#of ‘If You Would Just Follow The Rules And Regulations And Do What I Tell You We Could Be Friends’

[ceramicbeetle]

The Nurses a very funny episode because margaret gets a long sympathetic moment where she cries about the other nurses not being nice to her after five straight seasons of her bullying the hell out of the nurses

[bi-writes]

What do we think about price x young!Wife reader who is kept away from the team (for obvious reasons) and when she is on base to bring some important files to his office, world collide

I think it would be really cute if she gets mistaken for a recruit

he's not moving fast enough for you.

you roll your window down even more, sticking your head out, and you slide your sunglasses down your nose so you can meet eyes with the muppet standing guard at the gates.

"repeat that for me?"

"you're not on the list," the man repeats. he narrows his eyes at you. "all guest personnel must be approved before they enter. i don't make the rules, but i do enforce them."

you raise a brow. your manicured finger slides down the steering wheel, tracing the leather of it, and you let out a deep breath before laughing humorlessly.

"okay. i need you to get on your stupid radio and get captain john price on there. then, you're going to tell him who exactly is waiting here, and then after he informs you that you will let me through, i'm going to make sure you spend the next two weeks scrubbing fucking toilets." you sit back in your seat. you don't mean to be rude or mean, you're usually very kind and very considerate, but you are about to blow the roof off of your patience after the day you've had, and you just want to drop john's things off and go.

the guard scoffs, picking up his radio. he rolls his eyes at you before he goes back into his little office. after a few minutes, he comes back out. his eyes are on the floor, and he comes up to your window and gives you back your id. you toss it into your purse, and he clears his throat nervously.

"i-i'm so...i-i'm so sorry, mrs. price, i--"

"save it."

you put your car in drive and step on it. the purr of your pretty german car leaves the guard in the dust, and you park haphazard, taking up two spots, but you just grab your purse and john's papers and turn the car off anyways.

you're mrs. john fucking price. you'll park how you please, and they can get over it.

you're dressed more casually. you're wearing dark green cargo pants, a white t-shirt, sneakers, and one of john's army-green jackets. when you see yourself in the reflection of a window, you realize you kind of dressed appropriately for the setting, without even meaning to.

you open the door to the building john texted you about, and you walk in with your sunglasses still on. there's a lot of desks around, offices, an ugly mess of couches around a tv that a bunch of recruits are playing team fortress 2 at. they're whooping and yelling, but you pay them no mind as you follow a sign towards the office number john gave you.

you bump right into a big chest. you stumble backwards, scoffing, and you pull your sunglasses off as you tip your head back and glare up. there's some big, giant bear-man standing in your way, and he isn't moving.

"excuse me," you say firmly. "do we have a problem?"

the big dude tilts his head to the side, like he's sizing you up (which is stupid, since he's probably bigger than anyone). he's wearing a DIY skull mask, something messily sewed and painted with thick fingers, and you really want this halloween-enthusiast to get the fuck out of your way so you can leave as soon as possible.

"we? i don't got a problem."

his voice is deep. all gravel, very low, and his tone is very condescending. you may be smaller than him, but your teeth are sharper.

you're sure of that.

"but you've got one," he continues, narrowing his eyes. "those nails aren't regulation."

"excuse me?"

"you heard me."

"i did, but you must be fucking out of your mind if you think i answer to you."

"listen 'ere," the man spits. "i'm a fuckin' lieutenant, and y'r gonna talk t'me like i'm one before i have y'r arse--"

"get out of my way!" you snap at him. "as far as i'm concerned, i outrank every single idiot in this entire fucking building. i don't care if you're a sergeant, a lieutenant, i don't care if you're fucking royalty! move, or i'll make you, so help me god."

"simon."

at the sound, the bear turns around, stepping aside. when peek around his arm, you see your husband, arms crossed over his chest casually as he leans against the wall. he's got a relaxed smile on his face, boonie hat tipped back a little.

"well, this isn't how i wanted you two to meet," john chuckles.

"what, you know this meathead?" you scoff, and the lieutenant, simon, snarls like a dog at your response.

"simon, this is my wife."

simon steps back from you as if you'll sting him. he swallows, his face relaxing under the mask, and you glare at him. you don't expect an apology from someone like him, but you guess the way he reverts his eyes from you is the equivalent of it. you don't think a man like him ever feels out of place or threatened.

"love, this is my lieutenant."

"the lieutenant."

"quite right."

you let out a harsh breath through your nose. you don't say anything more to simon, just give him your back as you walk past him towards your husband. he's saved your husband's life before, so he can be let off easy.

this time at least.

when you lift your hand to give john some papers, simon zeroes in on the giant rock on your left hand, the several carat diamond that sits there.

fuck.

"next time you need something from home, i'm gonna need the red carpet rolled out for me, understand me, john?" you tell him. john smiles, crow's feet deepening, and you narrow your eyes. "say you understand me, john."

"mhm. i understand."

"i don't mean just making sure my name is on some list, i mean an escort and a voss water. in the glass bottle."

"of course, sweetheart."

he bends to kiss you, and you let him. you put a hand under his jaw, thumbing at his beard, and the hat covers the way he lets his tongue slip out and into your mouth. if you didn't have an audience, the taste of tobacco on his tongue would be enough for you to kneel and suck his cock, but he's busy, and you have a hair appointment to get to.

you pull away slowly, touching his bottom lip.

"you better be home in time for dinner," you say. "seven. don't be late."

"won't be late."

his baby blues are so bright, even in the awful fluorescent light. you kiss him again, cupping the back of his neck, and when you pull away, you put your mouth to his ear.

"your office? got ten minutes?"

"no, sweetheart," he murmurs. "don't have it."

"john..." you grip the sides of his tact vest, pouting. "please? please?"

john sighs, shaking his head. he kisses your forehead before nodding behind you, to his lieutenant that still won't leave.

"walk her out, simon. make sure she leaves alright."

"olright."

simon opens your car door for you, and when you get in, you shove your seatbelt into place, angrily starting the car up again. you're having a bad day, and you're horny now.

"goodbye, lieutenant," you say smartly. "by the way, there's some smartass at the front that i told would have to scrub toilets. i trust that you can carry that out for me."

"'ow long?"

"told him two weeks, but i think a day will do just fine."

"'n why's tha'?"

"well, i'm not mad at him anymore, but i'm still a price. and price's follow through on their threats, lieutenant."

you put your sunglasses on, and the window goes back up. simon watches with rapt attention as you pull out with a rev of the engine, and when he glares at you, you smile, raising your hand to flip him off.

the big diamond on your hand blinds him as you drive off.

[kotoku]

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴇɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

pairings - sunday & teen! reader / aventurine & teen! reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/not a lot of angst/mainly fluff/sibling or family dynamics/ kind of a found family fic (?)

warnings - none

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ I imagine Sunday meeting you as a bellhop working alongside Misha, another bellhop, who welcomes distant travelers to Penacony  

↺ If you’re a bit clumsy like Misha and accidentally spill some luggage after tripping over a hill in the rug, he’d stumble across your defeated form scattering to pick up the fallen belongings 

↺ He’d offer his assistance in organizing the fallen trolley, assessing if you had gotten hurt when you had tripped

↻ Because Sunday’s many responsibilities are to ensure people are following the rules and regulations during their stay in Penacony, he’d come across you on multiple occasions in the hotel lobby

↺ It seems like you were a fairly new worker, asking your coworkers about certain things and needing some guidance with doing things

↺ However, for the most part, you were an inquisitive and hard worker, Sunday noted

↻ One day, he would find you wandering Golden Hour, looking around at the shops curiously while holding a couple of bags

↺ He had conversed with you a couple of times, having small chats during breaks before the two of you had to return to your duties

↺ Sunday had decided to say hi, asking if you were enjoying some of the few renovations done to the dreamscape

↻ At first, you were startled at his sudden appearance, confused about why he approached you

↺ You would then answer his question, stating that you were enjoying some of the shops that had just opened up since it was your day off

↺ Sunday would give you a recommendation, a place that had recently been buzzing with customers as their food selection was one of the best Golden Hour had to offer

↺ Excitedly, you’d thank him for the tip and bid farewell to him, watching him fade in the distance

↻ When you and Sunday had gotten closer together, he’d kinda adopt you as a younger sibling

↻ On the days the both of you weren’t busy, he’d take you to see some of the events that are happening in Penacony (or different locations that he thinks you would like)

↺ Spending his time with you reminded him of the time he used to spend with Robin when the two of them were younger

↺ Watching you bubble with excitement when you saw something you liked, asking him if it was a good idea to get it reminded him of old times 

↻ One time, you jokingly call him old which made him reevaluate his life a bit (did he really seem that old??)

↺ You grew a bit worried when he didn’t respond, watching him hold his chin in deep thought (he snapped out of it after you shook him a bit)

↻ Sunday would take on the role of an older brother to you, fretting whenever you got injured while working and spoiling you rotten with trinkets he had found

↻ He would feel bad whenever he has to turn you down when he’s busy, promising to find a time when he is free from work to accompany you on what you’ve planned 

↺ If it was a limited-time event, he’d feel especially bad, planning to treat you to something to make up for the lost time (you tell him not to worry but he insists)

↻ Something that became routine for the both of you would be tea time (or going out to a restaurant)

↺ During these sessions, you and Sunday would talk about your week/day, basically spending the time talking and sometimes even gossiping about some of the rumors heard around Penacony

↺ You were careful about rumors that concerned The Family, not wanting to upset Sunday, so you mainly focused on small gossip circling around work

↻ Something that interested you about Sunday was his wings, and when the two of you hung out more, you asked him about them

↺ He explained to you about Halovians and the experiences he had with them (how he had to clean them, take care of them, etc…)

↺ If the two of you are closer enough, he’d allow you to touch them, chuckling as you gaped at them in amazement and wonder

↻ Sometimes when one of you is overworked and exhausted, the other would give a light scolding and have them rest on a nearby lounge chair, giving them a moment of rest 

↺ Sunday would offer you to rest on him, providing you his coat as a blanket and humming you to sleep 

↺ You would lead Sunday to his room, making sure he was resting comfortably after you brewed some tea for him (you’d softly close the door and resume your duties after making sure he was actually sleeping)

------

“I will be fine, _____. You do not need to worry about my well-being.” Sunday was seated on his couch in his lounge clothes, arms crossed as he watched you pour water into a kettle. 

Huffing, you turned on the heat and let the water boil, scavenging his cupboards for his tea packets. He couldn’t help but sigh when you ignored his protests, opting to lean against the couch and listen as you worked.

“You haven’t been getting much sleep for the past few days. I know that it’s been busy with the Charmony Festival in full swing, but you need to take care of yourself too, Sunday.” Setting down the finished cup of tea in front of him, you took a seat on a different chair next to him. 

Sunday blew on his tea, the smoke wafting away as he took a sip of the chamomile tea you brewed for him. 

There was a small silence between the both of you. You were fiddling with some of the accessories of your uniform, eyes cast towards the wooden coffee table. On the other hand, Sunday held his cup of tea with both of his hands, feeling the heat of the cup fade to a nice warmth. 

When Sunday had finished his tea, he set it down on the coffee table and relaxed into the soft material of the couch.

“I understand that you are concerned, _____. I promise to take better care of myself but know I will be fine.” Sunday assured you and your worries, opening his eyes to glance at you. You didn’t meet his eyes until you heard him get up from his spot on the couch, feeling a lightweight being put on your head. 

His hand lightly ruffles your hair, moving back to his side. “To ease your worries, I will be going to bed now.” 

You blinked at him before shaking your head. “Thanks, now get to bed old man.” “

I’m not that old, _____...” “Old man.” “Sigh…”

------

↻ Aventurine would meet you when you’ve just joined the IPC, becoming your superior and having you run errands or finish up paperwork 

↻ You, being the dedicated worker you are, would spend countless nights finishing projects and studying

↺ You would be so engrossed in reading something that you would accidentally bump into Aventurine from behind, stumbling back with your book falling to the floor 

↺ Massaging your temples, you would see a hand outstretched to you as an offer to help you up (which you graciously took)

↻ When you think back to that time when Aventurine helped you pick yourself up, along with your book, you flush in embarrassment and lightly berate yourself for not watching your surroundings

↻ Working with Aventurine had its perks and flaws, the perks being the pay and the flaws being the tasks and having someone so unpredictable as your boss

↺ You could never tell when Aventurine was joking or not (you found it hard to understand him so you just nodded along to the things he said)

↻ After a few months of working under him, the two of you started bonding over various things

↺ Although you were too young to gamble, you learned a couple tricks that Aventurine had when playing different card games with others (you also learned a few cheat hacks Aventurine does but we won’t talk about that)

↻ Aventurine was able to watch you slowly come out of your shell, becoming more talkative and friendly with him and your coworkers

↺ When he noticed your change in behavior, he was taken aback but was happy to embrace this newfound side of yours (he feels like a dad watching their child make friends)

↻ There is a hint of favoritism that Aventurine has with you, choosing to dote on you by purchasing various souvenirs and trinkets he gathered on his trips (they reminded him of you)

↺ A keychain? Consider it purchased. A snack basket? He already has it on hand. Aventurine spends his money like it’s nothing, especially when it comes to his kid (despite you being a teen, he still calls you ‘kid’ much to your dismay)

↻ Aventurine would definitely gossip with you about work, etc…

↻ Honestly, in a more modern (?) setting, he’d be that proud soccer mom who takes photos of his kid and boasts to the other soccer moms

↺ “You see that little rascal up there? That’s my kid!”

↻ At first, seeing you get along with Aventurine was a surprise to many, even Aventurine himself

↺ He didn’t really have friends, or at least, someone he could freely talk to about anything and everything

↺ He doesn’t really open up to you about his past until later, and even then, he tries not to be too descriptive as he doesn’t want to make you feel bad (but you still do)

↻ When you open up to Aventurine about your struggles, why you joined the IPC, etc.… he’ll see himself a bit in you, making him feel protective of you and this ultimately brings the both of you closer together

↻ Thinking about this dynamic the two of you share, Aventurine wonders if he would make for a good parent, despite the infamous reputation Sigonians have

↺ You’d notice him going quiet here and there as he looks like he’s deep in thought, waiting patiently for him to snap out of it, you’d watch as he resumes the conversation like nothing had happened

↻ If there is a chance you guys get to visit a planet together, especially if it is one that he is familiar with, he’ll give you a tour and take you to some of his favorite spots

↺ If it is one he isn’t familiar with, the two of you would look like lost children who are wandering around looking at popular spots

↻ Honestly, if you had the chance to meet Topaz, she wouldn’t understand how you can tolerate Aventurine’s behavior

↺ Nonetheless, Topaz is happy that her coworker has a connection with someone, finding the small family dynamic adorable (she’d never admit that to Aventurine)

↻ Of course, Aventurine would definitely tease you because you’re younger than him, acting like the annoying big brother he is

↺ “Huh!? Where did my chips go!? Aventurine!” “What~? Don’t look at me, I didn’t touch them.” “You’re such a liar! You have crumbs on your face! What– is that my drink that you’re holding!?” “...No..?” 

↻ Despite everything, you still enjoy spending time with your unexpected friend (and newfound family member)

------

“_____! Look at what I’ve brought~.” Aventurine sang, plopping a huge gift basket on top of your desk. The papers that were stacked fluttered a little, some falling around you onto the ground. 

You were startled at the unexpected gift, looking at all the luxurious gifts and snacks that were neatly displayed in a beautifully woven basket. The red and gold ribbon tying the clear bag at the top finished it nicely, giving it a clean yet expensive look. 

“Aventurine!? Just how much did you buy this for??” You gaped, examining the interior although the lightning made it a bit difficult to see. You could recognize a few items, all being pricey and popular on its original planet. 

“Bah! Don’t worry about it. I couldn’t help but get it since it included some of the things you were talking about before.” The way he was so casual about getting something expensive threw you off, but then again, this was Aventurine. Deciding to shake off the shock, you gave him a grateful smile. 

“Thank you, Aventurine.” “Don’t mention it, kid.” “I’m not a kid, Aventurine! If anything, you act more like one than me!” “Pff, good joke. Now get back to work, kid.” “Ugh.”

------

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - hope you guys enjoy this! i had fun writing this lol. there was actually two separate requests for an aventurine and sunday with a teen! reader, so i decided to write them together.

[noorpersona]

Rivals: Kuroo

Tension crackled in the air like a live wire as you strode through the halls of the Japan Volleyball Association, your heels clicking against the polished floors with sharp precision. Every step carried purpose, controlled and deliberate, but anyone who knew you well enough would recognize the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Clutching the latest stack of paperwork in one hand, you pushed open the glass door to Kuroo Tetsurou’s office with a level of force that was just shy of inappropriate. You were a professional, after all. Barging in wouldn’t do—but making a statement? That was entirely different.

Kuroo was at his desk, leaning back in his chair with an almost bored amusement, as if he had been expecting you. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the defined lines of his forearms, and his tie was slightly loosened, the very picture of a man who thrived in controlled chaos. He barely even blinked when you entered.

“Ah, Legal finally graces me with their presence,” he mused, setting his pen down atop an open document. “Didn’t expect you so soon. Usually, you let the frustration simmer a little longer before storming in.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, pressing the papers down onto his desk with more force than necessary. “I am not signing off on this.”

Kuroo barely glanced at the document before flicking his gaze back up to you, an infuriatingly lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Which part?”

You crossed your arms. “The part where you once again try to push through a sponsorship campaign that violates endorsement regulations, misleads consumers, and—oh—could land the association in serious legal trouble.”

He exhaled dramatically, tapping his fingers against the desk as if deeply inconvenienced. “That’s a lot of negativity, don’t you think? Maybe try looking at the bigger picture.”

You scoffed. “The bigger picture? Kuroo, the bigger picture is that I keep having to drag you back from launching ideas that would get us fined, sued, or—if we’re lucky—just scolded by compliance.”

Kuroo chuckled, stretching his arms above his head before fixing you with a look that bordered on scandalous. “You just love dragging me, don’t you?”

Your jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly, pushing himself up from his chair. The sudden shift in proximity sent a subtle prickle down your spine, but you didn’t move. He reached for the document you’d slammed down, flipping through it leisurely, clearly unbothered. “So what you’re saying is, if I tweak the wording…”

You narrowed your eyes. “If you tweak the wording, I’ll still reject it. It’s not just semantics, Kuroo. It’s about following the rules.”

His lips curled at the edges, sharp and teasing. “I think we both know I prefer to toe the line.”

You let out a sharp exhale, trying to ignore the way your heart beat just a little faster. This was the problem with him. He made everything a game, a cat-and-mouse dance where he got off on pushing boundaries just to see you react.

“I’ll tell you what,” he continued, placing the proposal down and leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll revise the proposal—to your unbearably strict standards—”

“How generous.”

“—if you grab drinks with me after work.”

Your grip tightened around your arms, heat creeping up your neck. “I’d rather spend my evening rewriting Japan’s entire corporate compliance manual.”

Kuroo let out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering with uncontained amusement, but there was something else there too—something deliberately slow, measured, almost sultry. He tilted his head slightly, letting his voice drop just a fraction as he said, "That’s a shame. I think you’d find our conversations much more stimulating outside the office."

The deliberate weight behind his words sent a traitorous warmth crawling up your neck, but you forced yourself to keep your expression cool, even as your fingers curled against your arms.

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. “I think you’d find your ideas much more successful if they didn’t regularly violate corporate policy.”

Kuroo grinned, pushing back from the desk, his gaze never leaving yours. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Before you could fire back, the intercom crackled to life, and Kuroo’s secretary’s voice came through, smooth and professional. "Kuroo-san, your next meeting is waiting."

You shot him a sharp glare, your frustration still simmering just beneath the surface. "Fix it," you said, voice clipped, before turning on your heel and making your way toward the door.

Kuroo, however, didn’t move. Instead, he leaned back slightly, watching you leave with a slow, unapologetically amused expression. His gaze lingered—maybe a little too long—lowering slightly as you walked away, the sway of your hips pulling his attention before you disappeared into the hallway.

He exhaled through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I’m definitely fixing something."

You straightend your posture, pushing away the lingering heat of irritation (and something else) that settled over you. This wasn’t new. This wasn’t surprising. This was just Kuroo being Kuroo.

And yet, damn him. Damn that insufferable, arrogant smirk and the way your pulse skipped just a little too fast every time he directed that sharp, knowing gaze at you.

This was a game neither of you were willing to lose.

And unfortunately for you, Kuroo Tetsurou played to win. __

You stormed—as professionally as possible—back into your office, dropping the file onto your desk with a little too much force. The sharp slap of paper against wood echoed in the otherwise quiet space, but it wasn’t nearly enough to drown out the infuriating replay of your conversation with Kuroo looping in your head.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, but the words on your screen blurred together. Instead of drafting reports or reviewing contracts, your mind was stuck on the smugness in his voice, the arrogance in his smirk, the way he looked at you like he was perpetually three steps ahead. Every damn interaction with him was exhausting—a battle of wills where he seemed to enjoy watching you get riled up a little too much.

God, he was insufferable.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, willing the irritation out of your body as you sat back in your chair. Focus. You had other things to worry about. Work that didn’t involve him.

You had barely started scrolling through your inbox when the door to your office slammed open.

"What’s this I hear about you rejecting the campaign?"

Your boss’s voice boomed across the room before you even had a chance to react. You immediately straightened, hands folding neatly in front of you, as you turned to meet his hard gaze.

"Kuroo-san’s proposal does not pass policy guidelines, sir," you said smoothly, keeping your tone measured and professional.

Your boss scowled, pacing in front of your desk like you had just personally cost the company millions. His tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up—a sign that he had been fielding other problems all day, and now, you were one of them.

"So make it pass!" he snapped. "What did we hire you for?"

You barely resisted the urge to grit your teeth. "Sir, with all due respect, the proposal in its current state violates multiple advertisement clauses. If we move forward with it as is, we risk legal repercussions."

He waved a dismissive hand, clearly uninterested in the specifics. "That’s your job to fix. I want it approved by the end of the day."

"You can't possibly be asking me to rewrite the campaign?" you asked, your voice carefully controlled despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Your boss scoffed, rubbing his temples as if this conversation was an unnecessary burden. "Don't even get me started on that bastard," he muttered, clearly referring to Kuroo. "I'm going to yell at him too. You both will be staying as long as it takes to finish this. No excuses."

Before you could argue, he leaned forward, bracing his hands on your desk. "And I don’t care if you two can’t stand each other. If this campaign doesn’t get approved, it’s both your heads on the line. Figure it out." He straightened, smoothing his tie as he exhaled sharply. "I expect progress by the next meeting. No more of this back and forth." Then, without waiting for your response, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the door wide open behind him.

You sat there for a moment, fingers clenched around the edge of your desk, trying to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.

This wasn't even remotely close to being your fault. If anything, you had been doing your job correctly, stopping Kuroo from pushing through yet another one of his reckless, barely compliant proposals. And now, somehow, you were being punished for it. You had been following protocol, making sure the company didn’t find itself in a legal nightmare, and yet—you were the one getting scolded? Forced to stay late?

Because of him?

Your jaw tightened. Of course, he wouldn’t face the consequences alone. No, you had to be dragged into this mess alongside him, forced to sit in a room with that smirking, insufferable bastard and work together until this campaign was approved.

The mere thought made your blood pressure spike.

You could already picture the look on Kuroo’s face when he found out. That lazy, knowing grin. The cocky tilt of his head. The way he’d draw out every syllable of your name just to see you twitch. He would probably love this—getting to push your buttons for hours, knowing you had no choice but to endure it.

And the worst part? You knew exactly how he’d spin it.

“Oh? Stuck working overtime with me? You really just can’t get enough, huh?”

You let out a long exhale, trying to push away the irritation clawing at your nerves. The last thing you needed was to let Kuroo live rent-free in your mind. But the thought of having to sit across from him, in a room, alone, for hours, was already grating on you.

This night was going to be hell.

Your nails tapped impatiently against the desk as your mind raced. There was no way you were going to let Kuroo think he’d won just because you were forced into this situation. You would get this campaign approved, on your terms, and you would do it without giving him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

Because if this ended with him smugly leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, with that knowing smirk on his lips while he said, “Told ya we make a great team,” you were going to commit a corporate crime.

You straightened, rolling up your sleeves, your determination settling like steel in your spine.

If you had to suffer through this, so did he.

And if Kuroo wanted a fight, he was about to get one.

[walkingstackofbooks]

Tfw you have a "short idea" that turns into an entire beginning of a fic 😅

This was supposed to say "Julian and Data episode where they've been sent to assist on a project together, and get confused for each other. Their colleagues label Julian's oddities as being 'android behaviour', and Data's as 'honestly, augments': Data gets to enjoy being mistaken for a human-- although it's more complicated than simple enjoyment -- while Julian feels... Well. That's complicated too." But I couldn't think of the short version until I'd written most of this XD Enjoy!

--

Julian and Data episode where they've been sent to assist on a project together, and when they arrive, the woman greeting them asks dismissively, "Alright, so which of you's the augment and which is the android?"

Julian responds sarcastically, "It's a pleasure to meet you, too. I'm Commander Data, and this is my colleague, Doctor Julian Bashir," while gesturing towards his pips and Data's uniform colour - but the sarcasm is clearly lost on her, since the woman frowns at them, telling him sternly, "Whoever installed your sense of humour has done a bad job. I don't find wasting time amusing, and if you'd like to work on this project, you need to change back into your correct uniforms and stop playing around."

Data, of course, steps in to resolve this misunderstanding. "What my colleague meant to say is, that he's Doctor Bashir, and I'm--"

The woman cuts him off with a glare. "I've been warned about you, Bashir," she says. "Don't test my patience. Rules are rules here, and I won't have you flaunting them - or leading that android astray, either. Get changed, the pair of you, and report back to me at 1600 -- Ensign Bezerra!"

A short ensign in science blue stops in their tracks, almost seeming to hold their breath as they snap to attention.

"Bezerra will show you where to go," she says, turning back to them.

"Ma'am, just let me--"

"Enough! You might be a commander, but I am the doctor in charge of this project, and I'll thank you to treat me like it. Now, do you want to work on this project or not?"

The answer to that is increasingly becoming uncertain - Julian's excitement had significantly diminished the moment he realised that Lead Doctor Garrat was someone so unpleasant - but for now, both of them nod meekly, and follow the ensign to their quarters.

--

It was an illogical order, but one that his companion seemed set on following. It also seemed that Julian believed he'd won their debate over their next course of action, with his argument that there was no point to causing another argument with Garrat, and that for the meanwhile, they should act their respective parts until they can find someone more reasonable to listen to them.

"It is still against Starfleet regulations, to impersonate another officer," Data reminded Julian for a second time, as the doctor began shrugging off his jacket.

"Orders are orders, Data," Julian replied sharply. "Even stupid ones."

Data nodded, but made no move to begin divesting his own clothes, watching blandly as the doctor continued to undress. A minute later, an angry uniform came flying his way, which his hands automatically reached out to catch.

"Do you want to make more trouble for us?" Julian asked, and Data made his face frown, unsure if his answer would result in more unexpected hostility.

"I am not yet convinced that this course of action will result in "less trouble"," he replied truthfully.

"Oh, for fu--" Julian started, scowling again-- but then caught himself, and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry, Data," he said, his face scrunching in a tell-tale sign of remorse. "It's my fault we've got into this mess, and now I'm not even listening to you. I'm as bad as Garrat."

"I would not call that a reasonable comparison," Data corrected. "You are angry because of an injustice. Lead Doctor Garrat, on the other hand, was..." He waited, pondering for a moment. "I believe that you might say she was 'being an ass'."

Julian snickered, the sound converting immediately into electronic pulses of confirmation: correct, correct, correct. Data had long noticed how humans often found it humourous when he attempted their vernacular, and having found the right combination of words this time, allowed Julian's short laugh to light up his brain.

"I'm not sure I'd be so polite as to leave it at that," Julian replied. "Oh, sod it. Hand me back my uniform, let's go and sort this out. If she sends us home, what have we got to lose, anyway?"

The asnwer seemed obvious. "The chance to research prezenimites in a localized, non-sochoric enviroment. You expounded at great length during our shuttle ride on the importance of the project and your excitement to be a part of its development."

Julian's face twisted in a way that Data could not interpret. His mouth had turned upwards again, but Data was not convinced that it was an honest smile. "Apart from that," Julian said in a softer voice.

"It is likely that if we were sent away at so early a juncture, a note would be placed in our records. In addition, I do not believe that our captains would be pleased we had lost this prestigious placement due to a sarcastic misunderstanding."

Julian groaned. "Dammit, Data - what do you want?"

"Want, Julian?"

Tilting his head, Data waited for the doctor to further explain, but Julian just shook his head and held out an arm. "Just hand me my clothes, Data."

His friend was, Data now registered, still mostly undressed - possibly a fact that had added to Julian's discomfort and agitation. However, he did not comply immediately: he believed that he was beginning to answer his confusion over why the doctor had been so insistent - eager, in his own way - to obey Garrat, despite the seeming senselessness of the order.

"You believe we would face fewer consequences if we pose as each other for a time?"

"Well yes, I do - but that doesn't matter, and I could be wrong anyway. It has been known to happen." Julian grinned widely, sending an array of opposing signals through Data's brain: he knew Julian was not happy.

"I could be wrong, too," Data replied. "I do not have enough information to determine the best course of action. I... have difficulties understanding human behaviour, and I do not understand Doctor Garrat. She seemed to dislike us even before you spoke."

A soft, huffed breath escaped Julian. "The augment and the android, yeah. As though we're so alike as to be practically interchangeable! Not that I think it's bad, to be like you, I mean..."

"I did not take offense," Data assured, turning Julian's words over in his mind. "I find myself, however, interested in a question this situation presents. While I still cannot understand why, it seems that Doctor Garrat's prejudice blinded her against the truth of our identities. I wonder for how long she would continue believing that I were you, and you were me, if we considered that informing her otherwise would be a lost cause."

It took a few moments for Julian to respond, a fact which did not surprise Data: he himself had found this train of thought rather unexpected.

"Hang on - a few minutes ago you were quoting Starfleet regulations at me, and now you want to do what?"

Data was sure there was some logic to his idea. He just hadn't computed it yet.

[crying-fantasies]

Insecticons

Masterlist

Featuring G1! Shrapnel, Bombshell and Kickback, smut/fluff/humor, CW: stretch marks fetish too(?), insect courting (goes with the mech I guess?), oral (receiving), the Insecticons do it like insects and you rock their world moving, Bombshell is into gore (caution).

Most wildlife on Earth are optic catching, sometimes colorful or dull, they have come to realize it is sometimes due to the species and the regulations of their environment or to attract a mate.

They've been on Earth for so long, they've seen it all and eaten it all, stripes and dots, wings and long legs, Kickback can't stop to compare those with the ones of his alt-mode, but also notices the lack of other patterns, he likes the stripes, for example, the way they look pretty and he has seen insects with them, shiny colors as they follow a possible mate around, flying and showing themselves to prove worthy of continuing their primitive organic coding.

He felt jealous, he won't lie about it, looking at the two things canoodling, immersed in their world, interfacing could be good, but Shrapnel is mean, he likes to zap him, and Bombshell would pluck out his wings in his version of foreplay.

So when he finds you he can hardly stop his antenna and wings from picking up at the sight of you. Suddenly understanding the reason cicadas sing at dusk, and male mantis let their female eat their head, his alt-mode may be a grass jumper, but his song makes your hands hold your little audials in distress, he promises to practice more when Shrapnel tells him to shut up. He should tell them, they are his partners, but he is also sure Shrapnel will try to steal you away, Bombshell, Primus no, he could cut you open to see how you worked from the inside.

Too much risk, it was better to see you on the outskirts of their hideout, where they wouldn't see you, and to get you away from any other Decepticon, oh, but if Autobots dared to see you he was promising to snap their helms from their frames, such is the insecticon’s way.

Not much progress was made, and Kickback understood, that maybe you only mate in certain seasons or had to eat something nourishing, it was fine, he was good with holding your tiny hands, letting you sleep above his chassis, and even changing colors slightly, one day, after your session of sunbathing, he noticed.

Could have been the warm season, could have been the necessity to show off, but his optics centered over your exposed skin so much that his visor was glowing, how could you blame him? He just saw something he never expected to see in you.

Something that he never knew would make his spark bloom with excess energy.

“Kicky, dim off the lights I can't see”

You had stripes, pretty ones at that, of a slightly different color than the rest of your skin, his spark started to cycle along his biolights, and you smiled while asking a happy “What?” when his servos and digits started to roam over the different textures on your stripes, “stop it” There was no ounce of malice as you pushed him away by his helm, his sharp denta gripped at your wrist in a playful nip.

Maybe you were entering your mating season, or not, as you just continued to sunbathe above him, not minding where his servos roamed over more exposed skin as days passed by and the heat started to rise, more stripes started to appear, Kickback counted them as a way to pass the time, solar panels doing their work as you indulged in a collection of sheets done with plants, it was another day basking in your presence.

Until he felt the change of static in the area, a single designation popping on his processor as he tried to rush you out of their territory.

Shrapnel found out about you, most likely with Bombshell tailing behind him.

It was no surprise when his fits of protection did nothing more than give him a beating as you tried to get away as soon as possible, his leader reminding him of the no humans rule, to think with his tank was one thing that Shrapnel understood, but to think to mingle with a human was another different, still, that didn't stop Kickback to try and explain his case with the obvious interest from Bombshell.

Things were laid out clearly and strictly, no biting, no killing, no dismembering, “I’m serious, Bomb”, and if you said no, Kickback was sure to protect you even if he was the youngest, assuring you to come back, his partners wouldn't do you any harm, what's more, they would like you and you, them, little by little.

But Shrapnel wanted to try, showing off his alt-mode just as Bombshell did the same, “Are not all organics attracted to these displays?”, turns out, you don't, and it was agonizing, “How can you look at my frame and feel nothing but lustful desire?”

Unsaid rejection became common, but also did the scratches, and the collective sunbathing, sooner than later Shrapnel wasn't so opposed to the idea of you near and even eating with them, fruits were reserved for your consumption once you showed up, Bombshell stopped looking at you strangely and in change started to be attracted to your stripes in the same way Kickback did, just that his servo stopped from being pulled way sooner than later.

When or how you finally caught your place in their hierarchy was a mystery, as one day you came back as always, the sun was bright and the wetness promised rusty plating and achy joints, Bombshell was in his usual sunbathing spot when you plopped next to him and kissed a side of his helm.

Kickback was thrilled to finally see an accepting gesture on your part, Shrapnel was mad for not being the first.

But you let him be first, expecting on the ground over towels and blankets you didn't want to ask their origin, his servos roamed over your body, and a bolt of electricity was evident before his digit pressed over your ribs, Bombshell hissed in warning, earning a growl from Shrapnel, attempting to calm himself, but he couldn't while watching your face so close when he rolled you over your first thought was that he liked this position.

Nothing could have prepared you when he penetrated, pumping greedily as his arms hugged you to him, pressing you a little to the front, ass up, chattering as he always does, “so nice and full, such great Earthling, earthling”, Shrapnel mouthed over your neck once he finally slammed home.

He didn't move for a while, and it made Kickback retain a whimper, imagining for himself how nice it would be to lay his transfluid inside your body, did you have a forge? If you did and it was active, then all their problems about being outnumbered would be gone.

But humans work differently from insects, “huh, who could've thought”, Shrapnel said after he growled over your squirming body, trying to keep you close and immovable as he mounted you from behind, finally letting go of the stiffness as you, the innovative, delightful creature that you are, started rocking your hips against him, earning a different kind of growl, words chocked on his glossa as he began to move too, “Wait, Earthling, wait, wait” feeling all the crevices inside, your innermost flesh pushing and turning over his nodes just right as he was a mess, sprawled over your rear, holding to you, dripping noises could be heard, Bombshell only watched, calculative as always, apparently impressed by the way Shrapnel seemed so lost in you, eagerly waiting for his turn, Kickback wasn't so lucky, last in the hierarchy meant last to be served, he was soon to reach a newfound limit while watching you pursuit release, moving and working hard for it, ready to overload as your face showed nothing but pleasure once Shrapnel started to move too.

His painful and hot array was noticed by Bombshell, but he only watched for a second before returning his optics to his leader and you, whimpering almost in silence as your face contorted in full bliss as Shrapnel dumped loads inside you.

It was messy, the way Shrapnel’s spike was drenched by transfluid and whatever your body secreted was nauseating but also made them go and clean both with purring content, Kickback was soon to start cleaning his leader but Bombshell stopped him, servo over his midsection and throwing him next to your trembling body, “go first” is all he said while tending to his leader, who almost overloads again, Kickback didn't have to be told twice before holding your hips with his servos, massaging over the stripes on your rear and the beginning of your leg struts, purring so hard at the surprised sound you made once the clarity came back to your foggy mind, just to find him grinning like a maniac between your legs, showing off sharp fangs, dermas soon touching over your array panel, or lack thereof, glossa soon following, cleaning transfluid that has already dripped away and pushed what he can save inside once again, content at the sound you make as he frags you with his glossa and the way your hips can hardly move, held back by his servos as he has dropped to the floor, kneeling to let you have some leverage, your hands come to his helm, trying to rut against his faceplate, his chuckle makes you moan by how it vibrates to your tender flesh, “told you they would like you”.

.

The G1 Insecticons always was a soft spot for me, I like their madness and whole destructive factor, but there is little of them in the series or the fandom, praying this little work gets people more worked up on them because damn, they're so fine.

@tf-kinktober2024

[potatomountain]

CIY- CH 9

Chapter Nine

📍pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader

📍word count: 3.3k

📍network: @pirateeznet

📍Warnings: mentions of mxm relationships and death. depictions of violence

📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @candypop1611 , @yourfatherlucifer, @yessa-vie and edited by the amazing: @daesukiii

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It wasn’t until the click on the lock resounded in your skull that you realized you were now in Hongjoong’s office, standing awkwardly before his desk still trying to wrap your head around what you just saw. He was quiet, only the sound of his breathing indicating that he was behind you: deep inhales and shaky exhales. 

Swallowing hard and licking your dry lips, you managed to call out. “Captain…?” It was all you could manage because where exactly did you start with the questions? Hell, what even were your questions?

“I know. Fuck I know.” Grumbling he moved around you and leaned back against his desk, head slumped forward. “I would ask you to ignore the things he said, but we both know that’s not going to happen. You’re too stubborn.”

Hongjoong had been neither welcoming nor unwelcoming until this point, seemingly giving you orders just to keep you busy or because that was his job, but really you couldn’t figure out the enigmatic Captain. You knew he valued the opinion of his team, the Vice the most, and that he would do things without an explanation and they all just trusted him enough not to ask. But you were also well aware some things that had been said just didn’t add up to what you expected a unit like this to run: maybe it was more so that it was things your unit would never say or do.

The sudden thought was jarring, a frown pulling at your lips. You shouldn’t be thinking about them when they weren’t your unit anymore- and they proved the way they did things was just not for you either.

Was it any better here?

Before you could dwell on that question, Hongjoong continued. “To answer one of the questions I know is in your head: yes we do have sexual relations with each other in the unit. Did you think I, or San for that matter, flirted just to do so?”

“To be honest, I refused to give it much thought.” You replied dryly, still reeling a bit. To think they would be open about sex with each other? Not only coworkers, but other men. How were they so open minded to such concepts but were so adamant about not needing you or welcoming you? Hell, Jongho continued on a daily basis to remind you that he didn’t like you. Did they think you were going to judge them?

Did they think you were going to be such a priss about it?

One glance at Hongjoong and you relaxed: of course, they thought you were. These men were a tightly knit group, and you were an outsider forced upon them. They trusted each other, now realizing on a much deeper level than you suspected, and they didn’t want you a part of that.

That shouldn’t hurt.

“But it’s not really my business is it? It’s not like you’re making me watch, nor forcing me into the same boat. Who you all fuck is really not my concern.” You clarified, attempting to ease the frown on his brow. 

It just deepened, your name tumbling from his lips. “We know it’s against regulations and policy-”

“And? You think I’m going to tell anyone? Would make me a fucking hypocrite, probably.” You scoffed.

He tilted his head in confusion. “Thought you didn’t do anything with your last unit?”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.” You fixed him with a hardened stare. “Not that they would’ve done anything, they are so adamant about following the rules. And I’d rather you not press. That is what you want to tell me, isn’t it? Keep my nose out of it as much as I can?”

His eyes widened a bit at your attitude, shaking his head as he stood up. “That’s not- fuck. You seem upset about that.”

“Why would I be upset?” Okay, the way you snapped it out definitely said you were. Trying to take a deep breath, you shut your eyes for a moment. “With all due respect Captain, I’m not here to get close or be nice; I just want to do my job and help where I can. One unit has already kicked me to the curb, I would rather that not be repeated, so you can rest assured I won’t do anything to draw the board’s attention. It would be the word of a troublemaker against yours anyways, and that is a battle not worth my time. So if you want me to keep my nose out of your personal life, so be it. Is there anything else you wanted to say?”

Opening your eyes to his mouth hanging open wasn’t what you expected, but the lack of immediate response was enough of an answer for you. “Very well, I’ll take my leave.” You turned on your heel with a hardened expression, reaching the door quickly and stumbling with the lock.

The door was slammed shut before you got to open it far, Captain’s hand holding it shut while the other caged you in. Again he muttered your name, breath fanning against the back of your head telling you just how close he was. You attempted to ignore the way your heartbeat skyrocketed, and the heat that tinged your ears.

“Yes, Captain?” You breathed out in response, hand still on the handle and not moving.

“I didn’t bring you here to warn you to stay out of it… I’m offering to give you an explanation to any questions you have.”

His tone was sweet, soft, almost pleading… and it disarmed you in a way you didn’t like. “I don’t have any questions right now, Captain. I’m still trying to process all that happened.” The questions that did come to mind weren’t ones you believed he could answer- no he wasn’t the one you wanted to ask. “When should I expect field work?” You asked instead, turning your head slightly and breath catching in your throat.

Hard to ignore how gorgeous he was when his face was right there.

“I’ll talk with Seonghwa, we’ll figure out how to implement you into the field and then Wooyoung and San will brief you before you go. Give us a few days to put it together, alright firecracker?” His thumb was on your chin, turning you a bit more so you were more face to face.

You felt almost hypnotized by how soft he was, the touch solidifying that even more for you. “A-alright Captain. What should I do for now?”

“How about you head home for the day and just relax? Go over your notes or go to the shooting range downtown? One of the others can go with you?” He ran his thumb just under your lip, gaze dipping before a second before locking onto yours. “Would you like that?”

“Maybe. I’ll take the day off then.” You weren’t sure you wanted to be here anyways. Not without looking at all of them and trying to figure out who fucked who. Wooyoung’s earlier comment about the Captain and his office got to you- maybe that’s why you were so easily swayed by him right now?

He hummed lowly, dropping his hand and stepping back. “Good girl. Don’t worry about the rest. Go on.” He stepped away and leaned back against his desk, giving you ample space to leave.

You were too flustered to do anything but nod and leave. Didn’t even glance at the others, just headed for your desk.

San, the ever knight-in-shining-armor rushed after you though, calling your name.

“Yes?” Still feeling a bit dazed, you glanced up at him, chest tight as you were reminded of his injuries. “You didn’t have to run after me.”

“You don’t look okay, I was worried.” He looked you over, bringing his good hand up to your forehead and frowning. “You look like you have a fever but you're not that warm.” 

“San- I’m just overwhelmed, please.” With much more calm than you were feeling, you reached up and grabbed his hand off your head. “I need to know though… about Wooyoung-”

“It’s just physical, I promise.” He interrupted, almost panicking. “He shouldn’t have- that wasn’t how- fuck I’m sorry you-”

You cupped his face, stopping his ramblings. “It’s okay, I’m not judging you or anything Sannie. Just… surprised. It’s… it’s just a lot to process. I knew you guys did things differently, I just didn’t expect this I guess? Don’t think this changes anything.”

He softened into a pout, bringing his hand to cover yours. “You fit in so well here sweetcheeks, I wish you knew that.”

You smiled wryly, pulling your hands away. “I don’t think I do. I’ll see you tomorrow, get some rest, okay?” You patted his uninjured shoulder as you passed him, not giving him a chance to prove you wrong as you rushed out the door.

You didn’t even grab your coffee.

San returned to the back to see that chaos was one thin string away from exploding everywhere. Hongjoong stepped out of his office and fixed Wooyoung with a glare as he advanced.

“W-W-Wait a second Captain! We can talk about this- ngh!” Wooyoung scrambled back against his desk, just to be yanked forward by the collar. 

“What the fuck was that? Huh Detective? Did you forget you are part of this fucking unit, that you are technically working as a policeman?” Hongjoong gritted his teeth, nearly throwing the man to the floor. “You nearly fucked up a little too much!”

Wooyoung tumbled to the floor, grabbing his glasses that had fallen in the process. “None of you told me about her!? What the fuck did you want me to do?”

“Keep your mouth shut!” San was the one to belt the words out, stepping over to his partner and planting his foot into his side. “Instead you just rambled and ranted in Wooyoung fashion. How the fuck does she know you as Mito? She wasn’t supposed to know!”

Yunho pulled San back, taking note of how pissed he was. “She should’ve been gone before you got back.” He winced when San shrugged him off, putting distance between him and the others.

“Then why isn’t she? Will someone explain to me what the fuck I missed and why you’re getting all huffy over a broad that ‘should’ve been gone’? Huh?” Wooyoung looked around, spotting Yeosang and relaxing a bit. “Sangie?”

Yeosang fixed him with a slightly colder stare than usual, tension in his jaw. “You should’ve asked instead of questioning how none of us fucked her yet. She’s a detective, not one of the women your mother- you’re used to being around.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes as he pushed himself up onto his knees. “Were you about to bring my mother’s work into this?” His voice was dangerously low, the already heavy tension growing in the room.

Yeosang seemed just as taken back by his own words, shaking his head and glancing down at the drink in his hand. Wooyoung took notice, then glanced at San who was still watching him with a fixed glare. With a look of understanding, he stood up. “Got it, fine. Anyone willing to fill me in? Or do you want me to continue trying to fuck her?”

The way San straightened just confirmed Wooyoung’s suspicions. But it was Hongjoong that answered, arms crossed over his chest. “She was forced to transfer from her old unit. Higher-ups approved her transfer here-”

“Let’s be honest, they were hoping she would throw us off.” Jongho spoke up, reminding them he was there as he put his gun back together. “And at this rate, she will. Some of you are getting too fucking buddy buddy and that’s going to blow everything we worked for if she digs too much.”

“Well if she is going to blow it, Wooyoung just gave her plenty of ammunition. Should we move up our plans?” Yunho chided in, standing up and stretching. “Mingi and I already set up the bait like you asked. It’s only a matter of time before it’s taken.”

Seonghwa shook his head. “If she was going to be a whistleblower, I feel like she would have been given an offer by the higher-ups: give them information to tear us apart and all her bad rep goes away. With how much she misses her old unit, I assume they still might give her the ultimatum. What do you think, Joong? You pulled her aside to gauge what she would do with this information.”

Hongjoong shrugged, shaking his head. “Hard to tell. She said she wouldn’t, that she doesn't care what we do. I think she was being honest. You would know better though, wouldn’t you San?” He glanced over at him. “You’ve been with her the most.”

“She won’t. It’s not harming anyone so she won’t feel the need to do anything about it. And if she is offered redemption for information on us, she won’t do that either. She feels pretty betrayed by her last unit for kicking her this way, so she wouldn’t do anything that would cause us harm, despite some of us deserving it.” San snarled at Wooyoung and then glanced at Jongho. “She’s loyal to her own moral code, probably loyal to some of her old unit but she doesn’t feel as if she has to work with them to be loyal. Higher-ups won’t do anything to jeopardize that unit.”

“But the other enemies might. They catch wind of her-”

“Don’t even entertain that idea, Jongho.” San stepped forward.

Seonghwa sighed, sharing a look with Hongjoong. “I think we have to make a decision, as a group. Either way is going to be a risk. We either fight for her to transfer out, or we decide to integrate her.”

A chorus of protests rang through the office, some louder than others. 

“Then we fight for the transfer?”

Wooyoung scoffed. “Yeah no, let me get this straight first. That beautiful woman gets forced to transfer out of her last unit and ends up here because the higher-ups insist?”

“Apparently she requested it because they made her choose- and we are the farthest from her last precinct.” Seonghwa mumbled, indulging the information she had said in their office. “The board and commissioner just pushed it instead of trying for elsewhere.”

“Okay okay- so she is forced to transfer by the unit, the very people she trusted, and was hurt enough by that to go as far as she could from them? Yeah?” He looked around, some of them unable to look them in his eyes. “And it sounded like you all gave her piss poor treatment since she got here.”

“Sounds about right.” Even Jongho looked away, a little guilty.

Wooyoung scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And yet some of you are getting so fucking offended over my talk of having her on my cock- that right fucking there Choi San, you’re obvious.” He pointed at his friend who had stepped forward ready to punch him. “So we are just gonna- what- push her away and break her even more because none of us want to give her a chance?”

The atmosphere felt even more grim as his words weighed on their shoulders.

“It’s not as simple as that- we worked too hard to take that chance!” Jongho stood up, fire blazing in his eyes. “I'm not going to let her problems get in the way of what we already accomplished! So what if she gets hurt? If she can’t trust us or blames us for turning her away? You want her to sacrifice the things we have? Want this to be her life?”

“Jongho has a point- we accepted this, all of us made this our responsibility because of our own reasons, our own choice. We can’t expect her to do the same. Does she even have any ties, Yeosang?” Yunho glanced over at the quiet man, who just shook his head. “She made it personal over a dead kid she arrested a few times? Big whoop.”

San narrowed his eyes on Yunho. “When did you find out about that? It was just Hwa and I-”

“Heard you talking it over with her.” Mingi grumbled next to him, apparently in a sour mood.

Hongjoong cleared his throat. “Then I think you two would find that the most relatable, wouldn’t you? With your own experiences?”

Mingi scoffed, shifting into the chair but Hongjoong continued. “You could’ve been that dead kid Mingi, you know that. We all know that. But officer Jeong-”

“Captain, I know where you are going with this and please don’t. We don’t need you comparing her to my dead fucking father.” Yunho fixed the smaller man with an intense glare.

“Sure we do. If we keep her on, it’s likely she’ll meet the same fate.” Hongjoong was unphased as Yunho slammed his hands on the desk, pivoting on his foot to step away and run his now shaking hand through his hair. “So you agree?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Back to what I was saying! Our options are to force her onto another team, which sounds like she is the type to get in way over her head wherever she is anyways, or take her on fully and let her help. And it seems like you already gave her plenty of ammunition on the green vipers, which, I’m assuming is where her personal vendetta you so graciously mentioned came from? If we’re talking about that newest kid that got killed- who is to say she won’t do what some of us have thought of?”

Several men in the room stiffened, guilty of the assumption. 

San was the first to speak after a drawn-out silence. “She would too. You don’t have to spend much time with her to know she would. Fuck! I don’t like what you’re implying, Wooyoung!”

“I’m not the only one. Right Captain?” Wooyoung smirked at him. “You’re so pissy with me because I forced your hand too soon, but this was your plan? She fits in here, I noticed that and I just met the chick.”

All attention switched to Hongjoong, his own expression impassive. It was a gentle nudge from Seonghwa that had him speaking up. “She’s made incredible progress, even suggesting something we hadn’t thought of. Mentally she is a great detective, and strategist, and would make a valuable asset to the team-”

“You have to be fucking kidding me? You can’t be serious, Captain!” Jongho was the one to slap his hands on the desk now, sneering at him. “Absolutely not!”

“This isn’t just your decision Jongho!” San stepped over to him. “Test her if you want, but she does fit.”

“Maybe on your cock.” Mingi threw out, in an even more sour mood. 

San rolled his eyes. “Fuck you Mingi.”

“Come do it then.”

“QUIET!” Seonghwa yelled out, silencing the room and halting the movements of everyone; even Yunho turned back around to take it all in. “Your Leader was speaking, and you will listen.” 

Hongjoong waited until all attention was back on him. “I’m not saying she knows everything, or be completely involved right away, but she would be a valuable asset. So we bring her in, find a place in this all where she could be helpful but won’t infringe on our other works. A few months, maybe a year, and then we can decide. Either she trusts us, works with us, or we handle things properly. After all… wouldn’t be the first time a cop dies on the job, right?”

With solemn expressions, each one of them nods, calling out in unison “Yes, sir.”

Wooyoung took note of a few things that had him believe it wasn’t going to be so black and white… and he was excited to see how this unfolds.

Taglist (form): @mingsolo | @wowie-hockey | @crispybaguettes | @tiny-apocalypse | @philijack | @lelaleleb | @idfkeddieishot | @isiloiale | @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames | @starstruckforyou | @minheeskitten | @amphiroxx  | @cloudysannie | @sugarnspice630 | @hongjoongswifefr | @sanhwalvr | @plutoneu |  @sousydive |  @fatalt | @bts-army380 | @iwishiwasrichasfuck | @bitchwhytho | @st4rhwa | @thesafecafe

Taglist will be continued in a reblog!!

[brynn-lear]

I LOVEEEE DOG GALLIGAR I NEED MORE

please read the rules and regulations next time anon cuz I'll ignore asks that don't follow format. Anyways I'm a big gallagher simp so I can't ignore a humble request. here's a quick sketch of farmer!reader and (yandere utc) dog!gallagher + extra brainrots cooked up 1 AM cuz I just finished a school output

Domestic Fluff/Crack:

You rarely buy chocolate after taking Gallagher in. Not because you're worried that the canine might randomly eat some and get a "lethal" dose— but because he simply looks disgruntled whenever you take a bite. He went on quite a long tangent about how it doesn't taste that great and you would much rather not hear it a second time.

In your first week together, you might've gone overboard and bought every dog care product you could think off. Gallagher heartily laughed when he saw you bought one of every shampoo— and then his heart dropped when you pulled out a pet razor next in the shopping bag. Needless to say, his silence saved his skin. Or well, in this case, fur.

You often pondered over the ethics of having a half-human in your home. It's not that you treat him poorly or bar him from opportunities elsewhere, but you remind him from time to time that he can leave the farm if he wants to. In which, he would either a) put a hand on your shoulder and earnestly decline or b) joke about how he's going to bite you if you ask again.

Speaking of jokes, he never tells you about his past— which was a decision you respected. However, it's become an inside joke for the two of you to make up his backstory and how you met. When your traveler friend Boothill once came to visit, you both told him that Gallagher was actually an ex-police dog who decided he's tired of snitching where the drugs were when "it's always hidden in cushions anyways". When the local innkeeper Siobhan asked where did he come from, he said he was once a bartender— and you made a convincing follow-up that it was the reason behind his distaste for SoulGlad. He even shocked everyone when he had the skills to back that lie up. You swear that every time, the story and people's reactions become more and more priceless.

Yandere:

But not everyone is elusive of his true nature.

That's why he hates whenever your neighbor "Sunday" visits.

Gallagher doesn't want it to happen, but that man seems to always discern the facade he's putting on. He doesn't like it at all. He always had to hold back a sharp stare and a growl whenever he's around. But that man. That hawk...

Why does he always cling to you like a pest?

He knows- he knows you're friends with him and that Robin girl since childhood- but shouldn't those numerous interactions suffice? Why does HE keep stealing your time together? That Sunday is a hybrid himself— he should know that someone has already marked this household territory.

Still, that bird perches on your porch, greeting you with a smile that you'll reciprocate. But the cunning glimpses he sends Gallagher indicates that they equally find the other person bothersome.

"What're you doing here?" Gallagher scoffed. "Don't you have a Family to go back to?"

Sunday smiled politely, though with how his hands are always hidden from the dog's view, he can only guess that it's clenched in a tight fist.

"And you don't?"

"(Y/n) is my Family."

"Before they were yours, they were mine."

That caught Gallagher's attention.

... Isn't that technically the truth? Even without papers, isn't the bond you, Robin, and that fiend share essentially a strong familial bond? He had only heard snippets in town and from yourself, but you three had known each other almost since birth.

So... What does that make him?

A pet?

A hound?

A friend?

A partner?

Or a mere passing memory?

Despite these thoughts, he steeled his resolve and shook his head, subconsciously holding his neck. There's no collar. Nothing that physically binds him to you. And, for reasons he didn't quite placed at the time, he hated the sensation of freedom.

He hated being free.

He hated being detached from you.

"With what to prove, huh?" Gallagher snarled. "Leave. They're asleep. Don't bother them today— or ever again."

He volunteered to patrol for the next nights to hide his insomnia. Gallagher did not understand where most these emotions stemmed from. Why would he wish to be shackled when he just got himself out or a cage? You were kind enough to supply him with basic necessities and allow him to do whatever he wants after work is done— so why this emptiness?

But when he came back home at dawn after unlocking the door with the spare key you gave him— he got his answer.

He felt his feet drag him to your door. Before he could even process what was happening, Gallagher was seated at a nearby chair, tenderly caressing your face.

This was the answer he was looking for. The raison d'etre. All resolved under three words:

"You... I want you."

And for a while, that was enough.

[lazyscience]

So for my followers who come with a factory-installed uterus I know you're concerned about your health and autonomy. And you well should be

But here's something all of you should be thinking about and planning for no matter what your plumbing - if Trump goes through with putting RFK Jr. in a position of power as far as the Department of Health and Human Services, he could do a LOT of damage as far as vaccines. Vaccines are not super profitable for pharma companies, despite what cranks think; they take a LOT of development for only a few uses. Vaccines are driven by public health requirements and a lot of places would shrug and say "ok, bet" if there isn't a guaranteed market for them.

The professional medical community will still have recommendations about when and how to vaccinate, but they won't have the force of law, and insurance will probably smell blood in the water and start kicking up a fuss about covering vaccines when they're not required. So then when doctors recommend them there'll be suspicion and pushback that they're just doing it for "kickbacks" even though the only doctor who would have gotten paid for vaccine is ironically Andrew Wakefield, the lying fuckshit, because his whole "vaccines cause autism" lie was to push his OWN, SPECIAL proprietary vaccines that wouldn't cause his made-up syndrome, because NO vaccines were causing it. May he roast somewhere warm when the devil comes for him.

This will not happen immediately, but. Because there will no doubt be anticipatory compliance on the part of drug companies and healthcare systems. I HIGHLY advise you get the fuck out there and get your Tdap updated (tetanus, diptheria and pertussis). Whooping cough is out there, and it is horrible for babies. If you are eligible for shingles vaccine and haven't done it, get that. Get your COVID vax if you haven't, there might not BE another one, at least not that's available in the US.

If you have kids, especially make sure THEY'RE up to date because their classmates might very well not be mandated to get them any more - state regulations will undoubtedly vary, but with the current composition of the Court, it will rule in favor of every possible exemption for antivaxxers as possible because the conservatives are all "fuck the weakest of us, I got mine fuck you." And expect idiocy like "pox parties" to spread (not like the average suburban parent can tell measles from rubella from chicken pox from hand foot and mouth by fuckin' looking at it, who knows what the christ they're going to be passing around). Measles is NOT just a "bit of a rash." Rubella is the world's leading preventable cause of birth defects. Chickenpox can result in scarring, encephalitis causing blindness or even death, and the risk of shingles later in life. I have a cousin who would be 57 this year who died as a toddler from hemophilus influenzae strain B meningitis, one of those "too many" childhood vaccines that were invented in the 1990s. Tell my aunt that's too many vaccines -oh, wait, you can't, she fucking killed herself out of grief her baby died.

tweens? get them the HPV vaccine if they haven't gotten it (given its associations with sex it'll probably be one of the first to go, but it prevents CANCER. who wants their child to get cervical cancer, or penile cancer, or throat cancer, or rectal cancer? IT PREVENTS CANCER. JUST DO IT.)

Similarly, if you have a child with any kind of immune issue that precludes vaccination, I would very much look into homeschooling, because bye-bye herd immunity.

If you have teenage kids, encourage them to update their Tdap and get the meningiococcal meningitis vaccine if they haven't been mandated to already by campus policy. Tetanus and meningitis aren't common, but they are frequently permanently life-altering when they're not fatal. We're talking months in the hospital. I'm old enough that I remember people fucking dying in college, and the panic that went around campus every time one of those breakouts happened in the state wondering if it would make its way to our campus.

Stay safe out there. I have no idea what this will do to our already teetering healthcare system but I don't think it'll be pretty. Everybody pray Trump pulls his usual scam and hangs RFK Jr. out to dry, because while the plutocrats consider regulations an unnecessary burden, they don't have a stake in creating a public health state of emergency when we already have a workforce not keeping up with demand, unlike Captain Convenient Brain Worm.

[mxdarling]

[“I can’t live without you. I would lose it!”]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: you're a rule-breaker and you tried resisting him, keyword: tried.

ೃ⁀➷: Word count: 1130

ೃ⁀➷: Reference/Inspiration: N/A

ೃ⁀➷: Event: [200 followers event]

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. I don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. If you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, I am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[Warnings:] bad oneshot, maybe ooc riddle, after overblot riddle, yandere behavior, slight controlling behavior, unintentionally guilt-tripping, reader is a rule-breaker, reader is insecure, tiny fluff, tiny angst, cursing ("ass" & "fucking"), mentions of an argument.

[GN reader]

RIDDLE ROSEHEART is a strict ruler, a top student, a perfectionist—any other adjective to describe him that wasn't romantic. Even after the overblot incident, it was difficult to imagine anyone liking him with the traits he carried around the campus; it was even more difficult to imagine him, THE riddle roseheart, liking someone else. Especially if that someone is you—an infamous first-year rule-breaker who hangs out with deuce, ace, and grim—and what's even better, they aren't capable of casting a single spell. A bizarre pair was commented on by most of the students and a few of the teachers and staff. A top student, like riddle, who is almost perfect in every aspect of his life, with someone like you who could care less about upholding simple rules and regulations.

No one believed when deuce, ace and grim said, "riddle and prefect are dating!" and "our teapot tyrant is dating our prefect!! can you believe it!?" Yet when heartslabyul students started seeing their dorm leader and you together more often, the dots were starting to connect, and soon enough, almost everyone knew you two were dating. The teasing went up rapidly (by a certain person in octavinelle, who's also 188cm eel), especially towards riddle, not that it offended him, but it would leave him with a tomato face frequently during the day.

Dating riddle was not a journey you would have thought you would ever experience. It was cute the way he would get shy around showing affection towards you in public—the slight brush of his hand hitting yours, the tints of pink on his cheeks, the (not so) sneaky glances he gives to you when he thinks you're not looking. The obvious blush you see when you catch him staring at you red-handed. Everyone can tell you two will have heart eyes whenever the other is near. You can hear the coo's and ew's from your fellow peers, yet you pay no attention to them as riddle takes all your attention for himself. Whether he's aware of that or not, you don't complain; you could never complain when it came to him.

Yet, of course, all relationships have their fights and disagreements. Most of them would be about you, your rule-breaking habits, and how you don't care enough about your studies. How you don't seem to care that you would fail your classes if your current grades keep up like this. It's at these times that you can clearly feel his disappointment in you. It's these times where you can't help but feel like he can do so much better than you, wondering why he even settled for you in the first place. It's these times where you can see riddle trying to change and not let his old habits slip in again. He's trying, and you can see that all his hardest efforts are never unnoticed by you.

As sweet as the relationship you two shared was, somehow its flavor turned slightly bitter. It was starting to get draining, draining, and draining. Each day, a riddle will ask you to do something or wear something for him, and you do it in a heartbeat! The way he started to slowly change your schedule to match his, the way he started to limit your free time with friends and activities. Spending less time inside your own dorm and more in riddle's bedroom. Gradually, you seem to know more about parts of a book than you do outdoors. It didn't bother you to sacrifice these little things for riddle. Doing little things and doing favors for him was never a bother to you—never at all—until it started getting way, way too much for you.

Here you are again, sitting in his bedroom. If you weren't returning to your dorm, you most likely would've forgotten what it looked like. The history book in front of you started to feel like hands dragging your head to its incredibly long text full of everything that you weren't going to try and digest. You want to throw away the book and do something without sitting your ass on the floor for more than 8 hours. You stand up, telling riddle you're leaving. Replying defensively, he tried to stop you, but, of course, being the natural rule-breaker you are, you resisted him. You aren't sure how exactly it happened, but what was supposed to be a little act of rebellion against his strict behavior turned into a full-blown argument. There were tears. You couldn't take this any longer than you had; you were at your breaking point, and you think now is a good time to fucking leave.

Stomping angrily towards the door, not even bothering to grab and bring your books with you, turning the knob to open the door to leave, or attempting to turn the knob, turns out it's locked. You scoff at his effort to keep you within his room before you could try and unlock the door and actually be able to turn the knob—you feel a pair of arms locking themselves around your stomach.

"Please, don't leave me," he says in a whisper, yet with the quiet atmosphere, you can hear what he says perfectly. Pleading, he's pleading... That's.. unusual. It's not like him to be pleading, yet knowing his home life, you should've known. Behind all that strict and commanding demeanor was a traumatized child wanting to play and have fun like other kids. He sounded so lost and so alone; he was trembling behind your back. His tears tainted the back of your shirt, and he tightened his grip around your stomach like a child not wanting their parents to leave for work. You are mad; you are so mad at him, acting like he was the one suffering in this relationship, yet something in you can't be mad at him.

In your head, your rational side advises you to leave. Leave him weeping at the entrance of his bedroom door as he watches you walk away from this exhausting relationship, away from this draining push and pull, and away from him and his emotional baggage. You want to leave; you need to leave. The door is right there in front of you, waiting for it to be opened, waiting for you to leave. Taking several glances at the door knob and your hand, you let your hand lose grip of the handle. You lost all the energy to try and leave, and frankly, giving up seemed like a good option for you. You could just sit back and let riddle take the lead. riddle wouldn't have to be alone during his toughest times because you would be there for him.

"Thank you.. thank you for not leaving... I can't live without you. I would lose it!"

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

[a/n; woah first yandere riddle work in this blog (as of now since i have another yandere riddle work that i have saved in my drafts) and i must say a very interesting character to write as a yandere, also another one i'm not quite familiar in yandere terms. also i was a little addicted to grinding on honkai star rail for my bronya built i've almost completed so this may have took a little while aha.. (though it's nothing new in this blog LMAOO) but thank you anon for requesting riddle with dialogue #39! terribly sorry for not doing azul i really only had motivation to finish riddle's part so for the sake of my sanity i just didn't write for azul, perhaps next time i will loll. (SORRY I'VE BEEN SO DEAD!!!)]

(edit: WHY AM I ONLY NOTICING THAT I WROTE RIDDLE WITH AZUL'S DIALOGUE??? omg i;m so sorry anon for this mistake....)

[grandisknight]

keep a secret, please!

summary: MC has unannounced company one morning in the middle of handling a particular firearm.

tags: canon compliant, light-hearted, conversations, firearms, "MC" as a nameholder, she/her pronouns used

wc: 1.3k | ao3

notes: happy main story update and zayne branch release day!!! i saw simone's gorgeous face and knew immediately she was a girl's girl so this naturally came about ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ / references to sylus' myth pair (relentless conqueror) are made!

dividers from cafekitsune

“No. Way.” A voice punches out their discovery in awed breaths, looking over MC’s shoulder.

“Huh?”

MC thought she could have a moment alone at her desk, comfortably laid in the Alpha Team headquarters. That was usually the case on most days, with the team (more often than not) out on missions or convening at Captain Jenna’s beck and call when an important discovery is made. MC’s gaze quickly scans the room, to find it was just the two of them, and almost lets out a sigh of relief.

The two of them, yes, and an unissued firearm in her possession. The implications alone could send MC into a spiral of how the Association’s rules and regulations would tear her apart—she’d rather not deal with it on such a fine morning.

Though caught red-handed, MC makes an effort to turn in her chair and block the table top view with a tight-lipped smile.

“Simone.”

MC greets with feigned nonchalance to simmer the jump in her beating heart. She eyes her appearance, from the top of her ponytail down to the buttons of her uniform. “What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t that finding her former colleague of the Armament Tech division was unwelcomed—more so, it wasn’t an everyday occurrence in the first place. Only recently did the two become well acquainted after MC’s firearm enhancements and return to Linkon, clicking almost immediately following a fruitful conversation.

“I was going to get something Lead Andrew left at his desk,” Simone answers, though her gaze was anywhere but on MC’s poor acting. Rather, it was ardently glued to the desk space behind her, where the wrinkled corner of a small cloth greeted the eye.

“Oh, well, Captain’s desk is over there—“

“You have the Harrier 700?” Simone blurts out, and it’s only then that MC meets the girl’s gaze. Rounded with excitement and tangible curiosity, the gray orbs reflected MC’s own look of shock at the announcement.

“I… Well,” MC concedes, rubbing her temple in thought to conjure an explanation. To which, she ran to a blank—after all, how could she make excuses around someone whose expertise laid in weaponry modifications? She couldn’t, at least not in these circumstances, and turned to a proposed compromise instead.

“Promise not to tell the Association? I know we’re supposed to keep to the ones they issued.” MC turns back around then, slightly moving over to allow the newfound company a place next to her. Her hands hover above the weapon in thought. “But this one was a particular case, to put it mildly.”

Memories of her time with Sylus quick flash past her mind, and the very rooftop that bared witness to their exchange. That very night in a foreign country, which cemented another pillar in the foundation of their complicated relationship—a ‘mutual use of each other,’ one that simultaneously gives and takes while learning all the same.

“I swear on my beloved railgun this stays between us,” Simone assures. Hip to the desk, she gestures downwards. “And this beauty right here.”

Simone taps the exposed crystal nestled into the barrel, shining in a radiant crimson that resembles the gifter’s gaze. It rings MC back into the present, dispersing the clouds of memory in their recollection. 

She resumes her actions prior, taking the wrinkled cloth and delicately wiping between the engravings. She’s careful to dust away the surface, mirroring the care the peculiar crow boss demonstrated during one of their confrontations.

“You recognized the model so quickly,” MC mentions, turning over the heavy model in hand to rinse and repeat. 

Simone tilts her head, finger lifted in voiced thought. “It’s such a rare commodity in the market, how could I not? Everyone and their mothers would kill to own one.” She redirects said finger to MC, wiggling playfully and curiosity growing. “How did you manage to snag one of these bad boys, anyhow?”

“A crow’s nest has its treasures,” MC offhandedly remarks. Not wanting to ruffle any more feathers, she puts the cloth aside to change the subject. MC raises the weapon between the two of them in offering, akin to gracing a child with a candy they sought after. 

“Go on, I could tell from the moment you spoke up you wanted to take a closer look.”

Simone gasps in gratitude, “Oh, you rock!” 

With the grace of cradling a newborn, Simone carefully weighs the renowned firearm and gazes in awe. “Amazing, you don’t even need to modify it… ah, the protocore can go here… these barrels are…” Mumbles under her breath continue, fascinated that the illustrious piece of advanced tech was in her grasp. 

It truly was an impressive artifact, on a scale of its own and of greater weight in comparison to the Association’s issued weaponry. An overall hard exterior of onyx was decorated with trims of crimson, bulky to accommodate the powerful pellets within. 

MC’s eyes follow every contour of the metal as Simone inspects it—if she looked hard enough, swirls of familiar red and black could be imagined. Fleeting memories once more of the battlefield blink past, an energy storm magnified by resonance and raw ability perfected into every single bullet that rang out. The sensation of fighting with such a relentless conqueror has her heart surging, and her fingers twitch for a brief second.

“This is the real deal,” Simone concludes, thoroughly impressed. Her eyes glimmered with a sense of pride, as if it were one of her own. “My regards go to whoever handled it before you. They know their stuff—say, do you think I could get in touch?”

“He’s—I mean, they’re not much of a day person,” MC catches herself, biting her tongue when his name nearly slips from it. Nope, not today (or ever, possibly) was she going to expose her curious relationship with the Onychinus head. Though he enjoys the company of her colleagues, she wouldn’t hear the end of it with gossip floating about. And she doesn’t get paid enough to deal with more than one headache at a time.

MC nods instead. “I’ll make sure to pass on the regards.”

Simone raises a brow, but doesn’t press the issue further. With a wink and hand sliding the weapon over, a cheery demeanor repaints her face. “If you ever need a touch up or two, you know where to find me.”

Slotting it back into its hidden holster, MC regards her once again with a more relaxed smile. “You’re one of the best,” she spoke earnestly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

A ring shrills from Simone’s watch then, to which the girl lets out a less than please groan. “Ugh, I forgot Andrew’s waiting on me.” She slides away from the desk space, waving to MC and her steps following behind. “Your secret’s safe with me! I’ll see you for the mission later?”

“Mm. See you then.” MC waves back, watching the girl quickly find the object in question before scowling at her watch—yet another call came through, and her voice faded into the departing hall with a ‘Yeah, yeah. I got it. Relax, won’t you?’

The office space resumed the tranquility from moments ago, specks of light and dust filtering through the air. MC leans back into her chair, mindlessly staring at the high ceiling before his face comes to mind. It had been a while since their last rendezvous, though his presence lingered in conversation today alone.

Faint buzzing shakes a small space of her desk, redirecting her gaze to the caller ID with pursed lips. Speak of the devil. A thumb swipe and press to the ear later, MC answers with, “It’s not like you to be up this early.” 

The voice that drips into the receiver is slightly rough around the edges, though laced with a fond chuckle. “That’s a new way of saying good morning, sweetie.”

[iznsfw]

Can we get more Hyewon fics?? 🥺🥺

Negotiation

IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut

4,491 words

Categories | daddy kink, power dynamics, titjob

It's your usual route, to be completely clear: circling up all the newbies, clearing out the incompetents and training those who had more than a pocketful of potential. It's your job, it's what you're paid to do. So if anyone dared question your bond with any of the trainees, they can complain about it to your face, and not in the form of scattered whisperings throughout office cubicles.

Your intentions are wholly pure. You swear on your mother's life. You'd pull the typical blame-it-on-the-femme-fatale thing with this girl, but you know it's somehow your fault, too: whatever might happen. She can't bear all the weight of the sin. 

You don't think sin is supposed to look this good, though.

"Sir," she says, perfect curled lashes fluttering with no ill intent at all. She's innocence, pureness, angelicness—all compiled and composed into one beautiful young girl. "Good afternoon. My name is Kang Hyewon; I'm more than eager to do my best for you."

In what way? you're tempted to ask. But then those exact words tumble from your mouth, and you're pretty sure you've fucked it all up. You, in your holier-than-thou suit and tie, asking something so suggestive to an innocent girl like her? Outrageous, that's what it is; scandalous, too. You could get fired for it.

However, it's as if she expected it—she leans forward, offering you a show of plentiful cleavage that breaks several dress code regulations and ethical rules, with a soft, rare smile. 

"However you want me, sir," she says sweetly. Resting her chin on her hand, the smile on her full lips grows wider. "I'll do anything."

"I've heard something like that before, Miss Kang," you say. "Strangely, I've heard it from the same person, too."

"Oh?" Hyewon assumes an innocent naïvety, wide doe eyes almost convincing you of a clean record. "How so?"

See, she's kind of used to that subtly flirty banter. Somewhere in the city of Seoul, in a humble little apartment, she's learning to make money in other ways. By doing it, she needs not travel lengths of distance to a corporate building or spend day after day spell-checking papers. You, having checked backgrounds of probably a billion people and verifying their digital footprint as decent or in-, know all about it. Might have watched a few of it online. Might have done some stuff too.

"You might've fooled Nana and the others, kiddo, but you haven't fooled me," you inform her, offended that you actually have to tell her. You're lowering yourself down to keep up with her one-step-ahead talk. She may be playing dumb, but she knows what she's doing. "I know all about your secret streaming account. Thing is, it probably isn't a secret. You've got thousands of followers on it."

"Can't a girl have a little fun, sir?" asks Hyewon with a giggle. "I was just playing games to pass time."

"'HyemsterKang' ring a bell?"

Hyewon looks up at the ceiling, as if she could find an appropriate answer for your inquiry embedded there. There's none: only a switched-on lamp and a vent. 

"Hmm," she hums, curled hands supporting her pretty face, "probably. What kind of account is it?"

"There's Twitch, YouTube, you name it. Twitch has the most followers, with over two hundred thousand. It's a surprise no one recognized you when you walked through the front door."

"Why would anyone recognize me? I'm just looking to enhance my skills here."

You're tired already. "Cut the bullshit, Hyewon," you say. Drop all the formalities and workplace language just like that. "You know what kind of videos you make. And, look, you've got to understand that I've got nothing against them, but anoth—"

Hyewon pouts. "Why are you so hot and bothered then, sir?" 

"Because you can't pretend to be some pure, holy girl here. I would've gotten you on the training course if you didn't lie through your teeth. What we need is honesty, transparency. You can't lie on the job here."

Hyewon seems to consider this. Her eyes lose their glimmer as they look down to your desk. And she looks so… sad: her eyes are, as mentioned, downcast, and there's so much more to them than sadness because they hold so many raw emotions of disappointment that make even your heart hurt. Her saddened shoulders lose their sturdy posture. 

For the first time since she's entered your office, Kang Hyewon looks… defeated.

"Does that mean you're not taking me in, sir?" she says after looking up at you again.

"No, and please," stress this with gritted teeth, "don't call me sir."

You've no idea why you feel that way. Many other girls have called you sir, both in a formal and informal setting. There was Kim Minju, whose experience gathered little to no potential, and Yabuki Nako, whose aspiring dream to become your corporate's airline stewardess was a pipe dream due to her petite height. 

But it feels strange with Hyewon. It's like there's some hidden motive behind it. Whatever it may be, it's surely working.

Hyewon juts out one, plump lip as she rises from her seat. Instantly, your boundary alarms go off. They're blaring like ambulances now, running in purposeless trips around your mind. Interviewees are not supposed to do that. She's crossing the line, so many lines.

What sets more alarms off is her taking a seat in your lap, as if she's always done that before. As if she belongs there. 

Her slim, tiny body presses up snugly against your frozen one. "What would you rather be called, hm?" she asks. Like a good girl, her hands are folded neatly on her lap, (un)fortunately covered by a gray skirt. "Please, do tell."

"Hyewon…"

You try to give her a steady look, try to tell her that it's wrong. But your hands are on her waist, and they subconsciously pull her closer. Damn her and that sexy skirt and blazer. 

"Mm, your hands feel so good on me," she sighs happily. "It turns me on so much. It makes me feel warm here," she pats the space between her thighs, "and it's all your fault, sir. All your fault."

"You need to be taught a lesson, Kang Hyewon."

"Go on then, daddy." Hyewon's voice drops to a haunting whisper. "I deserve it."

There, you let go of all your morals. The fact that Hyewon's supposed to be your interviewee and you're supposed to play professional with her becomes nonexistent. You've seen what she does on those videos, and now you're eager to see the body she hides so chastely under those uniform clothes. 

"Bend over."

The obedient Hyewon gets off your lap and lowers herself on the table. Her skirt rises and shows you a lack of even undershorts to save the exposed thong. Her ass cheeks sandwich the thin little thong perfectly.

"Ooh, what's daddy going to do?" she asks eagerly. She wiggles her round butt into your sprawled hand. "Is he going to spank me and make his babygirl count it all?"

"That would be too easy, don't you think?" Groping her, you look hard into her sparkling eyes full of excitement. "Daddy's going to spank you, but you can't make a single sound."

Hyewon whines. "But that's so hard, daddy. Can't you make it easier for Hyem?" 

"So am I, and no. If I hear you moan, you're not allowed to cum." 

Merciless is the perfect word to describe you right now. But your mind just rambles with lustful things to do to this sexy little vixen—(a hamster, if you will, as an ode to her username HyemsterKang, but that sounds less sexy; it doesn't give justice to the seductress that is Kang Hyewon)—and you're eager to perform them ruthlessly. 

Trail your fingers on her wet pussy lips. You find her clit, and from there, you give it tiny, teasing brushes. Hyewon bites her lip hard, and clings to the table for support. And for a moment that's all there is to it: you rubbing her clit and her grinding her round ass to your fingers. Until:

"Ahh, daddy!" 

That's one orgasm subtracted from the list. After you slap Hyewon's cheeks with all the might you have, she instantly cries out. You feel her juices dripping on your hand. 

Hyewon looks back at you. And you realize why her streaming career has done so well—that face is made to be ruined. Her scared eyes portray an opposing desire for more, and you can't help but give and give exactly that.

"I'm sorry, daddy!" she whimpers. "I'm sorry!"

Nevertheless, you continue to spank her. Reddened skin blares almost as bright as the office lamp. Her thighs drip with her nectar. 

You're harsh; your hand's starting to hurt from yout endless slaps on Hyewon's butt. But the pain seems like a small, sideway thought when you're witness to her cheeks bouncing with each blow. When she's holding onto the table like she wants you to go on. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," sobs Hyewon. "Please just spank me like that, treat me like a whore, use me—"

Your spanks become less and less measured—one follows the other a little too briskly. If the door weren't locked and the glass made it so any outsider couldn't hear, people would assume you're already fucking her with your brains out. But no, that's just you spanking Hyewon to teach her a lesson, to teach her to be a good girl.

"Fuck, slap my pussy like that!" she yells. Her pants sound hot and eager. "I'm going to cum, oh yes, oh fuck!"

That's your cue to stop. Hyewon doesn't deserve to orgasm yet, not until she's learned her lesson.

"This is so unfair, no," whispers Hyewon disappointedly, turning around with a pout. 

"Newsflash, Hyewon: the world isn't fair. Nothing is." 

Slip a finger inside her and her knee-high-clad legs curl around your hand protectively. She's riding on any good thing; she wants nothing more than your cock, and besides that, probably a job, but anything works for now.

Hyewon works herself down on your fingers. "When will I get to cum, daddy?" she asks. "Daddy? Say 'now,' please."

Execute blunt thrusts into her slick pussy, which is an impossibly tight cavern not even the bravest can make it out alive without exploding. Her back curves and she twists at the pleasure. Her delectable little cunt is sweet and closed around you, a newfound temptation to latch on for life, a vice to remember.

But there's also her fantastic chest to look at, doing what you're doing: peeking through the neckline of her blouse, which you just so happen to do as well. 

"If you give me a feel of those tits," you propose, the way negotiations should go, "maybe I'll let you."

"Of– of course, daddy." 

Hyewon undoes the buttons of her blouse. Like curtains, they part to a wonderful show. This show, though, would have been banned for nudity and corruption (and not in the usual way.) 

Hyewon's tits are glorious—they size up to more than a handful, and have these tiny pink nipples that you'd love to squeeze any time of the day. You're hypnotized by them, in every way possible. You glance at how they rise and fall in coordination with Hyewon's breaths, and the way her nipples perk into the air hard and aroused once the black lacy bra is off. The air-conditioner wind might have had something to do with their state, but you're thankful for both, either-which-way.

"C-careful," begs the young girl, wincing. "They're sensitive…"

"Is that so? Would it feel good then if I did this?"

"Oh, ohhhh!" Hyewon gasps with a hand over her mouth. Her skin feels boiling hot, but in a strangely good way, when you begin to suck directly on her nipples. "Yes, just like that!"

Her breasts are softer and better than the stress balls your office gave away during mental health seminars. The balls are only good for squeezing and throwing. In Hyewon's case, you can completely release all your stress just by fingerfucking her tiny pussy, and sucking her tits all at the same time. With her, you forget more than your morals—you forget about work, your deadlines, your responsibilities. And, needless to say, it's all her fault.

Hyewon can't keep up with the doubled pleasure. She's constantly squirming to have your fingers deeper in her cunt, and she keeps pushing her breasts into your face. Your rhythm of thrusts in her hole doesn't wither, and neither does your sucking on her right nipple. She doesn't know what to do except squeal out replayed pleads.

"Daddy," she says. "Please keep doing that, it feels so good. I'll be a good girl, I promise I won't lie anymore."

You ride your teeth around Hyewon's areola, sucking the area around it also. If you could, you'd never let go of her breasts. You would keep sucking on them, alternating between one and the other, for days on end. You bet you'd survive even without food or water. Hyewon's tits are enough for you to live eternally. Hell is nonexistent when you're with her.

"Do you think you deserve to cum, Hyewon?" you ask. You play with her clit, making it harder for her to get her words out.

"I think so, d-daddy. Yes."

"I don't," you laugh. "I told you not to make a sound, and you disobeyed. How would you become a competent worker if you're like that?"

Hyewon's near tears. "I'll do whatever you want," she says. Breaths get lost here and there due to your fingers still swiftly exiting and entering her. "Please. I need you. I'll, I'll be your good little fuckdoll, I promise, I swear."

"Will you let me fuck your tits, then, Hyem? If you're that good and eager?"

"Yes, daddy!" 

Hyewon nods over and over. A bit too excited, she pushes you down to the office chair rather roughly. But you pay no mind; in fact, your erection grows harder and lengthier at her enthusiasm. It throbs violently with how Hyewon slips off her blazer and pulls down your pants.

Her eyes brighten at the sight of your member, as if it's something that can actually make her day better. 

"You're very hard, daddy." She bites her lip, looking up at you with incredulous adoration. "Let me do something about it."

Hyewon's huge tits hug your hard-on, sandwiching it between them. You groan as she holds her chest so that your cock slips in and out seamlessly, lubed up only by her spit and your precum. Her soft flesh brushes your sensitive, pink penis perfectly, giving it a feel of what heaven might actually be. 

"Holy shit, Hyewon," you sigh. 

It's like she's entertained by what she's doing, too. She's looking down at your cock entering her flesh as if it were an exciting movie. But she takes extra care to seal longer glances with you, knowing that her face alone can make you cum.

"Oh, daddy likes my tits, huh?" Hyewon says coyly. Playing with her nipples while titfucking you, her gaze grows more and more sultry. "Daddy's gonna let me cum after this, right? Make me learn my lesson?"

"Just… just keep moving your tits like that. And we'll see what happens."

Not a solid promise, but Hyewon is satisfied with that. She knows her power and how to use it well enough. She's practiced in the strokes and squeezes she does on your cock, the temptation calling for you  in her brown eyes, everything. She has it all measured and listed down somewhere, probably, just waiting for the right time to use it.

Hyewon lifts her breasts, then slams them down on your lap again. The cycle repeats, and her boobs become like that of a real fleshlight. But hers is better—a toy pales in comparison when paired up with Hyewon's tight, hot body. And all it took to have her was a spanking session. There was no need to shed thousands of won.

"Like this?" she asks. Hyewon's letting you use her for your own pleasure, caring for your bliss rather than hers. The grip of her bosom around you tightens, and you find it difficult to catch your breath. "Do you want me to keep doing this?"

"Fuck yes. You're such a good girl for me right now, Hyewon."

Her cheeks are rosy. "Thank you. I'll make you cum, I promise."

She's made probably a hundred of oaths from the moment she walked into this building, but this one seems to be the one she's most determined to carry out. Hyewon's fiery rhythm risks you of exploding all over her pretty chest. Her smooth, pillow-soft skin knots your stomach and sets everything ablaze. Her facial expressions, which are a far cry from the saintliness she pretended to possess earlier, drive you off the edge.

"Shit… shit, I'm going to cum," you announce in a broken voice.

You can't stave your orgasm off anymore. Your dick expels liquid white strings everywhere. Hyewon's collarbone and big breasts bear most of the desirable damage, but she's sure to open her mouth, too. And she looks every bit the part of a cock-hungry slut, with her eyes rolled back and tongue lewdly hanging from her thick pink lips. White semen becomes her new lip gloss, and she'd put it on any time of the day.

"You still have more in you, daddy," says Hyewon. She strokes herself around your cock without pause. Curses leave your mouth as her evil gaze challenges you to say the opposite. "I can feel it. I want you to explode all over me."

"Fuck, yes, Hyem. I fucking will."

There isn't a single bad movie out there that matches the rapid pacing of Hyewon's titjob, and it's probably for the better. You just keep on cumming, and Hyewon keeps on titfucking you. It's a win-win situation because she enjoys being sprayed with your cum. It makes her feel like the used little doll she is.

She forces you to spurt more up until you can't anymore. All there's left are little droplets of pure white, and ragged moans from both ends. 

Hyewon's blouse and chest are stained all over. But when she gazes at the mess you made on them, she doesn't look upset. She looks rather… turned on. Her squirming thighs and bitten lower lip indicate that. She may look like a porcelain doll with her angelic face and pale skin, but she's been used just like a ragdoll would.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asks. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"I did," you confess. "How wet are you after all that, Hyewon?"

Hyewon reaches under her skirt and brushes her fingers over her pussy. She gasps. "Oh, v-very wet, daddy. Won't you do something about it?"

"Yes, I will. Get ready."

Both you and Hyewon rise to your feet. You step out of the rest of your pants while she shrugs off her blouse. Now, she's only wearing her black schoolgirl skirt and her long socks with shoes. 

Hyewon hops on the edge of your desk. "Will you really fuck me this time?" she asks hopefully.

"A deal's a deal, Kang Hyewon. Now spread your legs."

She opens them. You lift the skirt up to get a view of her pretty hole. Her pussy lips are plump, just like the painted lips on her face. 

(You want to fuck both.)

So, you thrust. 

All at once Hyewon is filled up to the brim, your balls pressing against her ass. 

"Oh, oh, so deep!" gasps Hyewon. "You're so big inside me!"

Your cock throbs. The clench of her walls is amazing, but they're also tempting you to cum again, and you can't have that. So, you set slow but forceful strokes, driving yourself inside Hyewon and feeling her walls part. Her surprised moans guide blood to your erection. The expression she wears never goes far from orgasmic, and she might as well be already cumming with how tight her hole's clamping on you. 

Wrap your hands around her tiny waist. You're ready now. You start to drill her tiny body down your desk. She cries out and leans her head backwards, allowing you to see how much of her neck you've covered in cum. Her glazed breasts bounce before you, getting your cock in an increased solid state to pulse and thrust in her hard and good.

"Yes, daddy, fuck me!" she prods you on, just like how your cock is prodding at her insides. "It's so good, daddy, it's so good, it's so good—"

She's promised to make you cum and delivered it out. Now, she wants you to make one, too, and return the favor. And, even if the only thing you're offered in exchange are Hyewon's loud screams that sound in your ears and her half-naked figure that's straight out of a porn video, you're glad to do so.

"Guess you aren't so innocent after all," you laugh. You're trying to keep custody of the upper hand here, but, god, does Hyewon's cunt choking your cock make it nearly impossible. "All that pretense, Hyewon, don't you get tired?"

"Oh, daddy," Hyewon sobs softly, arms hung around your neck and shoulders. Her eyelids are heavy, too wrung by pleasure. "If it gets you to fuck me, I don't mind at all."

You find her erogenous zone and rub it in the same, fire-quick way you thrust. "A little too fast there, don't you think?" you chuckle, but you're flattered.

"All I want is you going fast inside me." Hyewon's legs tense up after you grab them for easier leverage. Her moans are cut short with stutters. "I want it now."

"And what exactly do you want, Hyewon?"

"I—" She blushes furiously. Her words rarely come out in any form other than squeals. "I want to be your little office cockwarmer. I want to do nothing but be the toy who sucks daddy's dick and keeps his cock hard. I don't want to be anything else, daddy, and you know it—you know I want it—"

"Oh, you will." Pumping into her harder, you set the stone there and then of your ownership of her. "You're mine now. Everyone's gonna know about how you get on your knees for me so easily, Kang Hyewon. You'll be known as my little office slut, the one who keeps my stress relieved."

"Yes, yes, you can fill me up all the time, you can make me wear the slutty secretary outfits from my streams, daddy! Use me, oh god, I'm yours!"

It's a tempting offer. You've seen her streams while looking through her background, and you saw that one of her in the tight little secretary uniform. You think of how pretty she'd look in it, and how heads would turn at her entering your office everytime in it. You picture the outrage that does nothing since you're at such a high position in the office hierarchy, such an important person. They can't do anything if you decide at once that Hyewon's going to be your cumslut. They can only create rumors painting you out to be the exploitative bad guy, and Hyewon starring in the role of the poor head-over-heels newbie desperate for a good life.

You can live with that. 

The inches of your length never get to breathe as you're constantly shoving them inside her, knocking against her cervix and making her sob for more. There's no limit to the pumps you can give to Hyewon, but you still test it out. Hyewon remains at your mercy.

"Are you going to be my slut now? Do you really want that?" you ask her. "Or are you going to back out because you're too much of a pussy to dive in?c

Grab her chin and force her gaze at you. That's how you see that Hyewon's completely serious. That's exactly what she wants. She didn't come here for a job, she came here for you, and she's not leaving without being yours.

Hyewon nods. She presses her forehead against yours. "I want you," she whispers. "So make me yours. You know you want to teach your whore of a babygirl a lesson. You know you want to fill her cunt everyday."

That's right, you do. You knew, since the minute she spent teasing and toying with you, that you want to fuck her brains out. And here you are, doing exactly that. 

This could be forever if you wanted. 

"Gonna cum now, Hyewon. Gonna fill your cunt up with daddy's semen. Gonna fucking breed you."

"I'm close, too, daddy. Give me your cum."

You make sure to press completely against her cervix when you cum inside her. Hyewon's girl cum and your white fluids mix together, a blend of sex and sin, and drip down your table. You can't really think of anything else except for Hyewon's screams climbing up in volume and her squirt spurting all over your best uniform. No, you're brain-dead with lust, and there's no turning back.

You make her your cum deposit. You make her your babygirl, and as corny as it sounds, straight out of a bad teen romance where everything goes too quickly for any talent to be actually seen, you're okay with that.

-

"And that's how I think that we should promote the book earlier this year. Thank you for listening."

The clan of higher-ups sitting at the oval-shaped table clap politely. You try to keep your clapping at the appropriate level of enthusiasm, but your heart bursts with pride for Hyewon. She's come so far without your help. She's learning to stand on her own.

"I think that's a great idea, miss Kang," says Miyawaki Sakura, your director. She's a petite woman with a soft voice, but everyone knows that she's the boss of any room she stands in. "I'll jumpstart the idea tomorrow with the board of directors."

Hyewon flushes with happiness. "Thank you, miss Miyawaki."

"I do have one concern with miss Kang about the presentation, though," you pipe up. "Miss Miyawaki, do I have your permission to speak about with Hyewon in private?"

Now everybody's looking at each other. They try to keep themselves decent, but they all know what you mean. By now, your sexual relationship with Hyewon is an open secret. It might not be eligible for the title of secrecy anymore since all of the office knows it. 

But what can they do? You're the best in your team. You run too many things that keep the company going and they can't risk your loss. 

Hyewon waits for the director's response with bated breath. Her hands fiddle with each other as she waits for a response.

"Of course, sir," replies Sakura finally. "You may go."

You and Hyewon exchange glances. The two of you know exactly what your "talk" would be about.

[cameoliob]

I just saw your fanart with Kallus, Jovan, Zavyn and Kilian, I love it!! What are your headcanons about the four of them? Why are they "every academy intructors worst nightmare"? :DDD

OH MY GOD YES THANK YOU FOR ASKINNNGGG

For those who are like "wtf who are Zavyn and Kilian, I direct you to these posts: The Academy Friendgroup, Zavyn and Jovan

Okay so here’s the dynamic that’s happening:

Jovan and Zavyn have been friends since high school– Zavyn’s cool. Like not a cool guy, he’s actually super pompous and self important, but he does, unfortunately, have just… a cool guy vibe, so Jovan does kind of look up to him in a way. Cause here’s the thing, Jovan is a follower. He doesn’t take risks, he watches and he copies, and Zavyn has just been a cool person to copy. 

So they’re kind of already a duo when they pull up to the academy

Then we have Kilian. Kilian is the sweetest guy you’ve met in your entire life. He’s from Naboo, he’s an artist, he reads poetry, he has a favorite flower (space sunflowers, thank you for asking), his favorite color is yellow, he’s a little bit of an introvert, he wanted to become an author, but his parents just insisted that he join the military so… here he is… and he is none other than (drumroll please) ONE OF JOVAN’S BUNKMATES. 

So you have Jovan, aka friendliest little rich boy ever, who is then inviting his sweet introverted bunkmate to things with Zavyn, and so they’re a little trio. Until the weird little pale kid in the corner catches Jovans eye, and he decides that he simply must befriend that guy too.

So Jovan befriends Kallus, and eventually drags him into this friend group.

Kallus and Kilian get on really well. They’re kind of the “odd ones out” of the group. They’re both two kids who didn’t really join the empire because they wanted to, but because of external forces that encouraged them to do so. In Kallus’ case, he wanted the financial benefits that he could reap from military service, and in Kilians case he wanted the approval of his parents. But Kilian liked Kallus’ dry sense of humor, and Kallus liked Kilians laid back, low energy vibe. Its just works out. 

But little did Kallus know it would be a feature…. A creature feature… featuring….. The creature (Zavyn).

Kallus does whatever he wants whenever he wants. And Zavyn also does whatever he wants whenever he wants. And Zavyn is used to Jovan kind of doing whatever he wants him to, but now Jovan is kind of doing whatever Kallus wants. 

Which is in Zavyn’s book, of course, bad. Because, even though Zavyn does whatever he wants, he is a stuck-up goodie two-shoes who falls perfectly in line with all of the rules and regulations of the academy. Kallus, on the other hand, finds a particular joy in coming as close as he can to breaking the rules without actually getting caught. And By GOOOODDD does that piss Zavyn off. 

So they butt heads but they keep it cordial, mostly for Jovans sake.

Now… I want you to imagine that you’re in a lecture at the academy. You’re trying to complete an assignment. And from behind you, you hear the sounds of four nineteen year old boys in the back of the classroom losing their fucking minds. Two of them are fighting, the other two are trying to work, one of them– when he isn't fighting with that one kid– is flirting with one of the kids trying to work, and the kid trying to work is so flustered that he keeps getting distracted, the other kid who was just fighting keeps telling the flustered kid to work, but he’s also not doing his work so he’s kind of just a hypocrite. Literally only one of the kids is actually doing their work but he’s definitely really confused and keeps asking for one of the other kids to pass him the textbook but they are lowkey not listening because–

So on and so forth. They cannot stay quiet for even a MINUTTTEEEE. God forbid they’re trying to do work in a LIBRARY, theyre cooked

[nova-anya]

things are heating up in henford...

previous || next

TRANSCRIPT:

The Gnome’s Arms

MAIRA and IMRAN: (giggling)

RAHMI: Maira! Imran! You’ve already lost your Voidcritter privileges for the weekend. Don’t make it for the week.

*Imran and Maira groaning* *bar chatter and friendly conversation*

THIAGO: Alright, fill me in—on a scale from ‘mild inconvenience’ to ‘angry mobs with pitchforks,’ how serious is this meeting supposed to be?

FIONA: It’s a town meeting, not a revolution. Keep your hair on; The Bachelor will still be on when you get home.

THIAGO: I do not watch--

WILLOW: (unconvinced) Kim looks pretty ruffled. She’s over there at the bar and she looks like she’s got a whole hive of bees in her pants. Reckon this’ll be a ‘nod along and move on’ meeting or a ‘full-blown debate’ kind of night?

WILLOW: (grinning) Five quid says a barstool gets thrown at someone tonight.

THIAGO: Oh, you’re on.

FIONA: That is if Sara--

MAYOR CHOPRA: (clearing her throat) Excuse me everyone! *The room starts to quiet*

MAYOR CHOPRA: I appreciate all of you for coming out tonight to a meeting regarding our beloved Henford. Our grocers and markets have always been a crucial part of our economy, and we need to make sure that it remains fair and stable.

MAYOR CHOPRA: That is why I am proposing a new small vendor permit fee and certain updated regulations for sellers in the town.

*The crowd is silent for a moment, stunned.*

*immediately angry chatter erupts from the townsfolk*

CECILIA KANG: There’s nothing small about a fee when we’re barely getting by!

*other members of the town just stare, quietly*

THOMAS WATSON: (angrily) You can’t slap fees on people selling honey and crops from their own land!

MAYOR CHOPRA: I understand the sudden change may be confusing and a little upsetting, but I don’t want--

KIM GOLDBLOOM: (speaking over the crowd) You always act like everything is a conspiracy, Cecilia.

KIM GOLDBLOOM: Let’s be honest—the market’s turning into a free-for-all. People are setting up wherever they please, taking up more space than they should, and don’t even get me started on the undercutting... I’ve been running my grocery stall for years, following the rules, paying my dues. But then you’ve got folks selling produce on the side for dirt cheap, no rules, no accountability. How is that fair to those of us who make a living from this?

WILLOW: (under her breath) Fair? (more loudly) You think charging people just to sell what they grow is fair? Some of these people aren’t running businesses, Kim. They’re just sharing what they have with the community!

KIM GOLDBLOOM: Sharing is one thing, undercutting is another. Maybe you don’t see it, Willow, but people like me—who rely on this market to survive—can’t afford to have half the town treating it like a hobby fair.

SARA SCOTT: Hold on, let’s not turn this into a personal thing. Mayor, what exactly are we talking about here? What kind of fees? What kind of rules?

MAYOR CHOPRA: Nothing drastic. A small permit fee, scaled based on how often someone sells. Casual vendors would pay a little more, while established sellers—like Ms. Goldbloom here— would pay less. We also want clearer guidelines on stall placements, crowd flow, and product safety. It’s about maintaining order, not driving anyone out.

WILLOW: (calling out) And who decides what’s ‘too big’ or ‘too often’? What if a single mum just needs to sell a few baskets of fruit here and there to make ends meet? You’re telling me she has to pay just for that?

KIM: I get it, Willow, I do. But people have to follow some rules, or we’re going to end up with a mess on our hands. It’s already heading that way...

MAYOR CHOPRA: The goal is not to push anyone out, Ms. Everwood. But markets don’t run on goodwill alone. If we want to keep it thriving, we need structure.

DEREK MCMILLAN: Doesn’t sound so bad. Keeps things from getting overcrowded...

IAN MCMILLAN: (snoring softly)

MAYOR CHOPRA: I will outline the proposed fees and criteria in the coming days. We’ll hold a formal town meeting next week. I encourage everyone to come and speak their minds!

MAYOR CHOPRA: I want this to work for everyone—but I also want a sustainable future for our market.

WILLOW: (fuming silently)

THIAGO: Would it be a bad time to cash in on that five quid?

WILLOW: (grumbling) Just give me five minutes and it’ll be me cashing in.

FIONA: Willow, no.

[alchemistc]

goon | bucktommy | chapter five

check out the hockey glossary here (updated through chapter five)

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

read Chapter Five on ao3

Eddie pulls into the parking lot still grinning at the recollection of the first time he’d met Evan Buckley, and Tommy can’t help but smile back, all the air in his lungs spent on the breathless laughter he’d expelled on the drive over.

“He actually thought I was there to replace him, or something,” Eddie says, fondly, amusement and affection seeping into his voice, and something clicks, just then. Tommy doesn’t have time to think about it, though, because half a second later Ravi is banging on the passenger window, looking harried.

Tommy rolls it down with one eyebrow raised.

“Closed practice,” Ravi says, with a kind of warning tilt to his expression, and Eddie’s smile evaporates in the drivers seat.

“Shit,” Eddie says, and Ravi nods emphatically.

Tommy’s been here going on three months, and this is the first time he’s even heard a whisper about closed practice. Sure, there are days where fans don’t fill the stands, and days when the media doesn’t seem inclined to make an appearance because there isn’t any story worth telling, but as far as he knows, Bobby Nash hasn’t held a closed practice in at least a few years. Back when he was brand new and fighting an uphill battle for a point or two a week, yeah, he’d definitely heard a few of those stories from guys like McKinley and even a few of the guys who’d been traded, in the following few years, to teams Tommy played for.

But Tommy can’t think of a reason why Nash would want to do that now.

Gerrard had held them for the opportunity to pick on whoever he felt like singling out on a given day, but that’s not Nash’s style.

“He called up four guys from Loveland,” Ravi continues, and next to Tommy, Eddie grimaces.

“Scrimmage?”

Ravi nods forebodingly.

“Shit,” Eddie repeats, and Tommy takes a deep breath, not quite sure if this is actually something to be worried about, or more melodramatics from a bunch of guys who’ve never had to play for the likes of Tortorella or Gerrard. “Does Buck know?”

“Buck’s the one who told me,” Ravi says, and Eddie whistles through his teeth.

“Is he already picking on the Eagles guys?”

“He’s got The List out,” Ravi informs them gravely, and Eddie actually leans forward and knocks his head against the steering wheel, startling Ravi when his forehead hits dead center on the horn.

“What’s the list?” Tommy queries, using the back of his hand to shove Ravi gently out of his way, opening the door before he rolls up the window to allow them to continue this conversation. He’s almost positive this is a late hazing, at this point, but never let it be said that Tommy won’t take any opportunity to let Buck’s team talk about him.

(Fucked, with a capital F.)

“You don’t wanna know about The List,” Ravi tells him ominously, dancing out of the way of the bag Tommy swings out from the back seat before shutting his door behind him.

“Tell me anyway.”

Ravi falls into stride beside him, detailing a nightmarish demon of a man who hazes the new kids and the old hats alike with pop quizzes on regulations and unspoken rules, right before drilling any random passersby with questions about the system they play until he was satisfied they fully understood The Process.

Tommy hasn’t seen a trace of this monstrous demon, but he’s actually kind of looking forward to finding out if this is a real thing Evan Buckley does. It sounds objectively hilarious, and also a little adorable.

It’s been two weeks and Tommy’s gotten a couple texts, a single call, and some heavy looks across a table at team dinner, or the locker room after practie, with no idea what, exactly, he’d said or done to draw Buckley’s ire. He actually thought I was there to replace him, Eddie had said, not five minutes ago, and Tommy takes the rest of the walk (Eddie and Ravi on either side of him looking like they’ve just gotten their marching orders) to reassess the last month or so.

Things had been great, after the All-Star game.

The new guys were still learning the system, which has an admittedly sharp learning curve, and they’d lost a few games, in amongst the grind, but Tommy was skating better, and Buck was pulling off some pretty spectacular shit every night, breaking ankles and running up enough points to throw him into the Norris conversation. McKinley had suggested some line mix-ups that had actually helped the new guys both pick up the pace and start to work within the system as it was designed to work.

Eddie had been making a point to pull Tommy in, inviting him out to places with the team, and sharing his sparse father-son time with Tommy, spending a few extra minutes out on the ice with him on practice days to try to give him some tips on his movement, his edgework, his stick handling skills.

For two and a half weeks Tommy had spent his nights stretching out sore muscles, icing aches and pains, and watching game film on mute, listening to Evan Buckley talk to him on speaker about the perils of simple carbohydrates while he shoveled two-day old shrimp fried rice into his mouth.

And then he’d been left on read for three minutes and barely spoken to him since.

In hindsight, it makes plenty of sense. Hell, he’d joked a million times to himself that Buckley and Diaz lived out of each others pockets; of course, of course Buckley would be upset by the perception that Eddie Diaz could in any way attempt to replace Evan Buckley.

Tommy will talk to him after practice. Maybe take him up on the beer he’d promised to buy Tommy in exchange for a few lessons on keeping his blades planted during a bout. (Nash and Hen don’t need to know he’s giving their star defenseman fighting tips.)

It’s as good a saying shutout with twenty minutes still left in a game.

Tommy isn’t actually paying attention, when it happens. He’s mostly trying to remember what he knows about their penalty kill, how it functions, which point of the diamond he’s supposed to maintain a five foot radius around while the power play unit hammers them with shots towards the net.

He is very firmly not thinking about how flustered he’d felt, walking into the lockers to find a half-dressed Evan Buckley wielding an actual clipboard, going through equipment checks with four Eagles players like Buck hadn’t previously played a game or two with all but one of them. Like the Eagles don’t closely follow the same system the Avs play. Like they’re not fucking professionals, themselves. Nothing about it should have done a single fucking thing for Tommy, and yet, while Buck made his way down the checklist and Wagner and Ivan elbowed each other in amusement as the fresh-faced kid who’d yet to be called up until today seemed to waffle between consternation and the need to prove himself.

Tommy doesn’t have a praise kink. Or a degradation kink, come to think of it.

But he’d suddenly realized he absolutely had a thing for Evan Buckley leaning into the obsessive perfectionism. (He’d had the irrational desire to see what his Google calendar looks like, and had to stuff that away immediately while Wagner waved at him from across the room and received an icy glare from Buck for daring to interrupt.)

He doesn’t see it, is the point he’s trying to make. From the left of his goalie, Tommy takes a puck to the bucket and watches Buckley circle back up to the top of the zone while he blinks away the dull gong-like ringing in his ears, watches Ivan shovel the puck back to Buck and Buck slide left, right, barely keeping it in the zone when he spins away from a poke check, and then Wagner skates right through Tommy’s line of vision, and by the time Tommy repositions himself, Buck is chasing after Eddie, who has the puck and a clean sheet of ice straight to Chim.

Tommy keeps up with Wagner down the ice, Buck chasing ahead of them, and with just the team and coaches in here, Tommy can hear a lot more than he usually can, even in a practice setting— the sound of the guys on the bench chattering away, taking notes on how a PK is actually supposed to function; the slice of eleven sets of blades gliding over the ice; the chirping from Eddie as he taunts Buck, five feet behind him, and Buck’s loud, loud guttural shout a moment before he catches a burst of speed and extends his knee just as Eddie winds back to shoot the puck.

Eddie goes down with a groan of pain, and they all slow, the momentum of the chase propelling them most of the way as Eddie curses, a loud mix of English and Spanish while Buck drops his stick to his knees and sucks in a few steady breaths.

Hen is out on the ice about fifteen seconds later, and things devolve from there.

Eddie flops into the seat next to Tommy, ten minutes into their flight, and Tommy raises a curious brow, eyes darting up from his book when Eddie just sighs. Six rows up, Buckley is making friends with the d-man they’d called up from Loveland, just in case Eddie’s knee acted up and he had to be scratched from the lineup.

It’s the first time in three months that Tommy has seen them sit in separate rows on a flight.

Eddie shrugs half-heartedly when Tommy tilts his head in question.

There’s enough chatter going on that Tommy doesn’t feel the need to pull out his phone and have this conversation through his fucking notes app, but he keeps his voice low, regardless.

“How’s your knee?” he starts, because despite how close they’ve become, he’s under no illusion that he can just dive straight into the “we made your best friend mad, how do we fix it” conversation without some small-talk to ease them into it.

Or maybe they can. “Recovering from Buck’s possessive streak pretty well, actually,” Eddie says with a breathy snort. “Wish his ego would get on the same page as my knee.”

Tommy bites down on the urge to defend him, of all things, but a moment later Eddie sighs.

“That wasn’t fair. Buck is — he gets a little weird, sometimes, about the people that are important to him.” He pauses, fingers tapping against his thigh as he shoots a careful look at Tommy. “I feel kinda bad. All he ever wants is to feel like he’s being included.”

“You’re allowed to have more than one friend,” Tommy intones, and then feels for a moment like walking it back at the lofty tilt of Eddie’s head, his pursed lips, his deadpan expression.

“Buck has about five million attachment issues and three people he trusts implicitly, and one of them has been inadvertently icing him out since he left for the All Star game. He’s second guessing six years of friendship because he didn’t realize dating wasn’t the only thing that could take my attention away from him for more than five minutes at a time.”

Tommy thinks that’s probably an oversimplification, but he gets the gist. “Have you talked to him?”

“Not successfully,” Eddie intones, with a nod towards the back of Buck’s head.

“I’ll talk to him.” Eddie gives him a grateful tap, two knuckles to Tommy’s knee, and shifts back into his seat, stretching his leg out into the aisle. “Maybe wait until after the game. Dallas is only six points behind us and I’d much rather he take a run at Duchene than you, if he doesn’t like what you have to say.”

The chuckle that escapes containment is a little self-deprecating, but Tommy tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and pretends to get some shuteye while he ponders what the hell he’s actually going to say to Buck. After the game.

Letting Buck stay mad is either gonna make or break this game. Tommy hasn’t decided yet, but it’s a running concern, as they go up one, then Dallas ties, then Dallas captures the lead in the closing minutes of the first. Buck is agitated down the tunnel, agitated through intermission, agitated as he lines up for the opening puck drop of the second period, agitated as Dallas mucks things up in the neutral zone, agitated as the refs miss an interference call that he’s been penalized for at least three times in the calendar year, so far.

He’s agitated as he gets smashed into the boards behind Dallas’ net, and agitated as Diaz misses his pass and the puck trickles out of Dallas’ zone, and agitated when Dallas takes advantage and nearly goes up another goal, the puck clanging off the iron before Chimney can scramble from one side of his crease to the other.

Dallas plays a shitty, boring game of keep away, jamming up every play they try to make in the neutral zone, and with two minutes left in the second, Buck takes another nasty hit against the glass, sandwiched between Benn and Hintz with the puck no where close to him. The no call is probably his last straw, when he comes away bleeding with Hintz’s stick still stuck in the padding of his helmet.

Back on the bench, Buck washes out his mouth with water, grimaces as Hen dabs at the cut just to the side of his eyebrow, an uncanny match to the birthmark on the other side of his face, and proceeds to argue with Nash for thirty seconds as the clock ticks down and Nash keeps him on the bench.

Nash has a rule, in these scenarios. They play for the next five minutes, every time, no game too far out of reach because they’re just setting up for the next five, but the important piece is handing off the last five. Whatever happened, whatever will happen, once the previous five are up, they’re done. There’s no changing them, only learning from them.

And Buck is clearly not ready to hand it the fuck off.

With twenty-seven seconds left and the puck once again stuck in the middle of the ice, Buckley and Diaz replace Manson and Girard, and Buck takes about half a second to assess the run Duchene is making towards their zone before he seems to make a decision.

It’s a legal hit, technically speaking. He catches Duchene with his head down, but Buck has both speed and a build up of negative emotion just leaking from his pores, at this point, so when they meet in the middle and Buck locks his elbow, the crash ends up looking more like an explosion of momentum, from Buck’s extended mitt, through Duchene’s chest. Buck stays standing and Duchene goes ass over tea-kettle, legs going out from under him and the puck trickling off his stick right into the space behind Buckley, where Diaz skates over to scoop it up and send it careening through a free patch of ice towards McKinley.

Duchene doesn’t snap back to his skates, right away, and Tommy can’t hear it over the noise of the crowd, but in the moment before Buck follows the puck on it’s way towards Oettinger, he bends to say something that has Duchene seeing fucking red.

Christ.

Tommy supposes he can add another player to the list of people who are gonna throw a fucking target on the number 18.

McKinley ties it up with seven seconds left in the period, but on the skate back to the benches Duchene decides to get chirpy. Buck gets through the glove taps just in time to have his stick snaked out from it’s loose hold by a smirking Duchene, and the shoving match the commences almost gets their entire first line thrown in the box for the start of the third, but it’s Buck that puts them all on notice as they skate back to their own benches.

“You’re a fucking joke, man!” Buck yells, still half-hanging off the sideboards, skate firmly tucked beneath the bench to give him leverage to lean back out and make direct eye contact with Duchene. “Your career is a joke, and you’re an embarrassment to the league. How’s that ring chasing going, Matty? I fucking lit you up, asshole, and I’ll do it again!”

Tommy makes the mistake of staring through the glass towards the Stars bench, where Dumba is staring directly at him. So. There’s that.

Whatever Duchene shouts back is lost to the final whistle and a battle for the puck that Stankoven ends up shoveling into his own zone just to kill off the last few seconds on the clock.

The ire hasn’t left Buck, once they’re in the room. They can all feel it, attitude fucking rolling off of him as they listen to Bobby walk them through his strategy to get rid of this congested mess of a game and get through to the net.

Tommy spends his twenty minutes trying to remember his last fight with Dumba.

It’s a tie game. There’s an edge to be had to winning a territorial fight like this — momentum can swing based entirely on whether or not Tommy’s fist makes contact enough times to fire up his team. The problem is the one player who’s been fired up the entire game isn’t doing shit to generate the kind of momentum they need to break out of this slog of a game and build some fucking offense.

There’s another option. They’re all pissed at the refs, and have been all game, and Tommy’s the locker room guy, the one they look to when their stars have said their piece and the coach has left them to their own devices. If the refs toss him, they’re gonna be amped the fuck up.

Nash would be pissed he’s even thinking about it. Buck might actually pick a fight he can’t win, if Tommy doesn’t play it right. Fighting Dumba won’t work, for this, so he’s gonna have to suck it up and play the villain, ignore the heavyweight fight and go for something gritty and fucking rude.

Benn, then.

It’s been a while since Tommy’s laid out Jamie Benn.

Both benches get warnings from the refs before the start of the third, and Buck blatantly ignores them the moment he’s on the ice, chirping every single black-and-neon green sweater that has a chance of hearing him, missing setups because he’s too busy laying reverse hits and generally being a pest.

Tommy absolutely shouldn’t find anything about this remotely amusing, because if he keeps it up, Dumba is absolutely gonna find a way to challenge Tommy, and everyone else is too frustrated with this new and unimproved Buckley. The problem is, Evan Buckley the pest is fucking hilarious, and the few insults Tommy has managed to catch are not only fantastically amusing, they’re also bitingly specific. Buck’s putting his stats and lore knowledge to good (evil) use.

He’s pretty sure he even catches a slyly worded allusion to cunnilingus that Benn very clearly does not like one bit, but Benn doesn’t have time for retaliation because Buck takes his momentary lapse to pick his pocket and spin into the Stars zone with three Avs on his heels.

The puck pings off the crossbar five different times before the Stars get possession again, and with fifteen minutes left in the game, Dadanov snipes one past Chim into the net.

Tommy can feel the bench deflate.

Dallas shaves another three and a half off the clock by clogging up the neutral zone before Tommy gets an opportunity on the ice with Benn’s line, and he doesn’t waste any time — down a goal with eleven and change left in the game, he doesn’t see a whole lot of other options, and he doesn’t really give Benn the opportunity to not engage.

It takes a bit of maneuvering.

Stripes haven’t called shit all game, from either side, so it’s a risk, either way, and Tommy’s goal isn’t to actually injure Benn, just make the hit look bad enough and blatant enough that they’ve got no choice but to call it. He waits until the puck has been off Benn’s stick for a hot second before he slams him into the boards, and the crowd gets loud.

The whistle blows, and just for the hell of it, Tommy wraps both hands around his stick and shoves it into the middle of Benn’s back when he tries to get back to his feet.

Johnston gets an arm around his neck half a second later, and both linesmen come careening in to break it up.

He’s assessed with five minutes, which isn’t ideal, when that shaves off half their time left in the game, but a minute and a half into the penalty kill Heiskanen takes a chop at Ravi when he manages to get the puck down past the red line, and suddenly they’re four-on-four for at least the middle portion of Tommy’s gamble.

Dallas’ special teams aren’t as good as theirs — not when they’re evenly matched — and when McKinley finds Panikkar with a stretch pass there’s no one in the lane to intercept.

Tie game, with a minute and a half left in Tommy’s major, back to being shorthanded, but there’s signs of life on the bench, and Buck seems to have finally fucking cooled his jets (Tommy spends forty seconds wondering which one of them convinced Bobby to force a Honey Stinger into his hands).

In typical fashion, the moment Tommy’s out of the box, Dallas returns to slowing the game right down, well aware that it’s the easiest way to neutralize the Avs offense, and the minutes chip away while Tommy watches the clock.

On a flyby, Duchene chirps at Buck and Diaz both on the bench, which is ultimately the Stars fucking downfall, even if they don’t know it.

With forty-seven seconds left on the clock, Diaz skates through traffic and gets a saucer pass down the ice to O’Connor, and Lundkvist blows a tire in his attempt to defend him.

The puck sails in right under Oettinger’s blocker.

In the locker room, ten minutes later, Tommy catches Nash’s eye and does his best not to look guilty, but Tommy has studied Nash’s career, and they both know exactly where he’d gotten his ham handed idea from. The expression on Nash’s face tells him everything he needs to know about how quickly he’ll end up a healthy scratch if he tries it again.

Tommy’s still working through his wording, five hours later, when he settles into his room in Boston. Tomorrow’s a rest day, nothing but a coaches meeting on the books, so regardless of how things go with Buck, he’s at least got the advantage of a full day where they’re not required to speak to each other, once Tommy’s said his piece. He’ll give Buck the night, let him sleep off whatever agitation had had him so hot all day, knock on his door in the morning and apologize, maybe convince him to grab another coffee, if the apology goes decently.

And if not, he’ll have the day to lick his wounds and remind himself that he’d absolutely known he was setting himself up to hurt his own feelings.

He’s eternally grateful his trade had happened so early, because he’d heard rumblings on the plane ride over that the Altitude team was planning a half-day of get-to-know-the-new-guys coverage, and he’s already done his thirty-minute sit down with Keefe.

The knock on his door startles him out of his reverie, and when he swings the door open, he doesn’t know exactly what he’s expecting, but it sure as hell isn’t the chagrined, lopsided smile of Evan Buckley, leaning against the door frame and looking contrite.

“Buck. Hi.”

Buck’s chest rises with the deep breath he takes.

“Hi,” he says, and in the dim hallway light, with his shoulders turned in on themselves, he looks suddenly vulnerable and tired. “Can we talk?”

[slayersweek]

2024 SLAYERS SECRET SANTA INFO AND SIGNUP FORM:

Hello! Please read over the following before signing up. Thank you!

What ‘Secret Santa’ Means: You create a fanwork, and you’ll receive one in return. Everyone who wishes to participate will provide prompts that they’d like to see completed, and another participant will be assigned their prompts and will complete one of those prompts (which one is completed is up to the person they’re assigned to).

When you submit your prompts, you are welcome (and encouraged) to tell me anything you are uncomfortable with or don’t wish to do (pairings, genre, rating, etc), that way the prompts you’re given are something you’re comfortable writing/drawing.

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