#he would totally keep tabs on those he views as his
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Remnants of the Wild
Orion had to adapt to live in the Cybertronian wilds. And while most of those adaptations faded with time, some things just stuck, even after he became Prime.
Feral Orion Pax
Despite how much Orion, and later Optimus might have glorified it, living in the Cybertronian wilds was no easy feat, especially for an unattended sparkling. The newly forged Orion Pax would have died from either starvation or natural hazards if left alone. But thankfully for Orion, he was picked up by a local pack of predators and raised to be capable of not only surviving but thriving in the wilds.
He spent his sparkling years feasting on the energon of hunted creatures alongside his mechanimal siblings and recharging tucked against the huddled frames of his pack. As he grew older and his frame came to be larger, he joined his adopted family on their excursions, hunting and learning the ways of the wilds. He was treated like any other newly forged youngling of his caretakers' species. As such he did what all sparklings do and bonded to his adopted family, his base coding changing his very CNA to better match theirs.
This meant that by the time he was grown and living in his own territory away from his pack of origin, he was truly a terrifying sight to behold.
He could have been mistaken for a rouge Predacon if it weren't for his very definitively Cybertronian helm and facial structure. His frame was huge, his plating colorless, jagged, and highly intimidating. His digits were long, clawed, and very obviously meant to tear prey to pieces and cut into tender protoform. His legs were unusually long, granting him both incredible mobility and a terrifying stride when in pursuit of a potential target. His optics were sharp and piercing, meant to catch even the slightest movement no matter the light or situation. And Lastly, Orion's mouth was filled with sharp serrated denta which gleamed threateningly when combined with low light conditions and the glow of his optics.
As one might have guessed, Alpha Trion left with his fair share of wounds when he found and promptly subdued Orion. After Alpha Trion took Orion in, he had to start from the very beginning when it came to Orion's education. Teaching him language, speech, basic manners, and other things a sparkling should have learned while slowly helping him acclimate to civilization. This took nearly a vorn, after which Alpha Trion spent a similar amount of time taking Orion to specialized therapists and doctors to help him lose some of his wilder traits.
After several vorns of teaching him and slowly reformatting his frame to something more civilized, Orion finally appeared and acted mostly normal...
Orion Pax
Most of the wild features that Orion retained were small, at least the physical aspects. His legs were still longer than average and his frame was still built to withstand just about anything. But this was easily dismissed as him being built as a combat class mech or having a sturdier frame type. As such the only things that stuck out on him physically were his still very much present fangs and clawed digits.
While not a problem in the archives since his appearance had long since become a normal sight, newcomers tended to shy away in fear upon meeting his predatory gaze for the first time. His social obliviousness did little to help him in those situations as for a long time he was unable to determine what was wrong. However his rather straight forwards perspective in social matters did allow him to make fast friends with just about anyone able to look past his appearance.
However it wasn't just a few physical differences that set him apart, it was his mentality. He had no qualms against eating the fauna of Cybertron if he was hungry and the opportunity presented itself. He would also tend to forget to speak when uncomfortable and revert to using body language and his EM field for communication. Animalistic sounds slipping out on occasion were also common alongside his habit of subconsciously sizing everyone up, flaring his plating to look larger.
Megatronus found it to be more adorable than intimidating.
Picking apart the weaknesses of those around him with an uncomfortably long stare was also something that tended to set his fellows on edge. His quiet but undoubtedly possessive behavior was also noted when he finally felt comfortable around his friends. Often he would get in-between others who he deemed dangerous and his "pack", doing his best to keep them safe. Even Megatronus who stood nearly a head taller than him was not exempt from Orion's overprotectiveness. And despite not being a very touchy feely individual, Orion always made sure his "pack" were well taken care of and loved.
Him leaving dead mechanimals on his friend's doorsteps or workstations was also something he did regularly until Ratchet informed him of how unsettling it was. He would also leave small markings on his "pack's" armor if he could get away with it. Often nothing more than a small scratch on the paint, a quiet declaration that they were under his protection. Small affectionate touches and near undetectable humming were also common ways for him to show how much he cared.
Of course after working alongside Megatronus, fighting in the war, and becoming Prime, a great many of these little habits and features faded.
Optimus Prime
After the Matrix's forced reformat, Optimus retained even less of his wild features. All that remained were subtle things, like his digits which were still slightly pointed, or his optics which seemed a little too piercing, and his denta which appeared to be sharper than they should be. Of course, his long limbs remained, but the Matrix hid their unusualness beneath a thick layer of armor that accentuated other parts of his frame, almost as though to draw attention away from the effects of his less-than-pure Cybertronian CNA.
His coding was also reworked, pushing him to give more attention to others and the welfare of Cybertron instead of his and his "pack's" survival. This in turn eliminated many of his previous habits, instead making way for diplomatic data, battle protocols, and the wisdom of the Primes. That is not to say his pack instincts have faded out entirely, no, they still remain, but they do require a reason for activation.
The only times he exhibits even slightly wilder traits are when those closest to him are in danger or in need of comfort and when the rush of battle grows to be too much.
During the former situation, before and after arriving to earth, his go-to method of protecting his family is to take the lead. He makes himself larger, more stoic, seemingly untouchable and eternally wise. He takes it upon himself to shoulder all their burdens and to be there, allowing his presence to make them feel protected and loved. The occasional song like humming that he may produce is too high pitched for most to hear, even for his fellow Cybertronians. But it does subconsciously make his family, and even the human children feel that much safer. He might also offer some comforting touches and words but usually he tries to help his family quietly, lest his mask of stoicism slip.
As for the latter situation, his self preservation has been nearly eliminated in the sense that Optimus no longer feels the need to preserve himself if it would benefit a greater cause. This conflicts with his wild base coding and can cause him to fall into a maddened rage if he feels his family is too threatened. He cannot flee as the Matrix and his Prime programming would never allow it, but his wild coding also refuses to let him roll over and accept death for himself or his family. As such he can fall into a berserker like rage when things get dire, his morals and everything outside of his need to eliminate the threat being pushed to the side.
He has long since learned to control this rage, but when it does happen Megatron does not even bother coming up with a good excuse and flees the battlefield. An Optimus who doesn't care, who isn't weighed down by morals and duty and only has the primal desire to tear his prey to pieces is not one who Megatron has any intention of messing with.
#transformers prime#feral orion pax#orion pax#tfp optimus prime#transformers ideas#this is almost an au#goodness I need to stop putting so much effort into my tumblr posts#I believe Optimus is possessive as pit and I accept no criticism on this front#yeah I can see him acting like he isn't#but the team are HIS people#he would totally keep tabs on those he views as his
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All Mine
Genre: fluff
Characters: dorm leaders (Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, and Malleus) x gn!reader
Scenario: what makes your boyfriend jealous and what he does about it <3
Notes: none!
Riddle Rosehearts ; when you're having fun with someone else.
Even as your boyfriend, Riddle can’t do things with you that would go against the dorm rules or hurt his image—which you totally understand. But when he sees you laughing with someone else, doing things he can't partake in... it makes him really jealous.
Eventually, once it gets to him, he really won't want you hanging out with those people anymore.
He knows they probably aren’t being bad influences, but he will act like they are. He'll give them unimpressed stares when you're not looking, and if they're in his dorm he’ll use his unique magic against them to keep them away from you.
When you two are in private, he'll try let loose more. It’ll feel unnatural for him, but he wants to have fun with you, too. He’s afraid you’ll get bored of him.
If you play along for his sake and try to bring him out of his shell, he'll appreciate it. He might even be honest about his feelings once he’s comfortable telling you the truth.
But if you tell him that he doesn’t need to change for you, he'll get really shy. He'll deny feeling jealous, but reassurance of your love would mean a lot to him in the moment.
Ultimately, he just wants to be the one making you smile the most.
“As long as you’re sure you’re happy… Yes, I love you too.”
Leona Kingscholar ; when he sees others trying to take care of you.
Leona is a gentleman. Maybe everyone else has trouble believing so, but he's incredibly attentive once you're together. He escorts you places, buys you things you need, and comforts you when need be.
But if he happens to see someone else trying to do any of that for you, he will not be happy. He sees it as disrespectful, like they're trying to tell him he isn't doing a good enough job. To make it worse, you’re too kind to refuse these gestures from others, which sets his jealousy off.
With his temper, you will know immediately. Leona doesn't like to play games. He will tell you what’s bothering him and ask why you’re entertaining that behavior when he's right there. If you can’t give him an answer, he’ll stick himself to you like glue and won’t let anyone else near you for the day.
Assigns Ruggie to the very important task of keeping tabs on you afterward. Gives him specific instructions to monitor your conversations; if you’re talking to anyone for too long or if they try to do something for you, Ruggie is to interrupt and say you’ve been summoned by Leona.
Mandatory cuddles and telling him you love him is your punishment. He hates feeling jealous.
"You know what you signed up for with me. Now, come here. You’re mine."
Azul Ashengrotto ; when he becomes aware of the options you have.
Seeing how popular you are among the student body makes Azul particularly jealous.
You’re friends with so many others within the walls of Night Raven College; dozens of boys with promising futures make up your circle, including several princes, and all are just one call away from coming to your aid should you ask. So it’s a bit hard for him to not feel jealous when they don't seem to back off even after you announce your relationship.
He’ll wait it out at first, but if they don’t leave you alone he’ll be really ticked off. However, Azul is aware that he isn’t particularly intimidating and can’t fight.
So what does he do? He shows you off instead, to prove to them that you're his.
If he wasn't using Magicam before, now he's posting you every day. He's posting pictures of you with new jewelry he's bought you and images of you cuddled up to him at night, even linking sweet love songs to them.
When he checks his views and finds the individuals that triggered his jealousy, his satisfaction in through the roof. Don’t question his smirk.
If, for some reason, flaunting you on social media isn’t enough, then Azul might have Floyd give your friends a scare. Nothing serious, just enough to make them delete your number and change their routes to class to avoid you. You wont even notice since Azul is now escorting you to class on his arm.
"Do you not want me to show you off? I don't see a problem with reminding everyone who you chose."
Kalim Al-Asim ; when you might be taken away.
Kalim trusts you so much, so he just doesn’t get jealous. Your relationship is so healthy and communication between you is great.
The only time he'd maybe feel jealousy would be if someone planted the idea in his head. Like if Jamil makes a joke about you and someone you're with looking quite close, Kalim might start questioning the situation.
However, he'd be more concerned for your safety than jealous. He'd approach you and drag you away in a rush with an innocent excuse to the other individual. After all, if they're trying to charm you while knowing you’re in a relationship, they have to be bad news.
He'd talk to you about it immediately, though, before any of his thoughts spiral and before you can think he’s overreacting.
Would go heavier on the PDA to remind you he trusts and cares for you. To some extent, he might be thinking he can gross that person out this way so they’ll get the hint and give it up.
Kalim is just too sweet of a guy to feel jealous honestly. There’s not much else to say. He’ll make you feel so safe.
"Just wanted to make sure you were okay! I think we should steer clear of them for now, yeah?"
Vil Schoenheit ; when you don't see what he sees.
Vil gets annoyed easily, definitely. But it would either take something truly concerning or the involvement of someone he deems a threat to make him feel jealousy.
He often acts like he knows what's best for you, so he tells you to stay away from certain classmates. Especially the ones that he sees being a bit too kind to you.
If you dismiss Vil’s concerns and the individuals get bolder with you to spite him, he’ll be pissed. Honestly, if he didn’t have contractual obligations and a reputation to maintain, he might resort to threats.
If it goes on for long enough, he’ll start feeling jealous.
The result is a super petty Vil.
If you want to spend time with him, he'll redirect you to one of those friends. He'll ask you why you want his attention now, when you clearly preferred theirs yesterday.
Though it’s hard for him to turn you away when all he wants is to hug and kiss you, his mind turns it into a silly game to find out if you love him most of all. This keeps him in a cycle of pettiness and insecurity.
Still, he doesn't want to neglect you. He wants you to see his perspective, so once he’s had enough of going without you, he’ll explain why he feels his worries are justified.
Once you exchange apologies, he’ll return all the love he withheld.
"Now do you understand? I'm only trying to protect you from ill intentions."
Idia Shroud ; when he can't be the one that's with you.
Get jealous very often, but keeps it to himself.
Idia knows you have to hang out with others a lot because of his boundaries. He doesn’t always feel comfortable enough to go out, so you ask your other friends for company to avoid pressuring him.
Still, it doesn’t make him feel great that there is always someone jumping at the chance to be with you.
When he gets notifs that you posted to Magicam only to see you looking happy with someone else, his jealousy escalates quickly.
Unfortunately, Idia isn't very good at communication especially when it comes to his feelings. So he will give you space instead, and let you enjoy yourself to prevent ruining your day with his doubts.
He will continue lurking your profiles for the next few days, but he won't like anything or reply to your messages. He'll self-isolate until you come to him, whether it be hours or days later.
When you do come see him in person to ask what’s wrong, you'll be stuck with him a while. He won’t admit to feeling jealous, but it’ll be clear from his questions that he wants to be sure you still want to be with him.
Lots of quality time will fix his mood. He might prefer the quiet of his room to the noisy outside world, but he makes it very clear that you’re always welcome to disturb him. He’d much prefer that to seeing you with other people.
"We can go somewhere together soon, so don't ask anyone else anymore! B-but for now, could you spend the night?"
Malleus Draconia ; when you give away your time with him.
Malleus loves to have alone time with you. He's very grateful that you always reserve time in your day just for him.
But on the occasion that someone seeks to interrupt this time, and you don't turn them away or happen to cancel on Mal entirely for them, that’s when he’d get jealous.
He'd dismiss himself from the situation to let you take care of your business, but he would actually just be hiding nearby and listening.
If the person seems to be taking up your time for reasons that Malleus himself finds unworthy, he won't hesitate to use a bit of magic to make that person suddenly leave you alone, as if possessed.
He’ll return to you pouty and distracted. He’ll initiate lots of physical touch, and might even suggest going to his dorm room while he milks all your affection.
He doesn’t hide feelings of jealousy because he’s learned your instinct is to coddle him when he makes it obvious. Your giggles and half-hearted apologies in response to his melodramatic words of worry make him fall deeper in love.
When he’s jealous, Malleus doesn’t care for words of reassurance as much as he does actions. He is quite secure in your relationship, but he will never get tired of seeing how comfortable you are with him. He loves knowing that you won’t ever run away.
"Now that they're out of the way, I do wish you'd learn to say no. I am quite selfish when it comes to my time with you."
a/n: Okay so I tried to get Riddle's Halloween card but I could NOT get any SSR until freaking pity. Then that last key set gave me both Jack and Ruggie's Dorm Uniform SSRs instead of Riddle 😭 I thought, "Wow, Leona really sent his underclassmen after me?" And that gave me the idea for jealousy hcs…
Hope u all enjoy, holiday prompts will probably be coming soon! kisses <3
#twst wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twst#twst fluff#twst headcanons#twst x reader#twst imagines#riddle x reader#riddle rosehearts x reader#leona x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#azul x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#kalim x reader#kalim al asim x reader#vil x reader#vil shoenheit x reader#idia x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus x reader#malleus draconia x reader
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iii. mr. wright and jane austen
summary: sherlock observes you from afar and learns things against his own whim. that's what he'll keep telling himself (cavill!sherlock x afab!reader)
reflection: i was working hard to get this done in a timely manner while i still had the ideas for it in my head. this speedy process has left me with little direction, however, so i hope i will be able to get to the next part of this soon. i have a certain vision, but working the details out is another matter entirely. i am hopeful for this one. please enjoy and feedback is always encouraged.
warnings: seamstress!reader, condescending!sherlock, mystery brewing, cursing, longwinded descriptions, overthinking, sherlock is in denial, suggestive language, reader is going through it, off screen character death, somewhat slowburn, enemies to lovers, sherlock watches reader, eventual smut, victorian era (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)
word count: 6,004
previously: consequences and a lead
( this work has been cross posted on ao3 )
Sherlock avoids you and you avoid him and he notices you’re doing the same to him from how you turn away when you spot each other or how you inevitably have to cross paths and choose to focus on other points in space rather than him. In one instance, you walk past each other and the fabric he’s been investigating for a week taunts him as you graze his right arm, your chin turned up in pride. You don’t allow him to deter you, but he can tell by your trembling fingers and how you fall back into a slouch once you’re closer to your door that you’re working hard again. While you refuse eye contact, he opts for it. He doesn’t know why he does, but against his better judgment, he studies your face and notes the violet rings adorning the contours of your lower eyelids. A champagne pigmented chain hangs around your neck, a white lily of the valley charm hangs off the chain, and those trembling fingers caress it after you two pass in the same fashion as parallel lines. Something beyond your job is troubling you and he acts as indifferent as he can until he reaches the staircase and walks up two total steps. From this view, he can look at you properly, your attention on unlocking the door to your flat. He hears a light sniffle before you enter it and you close the door with a gentle pressure, so gentle that he would not have known the action had been done had he not seen it done in front of him. Sherlock purses his lips in thought and then he shakes his head to return to his clues he’s gone over a million and one times in his mind and then he ascends the staircase to do the same in his office.
You’re not someone he should worry over. He knows it’s unnecessary as there’s this common, unspoken treaty between the two of you to stay a distance away. It’s for the best considering how neither of you entertained requests from one another. Except, he’s pondering why you might be sniffling and why you did it so soon without knowing if he was truly gone. Either you did it on purpose and for attention, which makes little to no sense since you clearly want nothing to do with him, or it’s because you couldn’t restrain yourself any longer. Both are causes for concern.
That’s the first time he sees something is amiss, a week after you dismissed him at your flat. He’s visited a total of 36 seamstress and tailor shops since then and miraculously none of them have carried the fabric you’re utilizing for your dresses. In his mission, he figured which shop was yours. It wasn’t difficult since it was close by and actually the first in mind he wanted to visit, but he saw you through the window and immediately did a full 180 turn to maneuver to the next possible stop. From then on, he tried to keep his head up and ahead to not keep any tabs on you as an accidental eye-lock would indicate he was stalking your establishment, and from your past conversations, he did not wish to use your help in any capacity, much less against your knowledge. He did well in not letting his ego wander in and cave into some sort of apology, his glances at the shop kept at a minimum unless a person of interest walked inside while Sherlock went to and from his home on Baker street. His abnormal hours prevented him from running into you besides the miniscule moments of time he would see you in his building. He thought it would be easy to continue this repelling for as long as possible.
That is, he thought this before he made the poor decision to deduce you off a whim on his way to his flat. You didn’t stay at the forefront of his mind for long, but as he let himself get carried away with his case, you did appear randomly and without warning. After that, the next morning, as Sherlock ventures out into the world, his cerulean irises delve into the atmosphere of the shop. He observes the bodices holding your hand-made clothing, the stitching impressive even from a far away gaze. He doesn’t stop walking to try and bring his mind peace, doing so would mean he’s going against his commitment to leave you out of his investigation, but he indulges in the interlude and distance it takes strolling by to gather pieces of information. He’s not so much curious about the fabric, but what’s seemed to have you so shaken and work stricken. The last thing he desires is to talk to you so this feels as if it’s the next best logical choice. The lights are off, you’re not in yet, and as he comes to a corner, he catches the sign above the shop and then he commemorates it into his brain, a mental note he slaps to the far wall of his skull: Mr. Wright’s Threads.
The next time he passes the shop, it’s the afternoon and he’s in need of nutrients if he wants to continue his travels. He’s on his way home and his head turns a touch to look through your window and alas, you’re there tending to a headless mannequin while an older woman speaks to you from the side. He watches the interaction and you smile brightly as you showcase the dress, but when the woman turns away to look through the other items, he sees your face fall. He can tell you’re blowing a breath of air out to keep your patience, but there’s also something else beyond that. Your cheek sinks in, most likely due to how you’re biting the inside of it to keep yourself at bay, from what Sherlock does not understand, but as the older woman pivots on her heel, your smile is back and you’re the expert merchant helping as much as the customer desires.
He thinks he’ll never fully understand how people can commit to duties they hate, but then again, Enola would probably tell him how that came from a place of privilege. He comprehends how he has an unusual form of work that pays well and more than the average worker, much more than a woman in any field, but from what he had seen in your flat and the quality of your clothing, you’re well off. You have money. Whatever is making you miserable is a puzzle for him and it’s actually not any easier to navigate than this murder investigation he’s currently undergoing. He sadly prefers the game since answers would always be unveiled to him eventually. The same could not be said for how he could decipher a woman and her feelings. Still, this is not the last time he looks into your shop. He looks into it again the next morning, the next afternoon, and the next evening when he stops by the pub for a glass of wine meant to calm down his nerves and smother his thoughts. Curiously, each time he does, he realizes you’re alone. A shop run by a woman is not unheard of, but the extravagance of it and its location have him questioning how it came to be. Not only are you selling clothing and pressuring yourself at home to complete your goals, you’re also the cashier, the cleanup crew, and from what he can tell, the manager.
Perhaps, the owner.
Sherlock realizes what he’s doing around the fourth day of peering into your shop and he refrains at the midpoint of his stroll. He lightly scolds himself for going against his own aims and tells himself that it won’t happen again, he can’t let another thing distract him from what’s important, especially not someone who refused to help him in this endeavor. He’s not sure what possessed him to be checking in on you as frequently as he has been, but it’s not going to happen anymore. It’s time to intensify the seriousness of his situation tenfold and travel out to gain a look at the bigger picture he’s obviously been overlooking in the process of being too curious for his own good, too curious about a woman who cannot stand him the very same.
He speaks with a shop owner nearby, one he’s already spoken to before but the tailor did reassure Sherlock that he would be checking his inventory for the fabric. A cup of tea and some banter he has to sit through to maintain a friendly facade later, it’s another dead end and he’s disappointed as he leaves and shoves his hands into his pockets. His luck in this case is close to nothing it seems and he fears it might have to go cold, something to archive while he works on something new. It’s another kind of technique, taking a break from what has your mind in shambles in order to find new pieces and details. From what he understood, the creatives of the world did so to find new inspiration and broaden their horizons they unknowingly limited through narrowed thinking and crescendoing stress.
It’s only that Sherlock doesn’t operate this way. He obsesses (as much as he would hate to admit it) and thrives until something is complete. The sad and maybe deranged fact of it is that it’s not always for the intended victims to gain sooner justice, but for his own sake. It won’t stop burrowing into his mind until it’s solved, he can’t sleep a wink, and if he does, the case will mock him in his dreams. He will not let it continue to do so, he has to think of another way to attack this that does not involve abandoning it or you, the woman he catches in the library he decided to turn inside of—what the, what are you doing here of all places? At the sight of you, he subconsciously tightens his grip on his cane. He doesn’t need anything else to sour his mood. Fortunately for him, you’re busy reading at a table and didn’t catch wind of him. He’s quick to move out of your way in case you do look up and he busies himself scanning the shelves so he can possibly bring something home. He reads title after title, each one he’s read before and in this, his frustration amplifies by the seconds. It’s then that it occurs to him that the book you’re holding might be something that’s not in his collection.
It’s not that he wants to know about your interests any further. That could be so far from the truth. No, he desires to ensure his entertainment with a new book that may end up helping with his investigation. That new book is quite possibly sitting in your hands… though, from what he can tell overlooking from his position behind a shelf, the pages are yellowed and old. Every time you turn to a new one, he can hear the distinct crisp that follows due to the silence of the area. Few people walk by, their shoes on the creaking floors still not drowning out the pages that you shuffle beneath your fingers with care. It cements a factor about you in his head, how you’re also a reader and you don’t want to damage the knowledge and words in your hands, strange when he thinks about how damaged the print is already. What a sign of sentiment. Oddly enough, despite how much he’s seen it happen these past few days, your hands are not trembling. And it’s not due to a lack of work since your efforts are high and alert in his eyes, it’s because you’re trying to relax. From what he could surmise, it’s working, your shoulders laying softly into the back of the chair you’re sitting in, your eyes dreamily passing through every word in your immersion, lashes fluttering open and closed. Those stubborn hair strands you messily push away often are even hanging over the apples of your cheeks, but you make no motions to remove them from where they are. You simply let them be, just as you currently simply are.
Sherlock gazes downwards a minute after he’s looked at you because it takes him that long to remember what he told himself moments before he entered the library. He’s not supposed to be deciphering anything about you and your shop, he’s supposed to be working on his case just as you’ve been sewing in your time. His fingers tap the shelf impatiently, impatient with himself for falling right back into a pattern he didn’t know started almost two weeks ago now. He doesn’t understand what it is about you for you to continuously pull his attention out of thin air without doing anything particularly extraordinary, but the aged books sitting in front of him cause him to recall where he is. He’s in a place of silence, silence that’s present and prominent in consideration of an even quieter reading among the individuals inside. You just so happen to be one of those individuals and it’s not wrong for him to be discovering what book is currently in your hands. You’re not at Mr. Wright’s Threads and you’re not his neighbor he circumvents in order to evade another awkward situation. You’re a reader who holds a book he possibly hasn’t read and it’s alright to move into a position where he can read the title for confirmation. Said movement is conducted by him in an instant after rationalizing this and he treads carefully still not wanting to be detected by you. He’s successful in being nonchalant, and soon enough, your digits nudge over the cover enough for him to read what is currently in your possession. Persuasion by Jane Austen isn’t a bad read, but he’s read it all the same.
“The chokehold romance has on people,” he whispers to himself, but it’s not in some patronizing way. He’s fascinated, actually. Towards him, you’ve presented this cold exterior with the intentions there to stop yourself from appearing shaken in any type of way and while he can trace this phenomenon to your two not-so-amiable interactions together, his ego isn’t that grand to think he’s the sole cause. You live a life beyond being his downstairs neighbor and over these past two weeks, he’s been privy to it no matter how much he’s tried to keep his nose in his own business. There’s almost a melancholy aura to how you live and how you speak with other people even if there’s a welcoming grin on your features. Because really, your grin is not feigned, but it’s necessary to hide away feelings you don’t want to seep into your work, much less to the bleeding socializing life towards strangers, and so much more less to a stranger who plays violin at almost all hours of the early morning when he can’t think clearly. Your mask is evident to him because he’s seen it removed when you think no one’s watching and it’s a vital detail to him here in this moment because said mask is nowhere to be found. You’re reading without your usual safety precautions which could only mean that you’re at ease.
So maybe he can’t comprehend why love seems to be such an enthralling topic for not only you, but countless others across the country and the world, but he can understand that its effect and longing for it can change moods and emotions. It can affect motivations and bring out the best and worst in people according to how it’s applied to situations. This realm is not at all his forte and he tends to subtract himself from circumstances that deal in love unless it’s necessary to the caseload he’s working on. And yet, he lingers as he nears the exit. He lingers watching as you bring your fingers towards your lips and the peculiar part is you’re doing so in thought, but a real smile slowly graces your mouth and it conveys to him that you’re probably suppressing it subconsciously. In your enjoyment, you still find a way to hide genuine mirth and he believes it’s out of the habits you’ve created for yourself and for those around you to see. No one observes people like him, however. Sherlock is not sure if anyone could detect who you are because of how good you are at concealing her away, but he’s been gifted (and cursed) with the ability to not only see what others can’t, but to see everything. And he sees your smile and a negative cloud drapes over his shoulders for some reason knowing that if you see him right now, it would crumble away and the mask would promptly be lifted back up. It’s the possibility of disturbing your peace that finally pushes him out of the library and back to the pavement where he resumes his pursuit of that evasive fabric.
It’s late at night when he finally calls it a day. He’s on his way back to his flat when he takes a glance through your shop’s window. He doesn’t mean to and he’s about to stare straight ahead when he sees a frequent customer of yours leave through the front doors. He notices how she waves her goodbye to you and you wave back before you’re heading inside to clean up. He should leave the older woman alone, he knows this, but there’s something that’s been bothering him when it comes to your shop. From what he’s gathered, he’s certain you’re the owner. It would explain your constant vigilance, this marriage to your work that you’re committed to at home and within this store, and why you seem to live alone. You have the funds, but they definitely most come from the shop. What is not accounted for is who Mr. Wright is. While Sherlock may not know your first or last name, he’s positive you don’t go by Mr. Wright. It’s possible you’re taking care of everything in his absence, a reason as to why you’re working yourself to the bone, why you appeared downstairs seemingly out of the blue. Being on location is easier than not. Before, you probably sent your work through a carrier.
With these questions and theories in mind, Sherlock jogs lightly to catch up to the older woman. His presence is easy to catch because of his sheer size and she immediately looks up at him with a warm smile. Age has caused her to slightly slouch, but she stares up with bright eyes that he knows have not forgotten youth for a second. Something snug spreads across his chest at this, but he ignores it and reflects back her smile.
“Excuse me for bothering, but I’ve been meaning to—”
“You’re not bothering me at all!” she chirps, not willingly cutting Sherlock off, but it happened nonetheless. Older people have that habit of delayed processing and he knows that so in response, he gives another smile, one he’s practiced in the mirror numerous times. Mycroft used to remind Sherlock to fix his face, to think of the emotions he’s replicating and failing at since he wasn’t good at them naturally. She’s still just as inviting as before, so he counts it as a success.
“Right,” he continues, “Say, I’ve been meaning to commission an item there for a while now, but I haven’t seen Mr. Wright around to do so?” He’s cautious as he asks this, watching her facial structure closely for anything that he might have said wrong. Mr. Wright may be imaginary, but the probability of that is low. Sherlock is taking an educated guess here relating to the existence of Mr. Wright and he does regret his approach for a moment when he sees her face transition into a frown. It’s only a moment, however, because he realizes that it’s not in confusion, but in… dread?
“Yes, well… I’m sorry to be the one to break the news, young man, but… Mr. Wright won’t be around any time soon.” The woman sighs and turns her stare down to the ground. Sherlock’s not sure what changed the mood, but he continues walking with her at her pace and shortens the strides of his long legs out of courtesy. She walks slowly already, but the weight of her words have seemingly pressed into her back and her pace is now similar to that of a snail’s. “His daughter’s a diligent and brilliant young lady, so I do recommend going to her for this request. From my experience, she’s easy to speak with and navigates a cluttered schedule well. She’s closing up now, but I’m sure you can converse with her tomorrow morning.”
Sherlock physically bites his tongue at this and it’s to refrain from commenting on you and just how “easy” it is to speak with you. He’s not about to give into spite and possibly throw away another vessel of information, he’s learned his lesson much like how he’s now learned that Mr. Wright is your father. Of course you’d be striving to keep it in shape, it’s a family business.
“I don’t know if I can do tomorrow morning, or anything for a while in that regard for a consultation,” he lies, “So, if you can please tell me when Mr. Wright will be back, I’m sure that’ll be simpler for the both of us.” The prospect of Mr. Wright existing is what causes Sherlock’s brain to light up. He didn’t want to interfere with your work or stoop to a lower level in which he would have to give you a meaningless apology, so the idea of there being another authority figure in this shop that sold his rare fabric is something that greatly intrigues him. He could skip the formalities with you and ensure that the space between the two of you would be maintained for as long as you both wished. He feels the answer to his problems is closer and closer and something electric travels up his wrists that he hasn’t felt in a long while. The last time was probably during the last case he solved, this being months ago now.
Though, the electricity fades as the older woman comes to a complete stop on the street. Fortunately there are no carriages passing by and there is little traffic among the people walking home/taking evening strolls. He pivots where he stands to face her fully, his eyes blinking in confusion. He glances at her heels and he thinks for a second that she might be stopping because her feet hurt. Then her hands hold each other and he thinks that perhaps she’s cold with the night’s air biting through the thin fabric of her sleeves. She fidgets with her mouth, twitches in it that he interprets as confirmation of his thought. Sherlock shimmies his overcoat off his broad shoulders and manages to remove one cuff off his wrist as he says, “Here, would you like my coat?”
Before he can slip another side off, the woman raises her hand and presses it to his forearm. He volleys stares from her hand to his arm to her face that is now gazing up at him with what he could only describe as apologetic eyes. He’s not sure what they were apologizing for, but he doesn’t try to guess out loud. He solely listens.
“You haven’t heard,” she whispers. Sherlock doesn’t say anything. He knows she’s technically right since he didn’t even know if Mr. Wright existed prior to this conversation, but these words are not meant for him. They’re meant for someone who actually knew Mr. Wright, an acquaintance of this woman who would care more deeply about him due to a mutual, friendly connection. Sherlock hasn’t heard anything about this man because why would he? He doesn’t know this man. He should cut his losses and back away because maybe it’s the right thing to do. But he doesn’t budge, he stands still and waits for her to continue because even if he does not know Mr. Wright to hear about the information she’s about to divulge, he’s a Holmes. And a Holmes has to know.
“Mr. Wright… Mr. Wright passed away not too long ago. From what people have said and from what I have seen firsthand, his daughter was left the clothing shop.”
That’s not what Sherlock expected her to say. Or maybe it was and he was truly hoping that it would not be the case. There went his chances right out the window at proceeding with his investigation. That’s what he’s choosing to focus on and not the earth shattering discovery of how your father passed away recently. Because if he focuses on that, Sherlock’s brain will become laden with moral culpability. There’s that skin deep influence and place of privilege that Enola would have snuffed out first before he did. She’s better with emotions than he is, better at empathizing and using other tools besides nitpicking every single aspect of complex human behavior. He would’ve arrived at this obvious conclusion had he not turned every which way from you. Because if he focuses on this, then it’ll hit him upside the face that he invalidated you in not just common decency, but in the human experience. If he stops, physically as he’s done now despite the older woman patting his chest in sympathy he doesn’t deserve as a stranger to Mr. Wright and an ill-mannered stranger to you, he’s going to realize how he’s the one who’s in the wrong and the only one truly standing in his way is himself.
Sherlock’s brain is moving faster than he can form coherent thought because it takes him fifteen seconds of contemplating what would happen if he focused on your father’s passing to become aware that he’s indeed ironically focusing on that very thing. His fists clutch at his sides in disappointment and there are so many things he can say to this older woman who is wrongfully attempting to comfort him of all people, but he can’t bring himself to utter anything that would help her in this or deceive her into believing a man’s death meant something to him at all. All he can muster is, “When?”
The woman replies, “About one month ago.”
It’s the afternoon and you’ve just arrived at your building. You had a long day of work ahead this morning, but now you’re finished with half and you’re going to do your best to enjoy your lunch time. You must find a way to stay positive since sales are not where they need to be and you can hear your father warning you about “giving up is truly giving up”. You have this urge to yank at your own hair, but the memory of his voice helps you walk to your door. In the process, you see Shoulders in the middle of the staircase. Before you have the chance to turn away as usual, you notice how he’s already been looking down at you and most likely did so when you came back from work. It’s too late to refuse his gaze. There’s an interlude of you looking into his eyes and him looking into yours. This action itself is not brand new, but it somehow feels different than other times before. You don’t know what to make of it.
“How’s work?” He asks and breaks the silence. His break is clean, there are sans any nerves, but the tension rests between you. You don’t comprehend why he’s being so casual with you after three weeks of not interacting with one another and separating as if quarantining from the black plague, but you don’t reply with anything negative. You don’t reply with anything positive, either, but venom’s not twisting your tongue this time around.
“You tell me,” you say in a neutral tone. You know he’s smart. He knew you were a seamstress without you telling him and then you recall how he’s a detective consultant. The other day, you felt yourself bloom a rosy shade across your cheeks and chest thinking of the time he came by to ask for your help. From your appearance and from how he focused his eyes at the top of your head, you came to the realization that he probably figured out you were in the bath before you answered the door. Luckily for you, this was weeks ago now and you were no longer embarrassed at the prospect. You’re the one who wound up turning him away, after all.
Mr. Holmes leans into the railing as he observes you. You’re keenly aware of how his eyes stay on yours, his gaze wordlessly asking if that’s really what you wanted since he did hold the ability to do so. He’s disbelieving you’re guiding him towards this since you’ve rampantly been frigid in his presence and he in yours, but you don’t have the energy for it today. That’s what it comes down to for you to offer this challenge for him (and boy does he read this as a challenge), the fact that you don’t have enough energy to tell him about how your livelihood is at stake and how you can’t conjure new and paying clientele. You nod at Mr. Holmes to give him that push to go ahead and you watch as his chest expands and deflates in the process of a decisive sigh.
“It’s tiring, isn’t it? Full of commitments and responsibilities, free of equal payout to match the work ethic put in, long hours that are barely worth their weight.” Mr. Holmes pauses and you’re in awe that he’s nailed it so perfectly without overstepping any boundaries. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone understand these aspects of your job so closely without still expecting more of you, while still being general. He couldn’t know the details that have gone into your work, but you’re sure that they’re written across your forehead for someone like him.
“Yes, that’s right… My work is shit.”
You don’t know what you were expecting saying such a thing to Mr. Holmes, but it certainly wasn’t the small smile on his mouth. You actually expected him to laugh rather than smile your way and your hand reaches up to grab your own bicep as a method of shielding yourself away. Your own smile comes to your lips and you gesture your head to your door. “I have to get going. Can’t take too long since I have to go back soon.”
Mr. Holmes merely drops his chin in comprehension and you do the same in acknowledgment before you get back to opening your door. He’s heading up the steps as you enter your flat. Your face dawdles near the door as you try to decipher what exactly just happened between you and your crabby neighbor. It’s not that it was friendly, because it was, it’s that it wasn’t dismissive or conflicting. That’s what made the concept of it all the more conflicting.
As you take a step back and away from the door, the heel of your shoe bumps something solid on your floor and you’re quick to catch yourself from stumbling. Looking down, you see a brown package wrapped in twine, writing underneath the winding binding forming neat knots. Picking it up for a closer look, you undo the knots of the twine and loosen it enough to move it aside and read what is written at the top of the parcel: For Ms. Wright greeting you in handwriting you did not recognize. The only people who could send you anything were either your mother or your sister. You may have taken the shop over, but you doubted you created relationships with any of your customers so deep enough for any of them to discover where you live and send something. That and the package is missing any sign of an address. It just holds your last name. It’s a curious thing.
You commence the unwrapping of the package and as you unfold the paper, you notice how someone sent you a book. The book looks familiar to you, but instead of listening to your gut, you turn it over to see it for yourself. Just as you surmised, Persuasion by Jane Austen stares back at you. Oddly enough, you forgot your own copy back at home with your mother who lived out in the country and you didn’t have time to write anyone to send it over. You also did not want to interfere in your sister’s attendance with your mother. The attention needed to be on the frail woman and you would not take a second of that away from her. That further eliminates them from being the senders and you’re nervous trying to think of who could have possibly done this. You sift through the pages and you can see that this is an old version, but not as old as the one at the library you like to stop by at.
It’s the sight of a dried plant that stops you from carrying on any further. In chapter 16 of the book, there is a dried lily of the valley matching closely to the one currently dangling from your neck. You immediately grasp the charm in your hand as you inspect the dried flower. Despite its condition, the floral smell still fills your nostrils and it reminds you of your garden back home where you could sit in when everything collided in the background. While everything in the house became tumultuous, you could bring yourself to your knees and smell the flowers blossoming around you, listen to the breeze as it traveled by and took various petals along with it. You revisit the garden in your memory and staring at the lily will barely give you any answers so, you untuck the scrap of paper underneath it and begin to read.
I saw you reading this at the library. Consider it a peace offering. I’m not sure if it’s enough, but I would like for us to have a clean slate. We could be friends or enemies or mere acquaintances, time will explain.
Yours sincerely,
Sherlock
You had a feeling of who “Sherlock” could be, but you could hardly believe that he, of everyone, would send you such a thoughtful gift despite hardly knowing anything about each other. You don’t remember seeing him at the library and you don’t think you ever mentioned the lily of the valley. Just as you think it, you close your hand over the charm at your necklace and how visible it is for anyone with a pair of eyes to nose out. Then, the last time you attended the library had not been that long ago and you do recall how you sat by yourself and tuned out the world around you. It’s likely that you didn’t notice him near you because of how invested you were in the book, the same story currently sitting in your hands. It wouldn’t be too out of left field. He simply saw you and you didn’t know how to react to that. Especially since you’re not sure what made him take this direction. He seems as stubborn as you are.
Not wanting to hurt your brain any further with overthinking, you instead begin to read the passage beneath the lily aloud. “Lady Russel listened, and looked, and made only this cautious reply: ‘Elizabeth! Very well; time will explain.’” At this, you let out a soft chuckle. He underlined what he wrote in his note.
“Oh, Mr. Holmes… What are you playing at?” You say to yourself. You trace the letters on the note, the indentation he’s left behind. “Sherlock Holmes,” you murmur as if testing the name out, trying it for a spin, “What will time explain for us?”
#enola holmes#henry cavill#henry!sherlock#sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x reader#l4l.writes#beyond answers#mr wright and jane austen
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*quietly plants brainrot here*
(no pressure ofc pus)
OK YOU NOW LISTEN
What makes you think you can just BARGE in here and drop THAT in my askes WHAT
please continue
Anyway, under the cut is the last of the prompts for now (feel free to send more though, I've loved these!!).
“Is that what you’re gonna wear?” Jesse asked.
Bojan looked down at his Pasivision jersey. “Yeah, why?”
Jesse’s eyebrows were up. “Not exactly club attire.”
“I’ll change after the show,” Bojan shrugged, going for the dumb and innocent approach. Jesse shot him a knowing look.
Bojan wasn’t sure what the big deal was - it was meant to be funny. He had come to Glasgow to support his friend, so he was ready to go all in. He had tucked his Pasivision jersey in his luggage in hopes he’d have the courage to wear it, and when it was time to go to the venue, he had pulled it over his sparkly top meant for partying later.
Jesse was still saying something, but suddenly Jere came into view, in performance mode, ready to take the stage, and Bojan wasn’t listening anymore, because he had also noticed Bojan and was coming over.
“Hey there superstar, ready to blow the roof off?” Bojan said, offering his fist for a bump.
Jere tapped his knuckles into Bojan’s. “Look at you, fanboy.”
Bojan patted his belly. “Oh, this? My turn being the tour wife, I guess. You did so well, last time.”
Jere grinned. “Yes. You serve me drinks, after show.”
“Sure thing, hunnybunny.”
“Okei, gotta go. See you!” And he was gone. Bojan let out a sigh of relief, not sure why. Next to him, Jesse rolled his eyes.
****
It was more than halfway through the show, and Bojan was watching from the balcony. Jere had exited the stage for a minute, letting the others take over for what Bojan assumed was a change of outfit, sip of water and a much needed breather. A new song started - Bojan wasn’t that well-versed in Käärijä’s discography that he would have been able to differentiate between the songs easily - and Jere came back on stage and.
And.
He was wearing - a shirt? That itself was unheard of, Käärijä did not perform in a shirt, ever, but on top of that, it was… something white.
Not just anything white, either. It was Bojan’s mesh shirt, the one he had worn at Tavastia, the one that he had left at Jere’s, the one that Jere had proudly waved and smelled in front of the entire internet, the one that had made the freaking news.
He hadn’t left it on purpose, mind you. He wasn’t even sure how that had happened, because it’s not like he was wearing it when they had crashed at Jere’s. Somehow, Jere must have stolen it from his bag, that bastard.
The boxers, on the other hand, he totally owned up to. He had taken a shower at Jere’s in the morning. He was not good at keeping tabs of his belongings, so it’s no wonder those had been left behind.
But that wasn’t on purpose, either. Or so he told himself.
He wasn’t super excited about Jere’s public stunt with the laundry, but at the time there wasn’t anything else to do than to take it in stride, share the story, and dm a bunch of skull emojis to Jere. This was their love language, was it not? Bojan was glad he had retaliated by sneaking the Bulbasaur beanie in his bag when Jere wasn’t looking, even though he couldn’t have known at the time it was to be revenge. He felt no need to flaunt his achievement for everyone to see, though. He hadn’t told or showed it to anyone, actually. He told himself he was waiting for the right moment to strike.
Jere was thrashing about the stage and the shirt - Bojan’s shirt - kept riding up and exposing his belly. Which shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, because Jere’s belly was always on display. Why did seeing it under - and through - a shirt suddenly made Bojan’s want to bite?
The same went for Jere’s nipples that were barely visible through the mesh. God, is that what he looked like, as well, wearing that? That shit should be illegal. Suddenly, the jersey felt too fucking hot on him, he could feel sweat pooling under his pecs and on his lower back. The song ended, and Bojan couldn’t be sure how the rest of the show went. All he could feel was… some kind of unfounded ownership, like he had staked his claim without even trying, like now everybody was able to see right through him, like now everybody knew.
Afterwards, backstage, they had a laugh about the whole thing. Mikke took pictures of them, Bojan showing the victory sign in his jersey, Jere tucked under his arm in the white shirt. Both of them were sporting wide grins. Jere enjoyed the frenzy it caused when he posted it; Bojan was not so sure about how he felt. He shared it adding a single heart - he didn’t even dare to try to put anything into words. It took enough effort to keep acting like his insides weren’t on fire.
They didn’t talk about it much, then or later. Jere said he had brought the shirt because he wanted to return it. Neither of them mentioned that it never actually made it back to Bojan. Instead, another pair of boxers was accidentally left behind, this time by Jere, who had to scramble to make it back to the tour bus after extended goodbyes in Bojan’s hotel room. Bojan didn’t feel the need to roast him publicly about it. Privately though, back in his apartment in Ljubljana, he made sure to send Jere a picture of himself wearing them, fresh from the clean laundry pile. And the reaction he got back - meant for him and him alone - was enough to sustain him for a good long while.
#bojere#käärijan#fanfic#prompt fill#THANK YOU I LOVE YOU OMG#not much giggling in this one tho sorry#sharing clothes is serious business
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i cant remember if someone asked you your opinions on the pomefiore members but uh- thoughts pls? ^^;
Before we start, a note: when I share my opinions on characters, I like to think of them from two different perspectives: that of a content creator and that of a casual fan. As such, I’ll be speaking on both what I think of writing each boy, as well as what I think of each boy on a personal level outside of writing.
Let’s begin!
👑 Vil 👑
This may come as a shock, but I would actually say I like writing Vil more than writing Rook 😂 Vil has a certain maturity about him that helps him command whatever scene he’s in. It makes it easier for me to write dialogue if someone like Vil is the focal point, the one guiding discussion. He comes off as regal and stern—a powerful person you don’t want to cross. It’s a delight when a character’s bite matches their bark.
The way Vil speaks and composes himself fits very well with my writing style. I also happen to have an interest in beauty, so I have the vocabulary to make Vil ramble about fashion, skincare, etc. His dialogue comes so naturally to me that sometimes I space out, and by the time I’ve drifted back, I’ve typed up a whole speech for Vil. Channeling that “tough love” energy of his is strangely cathartic—and the drive and self-assuredness that Vil exudes makes me feel more confident in myself when I write him.
All that being said, I don’t really care for Vil as a character. I admire his willingness to work hard to achieve his goals and that he challenges traditional gender roles. I definitely find his inner turmoil fascinating, and it’s interesting that he’s one of the... nicer dorm leaders, but my love for him stops there. I don’t mind that he’s strict (because in a cast as big as TWST’s, we’re bound to have some sticklers), but nothing about what Vil is appeals to me.
He’s... conventionally attractive, I guess????? But I’ve never liked his looks (especially not his purple Kool-aid dyed hair) nor have I considered him to be “fairest of them all”. I think most of his looks are just too severe for me, too bold of an eye look or too much with the hair 😔 and his vanity (because he does have it) isn’t an appealing trait either. His career is a big deterrent as well; I nope away from celebrities of all kinds because being one inherently puts the spotlight on him (and I have a strong preference for characters that work “in the shadows”, so to speak, over ones that have eyes on them at all times).
I also just disagree with some of his teaching; I get that Vil has good intentions, but I feel that, at times, he goes too far with his methods and imposes unrealistic expectations onto others. This is excused by TWST as “Vil is a celebrity, so he holds others to high standards as well”, but I feel that Vil needs to step back, take his own advice to take “context” into consideration, and think about others’ limitations and how to adapt to them instead of continuously pushing his own views with little regard for those limitations. In chapter 5, I totally get that he was blinded by envy and personal ambitions, but Vil overall is less like a character I’d enjoy and more like a tiger parent I’d want to keep away from.
🏹 Rook 🏹
Rook’s a joy for me to write (I love his positive attitude!), but I’ll be the first to admit that he isn’t easy. He often speaks in long, (unnecessarily) flowery sentences, which makes it a nightmare to arrange in a manner that makes sense but also reads well. You don’t want to throw in too many words or else it seems redundant or confuses the reader, but you don’t want to throw in too few because it wouldn’t be close enough to Rook’s poetic prose.
The occasional French phrases that he sprinkles in also trip me up 💦 I don’t know how to add those funky accent marks on letters, so I need to open a new tab and go out of my way to search for them... Sometimes I can’t quite remember certain nicknames or exclamations that Rook says, so I need to have 1-2 separate tabs open to cross reference the appropriate resources. When I’ve actually written all his dialogue out, then I go back and double check to make sure everything flows well and that the French is correct.
A unique challenge that comes with writing Rook is describing things from his perspective. Every scene is a work of art, and every possible negative thing is somehow spun to be positive. I have to sit there in my chair and have a good, long think sometimes before I can properly pour all my energy into a pure sensory overload of a description, or to find something good to say about something bad 😂 I feel like I’m never fully doing Rook justice, but I try my best with what I’ve got....!
Anyway~ It should be pretty clear from the multitude of thirst posts that Rook is my favorite from Pomefiore! I just like reading his superfluous way of speaking and how it weirds out everyone around him, but that he’s also very sharp-witted and observant if you look past that silly exterior. You don’t think he would backstab you until it’s way too late, so you definitely don’t want him as an enemy (like damn, this man can determine a LOT of your personal details just from looking at you; he’s TWST’s Sherlock Holmes) 😳 But when he’s on your side, he can be your greatest cheerleader. Rook’s just the kind of friend supporting me!
It’s also very admirable that Rook can stay so positive and see the beauty in even the worse of things and situations; that kind of optimism is such a rarity that it’s refreshing to me. No one could write a whole ass poem dedicated to how wonderful Crowley is BUT Rook. No one would long for the taste of poison and coo about how beautifully deadly an OB is BUT Rook. Admittedly, I sometimes experience intense second hand embarrassment at the cornier things Rook says 😂 He is cringe, but at least he is free............................
🍎 Epel 🍎
Epel is, hands down, my least favorite of the Pomefiore trio (this goes for both writing and for personal appeal). Compared to the other characters, Epel has a pretty passive and indistinctive way of talking in most of his dialogue. This frustrates me because when I read back what I’ve written for him, I constantly worry that he sounds too generic or that it’s difficult to distinguish his voice from the other characters’ voices. I have to contain my efforts to make it “be more Epel-y”, because otherwise every other sentence would be about apples, and “apples” is most certainly not his entire personality.
When his accent comes out, the situation somehow gets worse 😔 It’s very difficult to “translate” Epel’s dialect into English, but I usually default to the what can be considered a “southern drawl” in the United States (which I can’t write very well). This leads me to smashing together letters to make close approximations of other words or straight up using country-isms to replace more commonly spoken phrases. It tends to result in a big, confusing mess that reads very clunkily and hurts my eyes to look at 😷
The timing of when his accent comes out also confuses me. During chapter 5, it seems that the accent makes itself known only when Epel is angry or loses composure, but we’ve seen in a lot of recent vignettes that he can also casually switch between the two as long as Vil’s not around. I had to switch my writing up to adapt to the new lore. Writing Epel’s “accent” dialogue offends me—
I’ve often seen people describe Pomefiore as a “found family” dynamic, in which Vil and Rook are the parents and Epel is their rebellious child. Honestly, I’ve found that that’s my preferred way to digest Epel content (or really, any Epel interaction with other characters works) because I find him way too boring on his own. Sure, he’s cute with his looks and his shyness (when he’s putting on an act), but cuteness alone doesn’t endear me to a character and his politeness feels generic. Meanwhile, Epel’s wild child side comes off as very... one-note to me? It’s usually played for laughs (like “no one can understand him”) and he quickly goes back to his “polite” way of speaking right after, so it feels like a gimmick despite being told it’s an integral part of his identity. I only really felt that was true when we finally got to visit Harveston and learn more about its culture, but I feel that we shouldn’t need a whole event to significantly expand a character; Epel should be able to stand on his own as someone interesting, and he just... doesn’t to me.
It definitely doesn’t help that his character arc in chapter 5 seemed kind of rushed. I get that they were trying to show us Epel’s views on gender roles were regressive and how he changed for the better, but I really don’t think he should have made a 180 as quickly as he did; it paints an unrealistic view of how fast we should expect people to change their toxic opinions in the real world. Chapter 5 could have had Epel beginning to open his heart to change, not completely changing in the span of like a month.
#Pomefiore#Vil Schoenheit#Rook Hunt#Epel Felmier#spoilers#I don’t know if any of y’all care to hear my behind-the-scenes writing ramblings or not#but here you are#also I get the distinct impression that this ask will prompt others to ask what my thoughts on the rest of the cast are#notes from the writing raven#question
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Story time with the Goetia household! Whether a child Stolas is reading by himself or an adult Stolas is reading to a little Octavia, they are taking the time to read a new storybook. [Part 15]
This is a continued reading of "Cereza and the Lost Demon".
Previously: Cereza and Cheshire had just won their first battle against a few faeries together, even getting to loot a faerie chest as a reward.
As of the moment, they both have just made their way past yet another gauntlet of violent plants.
Moving on...
Supplementary info: Baked Gecko ⬇️
Supplementary info: Unicorn Horn ⬇️
Supplementary info: Mandragora Root ⬇️
Now for this next bit, you can imagine that there's an interactive page in the book somewhere. It's not necessarily a mini-game per se, but it's like a mix between those activity books and storybooks that have movable bits/parts in some pages (like tabs or flaps), but for this magical version, just requires the touch and trace of a finger like a touchscreen.
"Cereza wants to make a potion, but she needs your help. Help her stir the cauldron until the potion is all done." (Put your finger on the page and move it around in a circle to start stirring) ⬇️
After break time is over...
To be continued...
What thoughts, feelings, and opinions do you think Stolas (and Octavia) would be having when reading this part?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
For now, Stolas (and Octavia) can enjoy a single page dedicated solely to the view of Cereza and Cheshire relaxing, taking time to enjoy a well-needed and deserved rest. 😌
After the gauntlet of dangerous plants, getting Octavia to lightly tease her father on his own gardening choices "It's like your garden!" Which Stolas chuckles with an embarassed blush at, but the traversal through the sureal wood rings is a nice bit of a fun hop before the green one snaps loose and sends Cereza careening down the path balancing the whole way.
Stolas would probably be very concerned, protective fatherly instincts and all, while Octavia cheerfully giggles thinking it'd be quite fun, even protesting when Cereza says it wasn't "But it looked so fun!" Stolas patting her on the head with an awkward smile, saying he wouldn't really enjoy it either if he was in Cereza's position, though Octavia is still unmoved in her opinion.
The bit with the potions ingredients would probably be good for a bit of banter, either Stolas taking the time to compare them to one he has used in his own potions, or Octavia being unerved at them all, thinking the baked gecko is gross, the mandragora annoying, and being genuinely sad at the description of the Unicorn horn.
"But what's that unicorn supposed to do without it's horn? it'll just look like a horse."
"Let's just say it grew back Via"
The little interactive bit with the potion making is something Stolas would totally let Octavia do, even if he has to guide her on what exactly to do, it's worth it to see her get all excited over succeeding.
Then the white wolf shows up and we're finally not wandering around the forest aimlessly XP Either way it's a catching moment to raise the excitement up before they chase after it.
Though I'd say the two goetias have more then earned their own rest point. Closing the book for the moment to go rest, both excited to see how the story goes, keeping the image of Cereza and Cheshire relaxing in their heads in the mean time.
#ask reply#helluva boss#bayonetta#cereza and the lost demon#stolas goetia#octavia goetia#bayonetta cereza#bayonetta cheshire
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Mlb records
#Mlb records full#
Over in the American League, Mark Canha and Ty France shared the dubious distinction of taking one for the team 27 times. Last season, rookie Jonathan India led the way for the National League having been hit-by-pitch 23 times. That year, Jennings and his teammates were plunked 160 times. Jennings actually holds the all-time record for hit-by-pitch over a career as well with 287.Īs far as teams go, Jennings’ 1898 Orioles hold the all-time record for hit-by-pitch. That year, a young infielder for the Baltimore Orioles named Hughie Jennings led the league after being hit-by-pitch a record 51 times. With bruises aplenty this season, let’s look back through the MLB history books and see who is the all-time single-season leader for getting hit-by-pitch. What is the MLB record for getting hit-by-pitch in a single season? I guess I need to remind myself that Clint Hurdle is no longer the manager in Pittsburgh. Strangely, the Pittsburgh Pirates have only been hit once this season. Louis Cardinals occurred last week after Nolan Arenado was hit by a pitch. A benches-clearing incident between the Mets and the St. We saw Pete Alonso, who’s been plunked four times this season, get drilled in the head over a week ago. The New York Mets currently lead the league in having been hit-by-pitch 21 times this season. It’s been a topic of conversation throughout Major League Baseball. There seems to be an inordinate number of players being hit by pitches this season. But Cruz isn’t the only one who hits fast balls. Cruz is also the tallest shortstop in MLB history, standing at 6-foot-7. He holds the fastest exit velocity since the MLB started tracking these numbers in 2015. There’s no crying in baseball! But that doesn’t mean you can’t feel pain after being drilled by a high-and-tight fastball, right? The single that nearly left PNC Park as a homer marked a day in history for the 23-year-old. Good luck, study the baseball tutorials in our Betting 101 section and watch for daily MLB odds and totals on the baseball odds pages.Who is Major League Baseball’s single-season record holder for the most hit-by-pitches?
#Mlb records full#
How does a team perform as a favorite? As an underdog? What about scoring and how that translates to their record betting totals (baseball OVER/UNDER lines)? And most importantly from a Vegas point of view, how much money would you have made or lost if you bet this MLB team every game? Bookmark the page here and keep tabs on the full baseball picture, not just the regular standings, because that only tells a small part of the story. But what if they were big favorites in those 20 losses? If you bet on that team every day, how much money would you have won or lost? The baseball standings at Odds Shark aim to provide a fuller picture of a team’s value than the regular standings page you would find at Yahoo or ESPN.īecause standings from a betting perspective look different. If a team is 50-20, that is a great record and they will sit atop the MLB standings. Their record would stretch to 810 across the 1870 season. Check out the record of each team, along with records as favorites or underdogs, at home and away and how each team performs at the payout window (money category). The all-time best single season record belongs to the Cincinnati Red Stockings, who posted baseball's only perfect record at 670 (570 against National Association of Base Ball Players clubs) in 1869, prior to Major League baseball. So the MLB standings pages at sites such as here at Odds Shark have to be different. Video Poker Guide: Play the Best Online Video Poker Gamesīaseball standings tell the full story for fans but only part of the story for bettors.
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Dancing with the Dark
Rating: Teen and Up
Summary: You've taken to lingering around Dark's office late at night when he thinks he's alone with his old jazz standards.
Or so you thought, until one night you find the door open.
You've always wondered what exactly he does behind it...
It's listen to music. Get your mind out of the gutter. ;)
(second person POV, gender neutral reader)
Word Count: 6860
Author’s Note: No warnings - this is really all just tooth-rotting, tender, slow build romance. There is dancin' and smoochin', though. 👀 Also posted to AO3!
It wasn’t something you had intended to intrude on. The Manor is big, but not that big, and it just so happens that the quickest route to your bedroom means you have to pass Dark’s office suite. As your nights have gotten later and later, trying to keep tabs on Mark and the poor, scattered egos he’s made and dumped, more and more often have you caught soft, crackling music drifting out from behind your sort-of boss’ heavy office door.
At first, you mostly ignored it, noting it with a small smile and continuing to bed. It’s really none of your business what the shadowy man does in his free time, you figured. Plus, you all manage to live on top of one another, despite the Manor’s size, which puts privacy at a premium - who are you to deny him some when he can get it? But as time has passed and you’ve worked intensely together, the original enmity between you two has turned into a professional respect and eventually, you’d hazard, a friendly banter. At least, such as Dark is willing to joke around.
And so, tempted by your mutual softening, and maybe a little curiosity as to what kind of music your ‘leader’ listens to, you’ve found yourself pausing in your path to bed when you catch him playing a record. At first, you only stopped briefly at the top of the stairs with his office across the landing from you, taking a moment to appreciate a few bars of dreamy jazz. It was peaceful, almost magnetically melodic. But you quickly grew self-conscious in your eavesdropping, and, not wanting to seem nosy (despite the fact you definitely were being nosy), moved along to your room.
You crossed the landing to the bit of wall near his door, next, but kept a keen eye on the stairs behind you in case you needed to make a sudden retreat. For a week or so, you took longer, lingering there at the mouth of the short hallway to his office. You would take in a full song before you got antsy, concerned Dark might get up to make a late-night cup of tea and discover you. Even so, you had found it hard to pull yourself away from the lilting voices of his records - time seemed to slow, for just a little while, and you felt you breathed easier, deeper even, once you were back in your bedroom.
Finally, now, and most nights for the last month, you’ve let yourself truly relax just outside his door. He never leaves, not that you’ve seen, and so you’ve taken to resting in the shadow of the short hallway and letting the hypnotic drags of a brush across a snare, crooning voices over a string quartet wrap around you. Dark’s music is never truly jazzy, never truly swinging, and it soothes you like very little else can these days. It’s steady - you think that’s what’s so appealing about it - drawing you in at the end of a long day for a moment of reprieve, floating outside of time in the gentle shade of this corner of the Manor.
You’ve gotten used to it, to be sure. The sleepy, tripping dance of a horn greets you at the end of each long day spent combing through Mark’s videos, hunting for hints as to his next move. The quiet moments spent letting the gentle jazz unwind some tight thing in your chest have become just as much your routine as they are Dark’s - and you understand why he takes the time. Until you started lingering to listen, you were harder up for time alone than you thought with barely a moment to spend in your own head. Everything was focused on maneuvering around Mark, a seemingly endless game of cat-and-mouse that left you tossing and turning and jittering yourself into an exhausted unconsciousness each night. But now, you fall asleep faster, wake up feeling more rested having actually relaxed before bundling down under your covers. You had found a little corner of peace, thanks to Dark. And, perhaps, thanks to your damned nosiness, as the man himself had called it once.
Only occasionally as you lean against the wallpaper have you allowed yourself to think about the man behind the door. For all your collaboration, Dark is still a mysterious, calculating, and distant figure. It’s by his own making, too. He’s been content to work closely with you planning Mark’s downfall, but keeps his own cards so close to his chest you have to wonder if he can even see them now, so to speak.
Perhaps he knows them well enough not to need to.
You’ve learned not to pry too much about any of the egos’ pasts and what they remember of them, unless you’re just in the mood for awkward, dead-end conversations. Wilford doesn’t seem troubled in the moment, human bouncy ball that he is, but responds vaguely - even for him - before up and disappearing for a few days. Google spouts some kind of technical jargon about his assembly warehouse that you can barely keep up with, then focuses intently on changing the subject. The Host only gives you one of his polite little smiles and reminds you that your futures are ‘of a more pressing nature’ than his past is.
The only one you’ve totally avoided trying to bring up the subject with is Dark. Your first real conversation had edged on it, and his reaction - aura practically blowing all the lightbulbs in the room, crackling copies of himself writhing in rage - had been pretty clearly in the ‘not positive’ camp. You’ve not had the stomach to unnecessarily incite his ire, so most of what you know about him, you’ve put together yourself. A vague understanding of his blended nature, the people he was before, their relationships to Mark… But it’s all guesses and deductive work about people long gone from the plane you inhabit. Grasping at shadows and context clues to paint a portrait of how the being, who deeply dislikes the outsize attention his central role as Mark’s primary ‘villain’ commands, came to be.
Yet, you do know some things about what he’s like. That he doesn’t seem to need to eat or take breaks of any kind. That he’s single-mindedly devoted to stopping Mark in his tracks, and intensely methodical about the whole endeavor. Even when you think you’ve caught him reading something for fun, it turns out to be Mark-adjacent. It’s impressive, you admit, but also why hearing those strains of songs sung long ago, finding him doing something unproductive has captured you so. To think of him taking time for himself, doing nothing but enjoying some music… it simultaneously feels incredibly decadent and comforting. For all his hardworking exterior, there are quiet moments Dark takes to relax. Even more than his music, that soothes something in your heart you didn’t even know was tense.
Plus, good lord. The man listens to croony, moony, love-sick music late at night when the rest of the Manor has retreated to their own separate corners. How could you not melt?
Yet it’s impossible for you not to wonder what exactly he does behind his office door. It’s always firmly shut, and even with the proclivity toward psychic abilities in the Manor’s residents, you can’t completely school the curiosity it inspires. Listening to a couple croon about the stars or something equally cheesy from your spot out in the hall, you’ll often picture him relaxing in one of the high-backed armchairs situated near the heavy fireplace. Maybe he’s shut the door to his workspace proper, allowed himself some wine from the cellar, propped his feet up… Maybe he’s truly relaxing, thinking of something altogether having nothing to do with his work. It’s anachronistic enough to your steadfast image of him to be ridiculous, but you also can’t help but hope it exists in some form, protected behind the dark wood that muffles already-quietly trilling piano keys.
This is why, late one night, you’re stopped in your tracks at the foot of the stairs, already able to hear his music. You’d been just about to pull yourself up the stairs by the handrails, eyes bleary from staring at your screen all day when you’d picked out the dreamy march of brass. You’ve only ever been able to hear his records when you’re standing on the landing - is something wrong? Cautiously, you ascend the tightly winding stairs, your thoughts mirroring the spiraling steps as they scramble, chasing away any haziness.
Reaching the landing, you find dancing firelight spilling out across the thick Persian rug there, Dark’s door cracked shockingly wide. The sight is almost obscene, illuminating the spot that has been your shadowy cocoon. It’s only made more stark by the clarity of the music that lilts through the air. You have the keen, embarrassed feeling that you should not be seeing what you’re seeing, that you’re intruding, infringing on something private - even though all you can see of the office is a little bit of wall just inside the door. Even so, the sudden need to stop this, to preserve something personal, quiet, safe for Dark overtakes you. You’re spurred into action, crossing the space on careful feet. You move to shut the door, to right this obvious wrong, but as your hand takes the old brass knob, the music from within murmurs tender thoughts of lovers embracing after an age apart. Even with your goal so firmly in mind, you can’t stop your eyes from flitting over the sliver of his office the crack in the door reveals.
And, oh, what it reveals.
As if intentionally centered for your view, Dark is, as you’ve imagined countless times, tucked into one of the armchairs near the fire. His suit jacket has been carefully folded and hung over the back of his chair, his starkly white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a bit of the skin at his throat. More is revealed by the tilt of his head as he rests it back in the crook of the armchair’s wings.
You’ve never seen him so… undressed before. You immediately flush, embarrassedly shooing the thought away before it can become anything more than a passing observation. You’re thankful to see that his piercing eyes are gently shut, the breaths he draws steady and quiet. Even his aura is still, nonexistent except for his colorlessness. The dull ring that accompanies him, too, is almost completely silent. Whatever remains is drowned out by the softly crackling gramaphone to his side.
Although you know he doesn’t need to sleep, the tender image of him relaxed enough as to fall into it twists something so totally in your heart that it keeps you there, hand on the doorknob. You know you need to close the door back, and carefully, too, so you don’t pop whatever bubble of peace he’s floating in, but… It’s like having a dragonfly land on the tip of your finger, spotting a deer at the edge of your garden, catching the sun breaking over the horizon and truly beginning to dawn. How can you look away before it ends?
But you’re playing with fire in waiting for this moment to end, and, unfortunately, you get burned.
At least, it feels like you do. Suddenly, Dark’s head comes up, his eyes cracking open, and the cold heat of being caught scalds the back of your neck. You go to close the door, but it’s too late - his black eyes catch yours, and he calls your name. It’s gentle, a distant question, but it still makes your heart sink into some pitiful little depth of your stomach. There’s no way to play this off casually; he sounds truly awake. Either he wasn’t actually sleeping, or you’ve startled him enough to banish any hint of drowsiness from his voice. You’ve ruined this precious little thing, your knowledge of it revealed, and, gosh, you feel miserable for it. But you were called, and so you crack the door a little wider, an apology already on your lips.
“I was just going to shut it for you, I’m sorry,” you offer, quietly, as if trying not to interrupt the music still going at his elbow.
Dark doesn’t immediately respond, watching you with his usually piercing, contrasted eyes. Yet, they’re softer, tired - was he actually sleeping? The gramophone crackles like the low fire nearby. The record playing spins wobblingly, curled with age. The music is even dreamier unfiltered like this, giving the lowly-lit room a hint of unreality. Time seems to stretch between you, and when he finally speaks, his echoing, multi-throated voice only adds to the feeling you’re imagining things.
“...you may come in, if you would like.”
Something has gone horribly wrong. He, or another ego, is dying or has died, you’re certain of it. That, or Mark has figured out your plan to collect them and gotten to one first, maybe Yancy or the Captain, taking them out of the picture or scooping them up for himself. It’s the only obvious explanation your startled mind can offer for seeing Dark so markedly undone - his jacket, his shirt, the door…
Just as quickly, you realize how ridiculous the thought is. Dark wouldn’t look like a rather sleepy cat, cozied up to the fire with his music of choice, much less invite you so casually into his inner sanctum if things had gone to hell. No, there’d be more rending of reality or quick, tense words - a contingency plan thrown into action.
Which means you actually have to deal with being invited into his office late at night, a place you’ve hovered around and imagined for nigh on a month. You force yourself to respond casually, nodding as if this is normal for the two of you as you step over the threshold. He gestures for you to shut the door, and you do, gently putting it to rights before crossing the bookshelf-lined room to join him.
Like you always do. Obviously.
Once near the fire, you can see his aura is beginning to stir once more, the edges of him blurring with compelling darkness. In all the imagining you’d dared to entertain, you have never considered what his face would look like in these moments. His brow is relaxed, his expression open, and though his attention is fully fixed on you, it doesn’t cut through you or hunt for answers. He is merely regarding, the firelight only able to cast dancing shadows across his face for all its warmth. He’s relaxed. Relax-ing .
It’s, again, almost obscene. So much more than you anticipated. It’s one thing to imagine all that you have in theory, a different one to see it in truth, to experience it. And Dark, relaxing, is something you can barely take your eyes off of. He looks so much more like a person, undone after a long day of work, not quite ready to trip off to bed. With his aura so reserved, only mildly undulating at the very edges of him, you could almost dismiss it as a trick of the light, if not for how he absorbs and negates color.
Just a man.
Trying to stay casual, you prop yourself on the chair across from him, chin in hand, and you both watch each other for a moment. Both quiet. Both tired. Except your silence is tinged with subtle awe. At being invited in, at being here, at seeing him this way. It’s like the killer panther that typically stares you down from the shadows giving you a lazy, sun-warmed blink. As much as you try to treat Dark normally, there are moments when you can’t help being amazed - though it’s usually due to his eldritch powers and not him engaging in the simple act of sleeping.
Which begs the question - why leave the door open while he was so indisposed? Mild concern rises again, and you feel compelled to ask.
“Is everything okay…?”
You swear his eyes twinkle, amused. It’s hard to tell with the fire dancing like it is, his face remaining otherwise unchanged. You want to frown, wondering how loud your thoughts have been, but leave it.
“Yes... and no, as always. Nothing has changed, if that is what you mean. There is no need to worry.”
Coming from anyone else, it would be a formality. Your shoulders would stay hunched, your brow might furrow. But when Dark says it, when he speaks more quietly than you think you’ve ever heard him speak, it scatters whatever remaining fears his invitation had kicked up to the wind. You exhale. It is a comfort, but… It doesn’t explain why he invited you in. If you had really ruined his illusion of privacy, would he so readily let you walk over its remnants?
Suddenly, the answer is clear - so simple and obvious as to be startling. You speak before you can question the thought.
“Just want some company?”
Dark continues to watch you, but his gaze loses some of its lethargy. The panther stirs, considering. Weighing. Calculating. Heat rises up your neck ever so slightly - that will teach you to jump to conclusions.
But then he hums and gives an affirming nod. He gestures to the seat you’re leaning on. “Again, if you would like…”
Is that hesitancy?
You really feel like you’re dreaming as you settle across from him. He just wants company. He hesitated. He couldn’t even ask for it. Notably distant Dark, who never joins the rest of you for meals, for after-dinner drinks, who you rarely ever see outside his office… wants company. Although the chair’s winged back curls around you and radiates warmth absorbed from the fire, you find it difficult to relax as he continues to, turning his black-and-white gaze to the fire. Does he want conversation? Comfortable silence? How are you meant to parse what he’s wanting against the background of how surreal it is that you’re actually here?
But little things remind you that this is very much happening - the heat of the nearby fire, the music’s volume being slightly louder than you’d imagined. Although, you remind yourself, you’ve been hearing it muffled by heavy wood until now. It’s still relatively soft, just clearer up close. Your eyes fall to the gramophone piping it out. You’ve seen it in passing, but it registered about as much as the carved wooden globe on the mantle - furniture, meant as a finishing touch for the room. It looks like a true antique, though, its curved neck and ornate mouth lovingly maintained, polished to a shine apart from a few inevitable age spots. It’s close enough to Dark for him to operate without getting up, records tidily shelved underneath.
Your eyes edge back to the man seated so nearby. His slowly awakening aura is gently tugging at your attention, but he himself pays you no mind. That relieves you, somewhat, a silent answer to what his idea of ‘company’ is.
You realize, then, that you’ve never simply existed with him before. Throughout your time at the Manor, you two have only ever been in each other’s company to work or exchange information. There’s always been a goal, something to focus on, to accomplish. But now… there’s nothing. Nothing to do but exist.
Why does that suddenly feel so hard?
You must be thinking rather loudly, because Dark’s gaze slides leisurely from the flames onto you. He tilts his head, but not in that strange drifting motion it sometimes does, gravitating to some sick angle of its own accord. No, he’s just curious. You smile sheepishly, wondering if all your mental spinning has disturbed his peace, made him second-guess inviting you in.
“Too loud?”
Another amused flicker in his colorless eyes. “No louder than usual.”
So tired Dark has jokes , apparently. You give him a look. “Not exactly comforting.”
“To be fair, they are much quieter than when you arrived.” It’s almost a compliment - at least he’s not calling you loud anymore. Letting that be a comfort, you attempt to relax back into the chair. It, like the rest of the Manor’s furniture, feels straight out of a period drama with none of the damage of age. It’s still as soft as it was whenever Dark crafted this bubble of reality.
“It’s hard when you can’t control it - like I have noise cancelling headphones and can’t hear myself or anyone else.”
He hums. “You do not need to explain it to me.” Ouch. You look to the fire, taking the inside of your cheek between your teeth. When will you learn to keep your foot out of your mouth? Dark senses the sudden silence and mildly clears his throat. “I mean… Only to say that I understand you do not have the same ability. I do not hold it against you.”
His voice still has that quietness to it, a low, gentle undercurrent. It’s practically an apology, how he chooses his words. You shift, rubbing your finger joints with your other hand. You’ve been told it looks like hand-wringing, but it soothes you and the soreness there. “I think you saw it differently, when I first got here,” you hazard, just as quiet as you look back to him. Dark is watching you evenly, but something shifts in his brow as he recalls that first day. How different your tones had been, how differently you’d approached the other. You’re only feet from where that first conversation took place, and yet…
“...much was different, then,” he murmurs. “I was, perhaps… harsher than I should have been. I was unaccustomed to the sensation, not at my best.” He seems to stop himself there, closing something that was edging open before looking back to the fire. “I have grown used to it. The sound of your thoughts does not trouble me, but you have also improved at closing your mind. It is impressive, for someone unlike the rest of us.”
Good lord, maybe he actually is dying. You don’t think you’ve heard so many kind words from the man in all your months of living together. His gaze stays fixed on the flames, even as you stare at him, a little stunned. Silence draws out between you, filled only by tonight’s accompaniment. Yet, it doesn’t spark with nervous energy or prickle in pointed coldness. It crackles like ancient records warped with time, old oak burning to warm a place apart from the rest of existence. You settle deeper into the armchair, eyes turning from the shadow you’re keeping company.
He only barely catches your pleased little smile, finding it hard to look at you for too long.
-
From then on, Dark leaves the door open for you, although cracked much less wide than before. When you call it a night, you make your way through the Manor to your seat near his fire instead of right to bed. Although the weather of the world still reaches you, the place Dark maintains is always just slightly colder, so the fire’s warmth is never unwelcome. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you sit together in silence, but regardless of how chatty either of you feel, there’s always music curling underneath the moment. Dark doesn’t sleep like he did the first night, but he always has his coat off and that softer turn to his eyes by the time you arrive. It’s strange, at first, to see him switch so much between his work and leisure personas, and at first you wonder why he’s not always so relaxed. Surely things would be less tense.
And then you remember Wilford’s incessant gunfire, Google’s underlying objective, the weight of his very existence. Without his steady, cool glare, the Manor would be full of bullet holes, and they’d all probably be dead with Mark free to break reality to his whim. If Dark wasn’t so tightly wound, everything would come undone.
So you enjoy - scratch that. You let him be how he is, in each moment, without comparison. Sure, it’s nice to talk to Dark when he isn’t grinding out words from between his teeth, and seeing him undone has removed whatever distance might have remained between you, but to say you enjoy him…
Christ. Who are you kidding - you really enjoy him.
It really happens without you noticing, and it almost drives you nuts with how cliche it all is. Things just build up - he has a pillow placed in your chair just so for your lower back, you pull the smallest of smiles of him with a well-put observation (and find that his eyes crinkle the same way the other egos’ do) - until one night he asks you to dance.
He’s not quite so blunt as that about it, but it’s essentially what happens. You’re sitting together, having fallen into one of those comfortably quiet moments when a song comes on that you recognize. Not from your time lingering around Dark’s door, but from before you came to the Manor, vague memories welling up of a ballroom dancing class in undergrad you’d taken for fun full of sore toes and sweaty hands. You laugh, suddenly, startled at just how far away that moment feels. You try to cover it with your hand, but you continue to chuckle as something about the ridiculousness of it gets to you, and Dark watches you with some mix of amusement and concern. There’s a little of that predator’s intentionality there - searching for answers. You shake your head as you calm, dropping your hand but still smiling.
“Just… I know this song.”
“Oh?” Read: Continue.
“Well, I… Back in my first year at university, I... well, I signed up for this ballroom dancing unit. This was one of the songs we used, I think.” Dark inclines his head as something changes in his gaze. Your last little aftershock of laughter passes and you settle back into watching the fire lick at its grate, content to let it lie. But Dark continues to watch you. Feeling him still staring, you look back - very little of that soft turn to his eyes remains. He is a man focused. “What?” you eventually ask, shifting under his stare.
“I did not know you danced.”
You fluster, then, scoffing at the idea, eyes falling to the carpet between you. “I… don’t. Unless you count slow dancing, I guess. It was just the one class. Forever ago.”
He’s not content, fixated. But quiet. Considering. Weighing. Then…
“Would you like to?”
You look back quickly enough that you wonder if his aura pulled at you in tandem with your surprise. “Wh. I… Now?”
He nods, slowly. You just stare, trying to process the idea and coming up with no clear thoughts. Then he does something funny - he actually shifts under your scrutiny, gaze flickering away for the briefest of moments before returning to you. That alone is enough to stun you further, Dark looking practically shy, but he explains. “In my day, I was an avid dancer. I enjoyed little else outside of… work. I can show you how.”
You momentarily wonder which of his past lives he means before you find yourself nodding in agreement. Even if you hadn’t wanted to, this is… new. Dark offering so much at such little gain to himself, unfurling those cards from so close to his chest. Refusing now might mean they would never come away again.
“Can you?” Your voice is surprisingly dry, distant, but Dark doesn’t seem to notice, focused on the task now at hand. On you. He only nods and rises from his chair in a smooth motion before offering you a hand.
From experience, you know he leeches color from whatever he touches, even things in his vicinity if his aura is expansive and active enough. Yet, you’ve never had reason to make direct contact, and so you still watch in minor surprise as your hand loses its luster and gains a black-and-white cast when you take his. “It isn’t permanent,” he explains as you stand to join him. “It’s only… plants, that can’t handle it.” He sounds mildly embarrassed, and it clicks why you’ve never seen him in the Host’s garden. The future-sighted ego had probably barred him from the place years ago.
“Oh,” you reply lamely, and he ducks his head somewhat before leading you to the more open space between your chairs and the outer office door. There, he turns smoothly and you’re in position, having used his hold on your hand to subtly guide you closer. Your other hand lands on his upper arm, almost at his shoulder, and he gently shifts his elbow under yours to guide it to rest on top, near his collar. His own hand comes to rest higher on your back than you remember from class, almost on your shoulder blade.
It feels so proper, how you stand, how he holds you… Against the age-old music set to guide you and the Manor’s unchanged decor, you can almost see who he was before - the swish of a beaded skirt, the creak of a heavy cane - but then he speaks, heavy with shadow, and all you know is the darkness in your arms, here and now.
“Just a simple step. You remember a waltz?” You nod - did we dance this close together back then? “Good. Then you know to follow me. Stay relaxed...”
The idea of relaxing flies out of your mind the minute he guides you backward. All your mental energy is focused on not laughing in pure nervous surprise as he seems to get closer and closer before your muscle memory manages to kick in and you’re stepping back with him. You’re slightly out of sync, and he slows just so to catch up with you before he brings you back up to the pace of the song. “Relax,” he murmurs, dipping his head so much closer to yours than feels decent as he speaks, as if sharing a secret. “I have you.”
You certainly do, you think, immediately glad you’ve been practicing keeping your mind closed more often. With all the time you were spending with Dark in his off-hours, you had felt it was only fair that you didn’t overload him any further. That extra practice is coming in handy now as your thoughts swirl behind the dam you imagine holds them back from the general psychic public - your dance partner in particular.
True to his word, Dark keeps it simple, guiding you slowly around the open space, easily turning you in lazy patterns across the floor. And thank goodness for that - anything more complicated and you wouldn’t be able to balance it with how hyper-aware you are of everywhere the two of you touch, the feeling of his firm shoulder and crisp dress shirt under your hand, the skin of his palm against yours - softer than you’d imagined, with calluses inside his first finger from years of pen-writing.
All the same little anxieties bubble up, long-forgotten but haunting you now with a vengeance. Are you gripping him too tightly? Are you anticipating his movements too much? Is your hand getting sweaty, or is that normal? Can he hear you breathing funny? You’ve thankfully settled into a comfortable angle of faces, yours turned slightly to the left and down, eyes fixed firmly on the curve of his shoulder. You don’t think you could trust yourself to make eye contact just now. You can’t say how exactly Dark’s face is turned, though, so focused on keeping your eyes where they are and your thoughts in check that you haven’t looked - nor do you hear him speaking your name until he squeezes you ever so slightly.
You turn, bidden, and you’re practically nose to nose. His stark eyes are already watching you when you meet them, and it steals whatever shallow breath was in your lungs. Up close, you would think you would be able to discern a hint of color in his irises, find that they were really a dark, dark brown. But they are truly, completely black. And they watch you so carefully, thoughtfully, with barely any room to breathe between you.
Your face must betray how the proximity startles you, because you get treated to another of his small, almost imperceptible smiles. Up close. You can see how it pulls at his eyes, and you’re thankful now that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I… Yes?”
“You’re quiet,” he explains, after a beat.
“Do you… typically talk, dancing like this?” When did your throat get so dry? Dark chuckles, low and only for a moment.
“You can... But I was referring to your thoughts.” Uh oh.
“Oh…?” You try to sound normal, mildly interested instead of panicked, already floundering for what to say. Dark’s eyes flicker across your face, and you feel horribly exposed. As if, through the underbrush, you’ve just caught the gleam of a predator’s gaze.
“The closer you are, the more clearly I hear them. Yet…” He pauses, turning you past a low table. “I can barely hear you at all.” Then his voice grows softer, somehow, and your throat feels like it’s never known water. “Where did you go?”
“I…” You swallow fruitlessly, dropping your gaze back to his shoulder, to safety. What can you say to explain the sudden, obvious gap without blurting oh, it’s nothing, I only just realized I’ve been falling in love with you for the past couple of months when you asked me to dance and now I’m trying not to lose it while you hold me. “I’ve… been practicing,” you try. It’s the truth, at least. But you still can’t meet his eyes, though you feel them keenly observing you. “Didn’t… Didn’t want to be shouting at you, from, well... this close.”
He’s quiet then, focusing on sweeping you steadily around the room. The song has changed, your pace slowing somewhat to match the new one, and he takes the chance to guide you through a slightly more complicated step, jettisoning words in favor of taking you through a lazy spin before you fall back into the same step as before. You think you might have dodged a bullet as you settle into the movement, your gentle contact not so new and mind-reeling as it was when you started. But then he speaks, and the echo of his voice almost covers his words for how low it is.
“I… enjoy hearing your thoughts. Hearing you.” Dark’s hand holds yours more firmly as the one on your back brings you close to his chest. He’s practically cradling you against him, and you turn your face towards his in the moment to keep from being trapped looking away. You’ve never seen him make the face he’s wearing now - so serious, brow pulled just slightly, intent, yet that searching intensity has faded. Earnest . “I… I enjoy you. Unless you want your privacy, you are free to… be open with me. If you would like,” he's quick to add, his signature phrase that feels so much like as you wish.
You’re grateful he brings you to an easy stop, even as the music continues behind you because dancing has become beyond your grasp. Your eyes flicker across his shadowed face, mind scrambling as the dam you imagine creaks dangerously within. How much is too much? You hunt for clues in his expression, his face betraying so damn little like always, but then - then - his eyes flicker ever so briefly to your lips, and your eyes perceive a slightly darker shade of gray unfurling across his cheeks.
So you let go.
You don’t drown him in it, of course, but you allow your mind to open slowly once more. He inhales a forcibly steady breath, eyes searching yours once more as he processes, weighs, and finally draws you completely into him, head turning just so to finally fit your lips together in a kiss that feels like crisp, refreshing relief and wood smoke under a winter moon. You breathe in, feeling how cool he is to the touch, how steady he is under your hands, your kiss, even as his aura constantly roils.
Dark drops your hand to cradle your head and draw you further in, your arm finds its way around his broad back. His lips leave yours and you’re already starting to imagine your next kiss before he interrupts and gives it to you, a low sound in his throat and his hand bringing a tilt to your head that makes you incredibly thankful for how he’s holding you up. You kiss, and kiss, parting and rejoining in soft pecks and long presses that make the old standards you’ve bonded over sound like both the truest truths and palest lies.
Eventually, though, he withdraws, letting you catch your breath, soothing you with small kisses trailing from your lips to your jaw and back toward the joint of it and your neck. He’s adoring and unhurried - though the farther down his lips descend, the less air you can properly draw in. He slows on the softer skin there, hand still supporting your head where you tipped it back for him, and inhales gently as if he, too, needs to be steadied. His voice is a distant rumble, as much in your head as it is spoken. “Is my music really so moony...?”
It’s so sudden, your thoughts laid bare against the hint of his insecurity. A laugh bubbles up and out of you, breathless waves shaking your body. You only hold onto him tighter, and he squeezes you back in turn. You can feel him really smiling down against your neck, the pull of his lips and rounding of his cheeks evident against your sensitive skin. Why had you even tried to hide?
“The fact that you could sing any of them while gazing longingly at the stars should answer your question,” you tease, and he’s laughing with you, settling into just holding you close. “...but I like it. It’s romantic.”
“It was not my original intent, but...what wonderful results,” he murmurs, kissing your throat once more before coming back up, letting you catch your breath properly. How does he make the cheesiest things sound good?
“Mine either,” you admit. His brow quirks above warm eyes.
“No? What, then, was your intent in imagining how I chose to relax?” he asks, a wicked tease coloring his tone. You blink, and then heat rises up the back of your neck, your ears burn. He knew?? The whole time?????
“You could…” Your voice is distant as Dark draws the back of his hand softly across your cheek, fingers trailing the blush rising there. His eyes dip to follow it, watching it unfurl under your skin with the most damnably amused smile you’ve ever seen him wear. Damn him. Damn him, of course he knew!
“You should know doors can do very little to stop me…” You groan miserably. “But I liked it. It was romantic,” he continues, echoing you. It has such buried mirth that it only serves to embarrass you further, so you worm your arms against his chest, trying to push him off. He only chuckles that deep chuckle and holds you closer, lips pressing to your temple. “And so kind of you to want to protect me and my little moment… Did I really look so deliciously undressed...”
“Oh my god. Oh my god!” And here he had been playing coy this whole time! Letting you just dangle all your most embarrassing thoughts for anyone to see! You continue to struggle against him, if only to register your complaint. “You’ve completely ruined this, I hope you’re happy, you insufferable--” He dips and catches your lips again, humming and silencing your insults with his kiss. For all your indignant protesting, it’s impossible not to melt against him, your hands that tried to push him away stilling against his chest before sliding up to meet behind his neck. When he finally breaks your embrace, you huff softly. “I can’t believe you.”
He’s smiling, but sobers slightly as you hold each other, his eyes just taking you in. “...it was a comfort to me, to know I was not alone in my affection… despite all my hesitation in admitting it. I did say I enjoy hearing you for a reason, lamb.”
You’re melting, but then your nose wrinkles. “Lamb?” Dark tilts his head.
“Pet?”
“Why all the animal names?”
It’s his turn to huff, then. “It seems I am not as skilled as Wilford when it comes to terms of endearment.” Your nose wrinkles further, the rotating cast of gushy names the mustachioed man throws around only making you wince with laughter.
“Please, no, I know you can do better than those.”
Dark puffs up a little at that, somehow pleased by the implication. “I’ll have to put my mind to it when I’m fresh, then. But for now…” He draws back, taking your hand into his, the other sliding up your back and into position. “Shall we?”
“Gladly,” you murmur, and he leads you in an altogether different dance.
#markiplier fanfiction#markiplier egos#ego fanfiction#darkiplier x reader#darkiplier#mad market pliers ramblings
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Sweeter Endings
Sugar Daddy!Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: Still reeling from the financial realities of losing your mother you turn to a lucrative website for help and get more than you could have bargained for.
W/C: 5,325
Warnings: Smut (no minors 18+ only), light D/S dynamics, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, swearing
A/N: NO MINORS, I wrote this for @donutloverxo 's Sugary 4k Challenge (Congrats!!) I love sugar daddy AUs so I was really excited to write this!! If you like it then please like/reblog/comment I'm all ears! Also maybe check out my other stuff if you want! Cheers!
Main Masterlist
____
The saying ‘desperate times call for desperate measures’ was truer than you’d ever imagined and you found out the hard way. Life had hit you hard last year. You had watched your mother succumb very quickly to cancer. A cold that just wouldn’t go away turned into a doctor’s visit turned into three months left to live. Having no one else in her life, the cost of her funeral and medical bills fell to you. The bills outweighing the inheritance you had no choice but to drop out of school.
One year later you were hanging on by threads to keep yourself off the streets without turning to a loan shark or selling yourself. Stocking shelves at a bougie grocery store in Soho by day and bartending in Tribeca by night had you working six days a week. What free time you had you were too exhausted to do anything with. Something had to give or you were going to collapse from the stress, you just didn’t know what.
A couple weeks ago you had been casually venting about how broke you were with a coworker when she jokingly suggested signing up for one of those Sugar Daddy sites. You laughed along with her but it sounded better than getting a third job. You had quietly asked one of your roommates to borrow their laptop saying you needed to look at job postings only half a lie, really and locked yourself in your room.
You were just gonna check out the website, maybe sign up and poke around, it didn’t mean you were committing to anything, just looking. You remembered first looking at the website once your shitty wifi loaded it, promising ‘beautiful and successful people making mutually beneficial connections’. You balked after reading that but you couldn’t look at any profiles without making one yourself so you had set to work.
After making your profile you hadn’t gotten any hits in about a week so you shrugged it off. You couldn’t keep hogging your roommate’s computer anyways so you set off back to work. Your days at the store wore on into endless nights at the bar and you wondered what other options you really had when you had no degree and no experience in any relevant field.
___
6 o’clock on a Thursday night, the typical after work crowd begins to roll in. The bar you work in is upscale, classy. Definitely trying to lure in the businessmen that worked in the area and their wallets. It annoyed you to deal with the same type of customers you did at the store all over again but with the high end crowd came good tips so you couldn't complain too much.
It was busier than usual when a group of men in suits walked in together asking for a booth. You saw a lot of business meetings take place over whiskey sours in this place so you didn’t think much of it. You tried your best to keep tending to your regulars when a pair from the group came over.
One of the men had deep brown eyes and a sly grin that when split gave you the perfect view of the gap between his teeth. He was confident but he had a kind look to him. His friend had dirty blond hair and a beard that clung to his perfect jawline and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t snuck a second look. You turned your back and continued filling orders to distract yourself when one of them cleared their throat behind you.
As you turned to face them you found it was the blond calling after you. His face held a hint of surprise but it was quickly replaced by a look of amusement as he smirked and one brow lifted, like he knew something you didn’t. He was like any other typical customer for you, professional and handsome, probably over-confident in himself. You returned his smirk and prepared your best charming banter. Time to earn those tips.
“Something to drink for you, gentleman?” You offered.
“We’d like a round of scotch for the table over there. You don’t mind bringing it over, do you sweetheart?” the brown-eyed man asked.
“Of course not” you answered. Pricks.
“Good girl” the blond said with a wink. Creep. A hot creep but still. Before you could ask he took his card out of his wallet and put it on the counter for the tab.
____
A round had come and passed, soon they’d asked for another but this time it was just the blond that approached you. You lifted your eyebrows in anticipation of an order.
“You here often?” he asked. Ugh, not even a good pick up line.
“Am I here at my job often?” You retorted with a playful smile.
The man’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “Sorry you just uh, you look familiar that’s all. What’s your name?”
You supplied him with it and asked him if he wanted another round of scotch. He nodded.
“Smart girl, I’m Steve by the way.” He laid down his business card which you picked up with a look of challenging curiosity. Steve Rogers, CEO of Shield inc.
Oh. You didn’t recognize the name but you definitely knew the company. It felt like a quarter of their employees stopped in for a drink throughout the week and it was prominent enough of a company that you read about it weekly. Play it cool, these types want to feel like an every-man at the bar but still wanna feel important.
You raised your eyebrows again in recognition. “Nice to meet you, Steve, I’ll have your round right out.”
“Good Girl” he winked again at you. Okay so it’s hot, but he’s a total stranger and you don’t even know him. Stay on your game.
___
10 o’clock came around and things were thinning out slightly, regulars made their way out, awkward Tinder dates and rowdy young 20-somethings made their way in. The party of businessmen was still around but they were hopefully wrapping up after the 2 more rounds they’d had. Steve approached the bar once more and you preemptively picked up the bottle of scotch.
“Whoa, easy, girl! I’m here to pick up the tab” He said, taking out his wallet.
“What’s the name on the tab?” You decided to play dumb but based off the grin on his face he knew you were playing with him.
“Steve. Rogers.” He replied, his tone was stern but his eyes told you he was in on the joke.
You cashed him out and left him to sign his receipt so you could make more drinks. You saw him move in your peripheral and turned your head to see his face.
“Have a good night, sweetheart. I’ll be seein’ ya” he promised.
“Take care!” You smiled back.
A few minutes later you circled back to collect his receipt and found three $100 bills staring back at you. You blinked dumbly in disbelief, who the hell leaves a 200% tip? Looking around to see if Steve was still here he was nowhere to be found. You had no choice but to pocket the money.
____
Another week went by and left you wondering how much energy and concentration it would take for you to just evaporate, since that seemed easier than going to work today. Sadly still in solid form, you punched in at the store and stowed your things in your locker.
Your upscale customer base was a mostly pretentious and successful group of yuppies so even though you were grateful to not be on the streets you were constantly reminded of the professional success you couldn’t help but feel that you were missing out on. Stuck instead to listen to incessant whining ‘is this organic? I won’t eat it unless it’s organic’.
The upside of this job was that the time went by quickly because you always had so much to do. Plus with how monotonous the work was it was easy enough to zone out. So much so that you hadn’t heard someone calling your name and approaching you. A hand softly touching your shoulder snapped you into the present.
You looked up, startled to find a pair of blue eyes staring back into yours. You took a step back and processed who it was. “CEO guy?” Steve?
“‘CEO guy?’ I thought I recognized you, ‘barmaid’ or should I say… ‘stock girl?’” He joked using his fingers to make quotations.
Now that you thought about it, the store isn’t that far at all from the bar, it would make sense if he’s in the area. You smiled and tapped your nametag in response.
“I just came in on my lunch to grab a few groceries” looking down at his basket it held some protein powder, some eggs, and one lonely banana. “Clearly, I’m single. But you’d know that already, wouldn’t you?”
Your brows twinged together in confusion. What is that supposed to mean?
“Excuse me?”
He edged a little closer to you and lowered his voice “SeekingConnection.com?”
Your eyes widened in shock. The fucking Sugar Daddy site! I forgot about that! Surprise was quickly replaced with humiliation. You looked down and away as you felt your cheeks heat up.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you” Steve placated, “But I gotta say, I’m pretty hurt you never responded to me. I sent that message weeks ago and let’s just say I’m not used to rejection.” He kept his tone light, letting you know he wasn’t mad.
“I-I um, I’m sorry, I don’t have a computer and they don’t have an app, I was using my roommates’ computer and I guess I forgot about it…” You admitted.
Steve nodded in acknowledgement. Please say something to salvage this conversation. Please.
“Well,” Steve rummaged in his pocket for another business card. “You got a pen on you?”
You dug around in your apron and came up with one. Handing it to him you watched as he wrote on the back of the card. He held the card and the pen out to you.
“That’s my number, I’d ask for yours but I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, you already look like you wanna sink through the floor” Not helping, but I do. You took them from him and tucked them away in the pocket of your apron.
“You do have a phone right?” You only glared at him in response. “Well, if you check your profile, you would’ve seen I asked you out to lunch, offer still stands. Just text me when you’re free”
Should I even say yes? I mean, the winking the other night was weird but he’s good looking and at least somewhat considerate. I mean, it’s not like I had any other intention when I signed up for that site. What the hell. right?
“I… usually work mid shifts so I don’t know if lunch is doable, they only give me half an hour but, maybe we could do coffee? I’ve got tomorrow off from the bar I could meet you” you suggested.
If Steve felt pity for you he hid it well behind the wide smile he made when you offered coffee instead.
“There’s a place around the corner from here, just up a block, you know it? I’m off tomorrow at 6, why don’t you meet me there?”
“Sounds like a plan.” He winked at you again and started walking away. What the hell just happened?
____
You did end up borrowing your roommate’s computer once again when you got home to look up Steve’s DM. Sure enough, there he had been in all his internet glory. ‘Steve, 33, CEO. likes: art, conversation, whiskey. Digging around further on his profile you found that he owned several houses here and in Europe, he had a dog that was cuter than he was, and that he was ‘Seeking deeper connection’. All of these things piqued your interest.
‘Hey, Doll. Saw your profile and I had to ask, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? Kidding, of course. But maybe you’d care to tell me your story over lunch? Your profile says we’re both in New York. - Steve’ Sent three weeks ago. Fuck.
You had texted him earlier to confirm, which is how you found yourself walking up the sidewalk towards the shop with a mind running rampant with nervous thoughts. What if he just wants to feel big about himself in comparison to me? What would I even really have to offer the relationship? A college dropout working two dead-end jobs with no social life. You needed to snap yourself out of it. You were just meeting for coffee doesn’t mean anything.
Pushing open the door you found Steve waving at you from a quiet corner. He was still in a suit, presumably coming from work himself. Even the buttons on his shirt looked expensive. You were wearing dirty jeans and a worn pair of work boots paired with a flannel. You couldn’t have looked more different if you tried.
“I waited for you to order,” He said. You smiled up at him, only now realizing how tall he was in comparison to you. He ushered you both towards the counter where you both placed your orders. You moved to take your wallet from your purse but he had already beat you there.
“Really? As if I’d let the lady pay, and on the first date no less?” He said playfully.
“Oh, so this is a date now, is it?” You kidded.
Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and gave you that boyish grin and a shrug. The pair of you made your way back to the table and waited for your drinks to be brought over.
“How was work?” You asked, “What exactly is it that your company does?”
“We offer security and surveillance software domestically as well as international. Stadiums, airports, other government buildings. Things of that nature. And work was fine, thank you for asking” Steve said with a genuine smile. “How was your day, doll?”
“Oh, my day was fine, more of the same but y’know,” You answered half-heartedly.
“You know, you never answered me, what’s a funny, pretty gal like you doing on a site like that?”
Embarrassment hit you again, this time maybe accompanied with a hint of shame. You were saved momentarily by your drinks being delivered. He seemed truly interested and since he was paying you supposed you owed him an answer.
“I was going to Columbia and I had a pretty good internship when my mom got diagnosed with cancer. She died three months later and since it was only always just the two of us I ended up footing the bill. I was on partial scholarship but between the hospital and the funeral I can’t really afford the rest of tuition on top of working for free so here I am” you explained, “Oh my god, I’m sorry I’m totally oversharing aren’t I? You probably don’t wanna hear about a bummer like this, sorry”
You tried to laugh to ease the tension you thought you’d created. Braving a look at Steve, he looked thoughtful and only a little bit like he pitied you. You could live with that.
“I’m really sorry about your mom, mine also got really sick before she died, I know it must’ve been hard. What were you in school for?”
___
You and Steve talked for hours, trading anecdotes of childhood and talking about each other’s interests. You had a similar sense in humour so you got on swimmingly. The evening seemed to be coming to a close as the night sky sent in through the window.
Being with Steve was probably the most relaxed you’d felt since before your mom was diagnosed. It became difficult to focus on anything but your financial situation and even though that’s what brought you here in the first place you had managed to forget all about it.
“So look, us getting together wasn’t exactly the most conventional on meet-cutes but to put it bluntly,” He said, “The CEO life makes it hard to meet real people and it gets kinda lonely, I mean, you saw my grocery basket” You both laughed at that. “You need money and I need company, I feel like we could help each other out. Whad’ya say? Think you could put up with me?”
You knew what this was but hearing it put so plainly was a little surprising. At least he was to the point.
“So if I said yes what does that mean, exactly?” you inquired.
“Well,” he started, “We take care of each other. Let me cover some of your bills at the very least, make it so you’d be comfortable quitting at least one of your jobs. And you’d keep me company, we go on dates, maybe you could come over, there’s the occasional work event or charity gala I’d need you on my arm for. Thoughts?”
God I can’t even imagine what it’s like to work only one job anymore. Maybe I could even save up and go back to school. He’s cute and he seems sensible, why not?
“Could we maybe take things slow? What you describe is something I’m down for but I don’t want to make myself completely dependent on you. But I’d love to be there for you, and I have to admit, the thought of only working one full time job is pretty crazy to me” You laughed.
Steve swallowed and placed one of his large, warm hands over yours.
“I can do things the old fashioned way, if that’s what you’d feel good with. I gotta say though, with looks like that it’s not gonna be easy” he jested.
You smiled shyly and looked away. You both stood to leave and he held the door open for you.
“I’ve already got your number from when you texted me earlier but I’ll talk to my assistant about my schedule and maybe I could take you out to dinner this weekend?”
“I um, I’d really like that. It’s a date” You stated.
“Oh, so you think this is a date now?” He jested.
You lightly punched him in the arm and he took the opportunity to pull you closer to him. You looked up to find his face inches from yours. You could smell his aftershave and his deep voice gave you goosebumps when he spoke next.
“I kinda want to kiss you goodnight, would that be okay?”
You could only nod as he shut his eyes and closed in. Your lips met in one perfect, chaste kiss. You sighed and leaned into his hand as it briefly cupped your face.
You broke apart and made promises to see each other soon. You felt like you could’ve floated home as you boarded the subway, caught up in the swarm of newly forming feelings.
_____
You sat in the break room when your phone buzzed to life, ‘Saturday at 7?’
You were about to type out a yes when you forgot you worked closing at the bar. Your thumbs moved quickly to tap out the reply ‘Working, sorry :/ the pitfalls of bartending. Sunday at 7?’
You were nervous telling him no and asking to change plans. You hated not being able to make things work but you only just met the man and the weekend tips were killer, it’s not like you could turn the shift down.
‘Ah yes, almost forgot. Sunday works too, I’ll text you the details. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up’
Oh, God. Steve can’t see my building! His cufflinks probably cost more than my rent!
‘I’ll just meet you there, don’t worry about it’
‘Not a chance, doll. Just tell me where and I’ll come get you’
You let out a worried sigh but knew you had to let it go. You sent him your address and went back to work.
____
Saturday was maybe the longest day in your entire week, in fact you loathed it. Mornings at the store followed by running immediately to the bar. Last call in New York was 4am so it’s a good thing you didn’t try to make brunch plans with Steve for Sunday. But ultimately both your shifts passed without major incident and now it was Sunday and you tried to ready yourself the best you could.
The place Steve mentioned was fancy, you knew that much from a quick search. Panicking instantly upon realizing you don’t really have any nice clothes you turned to your most fashionable roommate for help. She loaned you a cocktail dress that was revealing enough to draw interest without giving everything away. You just hoped Steve would like it.
‘Downstairs, doll. Silver BMW’ you exhaled. Hoo boy, here we go.
____
Steve handed his keys to the valet and rushed around to open your door for you. You held his hand and you clambered onto the sidewalk in your heels. His warm hand on the small of your back as he steered you towards the doors was a comforting weight.
Dinner has been lovely so far, he chose a place that wasn’t completely white-glove but was upscale enough to make you feel only a little underdressed.
You joked back and forth with him over the course of the meal, talked about your lives, and even found out you both have a guilty pleasure for cheesy rom-coms. It wasn’t until dessert and your third glass of wine came that you realized how much time had passed. You frowned slightly thinking of the early morning ahead of you followed by a long night at the bar.
“What’s wrong, doll?”
“Oh, nothing I just didn’t realize how late it was, I’ve got both jobs tomorrow it’ll just be a long day that’s all” you tried to wave it off but Steve frowned in response.
“Quit the bar” he stated.
“What?”
“Quit the bar. This is your card, I’ve already loaded $3000 on there. Put me in touch with your landlord and I’ll get you taken care of.” He slid the card across the table to you. Your name printed on the front. This got real very quickly.
“Steve, that’s.” You were in shock, a loss for words almost “that’s too much, I don’t know what to say.” You felt embarrassed taking the money. You knew that was the essence of your arrangement but actually taking his money had you feeling uneasy.
“Honey, this is what I’m here for. Let me take care of you. Give up your late nights. I wanna take you out on the weekends and you’ll need to be available for events. You can stay at the store if you want but quit the bar, you don’t need it.”
You took a deep sigh. He did say he wanted you to be comfortable quitting one of your jobs; it's just making the change that scares you. But something about Steve felt safe so you nodded and looked up to him.
“I’ll put in my two weeks”
“Good girl” he patted your knee and you involuntarily clenched your thighs. He smirked at that but let it go.
____
A few months had come and gone since that night and your time with Steve had been great. Only working the one job gave you so much more free time. You'd spent a good chunk of it just trying to form a normal sleep schedule but all the time you spent with Steve made it difficult. Not that you minded especially since your allowance was monthly but he’d showered you with gifts here and there.
They started off small, perfume, chocolates and flowers, or a simple pair of white gold hoops that reminded him of you. They gradually became pricier and more elaborate. You’d felt guilty accepting it all at first but he was insistent you deserve the best. He had even mentioned you moving out maybe finding a better place but you reminded him you needed to go slow.
He’d also been nothing short of a gentleman. Out in public at least, you’d learned the hard way that he was an absolute animal in bed. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep your hands off of him.
Something you had appreciated about Steve is that he never made you feel bad or less than for being broke. Never held his money over your head like leverage. You’d felt equal to him in all aspects, understanding you had just as much say as he did.
Still, there was a small nagging voice in the back of your head that reminded you Steve is not your boyfriend. This isn't a relationship and he's looking to get something out of just like you are. But if you were being honest you were catching feelings, it was hard not to when the man was giving you the fantasy. You decided to push that voice aside whenever it came up and let yourself be swept away. Maybe that would bite you in the ass but for now you were happy.
____
You were buzzed into Steve’s building and on the elevator ride up to his penthouse your phone buzzed. ‘I have to make a quick call- I’ve got a present waiting for you in the living room.’ You couldn’t help but feel giddy.
The doors opened and Steve was nowhere in sight but as you entered the living room a bag from Chanel and the Apple Store sat on the table. Oh god, what this time? I swear this man is too much.
You opened the smaller bag from Chanel first and found a beautiful black and white evening bag. It was sleek and simple, very much to your tastes. You were nervous to open the Apple bag, Steve always went overboard. Shakily removing the paper you pulled out the slim case in disbelief. A MacBook Air and a pair of AirPod Pros. The man well and truly spoiled you.
“You said you didn’t have a computer.” His voice came from behind you and startled you.
“Steve, this is too much. You’re too much.” You swung your arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Nothin’s too much for you, doll.” He kissed the top of your head.
“Think you could take a couple days off of work? I just got off the phone and confirmed plans for my house in Nice.”
A trip? France?? Oh my god. How is this my life? You felt so overwhelmed that you grabbed Steve by the collar and brought his face down to meet you in a kiss. His tongue swiped your lips and you granted him entrance. Moaning into his mouth your hands traveled up into his hair, pulling softly and coaxing a groan out of him.
He guided you to sit on the couch and brought you down into his lap. You ground down onto him and felt his hard-on through his slacks. Your hand moved slowly to undo the buttons of his shirt as he kissed down your jaw towards your neck. You sighed softly when he found your sweet spot and started sucking.
He helped you take off his shirt while you got started on his belt and undid his pants. He lifted himself off the couch slightly to move them down to his knees, taking his briefs with them. His cock stood proud and an angry red, leaking at the tip.
“I wanna ride you, I can’t wait.” You pouted as you writhed against him in need.
Steve tutted at you “that’s no way to get what you want. Ask me nicely, baby. Beg to ride my cock,”
You ground down even harder and whined. “Please, sir, please let me ride your cock. I need to feel you, I can’t wait any longer please.”
“Good Girl” Steve's hands flipped up your skirt and found your panties, ripping them to shreds. They were La Perla and had cost a pretty penny but he didn’t care.
He lined himself up and brought you down harshly gripping your hips. You moaned loudly in surprise and satisfaction and wasted no time moving back and forth. Steve made you feel so close and connected to him whenever he fucked you but he still made you feel sordid and dirty. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling, you’d gladly chase it.
His eyes were hooded as watched you chase your own pleasure and giving him some in return. His hands kneaded your ass and smacked it just to get a gasp out of you. He grabbed the back of your head and brought you in for a searing kiss that was all teeth and tongue. He’d nip at you and lick the pain away.
His hips met yours, finding your rhythm and speeding you both up when he gripped your hips.
“Can’t wait to have me, you had to fuck me on the couch huh?” Steve panted, “my dirty girl. So fuckin’ gorgeous.”
You put your forehead against his and went harder, pushing your clit to grind against the muscles of his abs.
“Only yours, sir.” Your orgasm was building. Steve was a pretty relaxed dom but you still needed permission.
“Sir, please let me cum I can’t wait any longer” you tried your best to slow your movements a bit.
“I think you can hold it baby, I wanna enjoy you a little longer”.
You could only whine in response and tried to slow your pace but his grip on your hips and his own movements pushed you further and further towards the edge. You tried to squirm out of his grasp but his hands only tightened. It felt like forever until Steve finally gave you permission.
“Go on baby, cum for me you earned it. Fuck your self on my cock and cum all over me”
Your movements were frantic, desperate to chase your orgasm when finally the perfect angle of his cock inside you and your clit against him set you free. You cried out above him and dug your nails in deep.
Steve held you firmly in place and started slamming into you from below, finally letting himself think about cumming. All you could do was hold on for mercy. Moments later he brought you down onto him one final slam as he came inside of you with a cry.
The only sound in the room was both of you trying to catch your breath. You sighed again and collapsed against him, nuzzling your face into his neck. He kissed the side of your face and let you make yourself at home while he caressed your back.
____
One shower and two more orgasms later you were both clean and made your way to the kitchen. Steve was gathering the ingredients for dinner when you hugged him from behind. Your head resting against his back. Steve twisted around and hugged you in full. You both stayed like that for a moment until you looked up at him.
You were so content. Moments like this where you were just domestic were some of the best between you. It wasn’t about money or material, it was just the two of you making dinner and enjoying each other, no barriers.
“Are you really going to take me to France?” Your voice came out muffled against his chest.
“Of course, doll. After dinner I want you to use your new laptop to buy some outfits for the trip. I left my card in your new purse.”
You lifted onto your tiptoes and kissed his nose.
“You really do think of everything, don’t you?”
“What can I say? I’m a planner” he retorted.
You didn’t know it yet but Steve was going to ask you to become official while you were there. He wasn’t worried in the slightest. In fact he’d never been so sure about something in his life.
#sugary4kchallenge#steve rogers x reader#sugar daddy!Steve rogers x reader#sugar daddy!steve rogers#sugar daddy au#marvel au#marvel fic#marvel x reader#fluff#smut
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.......Any papastuck hcs?
THANK YOU for giving me an excuse to publicly ramble about PAPA G AND CHUCK beware of Spoilers within ALSO HERE’S A PIC happy valentines day
When they met and Chuck was still Stuck in the floor, like Post-Chicken-Feed-Missing-Scene, Chuck would be RUDE as HELL to Papa G. But Papa G took it as realizing he’s just A Guy and was like AH MAYBE I SHOULDA BEEN GIVIN HIM REAL FOOD and then he does that, but Chuck is still a bastard to him. Not to The Kid’s knowledge tho, he only found out that Papa G knew about Chuck’s existence in the second episode like we saw.
Papa G literally just looked at Chuck and how Evil he was being at the beginning and was like OH YES WE CAN BE FRIENDS I LIKE THIS GUY cuz he DID save him and want him to be redeemed and have the last ring to be on the team... Papa G’s Immediate Trust.. like if u agree
I like to imagine that Papa G actually did have da iced tea with Chuck to get to know him :] this was Post-Chuck-getting-Cut-in-Half. Papa G is Very Curious about Chuck but Chuck’s still a rude little man at this point and Papa G laughs off his behaviour. Papa G might be f*cked up enough that he does enjoy his company, bad vibes and all
Chuck has NO idea what to make of Papa G here because no one else has ever shown him kindness or wasn’t annoyed at him. It doesn’t stop him from being a force of negativity though cuz at this point he still Believes he’s going to conquer the earth.
This ended up being like a timeline of their relationship and not relationship headcanon UUHH OOPS!!!!!
OK, Chuck actually likes that he calls him Charles it’s the special name :]
I’m prepared to be proven wrong but it would be epic if Chuck started calling Papa G “George” because he was there to hear that that is his first name and Papa G like with Tuna Sandwich doesn’t mind being called it, it’s just his name. Also George is my real name and I’d love to hear Chuck say. Also Also George and Charles are gay old man names
Uh oh I’m talking more about timeline stuff but some time after the events of the big showdown and they’re dealing with the fact that Chuck is deciding to stay here on earth, Papa G and The Kid make him his own living space there in the junkyard with them. Not sure where or what it’d look like but it means a lot to Chuck (makes this face -> 🥺) I’d imagine since his species aren’t given their own names / have individuality he wasn’t given a space of his own to do whatever he wanted with
Since they no longer have the rings, Chuck helps Papa G as an extra hand doing work in the yard (Papa G had to get used to doing stuff without being his own company :[ ) and Chuck ACTUALLY LOVES HELPING imagine that one scene where Papa G and Chuck are working together to build the ice cream megaphone truck, they’re both really skilled at building stuff and enjoy it so it’s like that pretty often!
I swear to god Papa G needs to get Chuck a wheelchair / make him one, I want to believe that he does have one and we just didn’t see it at the end of the time skip -_- :prayer: but they totally deck it the hell out (you KNOW Papa G is capable of making deadly death machines and you KNOW Chuck would absolutely love that sh*t!!!!)
Anyway back to the time skip relationship development thing: PAPA G SHOWS CHUCK AROUND HIS HOUSE I wish we knew what inside the house looked like besides the kitchen sink lol but Papa G figured if he’s gonna be around here more often he might as well show him where HE lives! Papa G is SUPER excitedly showing him all the weird stuff he’s accumulated over his lifetime. Chuck doesn’t Get the specialness of physical possessions and calls it Junk but Papa G doesn’t mind! He shows things and Chuck is confused about certain things (being an Alien) and Papa G is happy to explain everything to him.
Papa G shares Chuck his art and is showing him painting ;_; once again Chuck is a bastard and doesn’t totally get it. Papa G would definitely call HIM an artist, pointing out that all the building that Chuck does is artwork, those comics that he spent all that time reading was him appreciating the art, and that changes the way he views it. Chuck makes his own dam comics, I’d imagine the way he’d draw is very unique and the text is written in his language, and then it’s Papa G who doesn’t totally get it but is ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT IT!!!
Also Papa G totally takes Chuck out to the middle of nowhere to go look for junk, this is probably Chuck’s Least Favourite Activity LOL but they do spend a lot of time talking about anything, I’m really curious about what the kind of things they’d even say when they’re not faced with any threat and are only with each other *looks up at the sky in thought..*
Chuck please go off about your previous life away from earth I feel like as soon as he came here he kinda just accepted himself being Stuck Chuck and therefore had no attachment to being a nameless body in an alien army. Also Papa G please open up about your messed up secret history that warranted the government keeping tabs on you and made you live almost completely isolated.
See^ I think whatever they got going on on a DEEP LEVEL could be wild and would have so much to unravel, Chuck’s life before this was probably just 90% seeing various people DIE and was simply made to Kill people for his leader. And. you KNOW Papa G has something Messed Up about him + Is Traumatized / got “bad flashbacks” + the whole seeing himself die and being numb to it. And now that they are people who are trying to save lives on their team they could Relate to each other as the two older guys with UNKNOWN HISTORY!!!!
UUUUH OK SO SHIP HEADCANONS RIGHT. RIGHT. They hold hands :] they rarely kiss it’s mostly Papa G who kisses Chuck on the face but Chuck is forbidden from kissing unless Papa G wants to go to sleep. Also Chuck likes to be held by Papa G, they hug a lot :D Papa G takes Chuck out to the diner and gets him everything he wants <3 they go to the house and watch movies and Kid joins them too as a family ;_; Papa G goes to sleep in his god forsaken hammock with Chuck, and Chuck is like So This Is Your Weird-Ass Cocoon Huh and Papa G is like HAHA YUP and its sweet.
I’m gonna end this here thank you for reading, this is the kinda stuff I ramble on and on like this in private but I hope u enjoy some of my thoughts about this I think it’s a genius ship with so much potential and is my favourite thing right now THANKS
#SLITHER GOES HAM THE POST#kid cosmic#papastuck#stuck chuck#papa g#slitherdraws#i did draw a pic#Anonymous
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(About the brother!atsushi) aRE YOU READING MY MIND MISS?! Because that has been on my mind for MONTHS. TYSM For writing it was amazing!! If you don't mind, may I request (if requests are open) atsushi, still an older brother, but with a sister that's 10-13 yrs old? It's totally fine if you don't wanna do it. Keep up the good stories, ily mwuah!
*sobs* you’re so kind thank youu 🤧🤧
i wrote this a bit differently i hope that’s okay anon! at first i planned for this to be mainly abt atsushi and the reader, but i decided to add in relationship hcs with the agency bc i ran out of ideas
if you guys liked this don’t worry! im planning a special part two for this one so be the look out for it hehe
atsushi with a tween! sister
ft. the armed detective agency
like in my baby sister hcs, you’re still the most important thing to him period
the two of you got picked up by dazai and kunikida when he was 18 (obviously) and when you were 12
for a 12 year old, you were a bit small bc of malnourishment (which makes atsushi feel so bad) so both dazai and kunikida thought you were a bit younger than you actually were
they assumed you were about 9-10ish
you and atsushi both share a favorite food !! chazuke :)
so when kunikida treated the two of you, he made sure you got more bowls bc like i mentioned above, he feels really bad that you were malnourished and under weight
(don’t bring this up but kunikida felt bad too hehe)
when dazai went with your brother to the warehouse, you were with kunikida
imagine the surprise of the other ada members when kunikida came in with a little girl dressed in rags that popped out from behind him
kenji was the one who vocalized his thoughts
“kunikida-san you have a daughter?! wow! i didn’t know that! :D”
when you found out your brother was a tiger, you were a bit concerned but you were actually kind of excited
you were even more excited when you found out the two of you were going to be taken in by the agency
anything was better than the stupid orphanage
and besides!
you got a tiger for an older brother and a bunch of other super powered agents to take care of you! who could want anything else?
at your age, you’re very impressionable and can be influenced easily so atsushi makes sure to teach you more in depth of good morals and the importance of kindness
his heart swells with pride and relief when he catches you being kind to others
pride bc he’s proud that even after all the two of you have gone through, you still ended up being a good kid and having a bright view of the world
and relief bc he hasn’t failed as a big brother
pfftt like he could ever fail
but please, from time to time reassure him that he’s perfect and the only big brother that you’d ever want bc he rlly needs that kind of validation
with his salary and savings, he tries to buy nice things for you
what a sweetheart 🥺
he saw you eyeing that one dress at a store window? fast forward abt a week and half and it’s inside a pretty gift bag for you
you wanted to try that dessert from the nice bakery? that’s dessert after dinner at one point
but other than buying you things, he sets money aside for you
like all the time
(y/n), here have this, you might need it”
“but nii-san you just gave me—”
“take it”
#1 spoiler
also your #1 confidant and source of physical affection
you tell him anything and everything (except crushies and those kinds of things)
atsushi loves it when you talk abt your day and he can see the big smile on your face and the sparkle in your eyes
it gives him the strength to keep going 😖😖
the two of you aren’t as touch starved as you’d probably think, but that’s only bc the two of you had each other
in your opinion, no one can match the hugs of your big brother
and it got even better bc YAYY he has tiger arms now ٩(◕‿◕)۶
if you ask, he’d carry you around too hehe
you also get nightmares quite often so he’ll always be there ready to calm you down, talk if you need to, and rock you back to sleep
god i love him 🤧🤧
atsushi will do everything in his power to protect you and make sure you get to grow up happy, supported, and loved
port mafia attack? oop he’s already taking you to the nearest escape route
someone is starting to harass you? they just got suckered punched into the next week
you want to go out to have some fun? he’ll go ask the president for a day off
you’re not feeling well? he’ll take another day off and take care of you
whatever you want to do, he’ll do it with you! (as long as it’s within reason)
will always be your #1 supporter! and he’s the president of your fan club hehe
he loves you so so much and will do anything for you; your life and happiness will always be more important to him
you are his reason to keep going
agency head canons !!
atsushi is your big brother, but kunikida is most definitely some sort of father figure
everyone can see it
except kunikida of course
kunikida scolds you lightly if he thinks your manners need work or if you make a mess in the agency
you listen to him of course and in turn as some sort of a reward, he’ll give you pieces of stationary
he always gives you the nice, good quality kind and you’re over the moon
atsushi adores it when you come running to him showing your new notebook or fountain pen and blabbering what you’re going to do with it
sometimes it isn’t even as a reward for being a good child; he’ll just give it to you and he’ll say smth like “i noticed you’ve used up your last notebook quite quickly, so here’s another one” or “did you run out of ink? here have this then”
he usually has a soft spot for children in general, but he most definitely has a soft spot (or a thousand) for you
yosano is kind of like a motherly figure to you
she gives you the guidance a mother should and goes on shopping trips with you!
atsushi always gets dragged along by you, but he thinks it’s worth it seeing you look so happy
yosano being a doctor also tries to teach the things you should know, or things that would be helpful to you
she’ll teach you the basics of cooking, sewing, how to treat a cold/fever, etc
also gives you excellent advice 1000% of the time
“remember (y/n)-chan if someone hurts you come tell me and then i’ll chop them into—”
“yOSANO-SENSEI DONT TELL HER THAT—”
fukuzawa is like a father to most in the agency but you see him more as a grandfather figure
bi weekly tea and gossip sessions hehe
along with cat talk!
most of the time though, it’s just you talking and him listening to you, but the two of you enjoy it nonetheless
“and then kunikida-san ended up crashing into a pole and dazai-san started to laugh at him and i did too because it was really funny but we ended up getting scolded—”
“hmm i see...”
he’ll let you stay in his office as he fills out paperwork; you’re usually doodling or drawing in your notebooks
sometimes he’ll meditate and you’ll join him, but 4/7 times you’d fall asleep
you always wake up with a blanket over you
dazai is like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle
frequently takes you out with him when he ditches work
walks in the park, eating at uzumaki so he has the excuse of treating you so he doesn’t have to pay his tab avoiding kunikida and sometimes chuuya and akutagawa, all that fun stuff
also tries to not talk abt suicide in front of you especially if it’s just the two of you alone
he knows that you mean the world to his pupil and that said pupil would probably hate him for putting suicide inside your brain
he teaches you random but useful things like how to pick a lock, how to steal kunikida’s notebook if you’re looking for some information, how to sweet talk your way out of things, etc.
is also the one to tell you that if you ever get a significant other to introduce them to the agency first
he always wants all of your gossip; some of them work pretty well for blackmail
“dazai-san! dazai-san! did you know that kunikida-san lost his glasses and he was looking for them for nearly an hour when he was just holding them the entire time??”
“woah really (y/n)-chan?! hey hey can you say it again into this recording device so kunikida-kun would believe me when i tell him—”
always ends up giving kunikida a heart attack when he says that you’ve been with him all day
ranpo is also like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle
will share some of his snacks, but don’t push it or you might not get anything at all
loves it when you compliment him
if you tagged along with him and your brother on a case, he will show off to impress you
“...and that’s how the crime happened”
“UWAHH RANPO-SAN YOU’RE SO COOL”
atsushi is lowkey and kunikida is highkey stressed that ranpo’s eating habits will rub off on you
“ne (y/n)-chan do you wanna try this highly caffeinated drink and this concerning amount of sugar filled snack?”
“can i really?!”
“rANPO-SAN NO—”
ranpo definitely does stuff like that on purpose
the tanizakis are like siblings to you!
a weird set of siblings but siblings nonetheless
the two of them adore you and think you’re precious
atsushi definitely knows how to do your hair whether it’s long or short but he got even better at it when he asked the two
hehe braid trains are definitely a thing + kyouka and kenji (and maybe even dazai)
sometimes you have sibling swap days
you’re with junichiro for most of the day and atsushi is with naomi
strange i know
each of the tanizaki siblings try to make it fun bc they know that the two of you did not at all have a happy upbringing
junichiro likes spending time with you by taking you out to different places that naomi likes to frequent
like the mall, different stores and restaurants, the park, places like those
naomi does the same thing with atsushi so if you ever bump into them, you go out and eat together :)
besides atsushi, the next one in line who spoils you the most would be junichiro (and yosano & kunikida both coming in at a close third)
he honestly can’t help it; you remind him of how naomi was when she was younger
and besides
he’s always been a sucker when it came to the happiness of a little sister
“would you really buy this for me junichiro-san?!”
“of course! don’t worry about it” :)
wanna talk abt boys/girls/celebrity crushes things like that? naomi is your girl
you feel a bit embarrassed to go talking to yosano or your brother abt that and kyouka does not know a thing abt them either
“uwahh naomi-san look at all these people in this magazine! they look so good!”
“right?! but of course onii-sama is still the best—”
you get along with kenji and kyouka quite nicely being roughly the same age as them; they’re also like siblings!
just pure, wholesome vibes from the three of you
you’re over the moon when she finds out that kyouka is staying with you and your brother
atsushi is twice as happy seeing you talk your mouth off and finally having a girl around your age to talk to
“do you think demon snow can change how she looks?”
“hmm... im not sure...”
you and kenji talk abt anything and everything
he even teaches you how to take care of plants!
sometimes the two of you are kind of in the same boat bc you don’t know much abt yokohoma being stuck in the orphanage and kenji doesn’t know much abt cities in general
“wait where are we again kenji-san?”
“ah we’re close to the ports! but im not really sure how close because i don’t know what the symbols on this sign mean”
“don’t worry! neither do i!”
bonus things!
yosano was kind of too late teaching you abt you know what
“NII-SAN IM BLEEDING IN BETWEEN MY LEGS”
you’re sobbing in the agency’s bathroom and atsushi is panicking trying to get you to open the door
“Y/N?! H-HOLD ON LET ME GET YOSANO SENSEI”
ranpo overhears and cackles making everyone around him confused
suddenly atsushi bursts in the agency basically on the verge of tears rambling incoherent sentences abt the bathroom, you, and blood
it just clicked for everybody in the room
(im going to pretend that kenji has sisters back home so that atsushi is the only one who remain oblivious here hehe)
atsushi is genuinely confused and sort of concerned that no one is freaking out with him
yosano waves her hand saying smth like that she’d take care of it and junichiro pulls atsushi to the side to talk to him
fast forward like half and hour and dazai and ranpo are cackling on the looks of both of your faces
honestly not sure who’s more traumatized, you or your brother
“why does this have to happen” :(
“ne ne (y/n)-chan!~ you’re too young but at some point you’re not going to have it!”
“uwahh really dazai-san?” :D
“yeah! but first you have to have ANFK—”
next thing you know your ears are being covered by your brother and dazai is thrown across the room by kunikida
you know
the normal
you’re twelve and have never gone to school, but the agency takes care of that
it’s too dangerous to go to school so they teach you what’s necessary and whatever else they can
kunikida takes care of math (obviously)
yosano takes care of science/biology/anatomy/health (whatever you wanna call it)
ranpo even dragged poe to help you with english
atsushi even got lucy to help you out with english too!
as tanizaki and naomi used to be students, they give you their old work books and they try to teach you all the other subjects
sometimes kyouka and kenji are there learing with you too!
sorry if there’s some errors! i’ll read through it again later :)
and as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3
writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason
#bungou stray dogs x reader#bsd x reader#bsd anime#bsd manga#nakajima atsushi x reader#atsushi x reader#nakajima atsushi#atsushi nakajima#x reader#x female reader#plantonic headcanons#armed detective agency#ada#armed detective agency x reader#ada x reader#kunikida x reader#dazai x reader#ranpo x reader#yosano x reader#fukuzawa x reader#kyouka x reader#kenji x reader#tanizaki x reader#fluff#headcanons#anime#bsd headcanons#bungou stray dogs head canons#bsd scenarios#bunogu stray dogs scenarios
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how would you feel if, regardless of whether the theory's good or well supported by the rest of the series, etc., they DID make senti-adrien a thing? I'm struggling at the moment because I genuinely hate the idea (for all the reasons you've listed before), but reading Astruc's tweets and how he's bending over backwards to justify it or contradict the counter-arguments to it (which honestly just feel like he's making up stuff on the fly because present canon really does contradict a lot of the senti-adrien stuff), it all makes me feel like it really is going to happen. So I'd rather be resigned to it happening and prepared than deal with the gut-punch disappointment, if you know what I mean. Or Astruc is just the world's biggest troll and is deliberately answering these questions to make people THINK the theory is valid but it's actually not going to be the answer. Either way, I'm just... tired. I just want it over. Either reveal adrien as a sentimonster and let me live in my disappointment, or disprove it and move with the show, you know?
As soon as I saw that people were screenshotting Astruc talking about Sentimonster lore, I knew I would get an ask referring to his tweets eventually. But, here's the thing: nothing I have seen Astruc say has contradicted anything I have said against the Sentimonster Adrien Theory. It doesn't matter if the Peacock holder couldn't sense or control Adrien because I have never used that as a counterargument. I have only ever discussed the Amok, never the Miraculous.
If Adrien was a Sentimonster, there is no reason Gabriel wouldn't have his Amok on his person at all times with how obsessed he is with controlling and keeping tabs on Adrien. And if Gabriel had the Amok Object, he would use it. Gabriel is an abusive control freak; why on earth wouldn’t he use that kind of an advantage? What possible justification is there for him to go against his character that much for over 3 seasons?
Gabriel has not used an Amok object against Adrien. This means there isn't one. Adrien can't have an Amok object because Gabriel doesn't have it or use it against him. That means that we have proof there is no Amok, so Adrien can't be a Sentimonster.
It also doesn't matter what the lore is when the characterization and story themes are against it. Adrien is a victim of domestic abuse, not an artificial being being misused by their creator. The framing of this story arc has been explicit; Adrien has been emotionally manipulated, gaslighted and isolated on-screen. You don’t turn something literal into a metaphor after nearly a hundred episodes of being explicit. It defeats the purpose of a metaphor to backtrack from something that’s been explicitly literal in the show. We have literally seen Adrien be abused on-screen repeatedly, explicitly so. Adrien's abuse is not a metaphor for anything: it's abuse.
Also, the show has killed every single Sentimonster we have seen and hasn't brought a single one of them back. Sentimonsters aren't people, they aren't worth the same as real people. If an existing character ended up being a Sentimonster, that character's humanity value would decrease. They just wouldn't be as important anymore. The writers have told us this with every single Sentimonster they’ve killed off. Miraculous is not real life: it’s a show. Everything included in the show is someone’s choice and someone’s bias. This is not about how the fandom views Sentimonsters. It's literally in the show. If the writers kill Sentimonsters with no reset button, they aren’t worth living in the writers’ eyes. They wouldn’t make their secondary lead not worthy of life.
So yeah, talking about how Mayura or Shadow Moth couldn’t recognize Cat Noir was a Sentimonster even if he was one and how Adrien could totally still have those three kids with Marinette if he was a Sentimonster sure does address all of these concerns (sarcasm).
Also, since we’re taking all of Astruc's tweets as clues to the show's future plotlines, he has said that Lukadrien is better than Luchloé, so I guess Lovesquare isn't endgame after all and we're ending up with the Lukadrien/Marigami double dates setup I always dreamed of instead. Because Astruc, the guy who notoriously hates spoilers, sure would not just say whatever on his unofficial personal twitter and would instead be leading people to a canon plotline on purpose, right?
However, if the writers ignored all of this or if they missed this much about their own show, and Adrien turned out to be a Sentimonster, I would most likely never write another piece of Miraculous meta or fanfiction again. The reason I put effort into this show is because I like it and care about it. And I would not care about SentiAdrien.
I have previously discussed how 'A Single Pale Rose' made me stop caring about what happened in Steven Universe, and you'll notice I don't really write about that show. Similarly, I dropped Young Justice as a show the instant I found out they killed off Wally West, my favorite character, in the series finale. I was only three episodes into said season, but I stopped caring about anything else that might happen because my favorite character would still end up dead. I have a well-received fanfic 'Conner Has Two Daddies (And a Robot Nanny)' that hasn't been updated in years because I have a hard time caring about the universe anymore.
Adrien being a Sentimonster would make me stop caring about what happens in Miraculous or what could happen in Miraculous, because no amount of canon divergence could undo the fact that my favorite character wasn't a real person, could never be a real person and would instead have a "fragile" existence. I would most likely never find the motivation to write about the show again.
So, for the question of how I would feel: most likely I would feel nothing. My investment in this show would drop so low I couldn't even be disappointed anymore.
*insert all the She-Ra fans following my blog hoping Adrien will end up being a Sentimonster so that I will focus all of my attention on writing SPoP meta*
#dats chats#adrien is not a sentimonster#ml fandom salt#long post#basically I don't hate watch shows#I too am very tired
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Hello! What are the RO's favorite social media platforms (and why)?
considering i've only partially thought about the specifics of popular social media in oracle (so far all i have is that the main one, scry, is like if you combined the connection aspect of linkedin, the nosy aspect of facebook, the forum aspect of reddit and like, the vapid news aspect of any tabloid) then for this i'll just do what they would like if they used social media in this time and universe
hebe: mainly on art twitter. posts her art on tumblr too but prefers the exposure of twitter. gets into her fair share of arguments over people reposting without credit and blatantly misinterpreting her favourite characters. complains about the toxic people but likes commissioning other artists to support them and deep diving into constructive criticisms. uses facebook solely to share pictures of her brother's dogs or to shade her sister. posts on instagram with windo and MC a lot, has an aesthetic theme
windo: goes on reddit but specifically the redditships/tifu/aita realm, occasionally the nosleep type subreddits. gets sucked in. sometimes posts in them so people can laugh at the stupid things he's done, e.g. TIFU by offering to hang a priceless painting for a friend. decided to improvise when i realised i didn't know what i was doing. gives advice on the relationship posts. knows there's a lot of fake posts but operates on the suspension of disbelief to connect with strangers. also has an instagram w/ a mixture of goofy, friendship and fashion posts, and a work twitter to give commentary on political articles
sailor: a finsta to scroll meme instagrams. they actually laugh out loud at some of the bad jokes they come across. doesn't have tiktok so they can sit on their high horse in disdain for it but has seen millions in the reels tab anyway. never posts or comments, just likes. they send the MC memes but not through dms or anything, literally will get up and show them irl if they find something they think they'd laugh at like a cat bringing you a dead mouse. don't really do public social media profiles because they value their privacy.
jelly: their finsta that they just post bullshit on. they have like 3 followers and all their posts are like a slew of every thought that pops into their head at 2am. their celebrity crushes, things that made them laugh for 5 mins for no reason, their take on soulmates, on fictional characters, nostalgia posts, dog pics, them listening to one direction, 5 selfies in a row of different angles, drunk posts. their public social medias are all very put together and well curated tho. pretty pics and makeup #ads on insta. eloquent linkedin. no facebook
twenty: barely uses any. dislikes seeing too many opinions that he didn't ask for. had a phase where he used to troll scammers (and sometimes just random people to be a menace) on habbo hotel. wouldn't admit it but he likes taking uquizzes. what kind of emo are u. what horror movie trope would u be. what colour would u be. 9/10 he’s not even happy about the results but he just goes :/ and moves onto the next one. has seen like 5 total tiktoks and only knows what a tiktoker is because jelly has explained it
noir: doomscrolls on various sites, mostly twitter and douban. hates these sites with a passion but continues to consume all the depressing content anyway as just one of many shitty habits. had a sadboy tumblr (because OF COURSE HE DID) in his teens that is semi-common knowledge but old enough news that it’s not really something people bring up to tease him about. black and white big gifs with text, angsty textposts, classics like that. pretends to care about his linkedin but god if it’s not the most boring thing ever to him. posts view pics on insta
honey: honestly probably normal twitter. her dn is just honey and her @ is something generic and she shares her opinions on condiments and mundane things like that. not really interested in discourse or fandom spaces and is not the most up to date in meme culture. she’s busy a lot, so she doesn’t have much time to spend online. watches those calming asmr baking videos on youtube. in her teens i think she would’ve been a fan of acoustic cover channels. had a facebook when she was younger but deactivated it because she never used it
jareth: his secret letterboxd. actually reviews movies impartially and passionately. nobody would ever guess it was him. not a mega popular account, but pretty credible. likes to take advantage of the fact he’s not taken too seriously by certain demographics, so he shares his more comprehensive opinions anonymously. gets genuinely irritated by most troll reviews. some are funny enough to let slide. he had a wattpad once but NOBODY knows nor will they ever know because he would die of embarrassment if that came out. sometimes says annoying shit on twitter but nothing too controversial or topical
ludo: it’s not really a social media but like......ebay. he can scroll ebay for hours whether he’s window shopping or actually wants to buy something. likes to look in the antique section especially. the habit started because he grew up with barely any money and used to curiously browse the kind of obscure stuff rich collectors liked to buy, but by the time he had income of his own (albeit not that much) he’d kind of convinced himself that he understood why people wanted this junk. now it’s like an addiction. he also has a twitter that’s more clued into memes and references but is still pretty mundane.
monty: her instagram is very well curated. meticulous, even, with selfies, fashion, meals, more ‘relatable’ backstage pictures, etc. it’s definitely a little too perfect but she’s proud of her aesthetic eye, and her public image isn’t fake so much as presented in a way that she gets to keep her personal things to herself. is the kind of celebrity to do instagram lives just to make her fans happy. made a youtube channel due to popular demand but doesn’t really have a clear plan for it, so it’s mostly just q&a where she talks about her favourite characters, funny set anecdotes and her met gala looks. jareth appears on it sometimes to talk about their drama greenwood creek and he suggests meme reviews and things like that
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Hiiiii if you have time could I please request a HC on how bakugou studies and works out? I was down for a few days so I wanted to read about bakugou but there aren't any really. I don't wanna force this on you byyy love you❤️❤️😀
Heyyy, I am super late to seeing this (I’m literally going through hundreds and hundreds of asks right now scouring for prompts and trying to do a little spring cleaning) and I came across this and it makes me so happy to talk about Blasty McGonnaHaveAStroke that I just really wanted to answer it - I hope that’s okay!
My perception of Bakugou Katsuki is ever changing because he’s developing so quickly in so many different areas of his personality (honestly, such a well written character, I’m really enjoying watching him morph and grow over the past few seasons) and I feel like I grow to know him more and more with each fic / drabble I write where I can really delve into his mannerisms and way of being and so I have a lot of ideas for these little nuances in particular!
Studying:
We all know that Bakugou is high key suffering from Former Gifted-Child Syndrome (or whatever the popular term for it is on this site). He’s naturally talented and intelligent - but he’s also incredibly hard working, especially once he’s come to the realization that he’s become a Former Gifted-Child.
There’s a quote I saw circulating a while ago from Bakugou, something about “I came to this school not to find out what I can do, but to find out what I can’t do.” or something similar to that sentiment. Because Bakugou is already perceptive and smart, he recognizes all of the things he can do and all of the things he’s good at, what he needs to learn is how to better handle the things that he’s not good at and how he can work on himself to barrel forward on his path to become the best.
So I think that even though Bakugou is already smart and doesn’t have any trouble keeping one of the top spots in his entire class, I feel like he would also spend a good portion of his free time studying and doing homework. It’s one thing to be intelligent, but to keep such a high position like the 3rd spot or whatever he is, that means that he’s completing and handing in assignments regularly, receiving top marks in most likely all of his classes, and that requires a certain level of dedication.
But again, he’s also already highly intelligent. So he probably gets bored really easily. (I know I’ve mentioned it before but it’s kind of one of my favorite ‘little obscure details’ to note that there are several panels where Bakugou is depicted as not fully paying attention during lessons - gazing out the window or playing with his pencil and even closing his eyes and completely tuning Present Mic out with the internal monologue that English was super boring or something like that).
This is all a long-winded way to back up the fact that I feel like his notes would be quick and sloppy and probably wouldn’t have a lot of context clues so someone like Kirishima just reading over his notes probably wouldn’t understand half of the concepts just because they’re things Bakugou already knows so he didn’t deem them important enough to write down.
Someone else posted a bunch of screenshots of Bakugou Katsuki’s actual notebook or something (fuck, I wish I could find the original post but it’s lost in time and space at this point), and his handwriting isn’t messy per-say but I definitely imagine that they were just lazy, bored strokes maybe pressed down with a little more force than is actually needed, and if he wants to highlight something important to remember later, he probably does that thing where he circles it multiple times or boldly underlines and things like that instead of actually using any highlighters or colored tabs like Midoriya probably uses!
Working Out:
You know, I feel like not a lot of attention gets brought to how Bakugou would work out! Like, in all the fics where they mention him working out or whatever, he’s usually just sparring with someone or they mention that he’s pumping iron (lifting weights), but that’s about as in depth as it goes.
I spend too much of my time at the gym and personally I believe that Bakugou is that one dude that I would constantly pick on for “always skipping leg day” - in the fact that he probably focuses very heavily on core work outs and arms/shoulders, since those are the muscles that are most directly impacted by his quirk!
He probably does a ton of crunches, pull-ups, free weights, push-ups; anything that works his triceps, biceps, abs, core balance, etc. He also probably runs /A LOT/ because he isn’t too bulky, he’s actually got a very slender build considering the muscle mass he carries in his upper half, which means that he’s running cardio on the DAILY. If I were a gambling woman, I’d put money on the treadmill, the stepper, and a jump rope being his most important pieces of equipment for cardio training.
We also have to take into account his dietary habits. Like I said before, this boy is incredibly slender for someone with such broad shoulders and who carries a lot of his muscle mass in his shoulders/back, and it’s commonly accepted at this point that Bakugou is a good chef (judging by the way his parents made him take music lessons growing up, I can assume that it was probably their idea as well for him to learn how to cook - whether that be through cooking classes or home-taught, it doesn’t really matter).
Mitsuki and Masaru are also canonly involved in the fashion industry - and we all know how, ahm... flawed the views in the fashion industry can be depending on location, culture, and societal beauty standards.
Katsuki probably has an immaculate diet. Protein, carbs, fresh fruit, calcium; he probably has a perfectly balanced palate and I can only ever dream cause ya girl just has sushi and LUNCHABLES as my only meal of the day today so, yaknow...
ANYWAYS.
All of that into consideration, I headcanon that Bakugou probably has a rotating shift for his work outs; cardio every day for ~30 minutes (most likely a warm up with the jump ropes or a jog/sprint alternating between low intensity and high intensity settings on the treadmill or stair stepper), then he probably has a circuit. So say for arms, he’d probably use free weights (curls, pumps, etc), then pull-ups/push-ups, I could see him throwing in some shoulder stretches and a very light yoga routine to help keep himself flexible and adaptive.
I totally see him as a man to get hooked on focusing solely on arms/shoulders because it’s very easy to see improvement and quick results, plus the after swell of muscles when you’ve done a proper workout is like the world’s most authentic confidence boost you can ever experience, and I could picture Bakugou being addicted to a feeling like that.
However, as previously mentioned, he’s incredibly intelligent and perceptive, and he’s just kind of a no-bullshit, no-excuses kind of guy? He might WANT to just do arms/shoulders for the rest of eternity, but he knows that won’t make him GREAT, so he forces himself to cycle. Arms/shoulders, Core, Legs, Exclusive Yoga, repeat - all with cardio warm-ups and cool-downs.
I’d gander that on top of his school work and course studies, he’d have to keep his gym time somewhere between 2-3 hours daily, but he probably only realistically hits the gym about 2-3 times a week at most, since all of their other training exercises and other hero activities no doubt work his entire body, and with such a strenuous, active lifestyle, there wouldn’t be much need for him to go any more than that unless he really wanted to aggressively bulk up or something crazy, but with his body type he’ll most likely fill out naturally as well (another thing that’ll come all on its own that he won’t even have to work for; lucky fucking bastard).
-
Okay, I’ll shut up now about it :D Hope that was somewhat entertaining to read? Are headcanons fun to read about? They must be if people are asking but I always get so nervous like, dude literally nobody cares that you psychoanalyzed Bakugou Katsuki to the point where you’ve probably got his entire work week mapped out, and you know what?
You right - lmfao!
#ahxbabxha#wow this is much longer than I expected it to be#and it's so so late ahaha#this ask is so old#but uuuh#anyway#bakugou katsuki#bakugo katsuki#bakugou katsuki headcanons#bnha#my hero academia#asks
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A Study In Suit Chapter One
Summary: You’ve worked too damn hard to get into Professor Laufeyson’s advanced course, and you’re not about to let your pesky attraction to him get in the way. Your professor, however, has other plans...
-> Read it on ao3
Taglist: @myraiswack @lucywrites02 @uada-animus @theatrelove3000 @crystal-28 @country-cowgirl-101
Taglist is open! Message/dm/reply to this post to be added!
Updates every Thursday
~
You didn’t want to admit that being in Professor Laufeyson’s class was the biggest accomplishment of your life. That seemed stupid, ridiculous even. Sure, it was the hardest English course your university had to offer, and sure, you had gotten in even though students your age weren’t usually permitted. And yes, you have maintained an “A” so far in spite of that, thank you very much.
Maybe it wasn’t the biggest accomplishment of your life, but it was one of them for sure. Right up there with getting into this university in the first place, winning that one bet with your fifth grade best friend…
More recently, not completely losing your composure as Professor Laufeyson leaned over you.
“Dehumanization of women in 1984.” he reads from a very, very messy outline in your notes. His breath just barely tickles your neck. If this was any other professor, you would jerk away from the closeness. But this was Professor Laufeyson, with his tailored suits and slicked back hair. You respected, for lack of a better term, the absolute shit out Professor Laufeyson. You had already learned more in his class than all your years at college combined, and were exposed to ways of thinking you never would have considered had you not taken this course.
Despite that, like so many others, you weren’t immune to his charm. You felt your heart beat faster as your professor’s body lingered over your shoulder, waiting for a response. You pull back slightly so you can meet his eyes.
“I know it’s not a super original take.” you say, a bit of uncertainty creeping into your voice. “But it’s something I feel strongly about. This is the fourth time I’ve read the book, and I dislike it more each time.” you pause, suddenly worrying it may seem like you’re criticizing Professor Laufeyson’s materials list. “Not that I’m upset I had to read it again.” you begin to stutter. Professor Laufeyson steps away and towards an empty desk, leaning against it and folding one long leg over the other.
“It’s quite alright.” he says, smirking. Silently, you breathe a sigh of relief. The man is smirking, clicking his ballpoint pen slowly. You sigh in exasperation: he was bantering with you. “1984 is not my novel, after all.” he explains. “You’re taking a risk, though. You don’t think the book should be taught in schools?” you blink in surprise. How had the man managed to read your notes so fast?
“High schools.” you correct him. “I don’t think it should be taught in high schools.”
“Why’s that?” Professor Laufeyson challenges you. The students around you begin to listen in. You feel your face heat up.
“Because Winston is never explicitly stated to be a bad person. Not in regards to his views on women, at least.”
“That’s nothing a little critical thought can’t fix.”
“Critical thought? In seventeen year olds?” you scoff, and Professor Laufeyson cocks an eyebrow at you. You clear your throat. “With the language Winston uses, that’s not a risk I think the public schools should take, professor.”
Your professor has stopped clicking his pen, looking down at you with dark eyes. He’s quiet for just a bit too long, making you acutely aware of the rest of the class watching you.
“And what will make your argument so different? You said it yourself, your criticism isn’t a new one. What will make your paper stand out to me?” Professor Laufeyson’s tongue is tapping his teeth, like he’s amused. That, among other things the sight makes you think of, makes you squirm in your seat.
This was what you liked about this class. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you prepare to continue the conversation.
“Perspective. Experience.” you shrug. “I remember what it was like reading this when I was that young. It’s not a hypothetical to me. It was a real experience.” you finish. Professor Laufeyson nods, his brow slightly furrowed as he takes in your words.
“I thought seventeen year olds don’t have critical thought. Or were you just the exception?” a laugh ripples around the classroom.
Well, shit. How were you supposed to answer that? You lean forward, crossing your arms over the desk.
“Doesn’t matter if I had it then, sir. I’d like to think I’ve got it now.” is what you decide to go with. Something about Professor Laufeyson’s posture changes, and he lets out a low chuckle.
“I suppose so.” he stands up, walking towards his desk. “I’m looking forward to reading your essay. You have yet to disappoint me.”
Pride swells in your chest at your professor’s praise. You pick your pencil back up, hoping to work more on your outline, but you can’t do anything more than doodle for the rest of class.
~
“You have yet to disappoint me.” Natasha proclaims. You shush her, but quickly giggle after.
“Thanks for coming to my defense. You didn’t even try to get the class to stop paying attention to me.” you tease with trace amounts of truth in your words. Obviously, you liked talking to Professor Laufeyson. But you didn’t need, or want, an audience.
“Please. He was so checking you out. Of course the class was going to watch.”
“Nat!” you stick an elbow in the redhead’s ribs. “Don’t say that. He’s our professor!”
“I know that went to your head just now. And why not say it? It’s totally true.” she grins. “Or do you not want me giving you false hope?”
“Okay, one, everyone thinks Professor Laufeyson is hot. You can stop acting like it’s just me.” Natasha holds up her hands in defeat, admitting you’re right. You continue. “Thank you. And second, I’m more interested in just getting through this class without distractions and with an A. Some of us need those to keep our scholarships, you know.”
“Okay, okay, point taken.” Natasha concedes. You’re both quiet for a minute as you walk out of the building. “He was checking you out, though.”
“Nat!”
~
That night, you pulled out your notes for Professor Laufeyson’s class, hoping you could get a head start on the essay. You open a new tab on your laptop, signing in quickly and preparing yourself for an all-nighter.
Dehumanization In 1984: How Casual Language Can Create Meaning
No, that was a dumb title. You delete it.
Women In 1984: How Julia’s Character Is A Disservice
What? You weren’t going to blame the twenty-something year old woman for Winston’s inner monologue. You delete that too.
Groaning, you lean back in your chair and pinch the bridge of your nose. Why was this hard?! You felt anxious now, knowing your professor would most likely be especially critical of your essay.
Your professor. You close your eyes, playing back the events from earlier. Despite your best efforts, you think about how Professor Laufeyson’s warm breath felt as his body closed in over yours. How his tongue made multiple appearances when you were talking. You remember the dress shirt your professor had been wearing, how certain buttons seemed to be strained over tight muscles. You wonder if Professor Laufeyson had noticed your own shirt. It was low cut enough, and probably showed off a fair amount of skin, especially once you had leaned forward…
You snap your eyes open. What were you doing? This was your professor you were thinking about! There was absolutely no way he thought of you like that, and even if he did, he... He…
Oh, you were in trouble.
#loki#loki imagine#loki x reader#loki au#loki x you#loki fic#loki fanfic#loki laufeyson#loki laufeyson imagine#loki laufeyson x you#loki laufeyson x reader#loki laufeyson fic#loki laufeyson fanfic#loki laufeyson au#professor laufeyson#professor! loki au#professor! loki#professor! laufeyson#professor! laufeyson au#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel x you#marvel x reader#avengers#avengers imagine#avengers x you#marvel au#professor laufeyson au
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A Little Charismatic
A Little Charismatic
Fandom: My Hero Academia
Pairing: FuyuPress
Summary: FuyuPress Week 2021 Day 1 Prompt Fill: Life Swap - Never said who had to swap lives and I’m running on too little sleep and too much caffeine to stay in the lines.
Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.
Sako Atsuhiro liked to consider himself an observant fellow, if not also a bit of a creature of habit. He had a handful of places that he enjoyed frequenting, where he knew his face was safe. He could walk about in his usual work garb, with or without his mask and hat, and none of the other patrons would bat an eye. It wasn’t because the company he found in these places was particularly trustworthy or noble sorts, however; oh, no, they were far from that. He had just taken the time to establish that, despite his seemingly frail physique, he was not a force to be tested. He was always watching, always vigilant, watching to make sure that men conducted themselves like proper gents in the company of potential romantic partners. And if not? Well, he may have done a sleight of hand trick to remove a wandering hand or two.
It wasn’t often that there were new faces wandering around his usual haunts, so when there were, he noticed. That night was one such example.
She’d been settled at the bar when he walked in, another bar patron already trying to get cuddly with her. Judging by the glower in those bright baby blues, she was less than impressed. She was an odd one to place as Atsuhiro moved past them, her eyes straying from her suitor to chase him instead. Ah, that was unsurprising. Many a woman’s eyes had wandered over him, taking his attire to mean he must be some brand of wealthy and useful. They’d come over and start up with the fluttering lashes and slow, playful touches while asking for a drink.
It was always entertaining to watch how their expressions shifted when he insisted they have separate tabs.
It took her a full ten minutes to shake the guy she was dealing with at the bar, but once she’d gotten him off, she approached. “This seat taken?” she asked, her hands laced behind her back and head tilted to one side. He chuckled as he sized her up, taking in the leather jacket tossed over a halter dress and combat boots. The damn thing was incredibly low cut and he was quick to avert his eyes, instead taking a sip of the beer in his hands.
“Not at all,” he hummed, indicating the booth seat across from him with the wave of a hand.
She offered him a polite bow before settling into the seat, a nice change of pace. Usually the women that approached would slide in beside him first go, but she seemed to have some iota of manners, at least. “You are a difficult man to track, you know,” she mused slowly, “Mr. Compress.” He froze mid-sip to stare at her, doing his best to keep the shock from showing on his face. Very few knew of his moniker, even when he was out and about in his full regalia, so for her to address him so matter-of-factly… She was a threat and would need to be disposed of. As if sensing the bleak thoughts running through his head, she held her hands up in a placating manner to him. “Don’t worry, I’m not a narc. Or affiliated with one. I don’t think many of the people around here are, in fact.”
“Whatever it is you are trying to play at, dear, you are wasting your time,” he quipped, turning his attention away from her to the bar keep. He seemed to be more focused on a loud, clearly drunk man arguing the merits of his tab, thankfully.
He kept her in his peripheral view, though. Just in case.
She blinked before her face morphed to show hurt. “So quick to disregard me… Ah, that seems to be a trend with men in my life,” she lamented with a long-suffering sigh. He got the distinct impression that most of her behavior was an act. One of her legs shifted out to prod at the side of his calf gently, trying to coax him to look at her again. “Won’t you at least hear me out?”
He scoffed but did return his attention to her. It was the least he could do and might yet yield some further information to help him discern her authentic intentions. “There is no reason to do so outside of wasting both our time,”
“What about a game, then? You seem like a man who fancies a fun game,” she suggested.
A game? Well… He couldn’t help but be intrigued by the hand she was laying down. “Depending on what the wager is, I may be inclined to humor you,”
“Here,” she shifted to rummage through her jacket pockets. After a moment, she dropped three items onto the tabletop between them; a lighter, a small vial of some kind of liquid, and a yarn and bead bracelet. With the items spread out, she picked up the bracelet and dangled it off her index finger, before indicating the other two items with her free hand. “Use your Quirk to put these three items away. Only one of them - this one here - is of any value to me. If I can get this one back from you, you’ll agree to comply with the request I have for you.” When she spoke, she waggled her index finger to attract his attention to the bracelet briefly, before dropping her chin into her other hand.
He blinked owlishly, contemplating her game. It was in his favor, yes, but then it became a question of what she could offer him in return. “And if you are unsuccessful?”
“I’ll comply with a request of yours. No limits,” she drawled the last two words out in a leading way, her fingers lightly drumming away along her own jawline. He wrinkled his nose a bit at her implication, but found it could be a rather useful trap. After all, there would be no indication as to which marble held what once he used his Quick to compress them. Only he would be able to say for certain, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t easily swap them around if she picked the right one. There was much more to gain in this than he had to lose. “So, what do you say?” She stuck her hand out towards him, beaded bracelet still hanging on.
“Very well,” he said, taking her hand for a brief shake before sliding the bracelet off. Judging by the yarn on it, the thing was old and may be in dire need of some new yarn or replacing outright. He waved the thought off as he compressed it and then set to doing the same to the other two items. Under the table, he was sure to shuffle them around, placing the marble with her bracelet in the back pocket of his pants. He waited until she stepped away to get a drink to make that adjustment, sly grin on his lips. There was no way she’d be able to determine it was there as he wouldn't present it as an option, and then he could easily be rid of her. “There we are now. Just be aware, however, that I am very wise to the tricks a young minx like you is prone to attempting.”
“Is that so?” she hummed.
From there, they started up a fun little back and forth. He tried to get more answers to why, exactly, she knew his street moniker and why she’d been looking for him, but she flitted about the subjects using redirection. It was Take-aPenny, Leave-a-Penny logic she was trying to enact and he couldn’t help but find it amusing. It was clear she had some kind of experience with this kind of situation, with having to negotiate ones hand without tipping it too much. A flurry of questions came to his mind at the thought. She was such a young, demure young lady once she was engaged in a conversation. Something about those mannerisms and the idea of her living her whole life on the streets simply didn’t add up quite right to him.
It did, however, give him a fun little mystery to chase around.
After a good while she shifted to sit more upright, hands folded neatly in front of her. Her eyes were alight with mirth as she repositioned herself. “Well, I think that’s enough of that. I came here to accomplish a goal, not play footsie all night,” She stretched languidly and her gaze shifted from his face down lower, giggling a bit at what she saw.
He blinked twice before glancing downward himself and uttering a small short curse.
His eyes widened as he suddenly registered what, exactly, she’d been playing at all along. A glance downwards revealed a layer of ice sticking to the outer traces of his body, over his legs, hips and wrists specifically. Given that he was wearing his full gear minus his mask, of course he hadn’t noticed the change in temperature! She must have been assessing him during their conversation, skirting about with her verbal distraction while leaking small traces of her Quirk to gauge his reaction...
A clever ruse that he’d fallen into with regrettable ease.
“What in the devil did you do?” he spat, keeping his voice low as his eyes scanned the bar. No one else had noticed their exchange, thankfully. The last thing he needed was other hooligans taking advantage of this situation.
She tilted her head with a feigned innocence. “Hmm? What’s wrong? Don’t like that I used my Quirk too?” The faux concern melted into a mischievous grin of delight as she moved from her perch across from him to sit beside him. She nudged the chunk of ice pinning his legs down with the toe of her boot as she settled in nice and close. “I never said that it was against the rules, you know. And it’s only fair that if you got to use yours, I get to use mine. Wouldn’t that be the gentleman’s viewpoint on this matter?” Her tone was light and playful, but he could cast the mocking wisps underlying her words. Without further preamble, she reached over to rummage through his coat pockets as well as the pockets of his slacks, humming to herself as she ignored his quiet snarls to cease her actions. She leaned back just a bit once she gathered seven marbles in total, swirling one in a circle in her palm. “Ah, there’s more in these pockets of yours than just what’s mine. How uncouth! Scandalous even!”
He tried to twist himself free but the ice pinned up along his wrists and hips didn’t budge an inch. Not even a thin crack was visible, to his uncensored chagrin. “What game are you playing at, wretch?”
“Just the game we agreed to,” she hummed. She peered at his marbles with an appraising eye before stuffing them into the pocket of her tattered denim shorts instead. “Since I’m the obvious winner here, I guess that means you have no choice but to abide by my rule, hm?”
“Name your damn price, then,” he growled lowly.
She giggled and leaned closer, walking two fingers up along his chest to his face. “You’re going to come with me to have a meeting. With. My. Boss,” Each of her final few words was followed by a mocking tap to the tip of his nose. If he could move his hands, he would have firmly shoved her from his personal space, but instead settled for jerking his head to the side. It only made her Cheshire grin grow wider. He could almost see a feline tail swaying in delight behind her, he swore. “He has a very… prosperous job opportunity for you. One that I think you’ll be very much inclined to take.”
This young woman was dangerous, and he was unclear if that was unappealing to him or not.
#My Hero Academia#FuyuPress#Mr. Compress#Sako Atsuhiro#Todoroki Fuyumi#FuyuPress Week 2021#my fics#I am surprisingly pleased with this one#All things considered
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