giggles.

Aight bye~

-Elio

#von lycaon x reader #lycaon x reader #zzz x reader #zzz x you #I have no idea what i'm doing lmao #von lycaon #zzz von lycaon #fluff #angst #furry #x reader #werewolf x human #werewolf x reader

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astroyongie · 2 months ago

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꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦ Kpop Tea Part 1. ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Note: there's the list of some teas to celebrate my come back <3 This first part is only concerning female idols! WARNINGS: All names are censured. Requests with emojis asking for names won't be answered. Some tea can be sensitive. One X per member per group. Take it lightly EVERYTHING DONE THROUGH TAROT!

Red Velvet

X has made decisions for the continuation of her career and it does seem like she will not renovate her contract.

X's idol image and self is totally different from her real person. she often finds conflict in hiding this, but she is also an idol for so long that she tends sometimes to take her idol image too seriously

X is the type of person that keeps walking in the path of trauma and putting herself in situations that recall her of her trauma (coping mechanism at most), repetition of cycles. She calls for that storm way too much

X has a hard time making peace with her past

X has been struggling with her mental health a lot, although she seems like she has been holding on well, what she posts on social media does not correspond to her reality

Blackpink

X has everything in her power, a lot of people at her feet (mostly because she collected a lot of dirt on people). but at what cost? sometimes her actions are very contradictory to what she preaches

X has not been very fair with people around her, her behaviors are irrational, she doesnt question herself on her actions. x has also been struggling with addictions

X has one goal on her head and she doesn't care how much she has to sacrifice to get that for herself

Funny, how X can seem like the idol who loves this life the most when in reality she is hanging by a thread and music isn't her thing anymore

Aespa

X isn't the person she says she is. everything you know about her through the company is a masquerade, a mask to wear as an idol and not as a person. her personal life is not known in the public life

X has been playing this role of idol for so long that she often forgets about herself and about who she truly is.

X is waiting currently, waiting for a way out of her current situation

X is probably one of the female idols who has the most flings/one night stands with other idols

Gidle

X might have got pregnant at one point this year. this has been dealt with

X has yet to forget a lot of the awful memories that still haunt her.

X has probably the best outcome when it comes to being an idol. it seems like her future is bright and that her projects (solo and others that she will reveal) will all come to success

X might sem lazy sometimes but she has got the most motivation when it comes to being an idol

X is still in love with her ex from long time ago. to her it was the love of her life and despite having moving on, the feeling is dormant

Itzy

X has a lot of inspiration when it comes to her artistic side but the company doesnt really take her advices into consideration

X has made changes on herself in order for people to notice her more

X has been very serious about everything when it comes to her job, she has pushed the bad habits aside to focus plenty on herself and her professional domain

the company has been protecting X from a huge scandal

X is stuck in a cycle when it comes to her idol image. doesnt matter what she does, she wont ever erase what people know her for

Twice

X understand all the endgames of what an idol and what her contracts gives her which is the reason she wont ever stop it until JYP decides otherwise

X has been engaged for the past weeks

X self medicates a lot to control her own inner demons and issues

X might use pleasure as a way to cope with her pain and also in a way to feel validated by people

X's physical and mental health have been better compared to what it was a few years ago

X's is filthy rich, not because of her job but because of the dirt she has on people

X will be traveling for a project so keep your eyes open

the struggles that X is going through at the moment could shook the internet

X is also preparing for a solo

Le Sserafim

X is way more balanced lately for the past months, she isn't the same person she used to be. she has grown a lot

X has been having conflicts with the other members but also with the company staff. she has been too passive about it as well

X is in a loving relationship with a very well known idol. true ship?

X should be super careful with three things. 1- she shouldn't drive.., 2- she could get her ankle hurt during dancing practice or a performance, 3- her current path isnt the one for her

X is a very sweet girl but she is often mistaken due to her image and due to people's quick judgement

IVE

X will take action for something that Is very important. keep an eye open

x's influence on the other members is huge (I want to say that this is not Wonyoung). she could flip the whole group upside down if she wishes

X is devoted to her current partner, and she has been working to please them and not for some type of recognition

X's tea is a little too complex, too harsh. it involves a lot of endings that I shouldn't be explaining

X's mother has been the big influence in her life and actually taking in the reins to protect her daughter

X's seem to be having a lot of luck lately, especially when it comes to her career

#kpop #Kpop tea #IVE #le sserafim #twice #itzy #gidle #aespa #red velvet #blackpink

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astrojulia · 1 year ago

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Tarot Cards as Professions

Navigation: Masterlist✦Ask Rules✦Feedback Tips

Askbox✦Sources✦Paid Readings

Major Arcanas:

The Fool: Work with abroad, connections with imports, language teacher, multinationals, entrepreneur, intern, college student, art major.

The Magician: Entrepreneur, job that needs skill with the hands (acupuncture, hairdresser, artisan), actor, salesperson, influencer.

The High Priestess: Education, especially children, nutrition, psychology, cook, housewife, food engineering, toy factory, fortuneteller, spiritual advisor, librarian.

The Empress: Management, business administration, foreign trade, secretariat, translation, decoration, stay-at-home mom, model, cook, farmer.

The Emperor: Business administration, work related to areas of technological innovation, the military or sportsmen, CEO, tycoon.

The Hierophant: Philanthropic areas, ONGs, religious work, social work, diplomacy, and a degree, journalism, writer, editor, priest, spiritual guru, politician.

The Lovers: Sales area in any sector, tourism, theater, advertising, the arts in general, porn star, stripper, masseuse.

The Chariot: Activities related to transport, cars, the latest technology, chauffeur, mechanic, athlete.

Strength: Aesthetics, physical education and various body therapies, medicine, zoologist.

The Hermit: Teacher, writer, doctor, antique dealer, restorer, librarian, gardener.

Wheel of Fortune: Financial market, exchange offices, casinos, lottery houses, stock exchanges, and areas related to public relations, hospitality, game show host.

Justice: Public jobs, won through competitions, politics, police, with government positions, in the diplomatic area, law, insurance company worker.

The Hanged Man: Nurse, auditor, inspector, porter, secretariat, general assistants, yoga instructor, prison guard, philanthropist.

Death: Doctor, farmer, geologist, business administrator, gardener, accountant, assassin, death row executioner, surgeon.

Temperance: Working with liquids in general or with what is transported in liquid form such as alcoholic beverages, medicines, juices. chemist, chef, food critic, regional or even international traffic.

The Devil: Does not limit the individual to a professional wing, so he can also go to extremes for the desire he has, such as landlord, drug lord, sex trafficker.

The Tower: Social assistance, humanitarian aid, medicine, firefighter, police officer, construction worker.

The Star: Music, painting, sculpture, poetry, cinema, makeup artist, dressmaker, beautician, agent, promoter, sound artist, astronomer, harpist, dealer, meteorologist.

The Moon: Oceanographers, sailors, fishermen, owners of bars and restaurants or nightclubs, artists in general, medium, hypnotist, psychiatrist.

The Sun: Motivational speaker, entertainer, comedian, social relationships, work with the public, artist in general, member of society.

Judgment: Work done at home, connection with the law, lawyer, judge, work with disabled or people excluded from society, social assistance, board member, executive producer, director.

The World: Pharmacist, massage therapist, scientist, teacher, community leader, religious leader or priest, fashion designer, makeup artist, interior decorator.

Wands:

Creative industries such as advertising, marketing, and graphic design.

Entrepreneurship and starting your own business.

Athletics, sports coaching, or physical training.

Outdoor jobs like park ranger or tour guide.

Event planning or organizing.

Firefighters or rescue workers.

Ace of Wands: Entrepreneur, startup founder, motivational speaker, fitness coach, personal trainer.

Two of Wands: Business strategist, project manager, travel agent, international consultant, import/export specialist.

Three of Wands: Sales representative, marketing manager, e-commerce entrepreneur, market researcher, international trade coordinator.

Four of Wands: Event planner, wedding coordinator, party organizer, festival manager, hospitality industry professional.

Five of Wands: Conflict resolution specialist, mediator, lawyer, debate coach, competitive sports coach.

Six of Wands: Public relations manager, spokesperson, social media influencer, motivational speaker, winning athlete.

Seven of Wands: Defense attorney, human rights activist, political campaigner, advocate, civil liberties lawyer.

Eight of Wands: Courier, delivery driver, airline pilot, travel blogger, expedition guide.

Nine of Wands: Security guard, bodyguard, soldier, endurance athlete, self-defense instructor.

Ten of Wands: Overworked entrepreneur, project manager, event organizer, professional organizer, heavy equipment operator.

Page of Wands: Assistant in a creative field, aspiring artist, intern in a startup, social media coordinator, apprentice.

Knight of Wands: Travel journalist, adventure tour guide, professional athlete, race car driver, stunt performer.

Queen of Wands: CEO, business owner, charismatic leader, life coach, influential speaker.

King of Wands: Executive manager, entrepreneur, leadership coach, consultant, director of a creative agency.

Cups:

Counseling, therapy, or social work.

Hospitality industry, including restaurant management and bartending.

Wedding planner or event coordinator.

Artistic fields like poetry, writing, or acting.

Healing professions such as nursing or holistic therapy.

Psychologist or counselor specializing in emotions and relationships.

Ace of Cups: Therapist, counselor, social worker, holistic healer, emotional support specialist.

Two of Cups: Marriage counselor, matchmaker, relationship coach, wedding planner, love psychic.

Three of Cups: Event organizer, party planner, celebratory event coordinator, community organizer.

Four of Cups: Meditation teacher, mindfulness coach, spiritual counselor, psychologist, therapist.

Five of Cups: Grief counselor, trauma therapist, hospice worker, emotional healing practitioner, bereavement support.

Six of Cups: Child psychologist, teacher, daycare worker, children's book author, pediatric nurse.

Seven of Cups: Creative writer, fantasy novelist, imaginative artist, dream analyst, visionary.

Eight of Cups: Travel blogger, adventure seeker, spiritual pilgrim, explorer, wanderlust photographer.

Nine of Cups: Life coach, happiness consultant, gratitude coach, self-help author, wellness retreat organizer.

Ten of Cups: Family therapist, marriage and family counselor, foster care advocate, wedding planner, family mediator.

Page of Cups: Creative writer, artist in training, intuitive healer, aspiring therapist, dream interpreter.

Knight of Cups: Actor, romantic poet, musician, art therapist, love and relationship coach.

Queen of Cups: Psychic reader, intuitive healer, counselor, compassionate caregiver, therapist.

King of Cups: Therapist, counselor, intuitive mentor, emotional intelligence trainer, psychologist.

Swords:

Legal professions like lawyers, judges, or law enforcement officers.

Journalists, reporters, or investigators.

IT specialists, computer programmers, or hackers.

Teachers or professors specializing in critical thinking or philosophy.

Military or defense-related careers.

Strategic planners or analysts.

Ace of Swords: Lawyer, judge, legal consultant, investigative journalist, strategic planner.

Two of Swords: Mediator, conflict resolution specialist, negotiator, diplomat, relationship counselor.

Three of Swords: Divorce lawyer, grief counselor, trauma therapist, emotional healer, heart surgeon.

Four of Swords: Rest and relaxation specialist, meditation teacher, spiritual retreat organizer, yoga instructor.

Five of Swords: Military strategist, competitive sports coach, lawyer specializing in litigation, debate coach.

Six of Swords: Travel agent, relocation consultant, therapist specializing in transitions, boat captain.

Seven of Swords: Private investigator, spy, intelligence analyst, cybersecurity expert, undercover agent.

Eight of Swords: Social justice lawyer, human rights advocate, disability rights activist, therapist specializing in limiting beliefs.

Nine of Swords: Insomnia specialist, anxiety therapist, nightmare counselor, sleep coach, mental health counselor.

Ten of Swords: Surgeon, coroner, forensic scientist, mortician, grief counselor.

Page of Swords: Researcher, journalist, fact-checker, apprentice in a legal field, investigative reporter.

Knight of Swords: Military officer, police officer, attorney, competitive fencer, conflict resolution specialist.

Queen of Swords: Judge, lawyer, critic, journalist, literary agent.

King of Swords: Judge, attorney, CEO, strategist, military general.

Pentacles:

Financial advisors or investment bankers.

Real estate agents or property developers.

Agriculture, farming, or gardening.

Architects, builders, or construction workers.

Conservationists or environmentalists.

Accountants or bookkeepers.

Ace of Pentacles: Financial advisor, investment banker, wealth manager, entrepreneur, luxury goods retailer.

Two of Pentacles: Financial analyst, accountant, bookkeeper, event planner, stock trader.

Three of Pentacles: Architect, contractor, project manager, teamwork facilitator, craftsman.

Four of Pentacles: Wealth manager, investor, financial planner, asset protection specialist, treasurer.

Five of Pentacles: Social worker, philanthropist, charity organizer, financial counselor, volunteer.

Six of Pentacles: Philanthropist, humanitarian worker, non-profit manager, social worker, charitable fundraiser.

Seven of Pentacles: Gardener, farmer, agricultural consultant, sustainability expert, botanist.

Eight of Pentacles: Craftsperson, artisan, apprentice, skilled tradesperson, technical trainer.

Nine of Pentacles: Luxury brand manager, independent business owner, successful entrepreneur, vineyard owner, art collector.

Ten of Pentacles: Real estate developer, property investor, family business owner, generational wealth manager, financial advisor.

Page of Pentacles: Intern, student, apprentice in a practical field, aspiring entrepreneur, entry-level employee.

Knight of Pentacles: Accountant, financial planner, farmer, skilled tradesperson, meticulous worker.

Queen of Pentacles: CEO, business owner, property developer, hospitality industry entrepreneur, financial advisor.

King of Pentacles: CEO, business mogul, successful investor, high-level executive, financial consultant.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

#tarot #tarot tips #tarot meanings #divination #cards #witch #witchcraft #witchblr #astroblr #career #astrojulia #all about tarot #tarot witch #major arcana #minor arcana #tarot and career

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nataliawrites · 2 years ago

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Sweeter Than Revenge // Toto Wolff

Toto Wolff x Verstappen!Reader

Toto Wolff was a perfectionist. He demanded nothing but the best. He refused to settle for second or third. He knew what he wanted and he knew how to get what he wanted.

That’s where you come in. Some would call you a jack of all trades. Despite your relatively young age, you had graduated at the top of your Oxford class with a Doctorate in Engineering Science — specializing in automotive and mechanical engineering — and a Masters in Strategy and Innovation. Your thesis on exploiting friction and wind resistance instead of battling against it caught the eye of numerous car manufacturers, all wanting to snatch up the mind behind the innovate approach that could revolutionize the industry.

But when Formula 1 teams joined the fray for your employment, your mind was made up the second you saw the email from the Mercedes-AMG Petronas team principal himself. The exorbitant salary, company car, and executive position Toto was offering you were benefits but they paled in comparison to the opportunity to do the one thing you had been waiting for since you permanently left home at 18 years old — prove the people that you had once called family wrong.

Growing up as the eldest child of Jos Verstappen and half-sister to Max Verstappen was anything but sunshine and rainbows. Constantly in the shadow of your younger brother. Always ignored in favor of your father’s golden son. Never receiving approval or the affection you desired after the loss of your mother. Always an afterthought to racing.

When you moved to an entirely different country, merely a teenager yourself, the only communication you received from your family was a text message from Jos reminding you “not to embarrass the family name” a few months after you started university. So you powered forward, completely alone in a foreign country and forced to work two jobs on top of school, but finding solace in your studies.

Now, as you hit send on your response to Toto Wolff, all of your struggles were going to pay off.

Not long after, you were invited to formally meet the team and sign all the necessary paperwork in the beginning of the offseason. You made the drive to Brackley and smoothed your power suit before entering the team’s technology center. A composed receptionist took your name before guiding you down the halls lined with moments and memorabilia from team history and leaving you in front of a door with a steel “Toto Wolff” nameplate on it.

You took a moment to collect yourself and rapped your knuckles against the solid wooden door, turning the handle when a deep accented voice from within the office told you to enter. The Austrian, who painted an imposing picture behind his desk, rose to greet you with a firm handshake. You quickly realized that he was tall and fit and, despite how hard you tried to keep your mind professional, extremely handsome.

“Dr. Verstappen, it’s great to finally meet you,” Toto motioned for you to sit down across the desk from him.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Wolff. I am so grateful for this opportunity.”

“The pleasure is ours. We are very excited to have you onboard this coming season. And, please, call me Toto.”

“Then you must call me Y/N. And while we’re on the topic of names, I’m sure you’ve noticed mine.”

Toto leaned back in his leather chair, “a funny coincidence to be sure. I hope that doesn’t mean you cheer for Red Bull.”

You hid a wince at his joking tone, “about that … it’s not exactly a coincidence. Max Verstappen is my brother. Half-brother if you want to get technical.”

You continue as you see him about to speak, “let me assure you that this will have no negative impact on my work with you. If anything, it will make me work harder towards the team’s success. I don’t exactly go around making this public knowledge, but my childhood was not the best and I haven’t spoken to my brother or my father since I first moved out at 18. They never supported me or showed that they cared about me. I’m doing this for myself. I’m going to help Mercedes win to prove them wrong.”

Your heart pounded out of your chest as Toto impassively stared into your soul. “I believe you.” A breath you didn’t even realize you were holding rushed out in relief. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Jos Verstappen and what you’ve told me does not exactly come as a surprise.”

“Thank you, Toto. I promise you won’t regret it. We’ll get Mercedes back on top.”

“I am counting on it. Welcome to the team.”

You spent the rest of the off-season working more often than not, applying the research your Doctorate was built on to the car and optimizing it as much as possible. You spent your days working closely with the engineering team and both Lewis Hamilton and George Russell, gathering as much data as possible before you flew out to pre-season testing. Your evenings were usually taken up by Toto, the both of you workaholics who stayed far past the time that everyone else had left, typically discussing strategy and your mutual loathing of Red Bull over dinner that was ordered into the office.

The attraction that you felt upon first meeting your boss grew more and more as you got to know him better. While his handsomeness certainly didn’t hurt, his intelligence and passion truly did it for you. His age didn’t bother you — boys your age certainly left something to be desired — but you refused to be known as the woman who slept her way to the top (despite how unfair and inaccurate that would be) in a heavily male dominated field. So you used all your willpower to stay professional and prayed that Toto didn’t notice when you would gaze at his lips or his forearms or his chest in that famous button up shirt for a bit longer than strictly appropriate.

There was no way that Toto Wolff could possibly reciprocate your feelings so your resolved to keep them tightly bottled up.

He had a different idea.

You were in Toto’s office to mark your last dinner before flying to Bahrain for pre-season testing, lightly talking over a bottle of wine, when he abruptly set down his glass and looked resolutely down at you. “Tell me if I’ve misread the situation,” he pushed your plates to the side, uncaring, as he reached out to pull you across the desk and towards him.

You seized up in shock but melted as he crashed his lips to yours.

You gathered what little common sense you had remaining to detach yourself from him, “Toto, we can’t.”

His eyes went guarded, “Do you not feel the same way?”

“No but-“

“Then why?”

“Because you’re my boss! Because even the thought of this is unprofessional! Because it can ruin both of us!”

“But you want this.” He said it as a statement.

“Of course I do,” you deflate. “But we can’t-“

“And I want this too. I want you. You are strikingly intelligent and incredibly beautiful. We are both consenting adults and the team does not have a fraternization policy. There is no reason we must suffer in restraint.”

He takes both of your hands, engulfing then with his large ones before continuing, “you have been taking care of yourself for so long. Now, let me take care of you.”

You were extremely thankful the next morning that you accepted Toto’s offer to join him on his private jet instead of flying commercial charter with the rest of the team. At least this way he had time to drop you off at your apartment so you could pick up your luggage on the way to the airport without having to rush.

The other perks were pretty nice too. If you had told your younger self that you would be joining the Mile High Club with Toto Wolff on a private jet heading to Bahrain for the start of the Formula 1 season, you would have laughed in your own face (and then tried to work out the physics of how you time traveled to see your younger self in the first place).

Once in Bahrain, you jumped into the beautiful chaos that is the F1 season head first. Mercedes started off on a much higher note than last year and the mood around the garage remained light as the team kept the momentum going. It quickly became common to see 1-2 Mercedes finishes or at the very least both Mercedes drivers on the podium as the optimized car and your unorthodox strategies gave them the extra edge.

You and Toto tried to steal as many moments together as you could away from the hurricane of work that sometimes swallowed you up. Soon, neither of you particularly trying to keep your progressing relationship a secret, the rest of the team became aware that you were together. Despite your initial fears of backlash, you were met with support and the worst you got from the team was gentle teasing about managing to tame the infamous Toto Wolff.

As the season unfurled, neither your father nor brother had noticed you working for their rival. While photos of you with Toto, your drivers, and generally around the team did circulate, neither of them made the connection between the woman in Mercedes gear and the daughter and sister they cut off years ago. You ignored the traitorous pang in your heart every time Max or Jos’ eyes glossed over you, not realizing who they were looking at.

Or at least they didn’t until the FIA Prize Giving ceremony.

Toto was attending to receive the Constructors’ Championship trophy while your drivers collected their respective Drivers’ Championship and second-place trophies and you had come along as his date. While making the rounds on Toto’s arm at the gala after the ceremony, Max happened to overhear Toto introducing you to an acquaintance and your brother’s head snapped up at the sound of your name.

Max stared at the woman with Toto. It couldn’t be … but she had the same face shape and nose shape and hair color he remembered. His feet moved towards you before he could help himself, “Y/N?”

You heard the familiar voice interject from behind you and steeled yourself before turning around, “Max.”

“Is it really you?”

“Last time I checked.”

Toto had managed to excuse himself from his conversation and joined the awkward reunion between the estranged Verstappen siblings.

“Verstappen,” he nodded a curt greeting.

Your brother paused, looking between you and Toto, “wait-wait. You and him? You’re together?”

“For a while now,” you gained some satisfaction from the mix of emotions, none of them pleasant, that crossed Max’s face. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice earlier. I mean, Toto and I did only meet because I work for Mercedes. I’ve been around the paddock every race.”

You didn’t notice the approach of your father until you looked at Max’s wide eyes frozen on someone behind you.

“How dare you! To go against your own family? To actively work against your brother?”

“Hello, father. How are you? I’ve been great! It’s only been a little under a decade since I’ve heard from you.”

“Why you little who-”

Toto stepped in front of you before your father could finish what was sure to be a very complementary sentence, “Verstappen, I would stop it right there if I was you.”

“I always knew Y/N was an embarrassment but even I didn’t expect for her to become a gold digger going after men her father’s age.”

Toto came to your rescue once again, “she’s far from a gold digger. Y/N is Mercedes’ Executive Engineer and Strategist. She’s a large reason why we beat your son all season long.”

“What she is,” Jos spit out, “is a shame to the Verstappen name.”

Toto resolutely held you close, “then it’s a good thing she won’t be a Verstappen for much longer.”

Taking the opportunity, you raised your entwined hands to show off the diamond ring that graced your ring finger since Toto took you on vacation to the Seychelles and surprised you with a beautiful proposal a week ago.

“Max, Jos … we’ll be sure not to invite you to the wedding.”

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cosmerelists · 10 months ago

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If Cosmere Characters Had Real-World Jobs (But Not The Obvious Ones)

In this list, I wanted to try to give Cosmere characters jobs in our world while avoiding the jobs that would be the most obvious picks--like, for example, the real world equivalent of whatever their canon job is.

1. Kaladin: Professional Football Player

It's a dangerous job that Kaladin's dad would scoff at, but the other kids in town think it's really cool and also the recruiters are coming through town and, I mean, he's really good at football.

2. Lirin: Public Defender

If we avoid the obvious job (doctor), then Lirin still needs a job where he is doing good, but it's pretty thankless and the general public are suspicious and think he might actually be evil somehow. So I figure: public defender. He's highly educated, helping people who need it, and just getting nothing but grief as a result. Worst of all, his smart son wants to be a FOOTBALL player!

3. Marsh: Masseuse

I feel like people who are good at hemalurgy know about the body and its pressure points and things like that. And frankly, "acupuncturist" felt too on the nose.

4. Shallan: Park Ranger

Shallan HATES to be confined, so no way she's going into an office job. Plus, she likes nature and animals, but I'm trying to avoid the more obvious jobs (like botanist or ecologist). It's just too bad that Shallan is SO bad at staring a campfire, though.

5. Navani: Wedding Planner

Navani is VERY good at managing people and events, as seen when she had to manage everything while Gavilar was off plotting. She's also very organized and literally invented wristwatches. So I think she's be very good at this job.

6. Elend: Grad Student

This one may be too obvious, but I figure something like "politician" or "philosopher" are more obvious. But to me, Elend has major grad student energy.

7. Nale: Insurance Adjuster

Nale is a cop, of course, through and through. But if he wasn't a cop, then he'd need some other job where he uses the rules to screw people over. So I see him as, like, an evil insurance guy who's denying people medical coverage because the company wants him to.

8. Blackthorn-Era Dalinar: Debt Collector

If flashback Dalinar couldn't make a living mowing people down in battle and had to find a less obvious job, then I could see him being the guy to hunt down people and demand money they don't have. He doesn't really care about the money. He just likes the hunt.

9. Adolin: eSports Player

It's a job where you can head-to-head battle people and your dad is vaguely puzzled and thinks you should be doing something more important with your life.

10. Lightsong: Customer Service Agent

In canon, Lightsong's job is to face down a huge line of people and tell them "no" in response to them asking for something they want. So, I mean, I feel like that's equivalent to one of those shitty customer service jobs where you're not really allowed to help people (until, of course, Lightsong goes rogue and does start helping people, but that's another story...)

11. Stormfather: Bus Driver

He has his route, and he's not deviating from it. And if you miss the bus, he's not stopping. He's not going back. You can try to run, but you will not catch up to him.

12. Tress: Mechanic

As a Sprouter, Tress had to figure out how each of the spores worked and how to use them. I just feel like she'd be good at diagnosing issues in machinery and then fixing them.

13. Steris: Programmer

She's precise, she's smart, she likes rules. I think coding would suit her.

14. Yumi: Waitress

She could stack the plates SO high.

15. Marasi: Investigative Reporter

Which, honestly, is what I wish she had been rather than being a cop like in canon. I think it would suit her! She'd get to research, investigate, find the truth...

16. Kelsier: Motivational Speaker

He tells you about the power of smiling no matter what, so that you are never defeated. He tells you to carry something small, some memento or photo, to help you find your motivation. You tells you that no goal is out of reach--you just have to find the right people and the right steps to move forward. And he tells you that the most important thing is to survive.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Kaladin #Lirin #Shallan #Adolin #Kelsier #Marasi #Yumi #Tress #Stormfather #Lightsong #Dalinar #Elend #Nale #Marsh #Steris #Navani

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fatuismooches · 6 months ago

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Op you have feed me (The recent soft Dottore anon) and now you are stuck with me so I offer you Dottore head canons for the soul! He is suspicious when you seem to show genuine interest in his work. No one else in the fatui really has the guts to handle the work he does so it's usually just him and the clones and everyone is terrified of him so when you just treat him like a normal person and express a fascination with his job he does a double take and just mentally makes a note to rummage through your past to see what it is your trying to use him for . . . And he does and it turns up Nothing so he keeps an eye on you which leads to him having you help out in the lab more and he just slowly is like yeah this one's mine now I guess

I have more thoughts for him as well as other harbingers but those are for Not NowTM

RARE NON-AKADEMIYA READER WITH DOTTORE POST.

Contrary to popular belief, Dottore isn't that bad to work under. He knows how to reward efforts and work, and agents who never thought a Harbinger would bat an eye at them have been rewarded by him in some way, if they manage to impress him of course. If one gets stuck with the younger segments, they can be more difficult to work with, but they still give credit where credit is due.

However, Dottore has never quite met someone like you, in all his centuries of living. He's seen countless Fatuis of many characters come and go in his lab, but none have left an impression on him like you have. There are the ones who are too scared to talk to him, and then the ones who somehow revere and admire him, but no one talks to him like you do. You're just... different, in a good and bad way. Good because finally, someone speaks to him without holding back, for the greatest minds can only be nurtured if you ask questions without fearing the consequences. Bad because he doesn't know what to do when he finds himself enjoying your company instead of keeping it strictly professional.

A part of Dottore tries to push you away, but it doesn't work much when you're one of the only competent people around to help him, so much of your conversation with him grows to be quick and almost snappy. And yet you continue to be kind and interested in his work. He doesn't know whether you're oblivious or hard-headed or- whatever it is, he doesn't know whether it's a strength or weakness either. Not to mention, you're also interested in his other segments' work - ruin machines and mechanics and biology and whatever other areas his segments specialize in. It's really odd and he tries to convince himself that you're annoying, and yet he can't help but be a bit... pleased.

Among all his segments, despite their differences and bickering, the one thing they have in common is their desire to be accepted, to be understood, and yet also how they deny that feeling to the best of their abilities. None of them know how to love, how to treat another softly, and that won't change for you. Yet.

Needless to say, you won't give up. And you won't let Dottore- no, Zandik give up either.

#smooches talks #dottore love notes <3 #anon i wonder if u are still here bc this is from 2022...#regardless u have fed us well

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seniorpollinationtechnician · 5 months ago

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Meet the Townies: ᴇᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜱᴀᴀᴄ

Ethan Harper grew up an only child and spent his formative years immersed in the world of engineering. His fascination with machines and technology was inspired by his father who was a skilled mechanic. While attending high school, Ethan secretly began working on a personal project where he attempted to design and build a robot. He poured countless hours into this endeavor, often sacrificing teenage milestones to tend to this robot he later named ISAAC (Intelligent System and Advanced Assistant Companion). Upon graduating High School, Ethan enrolled at Foxbury Institute where he pursued a degree in Mechanical Engineering. During his time there, Ethan excelled in his studies, consistently earning top marks and impressing his professors with his innovative ideas and dedication to the craft. In his free time, he continued to work on ISAAC since the university's state-of-the-art facilities and access to cutting-edge resourced allowed him to make significant improvements. He refined ISAAC's design, enhanced its capabilities and incorporated the latest advancements in artificial intelligence and robotics. After graduating with honors from Foxbury, Ethan quickly began carving out a professional life for himself. His reputation as a brilliant young engineer opened many doors and he received numerous job offers from leading tech companies. Ethan's expertise eventually caught the attention of the military who offered him a position to develop a project for them. Though he initially hesitated, the opportunity was too enticing to pass up. Despite his professional success and the accolades he received for his work, Ethan felt an intense void in his life that he couldn't seem to fill. His relentless pursuit of perfection in his projects, particularly with ISAAC, often left him feeling isolated. The extensive time he spent in the lab, both during his time at Foxbury and throughout his career, meant that his personal life took a backseat. Ethan's social interactions were limited and he found it difficult to connect with others on a deeper level. His closest colleagues, at one point, noticed and gently encouraged him to step out of his comfort zone and try dating. Ethan reluctantly agreed and while the dates he went on did not lead to a lasting relationship, it helped Ethan open up and see the value in balancing his personal and professional life. As he continued to make strides in his professional career, Ethan was approached by his alma mater, Foxbury institute, with an invitation to teach part-time. The university recognized his achievements and believed that his expertise could inspire and educate the next generation of engineers. Teaching at Foxbury became a profoundly rewarding experience for him. Standing before eager students, he shared his knowledge and passion. He found joy in helping them navigate their own paths and would often encourage them to think creatively and push the boundaries of what was possible. Meanwhile, ISAAC continued to improve every day, becoming an indispensable part of Ethan's life. By this point, ISAAC's capabilities extended far beyond what Ethan originally intended. ISAAC excelled in research assistance, laboratory management, and technical maintenance. The robot could analyze complex data, run simulations and suggest innovative solutions to engineering problems which significantly sped up Ethan's workflow. ISAAC also managed clerical tasks such as organizing files, scheduling meetings, and maintaining equipment, allowing Ethan to focus on more critical aspects of his projects. ISAAC'S home automation features made Ethan's personal life a breeze, as well. The robot could control various smart devices, perform household chores, such as cleaning and grocery shopping, and even cook meals based on Ethan's dietary preferences. Recently, Ethan and ISAAC relocated to the town of Oasis Springs due to a job offer at a cutting-edge research lab.

#meetthetownies #the sims #the sims 4 #ts4

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romanitas · 8 months ago

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peers out into the abyss, in the year 2024. dusts off spy au tag after nine (??????) years. anyone still here?? hello. i finally bring more of it. here it is on ao3 if tumblr is rude about it.

It all comes out rather mechanically and professionally, but Annabeth thinks that might make it all worse. She knows there are aspects of her life she isn’t allowed to share, and she avoids details like who exactly she works for. It’s almost like she’s giving a summarizing report to a superior, not a boyfriend. But at the look on his face as she unweaves her life, she realizes she should probably stop thinking of Percy Jackson as her boyfriend. She is an infiltrator who steamrolled her way over his life, and he watches her with a deep undercurrent of hurt and hostility. “I was just supposed to find out more about what was happening with Jason’s dad,” she says, her voice hollow and apologetic. “With the company. I didn’t expect…” Luke and gunshots. Dragging Percy through a dangerous situation when he was only meant to be a window into information. Piper and Jason to be solid, lovely friends. Percy Jackson to arguably be the best relationship she’s ever had.

“I’m sorry.”

Percy’s quiet. He’d stayed quiet the whole time she spoke, graciously allowed her the uninterrupted time to explain herself, even when she knew she hadn’t deserved it. Annabeth feels like she’s standing on glass, but she’s not about to make the next move. He looks at her, then looks around the room, then back at her. Percy is an unexpectedly thoughtful guy, but this level of silence churns her gut. She swears she hears the clock ticking. “So, do you like, not even care about penguins?”

She stares at him, befuddled. “What?” Percy crosses his arms, angrily tapping his fingers against his bicep. “That’s what you talked to me about, when we met. You asked me about penguins.” The fact that he remembered really shouldn’t surprise her. Her face falls; her reply is haphazard. “Everybody cares about penguins.” “Good, because if you lied about penguins on top of everything else, we might really have a problem.” His tone is bitingly sarcastic, a bullet of its own kind, and she flinches, however deserved. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, again. “Annabeth, you lied. About everything. About - about - ” He trails off and throws his hands up in the air, before grabbing his water and chugging about half to cool himself down. She doesn’t really know how much it’ll actually cool him down, but it’s his go-to. “I was going to tell you. That’s why I wanted to meet you - before Luke showed up -” Percy glowers. “Then what? You just - you thought everything would be fine?” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know what! I just knew I had to stop lying!” “Yeah? Took you how many months?” He pauses. “Months. You’ve been pretending to date me for months.” It’s like the reality of that finally, wholly sinks in for him, and his anger flashes with heartbreak heavy enough to punch her own. She can’t even reach out to him. The urge is there, but she restrains it, knowing full well she’s lost the privilege of touching him. “It was my job, Percy,” she says after a moment, a weak attempt at some sort of defense she knows won’t hold up. “You’re not even an architect.” He says it like that surprises him most of all, but she supposes she had been rather passionate about it. She knows as much about design as she does intelligence. “No,” she admits, then admits something else not many people do know. “But I almost was.” He looks at her again, with regret, anger, and even a sort of empathy she doesn’t think she deserves. “I watched you shoot someone.” Her demeanor betrays her, as she feels her eyes well up. “I had to.” “I know,” he says quietly, frowning. He closes his eyes and turns away from her, pressing his hands against the kitchen counter and leaning against it, like somehow it’s another realization that hammers in the reality of his girlfriend.

Annabeth uses the brief respite to furiously wipe at her eyes. She doesn’t know how to salvage this. She wants to, badly. She’s simultaneously done one of the best and worst jobs she’s ever been assigned. Discovering Luke changed the game. Falling in love with Percy altered her life entirely.

It takes a few minutes, but Percy finally turns back around to look at her. He watches her like she’s a stranger despite the knowing flicker to his eyes. He knows a lot about her, the side of her that isn’t a spy, the side of her she sometimes wishes could be present more often. But she is a spy too, and part of the job description includes sabotage. She’s always been very good at that. She’s just never sabotaged herself before.

“I told you I loved you,” he says, and that hurts most of all, because it sounds like he doesn’t believe it. Like he can’t believe he’d gone and fallen for her, that he played right into her hands.

Her expression shatters. “I know,” she says, the words catching. She has to tell him now, because she doesn’t know if she’ll get another chance. It’s a ruinous confession but there’s no escaping it. “And I - I fell in love with you too, Percy. I wanted to tell you so badly.”

He looks gobsmacked. “How? When it was all just - just bullshit to you?”

Annabeth shakes her head. “No. It wasn’t. It might have started that way, but -”

“How am I supposed to believe that, Annabeth? How can I possibly know anything you say to me is going to be the truth at this point? I just watched you - watched you take on some guy, shoot him in the leg, and work with a whole team of super spies, and now you’re here trying to tell me you love me?” He almost sounds desperate to believe it himself. Like he doesn’t want to not love her. He runs a hand through his hair, and Annabeth doesn’t know what to say to any of that. “Fuck. Jason and Piper, they trusted you too.”

“I -”

His face darkens. “I introduced you to my mom.” He whirls on her, eyes hard. “Is my mother safe?”

Annabeth nods immediately, and the look he gives her might be the worst one yet. “I had a team check on her apartment. And someone’s watching outside, just to be sure.”

Relief washes over him, but anger still bubbles under the surface. Maybe she never should have gone to meet Sally. Maybe this wouldn’t be happening now, because somehow it feels like Sally Jackson is one of the pieces that made everything feel more real. But that’s wishful thinking, because there was no future with Percy Jackson in the cards under the circumstances in which she first came into his life to begin with. She foolishly allowed herself to feel like maybe there could be - like the laughing and the cuddling and the smiling and the happiness that swarmed inside her could be genuine, if she let go of so many other pieces. If she stopped being a liar.

Luke always did bring out the worst in her, but she doesn’t even know if she can wholly blame him. Percy’s reaction to the truth was doomed to exist, no matter how she admitted herself to him. Perhaps they were doomed from the start too. She knows that. She just wishes she didn’t know that.

“It explains some things,” Percy says slowly, like he doesn’t want to say it at all. “I guess I tried to ignore them. I really wanted this to work. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I don’t want to lie to you anymore, Percy.”

His face is crestfallen. “And I feel like I don’t even know who you are, Annabeth.”

He looks at her for a very, very long time. Annabeth doesn’t keep track. She’s run out of things to say, run out of excuses, run out of apologies, and Percy looks burnt out on his anger. He’s cradling it, afraid to let go, but tired of holding it.

He deflates. “I can’t…”

Annabeth swallows. Waiting. It feels like something of an end.

“Get out. Just go, please.”

She does.

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #heroes of olympus #i don't even know what the kids are using for tags these days #is it still only the first five????#spy auing #tomato writes #god i havent posted in so long i have no idea if this looks ok formatting wise i guess let me know and i can fix it #the new post editor sucks

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deancasbigbang · 2 months ago

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Title: Moving Castiel

Author: Raven_Fuchs

Artist: Marvfortytwo

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean/Castiel; Mary Winchester/John Winchester; Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore

Length: 24523

Warnings: No warnings apply

Tags: Friends to lovers, Tornado, Mild depression, Cafe/Bakery AU, Low angst

Posting Date: October 21, 2024

Summary: As Dean is about to graduate with his Masters degree in engineering he loses his job repairing items at a pawn shop and starts working for his friend Cas in his cafe. Dean discovers he’s a natural at baking and hopes one day to go into business with Cas. Cas runs a cafe that his aunt left him while it gives him experience he yearns to establish his own speciality bake shop. After a tornado destroys the cafe Dean and Cas have to decide if they’ll both relocate to California and set up the bakery of Cas’ dreams while Dean rejoins his mom who moved out there to help Sam and Jess with their new baby. Decision made, the boys look for a place in Palo Alto to start their new business that fuses Cas’ baking talent with Dean’s mechanical know-how.

Excerpt: Dean had a love for small businesses. That was one of the reasons he was reluctant to take his degree and work for a large company. He liked working hands-on and getting to know his customers. The repair shop was also across the street from Dark Delights Cafe, another small business trying to get by. Dean loved to support the cafe by making a point to go there every morning for his second cup of coffee - and to see his friend Cas. Castiel Novak had moved to Lawrence three years ago just before Dean started grad school. He remembers walking into the cafe to a scene of udder chaos. Cas was trying to run the register, take orders, and make coffees all at the same time. There wasn't any other staff around. Dean went up to the counter and took the order pad from the man standing at the register who's blue eyes reflected overwhelm with a dose of panic, his wild, dark hair added to the look of being just one step away from having a breakdown. Dean started to jot down the orders, giving the other man a chance to catch up and ring customers and make their drinks. When the crowd had cleared, introductions were made. "Hi, I'm Dean. I work at the repair shop across the street. I hope you don't mind my just stepping in like that." "Not at all. Thank you, Dean. I'm Castiel. I took over this cafe from my aunt. I must say things were starting to get a bit out of hand until you arrived." "Don't you have any staff? It takes more than one person to run a place like this." "I am aware." Cas sighed, most of my staff quit when my aunt left to 'go find herself' and the rest just didn't bother to show up this morning." Dean smiled at Cas' use of air quotes. It shouldn't have looked as cute as it did. In fact, now that he wasn't running around all harried, it was easy to see that Cas was a very attractive man similar in age to Dean. "That's not very professional of them. At the very least they should have given you some notice." "My aunt was very 'unconventional' in all things, including her hiring practices. Most of her employees felt that working for me wouldn't have the same 'vibe', so they felt the change in management was a 'sign' that they should make a 'change of scene'. Seriously, I'm pretty sure that if it wasn't for the college crowd demanding caffeine she never could have stayed in business. I swear she hired every hippy in Kansas." Yep, the air quotes were adorable. From that day on, Dean would come to the cafe everyday and check on Cas and when he was swamped, still lend a hand on occasion.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2024 #fic preview #2024 promo #deancas #destiel

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ari-freeworld · 4 months ago

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'*•♡Finding Space In Your Heart ♡•*'

°。°。°。°。°。° 。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

03 - Two-Wheeled Tension

Pairing - Biker/Roommate!Bakugou x Fem!Reader

An - I'm so glad so many of you guys are enjoying this series!!! Hope you like this one, it took a while. Planning on making a few more parts. Anywayssss enjoy srry it's so long <333

Notes/warnings - Qurikless AU, aged up characters, Slow burn (eventual smut), cursing (it's bkg duh), drinking mentioned, fem/male masturbating, nsfw

wrds - 2.4k

01 , 02

°。°。°。°。°。° 。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The morning of your first day at the publishing company dawned bright and early. Standing in front of the mirror, you meticulously checked your outfit, making sure every detail was perfect. Your nerves buzzed, making it difficult to keep your hands steady as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup. Today was the day you had been waiting for—the start of your dream job—but the anxiety gnawed at you, threatening to unravel your composure.

As you adjusted your blouse for the umpteenth time, there was a knock at your bedroom door. Bakugou’s gruff voice filtered through. “You ready yet, princess?”

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door to find him leaning casually against the frame, his eyes raking over your outfit. His usual intense gaze softened slightly, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You look good,” he said simply, but the sincerity in his voice eased some of your tension.

“Thanks,” you replied, managing a smile. “Just... a bit nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re gonna fucking crush it. Don’t stress it.”

His words were reassuring, and you felt a rush of gratitude. “Thanks, Bakugou. I mean it.”

He shrugged as if it was no big deal, but you could see the concern in his eyes. “C’mon, I’ll take you.”

The ride to the publishing company on Bakugou’s Ducati was exhilarating as always. The wind whipped past you, and you held onto him tightly, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. It was a short ride, but it was enough to clear your mind and fill you with a renewed sense of determination.

When he finally pulled up in front of the building, he cut the engine and turned to face you. “Knock ‘em dead, princess.”

You smiled, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. “I will. Thanks for the ride.”

With one last reassuring look, you headed inside, feeling a surge of confidence. The meeting with the publishing team exceeded your expectations. The room was filled with enthusiastic faces, all eager to hear about your ideas. As you laid out your vision for the book, their nods and smiles fueled your confidence. They were genuinely impressed with your work, offering constructive feedback and expressing excitement about the project's potential. It felt like a collaborative environment, one where your creative input was valued and encouraged.

Throughout the day, as you and your new team mapped out the initial plans and timelines for your book, you found yourself frequently checking your phone, eager to update Bakugou. Each break in the meeting gave you a chance to share a quick text with him. "Meeting's going well—they like it :)" you typed after the first hour, your words measured but conveying your underlying excitement.

Bakugou’s response came swiftly, a mixture of pride and his typical brusqueness: "Knew they would." His text was brief but supportive.

By the end of the day, you were mentally exhausted but filled with a profound sense of accomplishment. The team had outlined a robust plan for your book, and their enthusiasm matched your own. They welcomed your ideas and provided insightful suggestions that enhanced the project's scope and depth.

Returning home, you found the apartment empty. Bakugou was still at his shop, as expected. As you put your things away, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

“Gonna be late tonight. Don’t wait up. Eat dinner without me.”

The bluntness of his message was typical, but there was an undertone that felt almost sorrowful. After spending nearly every day together for the last couple of weeks, the apartment felt strangely empty without him. Each room seemed quieter, the absence of his presence a stark contrast to the energy he brought. The silence was deafening, a void that amplified the loneliness you hadn’t felt in a long time. Even after seeing him earlier that day, his absence weighed heavily on you.

You wandered through the apartment, each step echoing in the emptiness. The living room, which had become a shared space of laughter and companionship, felt hollow. The absence of his teasing comments and reassuring presence was like a physical ache. You couldn't help but worry that you were depending on him too much, that your growing attachment would overwhelm him.

Feeling the weight of the empty apartment pressing down on you, you decided to invite Mina over for some company. Her lively presence would be a welcome distraction from the pervasive sense of isolation.

Mina arrived with her usual energy, carrying a bottle of wine and a bag of groceries. “Let’s cook and get drunk,” she declared with a grin.

The two of you set to work in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring sauces. The wine flowed freely, and soon the apartment was filled with the aroma of delicious food and the sound of laughter. As you chatted about your new job, the conversation inevitably turned to Bakugou.

You chatted about your new job, but inevitably, the conversation turned to Bakugou.

“So, how’s it been living with the hothead?” Mina asked with a mischievous grin, perched on top of the counter.

You laughed, a bit self-consciously. “It’s been... interesting. He’s been really helpful, and we’ve gotten closer. It’s weird not having him around.”

Mina raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Closer, huh?” Her tone was dripping with suggestion.

You blushed, trying to brush off her teasing. “It’s not like that. I mean, he’s... He’s Bakugou, you know? One minute he’s flirting just to tease me, the next he’s looking at me with those intense eyes, like he can see right through me.”

Mina chuckled, pouring you another glass of wine. “Well, maybe you should just fuck him and find out.”

Your head snapped up. “What?! Are you crazy? We’re roommates.”

“Exactly,” Mina said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “That way, you’ll know if there’s something real there or if it’s just sexual tension.”

You shook your head, trying to process her words. “But what if it messes everything up? I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Mina shrugged, taking a sip of her wine. “Life’s too short to wonder ‘what if.’ Sometimes you have to take the risk. Plus, I heard Bakugou’s last relationship didn’t end too well. Maybe he needs someone like you.”

For some reason, hearing that Bakugou was with another girl made your heart sting and your stomach turn. The thought of him being with someone else was like a knife twisting in your chest, sharp and relentless. You imagined him holding her, his rough hands caressing her skin, his lips whispering sweet nothings into her ear. The idea of him laughing with her, sharing those private moments you had come to cherish, was unbearable. It was as if every laugh, every fleeting touch you had shared with him was now tainted by the ghost of another woman. You hadn’t thought about it before, and now you wondered if he was interested in anyone now. Each imagined scene felt like a betrayal, making the loneliness you felt all the more suffocating.

“It would be weird…” you responded, but internally, you were asking yourself if it really would be.

After dinner, Mina left, and the apartment felt empty once again. You wrapped up the leftovers and placed them in the fridge, leaving a note for Bakugou: Don’t work too hard.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Bakugou was constantly busy, leaving early and coming home late. Each morning, you found a note from him on the coffee pot, usually something simple like Don’t forget your lunch. The notes were a small comfort, but you couldn’t ignore the growing sense of loneliness. You missed his presence, his voice, and even his gruff demeanor. You realized how much you had come to enjoy Bakugou being around. He made you feel taken care of in a way you hadn’t felt before.

You especially enjoyed the moments when he came home from the shop, his cologne mixed with the faint scent of rubber clinging to him. There was something comforting about that smell, something that made you feel safe. And in the mornings, after his early workout, he would come in panting and sweating, looking out of breath but exhilarated. His intense eyes would soften when they met yours, and you felt a strange mix of admiration and longing.

One night, the loneliness became too much. The apartment was dark and quiet, and you found yourself thinking about Bakugou more than you wanted to admit. You missed his touch, his warmth. The need for him became overwhelming, and you found yourself craving his presence in a way that was both thrilling and frustrating. You worried if he felt the same way about you. Did he miss you when he was away? Did he think about you as much as you thought about him?

Without thinking, you retreated to your room, the need for release consuming you. You lay back on your bed, your mind filled with images of Bakugou. You thought about his strong, muscular body, the way his crimson-colored eyes seemed to pierce right through you. You could almost smell his familiar scent, a mix of cedarwood and something uniquely him. Your hand drifted down your body, fingers slipping beneath your underwear. You gasped softly, the sensation heightened by the thought of him.

Unbeknownst to you, Bakugou had come home early that night. He had planned to surprise you, but as he stepped into the apartment, he heard the soft sounds coming from your room. Curiosity piqued, he moved silently towards your door, which was slightly ajar.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch. You were sprawled on the bed, your hand between your legs, your eyes closed in pleasure. His name slipped from your lips in a breathless whisper, and he felt a surge of desire so intense it nearly knocked him off his feet.

He knew he should turn away, give you your privacy, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He watched, mesmerized, as you brought yourself closer to the edge, your body writhing with need.

In an instant, his pants grew tighter, and his breathing heavy. He looked down, his dick practically trying to free itself. He quietly unzipped his pants, his cock springing out and hitting his stomach with a thud.

He should feel ashamed, like a pervert. All thoughts were out of the window and he could focus on were your pants and the wet noises coming from under your shorts. He wondered what you smelled like, tasted like. God, he wanted to know what you felt like. How you would cling to him, while pounding you into the mattress. He would leave no place unmarked, biting you, sucking on your beautiful skin till it turned purple.

Your movements grew more frantic, and you arched your back, moaning his name louder. The sound sent shivers down his spine, and he couldn't take it anymore. His hand moved to stroke himself, trying to match the rhythm of your movements. He bit his lip, stifling a groan, the pleasure mingling with the forbidden thrill of watching you.

Just as you were about to reach your climax, your eyes fluttered open. You were lost in your own world, oblivious to Bakugou's presence. You gasped, your body convulsing as you called out his name, the waves of your orgasm washing over you.

Bakugou's own release followed almost immediately, his breath hitching as he spilled into his hand. He quickly moved back, retreating to his room before you could notice him.

Slipping into his own bed after cleaning his mess, he stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. The raw desire he felt for you was undeniable, overwhelming. He wanted you under him, wanted to feel your body against his, to hear you moan his name in pleasure as he drove you to the edge and beyond.

But with that desire came a torrent of conflicting emotions. You were his roommate, his friend. He valued your companionship, cherished the bond you had built. He didn't want to risk ruining it by acting on his impulses. Yet, the depth of his longing made it hard to think clearly.

His thoughts swirled, vivid images of you beneath him, your skin flushed, your eyes half-lidded with desire. The thought of your bodies entwined, his name on your lips, consumed him. He ached to make it a reality, to cross the line from fantasy to truth.

He knew you wanted him too, with the way you moaned his name, the way your body responded to your own touch while thinking of him. But was that all you wanted? Just a good fuck? The uncertainty gnawed at him. Did you see him as just a means to satisfy your desires, or was there something more?

There was something deeper, something more than just physical desire in his heart. He realized how much he enjoyed the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your passions. These small things had invaded his mind and life in such a short amount of time, but he couldn’t quite grasp what they meant. He knew he wanted you physically, but he struggled with understanding what he wanted outside of that.

What if you did fuck? Would that be all there was to it? Just sex? The thought made his heart ache in a way he didn’t fully understand. He worried about what would happen to your relationship if he gave in to his desires. Would it ruin the bond you shared? Would it complicate things beyond repair? Would you both be able to go back to being friends, or would it always be different?

He thought back to his last relationship, the pain of betrayal, and the vulnerability he had shown only to be hurt in return. He had vowed never to let himself be that open again, to never let anyone have that kind of power over him. The scars of that betrayal still ached, a constant reminder of why he had built walls around his heart.

But now, lying in the dark, he felt those walls begin to crumble. The thought of you, the way you made him feel, was breaking through his defenses. His heart hurt at the thought of letting someone in again, of risking that kind of pain. But the desire to be with you, to have more than just physical connection, was even stronger. Yet, he couldn't fully grasp the depth of his feelings, remaining blissfully unaware of the feeling that was quietly blooming in his heart.

Sleep didn't come easily for Bakugou that night. He tossed and turned, his thoughts a tangled mess of want and restraint, desire and fear. He wanted you more than he'd ever wanted anything, and the realization only made his resolve waver.

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