#anyway organize your workplace

[devsgames]

I'm sorry but for people who cheer on mass game industry layoffs because they think it's some kind of upheaval that is going to "topple the AAA industry" or "teach them a lesson": I hate to break it to you but AAA studios have a metric shitload of money and despite what their press releases say, they really aren't hurting as much as they'd have you think right now. Thousands of jobs lost is a temporary setback to them; if it was actually a last resort move they wouldn't have all simultaneously put themselves in a position where they had to do it in the first place. These studios have been around for decades and will continue to be around, and they will continue to operate just as they have for the last thirty years because they have huge vaults and no morals. They aren't learning a lesson from this because most of them saw it coming but would never admit that.

Know who is being permanently impacted by games layoffs?

It's the indie studio making sick ass games you'll never get to play because they laid everyone off when a publisher tried to save money by pulling all their funding. The hundreds of workers who woke up one morning and found out they suddenly have no job to put food on the table for their children. The international workers who were let go from the job that supplies their visa that helps them stay in the country. The thousands of students who now have to compete over a pool of a dozen job openings, who will work in studios where all the senior staff and leadership who would normally be there to help mentor them into their roles were fired. The disabled workers who now no longer have health or insurance coverage for their survival. The workers who didn't get laid off but survived to see all their friends and coworkers lose their livelihoods for completely arbitrary reasons and whose morale has all but been completely obliterated. The workers in the Global South working for outsourcing companies who were relying on cancelled projects from AAA studios to put food on their tables.

So whenever you're inclined to assume that the suffering of workers is somehow teaching rich people a lesson, remember that no, it doesn't actually and almost never will. All it does is teach thousands of talented workers in the video game industry that games were never - and will never - be worth it.

[moonscape]

i literally don't know what's not clicking with genociden bootlickers. like maybe i'm just an ignorant brit but the uk also has a two party system and it's not hard for me to say that both starmer and sunak are evil pieces of shit. starmer is not "lesser evil" just because he's the labour leader.

[luveline]

would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.) 

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section. 

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true. 

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom. 

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight. 

You look tired, too. 

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess. 

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas. 

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky. 

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops. 

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak. 

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.” 

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?” 

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight. 

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment. 

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.” 

“It's getting better.” 

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–” 

“I'm really okay–” 

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–” 

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.” 

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.” 

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket. 

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still. 

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag. 

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.” 

“And he hit you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask. 

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice. 

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue. 

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?” 

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.” 

He can feel his face heating up.��“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?” 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…” 

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly. 

“I’m not stupid.” 

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” 

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.” 

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now. 

“Can I buy you something to eat?” 

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside. 

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.” 

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it. 

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?” 

“No.” 

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.” 

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly. 

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that. 

[honeybleed]

— ★ CAPTAINS AS WORK HUSBANDS

content & warnings: fem!reader, post time skip, changed daichi to a firefighter because fuck the police (idea courtesy of deja 😁), kind of suggestive in oikawa & kuroo’s ones, fluff & crack

featuring: various captains (that i’m more familiar with): daichi sawamura, tetsurō kuroo, wakatoshi ushijima & toru oikawa

author’s note: my first written thingie for haikyuu, i’m so nervous i made them ooc ;-; ik i’m late but i really went from supporting my kuroo harem mooties from the sidelines to joining. divider credit to @/xxbimbobunnyxx

daichi sawamura:

Working with Daichi Sawamura was comparable to smooth sailing.

Usually, your colleagues, seniors and juniors could come to the agreement you were exhausting to work with considering your tendencies to play by the book.

No exceptions.

Regardless, the past few weeks of organizing assemblies for schools around the prefecture regarding fire safety with Daichi had been…pleasant?

It was going to be the last assembly and this time it was for the fifth and sixth graders, you and Daichi were sitting in your office tidying up the paperwork.

“It’s late…how are you getting home?” He questioned.

“Oh…the trains are still running. I’m saving up for a car.” You said with an uneasy laugh, a little embarrassed.

“Nonsense, I can drop you home.” Daichi smiled.

“No, no Daichi. I don’t want you to go through all that trouble, thank you for the offer.” You said sheepishly, overwhelmed by the kind offer.

“I wouldn’t feel right about a woman going home this late at night. It’s no trouble for me, at all.”

A sliver of mischief overtook you.

“What? You think cos I’m a woman I’m too fragile to go home by myself?”

Daichi gave you a vacant look before panic set into his system.

“What?! No, no! I don’t think that women are very- No, YOU are more than capable-"

“Daichi, I was kidding.” You giggled. “Honestly, I think it’s sweet you have that chivalrous nature to you. Too many men on the trains give me the creeps anyway.”

He drove a modest car. It suited him. Reliable and not too flashy.

There was an air of melancholy as this would be the last time you’d work together.

As he killed the engine when you directed him to the parking lot of your apartment complex, he gave you a warm smile.

“I really enjoyed working with you.” He said.

“I could say the same..” You replied.

“Forgive me for getting ahead of myself…but I don’t want this to be the end.”

“Huh..?”

“I want to keep seeing you. Would…you like that?” He asked, voice cautious not to overstep.

But you nodded.

“I’d love to keep seeing you. I enjoy your company, Daichi.”

Two people in their late twenties, blushing wildly as their fingers brushed over the gearstick.

tetsurō kuroo:

“I can see you, you know.” You said in a wry tone, your fingers flying over the keyboard and your eyes fixated on the screen of the PC.

“And here I thought I was a stealth master.” Kuroo said in mock defeat as he stopped peeking from the doorway and headed towards your desk. “Alright, tell me. What gave it away?”

“It’s kinda hard to miss that rooster haircut of yours.” You responded. “Not to mention the fact you have to bend over not to bump into the doorframe.”

“Figures. I got some gossip for you.”

“Yeah?” You said as you raised a brow. “Don’t keep me on edge.”

“Seems like Takuya the tech guy has the hots for you.”

“…Me?”

“Don’t act all humble on us now. You know you’re the resident hottie.” He chuckled.

“Big achievement in a workplace where the average demographic in the administration office is middle-aged men. What do you want, Tetsu?” You sighed. “You only compliment me when you want something.”

“Well, I just came here to tell you I warded him off. No need to thank me.” He grinned as he folded his arms.

“And why would you do that?” You questioned, astounded by the absolute audacity.

He scoffed.

“Why wouldn’t I? The man has black under his nails and had to be called into HR because his B.O. was considered a bio-hazard.” Kuroo said, adamant in his decision.

“Okay, but it’s not your place.” You snickered, amused but still wanting to scold him a little.

Kuroo Tetsuro didn’t mind a little nagging if it came from you, anyway.

“Well, I’m sorry for having your best interest at heart.” He sulked as he eyed you making your way over to him.

Suddenly, his heart began to hammer as you yanked his tie down so his face was close to yours.

“For a team player, you sure don’t like to share, huh Tetsu? I know you want me all to yourself but try not to make it so obvious to the others.” You whispered, breath tickling the shell of his ear.

Heading out of the small office, Kuroo stood as if his feet were glued.

“Fuck, not now…” He groaned as he felt a strain down his slacks.

wakatoshi ushijima:

“Here.”

You looked up to see none other than Ushijima Wakatoshi, brandishing a small bottle in his hand.

As his physiotherapist for the last few months, it was easy to note his habits. For example, he always made sure to turn up to your appointments five minutes early. On the dot.

On the rare occasion he missed it (which had totalled up three times over six months) he’d make sure to email you the day before.

Even if he was ill, he knew his body. He knew a virus was on its way even without experiencing symptoms.

You tentatively took the small bottle from his grasp and gave him a grateful nod.

As you fixed your eyes on the label, almost as if he read your mind he spoke with that smooth voice of his.

“It’s kefir. Good for gut health.”

“Thank you, Wakatoshi.” You smiled. “That’s very sweet of you. Go ahead and take a seat and I’ll be right with you, okay?”

He nodded but one word threw him off.

…Sweet?

Ushijima felt the tips of his ears heat up. Nobody had called him sweet before. He instantly jerked when you set a hand on his lower back and ushered him indoors.

You were used to Ushijima’s strait-laced nature so you were taken aback at him being jumpy at physical touch.

He took a seat on the padded examination table.

It was always funny to see Ushijima’s hulking figure in your office, you smiled to yourself as you eyed him looking around aimlessly.

It was a little hard not to stare at those firm tan thighs of his.

You’d caught a few of his games where he usually dominated the court. His interactions with others were usually brunt and nothing too interesting.

“So, how's the pain been since our last session?”

“It still flares up during serves and spikes. But it’s manageable.” He replied earnestly.

“Do you mind if I examine that?” You asked.

He nodded and shed off his tracksuit top, a white vest underneath showing off his broad shoulders.

He may have agreed but he wasn’t prepared for those soft, manicured hands of yours to begin to knead and palm his right shoulder and back.

“…There seems to be the issue.” You stated as he jerked and hissed at a particular section of skin.

“Wakatoshi, I told you to ice that area. Have you been skipping out on doctor's orders…?” You teased as you tilted your head.

“You’re not my doctor.” He said bluntly.

“I’m the closest thing you got to one.” You chuckled, undeterred by his frigid tone. Quite frankly, it amused you.

“We'll probably need to focus on strengthening exercises. Can you dedicate time to that?”

“I’m sure.”

“Good. I want to see you at a hundred percent for that game that’s in two weeks."

“You’re coming to the next game?” Wakatoshi asked, a little taken aback. He knew your work schedule was full to the brim since every athlete came running to you.

“…Is that a problem?” You questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course not.” He swallowed thickly and then met your gaze. “I’ll make sure to be on my A game.”

“You’d better be.” You grinned as you slapped his lower back, earning a deep groan from him:

toru oikawa:

“Remember what I told you.” You hissed as you and Oikawa walked into the brightly lit press conference room after his win.

“Relax, relax…! You’d think I was such a nightmare to work with with all your worrying.” He chuckled.

“I mean it. You might be doing fine in games but your publicity is in the toilet. I’m not saying be all sugary but try to be a little gratuitous. Thank your fans…something!”

You froze when you felt his large hands plant onto your shoulders, eyes widening.

“What did I just tell you?” He teased with a glint in his eye.

“…I’m a publicist, Toru. Relaxation doesn’t exist in my world.” You said bluntly.

In your peripherals you noticed a flash go off, causing you to roll your eyes.

There’d always been rumors circulating about the sexy PR manager and Argentina National Team’s Number 13.

You always nagged Oikawa to shoot them down for his own sake since his fangirls were relentless but the most he did was drop a ‘will they/won’t they?’ answer which annoyed you to no end.

“Maybe when you get time off I could fly you out. They have killer massages in Bangkok. You could use one.”

“Just go.” You hissed, pushing his hands off. As he jogged over to the table, he turned around to shoot you a wink.

Oikawa was a natural when it came to commanding attention. As he stood at the podium with microphones, with his billion-dollar smile, the journalists and reporters were buzzing with excitement.

“Alright, alright. Sorry for the hold-up folks. I know this was the first thing on your mind when you woke up.” He chuckled.

You automatically facepalmed.

Your advice went in one ear and out the other. Oikawa was lucky he was handsome. Because despite how douchey that was, it earned a rambunctious round of applause and cheers.

After the cheers settled down, the first reporter stood up, clearing his throat.

“Firstly, I’d like to congratulate you on your win. How does it feel to lead your team to victory once again?”

“It’s as natural as breathing.” He chuckled. “But our opponents put up a great fight. I’ll give credit where credit is due.”

“Despite the adoration from your fans, you’ve faced some criticism regarding your unsportsmanlike behavior of riling up rivals. Any response to that?” A female reporter enquired.

“Well, I know my sense of humor isn’t for everybody. Luckily I got our publicist keeping reins on me. And boy does she keep the leash tight, if you catch my drift.” He said with an impish grin.

At first silence, then it was a sudden flurry of questions, reporters and journalists fighting it out to get the first question.

“Are you dating each other?”

“Are you single or taken?”

Toru Oikawa had a talent for sparking media frenzies.

As your eyes met, you gave him a chopping neck gesture as you grit your teeth, earning a belly laugh from him.

You were so screwed.

[txttletale]

Sorry if you posted about this before and I've missed it but are you arguing with anti-AI Art people (Specifically the ones deliberately ignoring or misrepresenting material facts) just on the basis that they're wrong? Or are you doing it to try to show that AI is going to be used anyway and they need to change the way they argue about it if they actually want to be productive with their goal of not having AI be harmful?

I suppose in truth I already seem to believe you're doing both at once, which is fine, but I guess what I'm really getting at is trying to prompt you for more of your own interpretation of the AI art discourse as a whole and how you feel about people calling you "Pro-AI" despise the fact that your economic beliefs inherently make you (from my very biased perspective) "more" "Anti-AI" than they are!

Sorry for the messy ask lol, you're just getting at a lot of thoughts I've been having trouble putting to words and want to see more!

yea i would absolutely describe my critiques of 'anti-AI' as coming from three separate but related places because there are three separate types of 'anti-AI art' talking points:

talking point type 1 is all the 'not real art / soullless / no effort' bullshit. i'm mostly critiquing these because they are fundamentally reactionary and profoundly silly and because i like talking about art and what art is and how it's made and shit.

type 2 is, to borrow a phrase from marx, "the economic shit". it's here that i think my critiques are more 'positive' than 'negative', as in, i think that these talking points are mostly coming from a reasonable place but are tactically misaimed -- my critiques here mostly amount to 'stop whining about midjourney and start unionizing your workplace because one of those will make a difference when AI comes for your job and the other won't"

type 3 is IP/copyright-brained petty-bourgeois mindset, arguments centering on ridiculously expansive concepts of 'theft' or 'plagiarism' and 'ownership'. they are superficially similar to type 2 arguments but instead of the fundamentally sympathetic and reasonable "i am worried i am going to be fired by my boss / no longer taken on by clients because of this new technology" they are instead arguing that they are either owed the hypothetical lost profits or royalties for every generated image. this is the type of argument i'm most vehemently against, because i think that all of these arguments essentially end in campaigning to strengthen copyright and IP law, something which i'm profoundly and fundamentally against.

sometimes people will make type 1 arguments when they fundamentally have type 2 concerns, but that just makes their type 2 concerns seem weaker and less worth taking seriously by association, which isn't good for us organized labour fans out there. but yeah these are all separate talking points -- i think i try to approach The Economic Shit with the 'you need to change how you think to achieve something productive' mindset, because of the three positions that's the one i have a fundamental political commonality and nominal shared goals with.

[emelinstriker]

{Triad AU} Wukong ♡ Crafty Love

This is my own lil take/idea on the Triad AU by @skittlescripts​ - Basically you don't have a double life in my version but are the reincarnation of his love. Just cuz I can only write what my interest chooses to sit on, and it apparently didn't sit well with the by day/nightlife concept hfdngfhdngfd- So it ended up with picking a different path in my head. :'D

Smol doodle drawn by me with my persona cuz it fits more than a random Wukong screenshot. c:

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

Today was a pretty chill day for your workplace. You did have customers come in, but it wasn't as many as usual. Assuming people were simply busy themselves today, you didn't think much of it. Well, that was until one of your co-workers told you about how your boss seemed to have gotten into some trouble with a member of the local triad. Something along the lines of her having gotten into an argument over keeping the restaurant on their king's turf. But apparently it was a lower member, so he ended up threatening to get a higher-up. And customers who received the news were wary about eating there for a while.

Nothing happened however, so it seemed more like an empty threat from your boss's point of view.

And yet due to what you heard, you were a little bit on edge yourself. Mainly about the potential shut down of the restaurant, making you essentially jobless once more. And you actually did enjoy your job here.

You were the one who designed the restaurant aesthetically, making it feel more welcoming for those afraid of the organization lurking everywhere. And since the restaurant was in a rather shady part of Megapolis, it stood out quite a long. You were also in charge of making to-go packages look nicely. Aluminum animals were littered around the windows for show of your abilities in the crafts of origami and general design.

And it did garner a lot of attention because most passerby found it really cute. Even customers' children sometimes asked if they could make their own little animals with your assistance. But your skills did not make you famous or really be seen. You were quite invisible to the public eye, always sitting quietly in a corner or in the back of the restaurant. In fact, you were so invisible that the two powerful demons that came in later that day didn't notice you folding up another delivery for someone who ordered for pick-up. The customer specifically asked for a fox as a little gift for one of his family members. You yourself were so occupied by your artistic piece and playlist's music that you didn't notice them coming in either.

The demons were talking to your co-worker and were 'kindly' asking for your boss. And of course, your co-worker, terrified as she was, jogged towards the back to get your boss.

"Ugh, why does everyone keep on picking this part of the city for their business?" The monkey with an eye patch questioned while scrolling through his phone, thoroughly bored. He knew this 'talk' wouldn't take long, so why was he demanded to join in the first place?

The other simian leaning against the counter huffed, "Well, they simply don't learn this area is off-limits. I don't even see any reason to keep this restaurant here anyway. We can just scare off every customer if we go the non-violent route." He quickly flipped through the menu, or rather looked at solely the pictures. "Even the food here looks mediocre at best. Killing the people here plus the business would actually be a blessing."

"At least the decoration's nice. I mean, look at this cat!" The black-furred one commented, holding up a miniature kitten made out of aluminum foil he found by the counter.

"Hm, true", the other one admitted. His eyes then glanced around the room's decor... until his eyes landed on you.

You, who made The Great Sage instantly freeze in shock.

You, who was sitting lonely in the corner of the empty restaurant.

You... who looked like an exact replica of his long lost lover, just with different clothing.

His one and only beloved, who managed to tame this beast of a feral demon... until they died to another demon's talons. It caused the Monkey King to snap and make sure this demon would no longer serve as a reminder of what happened. The environment wasn't safe from the encounter either. Unfortunately, he was unable to bring you back, and he had no way of knowing if you would ever be able to reincarnate. But it seems he finally had found you after so many years. And you were the one behind the creation of the only good thing about this restaurant.

The monkey stared at you for so long that his eyes started to dilate and his tail started to slowly swish from side to side. His lips curled into a soft smile as he witnessed your happiness with your work. His friend seemed to notice and followed his gaze.

Ah. Now he understood.

He smirked at his superior's lovestruck expression. Until your co-worker returned, trailing behind your boss, who suddenly seemed a lot more anxious than ever before. The two monkeys gazes snapped back at the two women behind the counter. One monkey seemed amused while the other seemed to have been caught off-guard.

"Yeah, so, we came here because one of my men noticed your restaurant and you were not willing to leave our turf. And we came to settle what he didn't manage to do", the black-furred one stated nonchalantly, his gaze lingering back onto his phone, seemingly searching for something specific.

"Oh Great Sage Equal To Heaven! I beg of you! Please don't kill us!" Your boss pleaded, lowering her head and putting her hands together.

The Great Sage's eyes then glanced back over to you, still vibing to your music and smiling at your crafty little work. You just finished another smaller fox as extra, and he couldn't help but find it absolutely adorable. He then looked back at your boss with a smirk. "You know what? Nevermind, you get to keep your lives and your business."

Confused, yet still frightened, your boss asked him what made him change his mind.

"Simple. You got one amazing and absolutely stunning crafty person working here. Would be a shame if anything happened to your or this business while they still work here~", he answered as his eyes traveled back over to your corner. Your boss glanced between him and you repeatedly before laughing in what one could only describe as a mix of relief and confusion... or concern.

"W-Well, they are a great person, indeed! I assigned them to this task specifically because they don't want to be seen or have to talk to customers. So we- ...huh?" Your boss stopped, watching helplessly as The Great Sage Equal To Heaven approached your seat with his hands in his pockets. Both her and your co-worker were silently praying for your life.

You were still busy with another aluminum animal, when you suddenly felt someone's presence drawing closer. You finally looked up when the person was hovering over you. "Um... may I help you, sir?" You asked as you took off your headphones. What you didn't expect was that the person was a monkey with fancy-looking clothing. He was blushing a little but you were too confused to notice. Apparently you didn't recognize him. He saw it as mostly a blessing because he didn't want the reincarnation of his beloved to fear him. The way you were so casual towards him was what drew him into your past life's relationship in the first place.

"Oh, I just saw your fascinating little crafts and wanted to say you- I-I mean, they look lovely!" He stammered out nervously. You blinked at him before leaning over the table to grab a little aluminum monkey you made before. It wasn't quite as accurate as the birds you've created, but it was still recognizable. You then held up the mini monkey in front of him with a smile.

"Would you like to have this one? It's not great by any means, I'm... still practicing monkeys. I-I hope it doesn't look offensive, otherwise I could-" "It's perfect..." He cut you off, gently taking the animal made out of foil. He would hate himself if he accidentally damaged it in any way with his strength. His claws barely brushed over the softness of your hands, but it was enough to make him feel the tingling sensation you imprinted on him. The Great Sage then gave you a loving smile and a nod in appreciation, "Thank you..."

While the two of you were chatting away about your masterpieces, laughing when certain jokes were made, your boss and co-worker were baffled. They wouldn't have believed it if the scene wasn't playing out right in front of their eyes. The Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal To Haven, leader of the most feared triad, and immortal Monkey King... was casually talking to a practically invisible stranger without threatening them even once. Or even making them feel uncomfortable.

Were you so oblivious to the fact that you were speaking to a man who could not only kill you, but also destroy everything around you without even trying?

Well, it wasn't so much about being oblivious than it was just about being a decent person. You've heard of the triad, and you've heard rumors of the infamous Monkey King. However, that doesn't mean you would necessarily have to treat him any different to any other customer since you didn't know him personally. You've never even seen the guy until now. And by his looks, you could easily assume it was him.

Meanwhile Macaque seemed amused by the situation. Something only he seemed to have noticed was Wukong's tail wagging happily. Its movement wasn't fast, but it still reminded him of a dog who found its long missing owner. So he couldn't help but take a picture of the scene. It wouldn't serve so much as blackmail, but it would be enough to calm him down with a picture of you if the other simian started to go off again.

And if that wasn't enough, he took some extra pictures of specifically you being happy with Wukong.

"So what you're saying is that if I order food for pick-up or delivery, you would be the one packing it up?" The orange monkey asked, purposefully playing dumb.

"Yeah, unless I'm sick or have a day off. Then one of my co-workers does the packing instead", you responded, pointing in the counters' general direction. Your co-worker let out a nervous squeak before hiding behind your boss.

"Great, so I'll get to see your pretty face a lot more often!" Your face turned a light shade of red at his comment. Too shocked that someone, anyone, let alone The Great Sage would compliment you past your work. He gave you a grin, "It's decided. You can expect me to order food at least once a day."

You blinked in absolute confusion, meanwhile your co-workers were dumbfounded. "Eh?"

"Well, it was nice talking to a stunning and demon-friendly person such as yourself, peaches. But I believe my visitation time's up for today. I hope you're back here tomorrow though." He winked at you at the end, making your blush darken just a bit that he could still notice.

"And don't worry about your business, boss lady", he added as he turned towards the counter with a smirk. "So long as your amazing artist's working here, this restaurant is under the triad's protection. Anyone who tries to get rid of it will have to get through me and my men first." His eyes seemed to darken just a little as his smirk grew into something a bit more sinister. The Monkey King let out a laugh at your co-workers' scared expressions. The dark-furred simian on the other hand huffed in amusement, showing his own fanged grin to the two women. This seemed to scare them a few steps further away from the counter he was now sitting on.

The orange-furred monkey then pulled out a pen and used a piece of unused foil before writing something down on it. He then slid it over the table towards you, placing his other hand on his hips. "Here, feel free to text or call me anytime. And by anytime, I do mean anytime. Feel free to also contact me when you feel unsafe or just want company! I really wouldn't mind showing up in person!"

To be honest, it was actually strange for Macaque to see his old friend act this weirdly. He could tell Wukong was trying to sway and seduce you. But due to how he wasn't trying to do it to manipulate you, and him haven't genuinely done this in hundreds of years, he kind of lost his touch. The shadow monkey could see him struggling as he was a nervous mess on the inside.

His tail gave away his nervous vibes the most. It kept on moving around, curling in on itself, as well as seemingly trying to hold itself back from just wrapping around you for much needed comfort. You glanced at the info written down on the piece of aluminum before gently smiling at him with a nod. "Will do, thanks! It was nice chatting with you too, Mr. Monkey King."

"Please, just call me Wukong. 'Mister' just makes me feel an extra millennium older."

"But you are old, grandpa!" Macaque exclaimed from across the room, earning him a death glare from his ticked off boss.

"You're one to talk, emo dinosaur!" The King snapped back. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at their childish insults, making the orange-furred monkey slowly turn towards you, his heartbeat seemingly increasing at the sound. He needed to hear your laugh more.

"Anyway, I'll take this with me," he stated as he picked up one the menus from the table, "and we'll be on our way now. See you tomorrow, peaches~" The Great Sage then rather aggressively grabbed the other amused demon by the back of his coat, casually picking him up and carrying him towards the exit, the aluminum monkey still being gently held by his other hand. "Move along Macaque, we don't have all day."

"Until next time, (Y/N)!" Macaque called out as he waved at you as best as he could, still being carried away like a kitten.

...How did he know your name? You only told Wukong during your conversation... 'Man, those rumors about the Six-Eared Macaque having incredible hearing must be true if he was able to hear that', you thought. Little did you know that he already knew your name despite his hearing.

However, from that day on your life's daily routine changed. Wukong would ask for a different order everyday, testing out everything from the menu to see if it was even worth buying more than one specific order everytime. And any food he didn't like he would give to MK to try out. His adoptive son was actually pretty fond of the restaurant's food, to the point where he would either go eat there by himself, with friends or come eat with his dad. Most of the time the triad would only ask to grab pick-up food, but there were days where members would actually eat by the tables. You weren't sure if they only asked for pick-up as to not scare away any non-triad customers, but it did seem to invite in more people each day.

Wukong would sometimes also stay at the restaurant, specifically eating at the same table as you while you were packing up other peoples' orders. He started off pretty nervous during your first conversations, but he quickly became a lot more casual with you. Even his flirting attempts became a lot smoother and would easily catch you off-guard, leaving you a blushing mess everytime. Meanwhile you decided to show him how to create his own little army of aluminum animals.

It might take a while to get you to fully fall for him again, but he would do anything to be with you forever. Even if simple little animal crafts would bring you two closer step by step. Reincarnation or not, he loved you until the day he dies...

Which is saying a lot in his case.

> Masterlist <

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Rachel Daly x Millie Bright x Reader

No Fan of Ours

AN: to celebrate meeting @ac3may at the fa cup final next year, here’s a fic we brainstormed together months ago 🫶

It was the last England game before the girls left for the World Cup, the tie v Sweden was only announced a few days ago but the stadium was packed out with adoring fans nonetheless. In the lead up to the game your girlfriends had gifted you a shirt with ‘Daly Brightness’ on the back so you wouldn’t have to chose who’s name to wear at England games anymore. It wasn’t a secret that you three were dating but it certainly wasn’t shouted from the rooftops as you didn’t want to attract the wrong attention. Being with them both happened organically, Rachel and Millie were inseparable anyway - what started out as a flirtationship with one of them soon boiled over into the other and just like that you became a throuple. You didn’t announce it as such but their teammates could tell, always making jokes about you three being together all the time. You’d never heard a bad word from any of them about your relationship and everyone online believed you were just three best friends anyway.

You first met them at grass roots but football wasn’t your number one passion and as they went on to become professionals, you left the turf and cleats behind for more glamorous surroundings in a luxurious London tattoo parlour specifically designed by you for women. The passion of yours was born one evening when getting an upper thigh tattoo and being inappropriately touched during the process. The tattoo went on to be unfinished for nearly a decade until you were able to build your own franchise with the primary value of it being a safe environment for women. You took something awful and made it inspiring, people traveled far and wide to visit your parlour, your customers consisted of many female footballers who quickly spread the word around their clubs. They even donate their signed shirts to hang on your ‘Empowerment Wall of Fame’ for every celebrity that has visited. You’ve now got parlours up and down the country and are currently building to break into the rest of the world too.

That’s when Rach and Millie came back into your life, having heard about their old acquaintance’s new venture through friends they decided to pay you a visit for their newest matching tattoos and have had the pleasure of tattooing the both of them since. With every visit to the shop the more flirtatious your conversations became and it didn’t take long for your connection to develop beyond the workplace. Your relationship has been going strong for three years now and what started out as a fling was now something solid and for the long haul.

As this game was announced last minute, your friends and family couldn’t make it so you were sat alone for the first time at a national game. Nothing you haven’t done before but it’s usually at Villa games where the stadiums are anything but packed. Chelsea games were undoubtedly more busy but there seemed to always be a player injured or someone’s family to chat to during the matches.

The girls had just finished warm ups and had retreated back to the changing rooms. Playing on your phone and waiting for kick off you heard sneering comments coming from a group behind you, “oh my god look at her shirt, how pathetic”. These comments didn’t let up throughout the game as the group of girls mocked you continuously throughout the 90 minutes. The first half was insatiable, you’d been singing along with the crowd and shouting to the girls as usual, they were taking the piss out of everything you did making you incredibly uncomfortable. “What a joke, as if anyone would fancy her” their comments started to get louder. “Fucking embarrassing fans put this game to shame!” the loudest mouth of the gang shouted. During half time it only got worse, you wanted to go to the toilet but they had made you feel so small that you didn’t dare move. Of course you wanted to tell them to shut up but you’re not a big fan of conflict and would rather not give them the satisfaction of knowing they were getting to you. You’re used to people staring and making sly comments, you accepted that they were closed minded people and like to make digs at anyone that looks different. There was barely any space on your body for new inkings and you liked how they made you look tough but on inside you were just a soppy little woman that wanted to be loved and cared for. Clocking the wallpaper on your phone of Rach and Mills as you checked the time caused them to erupt into laughter, “they will never love you, what a munter!” they heckled. “She doesn’t even have any friends” throwing something in your direction. You continued to ignore the abuse that was being slung in your direction, just half hour more to go as you slipped your earphones in so you were unable to hear them any longer. As much as every comment tore you down little by little, it didn’t stop you from being yourself, singing and shouting for your team and the girls when required.

The ball went out of play close by to where you were and noticing Millie smiling at you as she jogged over to take the throw in made you feel a sense of comfort. Luckily she found herself in earshot of the disgusting comments being aimed your way. Pausing the throw in to display an intense and penetrative glare at the group with those gorgeous but intimidating eyes of hers. It shut them up for a second until play continued and she was gone. Her simple gesture made you feel at ease, as least she’d heard what you were up against and the second one of Sweden’s players went down you knew she was telling Rachel everything. With their hands covering their mouths, the side eye they were both throwing although incredibly sexy to you, had the capability of inflicting injury or bad karma on the person or people it was directed.

As soon as the final whistle blew Rachel and Millie came running over, ignoring the handshakes so they could get to you quicker. The group of teenagers immediately ran down the stairs when their idols approached, pushing you out of their way while declaring their love for both of them with their sickly sweet remarks like butter wouldn’t melt. Shoving phones and pens in their faces begging for photos and signatures which they declined politely yet with a sense of agitation. Rachel ignored their pleas and asked them calmly to move so she could get to you but they didn’t listen causing Millie to get impatient and raise her voice. “Move out the fucking way now!” she demanded as they wrapped one arm each around your petite body and lifted you over the barrier in one swift movement, resting their arms around your shoulders displaying their protectiveness of you. “Are you okay?” they fussed, straightening your T-shirt and brushing your hair back, holding your cheeks to analyse the emotions on your face. Once established you were fine now your princesses in shining armour had arrived they turned their attention back to the feral behaviour in the stands. “The way you’ve been talking about our girlfriend this entire game is fucking disgusting!” Rach shouted towards them as security approached. “Don’t expect to be at any of our games again!” Millie bellowed. You’d got the last laugh, thank goodness they had recognised they were giving you a hard time. The group were gobsmasked when they swooped you out of their toxic environment and had suddenly realised they had truly fucked up. “What were you saying about them never being in love with me? This came out of their wardrobe this morning” you remarked smugly tugging on your shirt. “Your attitudes are fucking disgusting” they shouted back to them as they lead you off the pitch. Telling security to ban them from all future national and WSL games before walking you off the pitch hand in hand. That’s one way to come out! They knew full well that the live stream was being aired to thousands of people at home and they still came to protect you. Announcing to the world that you three were an item at the same time.

[racefortheironthrone]

Which federal laws and policies would you get rid of or modify in order to help the American labor movement.

I was looking through the labor law tag on my blog and your ask reminded me I haven't actually written a comprehensive post about this on Tumblr. (Indeed, you'd have to go back to my old, old policy blog from 2009...it's been a while.)

One silver lining of the Sisyphean struggle to restore American labor law that's been going on since the 1970s is that the labor movement and their allies in Congress, academia, think tanks, and progressive media have been thinking through this very issue of "what reforms would make a real difference" for a long time. I'm not going to say it's a solved question, but the research literature is pretty robust.

For the purposes of this post, I'm going to focus on the three most recent reform packages: the Employee Free Choice Act that was the main vehicle during the Obama years, Bernie Sanders' Workplace Democracy Act (which was introduced repeatedly between 1992 and 2018), and the Richard L. Trumka Protecting the Right to Organize Act (PRO Act) that is the current proposal of the Democratic legislative caucuses. There's going to be quite a bit of overlap between these proposals, because it's very much an iterative process where allies in the same movement are trading ideas with one another and trying to stay abreast of new developments, but I'll try to tease out some of the similarities and differences.

EFCA

While EFCA contained a number of provisions that sought to close various loopholes in U.S labor law, the three main provisions largely target the flaws that have made it extremely difficult to win a union through the National Labor Relations Act process devised in 1935 that has turned into a Saw-style gauntlet thanks to the professionalization of union-busting and the Federalist Society's strategy of death-by-a-thousand-cuts:

"Card check." Probably the most common pattern of union-busting in the workplace today is a war of attrition by management waged by an industry of specialized law firms. Generally what happens is that the union files for election with a super-majority of ~70% workers having signed union cards, then management delays the vote as long as possible to give their hired "union-avoidance" firm to systematically intimidate, surveil, propagandize, and divide workers, up to and including illegally firing pro-union workers pour encouragez les autres. Over several months, what happens is that the initial 70% of pro-union support starts to erode as workers decide it's just too dangerous to stick their necks out, until the vote happens and the union loses either by a squeaker or a landslide.

Card check short-circuits this process by just saying that if the union files with a majority of cards, you skip the election and the union is recognized. And for all the pearl-clutching by the right, this is actually how labor law works in many democratic countries, because the idea of a fair election that lets management participate is an oxymoron.

Arbitrated first contract. In the event that enough workers keep the faith and actually vote for a union, management's next move is to draw out collective bargaining for a year or more. After a year, the original vote is no longer considered binding and employers can push for a "decertification" vote, which they usually win because workers either give up hope or change jobs. So this provision says that if the two sides can't reach an agreement on a first contract within 120 days, a Federal arbitrator will just impose one, so that at least for two years there will be a union contract no matter what management wants.

Strengthening enforcement. As I said above, one of the problems with existing labor law is that there are basically no penalties for management knowingly breaking the law; companies literally just budget in a line-item and do it anyway. This provision would allow unions to file an injunction against employers for unfair labor practices or ULPs (at present, injunctions are only required for violations done by unions), and would add triple back pay for illegal firings and fines of $20,000 for each ULP. This would make union-busting much more expensive, because companies routinely rack up hundreds and hundreds of them during a campaign.

Workplace Democracy Act

Sanders' proposal includes the main proposals from EFCA, and adds a bunch of additional reforms, like mis-classifying workers as independent contractors, banning captive audience meetings, making "joint employers" liable for labor law violations by franchisees, legalizing secondary boycotts, and requiring employers to report to the NLRB on all anti-union expenditures during a campaign and barring anyone convicted of an unfair labor practice from being hired for anti-union campaigns and making "union-avoidance" consultants liable for fines for ULPs (which would kill the "union-avoidance" industry, because they commit ULPs for a living).

PRO Act

The PRO Act is very much an updating of the previous efforts we've talked about. It bans captive audience meetings, allows for secondary strikes and boycotts, massively increases fines and allows for compensatory damages, ends mis-classification, speeds up the election process, etc.

It also contains a couple new and ambitious proposals:

it allows unions to sue management in court instead of having to complain to the NLRB, which opens management up to a very expensive legal proceeding and discovery.

it bans "right-to-work" as established by the Taft-Hartley Act.

it requires that any worker who's fired for pro-union activity be immediately reinstated while their unfair labor practice process or civil lawsuit is going through the process. This would be enormous just on its own, because it changes the entire veto structure of illegal firing. As it stands, employers fire people and maybe maybe have to pay some back wages in a couple years when the worker has found another job and is unlikely to come back. This would reverse the balance of power, such that the worker is immediately back and other workers can see that they can speak up without getting fired, which makes illegal firings a giant waste of time and money for management.

In terms of stuff that's not on this list that I would add, I would say that an enormous difference could be made by simply making it illegal for management to lock-out their workers or hire scabs. You do that, and unions can win almost every strike.

[vasito-de-leche]

iff its still alright for requests then maybe somethingg small n maybe sleepy with forget me not ? nothing specific otherwise just

sleepy eeby forget me not fic. either that or wrangling his soggy ass to sleep(for once

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "five minutes"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.8k words fluff Being in charge of The Walden has its ups and downs - Forget Me Not enjoys being the conductor of an orchestra composed of dying men and women, even if it costs him hours of precious sleep. You make sure to remind him that even the most powerful broker in Chicago deserves a little nap.

this mf has been fighting me for a month or so, it's so hard to write him SLEEPING, HE RLLY DOESNT WANT TO. I HAVE 3 DIFFERENT DRAFTS GRAAAA so here we are. I fought tooth and nail for this, theres 4 different drafts just about FMN getting some fucking sleep. this one even has like, a different version where you fall asleep on his lap instead bc he keeps FIGHTING ME

either way, ty for the request, nonnie! your ask was the perfect excuse to get this done. sorry it ended up being longer than my usual stuff, I just really love the guy

The amount of work needed to maintain an establishment like The Walden often goes unnoticed.

Its elegant ambience and decor, all the powerful and influential people to rub shoulders with, the precise and meticulous organization behind every single detail and decision - all of it can be attributed to a single man, the very same who leads the crowd and makes their drinks.

When the night arrives, he and The Walden come alive.

Hundreds of desperate rats crawl into his den, searching for things they don't deserve: money, fame, fortune, connections, assets. They want to find their place in the world before they're long forgotten, and this is when Forget Me Not steps onto the stage and finds himself in his element, surrounded by all the people who look at him in fear, disgust and awe.

Do they know? That at the end of the world, he holds their fate in the palm of his hand? Him, a simple broker, a middle man.

An inferior, an arcanist.

Of course, the high fades as soon as the sun rears its ugly head over the horizon, his spirits plummet to the ground when the world returns to that monotonous routine. All Forget Me Not can do now is wait.

He would never dream of being so careless as to have his own residence right above his workplace, but he rarely steps into his home in the first place. It's too much trouble to commute back and forth, wasting time in a building that is as devoid of warmth as the blood running through his veins. That private office nestled somewhere within The Walden has become his new safe haven, in fact - with one too many couches to lounge around and no bed in sight.

Not that he sleeps anyway.

Forget Me Not always fancied the most convoluted route into an early grave, and thus has replaced the bottle for something else: endless paperwork.

It's getting harder and harder to conceal the dark bags under his eyes for a semblance of professionalism. How very fitting that, despite all of his efforts and accomplishments, his quality of life continues to deteriorate. What a depressing thought.

The leather of his seat squeaks as he shifts, leaning backwards to fully take in the piles and piles of files atop his desk. His gaze turns to the clock just to confirm what he already knows - it's a little past 6 AM, the cold breeze of the early morning keeping him wide awake. A brand new shipment of materials will arrive in two hours, they will need to be stored but it's an easy enough job for the Disciples. This means that the next important event on his schedule is the meeting at 11 AM. Forget Me Not's face sours right away at the thought, and he reaches for his drink.

And just like that, without any sort of warning, the door to his office is flung open. It's a good thing that despite his awful, awful health, his grip is as steady as ever - not a single drop is spilled. If else, Forget Me Not remains still as a statue, retaining that air of composed aloofness as he raises an inquisitive eyebrow towards the intruder.

It's you, standing perfectly by his door frame. He almost drops the glass once he recognizes your face, but conceals his little slip by settling it back down on his desk.

"Ah, how rare to see you during the day, you're always so busy with errands. To what do I owe this loud, impromptu visit? Keep in mind, I don't start serving drinks until 8 PM."

You don't wait for him to finish, marching towards the small lounge in his office and picking up a small, decorative pillow before dropping backwards onto one of the sofas. A shadow passes over Forget Me Not's eyes - he doesn't know whether to resent you for knowing you have the freedom and privilege to act like this around him, or whether to feel insulted for the way you ignored him just now. He settles for his usual third, secret option - resignation - and makes his way towards you.

Unlike you, Forget Me Not has mastered the art of concealing his presence and so he makes no sound at all when he approaches. He stands right next you, leaning ever so slightly to hover above your face, as if his piercing grey eyes alone could pressure you into speaking.

It doesn't work, at least not right away. You hide behind that useless pillow, then you shift and turn to lay on your side, all while he simply stands in perfect silence. It's a battle of attrition, one he intends to win.

"I slept like shit, okay? Just give me five minutes here and I'll go back to work." Your voice is muffled, but he hears how tired you are anyway.

It's easy to forget that people aren't nocturnal like him, at least not by choice. It's easy to forget about humanity when most of his coworkers are puppets held by strings and ink, mindlessly following orders. When you curl up on the sofa, Forget Me Not remembers just how tired he is and sighs. Soon, he's walking towards the door.

This makes you sit up in a hurry, clearly misinterpreting his actions. "Five minutes, promise! Don't kick me out!"

There's a faint click, it's the lock on the door. Forget Me Not returns to his desk, making sure not to look your way lest his eyes reveal those wretched feelings bubbling in his chest. Did you seriously think he had the nerve to throw you out so carelessly?

"Ten minutes. Make sure not to waste them with chitchat." He can practically sense you silently cheering and getting comfortable in his office. On his couch. It's insufferable, the way you always get what you want while he slaves away with work.

But it's only ten minutes, he can tolerate you for that long.

Three minutes pass, and Forget Me Not realizes that he's spent more time glancing your way than reading the document in front of him.

From his spot, he can only see the top of your head, just a glimpse of your form as you rest your eyes. But every time you move, no matter how subtle, he notices and turns his attention back onto you.

Seven minutes, he only needs to focus for seven minutes. The document in his hand is important: he's negotiating for better materials for his potions at a cheaper cost. This simple deal could mean a lot for Manus Vindictae, always so low on funds, resources and support.

Six minutes. Forget Me Not hears you hum and he slowly turns his head on instinct. You're staring right at him, face resting on the armrest, squishing your cheek against the plush cushions.

"You have four minutes left, are you sure you want to waste them like this?" He lies, as if he wasn't ready to ignore the passage of time to give you a few more extra minutes, expecting you to comply. But you get back at him with a question of your own.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Three minutes." It comes out as a warning. You ignore it.

"I'm serious! You look awful from here." By now, you're sitting down and he knows that if he doesn't stop you, you'll make your way to him. To invade his personal space, cradle his face in your hands and torture him with your gentle touch. "You're always here when I start my shift and when I finish. Where do you get the time to go home and all of that?"

Forget Me Not would rather swallow his own tongue than to openly admit that he essentially lives here. That he has spare clothes in the drawer by the window, that he showers, eats and sleeps in this office of his. You might've figured it out by now, but with his pride and dignity at stake, he pretends to ignore you in favour of work.

"Hey, c'mon. Don't just go back to work like I'm not even here talking to you!" He does exactly that, picking up a pen to sign a few documents. "Drop that. Drop the pen. Hey!"

You talk to him the same way one would talk to a misbehaving dog, and he hears that whiny, frustrated tone in your voice that he's come to appreciate. There is a pause and Forget Me Not does as told - the pen now resting neatly on the desk.

He finally deigns himself to look at you, returning a small smile.

"Thank you, now, like I was saying-"

Thud!

With his free hand, he stamps a document, never breaking eye contact. The pettiness is always worth it, but this time even more so when he sees that tic in your eye and the way you inhale sharply, absolutely done with him. You sit up, consider laying down again in frustration, then simply cross your arms like a child throwing a tantrum - seeing you get worked up over the smallest of things is always such a treat.

"Fine! Be like that! But don't come running when you- Uwaaah!" A yawn interrupts your words, you barely have time to cover your mouth.

Oh no. It's contagious. He feels that tell-tale tingle in his nose, and just like that, he yawns as well.

"Aha! You are tired, I bet you haven't slept properly in days!" An accusatory finger is now pointed at him, and Forget Me Not fights the impulse to roll his eyes.

"That's quite the leap to make over a simple gesture like that. Your time is up, by the way - please, go back to work."

"I'm telling on you, Forget Me Not. I'm so telling on you."

He gives a raspy laugh at this. "And who will you be telling about my horrible sleeping habits? The waiters? The delivery boy? Our esteemed guests?" The latter would definitely eat up any sort of information about his private life, especially if it was something to ruin his reputation, but he doesn't share this out loud.

"Ahh... So, you admit it, then? Having the worst sleeping schedule known to mankind?" Touché.

Before he can even reply, your mouth opens in a feigned yawn and Forget Me Not seethes when he finds himself imitating you. He seethes even more over the smug smile on your face. And he wishes he could just die on the spot when you scoot over and pat the empty seat next to you. Him? Rest? With you? Absolutely not.

"Ten minutes," a tight knot forms in his throat when you start to coax him in. "I'm sure you can spare that much, since you've been indulging me for this long! If you were actually busy, you would've just sent me home to rest. C'mere, sit."

What is the point in keeping track of time by now? Forget Me Not will be by your side until you decide to leave. Indulging you and your stupid ideas, your well-meaning and annoying habits, your reactions - all of it, they're his favorite vice and he never learned how to quit.

"Five minutes." He sits next to you.

"Fair enough." You scoot closer to him.

He watches when you link your arm with his, not bothering to ask for permission. Typical. Your palm is warm as you rest it over his forearm, fingers drumming idly over the soft fabric of his shirt. But you don't linger for too long, and slide down until your index and middle fingers reach the bare skin of his inner wrist, over the pronounced vein there. Can you feel his pulse? The shameless and frantic beat of his heart?

Forget Me Not is so entranced by this simple action that he fails to notice the sudden extra weight - your head rests on his shoulder, with your cheek pressed against the prominent bone. He knows it's an uncomfortable position, because you shift and nuzzle closer to his chest, the top of your head and your hair now tickling his neck and jawline. The knot in his throat returns and he holds his breath on instinct, like an animal at the verge of being devoured.

Nevermind the constant cycle of violence and doom he's turned his life into, these are the horrors that keep Forget Me Not up at night: your body against his, your displays of affection.

"Your eyes," the soft murmur of your voice pulls him from the awful, nonsensical noise in his mind. You're looking up at him. "You're meant to close them. That's what this whole thing is for. Unless ...you can sleep with your eyes open?"

"Don't be ridiculous. As if such a short amount of time could make me fall asleep." He huffs, a way to conceal just how out of breath he is. Part of him is afraid to close his eyes, knowing that he will feel each and every little thing you do - only tenfold. And what would he do with himself then, when all he can focus on is your finger tracing shapes over his palm? It tickles. It's distracting. It's unbearable.

His hand flinches, just barely, and you interlock your fingers with his in response.

"Hush and close them!" Always so obedient to your commands, Forget Me Not does as told, cursing you in his mind.

He gives you an inch, and you take a mile - the moment his eyes are closed, his body turns rigid but you still coax him backwards, so that he can lean on the backrest of the couch. It takes the coordinated effort of every single muscle in his body not to melt on the spot, to remain in a proper, sitting position. With you nestled so comfortably by his side, Forget Me Not makes the worst mistake in his life: he turns his head towards you, his nose now buried in your hair.

The content and pleased noise that leaves him is something that feels alien, entirely out of character for someone like him. Right away, he feels the tips of ears burning with shame and his body uselessly recoils away from you, trying to revert back into that persona he's created for the world.

It backfires immediately.

"...Hm? Is your arm getting numb? Here, let's switch." You move away, all while your hands cradle his face in order to guide him over to your lap.

It's a painfully slow process that is simultaneously over in the blink of an eye. Forget Me Not doesn't know what's worse, the fact that he didn't put up a fight or the way he feels so incredibly small, being held so lovingly by you.

He's laying on his back, hands resting uselessly over his chest like a corpse in an open casket funeral. If he glances upwards (a difficult thing to do, because you flick his forehead whenever you catch him wide awake) he can see you hoarding all the pillows available within your reach to support you as you lounge about, still hellbent on sleeping in with him.

Did he die at some point throughout the day without noticing? Is this his own personal Hell? Forget Me Not wants to speak, to say anything and regain control of the situation, but nothing comes out. All there is to do is to lay there, with your hands combing through his hair.

His heart might as well burst out of his chest. Even better, crawl up his throat and choke him from inside out.

Without thinking, he sits up. It's a nervous impulse. You can't see his face with his back turned to you and he's grateful for the small moment of privacy, as he steels himself to send you away. Or to fuck off into The Walden and walk around aimlessly to cool off, and then avoid you for a few weeks. Whichever comes first.

"Oh! Want a pillow or something? I kind of just took them all without thinking." He doesn't deserve this sort of contact, this domestic bliss - he doesn't want it either.

"Hey, do you think we could do this more often? Just... make some time for me in that busy schedule of yours?" And why would he? You're already pretty skilled at turning his life upside down with your constant nagging and your antics.

"Sorry for being this sappy so suddenly, it just came to mind...Oh, oh! Wait! While you're at it, mind closing the window, please? It's getting a liiittle cold in here."

Forget Me Not leaves his glasses on the table and lays back down, this time making sure to wrap his arms as tightly as he can around your waist, his face hidden in your stomach. What he receives is a weak chuckle, a weak complaint and a weak attempt at pushing him away. You don't mean it, of course - the same way he never means any of the things he thinks.

"Hm, I believe it's perfect like this."

"You're just saying that because you're going to leech off my own body heat, you little snake."

There's a hint of victory in your voice, you've won once again against him but you're always too nice to rub it in. Instead, you caress the scales on his neck, now on full display for you. It's a heavenly sensation.

"Perhaps," he murmurs, eyes closed. "But what are you going to do? Kick me out of my own office?"

"I might if you don't get some rest. Sleep, now."

And just like that, Forget Me Not unravels - he's been waiting so long to be given permission, for someone to allow him a moment of peace despite all these restraints holding him back.

He knows that the moment wakes up, he will act like none of this happened, that he will stubbornly deny everything until his very last breath, but right now, he clings onto you like his life depends on it.

And he falls asleep with your name on his lips

[valentine-writes]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your spot HC!

I was wondering if you could write something pre-collider accident? When he was working for alchemax ^^

I would adore more content about him and reader being coworkers, maybe this is way too self indulgent, but I crave some good enemies/rivals to lovers with this man. I think the dynamic would be so fun ^^

competitive

「 tws + notes: possibly ooc, no tws, unedited, rivals to lovers (which i hope i do justice), pre-collider johnathan ohnn, reader and johnathan are petty,,, can u tell i like writing him mildly bitchy, plz forgive any conflicts w/ canon i researched but im like 99.9% sure there r still errors 」

「 gn!reader, romantic relationship <3 」

↳ ft. johnathan ohnn/the spot

author's note: ouughh i love this sooo much,,, thank u AUDHEWUFHEW o((>ω< ))o !!! im so excited to write more of pre-collider him,, ignore me as i feverishly research every bit of canon info i can get cuz i haven't been able 2 rewatch the movie yet i hope this is to ur liking! enemies to lovers is not my strong suit,, but OHOUWHUDHEWH RIVALS TO LOVERS!!! UNDERUTILIZED!!! might hafta make a part two tho,,, locked in on the rivals part,,, lovers part in progress. ok no more of my rambles

▸ ever since you had arrived at alchemax, you and johnathan just couldn't seem to get along. not a particularly useful thing, considering you both worked for the same research company where teamwork was vital though, you insisted you had no real spite for him, the second you had gotten the job, you just seemed to one-up him in every single way.

every. single. way.

▸ when given a deadline, you'd finish in half the time it took him. when completing research, you have the information compiled when he was just starting to organize his.

hell, you even succeeded in being more proficient socially. how had you made so many friends already?

▸ he had to admit you were terribly charming too– a trait he was particularly envious of– and from the few times he's seen you get coffee with one or two of the other scientists, he knew that everyone seemed to think the same

not like he was paying that much attention to you as he saw you laughing with another coworker through the cafe window. foam party? sounds boring anyways, whatever

▸ he wasn't mad because he was lonely, or saw himself as inferior to you. johnathan had friends and honestly didn't consider himself particularly bad at making them. johnathan knew he was intelligent and that with his work, he could accomplish something big.

no, this problem had nothing to do with him. it was you. besides you, all the things he worked hard for was just second nature.

how annoying.

▸ your sworn rivalry had been one-sided for the longest of time to any witnesses. grumbling under his breath while he passed you, making a great effort to speak curtly with you, and was certainly not beyond intentionally knocking his shoulder into yours when he passed the look you shot at him for doing this was enough to make him wither on the spot– unintentional joke. my bad.

but he knew you were just as competitive as he was. the way you acted just had to be intentional. some of your remarks towards him were too pointed to ignore– your smiles and your friendliness nothing more than keeping it as civil as possible in a workplace setting.

professionalism, masking a deeper intention: to outdo him.

▸ and once you had figured that your feigned innocence would no longer keep you afloat, that's when the true rivalry began. an ambition-fuelled climb to the top to be better than the other.

it manifested more childishly than you two cared to admit.

"you know, chewing on pens isn't great for your enamel." johnathan practically jumps out of his seat, your words effectively snapping him out of his completely focused state.

he grumbles, looking over at you while lowering the pen away from his mouth a habit that i have too... guys look away itz not projecting...

you only shrug your shoulders. "just saying, johnny."

"don't call me that." he retorts, trying not to roll his eyes. "are you here just to bother me with unsolicited comments about my habits and dental advice?"

you laugh and he feels his face heat up in annoyance. you and your stupid laugh. he's heard enough of it around the workplace while you chatted amongst the others. it was a sound he could live without.

"so hostile. we work together, y'know?" you grin. there's a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. you were getting on his nerves and you knew it.

"anyways, i just came to ask if you had a pen i could borrow. preferably not one with teeth marks." the last part is tacked on so briefly that johnathan didn't even have time to be offended about it before he replied.

he looks at you dead in the face. "sorry. i don't have an extra pen on me."

you glance at the completely untouched, unused, ballpoint pen on his desk and then back at him. he says nothing, staring at you silently, before you get the hint decide to go ask someone else.

▸ it gets pettier.

imagine johnathan eying up a coworker, getting all blushy and stumbling over his words around them.

and within a week, you've got their number– and he passes by the two of out in that STUPID FUCKING HIPSTER CAFE GODDAMMIT–

it's not that serious to him. he can move on from a workplace crush. he however, can't move on from the fact you swooped in before he even got a chance. you never care to bring up that on your little coffee date with that person ended up being a disaster– maybe it was for the better they stayed away from him

▸ of course, he was able to outdo you too. his biggest success?

"so," johnathan flinched away, about to walk out the glass doors of alchemax and head home for the day– only to find you with your back leaning against the frame, arms crossed. "heard you got put in charge over something pretty important."

he curses under his breath. "you can't just sneak up on people like that."

"i was literally standing here in plain sight the entire time."

"were you waiting for me or something?" he asks sarcastically. johnathan seems somewhat surprised when you don't respond, awkwardly averting your gaze from him for a moment hm. guess that's a "yes"...

"doesn't matter." you reply, shoving your hands in your pockets. "so... you're working on a portal thingy?"

"i'm one of the people overseeing it, yes." he huffs, trying to answer your questions quickly and just get the hell home. but as you figured, he had all the time in the world when it came to correcting you.

"and– the word portal is inaccurate."

you raise an eyebrow. "yeah?"

"it's a particle accelerator. you should know what that means. the goal of this project is to essentially create a passageway– a bridge, if you will– between two separate dimen–"

"so, a portal." you interrupt.

he glares at you and you swear his eye twitches.

"just wanted to know. congrats, ohnn." you say casually, before exiting out the door.

the next time he sees you, he discovers that head scientist, olivia octavius who just so happens to be fond enough of your work to hear you out when you asked her decided it would be a good idea to have you work on the project as well.

even though johnathan was still technically still ahead of you– he kicked himself for how quickly you were beginning to catch up. you flashed him a grin from your desk as you began to help out on the project– he forced one back through gritted teeth.

▸ after tirelessly working on the project together as a team still trying your very best to outdo one another he figures this feud of yours is getting nowhere.

you've both spent sleepless nights on this project you both equally cared for,, it was time to just give up and be normal coworkers. an odd conclusion for johnathan to reach as a notorious grudge holder. maybe the lack of rest was getting to him, too exhausted to even deal with you anymore. or maybe, he was satisfied where he was right now– on the verge of a huge breakthrough with him being one of the main contributors– he no longer needed the pleasure of being better than you.

"how did you even get this number?" you ask, recognizing his voice through the phone as he greeted you.

"well, funny thing actually. alchemax has all the employee information on files, so i just–"

the realization hits you. "snooped through mine to get my phone number?! you're insane!"

he's desperate to explain, just trying to get to his point without getting a headache from you. "no, no, no– wait, i didn't come to fight or anything–"

"then what do you want, johnathan? a little medal? a trophy or somethin? you're probably getting that anyways after this whole thing– so,, so– what? what is it?!" you snap.

this is the only blatant hostility you've ever shown him. both ends of the call fall silent.

"wow uh– that was a lot." he mumbles awkwardly.

"...'m sorry." the shame makes your ears burn up. it is getting childish. you can't deny it.

he blinks at his phone, before bringing it back up to his ear. "did you just apologize? have i got the right person?"

it's your turn to groan. "are you trying to get me to take it back?"

"no! no, no, no– sorry." he replies quickly, stuttering as he tries to get back on track. "i just wanted to talk...."

the words hang in the air for much longer than needed.

"just spit it out already." you inturrupt.

"we should truce." he blurts out. "you know... maybe we should calm down. start over."

johnathan pauses for a moment, waiting for a reaction from you. you give him absolutely nothing. he takes a deep breath before speaking up again.

"i just thought it'd be better this way. this is getting ridiculous. and i think we're both mature enough to move past it so–"

"no, thank you."

he falters momentarily, processing what you had just said. "i'm– i'm sorry, i think misheard you."

"no, you heard me," you repeat, your smile clear as day in your voice, "no. thank. you."

"i like what we've got going on. keeps me motivated." the sweetness in your tone makes him cringe.

"you can't be serious." he rubs the bridge of his nose, fighting off the urge to lose his mind.

"oh, but i am." you lean into your phone's mic, voice dropping to a whisper. "just give me time. i'll catch up with you eventually."

your stubborness was truly something else.

"nope. can't do this, not today, nope–"

you laugh to yourself, hearing him hang up. you secretly hoped he'd at least keep talking to you a little longer. probably just a result of being a tad sleep deprived too.

▸ the collider is almost finished. ever since the phone call, you and johnathan hadn't talked for days.

and now, there you were, at his desk.

"need a pen?" he asks, looking up at you, expecting you to bother him again.

you shake your head. "actually, i came to ask for something else. i've been thinking about what you said..."

the words catch in your throat. you stare at the ground, the humiliation of what you're about to say causing you to fidget with your hands. he's never seen you like this– timid and anxious in his presence rather than smug and confident. it's a sight that he thought would bring him joy– but he's far beyond that now. instead, he looks at you curiously, not unlike the way he observes specimens.

"go on..." he says, leaning in slightly.

you meet his gaze sheepishly. "yeah. maybe a truce doesn't sound so bad."

he smiles back, cautious but hopeful. "you mean it?"

"this isn't me surrendering." you're quick to say, though your defensiveness falls flat, only causing his smile to fade for a moment. "i'm growing bored of it. we can just move on." it's not what he had in mind– but he'll take it.

"okay. sounds... good?" he replies awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

"mhm. so, you still have my phone number, right?"

he freezes. "yes... but– um– i can just delete it from my contacts now if– if you want. that was weird of me to do. really sorry 'bout that. just wanted to talk."

"nah. keep it." you say with a slight shrug of your shoulders. he tilts his head slightly at your reaction.

"i'll text you when work's done so we can grab a coffee or somethin." there's that smile he's grown so familiar with. this time it has no undertones of aggression– something which he finds more unnerving somehow. he can't tell what you're up to.

"i– uh– what–" he stammers.

you await the rejection.

"i mean– sure... but... you want that?" he asks, his tone careful, like he expects this to just be a scheme of yours. never in a million years would he think that you'd want to actually resolve whatever conflict you had going on. much less, spend time with him outside of work.

" i mean, i just offered, didn't i?"

"right– ...so uh– after work then. okay. it's a date."

he mentally kicks himself for the last part. "i– not like– a date, date, but–"

you don't give him time to stumble over his words and make a fool of himself.

"great." you turn to leave, but glance over your shoulder before walking away. "see you later, johnny."

▸ you failed to acknowledge this earlier, and maybe he had too– but over the course of your mutual rivalry, you found that you admired him. his brain, his work, his sheer tenacity– and he admired you too.

perhaps you didn't have to be better than one another.

"here's to new beginnings." you mutter to yourself, shooting him a text while waiting at the cafe.

[dissociacrip]

it's not just having physical or mental impairments that prevent me from working most jobs but also the fact that working as a disabled person means another avenue for people (employers, co-workers, customers, etc.) to enact violence against me.

i'm happier when i'm not working because that means i'm getting treated like shit much less.

yeah, most menial jobs are like that, whether you're disabled or not, but i'm not just talking about the general stress of things like retail and customers cussing you out or threatening you, i'm also talking about stuff within the workplace. supervisors and co-workers not taking your health problems seriously. getting scapegoated by co-workers and management. having your pay docked (or getting fired) for working too slow due to your health issues but you can't prove it's discrimination (if that process is even worth it.) being treated like you're not putting in enough effort when you're putting in twice the effort as your abled peers and struggling just to stay standing. supervisors and co-workers finding you difficult and annoying and weird because you're autistic and think very differently to the way they do, plus you don't have an innate understanding of how they think. still being held to abled expectations even when you do disclose that you have physical/mental conditions, and also while having other co-workers who are given the lenience that you need but for whatever reason it's denied to you because favoritism or cliques mixed in with ablest attitudes/beliefs. having co-workers try to blame their mistakes and incompetence on your because you're an easy target. these are just some of my experiences.

you don't have to deal w/ nasty entitled customers in every position/field but the risk of nasty vile people within the company or organization you work for is always there and it's especially magnified when something like disability is brought into the equation since that directly relates to your capacity to perform work to capitalist expectations. and then possibly losing your job means losing income means losing ability to pay for medical care and basic survival needs.

constantly pushing yourself past your limits and getting sicker because of that to pay for medications that barely help and doctor's appointments where your problems hardly get assessed/identified anyway, or it takes forever.

and what this doesn't mean is that being completely incapable of work, jobless or on benefits, etc. is a privileged thing vs. working while disabled. those things come with their own sets of issues and risks for violence that can be very extreme and life-threatening and anybody who thinks otherwise has some shit they need to unpack.

[devsgames]

I think it's absolutely insane to see prolific artists who have been taking incredibly hard-line stances against the use of machine learning technology suddenly shit talking the deal that WGA workers struck - you know, the landmark one which massively limits the use of AI in their craft in general to the point it's largely assistive and no longer dominates the conversation.

Sorry...are these artists upset that a subsection of creative workers successfully organized to put limitations on the use of machine learning in a way that doesn't undermine them as creatives and also guarantees their livelihood, on their own terms???? Is that not the thing that everyone should want out of this outcome????????

[hisbitchhh]

AYE A DRABBLE WITH MASA FROM FUKUMEN D. YK HIM RIGHT?? make it smut💗

Shut your horny ass up.😒

OF COURSE I KNOW WHO HE IS BITCH!!! HE'S DADDY. THE HOTTEST OF THE HOTTEST. Oh yeah.. this is WAY longer than a drabble. Sorry, babe...🥰

The Office Desk

Pairing: Masa Muto × fem!reader

Word count: 729

Genre:❤️‍🔥

Notes: I saw a spicy ass scene in this one drama that I'm watching, and holy shit, I GOT INSPIRATION.

Warnings: Vaginal sex, rough sex, fem recieving, no kinky bs just normal seggs.😜 Please don't read if you're uncomfortable with the mentioned warnings.

“Hey everyone ~” You greeted with a smile, walking into Your boyfriend’s workplace– or at least that was what he called it. Instead of anything being tidy and organized, the place was an absolute mess. Four big tables in the center of the room full of house phones, telephones, weed, cigarettes, bright lamps, and more. The smell of nicotine absolutely disgusted you, and everything was either dusty and old, or newly ordered with someone's stolen money. It was a club; The Cabaret Club. It was quite big for an illegal business, yet you couldn't shake off the vision of seeing Masa in jail because of so much stolen money.

The employees either hummed or gave you a wave in response, only paying attention to the amount of money that they received per delivery. You spot your boyfriend sitting on a spinning chair at a table, talking on the phone while writing something down on a piece of paper. Grinning, you strolled over to him, dropping your satchel down on one of the tables and placing a hand on his shoulder once you got to him.

“Hii~,” You say in almost a purr, smiling down at him with glossed lips. He glanced up at you, quickly glancing back down at the paper.

“Okay, 650… alright, perfect. Bye.” Masa murmured, hanging up the call and putting his phone down, leaning back in his seat with a sigh to look at you, raising a brow. “What? I'm busy, Y/n.” He licks his lips, running a hand through his wavy, messy hair. You frown, crossing your arms.

“Can't I say hi to my boyfriend? I haven't seen you in days.” You complain, plopping down onto his lap. Masa chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist, drumming your thigh with his fingers. “Did you miss good ‘ol Masa?...” He mutters questioningly, smirking up at you. Your smirk reflects his own.

“Of course,” You bite your lip, leaning toward his ear and sliding a hand up his baggy shirt. “I've missed all of Masa…” You run your hand along his abs, and he grins, shaking his head as his hand pulls yours out of his shirt.

“Not now, baby. I'm busy.” He yawned, leaning forward on his seat. A pout formed on your lips, and you huffed in annoyance. “Really? Not even after a week?” You hum quietly, scowling at the immediate decline. Your hand travels down to his sweatpants, licking your lips as you gaze up at him. “You don't miss me?...” As you felt the bulge under his pants, you chuckled. He was already hard. Masa let out a sigh, a soft groan escaping his lips. You smiled, your grin widening when he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Go into the office.”

—--

Your arms automatically wrap around his neck as he pulls you into the office, desperately pressing his lips on yours.

“Masa, wait– the blinds!--” You say between kisses, but he quickly shuts you up, biting down on your bottom lip.

“They can watch us,” Masa growls, ripping your jean shorts off of your body, his hands all over you, fumbling with your clothes and fondling your body as he pushes everything off of his desk, placing you down on it. You wrapped your legs around his hips, letting out soft whines as he kissed and suckled on your neck, allowing him to manhandle you.

“You were desperate for it anyway, weren’t you?” He groaned, pounding into you with such roughness that you almost lost your balance on his office desk. You moaned quietly in embarrassment of the other workers hearing you, but he soon enough quickened his pace in a successful attempt to make you louder, looking down at you with pursed lips, the bright sunlight shining on his body with a seductive glow as he viciously fucked into you, cock ramming against your walls like a maniac. You moaned uncontrollably loud, and he smirked at the sound of that, slamming into you in broad daylight.

“You like that, Princess? You like it?” His face inches closer to yours. “Quit fuckin’ around with me, baby. You know what I'll do to you,” He moaned out, holding you in place as he continued to push himself into you, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"This man will be the death of me," You always told yourself-- and you weren't wrong on that part.

[darlingshane]

everlasting spell

Pairing: Joe Teague x F!Reader

Summary: And here you lay in the bed, a masterpiece that exists only for his viewing. If he was an artist, he’d pick up a canvas, a brush, and paint to depict this moment exactly of you peacefully sleeping, of your body completely relaxed. It’d beat all those paintings you’ve shown him. He’d hang it right above his bed, so he could look at you every night before succumbing to slumber.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Smoking Weed, Alcohol Mention, 1950s, Mention of Era Typical Values, Marriage talk, Free spirited reader.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This is an unexpected second part to – under your spell. They can be read separately. Though, I love that first one, and you should read it anyway if you feel like to.

— You can read below or at AO3.

The office feels like an oven today. The oscillation of the ceiling fan is becoming more of a bother than a help. You stop for a moment, close your eyes, lean on the desk, and let the mild air cool your face as you wipe the sweat dripping at the back of your neck. You listen to the busy sounds of the restaurant above getting ready for dinner. It smells awfully good, too. The kitchen is over your little reception area and the scent of food cooking carries through the building.

There's only one hour left of work. Then, you're free to go home and rid yourself of the suffocating office attire, have some dinner and enjoy one or two cool glasses of wine before you pass out in bed like every night.

As you let out a sigh and go back to your task, you hear the steps descending the staircase before the door opens. Your head snaps to the side to find Joe Teague entering the hot dungeon that people call an office. Clad in a grey suit and hat, he tips the brim of his fedora in your direction before removing it.

“Do you have an appointment, Detective Teague?” you question with a certain playful tone but try to keep it professional.

It's not unusual for him to come in unannounced, but it's the first time he's come into your workplace since you started your… affair. That's what you chose to call all those nights he’s slept in your bed. All those furtive midnight calls, all the kisses, all the times he’s been inside you.

“Never needed one. Is Lon in there?” His head tilts toward your boss' door that reads 'Lon Cochran' in golden letters over frosted glass. “Just need a couple of minutes of his time if he’s available.”

“I'll let him know you're here,” as you walk up to the door, you wink at Joe, and knock softly on the glass before cracking the door open. Poking your head in there, you inform Cochran that Joe Teague is here to talk to him.

“He'll see you now.”

“Thanks, Darling,” he palms your bottom with his ridiculously big hand as he walks past you.

“Joseph!” you mouth at him before he disappears behind the door.

You smile to yourself and go back to your task, flipping through a pile of files; pulling up the ones on the list of cases that Lon inquired of you to organize and put away in a couple of boxes.

Joe is in there for no more than five minutes before coming out of the office along with your boss.

“Show Teague Mr. Frederick's file. I gotta go. I got a lead on Woodcomb,” Lon glances at you, holding his briefcase in one hand, a hat in his other. “Ask Nico to walk you to your car when you're done here.”

“Sure, have a good evening, Mr. Cochran,” you nod formally at your boss.

“You too, doll,” then he pegs Joe with a nod. “Good luck with Frederick's, Teague. Let me know how that pans out.”

“I will.”

You wait until your boss has left to hand over the requested file to Joe. You show it in his direction and as he reaches to take it from your hand, you snatch it away playfully before handing it over.

He sits in one of the chairs across your desk and opens the folder while you resume your assignment.

“Who's Nico and why does he have to walk you to your car?” He lifts an eyebrow while inspecting the case file.

“Why? Are you jealous?”

“Just curious.”

“Nico works in the restaurant,” you explain, vaguely pointing at the ceiling. “There's a mugger in the area prying on women. Lon’s just been looking out for me.”

“Was it reported?”

“Yeah, I believe so.”

“Hmm, I'll look into that.” He then pulls out two pictures from the folder, holding them up to you, “did you take these?”

“Uh-huh. What are you looking for?”

“I'm trying to identify someone he met.”

“He's a social butterfly, this fella.” You point at Frederick. “He's met with a lot of people. Anyone in particular that you're looking for?”

“A lawyer,” his brow creases, surveying every photo.

“Dark gelled hair, fancy suit, nice tie, shiny shoes? Not your average court appointed lawyer?” you ask, remembering Mr. Frederick visited an attorney a few months ago, whose name you can't recall.

“That's the one.”

You go around the desk and go through the stack of pictures to find the one Joe is looking for. “Who's he, anyway?”

“A liar.”

“Aren't they all?” You remark with sarcasm, propping your ass on the edge of the desk, bending over to unbuckle the straps of your heels and take them off now that Lon is gone. “There’s a reason why it rhymes with lawyer.”

“That they are, sweetheart,” he agrees, and resumes going through the rest of the file while you keep sorting the stack of folders left on your desk.

As you walk around barefoot, your eyes occasionally glance in his direction. It's been a while since you’ve seen him with that many clothes on him.

You don’t have the most traditional relationship with the Detective. Joe keeps asking your hand in marriage, and you keep stubbornly refusing it, so he has to keep coming back to earn you.

Though, you're not intentionally playing a game here, it's entertaining to see him so smitten with you. Men usually move on after a while with you. They know you’re not that kind of woman to settle down with, and as soon as they realize you’re just a cheap lay, they move on quickly.

Marriage is not something in your cards. At least not yet. You're no stranger to how men lose interest the same way the second there’s a ring around their lover's finger, and you’re not ready to take that step without knowing you'll always be all for him. And given Joe’s history with his previous sweetheart, you're not looking forward to becoming the second woman to carry his name.

Joe Teague is a flirt, which makes it hard to tell sometimes whether his intentions are true or not. All you do is get high and fuck like animals. There's not much space in between to figure out the rest. It’s a dangerous thing to be involved with, albeit a fun one. It works for now. You don’t expect more from your dear Joe. This is the perfect arrangement for both, no matter what he says.

You love your independence in a world where you're being pushed to commit to a man for good to be the perfect housewife and mother. That's the American Dream. But it's not your dream. You love your freedom to come and go and partake in those activities that have filled your life with wonder and joy.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes you a moment to realize that Joe has risen from the chair, and now his arms are curling around your waist from behind. As one hand rests on your abdomen, the other slides down your thigh, over your skirt to hike the hem higher up.

“Not here, Joe.” You swat his hand away, as his nose draws the curve of your neck.

“I thought this is what you liked. Taking risks?”

“Not at work, Darling,” you turn your face and hold his chin to give him a quick kiss. “Maybe later. I have to finish this. I thought you had work to do, too.”

“I’m done with the file. Now you have all my attention,” he purrs, attempting to slip his hand under your skirt once more, and failing as you bring it to a stop altogether.

“Sh, sh, sh. Behave, Joseph,” you free yourself from his embrace, and point a firm finger at him.

He loses the knot of his tie and stays here until closing time to walk you up to the car, cause he’d prefer to see you safe and sound himself than trust somebody else with your safety.

When you reach your vehicle, he presses your back against the door, and finally you let him capture your lips as if he hadn’t seen you in ten years. It’s been nine days since you last had him, and his lips come up strong and demanding, urging you to kiss him just as passionately.

“Are you coming over tonight?” you mumble when he runs out of air, glancing at your lipstick smeared around his mouth, and reaching to wipe it with your thumb.

“I dunno… I think it's going to be a long night. You'll probably be asleep by then.”

“I don't mind,” you hold his jaw, pressing a small kiss on the bow of his lip. “Come over. Wake me up. I miss you, Sweet Joe.”

Joe scoffs and looks to the side for a beat. “You say you miss me, and then refuse every time I ask to move in together. God forbid if I ever mention wanting to marry you.”

“Just because I don’t want you to make an honest woman out of me doesn’t mean that I don’t miss you,” you point out, amused. “You wouldn’t enjoy being married to me anyway.”

“No? Why is that?”

“Cause, I’m a free spirit. And I’m accustomed to a certain lifestyle that wouldn’t be acceptable for a married woman in the suburbs. I have my vices, and needs. I like traveling, and going out whenever I want… and…”

“You’re afraid I’m going to try to change that part of you?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t you?”

“Sweetheart… Those are the things that made me fall in love with you in the first place. I’d never try to change what makes you… you.”

“You say that now, but I’ve seen it again and again in other women tying the knot, and suddenly they become something else entirely. I love you, Joe, but I can’t do that. I like what we have now, I don’t wanna change that. I hope you can accept it.”

A soft frown flashes under the brim of his hat. “I like what we have, too, but is it that bad that I want more of you?”

“No, it’s not bad. I’m not saying I won’t ever change my mind. I Just need to make sure that you mean it. If you do, you’ll wait till I’m ready. Which could be five days, 10 months, or 20 years. I don’t know. Are you sure you want that?”

“For you? I have all the time in the world, Sweetheart.”

He better mean it, you think, before kissing him goodbye.

A few hours past midnight, Joe uses the key you gave him to invite himself into your apartment. He hangs his coat and fedora in the rack before taking off his shoulder holster. He does it ever so carefully to not startle you with some strange noise. Though he’s going to wake you anyway, he prefers to be the one to do it with his hands, with his lips, with his desire.

Joe steps out of his shoes, and loses the tie that he drapes over the back of a chair along with his white dress shirt. He then pads to the kitchen and drinks a glass of water from the sink before splashing some water on his face to freshen up a little. Drops slide down his neck, wetting the hem of his white tank top. He decides to take a quick shower to brush off the day. He's spent hours sitting in a car on a stakeout, smoking cigarettes, and the last thing he wants is to bring that to your bed. It needs to be afresh, as if it was the first time. He wants to give you what you deserve. All this effort might not make a difference to your final decision, maybe it will, but little details matter to him.

After his shower, he wraps one of your towels around his waist and finally comes into your room.

When he crosses the beaded curtain, the colors from the neon sign over the window outside outline the semi covered curves of your body in a thin veil of vibrant red and blue hues. He switches on the night lamp to fully capture your naked form, partially covered with a sheet that barely covers your bottom half, leaving nothing to the imagination. Out like a light, you’re settled on your back, the rose tattoo on your hip poking over the hem of the fabric, and Great Mother Isis guarding your stomach beneath her wings. One of your hands rests close to your face on the pillow, as the other spreads over your belly. Your breasts comfortably on display, gently rising with your breathing. There’s an empty glass of wine on your nightstand with just a couple of drops at the bottom. Next to it, there is half reefer with red lipstick stains on the white paper.

Staring at you, mesmerized at how you look like one of those paintings you showed him of women exposing their bodies with not a care in the world. He recalls one in particular. The angle shocked him at first. It was called The Origin of the World, L’Origine du Monde, it rolled out of your lips in French like honey. It portrayed the bare torso and thighs of a woman. She’s sort of sensually contorted, soft curves, legs open, where the main focus is her sex, accentuated by the black hair around the mound and slightly parted lips.

He remembers your fingers slowly drawing those lines in the open book over your lap.

“Don’t you wanna touch her?” You asked. “She’s inviting you to.”

“I'd rather touch you,” he replied, having his hand drawing the real lines of your body after that.

Now, Joe Teague is no prude. He’s seen his fair share, but when it comes to art he can’t help but sometimes blush at the thought of someone in the past painting those lines so perfectly, so accurately, so beautifully. That’s what art is, you said to him. It provokes. Whether you hate it or you love it. There’s freedom in that. In a society where decency, morals and Religion is supposed to be the compass, art breaks and ignores those rules. It follows the artist’s muse wherever it takes him.

And here you lay in the bed, a masterpiece that exists only for his viewing. If he was an artist, he’d pick up a canvas, a brush, and paint to depict this moment exactly of you peacefully sleeping, of your body completely relaxed. It’d beat all those paintings you’ve shown him. He’d hang it right above his bed, so he could look at you every night before succumbing to slumber.

Part of him doesn’t want to disturb you, but there’s that everlasting spell that you cast upon him, compelling every part of his body to consume you entirely. It’s been too long since he’s had you like this. Okay, it’s been only a few days, but it truly feels like years. He misses you like crazy and can't stand staring at you without holding you in his arms for one more second.

With the towel still secured around his waist, he climbs into bed, the springs complain at his weight as he lays by your side. He gently cups your face, brushing his fingers along your jaw to pull you out of your dreams softly. He whispers your name in your ear, peppers your face with kisses as you regain consciousness.

“Wake up, sweetheart. I miss you,” he pleads, his voice sounding tired and needy.

“Hmm,” blinded by the dim light, you barely open your eyes, and burrow your head in his chest instead.

You can't believe Joe's here. It feels like you're still dreaming and this is just a figment of your imagination.

He hugs you closer as his fingers run down your spine and lets you adjust for a minute as you come out of that limbo between dreams and reality.

“You've showered,” you realize, capturing the familiar soap scent spread across his skin, and tilt your head back to look at his eyes.

“Uh-hm,” the corners of his lips curve up, as his hand moves to frame your chin.

“I've really missed you,” you echo those same words from earlier that feel heavier at this hour in your stomach.

“I'm here now,” his forehead touches yours.

“Kiss me,” you demand, just as needy as the dark lust his eyes bear. His fingers tighten on your cheeks, prying your mouth open to make room for his tongue. He claims those desperate words out of your lips, drinking in kiss after kiss as if your mouth belonged to him. His tongue runs wilder than ever – dominating, insatiable, ravenous for more. Your moan in his mouth makes his core ache as his hand releases your face and trails down your body, pushing the sheet aside, searching for that sweet spot between your legs. His fingers rub back and forth along your mound and all the way down to your opening. It doesn't take him long to make you wet, and vice versa. His erection stains behind the towel, and you reach with your hands to peel it off him. Your legs lace together as you find a good position to rub his swollen erection between your lips, letting your arousal wrap around him.

Joe swiftly moves to be on top of you, pushing your thighs wide open as far as they can reach before guiding his length between the tenderness of your entrance. The slick and tight pressure of your pussy welcomes that delicious stretch that comes from him filling that aching depth. He presses his whole body against you like the heaviest blanket. Joe gets lost in your kiss while his hips move painfully slow, as if he wanted to draw this forever. As the temperature rises, you claw your nails on his back, leaving red marks on the fabric of his skin. His thrust comes gradually faster, sharper, to the beat of your own heart that grows easily excited as he mumbles how much he loves you and how good you feel.

When he’s close to coming, one of his hands clutches to your ass so hard you can tell he’s leaving marks too, it only aids that raising pleasure that coils in your abdomen like a snake on fire. It pokes from inside, begging to be released from that burning agony.

“Oh, Joe… I’m almost… ” you pant heavily against his neck, his sweat polling around your lips, as you go breathless. “Don’t stop… please, don't stop…”

He grunts wildly above your ear, his back arching harder under your palms, as he makes his life mission to pacify that shared fire growing between the friction of his body against yours.

Tirelessly, he pushes into you over and over. Your body begins to shudder as you reach that high edge, and fall over. Your walls flutter around him as you let out a choked cry. His cock twitches a beat after, gifting you the seed that comes from his own orgasm. It sticks to your walls, warm and heavy. You press your palms to his ass, so he doesn't slip out of you. As overwhelming as it feels, you don't want him to move an inch away from you. Your entrance still contracts around him for a few more seconds as his strength comes out of his mouth between heavy breaths over your neck. His body goes limp on top of you, while his length keeps some of its hardness for a while, as you both descend from the high.

“Oh, God, I've missed this,” you say once your voice comes back. “Promise me you'll come more often.”

Joe lifts his head tiredly, his expression utterly relaxed as he captures your stare, “promise me that you'll marry me and nobody else. Then you can have me whenever you want, sweetheart.”

“You're like a broken record, Dear.”

“Say it,” his tongue flicks along the corner of his lopsided lips.

You think for a moment and still riding that mindless swirl of pleasure you can't help but surrender to his perseverance, “I promise, I'll only marry you, Joe Teague.”

His lips curve up higher, as his thumb touches your temple. “That's all I needed to hear.”

You stick out your head closer, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. If that's what it takes to have him like this every day, so be it. You're damned anyway, you think. Married or not.

He carefully slips out of you once he's completely limp and rolls to the other side of the bed, pulling the sheet over his top half. You reach for the glass on your nightstand to have a swallow of wine, but it's empty, so you grab the half joint instead and light it up. As you take a long drag, you lower your head to Joe's stomach, looking away from him, and then lift your hand for him to take it.

You pass it back and forth twice, and while he takes another hit, your hand slides under the hem of the sheet to play with his cock. Your fingers curling around his soft skin earns you the sweet rumble of a grunt and a few curses buried in his throat. You pump him slowly, getting him to grow firmer in your hand. When he’s hard as a rock, you lean over and wrap your lips around that big, flared head that tastes of you and him on the plane of your tongue.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” his head lolls to the side, taken by the pleasure your mouth offers, he puts the cigarette down and focuses on your head bobbing lower over his lap.

Your eyes flutter as you take him deeper between your teeth, letting him touch the back of your throat. Joe’s hand moves to hold the back of your head. His fingers tangle with your hair as you suck a little harder, swallowing his arousal. You keep a tight grip at the base, pushing a little harder against his balls, while you quickly drive him to insanity with the tip of your tongue swirling around the tip for a moment. Then, you feel his palm growing anxious, pushing your head to go down faster, as his other hand almost rips apart the edge of the mattress that clutches to it for dear life. You let him urge you. You know it makes him feel powerful, and part of you likes it when he takes charge. Obeying his wishes stirs your own arousal, and you ease that ache between your legs by pressing your thighs together.

His cock throbs between your lips, you feel those veins popping as you take him closer to cloud nine. He’s breathless, and groans like an animal at the same time. You suck him with burning passion, reveling in his arousal, until your tongue is fully coated in his seed. You swallow it. Gladly. It’s not the first time you’ve done it, and won’t be the last.

He pulls you up to his side, pressing your body flush against his as he looks at you with that unbridled devotion he can’t let go of. Riding high, he grabs your face, and claims your mouth one more time, unashamed of tasting himself on your lips.

“I’ve never met someone like you,” he mumbles for the umpteenth time, – meaning, he’s never had the pleasure to have someone’s lips eating his cock like you do.

“So you've said,” you grin, palming his broad chest.

“Bears repeating,” his thumb tugs your lower lip, glancing at the way it’s lovely plumped. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

“Language, Joseph,” you quip, he chuckles. “You shouldn’t talk like that to your future wife.”

“Future wives don’t do what you just did with their mouths, either.”

“Hmm, I’m special.”

“That you are, sweetheart,” he purrs and seals your mouth once more, promising long-lasting love and many nights like this to come.

[moonpedri]

always.

summary: kylian takes you on a special date on a helicopter to let you see the eiffel tower for the first time

pairing: kylian mbappe x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: kylian is an absolute dream, beware of suffering from absolute delusions after this

word count: 1.8k+

a/n: this was definitely not inspired by the helicopter scene in figty shades of grey 😃 and i definitely never wanted to recreate this scene with someone😃 and this is definitely not for pure self-indulgment😃 and i definitely did not listen to "love me like you do" on repeat while writing this😃

anyways lol, i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing!!🤍

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You are in the middle of organizing the last shelf, when your manager approaches you with an unreadable expression. "__, this looks perfect. You're done for tonight."

You turn to her in confusion, "It's fine, I just have this one last shelf left-"

"I said you're dismissed for tonight, __. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

With a final look she leaves, but not before giving you a little wink. This is not a common occurrence; in fact you usually stay longer than you should. And judging from the underlying look in her eyes, you are far from done tonight.

This must be Kylian's doing again, you think. And the thought of him alone makes you feel giddy.

Your co-worker slash best friend joins you with a mischievous smile on her lips. "Stop looking at me like that.", you say.

"Aw, come on. Are you going to say this to your boyfriend too when he looks at you like that later.", Noémie says and cocks one brow up while pursing her lips. She looks absolutely ridiculous.

You shove her away, "How many times do I have to tell you that he's not my boyfriend."

She walks down the aile to the changing rooms with you, "Yet. He isn't your boyfriend yet. And when he is," she sighs blissfully, "I'll have a rich best friend and date one of his rich little friends so we can have those rich little brunches those snobby women in Paris have all the time."

"Noémie! You know that's not the reason why I like him. I don't care for his money, I never did."

Noémie smiles at you softly, "I know I know, I'm just kidding." She's silent for a second, before she breaks out in laughter, "Well, not really. But the moment he says something mean or treats you bad, god have mercy on his parisian ass."

This time you laugh as well, "I'll make sure to let him know."

She gasps, "Don't you dare. I can't leave a bad impression on my future brother-in-law."

You groan again, yet you can't deny that the thought of him being wedded to you doesn't make your stomach erupt in butterflies. "Noémie, you're so stupid."

She smiles warmly, as she watches you wear your leather jacket, "Have fun baby."

"Thank you.", you hug her tightly and leave the drug store with a shiver feeling. When you go outside a tall man, dressed in black, is already waiting for you, "Hey. Hugo, right?"

He nods curtly, "Good evening, Madam __. Monsieur Mbappé will be joining us there."

You smile gratefully, when Hugo opens the car door for you and you cautiously step in. The SUV is spacious, the windows are darkened. You can barely see anything outside.

You relax against the soft seat a little bit, while Hugo turns on the engine. Tonight is only your third date with Kylian. And you couldn't be any more nervous, because this time he didn't tell you what you were doing. A surprise, he said. Still, you're scared of being too underdressed or unprepared.

But this is Kylian; you shouldn't be too worried.

You met the french football player when he stumbled into your workplace one night. The little drug store that you work in was located in a small suburb in Lille. It isn't a well-known place, so you were surprised that such a huge personality like Kylian visited.

He was there for a match against Lille and was in search for something for his mother you think. You don't quite remember what it was, but what you clearly remember was his stressed face when you almost closed the door on him.

The store was about to close, and you almost started arguing with him but you felt bad seeing his distraught appearance and just let him in.

Safe to say your manager gave you in earful right there and then, but since it was France's superstar Kylian Mbappé, she let it go.

You waited at the door for him with the store's key in your hand. "Thank you again. Let me repay you with coffee or something."

"Sure.", you simply answered. Honestly you didn't even really hear what he said to you, too caught up with the fact that the Kylian Mbappé was in front of you, as well as your own tiredness.

He smiled and left.

You thought that settled it and you would never hear of the man again. So imagine your surprise when your shift ended 10 minutes later and he stood right there in front of you, leaning casually against the hood of his black car.

"Did- Did you forget something?", you ask. Nervously, you fiddled with the straps of your handbag.

"Yeah."

You purse your lips, "Oh. Well, I'm sorry the store is closed now and I can't let you-"

He laughs, "I meant your number. I owe you coffee, no?"

"Ah, no it's fine. You don't have to." To say you were completely flustered would be an understatement, and you really didn't want to know how shy you probably appeared.

"I insist."

So you met for coffee. But suddenly he invited you to one of his matches one day too, and then you even went to a luxurious steak house afterwards.

The night ended with a heated kiss in his car, leaving you sleepless for the coming days. Slowly, you started developing feelings for Kylian.

He's romantic and attentive. Despite the huge gap in your lifestyles, you never felt more comfortable with someone. You two just clicked, even though everything is still so fresh and new to you.

Daily text messages and calls gave you the illusion of knowing him for an eternity already.

The car comes to a halt in front of a huge building. Hugo opens the door for you, and once you step out, you're greeted by the chilly night air. You recognize your surroundings to be in the more wealthier part of the city - somewhere you have been only a handful of times.

After the two of you two step into the elevator, Hugo clicks on the highest button. He stands in front you, his back turned to you as well. While watching him, you genuinely wonder what Kylian could have possibly planned - especially on a rooftop.

The elevator doors open with ding! and the moment they do, you're breathless.

There stands Kylian, dressed in casual slacks, a white tee and black jacket in front of a helicopter. A fucking helicopter. His initials appear big on the side of it.

The sight may have left you breathless, but Kylian's smile, while you walk towards him actually robs you off all the oxygen in your lungs. You feel shy under the gaze of his pretty eyes. "Good evening, mon bijoux.", he says and presses a kiss to your hand.

He began using the nickname only recently via text or calls, but this is the first time he actually calls you "my jewelry" in person. You like it maybe a little too much. It makes you feel special - something never quite experienced in your life before.

"Kylian...what is this?", you say, eyeing the huge vehicle behind him.

He smiles and opens the door for you, like the true gentleman he is, "Our date tonight."

You figured already but it still seems a bit surreal to you, especially when you sit inside. Kylian joins you a few seconds later on the driver's seat.

It only dawns on you then, "Wait. Ky, you're flying this?"

He smirks and puts the headset on in response, "Yes."

"So, you have a license for flying a helicopter...", you begin and subsequently fail to contain your laughter, "but no driver's license?"

He laughs as well, a bit more sheepish though, "Life works in funny ways, doesn't it?"

You squeeze his hand, trying to reassure him in some way. You wanted to say something to him, but a light suddenly blinks up on the screen, distracting him.

Suddenly Kylian leans over to you. He reaches behind you, his face so close you can see your own reflection in his eyes.

He begins clamping down the multiple seatbelts for you. Once he's done, he fastens the belt up really strong and an audible gasp leaves your mouth, when it gets especially tight around your lower area.

"No escaping now.", he says in a low voice.

You never planned on leaving anyways, you're sure you would follow him anywhere.

Kylian fastens his own seatbelts and hands you over a headset, next to his own. "September 1-1-3-7. Michelangelo. Ready to depart."

You look at him, while adjusting your headset. "Roger that, Michelangelo. Your flight plan from Lille to Paris is cleared.", someone says through the comms and you stare at Kylian in shock, unable to hide your excitement.

"Paris? That's where we're going?

His emotions match your own, "Yeah."

The heli takes off and you can barely contain your squeal. Kylian doesn't even need to say anything when you reach the capital city after 20 minutes, the difference is as clear as black and white. The view from above at night is prettier than anything you have seen before. City lights shine bright in the darkness of the night, cars still hustle around even though it's far after midnight.

You see the Champs-Élysées, the Arc de Triomphe as you fly over river Seine. It's a tragedy really, that you haven't seen any of the many sights in person - or even been to Paris. But you wouldn't change anything in the world for seeing them for the first time like this.

The Eiffel Tower was by far its most famous monument. And nothing could have prepared you for seeing it from above, when the entire tower begins to sparkle.

"Kylian.", you gasp, "It's so pretty."

He hums in agreement next to you. You lean forward to get a better look at it.

"Do you like it?"

You turn to him, the sparkles for sure reflecting in your own eyes by now, "I love it. Thank you so much."

You can feel tears collecting in your eyes. It's crazy to think how fast your life changed in a span of maybe two weeks.

He presses a kiss to your knuckles, then to your wrist and finally intertwines your fingers with his. It's as if they were smithen and polished to fit into one another perfectly. Like a puzzle and its missing piece - finally complete.

"You're amazing, Ky. This means a lot. You mean a lot.", you feel yourself shake a bit. There's weight to your words and you feel scared.

His hand squeezes yours, he's got you. "You to me too."

And he knows in that moment that this is just the beginning of your journey together. That you will follow him anywhere and that he will too. He'll stand by your side, always, and care for you, just like you did when he stumbled helplessly into the small drug store in Lille.

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© moonpedri - DO NOT copy, translate or post my work anywhere without my permission!

[snnrinc]

Codename: ROOK

Ch. 1 - Outside Contractual Obligations [AO3 Portal]

— PAIRING : Dabi/Touya Todoroki x F!Reader x Hawks/Keigo Takami

— WARNINGS : NSFW (Not in this chapter), Noir AU, No Quirk AU, Porn With Plot, Sexual Tension, Threesome - F/M/M, Drugs Blood and Violence, Crime Scenes, Organized Crime, Murder, Eventual Smut, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, Masturbation, Analingus, Mildly Dub-Con, Not Canon Compliant, AFAB reader, She/her pronouns for reader

— SUMMARY : Being a police officer in a city where crime runs high and respect is non existent has got to be one of the shittiest jobs you've ever had. But it pays the bills. However, once you and detective Keigo Takami are assigned a case that deals with the murder of a prolific law enforcer and the subsequent chain of disappearances happening all over Musutafu, you realise that having your bills up to date is most definitely not worth all the danger you're up against. Especially when that danger is named Dabi, one of the most sought after criminals that you've been trying to catch red handed for years. Nonetheless, this is your only opportunity to make your job finally mean something, so you and Keigo decide to go undercover right in the jaws of peril, its razor sharp teeth waiting to bite into your neck like a guillotine. But you won't back out now, will you, officer? Good luck on the job, codename Rook.

— NOTES : This was supposed to be a smutty one shot I have no idea what the fuck happened. It's been gathering dust in my Docs for over a year and yet this is the only chapter I have 💀 I left notes for myself saying "don't go overboard with the plot because the point is for them to FUCK" and now here we are. It definitely worked. For sure... Still hope you enjoy!

“A big-name agent of ours went missing a few months ago. No trace of his whereabouts until a couple weeks ago, when his body was found in the dumpster behind a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Well, parts of it anyway.”

The man in front of you took a final puff from his dying cigarette and promptly extinguished it in the ashtray in front of him, right next to a bowl of sweets with generic labels. He exhaled the smoke in billows and it vanished in the air, lingering with a pungent smell of tobacco and an awful chocolate flavouring. Your nose scrunched up slightly and you resisted the urge to cough.

“We have no evidence left at the crime scene and the body being chopped up makes it near impossible to determine the murder weapon,” he continued. “We have some of our best agents dealing with the autopsy and the case as a whole, but no clear suspects so far.”

“This seems like highly classified information. So why are you telling me this?”

You closed the file you were handed and placed it back on the desk, eyes shifting to detective Enji Todoroki sitting across from you, watching the way his eyebrows dropped down just a little in an expression that seemed to almost be judging your intelligence.

Really, you felt like you should be the one judging here.

To say you were confused would be an understatement. When you were called into Enji's office, you had assumed you did something wrong on the job, since most people in your workplace seemed to overlook you even when it came to small tasks. Sometimes you felt that if you wouldn't turn up to work one day, no one would notice. Usually, you didn't mind — being invisible meant you could do your work in peace without being bothered by unnecessary small talk or the occasional office drama that you sometimes overheard in the break room. You were just an officer, one of the lowest ranks in the force, so the only time you expected any attention was when something went wrong.

When Enji personally came to look for you before you went on patrol for your shift you felt your stomach drop. Yes, the job sucked a good majority of the time, since you noticed you were often not taken seriously by your colleagues, sometimes probably even considered a liability when dealing with more violent cases. But like any other person roaming the earth, you still had rent to pay and food to buy if you wanted to continue existing, and working for the Public Safety Commission ensured you did just that and still had some money left for your more frivolous wants. Straightening your back, you followed Enji to his office, every bad scenario playing in your mind only getting worse when, as soon as you sat down, he dropped a file containing the case details on the desk in front of you, pushing it forward in a silent prompt for you to read it.

And now here you were, bombarded with information about a murder you were pretty sure you were not qualified to deal with, at least judging by your contractual obligations. You had half a mind to ask if you'd be getting paid more if you worked on the case, but you bit your tongue from the overwhelming feeling of uneasiness creeping up your spine.

“Of course, I don't expect you to understand things so quickly.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his comment. “But surely you've gathered by now that you have been assigned as an assistant to this case.”

“That much is obvious,” you couldn't help but retort. “The question is still why?”

“I was meant to be assigned to this case, but the crime rate has spiked in recent months. I have bigger issues to deal with, so the Commission decided that we need someone that can slip under the radar.”

Ah, so they just needed some cannon fodder. Part of you thought you should've expected as much from the Commission.

“I still think I'm terribly underqualified to be working on this case.”

Enji leaned back into his chair, tapping one of his armrests with his index finger. “So do I, but you'll be working under detective Takami.” He heaved a sigh and allowed a sarcastic undertone to lace his voice, “Who should've been here to give you a quick overview of the case progression so far, but who are we to count on his punctuality?”

Wait a second, working under who?

You blinked and did a double take at him, replaying his words in your mind as if trying to dissect their meaning. This was fantastic in the worst possible way. Not only did you practically have a murder case of a prominent agent dropped into your inexperienced and unsuspecting arms, you were now the right hand of the second best detective of the Commission, Keigo Takami.

If only you had these kinds of odds bestowed upon you if you played the lottery, surely you'd have won enough to ditch this job.

You thought back to what Enji had just revealed to you and couldn't shake the feeling that there was a different reason why they would ask an officer to help with this case, other than just “slipping under the radar”. With one of the best detectives taking over, you figured the Commission wouldn't be stupid enough to allow someone like you to get in the way of the investigation.

As the questions multiplied in your mind, your tongue was tied, unable to figure out a way to put your doubts into words, especially since you knew Enji would do nothing to soothe them.

There was a knock on the door breaking your train of thought, before it opened to reveal detective Takami, an easygoing smile etched on his lips, his gloved hands buried inside the pockets of his shearling jacket, with only one coming up to push his aviator sunglasses that were resting on the bridge of his nose to the top of his head.

“Sorry I missed the introductions,” he said, “but I'm sure we weren't called here just to chat.”

“At last you grace us with your presence, detective. A little while longer and our officer here would've taken over the case in your stead.”

You whipped your head towards Enji, almost ready to ask him if he was serious, before you looked back at Keigo to see him meet your gaze.

“I'm Keigo Takami, it's a pleasure to meet you.” He gave you a charming smile and extended his hand for you to shake. You grasped it firmly and introduced yourself. “So, were you one of the first responders at the scene?”

“Actually,” Enji interjected, “the officer is unfamiliar with the case at the moment, save for the basic details.”

“Oh?” Keigo frowned in confusion.

“As of today, this is your new assistant in this case.”

Keigo blinked a few times, then shook his head and huffed a laugh. “I'm sorry. What? An officer? Not that I mean to doubt your judgement or anything, but isn't this case a little too sensitive for an officer to deal with?” He turned towards you. “No offence.”

“None taken, I'm a little confused myself.”

Enji sighed and massaged his temple with one hand before he leaned forward. “You see, your role in this case will be a little more... 'hands-on' than usual. I mentioned we don't have any concrete suspects, but we do have an idea of the organisation that might be responsible for the murder, which is why we need to employ your help for the investigation.”

“I don't see how this is anything new,” Keigo said. “We've been investigating the League for a while, they operate in this area. Tying them to this murder would be the most obvious first step.”

“The League?” you interfered.

Enji raised an eyebrow at you. “Are you familiar with them?”

“Uh, yeah.” Your eyes shifted between the two men watching you. “They've made a name for themselves amongst the police officers. We've been trying to catch a few of them in the act but they always slip away.”

“Unsurprising for the police force,“ Enji scoffed and you frowned. “Let's hope we won't have the same disappointing results in this case. We have no time to waste on pathetic failures.”

Keigo looked at you from the corner of his eye and noticed the way your shoulders tensed up. He leaned over and dug his hand into the bowl of sweets on the desk, effectively catching both of your attentions. With a fistful of candy, he resumed his questions for Enji who was dishing out your responsibilities.

“So is this about the NOMU Program?”

Enji's eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that program? It's classified information, even for you.”

Keigo shrugged and shoved some more candy into his mouth. “If it is about that, I'd argue that's even more reason why we shouldn't drag an officer into this.”

“Sorry,” you interjected. “What is the NOMU Program?”

“Don't concern yourself with things outside of your duties,” Enji snapped.

“Come now, let's be courteous with our colleague,” Keigo said with a light-hearted tone before turning to you. “It's a codename used by the League. We figured it stands for Network of Metahumanoid Units. A fancy name that's probably got to do with their attempts at reanimating corpses.”

Fuck, so now you were dealing with zombies? Sure, technology as a whole was impressive, but it was nowhere near sophisticated enough to bring someone back from the dead. As far as you knew, every attempt to reverse death was futile. So then why would someone bother?

Enji noticed the confusion in your eyes and spoke before you could ask any questions. "They're planning to use them as weapons. Keigo called them corpses because essentially that's what they are: on the brink of brain death.”

“The only reason why they don't collapse is because the League is pumping them full of a drug called Trigger that boosts their baser powers,” Keigo continued, earning an annoyed glare from Enji at how readily he presented the classified information to you. “We've only had a few attacks reported so far, and we weren't sure what exactly we were dealing with, so we had our top agents deployed to deal with them. Which is why the police weren't mobilised.”

“Sounds like a pretty important omission to me,” you countered with a frown. “So is this what we're dealing with here? Drugged up zombies?”

“We're still unsure,” Keigo answered. “If this victim was supposed to be part of the NOMU Program, then we wouldn't have a body cut up into pieces on our hands. Maybe they're trying to send a message.”

“That's where you two come in," Enji announced. "This time, you will not be dealing with any forensic analysis, suspect interrogation or evidence collection. Instead, you two will act as our eyes and ears and infiltrate the League.”

An insurmountable amount of pressure crashed over you and clenched your muscles in a vice grip, to the point where you almost felt as if it would crack your bones at any moment. You tried to control your expression in an attempt to stop your shock from washing over your face, but surely the vein that started throbbing painfully in your temple was enough proof.

“Hold on.” You raised your hand again to signal for Enji to slow down. “You mean to tell me you called me here to act as your spy?”

Enji scowled. “I don't like it either. They shouldn't send a rookie in for such a big case. I should've been the lead, but it wasn't my decision to make, so I suggest you suck it up and do your job.”

Your voice was exasperated, “There are so many ways that this could go wrong if you send me out there! I'd just hold detective Takami back!”

“I have to agree,” Keigo said. “It's best if I work on my own as usual.”

“Well you see, Takami, things are not so easy in this line of work,” Enji snarled, then produced two folders from his briefcase and stood up, handing them to you and Keigo. “Commission's orders and instructions. Read them thoroughly. Good luck with the mission detective, officer.”

And with that, he stepped out of the room and you felt as if all oxygen made an exit along with him, your heart pounding in your chest so hard you could almost hear it through the grave silence that fell over the room as you read the instructions:

“Officer,

As of today you will refer to yourself as Rook and to your mission partner as Hawks. Forget your real name. Return your weapons, badge, uniform and any other equipment that may be in your possession at the reception of the PCS HQ.

While infiltrated do not contact anyone outside including family members, friends, acquaintances and other PSC employees except for your partner.

You will not have any accolades attached to your name. Your achievements will not be disclosed by the PSC if you succeed. You will receive no posthumous awards if you die. This is your duty to fight for the people. Failure to comply could result in dismissal, sanctions and/or prosecution.

Destroy this document after reading.”

This job was so not worth it.

You watched the grainy screen of the tube TV perched in a corner of the office intently, listening to the news broadcasted somberly by the anchor along with your colleagues. Keigo was by your side, expertly twirling a pen in his fingers, but his focus was zeroed in on the screen, his nose and mouth buried in the raised collar of his jacket.

After the discovery of the body of the Commission's agent, the disappearances around Musutafu increased by a concerning margin. What was worse was that not all of them were agents, some were simply civilians that seemingly had powerful or useful builts and abilities, like the person whose face was now on the screen, their name, last known location and clothes they were last seen wearing listed underneath the picture.

You crossed your arms over your chest and frowned. If this was what you were dealing with, even with your training and experience you were unsure how you'd survive as a double agent. You had no special skill, no upper-hand tactic and you couldn't rely on Keigo—Hawks—for fear that you'd hold him back and compromise the mission.

With how they had you bring back anything that would suggest you'd ever had any contact with the Commission, it really seemed as if they were trying to erase any trace of your existence. This job was all you had, all you ever worked for since you were just a bright-eyed trainee at the police academy, ready to take on any danger coming your way if it meant you could save someone else from it.

How naïve.

Maybe you should've just given up when you were still a child, still able to choose a path that would fit you and your capabilities more. The society in which you lived was unforgiving to weak people, so you had to adapt. But women were not always respected in the police force, and those who were got there because of their network rather than their own abilities more often than not. Not to mention that a police officer's chances of advancing without having someone behind them were close to none.

In other words, there was no way out for you. But at least you weren't exactly the perfect catch for whatever the League was planning, by the looks of things.

From the fog of your worries, you felt Hawks tap your shoulder to catch your attention. His collar was now pushed down neatly and you could see the serious way in which his lips were pursed. He gestured with his head for you to follow him and you complied with a nod.

You reached his office, after stopping by your desk to collect the last bits and pieces you had left laying around, and sat down in front of his desk, one hand worriedly rubbing your chin as you looked out the window. His eyes never left you as he sat down and leaned back in his chair, the pen he was playing with earlier still in his hands. He watched carefully as your brows turned downward in a frown that casted a shadow of concern over your eyes, before he put the pen down on the desk, the sound making you turn to look at him.

“I know you're worried,” he started, “but I want you to know I won't let anything happen to you.”

You let your hands fall into your lap. “Please, don't worry about me. I don't want to be a drawback in this mission.”

“You won't be,” he said, but noticed you were unconvinced when the corner of your lip lifted in what was supposed to be a polite smile, but didn't quite reach your eyes. “You graduated as the top eighth trainee in the police academy, surpassing like, what, 22 of your classmates? That's pretty impressive.” You stared at him in a mix of confusion and surprise and he shrugged nonchalantly. “I've read your file. You've got a lot of potential, officer.”

You smiled and nodded as thanks. In the past, this kind of compliment would've left you feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside, feeding into your pride and fuelling your determination to get even better. But now, the comment felt like tossing a coin down an endless pit, nowhere near enough to fill the hollow space in your chest and, despite its value, ultimately useless. When did your outlook on your job get so sour?

Maybe it was when you were put up for disciplinary action after attempting to stop one of your fellow officers from brutalising a murder suspect. Or maybe when you had one case shut down because the culprit was the daughter of an acclaimed attorney that somehow found the perfect team of lawyers to render the evidence null. Or maybe it was simply after you had graduated from the academy and were thrown out into the real world. Any way, perhaps this was the universe's way of making up for all the times it fucked up. By giving you a new opportunity.

You picked up the pen from Hawks's desk and fiddled with it. “Officer, huh? I thought my new name was Rook.”

Hawks chuckled. “They're really terrible at picking codenames, huh? Sounds like we're just two bird enthusiasts with no imagination.”

You chuckled at his comment and after a moment you bent down to rummage through the box in which you had collected your remaining possessions from your desk, pulling out a document. You opened it, quickly finding the file in which you and Hawks took notes about your action plan.

“So,” you started, scrolling through the notes, “you were saying you already have a way to get inside the League?”

Hawks leaned forward on his elbows to get a better look at the notes. “Well, yes and no. Enji didn't tell you this, but remember how I said we've been investigating the League for a while? Well, I've been in contact with one of the members. I managed to get close enough for him to think I'll soon defect and join them.”

“So you've been planning to go undercover for a while now?”

“It's the only way I could squeeze any information out of them. They seem pretty loyal to their cause, so getting one of them to become an informant for the PSC was highly unlikely.”

You nodded in thought. “So who's your contact?”

“A guy named Dabi.”

Your blood ran cold and your eyes shot up to Hawks. You knew that name too well. Not only was he notoriously known among the law enforcement as one of the most dangerous members of the League, but he was the person responsible for numerous counts of arson in your area, courtesy of his pyromaniacal tendencies. You'd been trying to find a way to get closer to catching him for years. Each time, he slipped out of your hands, your attempts always too late or too little.

You knew what Dabi was capable of, and without the comfort of a self defence weapon and protective equipment by your side, you feared you'd be turned to ash before you even tried to get any information out of the League.

You stared through Hawks for a few seconds. His eyes searched your expression as he frowned in confusion at your sudden change. You noticed that and blinked a few times, clearing your throat.

“So this contact is our ticket inside, but how do I get him to trust me? I think I'd be found out before I even get to talk to him.”

“No need to worry, I'll send him your way somehow. You then offer to be their informant. We'll have to act separately to avoid raising suspicion, so if we cross paths, try acting like you don't know me personally.”

You nodded in acknowledgement then remained quiet for a second before frowning in thought.

“I don't understand. If you already have an in, then why would the Commission send me to help?”

Hawks sighed. “You heard what the Commission said, you'll be the bait.” He leaned back in his chair. “The League is reluctant to let me join because I'm a well-known detective. They know who I am and what I do, but they don't know you. If you manage to convince them you're also just a crooked law enforcer, that would be the last step we need to finally get inside.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

Hawks regarded you thoughtfully, tilting his head and looking you up and down. His scrutinising eyes seemed to glow as the final rays of dusk poured through the blinds of his office window. Before he even spoke, you knew that his idea would not be to your liking.

“Say, how comfortable are you with flirting?”