#the food and coffee here are so superior

[theghostofashton]

. (maybe slight tw for loss)

[jenosbigtoe]

i for one would love to see alpha jaem😁

mdni. nsfw 18+

pairing: superior!alpha!na jaemin x office worker!omega!reader

warnings: office au, abo, jealousy, reader is kinda bratty, fingering, tummy bulge, unprotected sex, creampie

you seriously wanted to throw your entire desktop at her stupid fucking head.

she was the new hire, an omega intern being trained by your superior, alpha na jaemin. she’d only been here for 3 weeks but she was already trying to sink her claws into your alpha. well, he wasn’t officially your alpha but everyone in the office knew the special bond you held with him. and she was sure as hell intent on getting in between that.

he was your superior but he always treated you so special, like you were really his omega. he brought you a coffee and muffin every morning from that coffee shop he knew you loved so much. he walked you to your car every evening, no matter how much longer he had to stay when you were working overtime. and he always spent his lunch breaks with you, sharing his homecooked meals when he felt you didn’t bring enough food for yourself.

you never progressed past more-than-friendly hugs after work or the light hand holding every so often with him but everyone knew he was your alpha. he was still courting you and you were basking in the attention.

until this bitch showed up and stole away all his attention.

it was bearable at first. she would have some sort of dilemma and he wouldn’t be able to eat lunch with you that day because he had to help her. he’d apologize profusely when he had to use his lunch break to go help her with whatever problem she was having that day. you would give him a reassuring smile and rub his back as you told him it was perfectly fine for him to do his job and not worry about you. or she would have to stay after hours because she needed help with a project and jaemin would have to stay with her to show her what to do.

but then she started being all touchy feely with him. with your alpha. she’d call him over to her desk for whatever reason and grab onto his arms as he stood over her desk. she would bring extra lunches “accidentally” and give him the extra lunch she brought, jaemin being too nice to decline. she would bat her stupid fucking eyelashes at him and beg him to do this and do that for her, all while you watched with a murderous look on your face.

she wasn’t stupid. she knew what relationship you had with jaemin. but she wanted him too and was going to milk all the attention she got from him, while rubbing it in your face in the process. sly smirks and pointed looks in your direction when jaemin would come running over to her whenever she had a problem.

jaemin was so busy with training her and doing his other responsibilities as a superior, he barely had any time to spend with you. and you were not happy with that. you could only take so many “sorry, y/n but she-“ before you would lose your mind.

so you coped with the lack of attention from your alpha the best way you knew how—by ignoring him back.

“hey, y/n i got your favorite,” jaemin gave you one of his signature grins and held up a coffee and muffin for you.

you pretended to not see him and brushed past, leaving him to stare in confusion at your passing body.

“y/n, let’s eat lunch together. i made that dish you always love.” he cornered you into a wall to prevent you from escaping again.

you gave him a sour expression and sighed exasperatedly. “no thanks.”

jaemin was so confused. he knows he’s been so busy for the past few weeks but did he do something wrong? why did it seem like you’re upset with him? he missed hanging out with you.

the next day, he tried going over to your cubicle to find out what he did wrong but right as he approached your desk, he was stopped by the intern.

“oh jaemin!! perfect timing i need your help with this document,” she barreled into him and grabbed his arm to yank him away.

jaemin stuttered in protest but she was too determined to get the alpha away from you. you watched that whole interaction and rolled your eyes, a deep frown marring your face.

who needed that stupid alpha anyways, you grumbled to yourself. it’s obvious he’s found his new omega plaything. he doesn’t need me anymore.

and it went like this for the next couple weeks. he would try to talk to you like normal but you would ignore him or find an excuse get away while the stupid intern took him away. you didn’t want to let your heart be vulnerable anymore for this alpha.

he was getting tired of the lack of attention from you. he missed his omega. jaemin didn’t like the cold shoulder you giving him. he knew he’d been so busy lately and you were probably feeling neglected. but now the intern’s training period was finally over so he could finally direct all his attention back to you. right before you were set to clock out, he called you into his office.

you stomped in with an irritated look. “what?” you snapped. “i’m ready to go home, mr. na.”

he raised an eyebrow at your attitude. he leaned forward in his desk. “mr. na?”

the frown on your face deepened. “yes, that’s your name right?”

“baby, you know you don’t call me that. especially when we’re in private.” he got up from his desk chair and walked around to stand closer to you.

you inched away slightly, an action he did not miss. “what do you need, mr. na?” you emphasized the formality.

he crossed his arms over his chest. “i want to know why you’ve been upset with me.”

you sighed and looked anywhere but at him. “can i leave, if it’s not an important issue?”

he walked over to stand just inches away from your body. even in heels he towered over you. you looked up to see his concerned form. “is my omega being upset with me not an important issue?”

you stared hard into his face, eyebrows wrinkled and eyes alight with stubbornness. “your omega? since when?”

“since i’ve been courting you.”

your heart was pounding in your chest. “what are you talking about? i’m not your omega. you’re crazy.”

you started to turn away from him to walk towards the door but he was quick to grab your arm and pull your body against his, trapping you in with his strength. you tried to break from his grasp, wriggling and beating at his chest, but he easily overpowered you. your legs turned to jelly at the contact.

“let me fucking go! stupid alpha get away from me!” you grunted in frustration. it was useless, he was too strong.

“oh you know exactly what i’m talking about, omega. just because i’ve been busy for the past few weeks you want to ignore your alpha? act like you’re brand new?” you could feel the red hot anger start to radiate off of him. you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together.

“fuck,” you whispered to yourself. then you straightened yourself out in his arms and jut your chin out defiantly. “so now you want to act like i’m your omega? when you’ve been prancing around with your new toy for weeks, ignoring me and all we used to do together to be with that new omega bitch?” your eyes watered at your outburst but you stood your ground.

jaemin held you firm against his body, grabbing your chin to force you to look into his eyes. “so that’s what this brattiness is about, huh. you’re jealous?”

you attempted to kick him in the groin and make your escape but he stopped your leg with his. “not fucking jealous! let me go you stupid fucking alpha! i can report you for this!”

jaemin chuckled lowly. “silly omega. i can see right through you.” he used one arm to keep your struggling body pressed against his while his other snaked down to cup your warm cunt. “i’ve been a bad alpha, neglecting my omega. letting her think i wanted someone else. when all i could ever want is right here.”

you stopped fighting against his grip, gasping at the feeling of his big hand on your achy cunt. you whined, lightly bucking your hips against his hand. “oh fuck,” you whimpered.

he caught you in a deep kiss, shutting you up real quick. sucking on your lip and sticking his tongue in your mouth. you whined against his mouth and started to grind against his hand. his fingers crawled up your skirt and pushed past your panties, teasing your wet folds and sliding past your dripping hole.

he broke contact to leave kisses up and down your jaw, fingers rubbing up and down your dripping cunt. “aw, what happened to my fiesty omega now?”

you whimpered. his fingers kept playing with your pussy and left you needing more and more. “stop teasing, jaem.”

he grinned widely at your words. his fingers pushed past your folds. you groaned. he started pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping hole and rubbing up against your sweet spot, slowly increasing his speed.

“ahhhh, alpha!” you whined out.

he suddenly removed his fingers from your hot cunt to stick them in his mouth, licking and sucking on your juices lewdly. you protested at the lack of contact but he quickly shushed you with a hot kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

he unbuckled his slacks and pulled down his boxers to reveal his achy cock, so big and red and veiny and ready to be sheathed inside your warm cunt. you attempted to reach down to stroke him off but he stopped you, lifting you up by the ass and placing you on his desk.

“baby, as much as i would love to let you stroke my cock, if i’m not balls deep in that pussy within the next 10 seconds i might explode.” he spread your legs and placed them on his shoulders. he used his cock to rub against your dripping pussy and gather your juices to spread up and down his length before lining the tip up with your entrance.

he bottomed out with one deep thrust and paused, heavy balls touching your ass. you both groaned at the sudden feeling. “oh fuck, baby you’re so fucking tight,” he moaned, gripping your waist tight to prevent you from squirming away. “my perfect omega, made just for this cock.”

he started pounding his hips impossibly fast against yours. your pussy clenched and spasmed around his fat cock dragging against your walls. arousal was dripping down your thighs and onto the desk below as lewd noises filled the tiny office with sex. “oh my god, alpha!! please, harder!” you cried, wriggling around and scratching at his back desperately.

“my omega. mine,” he grunted from above. it felt like he was trying to break you in half from his fat cock’s deep hard thrusts into your tiny pussy. “say you’re mine. say you’re my omega,” he accented his words his a particularly sharp thrust into your cunt, cock so deep his tip kissed your cervix.

you were quickly melting in a pool of putty underneath him, losing your mind from pleasure. “ahhh, alpha! yes, yes, yes!”

if possible, he went even harder with his thrusts. his cock was driving so deep inside he pressed a hand against your lower belly. “feel that, omega? that’s your alpha, deep in your guts. claiming your pussy for his.”

he grabbed one of your hands to place against your tummy and feel where his cock bulged out. you could feel every thrust, every time he bottomed out, all of it.

“say. it. say you’re mine, omega.”

“oh god, i’m yours, i’m yours, i’m yours!! alpha, i’m your omega, please oh god,” you were shaking like a leaf, tears welling up and rolling down your face. you buried your head into his chest, inhaling his deep intoxicating scent. this was your alpha making you his.

when you left the office that night, hot cum dripped down your legs. panties were missing. you had a strange limp. hair wild. neck littered with marks. and a smirking alpha wrapped around your shoulders.

a/n: i was halfway done with this but lost motivation conveniently when i told everyone it was coming soon☠️mb

[cosmerelists]

Rosharans Rate Foods Not Native to their Planet

As requested by @makothedorito :)

@makothedorito wanted to know what would happen if Stormlight characters encountered food not native to their planet. Here's what I think!

1. Szeth reviews Mountain Dew

Szeth: Horrible. Szeth: A bright, unconscionable green color. Sickly, horribly sweet. Like acidic poison in my throat. Szeth: Also made me feel, strangely, as though even without powers, I could fly. Szeth: ... Szeth: 3/5 stars.

2. Lift reviews Mountain Dew

Lift: Actually,SzethonlytooklikeonesipbeforeItookitfromhim. Lift: IsawthecrazylookhewasgettinginhiseyesandIwaslikenosir. Lift: Luckily,IdrankthewholebottleandI'mnotbeingaffectedatall! Wyndle: [crying]: Mistress, PLEASE use Regrowth I think you're dying!

3. Shallan reviews chocolate

Shallan: Oh, 5/5 for sure! Shallan: Radiant likes the dark chocolate because the "bitterness adds to the sweetness," apparently. Shallan: Veil likes milk chocolate coating other things--so like sugar with another, harder layer of sugar. Shallan: I gotta say--I like the bars! Something about being able to crack off pieces and eat them is so satisfying. Adolin: So the 19 wrappers I see around our room... Shallan: Head's up, I may never sleep again!

4. Rushu reviews coffee

Rushu: My research indicated that this drink is supposed to make you alert and eager for action! Rushu: But...my thoughts have never BEEN so sedate. Honestly, I could take a nap right now. Rushu: Odd. Rushu: 4/5, I suppose.

5. Nomad reviews hot 'n' spicy wings

Nomad: [a single tear running down his face] Nomad: Finally...some good fucking food...

6. Renarin reviews steak

Renarin: You would think that "well done" is the opposite of "badly done" but Renarin: ... Renarin: I suppose I know what it is like to eat leather.

7. Bridge Four reviews pizza

Lopen: Man, it's great! Look at this one--so thin and droopy you have to roll it up to eat it! Rock: What is your insanity? This one that is so thick you must cut into it with a large knife is the way to go. I want my pizza to be as deep as my fist. Lopen: Thin is better!! Rock: Thick is superior!! Skar: I can't say why, but I'm partial to the one cut into squares. Really crackling crust, too. It just feels right, somehow... Rock: Skar, friend, I respect your opinion even though it is 100% wrong. Kaladin: Isn't all pizza just a tad...greasy? Lopen: Ha ha! You say such weird things somethings, Kaladin! Lyn: Ooooh....this one with ham and the sweet yellow fruit is AMAZING! Best pizza of all time hello?? Lopen: ... Rock: ... Skar: ... Kaladin: ... Lopen: I can't believe we have to kick Lyn out of Bridge Four. Lyn: HEY

[bullet-prooflove]

Inevitable: Donovan Rocker x Reader

Tagging: @mirabee @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @one-sweet-gubler @victoriajhyde @telepathay @winterrosies-blog @me-ladie @mah2101 @@avillagesperson @irishavengersassemble @crimeshowjunkie @haielsker-93 @whateversomethingbruh @watashiwasun @burningpeachpuppy @slytherqueen14 @brownskinbaby22 @lady-athanasia @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

Companion piece to Reputation & One Night

It’s been eight months since that night in Noche and only a couple since you’ve told Donovan how you feel. It’s weight off your chest because for the first time you’re with someone who knows every part of you, who understands the pressures of the job, who wants to fulfil every single one of your desires, especially the ones you’ve never spoken to anybody else.

The only problem is work, because no one knows you’re in a relationship with Donovan and you’re not sure you want to tell them. This thing between the two of you is private, it’s nobody else’s business but you can tell Donovan’s getting antsy because whilst you’re living in the moment he’s thinking in the long term. He’s thinking of what happens when you get to a year, two years, five years.

He knows it’s not about him, it’s about you. It’s about being one of the only two female officers in SWAT and all the shit that comes along with that, it’s about being a female cop in the LAPD who’s dating a superior. There’re no rules about working in the same line of business, you’re both on different teams but it’s the reputation you’re afraid of. Once the genie’s out the bottle, it’s not something you can put stopper back on.

You’ve worked so damn hard to get where you are, beaten all of the odds and he knows none of that will matter. There are still people in the force who will judge you for the choices you make, for choosing to be with him. It’s your decision and he respects that, however things like this don’t stay a secret forever and at some point it’s going to come out. He doesn’t wish for that, but he senses the inevitability of it.

You’re walking to the café on the corner after a night of debauchery. The sun is shining, you’re both wearing sunglasses, Donovan’s arm is slung around your shoulders, your fingers linked with his as he leans in close and whispers in your ear.

“How about I ruin you in Napa? A little wine tasting, a little fun in a B&B…”

He’s interrupted by the sound of someone calling your name. The both of you freeze as you turn your attention to the two men approaching you.

Luca and Street…

Donovan feels the way you tense; he expects you to pull away, claim that you just bumped into one another. He’s willing to play along if that’s what you want. But you don’t do any of that, instead you squeeze his hand.

“Hey, we were just trying out that new food truck up the street when we saw you…” Luca says holding up a crepe. You see the expression on Street’s face, the moment it dawns on him that you and Donovan are here together, actually together.

“The two of you…” He trails off gesturing between the both of you.

Donovan looks down at you, waiting for your play. He’d follow you to hell and back with any decision you make and that only makes you love him more.

“Yea,” You tell your team mates, your lips brushing across the back of Donovan’s hand. “We’ve been together a while now.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[drconstellation]

The Cupperty Ceremony

Every bit of food and drink in both seasons has a metaphorical significance, even if you don't realize it.

Tea is no exception. Its one of the few times an eastern philosophy creeps into Good Omens, but it still meets with a western ideal. It's also intrinsically linked to Aziraphale and his affected British style.

Coffee gets more of a focus in S2, and has a specific meaning around freedom and liberty, whereas tea appears more in S1. But the metaphorical meanings around them are fairly consistent across both seasons, with stereotypes for the British drinking tea and the Americans only drinking coffee put aside.

Lets start with Muriel on the doorstep of the bookshop, at the beginning of S2E3, asking to come in, because its noisy outside.

Aziraphale, after a moment to take in who they are, is the epitome of politeness as he welcomes them inside.

You might think "well, isn't this just Aziraphale being typically Aziraphale?" in this moment, but soon we shall see its a relevant part of a ritual going on here.

The bookshop is noticeably quieter on the inside. There is just the two of them. Aziraphale offers Muriel tea in a fine china cup, with a blue pattern, and gold trim.

Muriel is not sure what to do with it so they just hold it. Aziraphale makes a point of demonstrating what should be done: He tells Muriel the tea is "to drink," then looks at it, sips, and makes both an appreciative expression and sound.

Muriel seems repelled by this, and declares they are just going to look at theirs. Aziraphale patiently, still polite, lets them do so.

Up to this point, there are actually two levels of meta happening at the same time. The first one is a tea ceremony (which I had a go at once before, and got the wrong one!) and the other is about trying to get Muriel to take the first step in "going native."

A tea ceremony always starts with a courteous invitation. The tea is prepared, then served and offered to others. It should be taken in a tranquil, peaceful setting, perhaps in a harmonious natural environment (such as a Garden) and with only a few people at a time (two people is considered a "superior" experience.) The tea ware is important, as it should allow the fragrance of the tea to be appreciated (we have some fine china, Heavenly-coded.) Appreciation of the tea's qualities is undertaken, first with the eyes, then by smell, then tasting. It is considered an art, a process of spiritual enjoyment, a means of cultivating the moral character - and then Crowley bursts into the bookshop with his flirty comment about going by train and breaks the fragile connection Aziraphale had been trying to establish with Muriel.

*sigh* Timing, Crowley! Can't you see I'm in the middle of trying to subvert a fellow angel here?

I was recently reminded that tea and coffee have a connection in GO, in that that they are both linked to the American War of Independence. While the speech that gives us "Give me liberty, or give me death!" conjures the stormy winds of war sounding trouble approaching, the Boston Tea Party was the initial spark of the brewing conflict.

I realize there is a LOT of stuff written about this particular bit of history, and it can get quite political even in these modern times, so let me frame it in a Good Omens frame of reference if you aren't familiar with it - the colonists in the New World were upset at how they were being ruled from afar by the British and staged a small protest about some new laws imposed on them by dumping ship-loads of valuable tea leaves (a daily consumable pleasure people had become hooked on) into Boston Harbor on the night of 16th December 1773. To disguise themselves they dressed themselves as indigenous people, or "native Americans" as one might have said. This was just the beginning of further rebellion that led to war a few years later.

So here is another reason Aziraphale offers tea to Muriel, and not cocoa; he can see how fascinated they are with with everything Earthly around them, and he hopes to ignite a spark of rebellion in them, too, by introducing them to the more civilized pleasures (*ahem*) that he knows and enjoys so well.

While there is little tea to be seen in S2, there is plenty to be seen in S1. Perhaps the most prominent one for this discussion occurs right near the beginning, when Gabriel surprises Aziraphale in the sushi restaurant in S1E1.

Aziraphale offers to tea to Gabriel, and Gabriel shuns it. He, like most of the angels we meet, have no real interest in Earth. It's "gross." Ah, well. He gets to change his mind in S2.

So where else do we see tea in S1?

The Four Horsepeople: War orders four teas, one black, and a cheese sandwich in the diner where they all meet up together for the first time on Earth. We don't know who the sandwich is for, but I'm going to guess its for Famine. Reasons below, with Shadwell. (Cheese and tea make a nice savoury pair for a snack, if you haven't tried it. I'm partial to tea with cheese and crackers on the side from time to time.)

The Tibetan Tunnelers were on tea break from digging tunnels all over the Earth when we meet them, where they mention they were transported into the tunnels when they themselves stopped for tea back in their real lives on the surface.

Shadwell's infamously sweet tea, with either nine sugars or condensed milk, needs a mention as well, as it appears several times. Shadwell is an Aziraphale parallel-character, living on the fringes of society and starving for attention, even though he makes feeble swipes at Madam Tracey's attempts to care for him. The sugar represents the amount of care or "sweetening up" he needs.

When he first meets Newt he gets the young man to buy him a tea and a packet of cheese and onion crisps. Remember the cheese sandwich War ordered for Famine? A packet of cheese flavoured crisps is a parallel here. Newt has turned up and finally given someone Shadwell someone to sink his teeth into.

Finally, we need to return to Crowley - its coffee, as black as his soul for him, please, and extra strong (six shots is for the number of Hell.)

Because he's already "gone native," just like Aziraphale, and he wants to maintain his freedom. He's left the Garden, and Heaven, behind him, and he'll do anything to keep it that way, thank you.

I'd like to thank my mutual and other food meta writer @vidavalor for discussing some of this off-list some time ago. We mostly see things the same way, I believe, but one must tread one's own path sometimes. They have some different ideas around some of this, but I'll let them say it in their own words.

[rotworld]

A Bird in the Hand

you've been "partnered" with the nightbound who betrayed you for weeks now and neither of you are happy with how things are going.

->virgilio/reader. explicit; contains hypnosis, blood drinking, mild gore, power imbalance, aphrodisiacs, food control, mentions of conditioning.

.

.

.

Every day, there’s a notebook open on the kitchen counter. You can’t miss it because it sits right next to an enormous breakfast feast, already made, plated and waiting by the time you drag yourself out in hungry desperation. Everything is artfully arranged like it came right out of an upscale restaurant’s kitchen from lightly sprinkled garnish to elegant, swirling sauce patterns. Even the fucking cereal looks like a mouthwatering food blog photo, a row of sliced fruit ringing one side of the bowl. 

There’s a pen tucked into the notebook’s spiral binding. At the top of the page, a single question is scrawled in neat cursive: What is your favorite movie?

It’s late. The sun shields are open and you can see the city skyline glittering through the windows. The only light in the room comes from a lamp perched on the counter, the thick dome shade softening the light to sunset orange. You uncap the pen, watching clouds drift across the moon. 

Fuck you, you write.

*

Some nights are spent at Cassowary Tattoo. 

It’s that or stew in your own misery for long, silent hours, because you’re not allowed to leave the house on your own yet. You claim your spot in the waiting area, stretched out on the sofa by the front windows with a stack of books on the coffee table beside you. It’s so cozy it makes you suspicious, the comforting and non-confrontational vibe almost smothering—lots of plants and pottery on the wooden wall shelves and muted rugs to soften the hardwood floor, some slow-tempo jazz playing over the speakers. Was it already like this or did they do some hasty redecorating? It feels more like a coffee shop than a tattoo parlor.

Your name is called with slow reluctance. “Hey, uh…” It’s the guy working the desk—nightbound. You saw him sipping from a blood pouch earlier. He knows what you are, too. That’s why he watches you like a hawk. He looks young but that doesn’t mean anything. What does is how nervous he is around you, anxiously vigilant whenever you shift around to get comfortable or exhale just a little sharply. Not like he’s scared of you, but scared of potentially having to handle you, like he’s watching a priceless vase wobble precariously on its stand. A lot of fledglings are like that because the older nightbound teach them that witches are some kind of endangered species, rare and skittish, necessitating firm but gentle handling.

He’ll chase you if you try to run. He doesn’t want to. He’s afraid he might hurt you by accident and then Virgilio will be mad at him, and he would sooner chop off his own hand than risk one of his superiors, his elders, being mad at him.

“Yeah?” you say. 

He flinches whether you soften your tone or not. “Are you, uh. Are you hungry? Sergeant—uh, Virgilio wants to know.” 

“I’m fine.” You pretend to be interested in the books you brought along, propped up on your side with one of the musty tomes open in front of you. It’s all dry, boring shit, leatherbound antiques on loan from the Dusk Council’s extensive library. Nightbound biology, nightbound psychology, nightbound history—there’s a lot here that you don’t know despite how they’ve been breathing down your neck your whole life. 

“Oh. Okay.” He fidgets nervously with his phone. “Well, uh. I think he ordered you something anyway.” 

He did, of course, and it shows up just a few minutes later in the hands of a delivery driver. Virgilio appears at the same moment, pushing through the curtain dividing the shop. There’s no doorbell or chime or anything. Every nightbound in the shop can hear it when somebody parks on the street right outside, or when the front door opens with a wheezy creak. Virgilio exchanges pleasantries and leaves a nice tip. He places the takeout bag on the coffee table right next to your books and then he pulls up one of the armchairs. His hair’s up in a ponytail. He’s wearing a black tank top so his tattoo sleeves are on full display—a moon and clouds, raven wings, a skull hidden among full-bloom flowers and half-melted candles. 

His smile makes your stomach twist up in angry, sickened knots. “Hey. Got you something.” 

You don’t answer and you don’t meet his gaze. Undeterred, he pulls a container out of the bag and opens it for you, steam and a garlicky scent wafting out. It’s some kind of spinach dish, sauteed leafy greens topped with crunchy garnish. 

“Smells pretty good,” he says, stirring it with a plastic fork. “Let me know if you like it and I’ll make it at home sometime. Just need some garlic and olive oil. Maybe a little amaretto if you want it fancy.” He slides the bowl across the table, closer to you. “Come on. You must be hungry. You barely touched breakfast.” You still don’t take it and his smile wanes, all that cheerful enthusiasm souring into weary resignation. “I don’t want to put you under but I will if I have to. It’s for your own good.”

“Stop saying that.” The threat of hypnosis makes you sit up, but you still don’t reach for the bowl. You don’t want it. You don’t want any of this. “‘For my own good?’ This is all for you, so you can feed as much as you want.” 

“It’s for you,” Virgilio insists. “So you don’t end up anemic or worse.” 

The wounded look on his face makes your blood boil, soft eyes and furrowed brows like he thought this would go any other way. He wants to talk? Fine. You can talk. “I wouldn’t need to worry about that if you fed from anyone or anything else sometimes. But I’m here, so you might as well take as much as you want, right? Why bother with a donor who actually likes getting fed on? Is that not as fun? You can’t get off if your blood bag is having a good time, too?” 

Virgilio catches your chin between his fingers and jerks your gaze up to meet his eyes. He’s got your mind in a vice-grip before you can even blink and for a blissful moment, there are no thoughts in your head. No anger. No fear. Nothing. Just fuzzy warmth and gentle drifting. His eyes are glittering gold and you’re sinking, all the tension leaking out of your body, all your worries evaporating—and then he lets go, slowly, like a fist loosening. He maintains just enough control that you can’t muster the energy to yell at him or tear yourself away. 

“Eat the fucking food,” he says, his voice low and ragged. You can only think clearly when he stops touching you, and even then, you find yourself picking up the bowl and spearing spinach on your fork. Virgilio leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you mutter between bites. “I didn’t choose to be what I am.” 

Virgilio takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah. Me, neither.” 

*

Every three days, your breakfast comes with roseblood. Virgilio brews it himself on the stove and the delicate garden-fresh aroma fills the whole house by the time you wake up. He pours the first dose into a black mug with a golden bird silhouette stamped on the side, and then he drops in a few colorful crystals that gently fizzle, making little prismatic bubbles at the surface. That’s nectar, condensed and edible magic. The sweet scent makes your mouth water. He sprinkles a couple leftover rosebuds on top and slides the mug over to join the rest of the trays, plates and bowls he painstakingly prepared. 

“Buon appetito,” he says with a grin. He usually makes himself scarce when you show up for food but today he’s decided to stick around. He stays on the other side of the counter, at least, a newspaper unfolded in front of him so he can pretend he isn’t watching you intently. You eat begrudgingly. Virgilio is such a talented chef that it makes you angry. His plating is immaculate and his dishes are perfect whether he’s baking, boiling or braising something—a sharp contrast to the single small plate at his elbow with nothing but a piece of toast smeared with marmalade. 

You watch him. He watches you. Neither of you speak to each other and the only sounds are the clink of your silverware and the whisper of turning paper, the occasional muted crunch when Virgilio nibbles on his toast. The roseblood is delicious, sweet like honey. You catch him smiling when you hold up the mug, enjoying the soft floral scent and the warmth against your palms, but he quickly averts his eyes back down to the newspaper. 

You think about those videos of animal shelters and people who sit with nervous dogs until they stop shaking. That’s how he sees this, you think. A selfless act. Doing you a favor. Coaxing you to him with food and gentle words, like he doesn’t already have the leash around your neck. 

Today, the notebook asks, What do you like to do in your spare time? 

Virgilio’s gaze is drawn by the scratch of the pen across the paper. You scribble quickly and furiously, then shove it aside. He doesn’t have to look to know you’ve written the same words you always do. He gathers up his newspaper and toast and finally gives you some privacy.

*

Some nights are spent in Dr. Griffiths’ office. The two of you look like a couple on the verge of divorce. Virgilio hunches like a man in a confessional booth and you’re scrunched up against the armrest of the big Victorian sofa, keeping one full cushion between the two of you. Your gaze travels across the room in careful avoidance of Virgilio, wandering from the bookshelves to the hanging paintings to the swinging pendulum of a grandfather clock. Candles flicker atop ornate brass stands. It smells like leather, parchment and incense. 

“I just don’t know what else to do,” Virgilio says. “It’s not like I don’t get it. I do. But you have to understand that the second you became active…look, you weren’t leaving that dinner party without the rug getting pulled out from under you, okay? That’s just how it is. If I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve. And I know you hate me for it, you feel like I took advantage—” 

“Let’s not assume,” Dr. Griffiths says gently. “It would benefit you both to ask each other how you feel, rather than jumping to conclusions. Even in situations where you’re certain you already know, is it not better to ask? To have the opportunity to voice those thoughts and feelings?” He’s nightbound, of course, because why would the Council send you to any other kind of therapist? His eyes glint like an animal’s and he has the uncanny, fluid grace of an elder. He dresses somewhat eccentrically for his profession, stylish and formal in a black blouse with translucent sleeves and fitted slacks, his high heels glossy like obsidian. He looks the way people expect nightbound to look, sickly pale and ghostly as though carved from marble. 

Virgilio glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “They don’t talk to me if they can help it.” 

Dr. Griffiths tilts his head, regarding you with a pensive frown. “You’re still not speaking to your partner?” 

“No,” you mutter.

“Why not?” 

“You can’t guess?” 

He smiles and pushes away from the desk. You watch him warily as he comes to stand beside you, resting his palm on the armrest of the sofa. He looks down at you, tilting his head in that odd, bird-like motion the nightbound all share, like an owl tracking a scurrying mouse. “No assumptions, remember?” he asks.

“It’s really not that hard to figure out,” you insist. He hums, urging you to continue. You don’t look at Virgilio but you can feel the weight of his stare. “My life doesn’t belong to me. I’m like his pet or something.”

“That’s not true—” Virgilio starts to say. Dr. Griffiths cuts him off with a sharp glance. 

“Go on,” he says patiently. 

There’s a lump in your throat, the burning sensation of tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You swallow hard. “And my time, that’s not mine anymore. I’m basically nocturnal now because I have to be. Even if I get up early, I can’t see the sun because of the stupid shields on the windows. It’s so dark everywhere, all the time. And my bedroom isn’t mine, it’s just the guestroom in his house. Some of my stuff’s there but it doesn’t matter. He can come in whenever he wants.”

“I would never—”

“Virgilio,” Dr. Griffiths says, firm but gentle. 

“And,” your voice cracks, “and the food, too. He picks that. And I know why, I know about roseblood and the risks and all that stuff, I know that. But it just reminds me that I don’t have anything anymore. I don’t even have myself. And…and…” Your words unravel into sobs. The sofa creaks under Virgilio’s shifting weight and you see him in your periphery looking sick with guilt. 

His hand trespasses onto the cushion between you. You hear him come closer. You know what he’s going to do and it makes you feel even worse, but you don’t try to stop him from touching your shoulder and turning you towards him. You don’t fight the gentle pressure of his fingers on your chin. You don’t squeeze your eyes shut or try to look away. Your eyes meet and Virgilio’s calming presence fills your mind, quieting your sobs to sniffles and numbing the ache in your chest.

Everything is okay for a while. Everything is light and airy, soft and sweet. You’re freed from thought and fear and worry, left with nothing but peace. When you surface, it happens slowly. You feel an arm wrapped around you, a gentle hand stroking your head. You smell chewing gum on his breath. Virgilio holds you against his chest, idly stroking your back and pressing kisses to your tear-dampened cheeks. 

Dr. Griffiths is back by his desk, frowning thoughtfully. “You have a problem with control, Virgilio,” he says. “Understandably, you crave it. You exert it however and whenever you can. Losing it makes you lash out and act impulsively. I would hope, then, that you might have some sympathy for someone who has none.”

Virgilio wraps around you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces. He knows this will end badly once you get home; more tears, more distance, days of agonizing silence and refusing to meet his eye. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, you’re right.” He holds on tight while he still can. 

*

There are indents in the notebook paper, like someone scribbled furiously on the page before it. You turn back and find line after line written and then hastily crossed out. A handful are still legible:

What is your favorite breakfast food? What is your favorite food? What foods do you like? What would you like me to make you? I will make you anything you want if you ask for it. I didn’t know it upset you so much. I thought maybe it upset you, but I didn’t know what to do. I’m trying to make the best of a difficult situation. I know it’s not fair. I’m not good at this. I can’t let you go but I will do anything else, just name it and I will do it. I’m going to put a better lock on your door. Do you want a better lock on your door? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry.

On the next page, Virgilio’s handwriting reverts to its usual neatness. It simply says, List some foods that you like. 

*

Some nights are spent at home. Virgilio’s coworkers say he’s allergic to time off, which is news to you. It feels like he’s around more than he isn’t. Usually you stay in the guest room and only venture out for food but tonight, you reluctantly join him on the living room sectional. Virgilio is hunched over and doodling in a sketchbook, so shocked by your sudden appearance that you hear his pencil lead snap. You flick on the lamp and unceremoniously drop your entire stack of books on the coffee table, picking one from the pile at random to start with. 

You peek over the edge of the book. Virgilio is frozen for a moment like he thinks the slightest twitch might scare you off. You don’t think he’s even breathing. He watches you carefully, assessing you with cold focus like he’s sizing up a threat. The intensity in his stare frightens you. You don’t know what gives you away—quickening pulse? Hitched breath? Some subtle scent? He blinks and his gaze softens. He sets his sketchbook down and turns to give you his full attention. His casual lean, the way he drapes his arm over the backrest, reminds you of the night you met. 

“How about a truce?” he offers. 

You stare at him suspiciously. “What kind of truce?” 

“Less mesmerism.” 

“How about no mesmerism?” 

“Less,” he stresses with finality. The way your expression crumples with disappointment makes him sigh and rub the back of his neck. “What else do you want? Within reason.” 

You almost scoff at that but Virgilio’s anxious stare makes you reconsider. He’s trying, at least. It’s the smallest of consolations, but he’s giving it to you. “Could you talk to me the way you used to?” 

“The way I used to?” 

“Like at the party. Before…” Before he ruined your life. Betrayed your trust. Claimed you in front of the whole Council. Your heart is in your throat. “Like before,” you say quietly. 

The hoarseness of your voice makes him restless. He drums his fingers along the back of the couch and his gaze wanders. “I tried that,” he says. “When you first came here—” 

“When I was brought here,” you correct him. He clenches his jaw. “I didn’t choose to come here. You know that.” 

“The point is I tried that already. I acted like nothing was different. You still wouldn’t talk to me.” 

“Because I was angry. I still am,” you tell him. “I know I didn’t have much of a choice. I know somebody else would’ve done it if you didn’t. But it hurt. I’m allowed to be hurt. You can’t just snap your fingers and make me forgive you—”

“I could,” Virgilio says. He turns towards the kitchen windows where the moon is just a curled sliver. “I could make you. Probably not in one session. I’d need to reinforce it a few times. But I could.” He says it so plainly. Soft and contemplative, like something he’s spent long nights turning over in his mind. “Hm. That sounds extra fucked up when I say it out loud.” You flinch when he gives you a sidelong glance. “I really am sorry. About the way I did it, anyway. If we’d been anywhere else, I would’ve taken you home and talked it over first. I would’ve made you comfortable first. Been gentler about the claiming mark.” 

The reminder makes you pick at the turtleneck collar of your shirt. The scars on your neck are crescents of bumpy, gnarled tissue like the prints left by a vicious mauling. Virgilio follows the movement of your fingers intently, hoping you might peel the fabric down and show him the proof of his claim, but you won’t. You keep it covered as much as possible. The way he looks at it even through your clothing, the voyeuristic hunger in his eyes, unsettles you. 

“And yeah,” he says wryly, “I know you would’ve agreed to it. I would’ve laid out your options, and you would’ve picked me. That’s not a brag. The bar is real low and I know that. I’m perfectly happy being the lesser evil.”

He’s lying. You can’t usually tell. Before he started covering everything up with cloying, overindulgent sweetness, he hid all of his feelings behind a veneer of deadpan sarcasm. But that last part, you’re certain, was a lie. He doesn’t look at you when he says it. His voice gets small and timid, almost ashamed. You set your book down on the table slowly and take a steadying breath. 

“Do you want to feed on me?” you ask him. 

Virgilio blinks a couple times, like he’s trying to wake himself up. “Are you fucking with me?” 

You were really hoping he wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. “Remember what I said at the therapist’s? About how I’m basically your dog?” 

He frowns. “You’re not—” 

“Not looking to argue,” you cut him off tiredly. “Sometimes it feels like you’re trying to train me. Rewarding me for good behavior, punishing me for bad, all that stuff. Well, we’re trying to make things fair with a truce, right? So now I’m going to train you, too.” You lean back against the couch cushions and hook your fingers into the turtleneck, rolling down the collar until your throat is exposed. Virgilio’s pupils dilate. “If you’re good, you get extra.” 

He drags his gaze up from your neck to your face and your heart races. You don’t see him like this very often. Virgilio is old enough to control his appetite, normally unfazed by the sight or scent of bare human skin. The temptation of your blood when he didn’t expect it seems to have caught him off guard. He looks at you like a starving wolf looks at a lone deer, how the same wolf looks at a mate in heat, lust and hunger a single entity. Virgilio prowls closer on all fours, crawling towards you on the couch. You both know he’s the one in control here. He can take what he wants, when he wants. 

But he stops just short of you, one hand landing on the cushion beside your feet, and looks at you with that animalistic tilt of the head. “Have I been good?” he asks, his voice low and eager. 

Heat rushes through your body. “Yes,” you say. “You’ve been very good.” 

There’s something ritualistic about the way Virgilio feeds. You don’t know if all nightbound are like this or if it’s unique to him, but he goes slow. There’s foreplay before the bite. The approach is a dance, graceful and gradual. He caresses your leg as he shifts closer and he presses kisses everywhere, even over your clothes. To your ankle. To your knee. To your hip. They’re chaste but they linger and they feel reverential. He slides into place beside you and pulls you into his lap, hand wandering. He rubs your shoulders and strokes your sides. You see desire in his eyes but also sadness and solemn determination. This is about more than blood. 

His fingers slip beneath the hem of your turtleneck but he doesn’t take it off right away. He feels you first, his palms sliding up and down your chest. It feels good—not just the stroke of his fingers against your hardening nipples but also the undivided attention, the focus on your body and your pleasure, the weight and wanting of his stare. To Virgilio, nothing exists but you right now, you and your warmth and your pulse thudding beneath his fingertips. His lips move hungrily against yours, coaxing you to tangle your tongue with his. He makes small sounds, contented sighs and soft moans. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs, nipping at your lower lip. Your heart flutters at the teasing prick of his fangs, his venom fizzling pleasantly on your skin. “I swear I will. Someday I’ll be worthy of this partnership.” He pulls your turtleneck off and buries his face against the side of your neck, inhaling deeply with a shudder. His hips move involuntarily, short, needy thrusts that grind his clothed, hardening cock against your ass. He presses his lips against your neck, teasing you. He knows exactly where you’re most sensitive. The marks from the last time he fed still haven’t faded. But he likes to feign ignorance, enjoying your quiet moans until he reaches the spot that really makes you squirm.

For all his protests about you not being a pet, he really does have you trained. You don’t flinch anymore when he prepares, stroking the back of his fangs with his tongue until his mouth is full of venom. Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses leave tingling numbness in their wake. Testing nips make you shiver in pleasure rather than pain. You wrap your arms around him and hold on tight, not out of fear but in anticipation. Virgilio savors you, dragging his tongue over your pulse. His hand cradles the back of your head as you turn and bare your neck to him. 

“Two and a half centuries in this shitty world,” he whispers, “and nothing has ever been as precious to me as you are.” 

Virgilio’s bite is ecstasy. The moment his venom floods your veins, your toes curl, your back arches, and you cum. If he didn’t hold onto you so tightly and keep your head still, you would thrash and flail wildly. You know he feels just as good, maybe even better, because his hips buck like he’s fucking you, rolling, languid thrusts that lightly bounce you in his lap. You’re aware, dimly and distantly, that the bite is shallow. He’s keeping it light and controlled, sucking the blood that beads to the surface rather than widening the wound, and in a state of pure instinctual want, it infuriates you. You want more, deeper, harder, everything he has filling you. He keeps a firm, steady grip on the back of your head to make sure you don’t try and impale yourself on him further. You whine when his fangs retract and he laps at the punctures left behind. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs against your skin, trying to soothe you. The praise goes straight to your sex, heat and arousal making you move your hips against him. “Mm, yes, you are. So sweet and delicious.” His hand dips between your legs. He doesn’t undress you but he loosens the clothes on your lower half enough to get his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and then he’s mercilessly working your sex with his fingers. “Cum one more time.” He’s growling, so deep in his own primal need that his voice is low and rumbling. He’s not asking. It’s an order, and it makes you whimper. “One more. Come on. Sweet thing, letting me have a taste of you. Let go for me.”

Already raw and right on the edge, you cum with a sob. Virgilio doesn’t let up, still mouthing at your neck and whispering filth. He coos about the mess you made on his fingers while your hips helplessly chase his hand. He doesn’t stop until you sag against him, worn out and oversensitive. The blistering pleasure phase has run its course but his venom will keep you in an extended post-orgasmic bliss for a while longer. He lays down and keeps you tucked against his chest, gently rubbing your back. 

It’s nice, you think deliriously. Every feeding is nice, but usually you shake him off and demand to be left alone once it’s over. It was a mistake to stay. Now that you know what it feels like to be in his arms, you’re not sure you’ll be able to leave.

“You can take a nap, if you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. Warmly. He sounds happy, you think. Because you fed him without prompting? Because he’s in control again? You don't know if tonight was a step forward or back, but you aren’t going to worry about it right now. Not when the lights are low and Virgilio’s touch is so tender, and everything almost feels alright. 

*

The next night, you're up and moving a little earlier than usual. Viriglio is still cooking. You sit at the counter to watch. He looks back over his shoulder at you briefly, almost shyly, like he doesn't want to scare you into leaving. He nods in greeting. You nod back. He looks a little disappointed but he smiles anyway and returns his attention to the stove. 

You tell him your favorite movie. 

[cupid-eclipse]

Unrequited Love (F!Reader x Price)

A bit of angst

   Summary: Reader has been a member of the 141 for so long, long enough that she's loved her Captain for more than 2 years. But is she allowed to be with someone in the military, let alone her own Captain?

A/N: Reader's nickname is Lass. It's not reader's real name.

    "Mornin', Lass." Gaz yawned, reaching for a glass cup before putting it on the coffee dispenser. "How'd your sleep go?"

    "Fine, I guess," You sighed before giving him a small smile. "Ay, what's with the sad face?" Gaz raised his eyebrows, looking directly at you while grabbing his cup of coffee before wincing and letting go of the cup onto the table immediately.

    "Ow! Why's it hot?!" You watched as he shook his hand a few times to loosen the pain. "Of course it is; you didn't use the holder to grab the cup!" You chuckled slowly, watching Gaz's movements.

  "Lass?" While you were having fun watching Gaz, a voice calling your name from behind made you freeze. You knew who that voice belonged to all too well. Turning around, you saw Price watching your movements intently. "My office, please." He ordered–pleaded, you fought with your own thoughts. His voice sounded too soft—unusually soft—for it to not be a plea.

    You turned around again to look at Gaz, giving him one last smile before standing up from your seat and following Price to his office. Upon arriving, you took a small, deep breath before entering his office with him as he closed the door behind you and walked in front of you.

    "...Why'd you wanna see me?" You spoke first. Price stood a few meters away from you, but not too far away for you to not be able to reach him with your hands.

    "...I realized you've been acting a little... off lately. Your performances have dropped both in training and on missions. I rarely even see you eating, as if you're in distress. Mind to share it with me?" Price spoke softly, his gaze searching yours.

    You gave him a tired smile before replying. "I'm okay." You reassured him. "I guess I'm just stressed with work."

    "Stressed with work to the point you've not eaten anything for two days?" Price exclaimed. "Don't act like I don't know. I've been watching your movements these past few days, and I noticed all of the untouched food on your plate. You didn't even drink a single drop of water!"

    "I know work can be tiring, but that's no excuse for you to neglect yourself. And I know you've been skipping sleep, too." Price said, his voice full of worry and concern. "Please, tell me what's wrong." He begged.

    "...what are we?" You muttered quietly, looking down to the floor. "What?" Price breathed, his eyes searching yours. "What are we, Captain John Price?" You spoke, calling him by his full name.

    "Are we really just "superiors" and "comrades"? Do you really not have any feelings for me?" You said it, your voice trembling with emotion. "I've been acting like this because of you, Captain. You're the reason for my behavior right now." You confessed.

    "..." Price looked at you before giving you a small smile. "...I do feel the same way, Lass. But you do know it's not allowed for us to be in a relationship here in the milita–"

    "Then why did you kiss me that day? To give me false hope?" You interrupted, looking up at him intently. "To play with my feelings and then break my heart? Is that it?"

    "Lass, please—don't go there." Price warned softly. "Go where? I'm right, aren't I? You only kissed me to play with my feelings. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here today."

    "I know it's wrong, Captain, but if you really do feel the same way about me, then you would try. But I'm not seeing your efforts." You sobbed. "I've loved you for so long, and when you kissed me that day, I thought my dreams were finally coming true. That I could finally be with you. Yet I was wrong." You avoided his gaze, turning around before twisting the door handle and opening the door.

    "I hope you know that what you did really broke me." You said this before walking out of his office and closing the door to his face before he could run after you.

Part 2?

[plush-rabbit]

Simmering and Smothering

Part 2 to It’s Always Coffee

Word Count: 7K

A/N: I’m soft for this guy rn. He’s so !!! Anyways, I um don’t know what else to say

- You stand with a group of people, a lanyard hangs from your neck, and you pinch at the plastic cover that holds a card reading “Visitor” stuck on it. People part of the group peek through windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the wonders behind the glass. You're sure at some point you saw Dr. Ohnn standing close to a coworker. He must have felt your gaze, because he looked up and you had to fist your hand to restrain yourself from waving at him. But when the scientist beside him puts their hand on his back, returning his attention to the project in front, you find yourself digging your nails into the flesh of your palms.

You look around, but nothing catches your eye as it should at Alchemax. While you knew that they wouldn’t show a tour group all the dark and gritty experiments, a part of you wishes that you were able to slip away to explore, but any chances of that were snuffed out with a warning at being kicked out and banned should you stray. However, you do enjoy getting to step foot into the building. The group is led through glass doors, and you hear a few people sigh in relief. Walking in, windows line the room and let in a nice glow of sun. 

“Okay,” Dr. Octavius says with a clap of her hands, “this is the cafeteria where we will be having lunch. Those tables over there-” she points over to a cluster of tables that have been protected with stanchions- “will be where you all will be eating. Lunch is one hour, and if anyone needs to go to the restroom, please contact a security guard.” Her gaze is friendly, smile wide and tone with the slightest hint of superiority, she speaks to all, before her gaze lands on you, her smile falling ever-so-slightly. “If you fail to inform a guard, and are caught wandering, you will be immediately removed from the premises.” Smiling, you give her an “okay” symbol, and in response, she looks away from you. “Okay!” She chirps, taking a step to the side, she sweeps her arms towards the selection of food. “Enjoy your lunch.”

You’re at a cart, holding a tray consisting of fruits, and a bottle of juice. You peer over the selection of bread, holding a saran wrapped bagel. You pull your mouth into a line, wanting to put it back, but unsure if that’s okay to do so. Sure, it’s saran wrapped, but what if it’s not okay to place things back. You’ve already picked it up, and with a sigh, you place it on your tray. You look over the rest of the selection of the grains, and perk up at the sight of a muffin. Happily, you reach to grab at it before your wrist is grabbed at.

“Hey-” You bark out, pulling your hand out of the grasp and turning to look at whoever it was that clutched your wrist. You stop short when you realize that it’s Dr. Ohnn. “I feel like we talked about appropriate ways to greet others,” you muse, grabbing at the saran wrapped muffin. 

“What are you doing here?” he hisses, and you frown. 

Your eyes scan his face, and you fold the tray closer to you. “You’re upset,” you conclude, tilting your head with furrowed brows. 

“Of course I am,” he hisses. Your ears begin to burn, and you look around the cafeteria, many of the patrons sitting down and ignoring you- including the tour group you are a part of. When you look back at him, he continues. “Why are you here?”

“I’m part of the tour.” You jerk your head over where your tour members sit behind the stanchions. “Fisk was promoting it- something to show off Alchemax and how family-friendly it is. But if you ask me, I think it’s just a cover to stop people from asking-”

“I don’t care,” he rushes. 

You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay, you don't have to be rude.” His eyes widen, and his shoulders rise. He opens his mouth, but you press forward. “Listen, I paid my way in, okay? If you’re upset with it, then I don’t know what to tell you.” He stays silent and you look back to your group. Turning back to him, you start. “Is that all, Dr. Ohnn? May I go sit down, or do you want to continue reprimanding me?”

He opens and closes his mouth, and when you turn on your heel, he calls your name. You turn to him with a waiting look. “I apologize.” You encourage him with a nod of your head. “I just-” he looks around, and grabs your wrist, pulling you to another station of food, grabbing a tray, and standing in front of the selection of fruits. 

“You just?”

“I hadn’t thought that you would be here. I-” with his middle finger, he pushes up his glasses by the bridge- “I wasn’t aware there was a tour going on.”

“Does that matter?” You ask, grabbing at a cup of peeled mandarins. 

“Scientists are usually the one to lead groups,” he says quietly, "due to the fact that it is our projects we are showcasing. We all take turns with it given that leading groups take time away from our projects. This should have been a group that I would have led. Dr. Octavius must have seen your name on the roster and decided to lead it for the day.” He gives you a look. “I’m surprised that she let you in.”

“I paid,” you shrug. “She isn’t happy about it or anything, but-” you end it with a shrug. “Anyways, I won’t bother your lunch or anything. I’m simply here to see the building and enjoy lunch.” You give him a smile as you lift up your tray. “Have a good day Dr. Ohnn.” You nod your head, ready to walk away before he stops you.

“Do you have to sit down with the others?” You turn to him, and look at him quizzically. “We um- We never finished our conversation from the other day.”

You tighten your grip on the tray. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “You kinda left without exchanging numbers. But I don’t think I’m allowed to sit elsewhere.” You look back at your group. “I’d invite you to sit with me, but I’m not sure if I could give you quite a riveting conversation as your work buddies.”

“You can. You have,” he says so, without any hesitation. “Our last conversation was entertaining.” 

"You think so?" 

He opens his mouth, before being interrupted by someone calling his name. "Jonathan," calls someone far too cheery from the door. A few heads turn to watch as another scientist- you think that they look familiar- and turn back around once the scientist enters the cafeteria. They turn on their heel to wave at another and it clicks- it's the scientist that touched his back.

You look back to the doctor, giving him a raised look. He has a sort of flush that colors in his face, and you purse your lips together. 

The scientist walks toward the both of you, but their attention is solely on Jonathan. "Jonathan-" they say his name with a sickly sweet tone- "I thought you were going to wait for me so we can have lunch together." They smile brightly at the other and you watch as they reach over to squeeze at his bicep. "You hadn't forgotten, had you?"

"My apologies, Dr. Owens." You don't miss the way that he refers to the scientist by their last name while they refer to him by his first. A frown tugs at corner of your lips- they refer to him by his first name. You glance between the two and a pit settles in your stomach. "I hadn't forgotten, but I got distracted. It must have slipped my mind."

"You don't normally get distracted," they note, and their eyes dart at you. With the consequence of being acknowledged, you smile at them. "Ah. Part of the tour group, huh? No wonder you bothered our precious doctor." They're far too sweet with their words, it makes you uncomfortable. You open your mouth to apologize, but they continue on. “I was wondering if we could get the chance to go over our notes?” You feel as if you're in the middle of something. Standing besides Dr. Owens, you feel unsure of yourself. You clear your throat. They turn to you, and their smile is beaming. “Ah, I didn't mean to interrupt. While I’m sure Dr. Ohnn would love to engage with others about theories and his work, I do have to steal him away from you.” Their smile turns gentle, and you feel silly standing between them. “Sorry,” they apologize with a smile. 

"Uh, yeah." You grit your teeth- that came out less eloquently than you would liked. "Sorry, Dr. Ohnn." You tap your heel against the ground. “I’ll leave you to it.”

"Oh- Um-” he looks at you, and you smile at him, shrugging your shoulders. He returns his look towards the other scientist, and you let your gaze drift down. You walk away, catching only a glimpse of their conversation. “What would you like to discuss?”

Sitting down at a designated table, the other tour members greet you. You smile and pick at your bagel, taking small bites, regretting not getting some kind of topping. You bite at your muffin, nodding along as the other group members talk about the experiments going on at the building. 

It would make sense for him to have a partner. He's attractive, and has a good job. With the one conversation that you've had with him, he was well spoken. You eat your mandarins, letting the citrus fill your mouth. Dr. Owens isn’t unattractive and they certainly seemed nice. You do your best not to look at the doctor and his partner, keeping your head down as you listen to the other people in your group. 

You know why you feel so bothered by it all. It’s dumb. You only had one actual conversation with him, but it was nice. He was nice- much nicer than you had ever given him credit for. You feel silly over being jealous of a man you only knew for a minute. 

-

"Fuckin' driver," you mutter under your breath, your lips curled in disgust. Fixing yourself, you cross your arms and decide to walk to the train station. It's incredibly late and something that you actively avoid doing, but you don't want to risk yourself with another driver. "Now I gotta walk." 

A part of you pays with the idea of putting in your headphones and at least having a calming walk, but you shake your head at that idea. You will not be murdered just because you wanted to listen to music. 

Headlights flash by and you bite the inside of your mouth every time. A car passes by, and you watch as the red tail lights blink on. You stop in your steps, taking a look around. No one else on the sidewalk acknowledges the car. 

“Okay”, you think to yourself, “I can't get abducted in front of other people.” You take a step forward and pause. “That's dumb. Yes, I can.” You scowl and tap your foot against the pavement, holding tighter onto the strap of your bag. 

However, no one else seems fazed by a car pulling over, and that gives you confidence to walk further. At the end of the car, you see the passenger window roll down. You hesitate again. Sucking in a breath, you roll your wrists, and as you walk past the car until you hear your name being called. 

You turn, and through the windshield, you see a familiar doctor waving at you. Looking around, you clutch onto the trap of your bag before making your way towards him.

"Dr. Ohnn?" 

He smiles nervously. He looks far too tense for someone in their own car. "Hello," he calls you by your name. "I was sure you would have left ages ago."

"Tour ran late- one of the kids explored without permission," you explain. 

"I'm surprised it wasn't you." You weren't aware he could tease. 

"I wasn't in the mood for any trespassing charges. Maybe tomorrow." You shrug, and send him a grin. “Who knows? Night’s still young and all.”

He turns his head, and you follow his gaze out onto the street before the both of you. "Why are you walking?"

“People had their own rides, and I didn't. I took the bus. After the whole fiasco, I missed it. I got into a taxi, but uh-" you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest- "the driver was being too sleazy for my tastes so I decided to take my chances walking.” 

“Oh- I’m sorry to hear about that.” He leans over the middle console of the car, with his hand pressed down on the passenger seat. “It’s quite late,” he tells you.

Your lips stretch into a thin grin. “Correct. It’s no wonder that you’re one of the top scientists at Alchemax.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpans.

“I try,” you tell him. The soft glow of the streetlamps casts him in a warm glow. “But I'd be more inclined to believe you if you were actually laughing.”

“Yes, well, I’ll try to laugh next time.” He rolls his eyes, and you smile sharply at him. 

“Is that why you stopped? To hear my humor?” You tease, taking a step forward, and he tilts his head to look at you. 

“No, actually. I thought it was you,  and I wanted to know if you would like a ride?”

You’re taken aback. “Oh! Um- No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you correct yourself. You turn looking down the street where the crowd of people slows. You look back at him. “I’m sure you have your own plans for the night. I wouldn’t want to intrude or interrupt or anything.” You twist the strap of your bag in your hand. “While I appreciate the offer, you don’t have to worry about me Dr. Ohnn.”

“You wouldn’t be interrupting anything. I don’t have any plans.” 

You stay silent, weighing your options in your head. While you’d like to be in a car and taken to your home, you also can’t just enter his car. Even if he is the one offering. No. You can’t. There has to be a line. You have a crush on him- maybe. You’re attracted to him. Wait, that’s actually worse. You shake your head.

“I shouldn’t.” You bite your bottom lip and look at the air freshener that hangs down the rearview mirror. “I would want to get you into any sorts of trouble.”

“Trouble?” He says in a quiet voice, but alarm is still laced into his words. 

“You know-” you wave your hand in front of you- “with Dr. Owens. Would they be okay with you giving me a ride?”

He gives you an incredulous look. “What does Dr. Owens have to do with this?”

Your chest begins to burn, and it travels upwards to your face. “Would they appreciate you giving a ride to a stranger?” 

“You aren’t a stranger,” the way that he calls your name has your breath hitching, and heart racing. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you walking so far to a station at night.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “But you have to put in the directions on your phone. I’m easily distracted and won’t be able to give you any good directions.”

“Fine by me,” he pulls away and the door unlocks. You open the door, and the window slowly raises. “Between you and I, I’m not entirely great with navigation.” The noise from the outside mutes as you close the door, the lock clicking down on itself.  You click the seatbelt as you give him a look. “I get lost easily,” he admits. He grabs his phone and sorts through his applications, finally passing it your way with the map function on display.

“Don’t you have a PhD?” You enter your address, and return the phone, watching as he places the phone on the holder stuck to the car. 

“Doesn’t mean a thing if a shopping center has me turned all sorts of ways,” he admits, setting the car to ‘drive’ and pulling away from the sidewalk. You laugh, it starts as a snort, and forms into a chuckle and it has you hiding your smile behind your hand, trying to quell the laughter. 

You turn to look at him, the corner of your lips tilting upwards and wrinkling at your eyes. “I don’t even think I could picture you getting lost in a mall.”

He sits up straighter, and casts a glance through the corner of his eye. “It isn’t a particularly good image of me,” he confesses.

Humming, you lean back into the seat, fixing your bag onto your lap, playing with the zipper. “No, I’m sure it is,” you hum. “A renowned scientist, lost at a mall.”

“It can be quite traumatizing.”

“I’m sure it can be,” you muse, trying to hide the smile that slowly grows. "Many children often fear the mall for that same reason." 

He scoffs at your remark. “Did you learn anything interesting on the tour?” He asks, and you cross your ankles.

“I think we learned about atoms?” He chuckles at that, and you feel warm. “I gotta be honest, I was hoping for something a bit more, ya know?” 

“Atoms aren't enough?” 

"Not nearly,” you tell him softly. “Maybe if they brought out some secret project or like showed some sort of light show, then I’d be impressed.”

“Oh, of course,” he says with sarcasm laced into his words. “A secret project shown to the masses, especially where one child had gone missing.”

“Explored,” you correct, turning our head to look at him.

The GPS voice speaks, and he misses a turn. He mumbles an apology, the application already rerouting him. “If you join another one, I’ll make sure that there’s a light show.” He casts a glance, and misses another turn, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “I’m thirsty,” he tells you.

You blink at him. “You can stop somewhere and get something. I don’t mind waiting in the car.” The metal zipper of your bag shines under the passing streetlamps.. “You’re already doing me a favor by driving me home.”

“The coffee shop is still open. Would you mind accompanying me for a drink?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah- sure. I’d be okay with that. I still owe you that cup of coffee. You know, from when we met at the shop?”

He shakes his head. “Consider it my treat. I am inviting you after all.”

“But you did win that little wager, and you are driving me home. I could at least buy you a cup of coffee or something.” He shakes his head. “Come on-” you slap the back of your hand lightly against his bicep- “don’t make it difficult.”

“I’m not making it difficult,” he frowns.

The GPS continues to tell Dr. Ohnn to make a right when he can, and he fumbles with turning it off, grumbling under his breath until you offer your hand out. The phone is placed down, and you shut down the application. The phone is held in your hand, the application minimizing to show his background- a picture of- the phone is pulled out of your grasp.

“I don’t even get to learn what your background is?” You give a faux pout, leaning back against the seat. “Come on, I didn’t even get a chance.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” he tells you. “It isn’t all that exciting.” You stick your tongue out at him in response and he fails to suppress a smile. 

Pulling to the side of the road, you place your bag on the floor, snagging your debit card before zipping the bag up. Getting out of the car, you’re careful not to slam the door. You rush to beat him from opening the door. “Okay,” you draw out the vowel, slipping to move in front of him, “how about this. You buy my cup, and I’ll buy yours. I’ll even let you get a pastry- you know as a thank you for driving me home.

“You don’t have to. I offered to drive you home, it was completely my own volition.”

You give an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever you say, but the offer is there.”

As he orders his drink, you press your card against the payment terminal, telling the barista that it’ll be two separate transactions. You can feel his eyes on you and you can only smile, nodding when the barista confirms. Lacking your energy, he pays when you order your own. You’re sure that the barista is annoyed with the two of you, but at this point, you had a win that he was owed. 

With the lack of patrons, the two of you find a table placed beside the window. The two of you sit across from each other, and wait for your drinks to be called. Tapping your hands against the table, you look out the window, watching the people and the cars. 

“I was more than happy paying for your drink,” he comments. 

You look at him through the reflection, and he meets your gaze there. “I know. But you’re already doing me such a favor by taking me home and stuff-” shrugging, you turn to face him- “might as well buy you a drink.”

“You didn’t have to,” he mumbles.

“I wanted to.”

Looking at you, he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when he can’t find the right words. You nod, letting him take his time and to continue with whatever he is going to say. Clearing his throat, he can only get a breath out when the two of your names are spoken. You turn just in time to see the drinks placed on the counter as the barista walks away.

“I’ll go get them for us.” He stands from the table and you watch him. He takes long strides, his head bent and arms close to himself, as if trying to make himself to the public. You hadn’t realized that he had such squared shoulders. He almost reminds you of a rectangle.

Placing your drink in front of you, he takes a seat. His teeth bite at his bottom lip and he brings the cup to his lips. Placing the drink down, he clears his throat. “Why did you ask about Dr. Owens?”

Ah. Maybe you should’ve kept quiet about that. “What do you mean?”

“You mentioned that I would get in trouble with them if I had driven you home.”

“Oh um, yeah. It’s whatever, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worrying, I’m asking.”

“Okay,” you whisper, your gaze focused on your drink. “They just seemed into you is all. I thought there was something you know-” you lift your head looking at him- “between you and them.”

“You thought they were into me?” You choose to ignore the wonder in his voice. Opting to stay silent, you nod. “I can assure you, Dr. Owens is not into me.”

“It sure seemed that way,” you mumble into the rim of your drink. He stares at you, and you shift in your seat, hiding behind your cup. “What?”

“What made you think they were into me?” 

Your molars grind against each other. The rim of the cup is brought to your lips, but you don’t take a sip, you only press your lips against the opening, before lowering it back to the table. “Oh gosh, are you into them? Look, that's sweet and all, but I’d rather not play matchmaker to some scientists.” He stays silent, and you look outside the window, watching a couple walk past by. “You really wanna know?” He makes a noise of confirmation, and you let out a held breath. “In that little time that I saw the two of you, they had no trouble touching you. And they call you by your name, too.”

“My name?”

Nodding, you twist and untwist your legs. “Yeah.”

“Is that usually an indicator?” 

Lifting your hand, you make a see-saw motion. “Sometimes, I guess. Depends on how it’s used and all. Context, ya know?”

“I call other people by their names,” he counters. You nod, letting him continue. “I call you by your name.”

“Oh yeah- I um, I guess so,” you mumble, taking another sip of your drink, desperate to keep yourself busy.

“You never call me by my name.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was allowed.”

“Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be allowed?”

“I always thought you found me annoying.”

“I did.” You frown, and he gives you an apologetic smile. His hand lifts up, grabbing at a strand of hair and twirling it around his finger. “That doesn’t mean that I disliked you. I have to admit-” he lets go of the strand and it falls back to place- “I always did find your drive admirable. You weren’t one to give up. You’re quite stubborn.” You stare at each for a few moments, heat blazing itself against your skin, making a chill over your body. He breaks eye contact and tilts the cup, making a circle with the bottom edge. “Do you really believe that Dr. Owens likes me because they call me by my name.” You nod, your mouth too dry despite the drink in your hand to even consider speaking. “Hm, okay,” he hums. His hand runs over his stubble, and you wonder if he’s growing out a beard. “You said that they touch me.”

“I um, saw the two of you in an office- while on the tour.” Your hand pulls up to scratch at your shoulder. You feel the need to hide from him.

His smile stretches even more. “I thought I was losing my marbles.” You take a sip of your drink. “I thought that after all my imagining about-” he clicks the last consonant, and you straighten yourself, leaning forward- “I thought that finally, after all of your incessant questioning, that I was beginning to imagine you.”

“Mhm,” you hum, taking another sip of your very diluted drink.

“You were saying.” He rolls his hand expectantly.

“When you turned around- when you saw me- they immediately turned you back around.”

“So? I believe we were discussing the recent project that we’ve both been assigned on”

Grabbing a napkin, you dab at the table where a ring of water from the condensation has formed on the table. “It was how they touched you. They touched your back and lingered their hand on you.”

“I’m not following.”

You make a noise of discomfort, and fist the wet napkin in your hand. “I can’t explain it in words. It’s- It’s in the details and stuff. The observer's point of view.”

“Can you show me?” 

“Like?”

“Touch me.”

The napkin is clenched tightly in your hand, your nails ripping through the soft paper. Warmth flushes through your body, and you fear that he can notice the change in you. You know that he doesn’t mean it that way, but for him to say something so- so, intimate sounding, without meaning to, made your heart skip a beat. His eyes widen, and he stumbles over his words. “No- Not- Not like that. I hadn’t meant for it- I’m so terribly sorry-”

“It’s fine,” you reassure, waving your hand in front of you. “It’s cool,” you smile at him and he stops his ramble of words. There’s a rapid beat that bruises inside of your chest at his words- even if he did mean them innocently. “But you know, they touched you at the cafeteria too. They went up to you and touched your bicep.” You lift your hand, reaching over the table, letting it hover over his forearm. Glancing at him, he’s watching you, and you close your fist, pulling your hand back to you. 

“And you believe that all of those actions are due to the fact that they like me?”

Shrugging, you suck in your bottom lip. “It’s just my theory,” you whisper, embarrassment laced into your words. “They wanted to eat lunch with you too.”

The two drinks remain untouched and outside, you can hear sirens. His hand lifts up to rub over his mouth, and he has this faraway look in his eyes. “Okay,” he mumbles. 

“Okay?”

“Is there anything else that you want to add?”

You pout. “No.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a worker clean a table with a rag. You watch for a moment, and turn your head when chairs are fixed back into their positions, scraping along the floor. A part of you feels unsure about the conversation. While you wouldn’t believe that the scientist had a crush on you, you had at least humored the idea, but knowing that he isn’t interested in you, makes you want to go home.

You open your mouth to speak, and he beats you to it. “I’m hungry,” he states.

“I told you you could have gotten a pastry,” you point out.

“I want dinner. An actual dinner.” Sitting straight, it’s as if he has a new resolve. “Are you hungry?”

Blinking in surprise, you lift your shoulders. “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I could eat something.”

“Good,” he nods to himself, and stands up, the chair squeaks against the floor. You follow his eyes, looking up at him as he adjusts the chair and stands by the table. “I’d like for you to accompany me to dinner.” Clearing his throat, his shoulders bunch together, and any confidence that he did have, is slowly evaporating. “That- That is if you want to, of course.”

You scoff with a smile. “Yeah, I’m game with that, Dr. Ohnn.” 

“Jonathan. You can call me Jonathan. I don’t mind it if you call me that.” He twists his hands, interlocking them, and pulling on the back of his palm, his skin stretching thin over his knuckles. 

Straightening yourself, you nod. “Okay. Jonathan it is. The same um, goes to you of course. You can call me by my name.”

“I already do,” and the way that he says your name, softly and tenderly, held with a smile, makes you turn your head and scratch at your neck in a desperate attempt to hide how wide your smile is.

“Mhm,” you squeak out. Standing up, you make sure to push the chair in and grab at the loose napkins and your drink. 

Following behind you, he throws his drink into the trash. This time, he’s made sure that he stands in front of you, stretching his arm out to hold the door open for you. Mumbling, you thank him, standing beside the door as he goes to open the passenger side door.

None of what he’s doing is helping quell your attraction to the scientist.

Clicking his seatbelt, he starts the car, driving away from the coffee shop. “Do you have a preference?”

“On food?” He nods, fumbling with the radio that plays the song of the week. You tap your foot to the beat. “Um, I think I’m good with most stuff. Restaurants are pretty inclusive about diets and stuff most days.”

“There’s a burger place on the way to Alchemax, do you know the one I’m talking about?” 

“With the really good burgers?” 

“Yes. Would you like to go there?” 

“Isn’t that too far?”

“They opened one relatively nearby.”

“Oh okay,  yeah.” You nod. “I’m game with that.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The drive to the restaurant passes by quickly as you chat about miscellaneous things- the weather, work, different coffee shops. Uncomfortable with silences, you keep the conversation going, jumping from topic to topic, trying to make something stick. However, the driver seems to be content with silence, nodding and giving one-worded answers, only really contributing to the conversation when you give your opinion on something.

Pulling into the restaurant, he takes a glance at you, and you smile in response. He opens his door, and steps out, and you follow close behind. The door is held open for you, you order your own meal, and before you can pat your pockets to find your card, he’s already paying for the meal. You aren’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. You feel good- happy and flustered even- but you can’t kid yourself. It’s dinner. With a scientist who you have pestered for a good while about what exactly is going on within Alchemax. It’s dinner with a guy who you had coffee with- twice. That’s it. 

When he sits in front of you, and smiles, you think you’re about to pass out.

Oh. He’s really cute.

No. Whatever feelings you’re having is a moment of weakness. Maybe you should download a dating app or something. 

Your newfound emotions aren’t settled by the end of the meal where you tell him a story about an old job that you used to work. He’s an avid listener, expressive and laughing when you start to smile uncontrollably. He pushes his tray closer to yours, letting you snag what little left of fries that he has. Even with bags under his eyes, he remains attentive during your story.

“No, and like my supervisor tells me “Well whole milk is regular milk,” and I’m so adamant-” you laugh mid-sentence- “that two percent is regular milk. Or like can be qualified as regular milk.”

“Why were you so adamant about it?” He laughs softly, leaning forward.

“Honestly?” You lean forward, stealing a fry of his and plopping it in your mouth. “I just really hate being wrong. Anyways-” you wave your hand in the air- “we have this whole spiel about milk of all things. And I tell him that I like oat milk and he’s like-” you deepen your voice to portray your supervisor- “‘Oat milk isn’t even milk. How do you even milk an oat?’”

“How do you milk an oat?” He asks with knitted brows.

“I-” you pause and tap at the table. “I always thought you blended it. You know, like peanut butter?”

“Yeah, but people don’t drink peanut butter.”

“I bet you that there is at least one person in the world who does drink peanut butter.”

“Okay, you find me that person and I’ll buy you a coffee next time.”

“Yeah, yeah-” you wave your hand, trying not to let your competitive side leak out. “Anyways, I’m sure they make almond milk the same way. Blended.” You lift a hand and point with your index, swirling it in the air.

“I’m partial to oat,” he admits.

“I gotta be honest, I think all milk tastes the same,” you whisper out the confession, covering the side of your mouth with one hand.

“Oh, now you’re being difficult,” he says with a roll of his eyes, adjusting his glasses by the leg. 

“I’m not, I swear! It just all tastes the same. Doesn’t stop me from asking for it at the coffee shops.”

“Even if it tastes the same?”

“I like feeling fancy,” you lilt, and he laughs.

“So you’re tricking your mind?” 

“Oh totally.” 

“With the fake milks?”

“Real, regular milk,” you counter. “Soy is fake- I think.”

“Oh, soy is fake, but the others aren’t.” He scoffs. “That’s where you draw the line.”

You laugh, taking the final sip of your drink. “Yeah, obviously.”

He joins your laughter, dipping his head down, and stray hairs fall in front of him. When he lifts his head, his smile is wide and open, and he has such a nice laugh- deep and the type that shakes his body. Pride makes your chest swell and heat burn over your cheeks at making him not only smile, but laugh. Fighting back the urge to move away the tray pieces of hair that have fallen, you clench your hand into a fist, your laughter slowly dying down. 

A quiet moment befalls the two of you, and you both look at each other. You rub the bottom of your shoe over the top of the other, and check the time. With a click of your tongue, you gather your trash onto the tray.

“We should probably get going. It’s close to closing time for them,” you explain, nodding your head back to the register where two workers chat.

“Oh, should we?” Despite questioning you, he follows your example and gathers his own trash.

“As someone who used to work customer service jobs, yeah.” Tossing your trash into the designated area, you stack the tray overhead. “I’m pretty sure that the employees probably hate us by now.”

“Good point.” He holds the door open for you, and you follow him back across the mostly empty parking lot. Inside the car, he waits for the engine to heat, and he turns to you. “I apologize for keeping you so late.”

“No, this was,” you hesitate choosing your words, “fun.” You nod your head and pull your bag up onto your lap. “I had a good time.”

“I’m glad that you did,” he says softly, giving you a final look before he gives his attention to the road. 

-

After a long day, you stand in front of your building, Jonathan joining you. You’ve always been much more comfortable with chatter than you have been with silence, but as you stand with him, you don’t feel as uncomfortable. You might even like the silence if it gives you reason to look at him. You stand on the steps leading to your home, finally looking him in the eye, and you hate the fact that he has such soft brown eyes. 

“Thanks for driving me home. And getting me a drink.” You kick at the ground, scuffing up at the dirt that lays in a thin layer. “And paying for dinner.” A jitteriness falls over you, and you can only twist and grip onto the strap of your bag. “Thanks for all of that Dr.-” he gives you a narrowed look and you quickly correct yourself- “Jonathan.”

“You don’t have to add my title,” he tells you. Beside him, his hand twists at the hem of his shirt. 

“Force of habit,” you say shrugging. Clearing your throat, you start. “Still, thanks. This was nice, Jonathan.” You like his name, and you hate the way that it makes you feel.

He nods, and raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, thank you for accompanying me to dinner. I had a good time.” He says your name delicately, rolling off his tongue, and you never thought that you would want to hear your name repeated over and over.

“No worries,” you answer breathlessly. You can’t think around him. Everything feels as if it’s too much- too hot, too close, too sweet. 

It was one day- two technically- but it was a short amount of time. You wear your heart on your sleeve despite trying so desperately not to. All it took was one day with him, and you think that you might like him. 

Oh, how you wish he was with someone else, then you could give yourself a reason to look away from him. 

With cotton stuffed into your mouth, you don’t trust yourself any further. You think that you should go inside- that maybe you shouldn’t be taking up his time. A part of you wonders when you’ll see him again. Shifting your weight between each foot, you pat your hands on your thighs, drying off the clammy feeling. You wish he would start talking again. Or maybe you should. If you go inside, then this could all be over. You turn your foot, and wave your hand in a goodbye, when he starts to speak.

“Will you be joining another tour group?” There’s a hint of hope that’s weaved into his words. He’s looking at you, and you wonder if you look pretty.

“As much as I enjoyed it, no.” You think you imagine seeing his shoulders slump at your words. “It wasn’t really for me. It was nice, but much more kid-centered.” His glasses are slipping down his nose and you wonder if he’d get upset if you pushed them up. “Will you be going to the café tomorrow?”

“I work tomorrow,” he admits.

“Oh,” you clear your throat, and fighting away the burning feeling that is burning in your chest, you suck in a deep breath. It makes sense to do this now. You have to take a risk. It’s dumb and highly unprofessional, but you need to tell him something. He has to stick around, just for a moment longer, just so you could get whatever pink and sweet is in you, out. “Would-” he word comes out much softer than you would have liked- “Would you want to exchange numbers, maybe?” You hope he says no.

“Really?” He looks so shocked, and so happy. A grin tilts his lips upwards, and like seeing his smile.

Nodding, you rub the flat of your middle finger against your jawline. “Yeah. It would be a better alternative than meeting during lunch on a tour group or a random chance meeting at the café. Only if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m okay with it,” he says eagerly.

You nod eagerly, unable to fend off your smile. “Cool, cool.” You suck in a deep breath, and wait for a moment, before you start to pat your pockets, pulling out your phone and clicking at the ‘New Contact’ section. Holding the phone to him, he grabs the device and places his information. 

Holding the phone tight in your hands, you tap your fingers against the back of the case. “I’ll message you later?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He lifts his hand and waves at you. You watch his back as he steps into his car.

You can hardly believe that you even made it inside without dropping your keys from excitement and nerves. Behind your door, you clasp your hand over your mouth, pitifully trying to stop the smile that beams across your features. Oh, this isn’t fair. And oh, you can’t wait to message him.

[grimace-writes]

New Kid in Town *.•.*• No. 2

GN!Reader x Task Force 141 (feat. Alejandro + Roldolfo)

| No.1 | No.2 | No.3 | No.4 | Masterlist |

Summary: The Reader must show the team what they are made of during a sparing session with Ghost.

Word count: 1449

(3rd Person POV | They/Them so anyone can read :) | Early to Mid Twenties) [Unfortunately contains Google translated Spanish...I apologize (˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) Also the Reader is written to be a badass, they deserve it]

[Enjoy! (๑ º ᗜ <; ๑) ノ♡ ]

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Their 141 and MSF friends were really like their own little found family, who functioned mostly by themselves in their own little corner of the base. There were plenty of other teams that shared the other factions of the base, though it seemed rare to see them as Price and the gang were higher on the food chain. The captain made sure they all participated in training with the recruits or other teams for missions, along with helping the other teams on certain larger missions. Seeing as {Y/N} was still fresh meat themselves, they were exempted from participating in group training until the next week. Price wanted to gauge their skill first hand before releasing them to the populous.

“Thanks for the meal, guys..It was good. I hope whatever I make will be up to par like this..” {Y/N} said standing from their place at the table to grab all the empty dishes.

“I’m sure it’s going to be just fine and you are very welcome.” Rudy says, handing his plate to them with a smile before grabbing the leftovers to pack up.

“Sí, estaba delicioso. Gracias, mi amigos.” (*Yes, it was delicious. Thank you, my friends.*) Alejandro joined in collecting the dishes to help with cleaning.

Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost stayed seated as the three went to the kitchen with the mess from the table. {Y/N} rinsed and scrubbed the plates as Ale wiped and put them away, he made sure to explain where each item went. Ghost and Price seemed to be talking about work things as Price’s eyebrows furrowed when {Y/N} glanced at him as they put dishes away. {Y/N} met the Captain's gaze which softened the older man’s expression, “Mind coming over here a sec, {C/N}?”

{Y/N} nodded, excusing themself from their task wiping their hands dry before making their way over to the two superior officers. “Yes?”

“With the day still young, Ol’ Ghost here suggests we start your training early. This will give us the opportunity to get a head start on your training regime, if you are up to it that is. It’d be understandable if you need a full day to get settled, though we’d have to start tomorrow at the latest.” Price paused to finish the remnants of coffee in a mug that read ‘World’s Greatest Boss’ in comical lettering as he let {Y/N} mull over the options. It didn’t take long for their answer, they were eager to get started mixed with the anxiety they felt earlier fed their decision.

“Good choice, hen. You two can discuss the details more at the training halls, for now best go back to your previous task.” Price them a smile, cheekily sliding his empty mug towards {Y/N} causing them to snort as they took the glass.

˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

{Y/N} sighed, wiping the dampness from their hands on the front of their pants. They went to the restroom before they went to the session, which separated them Soap and Ghost who were walking with them to the training halls. With a quickened pace they made their way through the halls to their destination, Ghost stood alone by the sparring mats in a room filled with various types of gym equipment.

“Thanks for your patience, sir.” They said jogging over to him, “Where did the sergeant go?”

A pair of silent footsteps made their way to the pair, making a direct beeline towards {Y/N}, who had their back to their attacker. The person held out a ‘knife’ going to sneak attack them, though their plan was foiled by {Y/N} slamming their heel into his foot. With swift action they rounded a kick backwards, hitting the person in the stomach sending him to the floor. They held their fists up to shield themselves from anymore onslaught, a deep grimace in their face as they looked to their attacker.

Soap laid on his side groaning, one hand on his stomach, the other holding his foot. Ghost looked dumbfounded as Soap began to laugh, “That's pure class! How did ya dae that?"

"I took self-defense classes during intermediate (middle) school, then Karate and gymnastics as my electives all throughout secondary (high) school," {Y/N} picked up the discarded rubber knife pointing towards Soap and straightened their posture. They earned themselves confused looks (well eyes in Ghost’s case), which made them feel a little self conscious. “What can I say? I was a military brat, raised by two overprotective commanders who wanted to make sure no one could ever hurt me.”

‘Plus my mentor made sure I could survive any circumstance during the summers, but that’s a story for another day.’ They thought to themselves with a shiver of the memories of those days.

“You’re need for private sessions makes more sense, now” The poor beaten up Scottish man said, he was hoisted up by Ghost. Soap groaned when he put pressure on his foot but was fine otherwise (his pride was more damaged than anything). “You really are something else, best to rein in those feral tendencies, huh? Though one of these days, you mind showing me how ya dae that?” Mactavish walked over to {Y/N} to give them a friendly victory shake, which they gladly took with a smile.

“Maybe, suds.” They said jokingly back.

{Y/N}’s actions made the silent lieutenant more intrigued by them, their skills and techniques seems to match the intel in their file. He felt like he was going to have to take their match more seriously now, it broke his cold persona making him chuckle. “{C/N}. You may have been able to defeat an opponent sneaking up on you..” Ghost crossed his arms leaning back into his full height, tilting his head to the side to stare down at them. “..Let’s find out how good you are against an opponent head on.”

{Y/N} placed their hands on their hips, matching the lieutenant’s gaze before making their way onto the actual training mate. They held the rubber knife to Ghost as he walked over, he shook his head in response.

“Nope, you are going to be the attacker for this exercise.”

{Y/N} gave him a confused look for a second, the plan they quickly came up with went out the window. Having the new prompt they quickly formulated a new plan, with Soap it was easier to find his weak spot and exploit them (plus natural instinct for self preservation). Ghost’s masked expressions mixed with the overall difficulty to read his body language, made this a harder challenge.

‘Attacking the lieutenant, this is a life or death moment..Fight like you are gonna die..’ {Y/N} thought as they moved into an offensive position, Ghost grunted in satisfaction as he matched them in defense.

‘My only chance will be to catch him off guard, he’s probably expecting me to run up and attack..Perfect.’ They stepped forward letting their guard down, making their way to the very confused lieutenant. Ghost held his guard as they twirled the knife in their hand quickening their pace. Once they were at arms length the lieutenant went to swing at them, not taking any chances for them to gain any more ground towards him. {Y/N}’s slid their foot back into a slight fencing lunge, narrowly avoiding Ghost’s fist from colliding with their face, they harshly clapped their hands upwards towards Ghost’s face. This abnormal technique caused Ghost to blink briefly, giving them the tiniest advantage they were gambling for.

{Y/N} grabbed his extended arm, which made Ghost tense and held himself grounded, allowing them to swing through the small space between his legs. They let him go as they slid quickly twisting their body, pouncing up to hop on his back and wrapped their legs around his waist. Ghost grunted as Y/N held the knife against his throat, their other arm wrapped under his arm as they rested their head on his shoulder. “I think I handled myself pretty well, Lieutenant. I win..”

A loud whistle followed by group clapping ran through the empty space, Price and Gaz snuck in to join Soap to watch the match. {Y/N} released Ghost as they gently got off him, feeling awkward with the peanut gallery seeing them clinging to the lieutenant. They cleared their throat taking a step away from Ghost, an expression explaining how they felt clear on their face.

“You did good..” Ghost’s voice cut through praise of the others, he wasn’t the type to easily give out compliments. {Y/N}’s chest filled with pride, “Thank you, sir.”

To be continued..

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Author's Note: If you recognize the technique that inspired the Reader’s, you get 5 gold stars ⭐. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the story. Let me know what you thought of it, Love Love~ (o´ ω `o)💕💕

| No.1 | No.2 | No.3 | No.4 | Masterlist |

[landboundstar-writing]

Family Pictures

Another repost of an old story that was posted on my main blog and AO3.

If you like the story, consider tipping the author. If you can't, please reblog.

SFW

The envelope was sitting on the laptop he had left out when he went to get coffee.

With a sigh, Tim pushed the envelope onto the couch and opened up his laptop before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Seriously, does he think I don't know what his handwriting looks like?"

He finished reading a few reports and took another drink of coffee, feeling the jolt of warmth and caffeine hitting.

He glanced over at the envelope, but didn't touch it.

And nearly jumped when a hand reached over the couch, and dropped a bag on the couch.

"Dick." He wasn't completely sure if he was using his oldest brother's name, or just describing him for making him jump, but Dick just laughed.

"One does not live by caffeine alone." He leaned over the couch, jiggling the bag, and Tim smelled the food from the takeout containers. His stomach rumbled and he decided to move his laptop so he could eat.

And as soon as he did, Dick saw the envelope.

"What's this?"

"Damian. Don't know, didn't open it."

But he didn't need to, did he? Damian had done this before. Notes left to show he was "the superior Robin", photographs of awkward moments in the field, anything he could do to get under Tim's skin. And Tim really didn't need Damian for things to get under his skin today.

"Well, I will."

"Dick, I don't need to know."

"I do. Especially if I am going to talk to Damian. He can't keep doing things like this and expect us to trust him."

"Fine, go ahead."

Tim grabbed a container of pan fried noodles and a burrito, trying to turn his irritation into confusion at Dick's jumbled smorgasbord of food.

"Maybe he is learning though. Tim, I think you should look at this one."

"Fine." Tim wiped his hands off and held up a hand to take whatever Damian had decided to send him today.

The hand drawn picture was a surprise, since Damian was ferally protective of his art. But it was the subject of the picture that held Tim completely still. 

The dancing, laughing couple who were dressed to the nines were exactly how they had looked.

Tim just hadn't thought about his parents being like that, hadn't seen them that way in his head even, for years.

But looking at the picture.

"I was checking in because I remembered today was the anniversary of the attack on your parents, when you found them. But Damian wasn't here when that went down. I think he was trying to help."

"Like you bringing food. I guess the picture wouldn't run off, unlike the cat."

Dick snorted. "You're lucky he didn't bring you his cow. But I think you should keep this."

Tim looked at the picture, and nodded. He put it in his wallet so that he could look at it more later and picked up the food again, because he did need to have more than just coffee.

"I have a couple more reports to do, but if you want, we can game after, until you have to go on patrol."

"I could do that."

"I'll send you an invite."

Tim read the report, hearing both pings as the invites to join his game went out.

"You invited Duke?"

Tim shook his head. "He is scheduled to patrol by the docks for two hours yet. But, Damian wasn't scheduled for patrol. There should be a couple hours that he can game before bedtime."

A ping came back to Tim's phone and he figured he could finish reading the reports in time to game.

Dick sat down on the arm of the couch. "I'm proud of both of you for trying."

"The picture gives me hope that Damian is learning."

Dick gave him a look. "You're planning on absolutely murdering him in the game?"

Tim smiled. "Absolutely!"

[taeyegu]

i like you — 016. code red: broken heart

previous // next 

word count — 1.2k

warning(s) — none... overwhelming fluff T^T

"do you want a piece?" y/n looked up from her ricebowl to see dr. moon sliding his piece of strawberry cake over to her.

"i'm fine," y/n said with a tired smile, "you should enjoy the cake that seokmin got for you."

the members of gossip group table was quieter during this late night shift. not only were the medical professionals tired, but everyone was still on slight edge in regards to y/n and dr. choi.

"has there been anything new with you y/n?" seungkwan asked from across the table. "i've noticed you and dr. kim have gotten pretty close recently!" there was a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. y/n shook her head with a soft chuckle,

"dr. kim and i are just friends!" there was a small paused before y/n continued, "plus, work relationships are never a good idea--i don't recommend you young interns ever getting involved with anyone you work with! especially if they're in the same department as you!" a soft sigh left y/n's lips, "...and if they're technically your superior..."

frowns were shared around the table. it's not that y/n and seungcheol's relationship would have been looked down on, in fact, most people working in and around svt hospital were betting on when the two would get together.

"well, unfortunately it's a little too late for someone..." vernon said softly while gesturing over to his younger friend dejectedly pushing his vegetables around on his plate.

"love is for losers anyways," chan said, "you deserve so much better y/n! we'll both get through this together!"

before y/n had the chance to respond, jeonghan's number appeared on her phone. y/n answered it quickly as jeonghan seldom interrupts her lunch unless it was an absolute emergency, "hello jeonghan? is something wrong?"

"y/n, thank god you picked up so quick!" the doctor responded out of breath, "code red, i need your help with a patient right now in room 095--"

before anyone at the table could say anything, y/n bolted at the mention of code red. skipping the elevator and running up the few flights of stairs, y/n burst the door open to see dr. yoon standing by a patient.

"y/n!" jeonghan turned around and hung up his phone, "please hurry over here, this patient desperately needs your help!"

y/n walked over and instead of being met with a patient, saw dr. choi seungcheol laying on the bed with his eyes screwed shut. y/n scoffed, slightly irritated at her lunch being interrupted and having flying up the stairs, "is this some kind of joke? i'm going back down to finish my food..."

jeonghan grabbed y/n's arm quickly and turned her around to face the blushing doctor laying on the bed, "y/n you have to help save this patient! he's suffering from a broken heart and you're the only person that can help!" y/n saw a small smile appear on jeonghan's lips. before her own lips could curl up, and intrusive thought crossed her mind,

"this is absolutely ridiculous, why doesn't this patient just get nurse kim to help him out!" and y/n stormed out the door.

seungcheol quickly sprung up from the bed and after his nurse before jeonghan could stop any of the two. y/n felt another arm grab her's but this one felt slightly rougher than her scheming friend. she turned around to dr. choi staring directly at her. "y/n what did you mean by that?" he asked her softly.

an unsettling feeling arose in y/n's chest. and before y/n could stop herself, all emotions kept inside came flowing out, "i know you and nurse kim have something going on!" y/n crossed her arms in front of her chest and backed away from the man to put some space between the two, "everyone in this whole hospital does..." a confused noise escaped the doctor in front of her but before dr. choi could say anything, y/n continued on her rant, "i don't want to get in between anything that you have going on with nurse kim. but then you're always getting me coffee, wishing me a good morning, dropping off snacks and lunches at my desk... it's not fair for you to always do this to me." y/n's voice got even softer as tears started forming in her eyes, "i-if you keep doing this to me, i'll never be able to move on from you dr. choi..."

without thinking, seungcheol pulled y/n into his embrace. as y/n struggled to break free, seungcheol finally spoke up, "i'm sorry about all of this y/n. i'm so stupid. jeonghan and josh have been telling me this forever but i was too stubborn to listen to them." a sigh left the man's lips, "hurting you is the last thing i ever wanted to do to the person i love... i'm so sorry y/n."

a gasp could be heard from behind seungcheol's broad shoulders. y/n snuck a glance and saw nurse kim walking by with dr. hong. steam could be seen coming from nurse kim's ears and before nurse kim could interrupt, seungcheol pulled back and looked at y/n lovingly. his hands grabbed y/n's cheeks, stroking them tenderly to wipe away her fallen tears, "nurse kim and i have absolutely nothing going on--you're all that i want y/n." seungcheol said confidently.

steps could be heard running away from the pair so y/n assumed that nurse kim had left. "please say something to me y/n."

seungcheol's deep voice pulled y/n from her trance. y/n looked up at the beautiful man in front of her. the same person who she had so easily fallen head over heels for her first day at svt hospital. the same person who always displayed his dedication not only towards his patients under his care, but also the people working in his department. the same person who made y/n's heart beat uncontrollably every single day.

"i-i uh this is a lot for me to take in, i think i need some--"

"y/n please don't tell him you need some time!" jeonghan's voice rang out. the two turned around to see dr. yoon and dr. hong holding each other close with tears threatening to fall from the two men's eyes. dr. hong nodded feverishly,

"if you reject him now, he'll go around making our lives a living hell--please save us!"

a small laugh left y/n's lips. her hands found dr. choi's and she looked back at him with the same adoration in his eyes, "dinner this friday night--just the two of us, and take me to a better resturant than you did nurse kim."

a huge smile formed on seungcheol's face, "it's a date y/n."

[cloudyyoimiya]

To Be Human; Paul Verlaine

Format: Oneshot

Possible warnings: spoilers for Stormbringer and Age 15

"How do you pronounce your surname?"

Verlaine looked up at you, mildly confused as he tilted his head. He didn't know who you were, nor what your intentions were. You looked like you could have been a mafioso, but something about you was off. You seemed cheerful-happy, even. Verlaine didn't know what to make of it.

Only a few moments ago you had entered the basement with his meal for the afternoon in hand. It looked slightly better than usual. What he was normally given was bland food; rations if you wanted to label it as such. But what you held in your hands was a tray that consisted of a bowl of tomato soup, a small loaf of bread, and herbal tea. It looked beyond appetizing.

"Do you want the English or French pronunciation?"

You placed down the tray of food on the nearby coffee table that was within arms length of the couch that Verlaine was sitting on. After a moment of hesitation Verlaine picked up the tea first and smelled it. It didn't smell like cinnamon, so he thought that it was safe to drink.

When he joined the French government before he ran away, he was taught various things. One of these things being how to determine if a drink was poisoned or not. Things like this soon became second nature to him after years of nonstop practice.

"English, please."

Verlaine took a sip of his tea. It was raspberry, one of his favorite flavors. He let out a soft hum of approval before speaking again.

"Ver-layn," he spoke. He then made eye contact with you. "If I may ask, who are you? You clearly aren't my normal assistant."

You avoided eye contact and started to fiddle with your hands. "They were sent on a mission and was killed in action. I'm their replacement, (Name). It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Verlaine."

Verlaine looked at you skeptically, then reached out his right hand while keeping the tea in his left. You took this as a signal to shake his hand, so you promptly done so albeit a little shakily.

He didn't seem to care about his old attendants death. He wore the same bored expression he always did, but this time with a little bit of uncertainty laced into it. To say the least it was off putting by quite a lot. Though, who were you to judge him? Verlaine was a powerful mafia executive after all; one that even rivaled Chuuya Nakahara.

His grip on your hand was tight, so you made sure that your grip was almost as tight. His hands weren't all that soft, but that was likely because of time in the field. The two of you then shook hands quickly and took back each of your hands. It seemed like the both of you would rather not shake hands.

"There's no need to call me "mister" You're my new assistant, so I'll treat you as my equal," Verlaine spoke as he took the bowl of soup. "Alright?"

You blinked a few times before responding. "Alright... But are you sure? You are my superior after all."

He waved his hand dismissively. "I don't mind at all—I'm sure."

Verlaine took the spoon that you left on the tray and scooped some soup onto it. He then brought it to his mouth, blew on it, then took a bite. A ghost of a smile appeared on Verlaine's features before he immediately went back to his usual poker face. Who knew that the King of Assassins liked warm soup?

"The soup rather good. Did you make it yourself?" He asked after taking a few more bites.

"Oh! Yes I did. I'm glad you like it," you spoke with a smile. You then reached into your pocket and grabbed a pear. "I heard that you liked pears so here you go. I hope you don't mind me not putting it on the tray; there was no more room left for it.!

He took the pear after a moment of skepticism. "Thank you. I do not mind in the slightest." He then paused for a moment.

"Though, who told you that I liked pears? Was it Kouyou?"

"Yes it was. She was the one that recommended that I should work for you," you said as you shifted your weight onto your left leg. "She also said that I should give you a pear to get into your good graces."

Verlaine smirked a little bit. "Well, you already accomplished that."

"Really? That's surprising...”

The man let out a short chuckle before taking another bite of the soup. After he swallowed he started to speak once more. "Why it so surprising? You've done nothing to set off any alarm bells in my mind. If anything you've been really nice to me."

"Ah well I'm really glad," you said with a faint smile. "Anyways, shall we discuss what my duties are as your personal attendant are or do you already have a good grasp on it from your old attendant?"

"I think I'm quite alright."

You nodded as you took out a piece of paper. You then handed it to Verlaine. "Then I'II leave you to enjoying your food, sir. Please call me if you need anything. I'm more than happy to help," you said, attempting to be courteous.

Verlaine internally rolled his eyes as you said your last sentence. You? Be happy to help someone like him? He's not even human. He doesn't deserve nor need your help in the slightest.

"I'll be quite alright. Though, thank you for the offer," Verlaine muttered as he checked his watch. "You best be on your way now. It's getting late."

"Alright. Goodbye, Mr. Verlaine."

And with that, you started to head up the stairs to leave the basement. As you were doing so, Verlaine rolled his eyes at your words. He told you not to address him as mister, but yet you did so regardless. Were you just being kind, or trying to get onto his nerves? The executive honestly couldn't tell at that current point in time.

Verlaine let out a loud sigh and leaned back into his chair.

~

Day turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months eventually turned into a year. For you, time had flew by rather quickly considering that you somehow managed to have fun while being Verlaine's attendant, though you couldn't tell if you could say the same for Verlaine himself. He had remained the same all through out your services; his stoic expression never once faltering. But you knew it was to be expected from the once King of Assassins.

Though, little did you know that the mafia executive has become quite fond of you.

Verlaine would often look forward to your visits, making sure to clear up his schedule just to spend time with you.

At first his actions shocked even himself. Why wouldn't they? He never thought that he'd become attached to another person ever again after the realization of Rimbaud's significance to him once he passed, but here we was, enjoying your conversations about rather mundane topics.

Then the realization hit him like a storm. He liked you more than a friend. In fact, he loved you. He was very surprised that he could even feel something like this.

He tried to get you out of his life once he made this realization, he really did. At one point he even considered killing you, but he just couldn't bring himself to it. He thought he was growing soft, but in reality he was just in love.

So, after a while of internal battles, he decided to ask you out on a date. He has never been on a real one, the most he has done was take out an attractive person somewhere out on a "date" so he didn't look suspicious while going on countless missions. He had no real experience with romance up until this point because of this.

When he did ask you out though, it was rather sudden. He honestly wasn't expecting his words to come out so suddenly like that while conversing with you.

As of now, the two of you were sitting in his office. Verlaine was filling out some paperwork, and you were simply reading a book, ready for any orders he would give.

Eventually after a while he looked up at you and gave you a small smile. "Dear?"

Dear. It was a nickname that he gave you a while ago. He insisted that it was to show his platonic relationship with you, but you didn't buy it one bit.

"Hm?"

Verlaine hesitated. "Have you ever been on a date before?"

"I have. It was when I was still a teenager, though I barely remember who it was with," you said with a small chuckle. "Why do you ask?"

"May I take you out on one? A date, I mean."

You froze. “I beg your pardon? Did I hear that right?"

Verlaine's cheeks slightly flushed; it was barely noticeable. "You heard me right. I want to take you out on a date."

"Are you sure? I mean I'll accept but-"

"(Name)," he chuckled under his breath. "I'm sure. I've been thinking about it for a while."

"Ah well, I'm glad!" You said with a smile.

"Where should we go?"

"Wherever you want."

"You know I'm not good at making decisions, Mr. Verlaine."

"Paul."

"Right, sorry. But my statement still stands. I think it would be best that you choose where we go," you spoke gently.

Verlaine sighed. "Alright, l'll choose the place. When are you free?"

You thought for a brief moment. "Any time, really. I don't have much going on outside of work."

"Is that so? Then... how does tonight sound?"

He asked with a soft smile. "Is that alright with you?"

"Really? Alright then! That's alright with me!" You said enthusiastically. "What time? Should I dress formal or casual?"

Verlaine chuckled once more at your enthusiasm. He seemed happy that you were happy. "How about six o'clock? And you can dress formally if you so wish."

"Alright! Wait, what time is it?"

Verlaine rolled up his right sleeve and looked at his watch. "A quarter to five."

You shot up out of your seat. "Really? Oh, I gotta get ready... May I go home early?"

"Of course you may," Verlaine spoke dreamily.

"I'Il see you later then!"

You went to go up the stairs then paused. "Wait, one last thing."

"Hm? What is it? Is something wrong?"

You walked over to Verlaine's side then lightly grabbed his chin. You then brought your faces closer and have him a quick kiss on the cheek. Once you pulled back you could see how Verlaine's face flushed even more.

"Alright. Now I'm ready to go. C'ya later, Paul!"

And with that, you jogged up the stairs. Verlaine silently watched you leave, putting a hand to his cheek where you kissed him. He seemed entranced as he watched you go up the stairs.

Maybe, just maybe, you could make him feel like the human he was supposed to be.

this is my apology for not updating in 9 days

[senka-mesecine]

thoughts on a fic of the reader drinking with Barnes and getting handsy? :0

Tennessee Whiskey.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

gif by the wonderful @woman-with-no-name

---

-"Coffee, Sergeant?"-

Holding a canteen by its metal handle, the heat of the tar black beverage twirls and dances straight into the precipice of your nostrils when you approach Barnes with an inquiry, nose pointing at the bottle of Jack in his hand, already halfway drained. He was downing spirit like it was water. -"To take off the edge from that?"- You clarify once he gives you a look to establish exactly what you meant; usually no valid sign of inebriation on him even after severe alcohol intake --- even his gaze was as focused as sharp as ever; two piercing needles in a frame of blue. Three empty bottles surround him like so many captured trophies. -"I ain' even drunk yet."- He teases, slightly smug, and you believed him. You believed that liquor was like a river under the bridge for Barnes; it just flows away somewhere, washing over him and through him, leaving him keen, alert old self where it would wreck anyone else.

-"I know."-

Like a good sport, you let him have his point because it was truthful.

No use in denying it.

Fact is, you were convinced if he was handed a rifle he could just about shoot a pigeon in the eye flying even in this state.

-"Pretty fascinating, three bottles of Jack in."-

You have to assess, allowing a slight bit of amusement, however well meaning, to slip past the perimeter of you mouth. -"I'd be tipsy after one bigger swig."- You joke setting down the coffee canteen; nobody asked you to make one and certainly not Barnes himself, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't do this simply because you wanted to. For him specifically. -"Your constitution's really something."- You add as a way of a tiny tease and the gaze he gives you is inexplicably matter-of-factly, like he wasn't even going to deny it, however wordlessly. That's how Tennessee men are like, you borderline imagine him saying in the most puffed up way conceivable. At least Bob was, that's for sure. -"Still. Here you go, in case you change your mind. It's black, piping hot and it's strong."- You gesture to the coffee next to him set down on closed ammo crate. No milk. No sugar. -"You drinkin'?"- He asks, seated down on a collection of sacks serving to barricade up the premises of the foxhole, his legs sprawled out on the bare ground. Yeah, you came here looking for him to this lonely part of the camp. You understood most people here at base would almost call you a fool for searching for Barnes when it wasn't even absolutely necessary, warning you that if you go looking for the devil, you're likely to find him too. -"No, sir, sorry. More leftover for you."- You go the route of diplomacy and political correctness. No drinking on the job for you. Not to mention, however tempting the idea, you weren't lying or being overly humble; you'd probably be knocked out after two major swigs. Didn't possess Barnes's uncanny ability to hold his liquor. -"Straight from the bottle ain' for everyone."- He cocks his head ragging you. -"Same goes for them metal canteens."- He adds with a drawl pointing his chin at the coffee you've left him with, not a single sign of slurring from his lips. -"946ml's gonna knock'ya straight into next Monday and then you'll be useful to no one 'round here and I can't stand slackers."- He prods staring straight at you standing over him and somehow, merely the thought of disappointing Barnes leaves you crestfallen. You loved him. It was why you were disguising your partiality to him with the act of serving a superior officer coffee as mere deference.

His eyes linger during a moment of silence like he knew.

Barnes always stared at you like he was privy to your deepest secrets anyway.

-"Ever drink from sumn's mouth?"-

Your breath hitches in your throat not unlike an unchewed morsel of food.

Wait? Did you hear that correctly!?

-"Sir?"-

You stammer out, nearly choking.

That's...not where you figured this conversation to go; At best, you hoped you'd be dismissed, at worst, you figured he'd tell you to scram and leave him alone.

Barnes says nothing, he only glares --- he didn't like to repeat himself.

So you decide to answer the inquiry you've more than heard.

-"No?"-

You manage, admittedly awkwardly, chuckling. What a notion.

Was that slang for something? Drinking from someone's mouth? No? No, it wasn't.

It was very literal.

-"Thinkin' 'bout givin' it a shot anytime soon?"-

He continues and you swear you spot the hint of a grin, the image of his parted lips, the liquor warmed up by the cavern of his mouth and his swirling tongue allowing your own to exchange the fluid unwittingly makes you fidget. Sure, you thought of Barnes in colorful terms before, to put it lightly. For a long time, in fact. Although, you always figured you were allowed your own private musings, hearing them vocalized this openly and plainly --- was almost like being smashed across the face with a bag of bricks. You feel the blood accumulating at the tip of your scalp, leaving you woozy yet seemingly firm because you had to be --- last thing you wanted was for him to see how affected you were.

You straighten and smoothen your uniform, trying to maintain composure, bidding yourself not to look at his chest. You don't even notice when his hand put down the bottle of whiskey and reached forward to grab you by your arms and pull you down next to him, holding you in place, firmly, in front of him, on your knees. On attention. He was touching you. He was actually touching you. Squeezing. -"Sir, you're inebriated and it isn't right. For your sake, I mean."- You try to stay sane and level headed even though you realized your voice came through in breathy gasps, taken aback to the degree you felt your heart pumping in your chest, causing you to be overtaken by a confounded mix of shock and need. You could practically smell the liquor on him along with the bitter taste of tobacco and malt; on anyone else the pungent, salty scent of sweat would've been disgusting, but on him? You feel lightheaded. Maybe you were simply being biased. -"Y'think I'm gonna regret and beat myself up for kissin' Miss Daisy Sunshine with a mouthful of Whiskey when I sober up and go mopin' 'bout it to sumn'? Like all these cocksuckers wouldn't kill to be me right about now?"- He assesses stiffly; wasn't the lulling sway of liquor speaking through him. It was outright no-nonsense bluntness. Barnes was determined and focused as only Barnes knew how to be; you lower your gaze from the ardent task of staring at his scarred mouth not daring to meet his eyes when he was this close to you, subjectively fearing you'd get incomprehensibly burned by something if you did. You feel yourself grow red. Miss Daisy Sunshine? You're on the verge of smiling. -"No."- You respond weakly, having no strength or willpower to be any louder or more resolved right about now. No, you didn't think he'd go around complaining, no.

Just the thought of Barnes thinking kissing you would be the envy of the whole camp has something coiling around in your gut.

Flattery.

He was flattering you.

You felt flattered.

It was exactly what he wanted you to feel, you understood.

It was intentional.

He was always intentional.

-"C'mere."-

He pulls you closer, leaning back against the wall of sacks, practically tugging and pulling at the forearm of your fatigues, one hand letting go of you to take a swig of his bottle again, scar-riddled lips puckered as he holds his mouthful there. Tentatively, you get close until your nose was practically touching the side of his face and the push along the back of your head by his arm is unexpected but not unwelcome as the floodgates of his mouth open around yours roughly and the searing Whiskey's gone past your teeth, sliding off of his tongue into you. You swallow, unwittingly, the suddenness of the contact sending the alcohol rushing down your throat before you can cough forth the burning sensation only to realize Barnes has kissed you with his eyes wide open, never even blinking, as on guard as a snake --- once he separates himself from you, he's as composed as ever. -"It's the right dosage for'ya."- He teases, fully unfettered while you were there, woozy, wiping the side of your cheek of stray droplets and saliva, coming to the conclusion you were still held in the vice grip of his arms. He really had you use his mouth as a cup to drink from. Your tongue's numb and burning, but it was more than worth it. Barnes takes another swig, pinning you down with his gaze cast your way across the brown glass of Jack Daniels he was lifting and you understood what that meant. It was the equivalent of another shot being poured for you.

The coffee's cooling on the ammo crate, forgotten.

You figure it'll be long since cooled by the time you were done.

[aloysiavirgata]

Can I whine for more Fisher King??

She’s back to work and they look at her in hushed voices somehow; look at her like she’s on the slab.

“I’m fine,” she says over the drone of a Stryker and the crisp pop of a skull key. Over breadknifed livers and the fibrous wrap of pericardium.

Simone Richards catches her smoking in the parking bay. “Dana!” she admonishes.

Dana passes her the cigarette and Simone takes a long, appraising drag.

***

Mulder makes love to her the way Yo-Yo Ma plays a cello; a passionate blend of favorite standards and eclectic novelties. A virtuoso performance to an appreciative audience of one. He does not think she is damaged.

“Mulder,” she mumbles against his manubrium. Into the warm rebar of his clavicle. She bites at it with her white little teeth, her breasts pressed to him like grapes being crushed for wine.

Later, when he’s asleep on his sueded belly and the cats are curled around his head, she gazes at his spine. We are so vulnerable, she thinks, touching his jugular. His carotid. Forget exoskeletons - we have no fur or feathers or claws or venom. Our bite is relatively weak. Our newborns are pathetic.

Only a poorly understood but generally-accepted-as superior brain. Only an ability to cook food, to outlast our prey. Even ravens make tools.

She falls asleep without meaning to. She dreams of white and white and white, of blurry-faced women, of Duane Barry crowing triumphant to the indifferent stars.

***

They have bagels in a crowded little spot where the walls are bare and the ambiance is terrible. The bagels are teetering on a Michelin star.

“I think we should break up,” he says, wisdom-tooth-deep into chive cream cheese. “Dana, it doesn’t end here. Not with what I do.”

She opens her eyes wide, appalled. “Oh, Fox! Solving crimes! Is…is it dangerous?” She throws a caper at him, rolling her eyes.

He scowls. “I’m serious. What happened with Tooms, with Barry. I don’t want this for you.”

“I don’t want it for me either, come to that,” she remarks. “But I’m willing to risk it.”

He furrows his brows. “Why?”

Idiot, she thinks. Fucking idiot. She would like to talk to the various people who did such a number on him that a man this good looking and intelligent is somehow this insecure. Just talk at first, anyway.

“Because your parents are rich and I have med school loans still,” she says at last. “So my plan is to marry you, kill you, and live in luxury for the rest of my days.”

He looks at her for a long time.

She sips her coffee. She eats an olive from his plate.

“Oh,” he says finally. “That’s all right, then.”

[misfitclassismyfreetherapy]

Mairuma Incorrect Quotes.

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~

Two words. Dark humor.

⚠️ Spoilers for my fanfic! ⚠️

Incorrect quote #1

Kerori: Okay, genuinely because I know some people here didn't get accepted for their sexuality so me and Iruma decided to give you guys, free tickets for Kuromu's concert- and free food.

Iruma: *nods*

Lied: ..I feel attacked, but you gave me free tickets and food so I won't complain.

Agares: .... can Gaap come too?

Kerori: Yes, yes you can bring your future hoe-

Agares: Shut up, or I won't go Mrs. Inferior and Superior Complex.

Kerori: Don't need to out me like that bro.

Purson, who has just been watching the whole time: ...

( I HC Lied,Iruma and Agares to be crossdressers. So they hang out sometimes and Purson knew about the whole thing but didn't say anything.)

Incorrect quote #2

Lied: Iruma-kun you are honestly checks off all the attractive looks. Hot, sexy, cute and pretty. Even I was strucked when you went out as Irumeanie. No homo tho.

Irumean: Well, what can I say? My anxiety is chronic but my looks are iconi-

Purson: Iruma no-

( These three is my second favourite trio. Love trio took first place because of their undeniable wholesomeness.-and poly couple goals- )

Incorrect quote #3

Kalego: If everyone jumps off a bridge, would you?

Purson: Kalego- sensei- okay first of all. I'll be the one to jump off first-

Kalego: Therapy session next week.

( He makes the Misfit Class go to therapy and he pays for all of them. Remind you that in my AU one demon to go to therapy is like 10,000 Vill a month or more because it's hard to find demons who actually care for others. )

Incorrect quote #4

Lied: Hello, hello everyone! When I came out to my dad he said "'I have no son!"

Jazz: You know you can't just cope like this right?

Lied: I'll do that when you and Allocer stop coping with smoking shit.

Jazz: Understandable, have a great day.

Incorrect quote #5

Dantalion: Kalego, you should really stop drinking coffee in front of your class. It's affecting your students.

Kalego: Where's the proof?

Dantalion: *points to Agares*

Agares holding his 5th coffee: More espresso,* sips * less depresso.

Kalego: What, he ain't wrong?

Dantalion: You send your students to therapy and yet YOU DO THIS SHIT-

( Agares is addicted to coffee )

Incorrect quote #6

Lied: Name one thing you hate about yourself go! I'll start first. Not being good enough.

Iruma: My anxiety.

Asmodeus: My feelings.

Agares: The lost of my will to live.

Kerori: My inferior/superior complex.

Clara: My abandonment issues and my body.

Elizabetta: My-

Kalego: Enough. You brats, I'm only gonna do this once but I'm treating you guys for lunch, no strings attached.

Misfit Class: ...

Lied: ... who are you and what did you do to our father figure-

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~

ENDING

So yeah some examples. I'm still trying to find the angst for each of the Misfit Class individual. Yes even Camui. An arguably a better version of Mineta. I can argue forever on how Mairuma is better than MHA. But I'll save that for a post. So enjoy misfit class suffer.

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~

Claire has logged off

[recentadultburnout]

Info for writer in Thai series fandom: Random food

I added some pictures on AO3 but not here, but I tried searching in English, and it did show the correct item, so if you want to know what it looks like, you can look it up.

Breakfast

Actually, anything can be breakfast, but this is some of what is frequently viewed as breakfast.

Khao Tom (Boiled rice/Rice porridge)

Joke (Rice porridge/Congee)

Tom lueatmu (Pork Blood Soup)

Khaoniao mu ping (Grilled Pork Sticky Rice)

Khaoniao mufoi (Glutinous Rice with Shredded Pork)

Khai kratha (Pan egg)

Namtaohu songkhrueang (soy milk with topping)

Sandwich boran (thai style sandwich)

and everything westerners consider breakfast.

Northern food

Namphriknum (young chili paste)

Namphrik-Ong (Ong Chili Paste)

Khaepmu (Crispy Fried Pork Rinds)

Sai-Ua (a type of sausages)

Kaengho

Kaenghangle (Hung Lay Curry)

Khanomchinnamngiao

Khaosoi 

Central food

Nam phrik long ruea

Nam phrik kapi

Homok (steamed fish with curry paste)

Thotman (a type of fish ball)

Pucha (deep-fried crab meat and minced pork in crab shell )

Kaengchuet

Kaengphet

Kaengsom

Khaophat (Fried rice)

Yam

Northeastern food (E-san food)

Soup nomai (bamboo shoot soup)

Tomsom (fish soup with ginger)

Kaeng Om

Kaeng Proe (Bamboo Shoot and Yanang Soup)

Kaeng Het (Mushroom Soup)

Kaeng Khai Motdaeng (Red ant egg soup)

Somtam 

Southern food

Kaeng Taipla

Kaengsom

*Kaengsom in the central and southern regions have some differences. Recently, there was even a debate online about whose Kaengsom is superior.

Kaenglueang

Kai Tom Khamin

Khua Kling

Phatsato

Phat Phet Kop

Yam Nam Budu 

Nowadays, every part of Thailand eats everything I mention here, but its origin is still very obvious, and the origin can give some impression about what it will taste like for people who try it for the first time.

Popular Foreign food

Chinese food (some kinda Thai-Chinese more than actual Chinese)

Japanese food

Korean food

Mexican food

Indian food

Vietnamese food

Westerner food (Farang food)

Drink

Green Tea

Iced Tea/Thai Tea

Lemon Tea

Cocoa

Nom yen/Nom chomphu (Pink milk)

Oliang

Yok lor

Coffee boran

Butterfly pea juice

Lemongrass and Pandan Juice

Nam daeng (Red drink) (Hale's blue boy sala flavor)

Nam khiao (Green drink) (Hale's blue boy cream soda flavor)

Bubble tea

Chain Restaurants  

Sizzler

KFC

McDonald’s

Burger King

Starbucks

Subway

Taco Bell 

MK Suki

S&P

Barbecue Plaza

Yum Saap

Fuji restaurants 

Katsuya

Yayoi

Ootoya

Chester’s Grill

Pizza Hut

Pizza Company

Narai pizzeria

Hachiban

Mos Burger

Dairy Queen

Swensen

Easy to find dish

There a type of restuarant call ran-ahan tam sang (ร้านอาหารตามสั่ง) (Cooked to order resturant?) which is basically everywhere and this is a basic almost every those restuarant will have.  

Rice top with fried basil

Fried rice

Stir Fried Vegetables with Rice

Garlic Pork with Rice

Stir Fried Chili Paste

Suki->Thai Styled Sukiyaki (water/dry)  

You can select the type of meat yourself, even if the name includes the word "pork," (it's just a place holder) and you can add extra meat (more of the one you select or something else) or eggs if desired.

Eating utensils

The most common choice are just a spoon and fork. In places like noodle shops, it usually has chopsticks as well. and for steak, a knife.

List of online supermarket site

Index