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asxgard · 3 months ago

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Companionship | pt. 2

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

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Summary: You and Michael have some late night phone calls. He struggles to open up.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: wow! Y’all are really so nice omg, I really appreciate all of you who took the time to like, comment or reblog. I also appreciate all you silent readers too! I’m genuinely surprised with how much traffic part 1 got, so thank you all so much! Contemplating adding this to my AO3 account from the perspective of a f!oc, but still undecided (I prefer to keep my reader works strictly for tumblr, idk why). This is definitely going to be multiple parts (my rough outline currently has ten chapters whoops).

I don’t know much about sugar babies aside from what I’ve read, so I took some liberties with my guesstimates.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap, slowburn, foul language, allusion to a panic attack, work stress, Robby trying to avoid his feelings/anxiety, my basic understanding of accounting, angst

not beta read

“You’re lucky. Someone only looking for companionship is a small pool of men. Not as lucrative as a traditional sugar baby, but if that’s more your speed, maybe reach out to some more.”

Your smile twisted, “I’m already uncomfortable with just one. Thinking about adding more makes me feel icky.”

Erin rolled her eyes, “Why? They know what they signed up for. If they wanted fidelity, then they should get a girlfriend.”

“I’m telling you, I could hook you up with a shift or two a week at the bar. I make great tips.” Marsi said, her eyes not flickering from her laptop.

You frowned. “I already gave him my number. My Google Voice number, but yeah.”

“That’s my girl!” Erin praised with a laugh.

You wondered if it was a mistake. He had not reached out since you had sent the number on the app, nearly four days prior. Perhaps he was having second thoughts. Anxiety filled your chest at the thought of having to go through the whole process again.

Or just drop it and take Marsi up on her offer.

—

Your night passed slowly, studying with your friends until dinner time, when they left. You kept your focus on the Excel spreadsheet in front of you, checking over your homework with careful eyes. Numbers were easy, they did not hold the complexities of human beings—

Your phone buzzed on the table, immediately pulling you away from your work.

You have any time to talk?

It was an unknown number. You watched as the three dots appeared immediately after, though it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

This is Michael by the way.

So formal, you found yourself thinking with a small smile, quickly adding him to your contacts.

I have time.

It only took a few more moments before your phone started ringing. Anxiety thrummed through your system, heart beating like a drum against your ribcage. You took a long breath through your nose before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” He answered awkwardly.

“How are you?” You asked out of habit.

There were several moments of silence. “I want to say I’m okay.”

“But you’re not?”

“But I’m not.” Came his quiet reply.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Another measured silence. “No. Yes? I don’t know.”

You hummed. “I understand your hesitation, we don’t know each other. But isn’t that the whole point? I’m unconnected to your life and you basically have anonymity. I won’t pry, so we can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

He was silent for a long time. You checked the call to make sure it hadn’t dropped. The seconds ticked away on the call, so he was still there. You waited.

“Just a…rough day.” He said, his tone sounding stressed. “I think I’d rather talk about your day right now.”

“My day?” You questioned, surprised.

He only hummed in response.

“Do you want the play-by-play or the cliff-notes?”

Michael exhaled a ghost of a laugh, “Give me all of it.”

You cleared your throat, “So my alarm went off at 5:20, no! 5:25, and then I got out of bed—”

He laughed, bringing a smile to your lips.

“I have early classes on Thursdays, so I was up earlier than I usually like to be…”

“Night owl?”

“Guilty.” You smiled. “But it was my forensic accounting class, which I’ve been enjoying, so I wasn’t too upset getting out of bed. Add in my morning coffee, and I was a pretty happy camper.” You paused, but he was quiet on the other end. “I had taxation today too, and despite the fact I love the numbers, learning tax law just isn’t my favorite thing.”

“Why do you like it? Accounting?”

“Oh, um,” you paused, deliberating. “I like turning unreadable stuff into a well-crafted report, turn a mess into an easy to read story of a company’s financial history. Plus, numbers are a lot less complicated than human beings.”

There was his quiet laugh again. “Yeah, I can see how that can be true.”

“As a doctor, I can imagine you would.” You were smiling.

“I’ve seen…a lot of complicated people.”

You waited a few moments, but he didn’t elaborate. People were the primary reason you had left the medical field early on in your college career — while you enjoyed being helpful, people could be too overwhelming.

“And my shift today was good, busy and boring, but easy enough.”

As you went on about your day as a payroll clerk (though vague about the company details), Michael was quiet. It was clear he needed the distraction from whatever his day had been. You explained your studying routine with your friends and your love of baking. You got the occasional hum of acknowledgment, but it was clear he just wanted to listen to you talk. You moved from topic-to-topic without complaint, pausing occasionally to make sure he did not want to comment, or change the subject.

It was late when you realized the time: 11:08.

“Michael? I’m sure I could keep going, but I’m not sure you want to hear my opinions on office politics.” Your tone was jesting.

Still no response. Furrowing your brows, you listened silently to the other end.

Small puffs of air, slow and steady, in and out. In. Out. He had fallen asleep.

Your first instinct was to be offended — no telling how long since he had drifted off or how long you had rambled to no one. But then you relaxed. He had clearly needed the distraction from what was going through his head when he first called, enough to quiet his brain. Or perhaps he was just that exhausted. Either way, you did not take it personally, you would have likely been up this late anyways.

You ended the call at two hours and seventeen minutes.

—

Are you available at 9?

You checked your phone when you moved into the living room, dinner cooking in the oven, finding a text from Michael. Per your agreement, you usually talked about once a week. He usually gave late notice, though it usually reflected how bad his day had gotten. Your last talk, however, had only been three days prior.

In addition to the one only days ago, you had talked two additional times since your first, typically at night, where you did most of the talking. You almost found your talks therapeutic; plus you were getting paid to just talk. Though, you wished he talked more — part of you felt like you were taking advantage of the situation and he was barely getting anything out of it.

He had already put money on the prepaid Visa card you had picked up after your first phone conversation. Michael thought the card would be more discreet and confidential than Venmo. The $400 dollars you had agreed on for the month had done wonders with relieving the pressure on making your rent payment.

Erin had encouraged you to set up an online wishlist as well, adding things periodically in case he wanted to buy something extra for you. “As a tip,” Erin had told you, a wide smirk on her face. That same day, Erin had coincidentally brought her new Valentino canvas bag that you were sure cost more than your rent payment. You held off on the wishlist, but you kept a few things in your notes app. Just in case.

You sent him a confirmation that you were fine with nine. He must work late hours. He had said he was a doctor, but you wondered in what specialty or where, but you had never broached the topic. You both valued your privacy when it came to your arrangement, not wanting to muddy the waters.

Surprisingly, he did not call at nine. He was usually pretty punctual when it came to a time he asked for. You waited patiently for several minutes before moving to start some hot water for tea, looking out the window at the rain. You figured to give him a bit of extra time before turning in.

At 9:24, your phone rang. Part of you nearly picked it up on the first ring, but you gave it a few moments before picking up. When you answered, he spoke first.

“Please just talk. About anything.” He sounded out of breath, talking quickly. His tone sounded more stressed than you had heard before.

“Are you alright?” Was your first instinct instead of doing as he asked, standing from your chair at the dining table, mug of tea forgotten.

“Fuck. No, I’m not. Please just talk to me. Your day. Your job. The fucking traffic this morning. Anything,” Your name was so quiet on his tongue, you nearly missed it.

It sounded like a plea.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, before running with it, “This asshole actually cut me off this morning, which considering his bumper stickers, wasn’t all that surprising. No blinker, nothing. I swear, sometimes the subway is less stressful, though I hate the morning crowds.”

Suddenly realizing talking about stressful things might not be the best way to calm him down, you pivoted, pacing across your apartment. Deciding quickly on something boring to most, you began to explain your most recent accounting assignment. How you came up with the financial analysis from the numbers your professor had given, to the tax implications of several of the (fake) business’s decisions. You explained it as best you could in layman's terms, trying not to make the math too complicated, before walking him through your report and your thoughts about how to help the business improve.

You paused long enough to hear his breathing, not quite as ragged but still loud and quick. “I don’t need you to respond, but think of five things you can see.”

Oh this was cliche, but you did not dwell on it.

After a few moments, “Okay, four things you can touch.” You paused, finding four things of your own to ensure he had time. “Now three things you can hear.”

“You.” He croaked, much quieter than he had been. “I can hear you.”

“That’s good. Now two more things.”

“…the rain. The cars outside.”

“Good,” you breathed out. “Two things you can smell?”

He didn’t answer, though his breathing had slowed tremendously from when you had first answered his call. It felt relieving, and you finally made your way to sit on the couch.

“Last is one thing you can taste.”

He let out a long deep breath, but kept whatever it had been to himself.

“Are you okay?” You asked again after a few moments.

“No.” He said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

You nearly huffed, but the annoyance was fleeting. You smiled, “I can tell you more about accounting, but most people find it incredibly boring.”

“You seem to really enjoy accounting. Though, I can’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day.”

“Well I wasn’t quite cut out for psychiatry, and I’ve always enjoyed a good spreadsheet.”

“Psychiatry?” He sounded surprised. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“You would’ve been good at it.”

Oh?

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Um, can I interest you in what my professor assigned today or how my manager nearly fucked up payroll this week?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll take ‘how my manager nearly fucked up today’ for $200, Alex.”

Your lips quirked back up at the Jeopardy reference, trying to shake off the feeling his praise had given you. With a long sigh, you rubbed your fingers along your hairline.

“He messed up the new employee’s tax deductions by misclassifying his title. When he backtracked to fix it, he cleared out the entire category — thankfully I caught it when I was putting my own numbers in for the small team I oversee.” You told him, looking at your nails. “Led to quite a frustrating day.”

Despite the fact that it had led to quite a hectic start to your workday, adding several tasks that interrupted you workflow, you felt mildly pathetic knowing his day had clearly been so much worse. You tried not to compare, your days had just as much value as his, but it was still a creeping feeling in your gut.

You continued on after a beat of silence on his end. Fixing the problem hadn’t necessarily been the issue — it was redoing every employee's numbers that led to your annoyance. That, and the lack of accountability from your manager.

Time ticked on, Michael only adding in his thoughts here and there, mostly staying quiet.

He coughed awkwardly during a lull in your conversation, “Uh, thank you for tonight.”

Beginning to feel your exhaustion, you smiled tiredly. “No thanks necessary.”

“Goodnight,” there was your name again.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

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thefantastickatinator · 7 months ago

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Dropout should hire more trans women.

That said, a couple things about the data set floating around showing disproportionality in casting:

1. 7 of the top 9 (those cast members who appear in over 100 episodes, everyone else has under 70 appearances) are members of the core dimension 20 cast, aka “the intrepid heroes”. This cast has been in 7 of the 22 seasons, with those seasons usually being 20-ish episodes long (the other seasons are between 4-10 episodes long typically). That’s approximately 140 episodes for each of the main intrepid heroes cast members just for these seasons (not including bonus content like live shows). Brian Murphy has appeared 154 times, which means almost all of his appearances were on D20 intrepid heroes campaigns.

2. The other 2 in the top 9 are Sam Reich and Mike Trapp, who are both hosts of long running shows (Game Changer and Um, Actually)

3. 198 of the 317 episodes that noncis “TME” people have appeared in can be attributed to ally Beardsley alone (there is some crossover where for example alex and ally have both appeared in the same episodes). Erika ishii has been in 67 of the 317 noncis “TME” episode appearances i don’t know how much crossover there is between them but i don’t think they’ve been on d20 together so i doubt it’s more than 20. It could be as many as 250 of the 317 episodes that have either erica or ally. Both Erika and ally are majorly skewing the results for the data

4. Over 3/4 of people have no listed gender identity in the spreadsheet - most of them have 1-2 appearances, but a few have 3-4 appearances. I’m pretty sure these people aren’t included in the data at all (some of them i’m p sure are not cis like jiavani and bob the drag queen)

5. The data collector has assigned “tme” and “tma” to various cast members.

TME: transmisogyny exempt

TMA: transmisogyny affected

Now, tranmisogyny can affect trans women, trans femmes, and nonbinary people, and occasionally masculine appearing cis women.

I personally do not believe that an outside person can assign you a label deciding whether or not you experience certain types of oppression- and yet that is what the data collector has done.

I think a more accurate label would be amab/afab, or more honestly- “people i think are amab or have said they are amab and then everyone else”

6. The data does not include many of their newer shows such as Very Important People, Gastronauts, Play it By Ear, and Monet’s Slumber Party, all of which feature trans people (MSP, Gastronauts, and VIP are all hosted by noncis people)

What I think the data more accurately shows:

- Dimension 20 has a “main cast” who have appeared in the majority of episodes

- Dropout has some “regulars” who appear on the majority of their content/shows (sam has referenced multiple times that brennan is one of the first people he calls whenever someone can’t show up for something since he’s nearly always down for anything) - none of these people are trans women

Final thoughts:

I think eliminating “hosts” and the “intrepid heroes” from THIS TYPE of data set would be more appropriate because they massively skew the data when crunching the numbers for dropout shows. Especially since I can tell from the excel sheet that there are shows missing. Examining d20 sidequests and the guests on the other shows will give a more accurate representation of casting. Hosts should be analyzed separately as that’s a different casting process.

Also imagine if we referred to men and women as “misogyny exempt” and “misogyny affected” when doing demographics. Or if someone did a data collection of the number of POC appearances in dropout episodes and sorted it by “racism affected” and “racism exempt” - so weiiiiird

TLDR: the data set has massive issues with its methodology and that should be considered. That doesn’t make what trans women are saying less valid.

In other words: spiders brennan is an outlier and should not have been counted

#dimension 20 #dropout #tranmisogyny #diversity #data

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kittenan2 · 14 days ago

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Troubleshoot My Heart

Trope: IT Helpdesk Chaos Pairing: Grumpy Genius IT Guy!Yoongi × Bored, Unhinged Newbie!Reader Warnings: Explicit 18+ content, office romance, age gap (~10 years), smut, forbidden romance, workplace chaos Word Count: ~5k Rating: 18+ | Explicit | Minors DNI Some viruses come from shady websites. Others wear glasses and a smirk.

The office is a prison of beige and buzzwords. At 22, you’re a fresh graduate, drowning in Excel spreadsheets and shared calendars that multiply like roaches. Your cubicle is a purgatory of motivational posters and recycled air, and the 4 PM quarterly update call is sucking the last dregs of your soul. The presenter’s voice drones on about “synergy” and “KPIs,” and you’re half-asleep, chin propped on your hand, when boredom—your old, reckless friend—whispers in your ear.

Just one click. For the thrill.

You know better. You do. But the corporate firewall is a challenge, and you’re restless. So you type a shady URL (NSFW) into the browser, something you overheard in a freshers' group chat about “exclusive content.” It’s blocked, of course—big red warning, “Access Denied.” But not before something slips through. Your laptop stutters, screen flickering, then freezes entirely. A pop-up screams: “CRITICAL ERROR: SYSTEM COMPROMISED.”

Panic claws at your chest. You mash keys, but nothing works. The IT helpdesk form is your only salvation, a digital confessional for your sins. You type, hands shaking: “System acting weird. Might’ve clicked something. Send help (preferably cute help).” You hit submit and pray.

Ten minutes later, he arrives.

Min Yoongi, head of IT support, is a walking paradox: hoodie under a blazer, dark hair falling into sharper eyes, and a voice so low it should be illegal. At 32, he’s a legend in the office—not for charm, but for fixing disasters with minimal words and maximum disdain. He doesn’t look at you as he drops into your chair, his fingers flying over your keyboard.

“Did you accidentally download six trojans,” he says, not asking, “or was that part of your productivity strategy?”

You lean against the cubicle wall, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just… clicked a link.”

He glances at you, one brow raised, and you feel it—a spark, like static from a bad outlet. His glasses slide down his nose as he mutters, “Idiots who think VPNs make them invincible.” But he’s already working, pulling up diagnostics, his hands moving with a precision that makes your throat dry.

The screen stabilizes. He stands, brushing past you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of coffee and cedar. “Don’t do it again,” he says, and he’s gone.

But you’re already hooked.

By Wednesday, the office is a hamster wheel of monotony, and Yoongi’s dry wit is your only lifeline. You decide to make a game of it: How far can I push the grumpy IT guy before he cracks? It’s not just boredom driving you—it’s the way his eyes linger a fraction too long, the way his voice dips when he’s annoyed. You want to unravel him.

Your first move is small but deliberate. You submit a ticket: “Mouse not working. Urgent.” He shows up, slouching into your cubicle, glasses catching the fluorescent light. “Urgent,” he repeats, voice flat as he picks up the mouse. It’s unplugged. His eyes flick to you, narrowing. “Really?”

You bat your lashes, all innocence. “It just… stopped. Maybe it’s shy?”

He snorts, plugging it back in with a flick of his wrist. “Shy. Right. Next time, check the cable before you waste my time.” But he’s lingering, leaning closer as he tests the mouse, his arm brushing yours. You catch a hint of his cologne—cedar, sharp—and your pulse spikes.

“Waste your time?” you say, tilting your head. “I thought you liked visiting me.”

His fingers pause on the mouse. He looks at you, and there’s a glint in his eyes—half irritation, half something else. “You’re gonna be trouble,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move away.

By Thursday, you’re bolder. You spill a splash of coffee on your desk—nowhere near your laptop, but close enough to justify a ticket: “Coffee incident. Laptop at risk. Save me.” Yoongi arrives, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your brain short-circuit. He scans the desk, sees the tiny puddle, and sighs, long and suffering. “This is what you call a crisis?”

You lean forward, letting your blouse gape just enough to draw his eye. “Could’ve been. Better safe than sorry, right?”

He grabs a tissue, wiping the desk with exaggerated care, his movements slow, deliberate. “You know,” he says, voice low, “if you keep crying wolf, one day I might not come.”

You pout, twirling a strand of hair. “Oh, Yoongi, you’d miss me too much.”

He freezes, just for a second, then tosses the tissue in the trash. “Keep dreaming, princess.” But his voice is rougher, and when he leans over to check your laptop, his shoulder brushes yours, lingering a beat too long.

Friday, you go for broke. Ticket: “Desktop icons too aggressive. Hostile work environment.” He shows up, arms crossed, leaning against your cubicle like he’s bracing for a storm. “Aggressive icons,” he deadpans. “Care to explain?”

You point at the screen, where your perfectly normal icons sit innocently. “They’re glaring at me. It’s intimidating.”

He stares at you, then at the screen, then back at you. “You’re unbelievable.” He slides into your chair, closer than necessary, his knee brushing your thigh as he pretends to inspect the screen. “Maybe they’re just mad you keep breaking shit.”

You gasp, mock-offended. “Language, Min Yoongi. What would HR say?”

He smirks, typing something pointless. “HR would say you’re a menace who needs constant supervision.” His fingers brush yours as he slides the laptop back, and the contact sends a jolt through you. “Or maybe just a leash.”

Your breath catches, but you recover fast, leaning in until your lips are inches from his ear. “Only if you’re the one holding it.”

He stiffens, glasses slipping down his nose. For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, but then he updates your ticket with a note:

Try restarting. If that doesn’t work, I’m available. For troubleshooting. Or kissing. Whichever works first.

You choke on your smoothie, heart hammering. He’s already walking away, but you catch the smirk on his lips. Game on.

The flirting is a full-blown war now. You’re addicted to the way Yoongi’s jaw tightens when you push his buttons, the way his eyes darken when you get too close. You call him for every minor issue, each ticket a thinly veiled excuse to see him. He knows it, and he’s playing along, showing up in person even when he could resolve things remotely or send someone else. His sarcasm is sharper, but so is the heat in his gaze.

Monday morning, you’re chewing a pen cap, voice deliberately breathy as you call him. “Yoongi, I think I clicked something bad again…” You’re perched on your desk, skirt riding up just enough to be dangerous.

He arrives, tie loose, hair slightly mussed, looking like he’s already had three coffees and zero patience. He leans against your cubicle, arms crossed, glasses glinting. “Clicked something bad,” he repeats, voice dripping with skepticism. “What was it this time? Another ‘productivity’ site?”

You twirl the pen, letting it slip between your lips before answering. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted your expertise.”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping to a low growl. “My expertise? Or my attention?”

Your pulse spikes, but you hold his gaze, smirking. “Can’t it be both?”

He chuckles, dark and low, and slides into your chair, his knee brushing your thigh as he checks your laptop. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he mutters, but his fingers linger on the keyboard, brushing yours. “Keep this up, and I’ll start charging you for house calls.”

You lean in, close enough to smell his cologne. “What’s the price? Coffee? Dinner? Or… something else?”

His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you right there, cubicle walls be damned. But he pulls back, adjusting his glasses. “You couldn’t afford me, princess.”

Tuesday, you up the ante. You wear a tighter blouse, top button undone, and submit a ticket: “Laptop lagging. Need urgent assistance.” He shows up, visibly fighting to keep his eyes on the screen. “Lagging,” he says, voice flat. “Or are you just fishing for compliments in that shirt?”

You gasp, mock-scandalized. “Min Yoongi, are you objectifying me?”

He leans closer, voice a dangerous whisper. “If I was, you’d know.” His fingers brush your wrist as he types, and you swear the air crackles. “Fixed. Try not to break it again by lunch.”

Wednesday, it’s a fake email issue. He’s at your desk in minutes, looking like he’s one ticket away from throttling you. “Your email’s fine,” he says, not even touching the keyboard. “What’s the real problem?”

You lean back, crossing your arms, pushing your chest out slightly. “Maybe I just missed you.”

He stares, jaw tight, then mutters, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” But he doesn’t leave. He lingers, pretending to check settings, his hand brushing yours again. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says, voice low.

“Like what?” you ask, all innocence, batting your lashes.

“Like you’re begging for something you can’t handle.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover, whispering, “Try me.”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes burn, and you know you’re winning.

Then comes the fire drill, means everyone needs to evacuate building for around 30-40 minutes.

It’s the third one this month, alarms blaring, everyone groaning. You’re halfway to the exit when Yoongi grabs your arm, pulling you toward the server room. “Need to check something,” he says, voice clipped, but his grip is firm, possessive. You follow, heart racing, the chaos of the drill fading behind you.

The server room is a claustrophobic box of humming machinery, blinking lights, and stifling heat. The door clicks shut, auto-locking. It’s tiny, fans roaring, air heavy with static. You’re both sweating, your blouse clinging to your skin, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He leans against a rack, glasses fogging slightly, and growls, “You really don’t care about fire safety, huh? Following me in here like it’s nothing.”

You step closer, bold, reckless. “Maybe I just like tight spaces. Especially with you.”

His eyes darken, pupils blown. “You’re trouble,” he says, voice rough. “And you know it.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “And you’re not? Dragging me in here, all alone, no witnesses?”

He steps forward, closing the gap, his breath hot against your cheek. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll give you something to complain about besides your laptop.”

Your stomach flips, but you hold your ground, whispering, “Promise?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

The air in the server room is thick, charged. You’re inches apart, and you can’t resist pushing him. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?” you tease, voice low. “Fixing my laptop so fast, showing up every time I call, even when you can do it remotely or can send someone else from your team. You’re obsessed.”

He snaps. “You think I’m obsessed?” His voice is rough, dangerous. “You’ve been downloading viruses, calling me for fake crashes, bending over your desk like it’s part of your job description.”

Your breath catches. He steps forward, crowding you against the server rack. The metal is warm against your back, cables brushing your arm. His hand grazes your waist, then slides under your skirt, fingers skimming the edge of your panties. “You want chaos?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll give you chaos.”

You gasp as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding you already wet. He groans, low and feral, and you’re done for. His mouth crashes against yours, all heat and desperation, tasting of coffee and something darker—need. You tug at his belt, fumbling, and he chuckles against your lips, dark and teasing. “Impatient.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, yanking his shirt free. His hands are everywhere—under your skirt, gripping your thighs, lifting you slightly so you’re perched on the edge of a rack.

The machinery hums, vibrating through you, amplifying every touch. He pushes your panties aside, fingers sliding inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just right. You moan, loud, and his free hand clamps over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he growls, but his eyes are wild, pupils blown. “Unless you want the whole office to know you’re getting fucked in here.”

You bite his palm, and he curses, thrusting his fingers deeper. Your nails dig into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist. He’s hard against you, straining through his slacks, and you grind against him, desperate for more. He undoes his belt one-handed, freeing himself, and you nearly whimper at the sight—thick, flushed, and all for you.

He doesn’t wait. He pushes inside you, slow at first, letting you feel every inch. The stretch is exquisite, and you arch against the rack, cables tangling in your hair. He thrusts harder, deeper, the rhythm relentless, each movement sending sparks through your core. The fans drown out your gasps, but not the slick, obscene sounds of him moving inside you.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters, voice wrecked. His hands grip your hips, bruising, pulling you onto him with every thrust. You’re close, so close, and he knows it, angling just right to hit that spot that makes you see stars. Your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through you, and you clench around him, trembling.

He’s not far behind. His thrusts grow erratic, and he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name as he spills inside you. You’re both panting, sweat-slicked, clinging to each other in the humming dark.

Then you shift, still dazed, and your elbow bumps the emergency restart button on the rack.

A low hum dies. Lights flicker. The servers reboot with a whine.

You freeze. Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Did you just—”

“Oops,” you whisper.

Monday morning is chaos. Emails flood in:

“Why did the servers reboot?” “We lost six hours of sales data.” “Also, someone left a bra in the server room.”

Yoongi’s inbox is a warzone, but he’s calm, typing responses with that infuriating deadpan.

You’re avoiding IT helpdesk department now, because the office is buzzing. Whispers follow you—your tickets get resolved suspiciously fast, and someone saw you leaving the helpdesk department, blouse misbuttoned.

It’s early afternoon, and you’ve locked yourself out of your laptop again—right before a client presentation, a bad habit of not remembering the password. You could’ve go to helpdesk, but you’re avoiding the department after the server room fiasco, terrified someone saw you. Instead, you text Yoongi directly on his personal contact:

“Locked out my laptop. Conference room. Help. Have client presentation in 1 hour.”

He storms in, tie askew, glasses slipping, looking like he’s ready to strangle you. “You forgot your password?” he snaps, slamming his admin laptop onto the conference table. “Again?”

You’re leaning against the table, blouse tight, top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of lace. “No,” you say, voice dripping with mischief. “I just wanted to see your face.”

His jaw clenches, but his eyes betray him, flicking to your chest before he catches himself. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, typing override commands with aggressive precision. You slide closer, letting your hip brush his, and murmur, “You know, no one uses this room until after 2.”

He freezes, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice low, but he doesn’t move away. You lean in, lips grazing his ear. “Good thing I like danger.”

That’s his breaking point. He spins, grabbing your waist, and pulls you under the table, out of sight of the glass walls. The projector hums to life, casting the company logo across the room, but you’re already on your knees, hands working his belt.

His breath hitches as you free him, stroking slowly, teasing the tip with your thumb. He’s thick, hard, and you can’t resist tasting him, tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice barely a whisper, his hand fisting your hair. You move slowly at first, lips sliding along his length, savoring the way he twitches against your tongue. The projector light dances across your face, the hum masking your soft moans.

His hips jerk, pushing deeper, and you hollow your cheeks, taking him to the back of your throat. His grip tightens, guiding you, and you can feel him unraveling, his breaths ragged.

He pulls you up, voice wrecked. “Get up here.” He spins you, bending you over the table, your skirt hiked up, panties shoved aside. His fingers find you soaked, and he groans, teasing your entrance before sliding two fingers inside, curling them just right. You gasp, gripping the table’s edge, the wood cool against your heated skin. “Yoongi,” you whimper, and he chuckles, dark and low.

“You wanted my attention,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers to replace them with his cock. He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every inch, the stretch making your thighs tremble. He grips your hips, thrusting hard, the table creaking with every movement.

The projector flickers, casting distorted light across your back as he fucks you, relentless, each thrust hitting that spot that makes you see stars. His hand slides up, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so he can whisper in your ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

You’re close, the pressure building, and he knows it, angling his hips to hit deeper. Your orgasm crashes through you, and you clench around him, gasping his name. He follows, pulling out just in time to spill across your thighs, his breaths heavy against your neck.

He zips up, adjusting his glasses. “Next time you lock yourself out,” he pants, “I’m locking you in instead.”

You’ve been avoiding the IT department like the plague, terrified of the rumors swirling after the server room incident. But your laptop’s battery is genuinely overheating now, the fan screaming like it’s possessed.

You try to fix it yourself, but every troubleshooting guide fails, and you’re forced to face the inevitable: you need Yoongi. Emailing him feels too risky—too many eyes on the network—so you swallow your fear and head to IT, clutching your laptop like a shield.

The department is quiet, most of the team out for lunch. Yoongi’s at his desk, headphones on, typing furiously. You hesitate, heart pounding, but you need this fixed before your afternoon meeting. You clear your throat, and he looks up, eyebrows raising behind his glasses. “You,” he says, pulling off his headphones. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

You blush, setting the laptop down. “Battery’s overheating. It’s real this time.”

He smirks, leaning back in his swivel chair. “Real, huh? Not just another excuse to get me alone?”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse races. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He stands, locking the office door with a casual flick of his wrist. “Break hours,” he says, pointing to a handwritten sign taped to the door: “IT Lunch Break: 12-1 PM.”

“Can’t have anyone walking in on us troubleshooting.”

Your stomach flips, but you play it cool, perching on the edge of his desk. “So, you gonna fix it or just stare at me?”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping. “You mean you’re overheating.” His fingers brush your knee, and you shiver, skirt riding up as you shift. He’s right—you’re burning up, even more than your laptop.

You grab his tie, pulling him closer, and kiss him hard. He groans, hands sliding to your waist, lifting you onto his lap as he sits back in the chair. The blinds are half-open, light chatter drifting from the hall, but the locked door gives you courage. Your skirt hikes up, and his hands find your thighs, squeezing as you grind against him, feeling him harden beneath you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, lips trailing down your neck. You fumble with his belt, freeing him, and he’s already tugging your panties aside. His fingers tease you, circling your clit before sliding inside, slow and deliberate. You gasp, rocking against his hand, and he smirks, voice low. “Keep making those sounds, and the whole department’s gonna need help.”

You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet as you sink onto him, the stretch making your head spin. He’s thick, filling you completely, and you rock your hips, slow at first, savoring the way he grips your waist.

He’s on a call now, headset on, voice infuriatingly calm as he says, “Yeah… just another quick fix. Shouldn’t take long.” You clench around him, and he stifles a groan, pretending to adjust his headset.

You lean forward, whispering in his ear, “Liar.” He thrusts up hard, making you gasp, and you ride him faster, the chair creaking under you. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you, and you’re both teetering on the edge. The blinds cast slatted shadows across your bodies, the risk of being caught only heightening the thrill.

You come first, trembling, biting his shoulder to muffle your moan, and he follows, thrusting deep, spilling inside you as he mutters, “Fixed,” into the mic.

You collapse against him, panting, and he kisses your temple, voice soft. “You’re gonna get us both fired.”

The rumors hit critical mass by Wednesday. Your tickets are resolved before anyone else’s, and the whispers are deafening. Someone saw you adjusting your skirt outside helpdesk department again.

HR calls you both in, and you’re sweating, heart pounding as you sit across from the stern-faced manager. Your job—your first real job, the start of your career—feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. You’re 22, barely out of college, and the thought of being fired for “unprofessional conduct” makes your stomach churn.

The manager peers over her glasses. “Is there a reason her tickets are prioritized, Yoongi?”

He leans back, glasses glinting, voice calm as ever. “She breaks things a lot. I’m just thorough.”

You nod, throat tight, barely breathing. The manager’s eyes flick to you, and you force a smile, but your hands are trembling in your lap. “We’ve noticed… irregularities,” she says.

Your heart stops. Yoongi’s knee brushes yours under the table, a small anchor, but it’s not enough. You’re spiraling, imagining unemployment, blacklisted from every corporate job, your career dead before it started.

After the meeting, you’re a wreck, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as you hurry to your cubicle. He catches up to you in the hall, pulling you into an empty stairwell. His hands are on your shoulders, firm but gentle, and his voice is low, urgent. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do, eyes stinging. “I can’t lose this job, Yoongi. I just started. I—”

“You’re not losing anything,” he says, voice steady. “I’ve been through this—corporate bullshit, getting blamed for things that aren’t your fault. I won’t let that happen to you.” His thumbs brush your arms, grounding you. “We need to cool it at the office. No more server rooms, no more conference tables. Not because I want to stop, but because I won’t let you go through what I did. Your career’s just starting. I’m not gonna fuck that up for you.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “But… what about us?”

He softens, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “My place. After hours. I do repairs there too.” He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “And I’m not letting you go, princess. Not now, not ever.”

It’s Friday night, and you’re at Yoongi’s apartment, a small, cozy space with exposed brick and mismatched furniture, a stark contrast to the sterile office. He’s cooking—actual cooking, not just microwaving ramen.

The kitchen smells of garlic and sesame oil, and he’s stirring a pan of japchae, sleeves rolled up, glasses fogging from the steam. You’re perched on the counter, swinging your legs, watching him move with quiet precision.

“Stop staring,” he mutters, not looking up. “You’re distracting me.”

You grin, stealing a noodle from the pan. “Can’t help it. You’re cute when you’re domestic.”

He snorts, but his cheeks pink slightly, and you feel a warmth that has nothing to do with the stove. He plates the food, handing you a bowl, and insists on feeding you the first bite, chopsticks hovering at your lips.

“Open,” he says, voice soft, and you do, letting the flavors burst on your tongue. His eyes are on you, warm, unguarded, and you realize this is a side of him the office never sees.

You eat in comfortable silence, sitting cross-legged on his couch, a soft lo-fi playlist humming in the background. When the dishes are cleared, he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. It’s quiet, intimate, and you feel the weight of something unspoken.

“Yoongi,” you say, tracing circles on his wrist. “Why are you so… cold at work? I know it’s not the real you.”

He tenses, then sighs, his breath warm against your neck. “Ten years ago, I was a cybersecurity hotshot at a big tech firm. Thought I was untouchable. Then a system crashed—major project, millions lost. Wasn’t my fault, but they needed a scapegoat."

" I got dragged through the mud, humiliated, fired. Landed here to lay low, avoid the corporate bullshit. I hate the politics, the small talk, the way people treat you like a machine. So I shut down. Keep my distance. It’s easier.”

You turn, cupping his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “But you’re not distant with me.”

He looks at you, eyes soft, vulnerable. “You’re different. You’re reckless, restless, like I was back then. You don’t treat me like a tool—you tease, you challenge, you see me. First time in years I didn’t feel like I was rusting away.” His voice cracks slightly, and he pulls you closer, forehead against yours. “You bring color to my life, princess. I didn’t know I needed that until you.”

Your heart aches, and you kiss him, slow and sweet, tasting salt and warmth. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and he smiles, real and unguarded, pulling you against his chest.

“You better not,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

A/n: Well recently I raised a ticket regarding my email's not working and somehow this idea popped in my mind. But why my office IT Helpdesk doesn't have Min Yoongi? 😩

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog

#yoongi #agust d #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi bts #bts smut #suga x reader #suga smut #bts suga #kittenanwrites #suga

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sugarwarachan · 16 hours ago

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18+ - older roommate! aizawa *barks*

you've only been aizawa's roommate for a couple months, but it's long enough to develop an absurd crush on him. he mostly keeps to himself, although lately he's taken to bringing you extra blankets when you fall asleep on the couch watching atla re-runs.

personally, you find it impossible to ignore him. he's broad and gruff and just manly in a way that makes your thighs press together whenever you see his chest hair poking out of his sleep shirt.

(the first time you saw the happy trail ducking into his sweatpants, you waited for him to leave for work before fucking yourself on the thickest dildo you own. you saw the outline of his cock; you know he's hung.)

the only saving grace of working your thankless job is that you can work remote, which usually leads to late nights hunched over the desk, blearily sorting data in cells.

just like how it is tonight, music blasting in your ears and an excel spreadsheet four inches away from your nose.

a hand falls on your shoulder.

flinging your headphones off, you whirl around to see aizawa backing away from you with his hands held up in surrender. he points at his ear. "your music will blow out your eardrums."

god, he's such a fucking dad sometimes.

(you do not let that thought linger longer than it has to.)

your voice comes out squeaky. "you scared me half to death!"

his lips quirk up, and fuck him for still being devastatingly handsome when he looks bone tired. "i should have announced myself. you okay?"

you rub your neck, one eye on the computer. "yeah, i'm fine."

aizawa zeroes in on the movement. "does your neck hurt?"

you can't help laughing. "i'm wound tight as a drum, so it's kind of par for the course."

he steps forward. "where does it hurt?"

"ummm..." your brain short-circuits. "sort of around here?" you gesture vaguely between your shoulder blades. "it's always the worst at the end of the day."

"turn around for me real quick, y/n."

you obey, and immediately, strong fingers sink into the muscles on either side of your neck. you shiver in his grasp at the unbelievable relief in tension.

"feel good?"

he's joking, right?

you manage a nod as he continues to work out the knots along your spine. "it feels really good."

he says nothing in reply, just keeps working the delicate muscles in your neck and shoulders until you're practically as loose as melted wax.

(later, when you've gone to bed, aizawa finally unbuckles his pants and releases his cock, flushed red and sticky with pre-cum and so sensitive to the touch that the second his palm slides over the shaft, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to distract himself from cumming all over his belly)

2025 © all works belong to me, @sugarwarachan! do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls. because this is a community and community thrives off interaction, reblogs and comments are appreciated and encouraged!!! <3 and last but not least, f you'd like to be added to my general taglist, let me know!

general taglist <3 @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi, @waterfal-ling, @iluvikeu, @bach-ira

#i'm ummm thinking about this a lot hahahahaha #like he's in his 30s (or 40s honestly #reader is in their 20s #roommate!aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #sugarwarachanwrites

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miyasmagnolias · 26 days ago

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𝐛𝐚𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥 ｡𖦹°‧

miya atsumu x f!reader

atsumu misses the annual fraternity bar crawl, so you spontaneously decide to plan one for him.

part seven of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

Out of all the ways you'd expected to spend your Thursday night, getting plastered with Atsumu was not one of them.

The music thrummed through your veins as steadily as a human heartbeat, the bar buzzing around you with tipsy university students, nine-to-fivers, and the occasional bachelorette party. You and Atsumu had shouldered your way onto the dance floor and were now shout-singing Chappell Roan's "Naked in Manhattan,” the singer's sultry voice and lovesick interjections making you feel things you hadn’t in a while.

"I know I can't exactly relate to this song — because, ya know, it's about two women," Atsumu yelled, his breath hot against your ear. "But I'm diggin' it! On, like, a spiritual level!"

"Chappell Roan and three vodka crans will do that to you!" you shouted back.

The idea to go out had occurred to you earlier that day, after Atsumu had groaned into his iced vanilla latte. You were studying together at the university coffee shop when he'd opened an email for his fraternity's annual bar crawl — a cruel reminder of the group he'd been not-so-subtly driven out of.

"It's a stupid tradition, but I was lookin' forward to it," he'd admitted. "I just hate how I can no longer go to these events without runnin' into my ex. Or her back-stabbin' new boyfriend."

You tried returning to your world lit reading, but Atsumu’s words clung to you like a piece of chewing gum.

"Well, what if we went on a bar crawl tonight?"

Atsumu blinked at you. "Like, just the two of us?"

"Yeah!" you chirped before you could overthink it. You opened a new tab on your laptop. "I can plan a route for us based on price, walkability, and proximity to food trucks. Oh! I should probably factor on-campus popularity, too..."

Before Atsumu could even get a word in, you began clacking away at your keyboard. He smiled at you bemusedly from across the table.

"Somethin' tells me ya wanna plan this bar crawl more than ya actually wanna do it."

You were already color-coding your Excel spreadsheet when you said, "I can have multiple motivations."

Now, as you danced next to Atsumu in the middle of the sticky bar, your mind began to spiral. It hadn't escaped you that you'd practically asked him out on a date. After all, the words just the two of us were frustratingly intimate. Did he think you were weird for inviting him to do this? Worse, did he think you were insinuating something?

It had become second nature of you to make things better for him, to rectify the shitty hand he'd been dealt at the hands of his ex-girlfriend. But as you looked at him now — with his sweaty hair and easy two-step and short-sleeved button-up that did wonders for his biceps — you began second-guessing your intentions.

"I need to go to the bathroom!" you yelled at him, hoping some distance would sober your wandering eye.

"Sounds good!" Atsumu said, brushing your fingertips as he took your empty cup. "I'll go get us another round!"

You were washing your hands in the dingy bathroom when a voice piped up from the sink next to yours.

"Are you two dating?"

You met the eyes of the girl beside you, her glossy pink lips wrapped around the mouthpiece of her vape pen. She blinked at you though her eyelash extensions and smiled, a cloud of flavored nicotine billowing into your face.

"Sorry?"

"I saw you dancing with that cute guy back there. The one with the bleached hair?" she asked, zhuzhing up her long waves in the graffitied mirror. "My friends think I should ask for his number, but I don't want to break girl code if he's taken. You know?”

You reached for the paper towel dispenser and scoured your fuzzy thoughts for something to say. The sensible part of you would tell her to go for it. After all, you and Atsumu were just roommates. Friends. Emotional support teammates, when the time called for it.

But the softer, more inebriated part of you took one look at this girl — with her Glossier smile and strawberry breath and belly-button piercing so shiny you could see it from space — and choked.

It would be so easy to lie, to tell her he was taken and leave it at that. But doing so would mean that, deep down, you were more selfish than you cared to admit.

And you were too panicked, too tipsy to confront that right now.

"Nope! He's not taken," you replied, shucking your wad of paper towels into the trash. "You can go ahead and ask for his number. Though I'll admit, he's a pretty insufferable flirt."

"Great! He's just my type, then," she drawled in excitement. She adjusted her cleavage in her deep v-neck top and squeezed your shoulder on her way out. "Thanks, love. I owe you one!"

"Anytime!" you chirped pathetically. As if you had an arsenal of hot, eligible roommates at your disposal. The fact that you even associated Atsumu as your hot, eligible roommate was mortifying.

You stepped out of the restroom and immediately spotted the girl chatting up Atsumu at the bar — his brown eyes warm and friendly, her hand resting casually on his forearm as she laughed. The moment he leaned in close to tell her something, you averted your gaze, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here.

Out the corner of your eye, a group of girls stumbled out of a nearby photo booth, giggling as they teetered back into the crowd. Without thinking, you pulled back the curtain and ducked inside, grateful for some semblance of privacy as you tried to pull yourself together.

So what if Atsumu decided to date this girl? She was gorgeous, self-assured. She was even nice enough to ask your permission — though you had absolutely no right to grant it in the first place.

A series of images flashed across your mind. Atsumu, coming home late and gushing about the details of his first date. You, watching the season finale of The Bachelor alone. Nicotine girl, closing the door to Atsumu's bedroom to do god-knows-what with him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing your heartbeat to stop racing, your thoughts to go away. They didn't.

"The hell ya doin' in here?"

Your head snapped up to see Atsumu, a vodka cranberry in each hand, holding back the curtain to the photo booth.

"Nothing," you blurted, although the look on your face suggested otherwise. Atsumu tsked at you in annoyance.

"Are ya tryin' to pawn me off?"

You eyes widened. "What? No!"

He jerked his chin back out towards the bar. "This girl just came up to me askin' for my number. Said ya gave her the green light."

"I didn't give her anything. She asked me if you were single, and I told her yes. What else am I supposed to say?"

"You say no!" Atsumu exclaimed. Was he actually upset about this? He huffed in exasperation, handed you your drink, and crawled in beside you. His shoulders slumped as he said, "I thought ya were tryin' to get rid of me or somethin'."

Your heart twinged at the confession. "I'm sorry. That's not what I was trying to do."

"Ya couldn't just say we were dating? Spare me havin' to let someone down?"

"What, and lie? No, I'm not going to do that," you said, taking a swig of your drink. It wasn't strong enough to drown the relief now flooding your nervous system. He'd let her down. "I just thought..."

Atsumu stared at you expectantly. "Thought what?"

That you had no say in his dating life. That you, of all people, should have been encouraging him to get back out there instead of brooding in your own selfish fears. That you'd support Atsumu's decision to date again — even if it meant seeing him less.

No, you couldn't admit to any of that. Not only would Atsumu tease you mercilessly about it, but it would open a whole Pandora's box of emotions you were intent on keeping shut for the sake of your own sanity.

"I just thought I could help you move on from you ex, is all," you finally said. It wasn't a complete lie. "Besides, I thought getting a girl's number was a quintessential part of the bar crawl experience."

"Well, maybe I don't want the quintessential bar crawl experience," he murmured, brown eyes locking onto yours. "Maybe, I just want it to be the two of us."

You were now acutely aware of all the places your bodies touched.

"Right, well, you've made that very clear with how close you're sitting right now," you retorted, shoving down every sensation you felt. "Seriously, can you not take up the entire booth with your gargantuan body?"

"Gargantuan." Atsumu smiled lazily. "That's a new one. Was that Merriam Webster's word of the day?"

You rolled your eyes. "Get out."

"Okay, okay, I will. On two conditions," he said, turning to face you in the cramped photo booth. You swore he could hear your heartbeat with such little space between you. "One, ya never try and set me up again. And two, ya take a couple photos with me."

He gestured towards the screen before you. You mashed your lips together in dismay.

"Does my mascara look like shit?"

"Ya look gorgeous," he drawled, already reaching for his wallet.

The booth reverberated with laughter as you and Atsumu decided your poses for each photo: one of you two mean-mugging the camera, another one of you downing your vodka crans.

As the countdown for the last photo ticked onscreen, Atsumu flung his arm around you, pulling you close. Before you could think about it, your hand reached up to cup his chin in an affectionate squeeze.

Click!

"Yep. That's definitely goin' on the fridge," Atsumu said once your photos had printed. He jabbed an index finger at the snapshot of you chugging your drink like a fraternity boy. "Now that's an honors student if I've ever seen one."

Meanwhile, you couldn't stop staring at the third photo — the way Atsumu's eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way your fingers found purchase in each of his dimples.

"I'm havin' a lot of fun tonight," he admitted after a while. "Thanks for takin' me out."

You slid the photo booth strip into the back pocket of your jeans and smiled, the two shots of vodka from your drink warming your face.

"Anytime. Do I make a convincing frat bro?"

"Not even close," Atsumu scoffed, flinging an arm around your shoulders for the second time that night. You ambled towards the exit together as his lips grazed your ear. "Yer even better."

His words, however tipsy, hit you harder than any drink ever could.

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

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cinnbar-bun · 1 year ago

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first off— I LOVE UR WORK!! i think i just went thru and read everything you have for one piece LOL. second!!! i saw hc / drabble request open !! i have a silly idea that i feel like you can make come into reality.

recently i’ve been watching isekai’s so…imagine. reader getting isekai-d into the one piece world!!! (more specifically, interactions with the cross guild!!!)

A/n: Thank you very much nonnie!! I really appreciate you taking the time to read my stuff. Please enjoy this <3

Getting Isekai'd Into Cross Guild!

Rating: SFW

Relationship: Cross Guild x Reader

Notes: GN!Reader, a bit crack, short and sweet. No relationship is defined so you can assume it to be platonic or romantic <3.

The wonderful Truck-kun granted your wish of getting isekai’d by sending you straight to the One Piece world! How wonderful!

Except, you quite literally fell on top of Buggy just as he was trying to argue his case to Crocodile and Mihawk.

Now, they have no clue what the hell just happened but Mihawk already agrees with whatever that just was.

Buggy is about to scream over the fact you just fell on top of him and Crocodile is wondering how you managed to get here.

Crocodile assumes a Devil Fruit, Mihawk assumes you snuck in, and Buggy assumes you’re the devil.

It takes a moment for things to settle down as they demand you tell them what you’re doing here. You explain that well… uh… you’re not really from here.

Crocodile almost plans to kill you right away because he doesn’t have time for stupidity like that, but you show whatever you have on hand to prove otherwise.

They’re all immediately entranced by your phone, but they have something they’re also interested in too.

Crocodile: Your credit cards and money. When you explain how a credit/debit card functions he’s amazed. Tempted to start a bank and overhaul the current financial system. Also loves the excel spreadsheets. The fact this “machine” will calculate all of this for you and put it in a neat list… well… mark him down as interested.

Buggy: The shiny games on your phone that are colorful and fun. The fact he can “Google” anything and look up new material.

Mihawk: EReaders and, this will sound hilarious, but text messaging. He doesn’t care to talk, but he thinks that sending texts would be so much more effective and efficient than having to haul himself around the sea or, god forbid, answer a phone call.

Okay so you did manage to prove you’re not from this world (or that perhaps you were an alien freak but that’s okay) and Crocodile and Mihawk are pretty much entertained. That’s it. You can go. Bother someone else.

Buggy however, holds you close and pouts. “Can we keep them? Can we keep them pleeeeeeeease???” He begs as if you’re a little puppy.

Crocodile is against this but Mihawk shrugs and agrees. Whatever. This could be interesting.

Buggy still doesn’t understand you’re not some circus animal and rambles about what he should have you wear and perform for his show while Crocodile cuts him off.

Frankly, if you’re telling the truth and have nowhere else to go, you gotta earn your keep. Crocodile just makes a new position for you that shouldn’t be too hard after you said you have 0 combat skills or training.

You’re basically just their assistant and do menial work that no one else really wants to do. For now at least.

Buggy is actually… kinda happy you’re so nice to him? He’s used to either worship from his crewmates or abuse from Mihawk and Crocodile, so you quickly become his new favorite person. He’s pretty shocked you’re as nice as you are considering how crappy this situation is, but he’s grateful. Softens up to you right away and loves having your attention.

Buggy likes to do silly tricks to make you laugh whenever he can, mostly as a way to be the “flashiest” guy in your eyes. He really doesn’t like when others try to take you or away or interrupt his time with you, since he’s a brat and finds you entertaining.

Crocodile and Mihawk are tougher nuts to crack. Neither of them trust people, but they find you interesting, even though you are incredibly weak compared to others.

Crocodile always tries to see what you may/may not know about him since you made a few offhand comments that were a bit too… knowledgeable… so he often tries to get you to slip up more or confess to something. He hopes to see if you know something useful that can be used (but also deep down is afraid you know too much).

Mihawk on the other hand finds you amusing. Plenty of things are similar to your world, but it’s quite clear you’re not used to many aspects of this one. He forms a habit of just watching you or actively messing with you to see your reaction. It’s a bit funny to him, admittedly.

Of the two, Mihawk is the first to somewhat let his guard down and be a bit protective of you. He figures even if you were hypothetically “dangerous”, he could easily kill you so what does he care? You do your job, you’re entertaining, and you don’t give him a headache.

Crocodile only lets up when you “prove” time and time again that you are reliable and not trying to go after them or sabotage them. He does think it’s a bit weird you’re eager to help them, considering what they do and what you know, but hey, who is he to complain?

To sum it up: Crocodile cares the most about you being isekai’d, Buggy cares the least (except when it comes to his perception. He wonders if he’s also got a following there).

Buggy likes showing off his new tricks or discussing silly hypotheticals with you.

Crocodile likes when your eyes grow wide whenever he drops an expensive item on your desk as a token of his appreciation to you.

Mihawk likes when you talk him to normally and share deep discussions with him.

It is a bit strange that there’s some “normal” person with these three villains, but you’ve become important to them. You’re unique and special, practically one of a kind in this zany world. They show their feelings towards you in different ways, but the way they’ve grown attached to you and try to protect you show that you’re valued in their life.

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #reader insert #sir crocodile #one piece hcs #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #crocodile one piece #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk #buggy x reader #buggy the clown #cross guild #cross guild x reader

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absolutebl · 2 months ago

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hi abl! I'm a huge fan of korean and japanese bl dramas and have devoured a bunch of them, but then I decided I wanted to try a thai drama and started lovely writer on a friend's recommendation. I only made it halfway through the first episode! it felt so overacted and oh my god the SOUND EFFECTS. they were driving me CRAZY. I know that's a common problem with thai bl, but I don't want to give up yet. any recs of more "toned down" shows for me to try? happy endings only, please! my favorite k/jbl series are semantic error, cherry magic, and love mate, if that helps! thanks so much!!!

Oh for sure, happy to help. I thought I already answered this one somewhere. Lemme check spreadsheet of doom...

Looks like not, so here we go.

10 Great Thai BLs with no (or few) BAD Sound Effects

Additional criteria: toned down, HEA, comps = Semantic Error, Cherry Magic, Love Mate (so you don't need high heat, slow burn is okay, and a little aggressive seme is fine too, got it!)

NOTE: If the GMMTV show is no long on YouTube it is likely on Viki or iQIYI.

1 A Tale of Thousand Stars

2021 GMMTV

With great casting and cinematography this drama nods at BL tropes but manages to elevate them (and itself) with a strong mature story concept about a spoiled rich kid who gets a heart transplant and becomes a teacher it order to pay out survivor’s guilt. On the way he falls in love with a local park ranger and contends with his own classism and escapist tendencies. Everyone seemed to perfectly suit their roles and GMMTV made the most out of its stable. Combined with excellent production (and post production) values, 1000 Stars is without question GMMTV’s most mature, charming, and smart BL series. I think it should go down as one of the top BLs of all time. I feel safe recommending this one to friends and non BL watchers.

I chose this first for you because it has no sound effects and a mature concept, it's very very classy. But it is a SLOW burn.

2 Cherry Magic

2024 GMMTV grey (sadly, with any luck Viki will eventually pick this up, but...)

A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth that really worked for me. With no-fuss execution from a consummate team (at GMMTV) and an OG lead pair (proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up).

Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right - not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it stands strong. I, personally, like the Thai BL slightly better than the Japanese live action yaoi, but I think that’s because I just really enjoy Thai BL's style and I LOVE TayNew. Also all the kissing was both present and better in this version. As it should be from Thailand.

Now, even if your heart is lost to the original live action yaoi, this is a good way to understand what Thailand can do, and why it is the undisputed king of BL. But you do need to understand that is is a different take, an adaptation, if you will.

3 Bad Buddy

2022 GMMTV

This was GMMTV’s flagship BL and it started 2022 on a BANG (okay no actual banging but you know what I mean), starring heavy hitters Ohm & Nanon in a pitch perfect university Romeo & Romeo masterpiece that will give you domesticity meets pain whiplash throughout and jet lag at the end. Some of the friendship and family dynamics are overworked, but it has great production values, killer acting, and some conscious effort to correct for half a decade of Thai BL’s anti-queer mistakes.

This is the enemies to lovers BL to end all BLs. I chose it for you because of your love for Semantic Error, this is in a similar vein.

4 My Ride

2022 Gaga

Thai BL grew up with this pulp (the first ever to make my end of year top 10). It’s a truly lovely and special little show featuring the extremely rare pairing of sunshine/sunshine (AKA a cinnamon roll couple) plus mature explorations of relationships using one of the softest, sweetest and most innocent friends to lovers vehicles. Kindly, overworked doctor meets broken-hearted motorcycle taxi driver in an “other side of the tracks” slow burn romance. The support cast is excellent, making for great friendship groups and family dynamics. With honest queer rep that adds to, but doesn’t impede, the story, and genuine conversation about the nature of class, wealth, and classism, not to mention communication, honesty, and respect for boundaries, you can’t go wrong with this show. In other news, I am a sucker for a single dimple.

This is one of my "under appreciated gems" and if you can forgive it some of it's low production roughness I think you'll like the grit that comes with the sweet.

5 Step By Step

2023 Gaga & Viki

This was Thailand’s answer to KBL The New Employee, and everything I loved about that show I loved about this one. This office romance between a stern boss and sweet subordinate felt more authentic to cubical work than previous Thai BLs of this ilk. That authenticity added tension to the narrative and its characters' development (how novel). I also really enjoyed the charming side characters and the brothers' relationship to each other (although I could have done without that brother's side BL).

I chose this one specifically because of your Love Mate call out, although different dynamic.

6 ThamePo

2025 GMMTV YouTube (for now, I think this will move to a pay-to-play platform soon tho)

The boyband idol romance I've been waiting for from Korea, only Thailand did it instead. Quintessentially Thai and very GMMTV with good production values, great chemistry, and a solid support cast. It also was a hung romance mostly driven by external conflict and a found family reunion trope so I didn’t mind (too much) when that romance thread felt secondary. I loved it (except, of course, the singing).

I chose this because the visuals are on point (and your KBL addiction can only be explained in part through shallowness - solidarity) but also it's one of the better more recent BLs to fulfill your criteria. You want to know what Thai Bl is best at right now? This, this is it.

7 Wandee Goodday

2024 GMMTV

A charming modern Thai BL about a doctor and a boxer who start as a one night stand and then fall in love. Great rep for everything from Muay Thai, to safe sex, to FUN sex, to ace, to bisexuality, to smiley kisses, to the first legal gay wedding in a Thai BL. It’s a delight and I enjoyed (almost) every single moment of it. Without question its best traits are active positive representations of green flag boys, communication, and grown-up relationships but the chemistry is on point too.

Highly recommended as one of 2024's best pick-me-ups. Turn off your brain this is just a fun show. In fact, I think it might be time for a rewatch.

8 The Heart Killers

2025 GMMTV (iQIYI & Viki)

Jojo directs this action romcom about assassin brothers meets tattoo artist ex-booster & very flirty mechanic conmen. I dithered over how to rate this. It felt like an 8 show wearing a 9’s britches. There were dropped threads, forgotten characters, and unfinished plot lines even with a particularly long run time. And, for me, it doesn’t have significant rewatch potential. But it was fun (when one applies no expectations or logic) and I enjoyed the wildly unhinged relationships and, weirdly, music.

I mean nobody claimed that we needed Taming of the Shrew only with gay Thai hitman, but we really needed it. And no one asked for Petruchio as the gayest brat ever to strut his perfect skin and copped-top across our screen, and yet we loved him for it. Sure it didn’t make sense, was utterly absurd, but it was terribly earnest and sexy about it. In the end this goes hand-in-hand with all these other absurd crime pieces we’ve been getting since KinnPorsche, and frankly I like this one the best of the lot.

I'm not sure how you'll like this, it's a wildy soapy ride, and a bit EXTRA but the chemistry THE CHEMISTRY. Still, no skin if you drop it for reasons other than sound effects.

9 Your Sky

2025 iQIYI

As pulps go this is right up there with my favorite if all time, My Ride, but for different less complex reasons. This is a relatively simple yet endearingly old school story of a fake relationship between a sunshine sweetie and an older reserved rich kid who slowly fall in love. It's soft gentle low stakes leans on everything I love best about Thai BL. It’s a warm fuzzy robe of a show that will not hurt you.

Because you're used to shorter form BL you may find this slow, but that's okay. Get yourself a tropical drink or a bowl of ice cream and just... relax, enjoy. It'll all be alright in the end.

10 We Are

2024 iQIYI

I loved show, but it's last on this list for... reasons.

It was slow to find its stride (I didn’t get into it until ep 6) but I’m so glad I gave it a chance. It’s a soft ensemble piece with multiple couples (you will be introduced to most of GMMTVs pairs) and very little plot, but I didn’t care because it’s not trying to be anything more substantial. Essentially this was a series of vignettes covering one year of uni for a queer friendship group finding love, new friends, and laughter. Did it blow my mind? No. But it left me smiling and made me belly laugh quite a bit.

This one may be too MUCH much Thai BL muchness for you. So deifnately see if any of the others work first, especially Your Sky. This is more in that vein than others.

If those last 2 do end up working for you then you might also try Oxygen (2020 YouTube). Oxygen uses every BL trope in the playbook for one of the gentlest lowest angst BLs ever made. It’s a hyung romance (younger boy courts older boy) but very very earnest about it. Am I biased? Sure. This is probably one of my biggest comfort watches. But no one else ever seems to love it as much as I do.

I Thought About it But...

Okay so I took high concept and genre off the table because you didn't mention anything like that but I tend to rate those kinds of shows highly and it's one of Thailand's strengths in the BL sphere these days. So these are BLs I would ordinarily recommend but they are not JUST BL.

Until We Meet Again (YouTube) - my #1 top favorite Thai BL (the only one to have a 10/10 from me). Occasionally my all time most favorite of them all. May be a big dark for you, but if you could take The 8th Sense than you might like this.

Century of Love (Gaga) - If you don't mind some time travel-esk genre in your BL you might enjoy this one.

He's Coming to Me (YouTube) - this one has a strong paranormal element, but it is great. Boy and ghost boy fall in love, must solve ghost’s murder.

I Feel You Linger in the Air (grey) - an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework (much like Until We Meet Again). But the ending is not entirely happy.

La Pluie (Viki ) - This BL takes to task the fated mates trope and what it means to have love chained intimately to predestination.

The Sign (YouTube) - This show is the opposite of toned down, it's literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, PNR, fated mates, police procedural, fantasy, mystery, suspense, and slasher. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it. Was it a crazy unhinged mess +1 roll for damage? Yes. Yes it was. Did it manage to hold all those tangled threads together? No it did not. Was it also a charming, sexy, engaging, non-stop piece of entertainment? Sure thing. Is it perfect? No. But it was balls to the wall FUN. Emphasis on balls.

Other's that you might like but I'm not confident on because of your comps and "toned down" preferences.

Laws of Attraction (iQIYI)

Triggers for violence, beatings, death and torture depicted on screen. This is a great gay suspense thriller with several solid couples, fun plot, killer characters, queer rep, and a happy ending. It is, however, not at all toned down. Charn may be my favorite lead character in all BL. However, this show is not entirely BL, more on the fringe, like Manner of Death.

My School President (GMMTV)

You didn't name any high school BL and I can't remember but this may have a few sound effects and it gets and little frantic and angsty. GMMTV gave us a classic high school set Thai BL with tropes like messy boys singing their feelings. Who let my BL be this wholesome and funny? This show was fantastic, it’s only flaw was the singing (and that’s my baggage). One of my favourite GMMTV BL offerings of all time. And yes, I've watched them ALL. But you have to like high school angst.

Not Me (GMMTV)

How do you say antidisestablishmentarianism in Thai? + hot boys kissing who probably shouldn't be and convoluted soap opera identical twins plot... someone at GMMTV thought it made sense, we just here for the tattoos and the the Pride scene. GMMTV gave us a dark disestablishment narrative (in a time of civil unrest) with established queer award-winning director Anucha and starring the biggest guns of BL, OffGun and THIS WAS AN AMAZING THING to get to experience at the time - nerve racking but remarkable. But was it ACTUALLY BL? It certainly has a lot of BL elements, but in the end romance was not what this show was about, or even what it was genuinely trying to be as a performance piece. Still a remarkable moment in Thai cinema, certainly worth your time. Don’t worry, it all ends happily.

I gotta say I feel the same way about Lovely Writer. I think I dinged it a whole point because of those sound effects. (And I actually really loved that show.) The bad effects slow (but never stop) in the second half, but it is possibly one of the worst offenders. And there are A LOT of offenders.

Also here's me trying to explain why those sound effects.

(source)

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