#and the job he asked me to be a reference for hired him and he won't even be at the performances of the show

[gumilac]

pairings. barista megumi × gn! student council reader

genre. barista/cafe and college au, reader’s POV, slight swearing

word count. 4k

aki’s notes. here’s part two my loves!!! im actually so giddy, my heart was going doki-doki the whole time !!! i hope you guys enjoy the parallels and the fic overall <3 mwa! rbs will be greatly appreciated 🫶🏻

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“good morning, shimizu-san!”

you cheerfully quip, closing the door of the office behind you. as student government president, administrative work wasn’t required of your position. but, as a student assistant hired by your university, you’re here to do your job—for financial independence.

“good morning,” she delightfully returns your consistent morning greeting, before handing over the list of students that might be coming in today.

“here are all the students,” she points at the piece of paper, showing only three, “that have made an appointment.”

grabbing it, you thank her and walk over to your desk, perusing the names. as you settle in your chair, organizing your file bins, the door of the office opens.

“hey!” you look up, happily greeting the student in front of you.

“hi,” he pauses, taking a step forward, then another, “i’m here to pass my forms?”

your face lights up at the recognition of what needs to be done, so you stand up and reach a hand out, coaxing him to give the papers.

“oh! okay. can i have a look, please?”

he hands them over and you smile up at him before looking at the documents. you diligently cross reference and double check every information, in case a student fills them out wrong. seeing as these were all fine, you looked at his name and then at the list.

fushiguro, megumi: new student.

“you’re new here?” you ask, smiling up at him, only breaking eye contact when you settle his documents in the proper file bins.

“yeah.”

“oh, that’s great! welcome to the university of tokyo,” you quip and he smiles. well, kind of.

“i’m the student government president, from class 4,” you introduce yourself, slightly bowing before him, “but you can just call me by my name. no need for formalities.”

bowing, he returns the introduction, “fushiguro megumi.” and as he stands up to his full height, you’re now only realizing how tall he was—as well as his good looks.

“i tend to facilitate newcomers’ information,” still smiling up at him, you inquire, a little curious with his situation, “and i can’t help but notice that you’re here on a scholarship grant?”

he forces a smile and you doubt yourself for prying his personal information and in a way to release tension, you blurt out.

“you’re a smart guy!”

it takes him a while to reply and when he does, all he says is;

“yeah,” running a hand through his hair, “it’s just my sister and i. so, i need all the financial help i can get.”

as student government president you had a knack for reading people’s body language. as he shifts his weight, you’re awfully aware of how uncomfortable he is with conversing regarding this topic.

“oh, i didn’t know,” you quietly say before finally deciding to drop it. “well, if you ever need anything i’m here.”

he presses his lips in a thin smile, bowing once more before leaving the office. the atmosphere remains tense even without his presence, but as if on cue, shimizu-san pricks the air.

“he’s quite the boy, no? i think you’ll be seeing him often.”

startled, you look at her and there’s a knowing smile on her face as she looks at you. with her teasing look, there’s an opportune contender on your side��your heated cheeks.

“i’m sorry?” you laugh, albeit embarrassedly. you’re not sure what she means by that and she clarifies. 

if you can even call it “clarifying” with how she just repeats it.

“i’m just saying, you’ll see him more often” she continues, before nodding her head at the next student by the door. “you have another.”

looking at her inquisitively and working so hard for the gears in your brain to make it make sense, you lay your eyes on his documents again.

name: fushiguro, megumi

old/new: new student

section: class 4

oh. 

you smile to yourself, before greeting the next student—blissfully unaware, not knowing what serendipity was brewing just right under your nose.

~; 5 months later

just five months ago, you were top 1 in class 4. well, was, up until fushiguro megumi came by to sweep that position off your feet—but, there’s nothing to it. seeing as he was a student on a scholarship grant, you understood certain measures fushiguro took. and it’s funny, almost silly—because as competitive and cunning as he is when it comes to academics, you never took him for a guy to be a class representative during events.

well, he had no choice. you could almost say he took the offer from your teacher begrudgingly. 

the professor practically had to beg on his knees just for him to accept the offer and it was an amusing sight to see fushiguro battling between the heavens and the earth to just say one simple word, 

“okay”.

pocketing your phone, you open the door of the coffee shop that’s just a few blocks away from your university. it rings and you look up at the cute bell hanging just above the door before a voice captures your attention.

“hi. welcome to—”

there he stands, with his barista apron, cap and all. fushiguro was wiping the table, stopping mid-way when your eyes meet and he stands there for a while. making you wonder...

i dont think he knows how long he's been silent for. so you speak up

“fushiguro, hi!” and you could visibly see the way he comes back to his senses, “you work here?”

taking a step towards him, he neatly folds the towel he was using and sets it aside. he stands up straight and looks at you expectantly.

“yeah, i started last week.”

“really?” you smile, before pursuing the menu chalkboard just right behind him. finally picking a drink from the array of options you look back at him.

 “i always see you around,” you pause, voice quiet, “it’s nice.”

his face looks almost surprised and by the way you know him; he’s an introvert, but with the most expressive eyes—as if it does all the talking for him. 

"i mean we are classmates and class 4 representatives" he says, and you laugh. 

“haha yeah,” biting your lip and titling your head, “makes sense."

but it also doesn't, because what you mean by around, you mean everywhere. at the library, cafeteria, parking lot, the school field, the room by where you’re in during competitions and now the cafe you always go to...

but, these are just coincidences, surely. however, what stands out the most is how he is always present at school events handled by you. and only you, never attending those led by others—you’ve confirmed it since you oversee these things even if you’re not the head. you could say that he's your most active participant with how his name consistently shows up in every logbook, registration and attendance sheet.

fushiguro megumi. 

the most active participant, but the quietest one. and even so, his presence can be felt by you almost tenfold. smiling to yourself, you order.

“can i just have a latte?” you ask and he nods, turning around to make your drink. you look around the cafe, watching as the snow falls just right outside the window. it’s at around 5:47pm, the sun setting in for the night and it casts a golden, yellow light inside the cafe. 

looking back at megumi, he looks… tense? his shoulders are tight and you only ever really know because his posture is exactly the same during bus rides on the way to competitions and the time when he opened up about how it’s only him and his sister.

he’s nervous.

rocking on the balls and toes of your feet, you break the silence, “last week, huh?” and as if you had power over him or whatever, he visibly relaxes—it makes you smile.  

“mhm,” is all he manages to say and you snicker, watching him softly cough as he holds your finished drink.

“last week–” he coughs again, stuttering and handing over your drink, “i started last week.”

smiling up at him, he states the price, “your total is 250 yen.” after fishing out the correct amount, you look at the drink and there’s a… heart? your mouth acts quicker than your brain, already spilling out a tease.

“aww, a heart! for me?” you hand over your payment and he quickly rings it up. still looking at the latte art, fushiguro speaks up. 

“it’s the only thing i can do right now.”

“that’s so cute,” you happily mutter, eyes meeting his once more and to your surprise—he actually smiles back. so different from what he used when he smiled at you back at the student’s affair office. 

this one’s pretty, genuine and– heartwarming. 

grabbing the drink, you wave goodbye, “thanks again, fushiguro.” 

there goes serendipity once again, brewing something bigger… something stronger than before. and as a warm, fuzzy feeling settles in your chest, this time, you’re aware. finally aware of what it might plan to do, so you brace yourself for the impact. as you walk further away from the counter, you hear him call out, “come back again.”

and that, you definitely will. 

~; 1 year later.

your math test results, he was the first to know. well only for the sole reason because he saw you at the field crying and you basically ran up to him. you still remember how he stood there dumbfounded, but said nothing. he only sat down beside you and let you cry on his shoulder even if it meant slobbering tears and snot onto his uniform.

embarrassing.

he doesn't know—and you won’t let him know—but his presence is weirdly more constant than that of your friends. always consistently mr. tenfold. a tap on your desk pulls you out from your daze and you see megumi nod his head towards a latte. your heart grows, tenderly touched by the action of what the boy in front of you did.

"fushiguro," you draw out, "how'd you know?"

“it’s all you order,” a teasing remark from him and it makes you laugh. after a while, you take a deep breath, realizing that silence is comforting. his silence. so much so that he somehow manages to provide good company in times like these.

“i’ll tutor you later, okay?” he utters comfortingly, “come by the cafe.”

one thing about fushiguro megumi is that he won’t coddle, but he will provide solace in his own way and you appreciate it very much. and what he offered is just exactly what you needed at this moment. 

a latte, a tranquil silence, and a cute tutor.

“okay… thank you,” you whisper and he smiles. easing the hurt in your heart. “you’re welcome. drink up you’ll feel better.”

and he does it so well. does it so well to make you feel better than okay. because ever since you two were partnered as representatives, you always knew that someone was just behind your back whenever and if ever you fall. 

a quiet but influential presence—that’s fushiguro megumi.

~5:30pm, at the cafe.

fushiguro kept his promise, meeting you at the cafe you so frequent at. he’s assured you that it’s not his shift so he can totally make time to tutor you. you two have been at it for a good hour, a half and fifteen minutes—but honestly, who’s counting? 

you. 

you’re definitely counting, as if sitting this close to fushiguro megumi has made all your senses be heightened. but can he honestly blame you? his cologne overwhelms your senses and he smells so great. seriously, he should’ve came here a little more dirty and unkempt, maybe even bit sweaty.

but then again you have already smelled him all sweaty… even when the summer heat beats down both your backs as you wait for the bus after a competition, he still managed to smell pleasant. it makes you groan internally—it’s not fair. he’s always so tidy and neat.

“okay, when a looking for a point in a hyperbola,”  he taps pen at his notes, effectively pulling you away from his distracting aroma, “what do we need to use?”

“the standard formula of a hyperbola?” he gives you a small smile and– oh god. your eyes quickly travel to his lips, letting it linger there for a second. 

“good job,” he says, making you look up at him again, thankful that his eyes aren’t on yours as you unabashedly stare at his face and lips. as you do so, you see constellations—fushiguro megumi has freckles. they’re light, but they’re there. and you found it so endearing that one person could have the whole entire universe just on their face.  

and without warning, he follows up again with another question, “but how do you know if it’s a vertical one?”

he pulls you out once more and you furrow your brows, trying so hard to concentrate because he can not catch you slipping. you internally chastise yourself, swearing that you should know this—as the gears connect, you slowly articulate your answer.

“when the traverse axis is vertical…” you pause, waiting for that little neuron in your brain to stop bouncing around and just finally connect to the hippocampus, as you actively recall what he thought you 

“and…” you rack your brain, stuttering, “and when– when–!!”

and finally it connects. that little neuron finally found its place and you yell out the stupidly simple answer.

“when the y-term is positive and comes first in the equation!”

you look at megumi, there’s a handsome grin plastered on his features and once again your body moves faster than your brain. your hands fly up to cup his cheeks, and pulled him in for a kiss. almost immediately after it registers in your brain, your body decides to move without thinking again, your feet dragging you out there like a marathon runner.

you only ever realize what happened is when you stand in front of your dorm building dumbfounded that you felt so light. comically turning around, you frantically look for your things—did they fall off…?

whipping your head to look at the gate, only then does it fully registered that what you did resulted in you leaving your all your stuff.

“shit…”

stupid little neurons.

~; one week later.

god avoiding megumi was so much harder to do. because how did his ass always find you at the right time and at the right place. 

seriously, was he stalking you?! 

grabbing your hair, you mess it up, shaking your heard as you groan so loud that nobara had to throw a milk box at you to make you shut up.

“hey,” she snaps, “cut it out. you look like an idiot.”

you abruptly look at her and there’s a pout on your lips. she suddenly feels pity, making her run a hand to fix the hair you so easily messed up three times in a row. she knows what you did and instead of laughing at your situation she just chooses to be there for you now.

but you know she’ll never let you live this down after you recover.

“i kissed him, nobara,” you whine, ranting about it for the fourth time.

“yeah, i know,” she raises a brow, “you told me several times.”

whining, your forehead falls on the desk, nobara’s hands flying to save you from the hard impact of it. she clicks her tongue, finally having had enough of your shit. so, she suddenly lifts her hand, jerking your head off the desk and you look at her with a frown.

“just talk to him, jeez,” she suggests and you huff, feeling so exasperated. to make things worse she brings up a horrible memory about it.

“you’re a mess,” she shakes her head, “you’re such a mess that you bumped two things yesterday: a person and a wall.”

oh god. flashbacks.

yesterday, since you were actively avoiding him, you found it best to take the long route towards the comfort room thinking maybe he won’t be there for once. but destiny likes to play naughty, because the minute you decide to let your guard down as you leave the lavatory…

fushiguro is on his way to use the comfort room too—headed for your direction!

jesus fucking christ.

startled by the attack of fate, you quickly turn around so fast it makes you dizzy and disoriented. first it was the wall that obscured your escape. and as soon you recovered, of course a passing student bumps into you. you mutter a half-assed, quick apology to them before you made a run for it.

“god, nobara,” you sob, closing your eyes as she reminded you once again of your demise. stuffing the stupid memory at the back of your mind, closing it with a double-padded lock. 

“god,” she states your name, “i’ve never seen you in such a mess. you’re student fucking government president for god’s sake.”

she opens a bag of chips and she slides them over to you, “even when you were nervous about public speeches, you never once faltered.”

she’s right. 

you sit there quietly, munching on the salted potatoes as you listened to her wisdom. she always had that in her.

“but fushiguro?” she takes a chip, “there’s more to it than you think. you just refuse to put your pride down and face it like a student government president”

frowning, you were about to defend yourself when she cuts you off, “right now, you’re facing it like a coward. i’ve known for a long time that there was something beyond both of you being just class representatives.”

 “really?”

“are you kidding me?” she deadpans and looks at you very disappointedly that you feel so small. “face it. face him like the president you are. just do and you’ll see i’m right after all.”

she smirks and then the bell rings, signaling your dismissal. she stands up to grab her things and places a comforting pat on your head—it was a big deal because she was never one for physical affection.

“thank you, nobara,” you smile, standing up as well, “i love you!”

she winces and scrunches her nose, “gross.”

well, she’s not one for any affection and it makes you both laugh. you wave her goodbye, pestering her with i love you’s as she walks the other direction, finally cheering when she shouts it back aggressively. you laugh, watching as her figure grows smaller and smaller, before finally taking a deep breath. 

she’s right. you have to face him as student government president.

and that you did. filled with the resolve and confidence nobara gave you, you took certain steps towards the cafe. as you do so, you’re actively rehearsing what you’re going to say; formulating a speech in your head just as you would do during impromptu public speeches. 

you were gonna be fine, you were gonna tell him that you liked him and that the kiss meant something to you. and if it meant nothing to him, then it didn’t matter to any of you—well, it might make cry for a few days again, but you didn’t care! not right now! not when you’re filled with adrenaline and—

“hey,” a voice softly calls out and as you ascertain your surroundings, your resolve falters once more. 

it didn’t even take 5 minutes to get here?! you think to yourself and when you met his eyes, you see that there’s a lopsided grin on his face. 

god. god. god. 

swallowing the huge lump forming on you throat, you took calculated steps, using them to gather up all the courage you needed. as you reach the counter your voice is meek.

“hi…” looking down, you fidget with your hands and it’s so quiet. too quiet, too deafening. this wasn’t the silence you liked. not at all. after a few more scrutinizing minutes, fushiguro finally breaks the thick air suffocating you.

“latte?” and all you managed to do was nod. but before he turns around, his face lights up, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he reaches down the counter to pull out what only seems like– your bag. heat floods your cheeks and you burrow your nose even more in your scarf, hiding your face as much as possible. 

back to the topic of your bag, you’re not sure if he’s doing it on purpose, but he was moving at the rate of a sloth, slowly settling it on the counter. before he could even pull away, you snatched it so fast, it garnered a snort from the boy.

looking away, fushiguro makes your drink. awfully pissed at how he does it so quickly than the first time he did it. why were you the nervous one now? why were the tables turned? 

as your mind plagues you with different questions, you carefully place your payment on the counter. and just as you do, fushiguro turns around to place the drink in front of you. he rings it up and once he was done, he looks at you expectantly. it’s awkwardly quiet but loud at the same time. 

“ah, right,” he realized something and he turns away, looking back to hand you some tissues. “here you go.”

“thank you,” you fidget with them, racking your brain for things to say before finally looking up at him. “thanks for my stuff and my coffee…” closing your eyes, you steel yourself for the outcome, “look, i’m sorry about last week—”

before you could even finish your sentence, a warm and soft thing meets your lips. was he messing with you? slowly opening your eyes, your met with raven locks tickling your face and soft warm lips capturing yours.

oh.

your heart feels funny, beating at a pace of a thousand horses—when he tried to deepen the kiss it was when you realized that you’re not moving. so, you do. reciprocating. you could physically feel him smiling against your lips when you finally captured his in yours too. a sigh escapes your lips and he continues to kiss you softly, gently but sure. 

he grows confident, you could feel it with the way he’s getting bolder to slightly slide his tongue inside your mouth, giving you a little more of what he tastes like and oh god it makes you weak. he slowly pulls away, leaving just enough space that your noses are still touching and you’re in a daze.

“don’t be,” he whispers, finally reassuring your mind of all thoughts bad and evil. “come by again everyday, yeah?” he licks his lips and it made you want more.

“yeah…” you mutter and he surprises you with another kiss, as if reading your mind. he gives you a handsome smile before speaking once more.

“and stop avoiding me, okay?”

as if your body could stutter, all you were able to give him was a quick nod. but he kisses you once again, not missing the way his face looks—clearly enjoying that he has the upper hand by kissing you, rendering you speechless.

“okay?” he softly laughs, a slight teasing tone in his voice.

“okay…” you weakly mutter, cupping your face in your hands to conceal the growing blush on your face, but you fail miserably. especially with holding back the smile that wants to take over your features. you both start laughing quietly, finding this all so ridiculous but you love it. as he brushes his nose against yours, he finally decides to pull away to stand up to his full height. his decision to do so made your heart stop running just a bit, calling in a white flag.

god, he was tall.

you grab the drink and walk over to the table closest to the counter, and as you sit down your heart skips a beat once more when you realized that he never took his eyes off you for even one second. when you looked at him, he tips the brim of his barista cap and he looks so, so, so good that all you could muster up is a little nose scrunch, hoping that he'll understand.

that you'll be here until his shift is over.

[starkeyszn]

MISS POSSESSIVE ⌇

pairing: rafe cameron x wife!reader

inspo + credits: angelitaaaaaa on c.ai

mr cameron and mrs cameron, both very well known people on kildare island. you and rafe have been married for 3 years, and have been looking to get a new house. rafe wants the best for you both, and has hired the woman who states she’s only had ‘positive feedback and experiences’ on her cv.

“so for the kitchen, i definitely want an island-”

the ringing of a cell-phone made you pause mid-sentence, looking up to rafe. he pulls his cell-phone out of his pocket, “i’ve got to take this, i’ll be right back.” he says, kissing your temple before he excuses himself.

you watch him with a smile, as he exits the room, before you turn your attention to the woman in-front of you. you take a step forward, eyeing her up and down, before leaning against the side of the table. your left hand planting itself on the surface, the diamond on your wedding ring sticking out, glistening in the sunlight.

you look up to woman, eyes narrowing slightly, “chloe,” you begin, your voice dripping with faux sweetness. “it is chloe, right?”

she wrings her hands together, nodding her head, you notice she goes to open her mouth, you cut her off before she can get a word in, “i’m sure you’re- very good, at what you do. otherwise, rafe wouldn’t have asked for you to be here, and for your input.”

“but—please stop speaking to my husband, as if i’m not here.” your eyes narrow, locking in onto the woman’s.

her eyes widen, but she shook it off, looking away for a second. murmuring your name, “miss, i have designed many successful projects.”

“you may call me mrs cameron.” you interject, before she could continue. “and this is not just going to be one of your ‘successful’ projects, this is going to be our home. if you want to keep your job, i suggest you stop fluttering your eyelashes at my husband, and keep your hands to yourself.”

you see the woman visibly stiffen, not expecting a confrontation. her face slowly draining it’s colour. she swallows, before you continue, “or you can go and climb back in to your tacky coloured car, and drive back to washington, take your pick.”

“well, i’m so sorry, mrs cameron, because i would never-” she was quick to cut herself off, noticing rafe re-entering the room, looking up from his phone as he placed it back into his pocket.

his brow raises, glancing between the women. sensing some tension in the air, as you slip off the table. “everything okay?” he asks, his arm finding its place on your waist.

“peachy.” you nodded, smiling to him.

the interior designer shifted her gaze from you to rafe, her expression morphing into a forced smile. she cleared her throat before speaking. “everything is fine, mr cameron.”

rafe studied her for a brief moment, his blue eyes narrowing as he still could feel the unspoken tension. his hand on your waist tightened slightly, almost possessively, as he kept you close to him. “good.”

chloe seemed abit flustered by his intense gaze, but she was quick to compose herself, remembering your words, and redirecting her attention to the house plans laided out on the table.

you had a smile on your face, knowing she wouldn’t make eyes to rafe again, as she kept taking deep breaths, and keeping her eyes focused on the house plans.

STARKEYSZN — i saw this and absolutely loved it, i think it’s a fifty shades of grey reference? but i’m not entirely sure… : requests are open ╱ anon emojis are open

[nochepsicodelica]

Suggestive

"Baby, I have to gooo," you whine, groaning irritatedly when the iron hold of Toji's arms doesn't loosen around your waist. "Lance is gonna be pissed if i'm late for another job."

"Mm..." he hums, his lips detaching from the fresh mark he just left on your neck. "We could be leaving together, partnered up and all," he murmurs, gently brushing his lips over the plethora of visible kisses, "but you won't leave that damn agency. Shiu's better at finding jobs that pay you tons to basically shoot at practice dummies."

You sigh. This is the discussion you and Toji have practically every other day. He always waits until you're almost leaving to bring it up, too.

"You know I owe a lot to the guy, Toji. He swooped in when I needed help—when I was on my own and couldn't ground myself. He treated me like I was family—like I was his own kid. I can't just turn my back on him like that."

"I know, ma, and trust me, I get that. I completely understand, where you're coming from. We've got similar stories in that aspect, 'cause I feel like I owe Shiu a lot, too. But what are you gonna do when someone puts a hit on me, and your handler offers you so much money that you can retire as soon as i'm down?"

You bring two fingers and your thumb up, shaping them into a gun, make a cocking sound and press your fingertips to his forehead. "Bang!"

Toji rolls his eyes, but his amused chuckle is what brings a smile to your face. "Yeah? You'd take the job and shoot me dead?" He asks.

"As if you'd get shot down so easily. Nah, someone else can struggle with that," you say, lowering your "gun" with a teasing grin.

"And if it had to be you?" He asks, leaning in to bury his face in the comfort of the crook of your neck, again. "Would you let me get away?"

You hum, enjoying the softness of his returning affection to the skin beneath the collar of your lowered turtleneck. "Yeah, I'd let you get away," you confirm. "I'd probably..." you cut yourself off with a giggle, a sound that has Toji grinning against your skin. "...probably turn around and text you to see what you want for dinner, and see if you're tryna pork later on." Your laugh returns when you feel the puff of air that comes with his chuckle, against your neck.

"You got a dirty mouth, doll," he murmurs, loosening his hold on you and letting his hands wander over your torso. "Fucking love it."

"Hey," you say, your tone a soft warning when he starts tugging at your shirt, trying to untuck it from your cargos. "I have to go, so pump the brakes for now, and we can go at it like rabbits later on—if you still want to. Okay?" You ask, rubbing his chest.

"Fine," Toji grumbles. He fixes the collar of your turtleneck and veils the evidence of his morning affection. "If I want to," he mutters, scoffing as if it's an unbelievable thing to say. "You're good," he says, referring to the tidiness of your outfit.

"Cool, but now I'm curious to know what you would do if Shiu told you to hunt me down."

He hums, a mischievous smirk formed on his scarred lips. He mimics the gun you made with your hand, but instead of pressing his fingertips to your forehead, he puts them beneath your jaw. He makes the same cocking sound and... "Bang!"

It's your turn to roll your eyes and laugh. "Nice. Real nice," you say, amusedly.

"Right?" He says, with a smug grin. He uses the position of his fingers to tilt your head up more and presses a single, slow and savored kiss to your lips, luring giddy giggles from you and a smile onto his face. "Nah, someone else can struggle with that." He retracts his "gun" from your jaw and rests his hand on your thigh.

"Wish we would've met under difference circumstances—you being one of Shiu's new hires if it was destined to be through this field—but I'm not gonna bitch about it when I got to meet you at all." There's a sincerity in his expression, a gleam in his eyes that you see when he's using his heart to communicate.

"Aww, Toji! You're such a sweeeetheart," you coo, your smile beaming as you pinch his cheeks. He groans, but still does absolutely nothing to stop you. "My big, buff, handsome man is such a softie," you say, squealing with joy.

While Toji can act like this is the most ridiculous thing ever—you cooing and peppering kisses all over his face—he can't hide that gleam in his eyes. So when you sigh and say, "Well, I'm officially late, again. I actually have to go, now." He's miserable and can't do anything about it.

"Call you later?" You say, getting off his lap and fixing your clothes.

"'Course, ma. Did you double check your duffel?"

"Uh-huh. Everything is in there and everything is functional," you assure.

"Sounds good." He doesn't lie back down yet. There's still two more things you need to do and he'll be damned if he doesn't get them from you.

You smile as you lean in to peck his lips, transferring some of your sweet lip balm onto his lips. One.

"Love you. I'll see you later." Two.

"Love you, doll."

As soon as you turn your back, Toji's swiping his tongue over his lips, trying to grasp the remnants of your kiss. Green eyes stick to your figure as you turn around and grab your duffel bag and phone. Phone in your pocket, keys in your pocket, duffel strap crossed over your torso, shoes near the front door—good to go.

"You look hot," Toji calls, after you, his usual smirk already raising his scar.

"Bye, Toji," you say, through a laugh.

[zaczenemiji]

Hi I hope you are having a lovely day my dear ♥. I was wondering if you could do a Kenji Sato x reader where the reader is an assistant manager to him and one day he like acts arrogantly towards her during one of his interviews when he sees a pretty journalist amongst the crowed of ppl interviewing him and he says some hurtful things to reader and collectively ignoring her and instead choosing to focus on the journalists girl. Ever since that day reader has been silent around Sato and he thought he didn't care but it bothered him because even though she is usually quite, these days she is *too* quite and then there is like a mini celebration for like a baseball game win and reader goes with a guy who is like an athlete but is not as famous as Sato. So the kicker is reader is absolutely DROP DEAD GORGEOUS and ppl at the party even think she is a model. So Sato get jealous and he acts all possessive and protective of her , while she is still angry at him but eventually he makes it up to her over time. If you have anything else to add please do.

Shattered Pride

Kenji Sato x AssistantManager!Reader

Word Count: 1,873

Genre/Warnings: Character Development, Eventual Romance, Forgiveness, Jealousy, Regret, Redemption

Author’s Note: The idea behind this was just fantastic! Thank you so much for the request, writing this was my honor.

MASTERLIST

Being Kenji Sato’s assistant manager is not an easy task. I repeat: Not. An. Easy. Task. Throughout his baseball career, he has had several assistants who quit as soon as they were hired because, for one thing, Kenji is stubborn.

Ghosted interviews, off-topic answers, and insults to other players were just some of the many things about him that gave you a headache.

You remember being referred to him by his last assistant saying that it was a high-paying job. However, you were skeptical at how quickly and willing they were to give off their job to another person.

You understood why the first time you met him. After the meeting, you asked him, “Is there anything else you need from me today?”

In response, he gave an irritated sigh. “If I needed something, I would have asked.”

Thankfully, you were more on the nonchalant scale, and how people respond to you didn’t bother you much. You were here to do your job—and excellently at that, not exactly to be friends with an arrogant baseball star.

Kenji’s behavior was… challenging, that’s the best word for it. He barked orders, rarely said thank you, and seemed to take your presence for granted. But in conditions like these, you thrive the most; you succeed where others have failed.

Today was a usual day with the usual crowd of journalists and fans gathering in the conference room. You stood by his side, ensuring everything was in order for yet another post-game interview.

It was going all smooth and well when Kenji suddenly paused mid-sentence. It was a very short pause that wouldn’t be noticeable to others but you, with all the time you spent as his assistant, noticed it.

Your eyes looked in the direction he kept glancing at. A girl, of course, strikingly beautiful with long sleek back hair that cascaded down in soft waves.

When it was her turn to ask, Kenji leaned forward to give her a dazzling smile. “Why don’t you ask me a question?” he said, ignoring the list of pre-approved questions you handed him before the interview started.

Kenji was holding court with this journalist longer than he should. You noticed that the others in line were starting to murmur in annoyance.

You stepped forward, maintaining your professional demeanor. “Excuse me, Mr. Sato, but we need to move on,” you said. “Other journalists are waiting for their turn.”

“I’m not done here,” he said arrogantly, not bothering to look your way.

You took a deep breath, wanting to handle this situation diplomatically. “I understand,” you said. “But we’ve exceeded the time limit, and it’s only fair to give everyone a chance.”

Whichever agency’s plan was it to send her here to get ahead of other journalists, it’s working. She gave you a polite smile, clearly enjoying the extra attention.

Kenji frowned and turned to you. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something important?” He asked. “If you can’t manage your job properly, maybe you should reconsider.”

Your eyes widened. You could feel others’ on you, their stares almost cutting through your professional facade.

Swallowing your pride, you nodded and stepped back, keeping your expression neutral. But as neutral as you looked, deep down you felt a mix of anger and humiliation.

From that day on, you remained silent around Kenji, only speaking when necessary. You remained professional though, and you made sure that your job was not compromised.

During meetings, you no longer offered insights unless directly asked. When you did speak, your tone was strictly professional. Well, it has always been, but the warmth that characterized your interactions was now gone.

Like that one time during a team strategy meeting. Kenji asked for input on a new play. The room fell silent as everyone waited for your usual insightful suggestions, but you simply looked down at your notes, saying nothing.

The coach glanced at you, surprised. "Any thoughts, (y/n)?" You shook your head. "No, Coach. Nothing to add."

At first, Kenji was oblivious to all of this. He was absorbed in his own world and the adulation of his fans, as always. But as the days turned into weeks, your silence grew too loud to ignore that even he finally noticed it.

A month later, the team planned on celebrating a recent major win. This time, they have decided to invite other athletes as guests of honor. The organizers wanted to have a mix of established stars and up-and-coming talents from the sports world.

You decided to take this as an opportunity to have yourself pampered. You have been working hard, after all. Despite the obvious tension between you and Kenji, you were still able to do your job well.

That’s why at the party, you were stunning. Drop dead gorgeous, as the team said. Though the lights were dim, it seemed as if a spotlight was following you as everyone you passed by turned their heads to look.

You decided to settle by the bar for drinks. “Hey there,” came a familiar voice. You turned to see Jake approaching. He was one of the promising young athletes and a rising star in the sports world who was invited to this party.

He plays as a forward for a popular soccer team and has recently garnered attention for his impressive performance in the league. This wasn’t the first time you met as Jake and Kenji ran into each other a couple times before at different events.

He leaned against the bar, signaling the bartender for a drink. “It’s nice to see you again and this time, enjoying yourself,” he said. “You looked like you needed a break at the last event we were at.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating his observation. "Yeah, it's been a bit hectic lately."

Jake's drink arrived, and he took a sip, his eyes studying you with genuine interest. “Well, you look incredible tonight,” he said. “Have you been hearing what the others are saying?”

Jake turned to glance at the crowd, then back at you. “They were all asking if you were a model or something,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the same.”

“Thanks, Jake,” you replied, smiling. “You clean up pretty well yourself."

He laughed, a warm, infectious sound that put you at ease. "So, how's work been treating you? Still managing the chaos that is Kenji Sato?"

You hesitated, the memory of Kenji's recent behavior still fresh. "It's been… challenging," you admitted. "But I manage."

Jake's expression softened with understanding. "I can imagine. He's got a reputation for being difficult."

Unbeknownst to both of you, the baseball star you were talking about has finally arrived. His presence commanded attention as he navigated through the crowd, exchanging greetings and handshakes.

As he made his way deeper into the club, his eyes caught sight of you. At that moment he froze. Or was it time that froze? He didn’t know. All he was sure of was that for a little while, he couldn’t breathe.

You were stunning. Your outfit, a sleek, form-fitting dress that accentuated your every curve, made you look like you had just stepped off a runway. Your hair was styled to perfection, your makeup highlighting your natural beauty.

Suddenly, he noticed the man you were talking to, Jake. “That rookie soccer player,” he thought. Gosh, you deserved so much better. At that moment, with firm resolve, he declared upon himself that he would work to be the better that you deserved.

Kenjl's jaw clenched as his own possessive instincts flared up, a mix of jealousy and protectiveness surging through him. He made his way over to you, his eyes never leaving your form.

On your end, you noticed the crowd parted slightly, and you saw Kenji making his way towards you.

Turning slightly, you met Kenji’s gaze with a cool, indifferent look. "Kenji," you acknowledged, your tone polite but distant.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

Jake looked at you, his gaze asking if you were fine with it. You smiled at him, a genuine and warm expression, something you haven’t given Kenji in a while. “I’ll go on ahead,” you told Jake. “See you around.”

Kenji led you away from the crowd, finding a quieter corner of the club. As soon as you were out of earshot, he turned to you, his eyes dark with jealousy.

"Why didn't you come with me?" Kenji asked, his frustration evident.

You scoffed. “First of all, you didn’t ask me to.” You crossed your arms, fixing him with a hard stare. "And you made it very clear where I stand with you. Or rather, where I don't."

He winced, the memory of his hurtful words coming back to haunt him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I was wrong. I was an idiot."

You remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I've been a jerk, and I know it,” he continued. “I was arrogant, dismissive, and I took you for granted.”

You watch him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Yet you looked away, the hurt still fresh. "You hurt me, Kenji,” you said. “You made me feel worthless and unimportant."

Kenji steps closer, his voice filled with regret. “I know, I'm so sorry. I was so focused on myself, on my career, that I didn't see how much I was hurting you. Your silence has been killing me. I miss your insights, your presence.”

He paused for a while before continuing. “I miss you.” He reaches out, gently taking your hand.

“You're more than just my assistant,” he said. “You're the reason I can do what I do. You make everything better, and I've been too blind to see it. Please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to earn back your trust.”

You met his gaze, searching for any sign of insincerity. All you saw was genuine regret and a longing to make things right. "This isn't something that can be fixed overnight, Kenji."

"I know," he said quickly. "I'll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. I just... I can't lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. "We'll see," you said. "But it won't be easy."

He nodded, relief flooding his features. "I understand,” he said. “Thank you, (y/n)—for giving me a chance.”

As you walked back to the party, Kenji stayed close by your side, protective and possessive. arm subtly wrapped around your waist, a clear signal to everyone around that you were with him.

As the night came to an end, Kenji offered to drive you home. To which, you agreed. The drive home was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything else, it was rather hopeful.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Kenji found you alone in the office. “Hey," he said softly, "I was thinking we could grab dinner. Just the two of us."

You looked up, surprised. "Dinner?"

He nodded, a hopeful smile on his face. "Yeah. To thank you for everything. And to make up for being such an idiot."

You smiled at him for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Dinner sounds nice."

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Neve (and Tevinter) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Neve:

General:

Neve isn’t rich, and her best coat is a gift from a grateful tailor after she saved his warehouse from an arsonist

Neve’s coat is woven with enchantments to resist fire and lighting 

Neve has never done blood magic. She is against it on principle and judges those who use it 

Neve doesn’t seem to like entertaining extreme hypotheticals since she reacts to Harding’s questions like “What would you take with you to a deserted island?” with asking why she would end up in such situations in the first place 

Neve wouldn’t want gems on her leg, because she thinks they would get stolen within a day of working in Minrathous, and she generally prefers to keep a low profile while on the job

However, she still considers saving up for a new, fancier leg to have more fashion choices. She likes Taash’s idea of getting a ruby inlay for it

Neve never visited Rivain before joining the Veilguard, though she now finds its beaches charming

Ever since she was a baby, Neve was stubborn and asked too many questions (and hated unanswered questions as well)

Neve likes Qunari food but thinks it’s very spicy

Neve likes seafood 

Neve doesn't drink tea

Neve isn’t really close with her family

Neve once tried to use a wisp-repelling artefact the Veil Jumpers found to get rid of the wisps in her room, but it only attracted wisps from the entire Lighthouse

Neve isn’t interested in exploring the mysteries of the Lighthouse because she has enough mysteries on this side of the Veil

(If Rook chooses to save Minrathous) Neve sends civil engineers to assist in Treviso 

On work: 

Neve didn’t want to be a detective when she was a child (not as if in she didn’t like the idea, she just didn’t consider it), though she didn’t have any dream career either 

Neve got into detective work by picking up odd jobs and building a reputation of being good at finding things. Eventually, she was hired to find someone’s brother, a case nobody else wanted to pick up, and her career took off 

Neve agrees that she is cynical and married to her job, but doesn’t consider herself ‘serious’  

Neve allegedly has a system for sorting her papers (Emmrich and Rana are sceptical about its existence) 

(If Neve becomes Dock Town's protector) Elek is implied to visit the Lighthouse again multiple times. Taash mentions seeing him poking around the library. Neve explained that he thought he could grab some fade-touched items to sell, and told him to run the plan by the Caretaker (one would think they did not approve)

On life in Minrathous: 

Neve was born and raised in Minrathous

Neve has never been inside the Archon’s Palace

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve doesn’t regret letting Aelia live because she got information on Venatori out of her, and her death wouldn’t change the past

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve gets to take a break for once in her life because Rana keeping an eye on the Dock Town actually helps

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) People gossip about Neve and Rana after they start their agency :)

Neve describes the rain of Minrathous as "cold fingers down your neck", but she misses it now that she's away from the city. The sound helps her fall asleep 

Neve’s entire apartment could fit inside villa Dellamorte’s dining room 

One of Tevinter papers referred to Neve as "Dock Town dirt-chaser," and to Emmrich as "sinister foreign necromancer”

A Tevinter paper called The Minrathous Herald once wrote that Neve should be exiled. The same paper called Shadow Dragons “traitors to the Empire” 

Neve never runs out of ink because she's on good terms with Minrathous ink sellers 

There is however one banter where she runs out of ink (I think it was with Davrin). Make of that what you will. 

On the Shadow Dragons: 

Neve didn't know Dorian personally until she joined the Shadow Dragons

Neve figured out the Viper's identity even before joining the Dragons. Her not revealing it to the public is one of the reasons he recruited her

Tarquin calls Neve a pain in the ass 

Relationships with companions: 

Neve calls Manfred ‘Fred’ (he seems to like that)

Manfred learns to say Neve's name (likely only happens if you revive him at the Necropolis, though I am not sure)

Neve introduces Lucanis to a spice shop in Dock Town

Harding describes Neve’s tastes in coffee as “made of gutter water filtered through an old sock”

Lucanis once showed Neve’s coffee to Viago. He found it “unsettling” 

Davrin thinks drinking Neve's coffee is worse than the Joining

Neve spoils Assan (but denies that accusation)

Neve is rather quick to consider questioning corpses with Emmrich’s help for her cases 

Neve is very apprehensive about lichdom and the perspective of Emmrich eventually turning evil (just like Emmrich isn't thrilled about her taking over the Threads for similar reasons)

Lucanis is concerned about Neve taking over the Threads. Mainly, about how much they are paying her

Neve has multiple banters with Taash discussing her relationship with Lucanis. Taash initially thinks of it as some sort of predator-prey dynamic, but Neve says she is not into that and explains that they are taking it slow and cautious. They both went through a lot of pain in their lines, which they tend not to show for different reasons

Neve's relationship with Lucanis is also more than she usually looks for with people

Neve takes Taash to Hal’s fish fry stand. Taash loved it :)

Taash offers Neve help on ladders in case she may need it/it gets stuck on steps due to being hook-shaped, mentioning they knew a Lord of Fortune who lost a hand and whose shoulders hurt while climbing because of it. Neve seems to appreciate the gesture, even though she can handle herself

Neve thinks Taash is nice to work with, offering help without being overbearing like some people are

Neve asks Taash to teach her Gold Thief (a Lord of Fortune dice game), so she can play it with the Shadow Dragons, and then subsequently gets beaten by the Viper

On Tevinter: 

Fashion is important in Tevinter because a good outfit lets people know you are under the protection of someone powerful

There aren’t many mages in Docktown, which is one of the reasons the government doesn’t care about it 

The big red cat near Halos’s stand is named Ferdinand

Stains on clothes can be cleaned with magic

You can get pineapples anywhere in Minrathous 

Neve calls the magic used for the lights in Minrathous a party trick, but Emmrich considers it a high-level enchantment because of its quality and duration

Tevinter doesn’t regulate the charms sold in the market (which is why there are a lot of scammers who sell fakes) 

[sunrisecaminus]

HIII, I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM, ITS SRSLY SO SCRUMPTIOUS? <333

I wanted to request bumblebee/ratchet/knockout/ megatron headcanons of them finding reader working on a lot of figurines and their vehicle models. I want to see how the bots would react? (Esp ratchet, I love that grumpy old man sm)

Message - DUDE JBVPAVHUBSVO! I wish I could write more, but this is all I could think of. Also awe thanks! Don't make me blush :3

Bumblebee/Knockout/Ratchet/Megatron x Reader Headcanons

Summary - Human makes their Cybertronians friend a figurine of their alt mode. All their reactions to you making them the cutest thing ever.

Warning - Cute

Bumblebee

When he finds your little workshop, watching you making a polished figurine of his car, he was fully supportive of it. He loved everything that you did and every time he saw you making your projects, Bee stays around and observes how you make the details. There is a cute joke you guys do by telling him to "freeze!!!" when he is in his alt mode. You take pictures of what he looks like to help yourself have references. Bumblebee would try so hard not to make any sound while you work, but if you ask him if he likes it…you would get loud excited beeping about how beautiful you made him. The fact he would keep every single one of them will show you how much he appreciates them. If someone told you that the figurines suck, Bumblebee would go wild and make sure that person never comes close to you again. It's funny how mad he gets to protect you, but honestly its very sweet.

Knockout

Now, Knockout would be the most obnoxious person about finding out about your skill. This man would kiss and snuggle you every day for the rest of your life after he knows. Need references? Just ask him and he would stay in his alt mode for long periods of time so you can have one you could actually look at in person. Do you understand how much this guy would adore you? Do you understand how much he adores HIMSELF?! Do you remember how in the show, Starscream would brag to everyone how he was the one to kill cliffjumper? YEAH THAT'S KNOCKOUT! "Did you know I am a hired model? My body is so beautiful, a master of sculpting is using it for their art projects~" He will say it every where. Starscream being annoying? Knockout brags about being a model. Arachnid being a threatening meanie? Knockout will say you were useful for showing off his sexy body in sculptures. Megatron mad at him for having an unsuccessful mission? "Well big M, at least today I am going to outshine everyone on this ship by getting a sculpture version of me." He is weirdly supportive of it…in his own way. Knockout would cherish everything you do and even help buy you better supplies to help you improve. Everyday he would see you working on one and you would just feel a little kiss on your head to feel his loving energy.

Ratchet

"What in the Allspark are you doing? I am not someone for you to just make a replica of!" Yeah Ratchet is very much flustered about the whole thing. You making a figurine of his alt mode was adorable though, seeing a miniature him was so embarrassing. What you secretly don't know is that he put the figures up on the desk he has so he can appreciate your crafts while working. Does he wish you would just stop? Yes. Is he going to tell you? No! He would never tell you to stop doing things you like, just please stop making sculptures of him. He would try to nit pick the figurine to make you think you didn't do good and that would make you not sculpt him anymore, but when he saw how upset you got, thinking you made him look ugly…yeah he broke. Now he just blushes and says it looks good whenever you show him your finished product. Not a warm and fuzzy kind of guy, but he would secretly buy you more materials online so you could continue your dreams and passions. He understands the feeling of being good at your job, and doesn't want to ruin that for you. If he heard someone talk crap about your projects, Ratchet might get suspended for medical malpractice later.

Megatron

OF COURSE THIS EGOTISTICAL WARLORD LIKES IT! He would put the damn thing next to his throne to look at it from time to time. "Make me another or I will use you for target practice!" Anyone who says you are bad at making figurines will DIE. Don't question the decapitated body in the corner, please don't even mention it. He would title you are an architect on his ship and give you a respectable salary if you keep making him stuff. It doesn't even have to be sculptures of him. Make him a model of the ship and he would use it as a 3d blueprint whenever he wants to upgrade something on the ship. "And you see here, this is where I want the new engines to be placed." Starscream thinks this shit is stupid. Will he ever tell Megatron? FRAG NO! You are now the lord's favorite and nothing will change that. He would sit you on the arm of his throne and pet you on the top of your head. You will never leave, you will never switch sides, and you will never be killed. Oh and his threats are fake, that man secretly loves you and would never lay a finger on you. He would send a figure to Optimus as a "look at what my soldiers do for me" type shit. Bro, you could tell him that someone ruined your project and he would literally walk around the ship with you on his shoulder, asking you to point out who. Even if it was Airachnid, nah, bye Airachnid! He would not care who it was, do not ruin his pet's MASTERPIECE!

[shiny-jr]

- Warning: None really. Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver, Sebek Zigvolt.

- Summary: You work a minimum wage job when a fae takes an interest after you jokingly asked him "will you adopt me?"

- Note: I planned for this to be a platonic yandere thing, but really it's only silly thoughts so I don't really plan to continue this unless y'all want. I don't even have a name for it.

Thinking about an AU where...

You were born a regular magicless person in Twisted Wonderland. Which was a travesty, but not too uncommon, as there were plenty of beings in this world that were incapable of magic. It was considered a privilege to be born with such capabilities. A privilege.

Which was likely why the world seemed catered specifically for magic users. Magic users were the cream of the crop, the best of the best. In the social hierarchy, magic users reined on top. That's just how things were. It wasn't discriminatory. It was merely the nature of society. If a company was looking to hire, of course they would inquire if potential employees could use magic. And of course, they were more likely to choose magic users to fill the positions. That explained why you could only find work as a minimum wage telemarketer, but it was better than nothing.

Random numbers generated and numerous attempts, scripted greetings you've said so much you could recite them in your sleep. As soon as you get an answer of "mmmyello?" a casual and exaggerated hello, you go off on the scripted greeting to advertise the product.

Shockingly, the person on the other end doesn't immediately hang up. They merely hum at your words, occasional shifting heard on the other end.

By the tone and voice, you've deduced that it's a rather relaxed guy. A conversation ensues, and although he doesn't sound all that interested in making a purchase, he doesn't get annoyed by your call. In fact, he continues to chat, seemingly amused by you and willing to share details such that he had a son and two others he fondly cared for.

The man, whom referred to himself as Lilia, mentioned he lived in Briar Valley. How odd, as it was common knowledge that the valley didn't have the best connection with technology due to their preference towards magic. He spoke of his well-mannered son and the other two boys he helped raise, one was a loud son of a dentist and the other was a quiet son of longtime family friends. By this time you were imagining an older gentleman with three young boys no older than ten.

He seemed to care so fondly for them that in the middle of the pleasant conversation, you couldn't help but jokingly ask, "Will you adopt me?"

The line was silent and you were mortified as you remembered this was supposed to be business talk, and your calls were likely being recorded. After what must've been shock, he began to laugh on the other end, and you immediately ended the call in your panic.

Why did you say that? You shouldn't have said that– Damn it, right when you were just gonna test the waters to see if he wanted the insurance package! Well, there went your big catch of the day. The rest of the evening was failed attempts, either deadlines or potential customers just hung up as soon as you spoke. Things were looking bleak.

Eventually, not even a week later, you received a letter. A letter, not an email, that was written much like how you expected the contents of a letter from the medieval ages to sound. Starting with: Salutations, Telemarketer–– and after several paragraphs, ending with ––That is why I am now interested in your deal! I will need your assistance, because I have not a single clue about how insurance works.

There was no number, and you couldn't recall the one you had reached him through, so there was no choice but to resort to the old fashioned way. Through letters. Although it would be a hassle and an interaction that would likely last for weeks just for one deal, a customer was a customer, and this would be your first one in so long. However, when you agreed to speak to him, you didn't actually expect him to show up at your doorstep. The voice you recognized, but he was not what you had in mind. He looked to be your age, short with magenta highlights in his black hair and wide red eyes accompanied by a fang-toothed smile. And pointed ears, the sign of fae. Of course he was a fae, that made total sense as to why he spoke as if he were older. He probably was older, much older than you previously thought.

Lilia wore a constant smile, listening but also not listening when you tried your best to explain what insurance was to a fae that had never once needed it.

"Do you get it now...?" You asked finally, after a lengthy explanation to which he barely asked any questions. All he did was nod up and down.

There was a brief pause. "Yesss..." That sounded uncertain, but he didn't appear to care too much as he noticed your bag with only the minimum in it like keys and a thin wallet. Along with the time. "Shouldn't you be on your lunch break now?"

"Yes, but... I don't eat lunch. I'm not hungry." A lie. You were hungry, but it wasn't easy to get lunch on a minimum wage salary alone. You'd eat something for dinner.

Lilia seemed to sense this, somehow detecting your lie. "Hm... Well, I like you. And I'm not about to let a child starve on my watch."

"A child...?" You stared at him incredulously. This fae was practically the same size as you, maybe even shorter. "I'm over––"

"Uh-huh, just nod and come along." He instructed, holding up a finger to gently shush you as he waved you along to follow beside him. "If your age only has two numbers in it, then in my eyes, you're like a toddler."

Lunch was surprisingly nice, as Lilia was quite eccentric but excellent at holding a conversation. He seemed wise and witty, making a great combination. However, you couldn't help but wonder what a fae from Briar Valley was doing here, as it was known that most faes preferred not to leave the valley.

"It's getting late, I do have to be going..." Lilia sighed, before turning to you and his smile softened. "Would you like to see my boys I told you about? It won't take long."

Did he live close by? That was the only plausible explanation you could think of, since Briar Valley was a whole continent away. It only made sense that he lived nearby if he were here now. Maybe he was one of the few fae that chose to leave the valley.

This was quickly disproven when he held your hand and told you to stay still, when it felt like you were hurled through space. A gust of wind slapping your face, your eyes momentarily seeing a kaleidoscope of colors, you felt sick when suddenly your surroundings were darker.

Dark brick walls like black, candles lighting the space, gray stone floors... definitely not the outside of the cafe you were just standing in front of moments ago. Teleporation magic...? He was a fae, and all faes had magic. You only had milliseconds to recover and swallow the rising bile in your throat, as Lilia pulled you into an open space like a courtyard where light filtered in. However, in this space there were training dummies and swords instead of flowers and butterflies.

"Come, come, meet my boys. The ones I've told you about!"

You immediately paled. When you heard boys, you were expecting young children no bigger than half your height. Instead you were met with three towering men with forbidding expressions.

Two of which were dressed in dark metallic armor and lowering sharpened weapons. The one on the left was a bit taller, with green hair and sharp eyes that pierced you like a blade. The one on the right was the shorter of the two, but that didn't make him any less intimidating with his gray hair and aurora eyes on an expression as cold as ice.

And the last, the last was recognizable anywhere. Black robes and majestic black horns like a crown with slitted green eyes that seemed to glow and peer into your very soul. That was the prince of the valley, a fae with unrivaled and frightening levels of magic.

"This is Sebek, Silver, and Malleus. They've so looked forward to meeting you ever since I told them about you after our pleasant telephone chat yesterday!"

[ink-n-shadow]

enjoy more older!divorced!biker!ghost (also send me thoughts/requests about him... ;-;)

QUALIFIED

𝜗𝜚 the one where odb!ghost is forced to give you a job interview (and hates how qualified you are for the job)

𝜗𝜚 pairing: older!divorced!biker!ghost x reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: slight smut at the end (minors—DNI), simon not knowing how he feels, slight mean!ghost, slight perv!ghost

(context: odb stands for "older!divorced!biker")

odb!ghost being forced to interview you (thanks to an almost too enthusiastic soap), absolutely steaming as he sits in the office that's nestled in the back of the bar and thumbs through your resumé absentmindedly. he hates just how qualified you are for the bartending job, how many references you have listed, how pretty your signature looks signed at the bottom of your cover letter, how sweet your smile looks in the photo you have tacked to the top.

he hates how early you come in for your interview, dressed up in an iron-pressed blazer with your hair pulled up and away from your big eyes. he hates the way you reach your much smaller hand out to shake his, hates the way your lotioned skin feels almost velvety against his calloused palm. he hates the way you ask him how his day has been so far in the prettiest lilting voice, hates the way his voice catches in his throat when he offers you the gruffest "s'been fine—have a seat f'me" in existence.

he does love the way you squirm in your seat when your eyes meet his for longer than a second or two. he loves the way you nervously twist at the button of your blazer every time you answer one of his questions (almost perfectly, mind you). he loves the way you roll your shoulders back and puff your chest out a bit more when he tries to undermine your abilities. he loves the way you snap back at him when he teases you a bit too much, loves the way the tips of your ears grow hot and your hands clench tightly into fists.

odb!ghost still can't decide how he feels about you even as you're shaking his hand once more, noting to him that your phone number is in your resumé should he have any questions for you. he still can't decide even when he watches your hips sway as you walk towards the exit of his office door.

the only time odb!ghost decides how he feels is after he's done fucking his cock up into his calloused and scarred fist, throwing your resumé photo somewhere off the edge of the bed and letting his head rest back against his pillows as he blinks up at the ceiling. as he catches his breath, he searches his mattress for the phone he discarded soon after he got home, fingers uncharacteristically trembling as he punches in your phone number (that he most definitely didn't memorize) and sends you a message.

Hired. Be there tomorrow at 16:00. Wear something pretty.

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[scoupsakakitty]

Hi can you do a Joshua × reader where they were childhood friends turned lovers but broke up when svt debuted .Cut to present she is now a successful interior designer and hired by the company to design Joshua's apartment and feelings stir again but she is really bitter towards him for breaking her heart. But make it a happy ending.

Thank you

Blueprints of the Heart | idol!Joshua x Reader | angst, fluff

It was a cold, crisp afternoon in Seoul when she stepped out of the elevator and into the sleek lobby of Pledis Entertainment’s newest residential building. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as her assistant handed her the folder with the final assignment for the month. She barely glanced at it.

“It’s the penthouse,” her assistant said. “Top floor. New client—very private.”

She was used to discretion by now. As one of Seoul’s most in-demand interior designers, she’d worked with enough celebrities to know that privacy wasn’t a luxury—it was currency. Still, a strange feeling crept into her chest as the elevator climbed higher.

When the doors opened, she stepped into the penthouse hallway—and then froze.

The nameplate on the door was unmistakable.

Hong Jisoo.

Her heart sank.

She hadn’t heard that name—not out loud—in nearly seven years. Not since he stopped calling her by her first name and started referring to her as “just a friend” in interviews. Not since the day he debuted with Seventeen, and with a quiet, polite voice and a long, apologetic message, ended things.

Clenching her jaw, she reminded herself this was just work. No man—not even Joshua—was going to shake her.

She rang the bell.

Seconds passed before the door opened. And there he was.

Joshua. Jisoo. Whatever the world wanted to call him now.

He stood there in joggers and a plain white t-shirt, his hair slightly messy, looking very much like the boy she used to sneak convenience store snacks with. His face was a little sharper now, his shoulders broader, but those warm brown eyes were unmistakable.

He froze. “…Y/N?”

“Hello, Joshua,” she said, her voice even.

A beat passed. He stared at her like he was trying to process the scene in front of him.

“You’re the designer?”

“Apparently.” She handed him the file. “I was hired through your company. If I’d known, I would’ve declined.”

“Why?” he asked quietly. “Because of… us?”

She raised a brow. “Do you need me to spell it out?”

He flinched at her tone but stepped aside to let her in. “No. I get it.”

She walked into the apartment. It was stunning—bare, modern, minimalistic. It had no soul. The perfect metaphor.

“You live here alone?” she asked, more out of habit than interest.

He nodded. “I moved in last week. Wanted something new.”

“Well,” she replied, flipping through her notes, “I’m here to give you something new.”

As she moved through the apartment, taking photos and making notes, he trailed behind her silently. But the air between them was thick with unspoken memories. Everything about this space, every corner she stepped into, felt too personal. The silence weighed heavy until he finally broke it.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t turn around. “Too late for that.”

“I know. But I still am.”

She spun to face him. “You left. You didn’t even ask if we could try. You just… ended it. Over a phone call.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmured. “I was scared. I didn’t want you to wait around for me.”

“I wasn’t asking you to protect me,” she snapped. “I was asking you to fight for me. For us.”

Silence.

“I thought you hated me,” he admitted.

“I did. For a long time.”

He looked like he had more to say, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“This is work,” she said. “That’s all. Let’s keep it professional.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright. But… I’m glad you’re here.”

She didn’t answer.

That night, lying in bed, her thoughts wouldn’t let her sleep. Despite every reason to regret taking the job, a quiet part of her wondered if maybe fate had other plans.

The next few weeks tested every ounce of her resolve.

They met for consultations. Chose fabrics. Reviewed layouts. Walked through showrooms together. Joshua remained respectful and distant, never once bringing up the past again. But every shared glance, every accidental brush of hands, every inside joke that slipped through cracked her armor a little more.

He remembered how she liked her coffee. He still knew her favorite color. He asked about her work, genuinely interested in her career, her vision, her world.

One day, as she knelt by the windows, measuring for curtains, Joshua broke the silence again.

“This feels like you,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him. “What does?”

“The room. The way it looks now. It feels… like how your space used to feel back then. Soft. Calm.”

She stood, brushing off her hands. “It’s your apartment now, not mine.”

“I know. But I missed this. I missed you.”

Her chest tightened, but she kept her tone sharp. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t get to say things like that anymore.”

Joshua’s shoulders tensed. “I think about you all the time. I know I have no right to—”

“You don’t,” she cut in. “You made your choice.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said, his voice rising with desperation. “I was young and scared and suddenly everything was changing. I didn’t want you stuck waiting for someone who couldn’t even promise when he’d come home.”

“You didn’t even ask me what I wanted,” she snapped. “You just made the decision for both of us. Like I was just some chapter to close before debut.”

“That’s not true,” he said, stepping closer. “You were everything. I was just too much of a coward to hold on to you while chasing my dream. And that was the biggest mistake of my life.”

She looked away, jaw tight. He moved again, slowly, cautiously.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice trembling slightly now. “You have no idea how many nights I wanted to call you. I watched you grow from a distance, succeed, shine. And I was proud. But it hurt like hell knowing I wasn’t part of that world anymore.”

“You don’t get to be proud of me,” she whispered. “Not after walking away like that.”

“I know,” he said. “But I am. And I’d give anything to go back and choose differently.”

Silence stretched between them.

Joshua took a shaky breath. “I don’t want your forgiveness if you’re not ready. I just want you to know that I never stopped loving you. And if there’s even the smallest part of you that still feels something—anything—I’ll wait. As long as it takes. I’ll prove it to you.”

She didn’t respond. She turned away, pretending to check the window frame again. Her hands trembled slightly.

“I miss us,” he said. “Not just what we were, but what we could’ve been. The future we talked about. The apartment you wanted to design. The life we imagined together.”

He took one more step forward.

“If you tell me there’s no hope, I’ll let you go. For real this time. But if there’s even a sliver of space left in your heart for me… I’ll fight for you. Every single day.”

Her eyes closed for a moment. She hated that her heart still ached for him. Hated that his words still reached her. But more than anything, she hated that no one had ever made her feel the way he did—then or now.

Slowly, she turned back to face him. His eyes were red-rimmed, voice shaking, vulnerability written in every line of his face.

“Do you mean that?” she asked.

“Every word.”

“No more running,” she said firmly. “No more choosing for me. If we do this… we do it together.”

Joshua didn’t hesitate. “Together. Always.”

And for the first time in years, she let herself step forward. Into the warmth of his arms. Into the promise of something new, born from something once broken.

He held her like he’d never let go again.

This time, he wouldn’t.

[eveninglakehomeworld]

hi friends and lovers, I've gathered a small collection of dialogues from Zevran in DA:O regarding Antiva & the Crows.

I got this together mostly for myself, but thought I'd share in case anyone who is maybe looking to flesh out their new Crow OC, write fanfic involving Crow characters, or is looking for a refresher on early Crow lore would like something to reference. I trimmed down dialogues a bit, so mostly just information relevant to the Crows, Antiva in general, and Zevran's own attitudes about being an assassin are present.

this post has dialogues from Zev's recruitment event and a couple of early game camp conversations. because it's only a handful of dialogues, this is, ostensibly, part 1 of several. I plan to post more as I progress through my replay of origins. enjoy! <3

Recruitment

Warden: "What are the Antivan Crows?"

Leliana: I can tell you that. They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.

Zevran: Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous.

Warden: "You came all the way from Antiva?"

Zevran: Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.

[After being asked if he's loyal to Loghain]

Zevran: Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.

Warden: "And now that you've failed that service?"

Zevran: Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.

Warden: "When were you to see him next?"

Zevran: I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.

Warden: "How much were you paid?"

Zevran: I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.

Warden: "Then why are you one?"

Zevran: Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't give much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe. But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: Wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it.

Warden: "Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?"

Zevran: Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.

Warden: "I'm listening. Make it quick."

Zevran: Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.

Warden: "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?"

Zevran: To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on the principle of failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you.

Warden: "Won't they come after you?"

Zevran: Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not, well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?

Warden: "Why would I want your service?"

Zevran: Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed.

A few early game camp conversations

Conversation 1 Warden: "What does it take to become an assassin?"

Zevran: Well, the Crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training, the sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you're good enough to start being considered one of them. But quite frankly the truth is that all it requires is a desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field.

Warden: "It doesn't take any special skill?"

Zevran: I don't know about that. It's simply a slightly different skill set from your average killer, as I see it. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth... and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible. Debilitating your foe, either by poison or by crippling their limbs, makes any follow-up combat you need to engage in that much simpler.

Warden: "That sounds like it could be useful."

Zevran: See? Getting paid for the act is beside the point. An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle. Of course, the Crows like to pretend that their abilities are trade secrets, shrouded in shadows and wrapped in a blanket of mystery. So let's just keep this between you and me, shall we, hmm?

Conversation 2 Warden: "Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"

Zevran: Well, now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living, at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?

Warden: "You didn't choose the Crows?"

Zevran: Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows existed when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.

Warden: "That sounds awful."

Zevran: "Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women... and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining. [note: I transcribed the first line of the last section as it was written in the subtitles because it seemed to make more sense in context, but when Zevran speaks it aloud he actually says "That does not mean doing what is expected of you." presumably an editing error, but can't be 100% positive which is the intended message.]

[After being asked what he thinks his future might hold]

Zevran: As for what I'll do in the future... presuming that there is one... I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.

Warden: "Won't the Crows eventually find you?"

Zevran: [laughs] Eventually can be a very, very long time if one plays one's cards right. Come, now. Enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so.

Conversation 3 Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?"

Zevran: And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part, well... some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?

Warden: "You've never killed an innocent?"

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to truly be innocent? But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such... never on purpose, but it happens. It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Warden: "I suppose that's true."

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often. As far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.

Warden: "I know what you mean."

Zevran: There are many things I did not enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules... oh, so many rules! But, simply being an assassin? I like it just fine. I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?

Conversation 4 [note: I trimmed this one down a lot bc it's just one of the ones where he tells you about a job and there's not a lot to be gleaned about Antiva, how the Crows operate, etc] [In response to being asked, "The Crows were willing to anger the Circle of Magi?"]

Zevran: In Antiva, nobody is too important to escape the reach of the Crows. They have killed kings and queens. That's simply how it is.

[After elaborating on how he fumbled an assassination attempt and the mark died accidentally, instead of by his hand]

Zevran: Then I found out she had told the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She has planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around.

Conversation 5 Warden: "Tell me a little about Antiva."

Zevran: Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you? The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes.

Warden: "Don't you want to go back?"

Zevran: [sighs] It is not really a matter of wanting to go back. I cannot go. At least not yet. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?

Warden: "I'm not from any glittering gem, no."

Zevran: No? That is too bad. If you were, then surely you would spend as much time boasting about it as I do! Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels... I miss the leather the most.

Warden: "Is that some kind of euphemism?"

Zevran: [laughs] It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.

Warden: "That's a little bizarre. There's leather everywhere."

Zevran: Ah, but it's not Antivan leather, is it? I do not know what the Antivan tanners do that is different, but ther is no leather more supple nor more fragrant.

Warden: "You sound like you've been away from home forever."

Zevran: Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly. Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship—ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, "Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward from a job well done." More the fool I, no?

Warden: "Your home is still there, Zevran."

Zevran: True, and it's a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next.

Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.

Bonus banter snippet because I found it amusing:

Morrigan: You assassin types have a death wish, I see.

Zevran: [laughs] Only the really good ones.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Stevie’s Garage

steddie, omegaverse, 1960s, omegas entering the workforce, single parents, cw: vague references to suicide

Steve liked working with his hands. As a child that meant playing with lincoln logs and tinker toys, after he presented it meant baking a sewing. Then his no-good, two-timing alpha left him for his secretary, with two pups, Danny (6) and Jenny (7 1/2). Steve won full custody in the divorce, and at least his ex pays his alimony on time.

But it isn’t enough to live on, not with the mortgage and the kids. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to worry about the house falling apart; he’s been doing home repairs the entire time, learned to change his own oil in his car, can fix a flat tire with ease.

More and more omegas are driving now, and Steve figures they would appreciate service from someone who won’t talk down to them. He gets a loan from his aunt, a maiden omega who invested well, and opens his own automobile service station: Stevie’s Garage.

Robin helps him get set up: painting the sign, ordering supplies, answering phone calls, while Steve gets under the hoods and gets his hands dirty.

He does well enough that after the first month he puts an ad in the paper to hire a second mechanic. He figures it will take a while to find an alpha (or even a beta) who can stand working for an omega.

Much to his surprise, a man with dark curls and a shy smile comes by later that week asking if the job is still available. Steve has Eddie check the car on the lift, and he finds the loose fan belt in a couple minutes, changes it out.

Steve hires him on the spot.

It turns out Eddie’s got a pup, too. Carrie’s in Danny’s class at school, and all Eddie will say is that her mother isn’t around anymore. Steve doesn’t pry. It means the three pups ride the bus to the garage after school and play together there until the workday is done. Jenny’s bossy, a bit feral, and loyal to a fault. The first day Carrie gets off the bus with them, she asks why she isn’t going home to her mom, all childish bluntness.

“Mama died in the bathtub when I was really little, then I went to live with Daddy,” Carrie answers, just a statement of fact.

Steve’s glad he didn’t pry.

After that, Jenny is as protective of Carrie as she is of her brother.

Three months after he hired Eddie, Steve admits to himself that he likes the alpha. More than likes him. Eddie smells nice, and he’s gentle with the pups, never raises his voice in anger—only in excitement or fear—he tells jokes and stories to pass the time, sings along with the radio. But mostly, he looks at Steve like a starving man looks at bread when he thinks the omega isn’t looking.

Steve wants to feed him.

They both have engine grease under their fingernails, are covered in heavy-duty cotton, Steve’s hair is under a kerchief; there is nothing particular sexy about the moment. But Steve can’t wait any longer, and he presses up against Eddie, pins him in place and kisses his mouth.

“I’m dead, yeah? The lift fell and I was crushed by Mrs. Wheeler’s Bel Air, and I’m dead,” Eddie babbles when their lips part.

“Not dead,” Steve replies with a grin. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve leans in for another kiss, one that Eddie deepens, his tongue slipping easily between parted lips. “I’ll need to get Robin to babysit.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Munson. You’re taking me out dancing.”

✨✨✨

Steve answers the door with his housecoat still on, crouching down to say hello to Carrie first, the pup throwing her arms around his neck. “Head into the living room, honey, the kids are doing a puzzle with Robbie,” he says, watching her scamper past him into the house. He turns to Eddie with a soft smile, “Just give me a couple minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie agrees, smile just as soft.

Steve disappears to his bedroom, and Eddie waits awkwardly in the doorway. He hears laughter from deeper in the house, followed by Robin saying, “Hey there, Care-Bear, come sit by me.”

He’s ruminating on how nice it is to have people who adore his kid as much as he does around, to give her that big family feeling, at least a little bit. Then Steve comes down the hallway wearing a proper dress, and Eddie quite literally stops breathing.

Dressed to the nines, Steve is a revelation, but he simply takes Eddie’s hand and says, “So, where are you taking me?”

“Enzo’s,” Eddie answers, no longer worried that it’s too much. Steve deserves the nicest restaurant in town for their first date. Steve deserves the best of everything.

Not that either of them has fancy tastes, not knowing what half the things on the menu are. Eddie gets spaghetti and meatballs, and Steve gets a chicken dish with some kind of red sauce. They talk and trade bites of food, both careful as they eat—Steve due to a lifetime of practice, Eddie because he realized as soon as the waiter took their order that he’d made a mistake and that leaving without marinara on his shirt would be a miracle.

After, he tells Steve to order dessert, and they split a tiramisu. Eddie pays the bill without really looking at it, having kept a tally in his head of the prices by habit, leaves a nice tip, and helps Steve up from his seat. “Ready for that dance?”

Steve smiles and nods, following Eddie to the dance floor. Enzo’s has a live band on the weekends; “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole starts just as Steve steps onto the parquet dance floor, his arms settling easily around Eddie’s neck. “I love this song,” he murmurs as they start to sway.

“Makes sense,” Eddie murmurs, “You’re certainly unforgettable, Steve.” They’re silent after that, moving to the music, bodies pressed close. A new song starts, and they keep swaying, dancing merely an excuse to hold each other in public, to trade small kisses.

“Robin’s planning to spend the night at my place,” Steve says once they are safely back in Eddie’s car.

“Oh?”

“We still have plenty of time…”

“Steve?”

“Take me back to your place, Eddie.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, driving on autopilot, as Steve rubs his hand up and down Eddie’s thigh.

Steve pounces on him as soon as they get through Eddie’s front door, kissing him hard and reaching for his belt. They shed clothes down the hallway, until they reach Eddie’s bedroom, leaving the lights off, everything illuminated well enough by the nearly full moon.

Eddie stops breathing again. Steve is a vision in only his slip, white satin and lace showing off so much more of his skin than Eddie’s ever seen. Carefully, he reaches out, suddenly nervous—a crass, unworthy man standing before the loveliest omega on earth—and pinches a bit of fabric at Steve’s waist, afraid to touch more.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, placing a hand over Eddie’s, “It’s okay. I’m still just me. Not gonna break, Ed.”

Everything after that is slow and sweet. Perfect.

Eddie cries tears of pleasure as he sinks into Steve’s wet heat. Steve mewls at being properly knotted for the first time in years. They fall asleep tangled together, the most relaxed either of them have felt, possibly ever.

Steve wakes early, before the sun is up. Eddie stirs beside him as soon as he moves, and Steve is happy to take a couple minutes to kiss.

There’s plenty of time to get home before the pups wake.

✨✨✨

Big thanks to @itcanbepalped for sharing the inspo with me and then riffing for a bit! Love you, Mads!!!

[spaghettito3]

It's always been Curly (Pre-crash Curly x Reader)

Captain Curly, the dependable captain of The Tulpar. That's who he was and will ever be.  ... Until you joined The Tulpar.

---

Or; a small look into Curly and his relationship with his name and title, with sprinklings of fluff.

ao3

It's always been Curly. Cur–ly; two syllables, a trip up and down the steps, the natural progression of things, finishing off a dance with a bow. It's Curly from the hiring manager of that fast food place when he'd made it just in time for his interview when he was 18, dressed in a suit; It's Grant from that awkward girl in middle school who decided she liked him after seeing him score a goal, then Curly once she knew him a bit more; It's Captain from his crew, and back to Curly again when they want to get on his good side. He was Curly.

He doesn't know how it all began, but eventually people started to favour his last name. It made sense, though; a name like Curly fits the bill for a dude with golden curls. He didn't mind that shift, either—two syllables always sounded better, together, than one, alone. He was Curly.

Grant is that one person sitting on the seat closest to the pick-up area of a coffee shop that you'd see for half a second when you go to get your drink. Curly is that dependable captain of The Tulpar with a crew that relies on him. Grant is that flower pot bought at a market years ago, left sitting at the back of the closet. Curly is a bundle of flowers packed perfectly in paper from that same market, just a few, more-populated stalls away. He was Curly.

So if that's the case, why do you insist on holding onto Grant so tightly?

When you introduced yourself to him and the crew last minute—courtesy of the Pony Express—you referred to him as Grant. Grant; one syllable, an unceremonious fall down the stairs, an abrupt stop, finishing off a dance with a trip. He'd been so used to everyone referring to him as Captain or Curly that a single word alone felt similar to when the wind back on Earth would sometimes suddenly pick up and make a mess of his perfectly styled hair. And despite seeing the mess you've made, you'd continue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Grant this, Grant that. No mention of that blond curly-haired captain, save for the one you were choosing to call Grant at the moment.

It didn't bother him; he didn't let it bother him, not when he had a job to do and bills to pay and a freighter to man. Hell, it wasn't even about your usage of the name as well; just the reasoning behind why when everyone else called him Curly. Though it was starting to become less like a small gust of wind and more like a rocky, thorny, bordering-on-uncomfortable bump in the road, and his brain soon added that train of thought to the things he'd think about when he'd try to sleep.

He eventually cracked one sleepless night down by the kitchenette with you.

There wasn't anything special that triggered it; no mocking tone he'd sooner expect someone like Jimmy to use back at home, just a simple:

“Hey, Grant. Couldn't sleep as well?”

“Why do you call me that?”

He remembers the slight falter in your smile when he’d lost himself. Curly wouldn't start the conversation with that if he decided it was even a good idea to have that conversation at all. Your act wasn't hurting anyone; it was just a name. There was no need to confront you.

Though as much as he hated ever asking and wanted to take it back, to his dismay, you took it on the chin and chuckled. “It's your name.” Your eyes remained on his, your mug clink-clink-clinking as you stirred on it.

“Everyone calls me Curly.”

“Everyone calls you Curly,” you repeated. That's when you dropped your gaze, and he hated how his eyes immediately followed the line of sight down onto your mug, as if desperate to chase it. You continued stirring on your coffee—surely it's at a drinkable temperature by now—and he debated on getting his own cup. It'd be a waste of time to try to sleep now; no way that he wouldn't overthink and repeat this conversation ad infinitum in his mind.

Eventually, you looked up and he met your eyes at an embarrassing speed. His gaze flickered onto your lips when they quirked into a smile, as if you remembered something funny. You then, with a gentle hand, slid your mug over to him.

“What if Grant gets lonely?”

That was the stupidest thing you could've said.

After all, weren't Grant and Curly the same person? Why the need for that distinction? That's when he realised your eyes were still meeting his; unwavering, curious. You weren't looking at the curly blond hair, the Pony Express uniform, or the body he'd worked so hard to get—just his eyes.

Grant wanted to laugh—actually, he did laugh, it seemed, when a chuckle bubbled out of him.

“That makes no sense.”

He reached for the mug you offered and took a sip. Then, he lowered his cup to speak, his voice softer this time:

“...But I'm sure Grant appreciates the company.”

That was the stupidest thing he could've said. You told him as such with your own chuckle.

“I'll keep on sticking by Grant, then.”

His eyes flickered onto your lips again, and it became abundantly clear that you’d grin every time you said the name Grant; first, an ‘o’ shape with your mouth for the ‘gr’, then you'd widen the shape for ‘an’—before finally grinning to enunciate the ‘t’. Grant; one syllable, a hop down the stairs, a period in a sentence, finishing off a dance with the last step. He teared his eyes away and brought the mug to his lips again, a faint heat rising to his cheeks, but it was too late; now he wouldn't be able to stop noticing your smile every time you said his name or the way you said it.

Ever since then, every time he'd hear a “Grant!” he'd turn his head that way—no longer out of a sense of obligation, but because he wanted to. Because maybe if he turned fast enough he'd catch a glimpse of your smile mid-Grant… But then he'd probably turn his head right back, eyes wide in a panic, because oh god he's not supposed to be anticipating his crewmate’s smile like this.

He’ll think about the implications of his feelings as the captain of The Tulpar later, but for now… It's not so bad being Grant.

[morphids]

first off- happy holidays!! idk if this is something you’d be interested in but how about a pining assistant troupe with hange? i think it would be fun for reader to have a reiner-ymir relationship with moblit, constantly fighting for hange’s attention and stuff <3

give me all your attention, hange zoë

hi lovely, happy holidays!! this was so much fun to write thank you for requesting!! <3 hope you enjoyyy

summary: pining assistant!r x nb!hange

warnings: kinda sfw—suggestive themes, heavy makeout and a lil dirty talk, tension, lowk dominant hange, nothing explicit. unreliable narration sometimes (r is projecting on moblit a lot) moblit slander—sorry guys i love him really, r def has a hidden praise kink lmao, gendered nicknames towards reader, hange teases a lot, downbad behaviour.

wc: 3.2k

—

Life as Hange's assistant was stressful, to say the least. You think one of these days you'll have a cardiac arrest, the way they're so unbothered about jumping right into danger. Sure, there were worse jobs to be hired into, but it definitely wasn't easy. Hange made sure of that.

But more than that, you couldn't stand Moblit. He was a nice guy, and all, but you two clash a lot. Especially when Hange was in the picture. You'd think Hange had needed him all their life, the way he jumps on the chance to do anything for them. Always doting, chasing them around like a good little labrador. It was sickening, to be honest.

You glanced up from your clipboard, eyeing the way that Moblit brought Hange some dinner, as they hadn't eaten theirs yet. Would've been a nice, caring gesture— except that you had already made extra dinner earlier and boxed some away especially for Hange to eat. Out of all the meals you cooked, that one had been Hange's ultimate favourite. He would've known if he'd bothered to ask, instead of taking it upon himself. You hated how eager to impress Hange he was. Hated Hange's reaction even more, like he was God's gift to their stomach. Ugh.

Both of you were Hange's assistants, having been hired around the same time. So a few years had passed of this little rivalry with each other. You wondered what his motivations were. Why he was as desperate to please as he was.

I mean, your relationship with Hange was so different to theirs. Could he not see that? It's not like all the responsibilities fell on him. If it was up to you, he'd be stuck doing all the paperwork whilst you had the more... hands on jobs that needed doing.

"Dear? Could you come here for a sec?" Hange's voice broke you from your entranced thoughts. You made your way over to the two, tucking your clipboard underneath your arm. Hange seemed to always call you names like that, during the first few weeks of working you worried that they actually just forgot your real name and wanted to cover it up with an easy-to-remember pet name. Then months later, you realised they just seemed to have a proclivity for referring to you in that way.

It flustered you sometimes, made you wonder if that was the reason Moblit didn't seem to take you seriously and seemed to have it out for stealing jobs away from you. Always puffing his chest like he can do everything under the sun. It just seemed to be a quirk of Hange's, though, they never seemed to mean anything by it, always remaining professional. They must just really like nicknames?

"Yes, Hange?" You'd been conditioned to not use their title over the years, Hange seemed to hate that—weeks of correction every time 'Commander,' came out of your mouth.

"I need you to re-check these test results for me—something isn't right, I need fresh eyes."

"Oh, I can do that for you Hange," Moblit spoke, eyes eager as he awaited a new task, even his spine straightened out a little more.

"That won't be needed, Moblit, I'm perfectly capable." You narrowed your eyes at him, voice terse, there he goes again, always trying to take jobs away from you, what an asshole. Does he think women aren't able or something? 

Clearly, your glare hadn't been as internal as you intended, as Hange side-eyed the two of you before shoving their slacking glasses tighter up the nose bridge, then clapping their hands together.

"Anyway, I'd need it by tonight, so bring your findings down to my office when you're done, dear." They smiled down at you, warm and gentle.

"Sure, Hange." You nodded as they walked away, leaving you and Moblit stood awkwardly side by side. Moblit looked you up and down, with a vague face.

"Need something?" You bit out, increasingly getting more annoyed. It had been like this since you both started, but it was becoming worse. Your patience was wearing thinner and thinner as he was getting more absurd with his actions. You often wondered if Hange noticed the growing animosity between their two assistants, and actively chose to not get involved, or if they hadn't even noticed at all.

Moblit cleared his throat, looking down at his shoes now.

"Nope,"

"Great, I'll get started on the analyses."

Moblit nodded curtly, moving aside so you could make your way to the desk to do your work.

—

A few hours had passed, your neck was crooked and sore from having been craned towards paper for the afternoon. It took ages to realise what the problem in the test results had been, and then you finally spotted it.

Oh, you were so gonna kill him.

Etched in Moblit's handwriting, was the incorrect recording of two variables. Making sure your tired eyes weren't being deceitful, you flicked between the two sheets again, the one Hange had drafted for the hypothesis plan with the correct variables, and Moblit's, which was supposed to have it all recorded, properly.

He must've misread the numbers, transcribing the data wrong and fucking up the whole experiment.

Idiot, you thought, sighing. You leaned back into your chair, relieved to have found the error in the results, at least it could be fixed now. Sitting up from your seat, you compiled the work together into a pile and took yourself to relay it back to Hange.

Knocking on the door, Hange's voice rang from the other side of the wall, before cracking the door open. Once seeing it was you, moving to the side to let you in, eyes glimmering as you entered.

"Come in, dear, we were just chatting."

Moblit was in there, too. How great. Well, looks like you'd have to do this with him there.

"I found the error," You muttered, placing the sheets down on Hange's desk.

"Ooh! I knew I could count on you - what was it?" Hange excitedly beamed, sipping on some coffee that you just knew Moblit had brought. He's never brought you any, always just the two cups.

"Well, ask Moblit," you chuckled, maybe it was a good thing he was here, so you could see the look on his face, "He marked the variables wrong, it confused the outcome of the experiment."

Meanwhile, Moblit was mortified.

"Wha—", his mouth slightly hung open as he frantically grabbed the sheets to check for himself. Sighing as he saw that you were, in fact, correct. There it was, his mistake written right in front of his face, mocking him.

"I'm sure it happens all the time," You muttered, just not by you, or Hange.

"I'm sorry, Hange! It won't happen, again!" He bent his neck down with shame, Hange only laughed, shaking their head.

"Don't worry, Moby! It can happen to anyone— at least we know, now!"

As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn't have expected Hange to berate him, not for an honest mistake. Yet, a callous part of you wished they had. Chastised him for his error ruining the experiment, wasting hours on a test that was never going to be executed correctly. Scold him for always acting like he was above you, only to fuck up now. But you knew they were too nice for that, it's what you respected about Hange.

"We'll run it properly tomorrow, right, dear?" Hange beamed, brown eyes shining at you through their specs as you found your anger simmering.

"Of course, Hange," They nodded, pleased.

It wasn't long until Moblit excused himself, leaving Hange's office whilst the remnants of shame fuelled his steps. You were about to follow suit, facing towards the door until Hange spoke, stopping your steps.

"Dear? I wanna speak to you,"

Your stomach sank, fuck. What if you were going to get scolded? As far as you were aware, you hadn't done anything wrong. Sure, they didn't scold Moblit, but that had been an easy mistake. What if something you did was so reprehensible that they would? Maybe Hange had grown tired of the way you were towards Moblit— but just because you were vocal about your irritation, doesn't make Moblit anymore innocent. He's the one that started this, always trying to one-up your achievements and helpful nature.

Turning yourself towards them, you failed to meet eyes. Feeling your nerves increase as you feared the worst, plucking at the skin around your nail beds.

"Don't look so scared! I just wanted to say thank you,"

Looking up at them, you faltered, Hange stood right in-front of you.

"What for?"

"Finding the error! It was driving me insane, honestly, I can't believe I missed it," Hange joked, rubbing their forehead, "Must need a nap,"

"Oh...of course, y-you asked me to,"

"I did," Hange came closer, "That doesn't mean you'd find it, though— I must've looked at that report a hundred times and didn't catch it."

"So well done!" They beamed, "You always do what I ask of you, dear—so well, too."

Hange's arm raised to bring a hand down to your arm, squeezing it affectionately.

Your breath caught in your throat, Hange's praise and the contact seemed to have made your brain go a little silly. A lot, silly, in fact. You could just feel your cheeks warm, the implications of their words used in a different context short-circuited your head.

"T-Thank you, Hange, I'm glad I could help," An attempt at retaining strong, retaining dignity and professionalism. You hoped it worked.

"You always help, dear, just try not to give Moblit such a hard time about it, okay?"

Well, that ruined that. Any sense of pride you had just gotten immediately crushed. Hange must've caught the way your face hardened, the way you began nibbling the inner skin of your lip with your teeth, holding back resentful words at your lips puckered out.

"Look, you don't have to be best friends— I know he isn't innocent, either, okay? But I'd rather have my two favourite assistants get along!"

You stared at them, with an 'are you kidding' expression coated on your features. Heck, you had tried getting along with him. He was the one who made it into a competition of who could please Hange the hardest. Constantly prying their attention away from your impressive feats.

Yeah, okay, fine, time to cut the bullshit— you had realised that you had perhaps, a little, teeny crush on Hange a while back. Heart fluttering too much at their praise, their soft way of speaking to you, the way they were so affectionate or had no qualms about rubbing your arm if you'd done a good job, making sure you knew just how much you had been of help.

You craved it. You craved more of their attention like an addict and craved to impress them, to hear those sweet praises as they smiled at you with those warm eyes and enticing smile. Like you were so good, so smart, useful. Had been the best damned assistant that could preemptively predict what Hange would need.

Especially, in the scientific sense; working hard late at night to write the best damn reports they had ever read. Making sure to help think of clever alternatives for an experiment gone wrong. You were damn good at your job. That's why it pissed you off when Moblit decided to keep shitting on your parade, purposefully outshining you so that he looked like the knight in shining armour.

It wasn't like Hange picked favourites, in fact, they seemed a little oblivious to his ways. Thanking him just as they thanked you, with just perhaps a little less skin-ship. And a little less petnames, the things that made your heart race and stomach flip.

At least you knew your reasonings for this—what were his?

But, Moblit had definitely noticed, the way Hange's professionalism seems to falter a little bit when you were around. Definitely noticed when you both stayed in each other's presence more than was deemed necessary, the way Hange's eyes brightened as they spoke to you.

He thought he could never compete with that, not in the professional sense anyway. He'd made it his mission to try and outshine you however he could so that he wouldn't get left behind in tasks, all due to his Commander's potential sweetened feelings towards you. He'd never have any work if Hange just gave all the good work to you! Truthfully, though, by the time he noticed Hange's...affections for you hadn't impacted the way any of you worked, hadn't picked favourites - it was too late to stop the competitiveness. Too late for the animosity between the two assistants to halt.

"Hange, we would get along if he wasn't hellbent on ruining my career!"

Hange cackled, covering their mouth at the dramatics,

"How does he ruin your career, my dear?"

Ignoring the new addition to the nickname, you continued, having held it in for so long it all just came pouring out.

"He steals all the good jobs, acts better than me even though he messes up experiments, feeds you food even though I made you the dinner you like,"

Yup, you were definitely going off-track, but it was too late to stop the rambling, the box had been opened.

"He follows you around like a puppy, brings both of you coffee—always failing to bring me one! Doting on you like—" You cut yourself off, once you caught the look on Hange's face.

Amused and mirthful, front teeth pulling back a bit on the side of their lip as they listened to your rant. Arms crossed as they looked down at you, eager brown eyes bright and glimmering, wanting you to keep going.

"Why does that bother you so much, huh?"

"It's just annoying—he acts like your boyfriend." You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, as you looked to the side.

"Well, he's not, we all know that, dear."

"Does he know that?"

Hange gaped at you, a playful expression glazing over their eyes, a gentle smirk tugging on their lips.

"Don't worry, pretty, you have all of my attention."

Meeting their eyes, your stomach flipped, a tension in your abdomen at their words. Pretty? That's a new one. You hated the way it sat in your stomach, making your mind sink to dark, dark places. The words in your throat were caught, trapped as you couldn't find in yourself to respond eloquently.

"Yeah right." You knew you were being unreasonably bratty, especially to your superior, but you couldn't care at this point. Deciding to just spew it out.

"Why don't I show you, then, hm?"

Hange unfolded their arms, grabbing your elbows and pulling you close to them.

"What—"

"ssh—told you, 'm gonna show you,"

Hange moved your arms to rest around their shoulders, their own coming down to wrap around your waist.

"What does that mea—"

"It means," Hange was losing patience, "Let me show you how no one else is stealing my attention away, pretty girl."

Hange was inches away, eyes down to your lips, as one hand reached up to thumb the skin on your jaw. Your plump lips split, shallow breaths escaping as your pretty, doe eyes stared up at them, dilating to reveal a darker pool of black in your pupils at Hange's closeness. Mind reeling at how close Hange's fingers were to your throat.

"They never did, dear, my attention was always yours."

Their lips almost touching yours, your brows tilting up slightly as their words. Almost hesitant, what if this was a trap? An insanely well-thought, long planned trap from Moblit, get you to admit your feelings and then humiliate you.

"You were always just so good, doing everything I asked you," The paused, the hand at your waist tightening its grip on your sides, "'N you do it all so well, pretty girl."

"Y'can't possibly think I was never impressed with you, hm?"

Hange's mouth reached your ear, lip grazing your earlobe as shivers went down your back, "All you needed to do was walk into the room n'Im impressed, dear."

"So I’m asking you, will you let me show you?"

You nodded, biting back a low whimper as Hange's lips moved away from your ear to the front of you, hand at your waist still strong, and the other tugging at your jaw, grabbing you a little bit harder, dragging your skin as they pulled your face closer, your eyes fluttering as they moved you.

"Yeah?" They smiled, a gentle, soft smile. Voice teasing, almost mocking, like they knew exactly what they were doing to you—it's not like you were hiding it well, "You'll let me, pretty girl? Need t'hear you say it,"

All doubts left your mind, that craving returning with full force as your mind turned to mush, incoherent thoughts, all you could make out was that craving. That desire that had been eating up at you over the years, Hange’s sweet praise leaving you feeling floaty.

"Y-yes, Hange,"

With the confirmation, Hange pressed their lips to yours, skin finally touching skin. The warmth of their mouth encompassing your own, as you allowed yourself to melt into their kiss. Surrounded with Hange, your chests pressing together as you hands grabbed at the back of their neck. Impossibly close, yet you still craved to be closer.

The sound of lips smashing against each other filled the room, the mutual desire would be heard clearly to anyone who walked in. Heavy breathing through noses as you sighed into each other.

Hange separated your lips to murmur against you, in between shorter pecks, “Been waiting to be able to kiss you,” They breathed out, voice rasped and low, “Waiting this whole time,”

“Hang—“ Your whimpers were cut short, swallowed as Hange connected your lips again, the kiss starved and ardent. Hange’s grip on your jaw was unbelievably tight, helpful considering it was getting harder to hold your head up, truly weakened.

Hange moved your bodies around, the back of your thighs meeting the line of wooden desk, as they leaned you up against it. The hand from your waist reaching down to lift your thigh up on the wooden slab, letting you lean your weight back on it as they placed themselves comfortably in between your open legs. Your thighs tightened around them to keep them close, shivering at the contact of them pressing up against you. Hange’s hands grabbed at your thighs, feeling as much skin as the clothes on your legs would allow, fingers kneading against the fabric, wishing they could feel you without the layers.

“Taste so sweet, dear,” Hange groaned against your lips, “Makin’ me wanna do bad things,” Hange’s lips were plump and flushed, solid evidence of the feverish kissing as you imagined your own weren’t any better off.

“Makin’ me wanna take you right here,” Hange’s words incited you, propelled you deeper into impropriety as you responded, words breathy and full of want.

“What’s stopping you then?”

—

…welp 🫣

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

‧₊˚── Synopsis: Your father has offered your hand in marriage to an insufferably arrogant Athenian Polemarch. To make matters worse... he's terrible in bed. What a pleasant coincidence that he's just so happened to hire a certain mercenary known for her excellence in the area?

Word Count: 4K Content/Warnings: nsfw, reader is referred to w fem pronouns/has fem anatomy, top!kass, bottom!reader, scissoring, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), jealous!kass but she won't admit it, in love!reader but she won't admit it, ambiguous ending ooooh A/N: i am so sorry that it took me this long to post this... but it genuinely ended up being my favorite smut I've written so far. it's not even anything crazy, i just love kassandra so much and i hope this finds all my other fellow kassandra lovers out there.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

There's little that irritates Kassandra more than arrogance, so it's no surprise that right now, the look on her face clearly says she'd rather be anywhere else than sharing a meal with men who have heads as big as they claim their dicks to be. 

At least you're there to catch her humorous expressions of reproval from across the dinner table; to respond with your own, sharing a silent conversation about how ridiculous these men sound as they decide that the next best subject to discuss over roasted quail and figs is how good they are in bed.

The only reason you're attending this glorified pissing contest is because your father had offered your hand to tonight's host, Alexandros, not too long ago. You aren't naive; you understand that in this world, women don't marry for love, but for security. Alexandros was at least a safe bet; an Athenian Polemarch with plenty of wealth to spare.  He decides to chime in, raising his cup of wine in the air for dramatic effect. “One thing is for certain,” he begins with a toothy grin, “no woman has ever left my quarters unhappy…” The room explodes with cheeky laughter and hollers of praise, droplets of dark red sloshing over their cups as they toast to Alexandros’s proclaimed skills… It isn’t until their cheers die down that they realize you’ve choked on your wine.

“What’s the matter?” Alexandros asks, clearly more annoyed than concerned. 

Kassandra is slouched against the backrest of her chair. She lulls her head over to Alexandros’s direction to shoot him a glare when he takes such a short tone with you.

“O-oh!” you begin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and trying to conceal your laughter the best you can.

Kassandra’s scowl is replaced with a grin as she watches.

“I just, uh…”

Find it hilarious that you seriously believe I’ve ever left your bedroom pleased…

“...wine just went down the wrong way,” you say, finally having collected yourself enough to give him a dismissive wave.  “We’re running low, anyhow.” 

You stand to grab the decanter from the center of the table before excusing yourself to the kitchen to refill it. 

A knowing smirk plays on Kassandra’s lips as she watches you leave, your shoulders still bouncing with giggles all the way to the kitchen. 

She had become quite fond of you since taking this contract with Alexandros. The only reason she could stand to take contracts with men as insufferable as the Polemarch is that they were notoriously exuberant with their riches, offering her ludicrous amounts of drachmae, room, and board just to run simple errands that they just couldn’t be bothered with. Still, it didn’t make these men- or working for them- any less annoying, but this time, she found herself hoping Alexandros had one more request of her before she set off for the next job; something that would give her the excuse to spend more time with you. 

She's standing to succumb to the pull you seem to have on her before she can help it, pardoning herself for a moment and following the path to you with a wry smile. 

You turn your head toward the sound of two knocks on the open frame of the kitchen, a grin spreading across your face at the sight of the Misthios walking toward you.

“Make haste,” she playfully urges, “we’re in the middle of an incredibly insightful discussion about whether it’s better to take a woman from the front or the back. You really don’t want to miss it.”

Her feigned graveness sends you into another fit of giggles. 

“And what say you, Kassandra?” you ask playfully, hopping up onto the wooden counter behind you. She leans her hip against its wooden edge and crosses her arms. “Which is better?”

You don’t expect her to give an honest response, but when she leans in and lowers her voice, you can’t help but hold your breath.

“Whatever my lover wants,” she croons. She pushes herself off of the counter, reaching for a bowl of olives and casually popping one into her mouth as if she hadn’t just been so crass.

The exhale that finally escapes you comes out as an incredulous chuckle.

“I didn’t know there were still people who cared what their lover wanted.”

“What? No… didn’t you hear Alexandros? No woman leaves his chambers unhappy, remember?” 

Her words- saturated in sarcasm- are met with a playful roll of your eyes.

“Alexandros only believes that because he can’t tell the difference between real pleasure and a performance.” 

Her eyes are trained on you, narrowed and contemplative. 

“Then why do you sleep with him?” She finally asks.

Great question. 

You sigh. 

“It's in my best interest to get used to it; If I’m to be married to him, you know.”

A frown finds its way onto Kassandra’s face. It’s something she’d seen too many a time: a beautiful woman with so much to offer- a woman who deserves only the best- pressured into a loveless marriage to meet some arbitrary social expectation. Many of these women would end up requesting… assistance… from her while their husbands were off at war or otherwise occupied, and as much as she loves pleasing women, Kassandra prided herself on having strong moral convictions. 

She wouldn’t sleep with a married woman behind her husband’s back. It’s why she finds herself dreading the day that you do marry Alexandros, because, at this rate, she wants you for herself. 

“You haven’t accepted his hand yet, have you?”

“I haven’t,” you shake your head, eyes trained on a crack in the stone floor below you. “I just need more time to consider it, is all.”

You’re lying through your teeth. You would have accepted your fate already, had it not been for the woman standing before you and the taste she’d given you of what real chemistry feels like. 

Your gaze lifts to her own, sadness painting your features. 

“Are you still planning to set off for Argolis tomorrow?” 

She smiles softly at you. “As much as I’d like to stay… I’ve already got work lined up there.” 

You nod, giving her a woeful smile of your own. A silence settles between the two of you, but your longing gazes say everything. You want to ask her not to leave, and she wants to ask you to follow. You both know that neither can happen. 

But when Alexandros’s voice cuts through the silence from the dining room, calling out to ask what’s taking so long, a bolt of indignation strikes Kassandra.

“I’m going up to my room,” she begins resolutely, “and I’m going to leave the lamp on until the 12th hour.” 

You nod slowly, not quite understanding her message.

“If, by then, you haven’t arrived…”

Your eyes widen. Now you understand. 

“...then I’ll be off to bed tonight and on the waters to Argolis tomorrow. No hard feelings. But, if you’d like to pay me a visit before then,” 

She slots herself in between your legs, hand coming up to anchor to your thigh as she leans in to purr,

“You’ll find that the door is unlocked.” 

She takes a few steps backward before turning on her heel to head back to the dining room. Soon, you hear the idle chatter of everyone bidding her goodnight, and imagine her walking up the stairs wearing the wolfish grin she so often sported. You imagine her sauntering into her room- the most secluded space in the estate, back in the corner of the second floor- stripping layers of armor off to reveal chiseled muscles wrapped in bronze skin, undoing her braid and letting her chestnut waves cascade over her bare shoulders- 

You're pulled out of your thoughts by the burn of your thighs pressed tightly together. 

The rumors of her divinity must be true. Her allure is inhuman, and as you slide off of the counter, having long abandoned your task of refilling the decanter of wine, you realize that no human will satisfy the warmth pooling at your core.

You walk back out to the dining room, having already prepared some half-assed spiel about not feeling well and figuring that you should retire to your room for the night. Alexandros is nonethewiser; nor does he care. 

Your fist is already poised in front of the door to Kassandra’s room, where lamplight spills through the gap underneath the door, and your heart flutters in your chest as you leave two gentle knocks on its surface. 

Your breath is stolen from you when it opens. 

You'd think she'd seem more imposing donned in golden armor, hand poised on the hilt of her blade. Somehow, her rumored divinity is harder to deny when she assumes this form: wearing only a night tunic, nimble fingers mindlessly unraveling the cord from her braid.

She opens the door wider for you to enter, keen eyes darkening as you cross the threshold to her room. 

“I told you it’d be unlocked,” she muses, kicking the door closed behind her in a fluid movement.

“It was only a courtesy,” you begin, strolling toward the end of her bed, “in the case that you were… indecent.”

She chuckles, a low rumble smooth like honey. 

“I don't intend on staying decent for long.”

The cord she'd been working at finally falls free from her hair, and she tosses it onto the dresser behind her, eyes glued to yours as she begins to make her way toward you.

“Alexandros allowed you to leave?” She asks, hands shaking out her braid before they settle on your hips as she takes her place in front of you. 

You know she's trying her best to school her disdainful expression, but her words drip with it all the same. 

“I told him I wasn't feeling well,” you shrug. 

“And he let you come up to bed by yourself?” 

She doesn't bother hiding it anymore. 

You wrap your arms around her neck, placing a hand on the nape of her neck and pressing soothing circles into the muscle with your thumb. 

“I shan’t be cross. My ruse depended on his negligence, after all.” 

She sneers, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. 

“I don't understand why-”

“Kassandra.”

You stop her before she can begin yet another one of her rants about how insolent and incompetent your suitor is. You've heard it all, you know it well enough, and frankly, right now, you just want to be fucked. 

“You've already told me what I’m missing,” you purr, your hand trailing down to trace her exposed collarbone. You lean in to whisper into her ear, your voice soft and tantalizing like the patterns you draw on her décolletage:

“Will you show me?”

You feel the tendons in her neck tense as her breath hitches, but The Eagle Bearer is never caught off guard for long. 

Suddenly, her hands fly to the cord wrapped around your waist.

“Get this thing off,” she spits urgently. 

You can't help but chuckle at her uncharacteristic lack of suave. Your hands get to work helping her remove the fabric draped over your body. 

“Are you always this eager?” 

“No,” she replies earnestly, brows raised as if in surprise of her own desperation, “I’m not; but you…”

When your dress finally hits the floor, her jaw goes slack. 

“Gods, be with me.”

It takes everything within her not to fall to her knees and take you in her mouth right then and there. 

You reach out to tug at her tunic with a smirk.

“Come on,” you urge, “don't leave me alone in such a state.” 

She obliges, but not without the lighthearted roll of her eyes. She pulls the thin material over her head, tossing it aside with abandon. Now, you both stand before each other, bare and on fire with desire.

Her brows furrow curiously as you sink down onto the bed and begin to scoot back toward the headboard.

“You need not do anything but stand there.” 

She laughs incredulously at your shamelessness, but when you spread your legs, reaching down to explore just how wet some witty banter and a few lost garments have managed to make you, she can't help but fall to her knees this time. 

“You're trying to kill me,” she exhales,  beginning her trail of kisses at your ankle.

Your giggle melds into a gasp as your middle finger swipes up to brush your hardened clit.

“I’m trying to fuck you,” you clarify. 

“Oh, I’m fucked alright.” 

She makes her way up your thigh, arms wrapping around them and hands kneading their soft flesh. Her mouth comes closer, closer, closer to your center, and when she finally hovers just above your cunt, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“I’m so fucked.”

The first drag of her tongue through your slick folds already has you mewling. The warm muscle flattens to trace a long line up from your entrance, then curls to circle the swollen bundle of nerves peeking out from its hood. Your hand flies to her head, fingers anchoring themselves in her long waves, and she chuckles, the vibrations pulsing through you. 

“What, does he not use his mouth like this?”

“What do you think?” you nearly seethe, pushing her head into your core in an effort to silence her and urge her to continue. 

This time, she laughs fully, head moving against your grip to place an apologetic kiss on your inner thigh. 

“I think I should stop teasing, lest I get my head cut off.”

Your retort dies on your tongue when she delves back in with her own. Your breath stutters with each languid stripe she draws, each tight circle she makes. It nearly stops altogether when she begins to settle into a delicious rhythm. 

“Breathe, agapi,” she coos lowly, massaging the junction between your hips and your thighs, “it feels so much better when you breathe.”

You nod frantically, doing your best to follow the misthios’s directions. In through your nose, and you can feel each surge of blood that pumps through your veins, thrumming harder and racing faster as her own pace quickens. Out through your mouth- and always escaping you as a breathy moan- and you can feel yourself melt; into the soft sheets, into her firm grasp, into the pleasure that buzzes at your core.

With the sudden focus on your senses comes the realization of just how close you are, and when she circles your entrance with two of her long fingers, you're all but begging for that final push over the edge.

“Yes,” you cry out, “yes, please; want you inside…” 

She removes her mouth for just long enough to ask you how many of her digits you want, but even the few seconds of lost contact are enough to make you huff out a whine. 

“Mph, I don't care,” you complain, bucking your hips up. “Anything, just keep going.” 

She halts all of her movements, looking up at you with wide, chiding eyes. 

“You're quite demanding, hm?” 

She pulls away from her place in between your thighs completely, crawling up to place a kiss on your jaw, and then, a nip on your ear. 

“I could stop now,” she threatens lowly, “leave you laid out and desperate, just like he does.” 

You nearly sob at the thought.

“But you don't want that, hm? You want to be a good girl for me; isn't that right?”

You shiver underneath her, clenching around nothing when her middle and ring fingers begin to spread the mixture of your slick and her spit up and around your entrance.

“Y-yes,” you beseech, “I’ll be good… want to be good for you…”

She hums as if to consider giving you what you want. When her long fingers finally plunge into you, you thank the Gods she shows mercy. 

Your once airy moans are guttural now, punched out of your lungs with every stroke against your velvet walls. 

She wastes no time on a useless, repetitive in-and-out motion- she’s sure you're more than used to that- and instead, curls her fingers up to skillfully locate the ridges of nerves on your front wall and begins to massage them with the pads of her fingers.

Her thumb stretches to press into your clit in tandem with the fingers hooked inside of you. You don't have to tell her not to neglect the bud of nerves; not like you constantly have to remind Alexandros, who still fails to give it attention.

You're not even sure you can look him in the face after getting fucked this good by someone else. 

Gods, she’s fucking you so good. 

Your stomach begins to tense, your breath sharp and shallow. 

“Breathe, love. Relax and give it to me.”

One deep breath, and then another, before they're turning into heavy pants and loud cries. Your hands grab for anything they can anchor themselves to; one on the firm bicep supporting her weight, and the other around the sheets underneath you. Your trembling legs wrap around her, your chest arching up into her own, and when she leans down to request that you be a good girl and come on her fingers, you fall apart underneath her with a slew of moans and curses that you believe might have even made Aphrodite blush.

Eros would approve, at least. 

Wave after wave of pleasure rouses at your core, tightening like knots before snapping and rolling out to warm the rest of your nerves. Your hand reaches down to stop her when the pleasure begins to feel too hot- icy-hot- and the roll of your hips becomes twitching and tensing. 

When your eyes flutter open, she's gazing down at you with a look that can only be one of utter awe and pure adoration. She stares like you're the one who possesses divinity.  

You don't know this, but she's decided that there’s no way you don’t. 

“Why are you staring?” You chuckle breathlessly. 

She purses her lips and shakes her head. 

“You're gorgeous.”

You wave a dismissive hand in the air before letting it fall like lead onto the bed.

She leans down to place a kiss on your temple. 

“You alright?” She whispers into your hairline.

You nod underneath her kiss, brushing her hair back to rest behind her shoulders. 

“I’m perfect,” you croon. “But what of you? You haven't had your fill.” 

She comes back up to rest on her haunches, brows raised.

“Oh, I had my fill.”

You giggle, but she's dead serious, eyes drinking in your splayed out figure. 

“You know what I mean. Do you prefer not to receive?” 

Your question is genuine, head tilting against the pillows underneath it.

“That isn't necessarily the case,” she muses, “but I have enough fun getting pretty women off.”

Your eyes narrow in feigned jealousy. 

You tell yourself it's only feigned, that is, but truthfully, the thought of her doing to other women what she just did to you leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

“I’m just another pretty woman, hm?”

She leans back down with a playful scoff, pressing feather-light kisses to the apples of your cheeks. 

“No woman is just another pretty woman. I take my craft seriously.”

You punch out a laugh. 

“But I will say,” she keens in between kisses that are traveling down to your neck, “I'm afraid you've made quite an impression.”

She nips at the thin skin over your pulse before her tongue darts out to smooth over it, and when she tastes the salt of your sweat, she can’t help herself from latching on. “And you’re going to leave a mark that I’ll have to answer for in the morning.” “Hush,” she mumbles, teeth trailing over your windpipe, “don’t wanna talk about the morning. Just want you.” She sits up, leaning back on her heels again, staring down at you with a wicked grin. “Spread your legs for me?” You’re not sure what she’s planning, but at this point, you’ll do anything she asks of you. “Good girl,” she coos, hand sliding up the expanse of your thigh; and when she swings a leg over your hip, her center hovering just above your own, you gasp.

“Just need you to lie there and look pretty,” she husks, eyes trained on your fluttering cunt. “Can you do that, agapi?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, your eyes wide and bright and your hands flying out to rest on the tops of her muscular thighs. 

You hiss when her center- nearly dripping- finally makes contact with your own.

“Too much?” She asks, eyes snapping up to search your face for any discomfort. “I know you’re still sensitive-” “Keep going,” you demand, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, “I want you to get off on me.” Her eyes flutter back into her head, your words sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her throbbing core. She drops her head down to watch as she begins rocking her hips forward, then circling them back, rocking them forward, circling back. You didn’t think you’d ever see Kassandra reduced to a whining, panting mess, but as she grinds down into your cunt, chasing her own high, you’re sure you could cum just watching her. Or maybe, it’s that her swollen clit is slipping back and forth right over your own. It’s a debauched scene: bodies impossibly tangled; the room filled with the sounds of her groans, your mewls, and the squelch of her arousal mixing with your own; the smell of sex and sweat in the air. It’s a wonder Alexandros hadn’t heard anything… A knock on the door has your eyes flying wide open, and hers clenching shut. “Everything alright in there, Misthios? It sounds like you’re in pain.” 

Alexandros. “Shit, shit, shit,” you mouth, sitting up; and inadvertantly positioning Kassandra in a manner that puts even more pressure on her clit. She leans down to bite your shoulder in a desperate attempt to rein herself in. “You have to answer,” you begin in a panicked whisper, “this is your room!”

She can’t help it; she’s so close that her hips move on their own accord, twitching forward to chase the feeling of your heat against hers, and if she were being honest, she quite likes the thrill of getting caught… Another two knocks on the door, and you watch in awe as she topples over the edge, hips stuttering, brows furrowed, and jaw slack. She’s still riding through her orgasm when she responds, her steady voice belying her current state. “I’m alright,” she calls out, “Just stubbed my toe.” Alexandros is nonethewiser, chuckling as he bids her goodnight and begins to walk, according to his footsteps, to his room; In the opposite direction of yours.

By the grace of the Gods, you were in the clear. Your eyes trail from the door to the woman in your lap, her chest heaving from exertion. Divine. You’re certain that she is. Now, it was her turn to ask why you were staring. You shake your head, at a loss for words. She just chuckles, placing a kiss on your forehead and dismounting from your lap. She falls on the bed beside you, and you yelp when she pulls you down with her, planting kiss after kiss on the crown of your head, the side of your face, the tip of your nose. You make the mistake of settling in beside her, placing your head on her chest. It’ll make it that much harder to leave; to go back to your room, knowing that when morning comes, she’ll be gone. You decide not to think about that now. For now, you pretend that there is no choice to be made; that there is no Alexandros to consider. That there is no other to keep you from spending the rest of your nights in Kassandra’s arms. ──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

Her room is bare before Helios’s chariot breaks the horizon the next day. That is, save for the folded parchment resting on the nightstand. You pad across the stone floor to pick it up, thumb rubbing gingerly over your name scribbled in ink on its front side. When you open it, you read, 

I think I’ll visit the bronze statue of Athena outside of the Parthenon today…  I’ll be there until the 12th hour. You know the rest. -Kassandra.

──˚₊• 𝐄𝐍𝐃 •‧₊˚── Taglist: @the-gender-gremlins

[formosusiniquis]

Saw this today and new it had to be about Robin somehow

She always knew it was only meant to be a temporary solution to the problem.

They had cut Jason’s hours at work, they weren’t bringing in as much money, and after years of trying the Christian way they were learning how expensive IVF could be. The library hiring a part-time children’s librarian had seemed like a godsend. Sure, Jason hadn’t been happy about her getting a job. Getting her first job since they’d been married straight out of high school and her parents hadn’t wanted her working either.

She’s 36 but Chrissy feels like a child begging Jason to just let her work, to let her take this strain off of him. She calls it practice. It’s part-time, she’ll barely be out of the house, still plenty of time to keep up with the housework and have dinner ready. And they’ll be able to sleep easier, won’t have to tighten their belts so much, just because she’s reading stories to kids.

They don’t want to hire her at first, she can tell. The smiles on the faces of the women in front of her are plasticine and fake, she doesn’t have the experience and even if the job doesn’t need much of it there’s something suspicious about that. But her request to finish the interview with a tour is rewarded. Her soft, blue dress and her hair tied back in a ribbon, it takes three minutes before the first kid runs up to ask if she’s Cinderella.

She’s asking for barely more than minimum wage, they offer her the job on the way back to the front. She’ll start on Monday.

“That’s smart,” the woman at the back desk says. Her nameplate says Robin and her hair is so short Chrissy wonders if she goes to the barber instead of the salon.

“What is?”

“Letting the kids do the heavy lifting, that sounds sarcastic but I mean it. Laurel doesn’t have the sense to run this place and Diana is so miserable she spends most of her days wishing we’d all die inside of it.”

“Oh!”

Something firey and bright lights up in Robin’s eyes at the noise Chrissy makes. Something that makes her stomach swoop and squirm and her own eyes drop down to a smug grin, slashed red. Jason would say she should feel guilty, that deception was a sin. But Robin looks proud that Chrissy manipulated her way into a job she’d never done.

“Don’t worry, princess, you’ll get used to the drama if you stick around. You’ll be working with Steve, who actually runs Kids not that the terrible two would let you know it. If you have any questions you can go to reference.”

“Right, of course.” Chrissy does her best to smile, but she knows it doesn’t land. She isn’t sure what it is about Robin that makes her body flutter and clench like she’s in the locker room after cheer practice, but much like high school, she knows she’s about to go home upset and frustrated despite a good day.

Only maybe not, Robin is smiling still but not so smugly. “I’m reference. You can ask me, because I’m reference.”

She knows it’s temporary, so she tries not to like Steve. Tries to convince herself that it’s strange that a man would want to work so closely with kids because that’s the kind of thing Jason would tell her to think. But Steve is amazing, he has an effortless way with the kids that keeps their jobs busy. He lets her jump straight into storytime with the littles, with the promise that she’s doing him a favor so he can actually get things ready for the teens for once.

And she’s learning Robin and Steve are a package deal. She really wants to spend time with Robin.

Robin brings her coffee every morning.

Robin notices when she’s changed her hair.

Robin uses her 15-minute break to help with the toddler ballet class that Chrissy started.

Robin recommends books she should read and prints articles she thinks Chrissy would enjoy.

Robin makes sure their lunches sync up so they can talk about what their thinking.

Robin changed the tire on her car when she noticed it was flat in the library parking lot.

Steve jokes that she’s stealing his work wife and the first time he said that it scared her. That she might be a threat to their marriage. Jason didn’t like it when she hung out with her friends too much, that her time wasn’t his. But she’s met his boyfriend now and more importantly she’s heard Robin correct him.

“Steve is my work wife. I’m a work husband and since Eddie shares like a feral cat, I can be yours if you want, princess.”

She does want. She wants a lot of things. And it’s been a long time since she was the captain of the cheer squad but Chrissy hasn’t forgotten how to get the things that she wants when she wants them.

She wants to touch. And Robin’s hands linger as she passes Chrissy books and drinks or simply passes by her in the stacks.

She wants to talk. And Robin’s time at the reference desk shrinks and she finds more and more reasons to spend her shifts back in kids.

She wants time. And Chrissy finds reasons to extend her day at the library by hours and hours until Robin is inviting her out when the doors are locked.

She wants to taste. And Robin does what any good husband should. The nonfiction stacks bite into her back, but Chrissy doesn’t mind when it’s Robin pressing against her front. Kissing her breathless in the 800’s section, Romeo and Juliet in her hand.

It was only meant to be temporary. But the longer she’s out of the house, the longer she’s with Robin, the more she wonders if she needs to change what she has been thinking of as permanent.

[elodieunderglass]

It's not really my business, but honestly it feels like it would be advisable to hire a copyright lawyer. Like I don't feel like you're in it for the money, but it might be gratifying to have the guy milking your idea at least have to formally acknowledge you. I think I'd do it just for the peace of mind to know if I've been "legally" wronged or not. Either way, hope you continue to inspire, and live out a peaceful life.

(In reference to this post about the guy who pretends to have invented “Elder Teletubbies,” specifically how he is now kickstarting DnD minis of them.)

Ha, well, it’s all a little tricky I think. I might, hilariously, post on the r/legaladvice Reddit (even though they’re all cops lol) because the only thing I want here is for him to stop selling my “transformative work,” and ideally to stop pretending he invented it (which might be difficult as he appears to fully believe his work is creatively independent.)

I think if anything, my post counts as protected commentary or a transformative work of BBC’s Teletubbies, and I think it’s stinky to profit on that stuff in general (like I’m 190% okay with buying LotR fanart on stickers ! but I wouldn’t dream of trying to publish a fic with the serial numbers filed off. Why?)

I think ultimately I’m not a grifter, I’m a grownup, and I think it’s several levels of eye roll to sell fanart of a tv show on this level. I would be embarrassed to touch money made on that. I’m too fucking scrupulous and artisanal. I have toyed with a silly original novel for funsies since 2019 but keep saying things like, “oh, people will think this is too similar to something else that already exists” as if a silly original novel I write for fun has to somehow pass a Bar of Originality higher than anything salary-writers aim for.

I’m also pretty anti-intellectual-property myself in that leftist sense where I don’t believe people should be acting as if creative works are, like, oil. Like the resource extraction angle of intellectual property freaks me out, I don’t think getting super high-horse and snotty about Magical Brain Property is entirely compatible with the artisanal temperament I personally got going on here. I am like snufkin about this, simply smoking a pipe and making a flower crown saying “poor fools! Producing works for market, and serving as the guard dogs of the market, lest their work lose value if it becomes more common!” I do not have a high horse. I am not going to post 6900 words about the importance of defending fucking… Mickey Mouse. I buy those lotr stickers on Etsy! I do have a horse, but it’s a pretty low horse.

If it was his own work I would not care about this guy doing this in the least (apart from loftily calling it stinky - but hey, nerds are common and nerds are stinky, it’s not rare) IF he wasn’t STEALING FROM MY ANTI-COMMERCIALISATION DREAM TO DO IT.

That’s the bit that PISSES ME OFF too much to ignore: that and accepting compliments for being original like 😌 yes my twisted mind did this idk lol.

Like if you asked him point blank about the artistic choices he’d be like idk my twisted mind just sees the Teletubbies this way teehee! but if you ask ME why, for example, the adult Teletubbies live in the forest I’ll explain that in 2017 I was at a major life crossroads and this dream was ABOUT that. It was goodbye to my identity as a foreigner from the pine forests, and full steam ahead to settling permanently in the fucking shire (where the baby teletubbies on the bbc show live). It was about going back to work having had my first child, and saying goodbye to my various career dreams for myself (famous scientist! Published author!) as I chose instead, finally, the responsibility of working humbly as a public servant for the actual good of society. It is about witnessing the wild and saying “I am not of it, but it is my job to be its witness and voice.” That’s why the adult Teletubbies are dancing in my native forests while I’m watching them from the English hills. This guy doesn’t know that he just vaguely heard “spooky forest cryptid” and didn’t develop it at all, I do more work than that with FANFICTION in my time off!!!

So it’s really about nebulous stuff and ethics and not something worth paying a lawyer for I think!

But thank you so much for this, I think the thing that gets most perennial about it is the TOTAL GASLIGHTING of the “outside world” of the rest of the internet like, fully believing they invented this, and they DIDNT. They’re so wrong on the internet and they don’t know