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missroki · 2 months

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OFFICE CRUSH┊when choso kamo’s pretty coworker asks him out, he doesn’t ask questions. it’s no surprise that the quiet IT guy isn’t exactly gifted in the art of romance, but you seem more than capable of showing him the ropes.

content: black coded!female reader x choso, office au, 90s rom-com adjacent, alcohol, flirting (!!!), choso being awkward, car sex, reader has braids, terms used are baby and good girl, no obvious power dynamics, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (pull out method), purposefully lowercase. word count: 3.5k

“are you busy tonight?”

a sudden pause in the typing of keys, pale hands hovering over a manilla colored keyboard. choso stops coding as if it would have helped him hear you better.

“…huh?”

you ask your coworker out on a late wednesday afternoon, rocking back and forth on your heels with your hands clasped behind your back. your eyes are bright and determined in a way that tells him you mean what you say… but, for a minute, choso can’t do anything more than stare.

he’d only seen you in passing in the office, the click of your black pumps recognized easily in the sea of heavy loafers and dress shoes. despite your choice in footwear, you were often moving.

never has the man seen you sitting from his place in the IT department. you were always walking, or more accurately strutting down the halls, looking straight down with a handful of files and notebooks; always busy.

there’s a slight shift in your face (as if you’re going to repeat what you said) but choso interjects. he heard you clearly enough the first time, he was just a man with social skills that left much to be desired.

he answers you, cursing the shake in his voice. "n-no… i don’t think so but... why?" maybe you had a virus on your computer? or perhaps you were in need of fresh eyes on your interim report? choso thinks that maybe you need a spare thumb drive or the key to the electronics closet. he thinks you are here for a favor, something transactional that will explain the soft, polite smile on your lips.

he is proven wrong when you move closer into his space and rest your bottom against his desk, clasped hands now resting on your lap. he tries his best to not stare at your stocking-clad thighs. he wonders how warm they would feel under his hands.

“well,” you start, “since you aren’t busy, we can go out for a drink, right?”

choso feels his nose twitch, watching as your gaze follows the birthmark on his nose. he realizes that you are waiting for a response and clears his throat.

“my brother might need me… he gets home from school pretty early nowadays.”

you smile and tilt your head. "yuuji, right? pink hair, high school student? big ball of sunshine?”

he blinks once, then twice. okay. “that would be him… how did you know that?”

you shift your hips to face him better, palm on the desk as you lean over to point at the lone personal item he has.

it’s a picture of choso and his brother, old and slightly blue at the edges from water damage. “he showed up once because he left his house key at home. you went down and brought him yours.”

admittedly, choso barely remembers this interaction. he curses his stomach for warming at the fact that you do. “oh.”

despite his lackluster response, your smile doesn’t waver, acrylic nails tapping against the surface that he works on everyday. it’s those gentle clicks that make his eyes shift downwards to where the sound is coming from, distracting him.

a holiday on his calendar mousepad is covered by your pink and red fingernails.

“you’re… interesting,” you offer as explanation, “and i want to spend time with you. is that alright?”

you’re beautiful, he thinks. beautiful in a way that he doesn’t see often; pretty brown skin and soft-looking braided hair. he wonders how long it takes you to twist the strands in such an intricate way. he wonders if it would be weird for him to ask.

choso hesitates, but eventually nods. “…i’m sure yuuji won’t miss me too much.” he concludes, the smallest of lop-sided grins on his face. “it’ll only be for a little while, right?”

you sit up and choso feels as if he can breathe again without your intoxicating scent so close to him. you dramatically cross a finger over your heart.

“you’ll be home by ten. scout’s honor.”

choso is certain now of three things:

one, he likes strawberry daiquiris. two, he really likes drinking them with you. and three, you were most definitely not a girl scout.

he knows this because it is already eleven thirty pm and you have sneakily convinced him to stay longer than intended. after a few rounds you became alarmingly convincing.

even with choso’s clumsy coin fumbling and the obvious red flush of his face, your companion is positive that he is not drunk. you smile as your cloudy mind focuses on the pretty arch of his cupid's bow and the deep set of his tired eyes.

with warming alcohol in his system, choso finds himself loosening up more and more. his gaze wanders without fear of you noticing.

it doesn’t change the fact that you do.

his suit jacket is draped on your lap to cover your legs, your pink blouse curving along your chest so firmly that it’s hard to look away.

suddenly, you lean in to sip his drink (which confuses him since you have your own) and choso has to try his best to refrain from staring at your breasts as they press against the bar table. as the night has progressed you’ve gotten more bold, more touchy. he likes it. he likes you and the small hint of lipstick that stains his pink straw now.

you sit back up and wipe away the condensation from the hand that was holding the glass steady.

“is this a birthmark?” you ask with glassy eyes, a cold thumb moving up to caress the deep purple line on his nose bridge. choso is just drunk enough that his heart flutters and he doesn’t pass out on the spot.

“yes, i was born with it.” he pauses, thinking that you want him to elaborate. “yuuji used to joke and say they must have used a permanent marker to tell me apart from the other babies.”

you laugh and it’s a small thing but… choso can’t help but to grace you with a lazy smile. “it’s nice. makes you look more unique.” your thumb moves up to his dark circles, pressing gently into the skin. he feels warmth pool in his belly. the alcohol, he thinks. “i’m going to assume these are more man made?”

he nods, heart beating fast against his chest. your hand is gentle and your eyes are kind. choso wonders if you have always been so sweet, if the heavy burdens of adult life haven’t quite hit you in the same way they have him. is that weird? he won’t say that out loud. “yeah, i don’t get much sleep.”

“i’m definitely not helping with that.” you frown a little and choso thinks of every possible way he could make you smile again. “that’s no good. who’ll help yaga out when he falls for another pop up porn ad?”

he laughs at that, feels it deep in his stomach. you’re funny, choso thinks. you’re pretty. your lips look soft and he wants to kiss you.

“i think you’re more than capable–“

“hey, is that–? kamo-chan!”

a shrill voice comes from across the bar, onlookers (that are suspiciously all couples tonight) glancing over to get a glance at whoever was making a fuss. to choso’s horror, he sees a familiar head of long blue hair, a large smile that barely fits the face of the person wearing it.

behind him is a small group of people wearing the usual business casual with an assortment of red and pink items like… heart shaped headbands? he can tell by the way they stumble over that this is perhaps the second or third bar of the night.

“all these years of me trying to get you to come out and you only do it when she asks you to?” mahito pouts, an arm moving to rest around your shoulders. if you’re annoyed by his interruption, you don’t make it known. you smile easily and return his side hug.

choso wonders now if physical affection is something you give out freely. maybe he’d interpreted your earlier touches wrong, as something less than innocent.

he feels a blush rising to his cheeks and hopes you assume it is just the booze.

“maybe i’m just more convincing,” you tease, “i wanted to spend some time with one of our most valuable team members. working with a bum like you can really mess with my productivity.”

mahito gasps dramatically. “wow! i guess there must be love in the air then!” there’s a small sea of laughter that follows. choso begins to once again realize that it is not you two alone anymore, that your entire department has somehow managed to force their way into the imaginary bubble you’d built around each other.

someone suggests you all move to a booth and he feels his social battery deplete within seconds.

another hour passes before choso finally realizes that he is way in over his head. mahito has managed to simultaneously steal all of your attention and even some of choso’s as well.

he’s funnier than him, he thinks. even with his weird scarred skin and bony frame you seem to enjoy his company and the child-like way he downs shots of tequila as if they’re water. he licks salt from various places and you chuckle and smile affectionately, like he’s a puppy.

is that what you were into? guys who could talk to you for hours about nothing at all? choso doesn’t think he could ever be that man. he was awkward and somewhat insecure. you were well liked and that meant you’d be hard to keep entertained. it’s a role he isn’t sure he can fill for you.

everyone is laughing, including you. something about the department that choso would have no knowledge of.

trying his best to avoid knocking shoulders with anyone, the man removes himself from the suffocating booth, back aching from the way he had to twist at all times to fit in the space.

choso thinks he’s always been like that. taking up space; having to make himself smaller in order to fit where he didn’t belong to begin with.

his hands reach for his pockets, glancing down to make sure he didn’t leave his wallet. when he lifts his head, he finds that your eyes are on now him.

your face tells him that you’re a bit alarmed at his leaving but he doesn’t wait for you to announce it to everyone before he’s moving quickly to the back door.

the hinges creak loudly, the threshold slightly damp as he shuffles out. it’s raining, he realizes. a drizzle that quickly dampens his dark hair.

the flickering streetlight illuminates his old car, the path straight ahead as he makes his way across the barely lit alleyway. his mind is clearer than it was in the suffocating bar atmosphere, but it is still muffled by anxious thoughts.

it’s because of this that he doesn’t hear the click of high heels against wet pavement.

“choso!” you call out, a small huff in your voice as you abruptly stop behind him. he blinks hard to rid his eyes of water, turns around to find you holding something, his jacket. oh. “you’re leaving without saying goodbye?”

you look upset, concerned even. choso quickly takes his jacket from you so that he can use it to cover your head — not really thinking when he does it. you give him a curious look.

“your hair,” he explains, “it’ll get... wet out here.”

you roll your eyes playfully, walking closer until you are almost chest to chest. “i don’t care about that right now.” you hum, eyes trying desperately to meet his. he turns his head and you boldly grip his chin. your fingertips are so warm. “did i do something wrong? are you upset with me?”

he reaches a hand out to gently hold your wrist, thumb against your pulse point. “not upset, just thought you might want to end the night with people you know… i’m not good with groups.”

you think this over for a moment and nod. “yeah i… i should have guessed that, actually. you were probably overwhelmed. i’m sorry.”

“you don’t have to be…” he murmurs. “i just needed to get away and i didn’t want to ruin anyone’s night.”

you let go of his chin, both hands coming up to push his now soaked hair away from his face, the strands curl around his ears where your hands rest. without realizing, his touch has settled on your waist. you don’t seem to mind.

“i like you." you admit, brazenly. “i have for a while now.”

"i’m sorry." he responds instinctively, not really processing your confession at first. you really laugh at that and it makes his mind go numb for a moment. “i mean… i like you, too. a lot, actually.”

you smile and it’s so blindingly beautiful. how did he go without knowing you for so long? “i hoped so… i saw the way you were watching me earlier. i thought you were gonna kiss me a couple of times.”

something in his mind twitches, directly in the space next to mischief and only a step away from desire.

“did you want me to?”

you eyes widen just a fraction. now it is your turn to be flustered. choso finds himself relishing in that just a little. “…what?”

maybe a… lottle.

“did you… want me to kiss you?” his thumbs rubs gentle circles on your blouse covered tummy, the motion soothing and weirdly familiar. like the smell of a perfume that hits you with unknown nostalgia, the hint of someone from your past.

you lean in slightly, nose gently nudging his. “i still do.” you whisper, “would that be okay?”

your breathes mingle, barely an inch separating the two of you. choso finds himself laughing at the cheesiness of it all.

you aren’t his first kiss, but he imagines that kissing in the rain will still be rom-com worthy.

“more than okay.” he murmurs.

his lips press to yours.

choso is certain now of three things:

one, he likes kissing you. two, he really likes kissing you. and three, your mouth is the best thing he has ever felt.

the backseat of his compact suv is just enough for you both to fit, your legs on either side of his hips as your hands explore his body. your tongue has managed to touch every inch of choso’s neck and chest, blushing red spots appearing on his soft pale skin.

your left hand traces over the mark on his ribs, large and expansive. he has to hold in a moan when you run your fingertips against it. “you’re so sensitive,” you hum, “are you nervous?”

he starts to unbutton your blouse, let’s his thumbs find your still covered nipples. he grazes his nail against the fabric, isolating the movement as you let out a soft gasp. “not nervous,” he responds. “i just really want you. you’re… gorgeous.”

you try to hide how much this affects you but choso can see it in the way your eyes soften at his praise. “thank you.” you breathe out, helping him by unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the ground with your already discarded stockings.

it barely hits the floor mat before choso’s mouth latches onto your chest, tongue swirling as his lips suck on the perky brown bud. your nails immediately tangle into his damp hair and your hips begin to grind on their own.

a hand reaches down between your legs and you whimper as your panties are forced to the side. “can i touch you?” he asks, lips trailing from one of your breasts to the other. “wanna make you feel good, need to get you ready for me.”

you nod with a giggle. “oh, yeah? you that big down there kamo-san?”

he is dead serious when he replies. “yes.”

choso’s fingers are long and your cunt lets him in with very little resistance. he’s glad to know his kisses made you melt for him so easily, a surge of confidence emerging. your thighs shift as you grind against his hand, the other against your back as your braids weave throughout his fingers. he’s careful not to tug, just feeling the smoothness of them against his skin.

“is this okay?” he asks, leaning in to press soft kisses to your neck.

you nod, relishing in the feeling of his surprisingly fit body beneath your hands. you would have never expected him to be so… strong and firm. you imagine him sweaty and panting, lifting weights over his head as you watch from the corner. your patience grows thin at the thought. you want him. now.

“choso,” you whimper, your plea immediately making him halt his movements.

“are you okay? what’s wro-“ you silence him with your lips and lift your thighs so that his soaked fingers ease from your heat. your hand moves to tug down his slacks, the belt already unbuckled as you caress the obvious swell of his cock. his breath hitches as he goes to grip your waist. “s-shit, i see. you want me to– okay, i’ll give it to you.”

he allows you to pull out his cock and you gasp as it throbs and twitches against his stomach. it’s… huge. long and thick with a deeply flushed tip.

you stare at it so intently that your lover feels self conscious. “is it… okay?” he asks, watching your expression with curiosity.

you glance up at him and sense his worry, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “you’re perfect, choso. don’t worry. i’m just… surprised.”

he rubs your back tenderly, hoping to ease your concern. “i’ll go slow. i promise.”

when you ease down on him, choso has to fight the burning urge to immediately shoot his load. you’re just so tight and warm that it makes him dizzy. it’s only when you take him to the base that he holds you still. “i’ll let you get used to it first. then we can keep going. just stay still and i’ll—“

suddenly, you lift and slam back down on top of him. your movement is so sharp that choso chokes on his words, the fluttering of your pussy making him clench his abs to fight away his release.

he can barely think before your body is bouncing on top of him, your forehead pressing against his. you read his mind, seemingly. “don’t think,” you gasp out, “j-just fuck me, choso.”

“i – oh fuck – i don’t want to hurt you.”

“you won’t, baby. i promise i can take it.” you move his hands from your waist to your ass, prompting him to squeeze at the soft flesh. “i can take it.”

his desire to treat you gently is not as strong as the pleasure he’s feeling, and soon choso is thrusting faster up into your cunt, gripping your ass to move you up and down.

“oh!” you cry out, perky breasts bouncing in his face with each hurried thrusts.

“shit.” he grits out, jaw clenched as he uses your pretty body. “take it,” choso whines, “fuckin’ take it.”

your pussy clenches at his words, panting and moaning against his mouth as your orgasm builds. “i-i think i’m gonna cum. c-choso i–“

one of his hands cup the back of your neck, his eyes not leaving yours as you spasm and twitch on his lap.

“it’s okay. let go for me. i’ve got you, baby.”

you cum with a sharp gasp, unable to look away with his strong hand keeping you in place. “good girl,” he murmurs, “such a good girl… let me fuck you through it.”

your body slumps against his, but choso doesn’t stop his movements. his cock plunges in and out of your hole, stretching you out as your cum drips down to his heavy balls. he wants to cum in you, to fill you up with his load until it drips between your legs… but he knows he has to save it for another time.

his orgasm hits him like a tidal wave; sudden and breath taking as he spills his load between you two, coating both of your stomachs in a sticky layer of white.

you whimper as it quickly cools, giggling at the face choso makes when you grab his shirt to clean you both up. he looks like a cat, disgruntled and pouting. you shrug. “it’s your cum.”

he couldn’t argue with that.

it’s weirdly comfortable, the time after your encounter where you both tug on your clothes, minus choso’s christened white button up.

you tell him he looks better without it, fingertips grazing his abdomen teasingly. he has half the mind to take you again, but there would be more time to get to explore your body.

maybe if he played his cards right you’d let him taste you.

choso imagines that the always empty electronics closet will be a perfect location.

“hey,” you whisper, hand pushing his dark hair behind his ear.

choso lets out a hum, twisting his neck so that his lips press tenderly to your wrist “yeah?”

you smirk. “happy valentine’s day.”

… oh.

note: hello, this is an old fic of mine that i’ve re-written and given a new v-day flair. thanks for reading and happy (early) love day.

MISSROKI. all original work. do not plagiarize, translate, or repost. this includes feeding my work to ai apps and sites.

#‧₊˚ 🖇️ ۫ ⭒ — sorin writes.#choso x reader #choso x female reader #choso x black!reader #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #choso fluff #choso fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk x female reader #jjk x black reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #choso x you

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katethewriter · 2 years

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Summary: Y/n has a very specific power. She is a shapeshifter. However, she can only shift into younger versions of herself. Her abilities catch the Avengers’ attention. Though their first introduction is lackluster at best, it's not long before she has them all wrapped around her little finger.

Pairing: Avengers x Reader(platonic) - WandaNat x Reader(platonic) - mother-figure!Wanda x Reader - cg!Wanda x little!Reader - cg!WandaNat x little!Reader - cg!Avengers x little!Reader - fem!reader

A/N: This is pretty much just straight up fluff. It's my own spin on shapeshifter!Reader and little!Reader. This is just a happy little brainchild that I decided to run with

Welcome to the Team: After a chance encounter, the Avengers recruit a new kid to join the team.

Wanda Cookie Monster: It's not that Y/n is hiding from the rest of the team, except that's exactly what she is doing. Wanda is determined to break through to her.

Clint Hand-Me-Downs: As Y/n starts showing herself more and more around the compound, Clint can't help to notice she tends to wear the same thing everyday.

Natasha Kinda Like You: Y/n is convinced Natasha doesn't like her. If she could just brush away that tough exterior, maybe they have more in common than she thought. Perhaps she can gain a new ally in the process.

Steve New Kid's First Mission: Steve is wary to allow a kid on a mission, but just maybe Y/n can prove him wrong.

Peter Crayola: Peter wonders why the New Kid's pictures on the fridge are only ever done in black and blue ink or pencil.

Bruce Just a Twist: A training mishap sends New Kid to the medbay.

Sam Let's Go Fly a Kite: Sam is on duty when he spots New Kid all by herself. He offers her an opportunity most kids could only dream of.

Bucky A Mission Gone Sideways: Bucky is paired with New Kid for a mission that doesn't end as well as they would like.

Tony A Little Pinch: A flaw in Y/n's suit might be just the thing to finally pull Tony to her side.

Thor Someone Worthy: Thor returns from a long stay and doesn't recognize the young team member running around the compound.

Kate Nerf War: When someone new joins the team, Y/n takes a sudden interest in archery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @battleg03 @thelittlewolfofaretuza @emiivey @dylanobriens-love @madelineleong @sluttyforfemaleavengers @santana1437 @thatonementallyillsimp @oliveoilpenguiny @you-are-beautifully-gorgeous @charcharslide-3 @anon1412 @universallypoetrycheesecake @mary-jinx @princess-kennys-rats @marvel-fan-2021 @ameeelia07 @kneelforloki @ornorr @prettysbliss @nattyolw @yukonasf @thursdayygrrrl @rach2602 @ace-of-gay @casualbisexualfroggo @nyctophiliacatcher @ripofflizzie @chrisevansangel @randomnessbecausewhynot @lizlil @uselessastheginlasagnaa @m-h-r-h

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goldenfoxxxe · 3 months

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Johnny cage or Cassidy x reader (pref fem) where they think reader is not their type and after like something almost costing their/ readers life they fall hard

Johnny Cage's No Good Horrible Very Bad Day

Johnny Cage x Fem!reader

Warnings:: angst with a happy ending, near death experience, gore, medical inaccuracies

A/N: this is such a good fic imo with an amazing lackluster ending, cause i'm real like that. I’m just getting my mojo back. I could have made this more happy but i’ve got the angst bug, hope you don't mind anon. also its not proofread, thats for nerds.

Johnny Cage knew how dangerous this was. Knew how quickly one fight in the battle to protect Earthrealm could kill someone. So when you joined the team he never even kept you on his radar. He didn’t consider you his type enough to even bother flirting when he knew it was only a matter of time until this battle took either one of you.

You had seen the way he flirted with damn near every female who crossed his path, even when they were trying to kill him. It bothered you sometimes, the way he barely even looked in your direction, as if you were invisible. You even went to Kenshi about it, asking if you had done something to offend Johnny but even Kenshi didn’t have any clue what was going on with him. You carried on with training, occasionally going on missions with the other protectors of earthrealm. It eventually became second nature to fight, getting used to being ambushed by Shao Kahn’s warriors. You managed to be friends with Johnny eventually, never quite understanding why he never flirted with you but sometimes liking that he didn’t.

You managed to survive every mission, sometimes with injury sometimes not. You eventually got used to the everyday pain of being a protector. The stabs, the cauterizations, the stitches. So it was a surprise when one day you almost didn’t make it. It was just another mission, nothing extreme. Nothing you and the others couldn't handle. In Fact it was one that all of you should've gotten out of without a single scratch. You somehow ended up with numerous deadly wounds and no back up besides Johnny.

You had never been on his radar.. ever. Years of knowing you and he just never truly noticed you. Sure he knew you very well, you were friends. He would even say the two of you were close. Yet he had never noticed you in the way he did every other woman. So why does he feel this way now? After he's watched you come to the brink of death at the hands of Mileena, does he decide he's got a crush on you? It's all panic from the moment you call his name in anguish as Mileena bit a chunk out of your side. All your other injuries were superficial things he could patch up for now and have the medics fix completely when you got back to the others. Now you had organs showing and he didn't know what to do.

He's just a movie star, he never should've been involved in any of this and right now it shows. Nothing but dread fills his body as he watches Mileena run off. He assumed she thought you'd be dead soon. Yet, he ran to you, adrenaline flowing so hard it might as well have been going into his soul. He barely ever paid attention when one of the others attempted to teach him basic medical procedures, he didn't need to know he was always with someone who did and now you were going to suffer the consequences. He did the best he could, practically ripping his shirt off and wrapping it around the wound, ignoring your screams as he tightened it as hard as he could.

In this moment he was glad for all the grueling workouts he had gone through, all the extra training Kenshi and Raiden made him go through. Comms were down meaning Johnny would have to carry you back to base. He could only hope someone would be there, that he could make it in time. You were unconscious blood soaking his skin even through the shirt wrapped around your wounds. He was keeping pressure on the bite the best he could as he ran for the base. You had traveled so far and with comms down he couldn't even be sure any of the medics would be ready for you.

He didn't think you could hear him as he prayed to any god that would listen. As he asked why now. Why would he love you so much now as he runs with you dying in his arms. He also didn't think those prayers would work, that he would make it to base.

He stayed by your side hoping you would wake up, that you would heal. There was none of Raiden's magic to help you, the god had gone on his own mission. The medics had done everything and now it was just a big game of waiting to see what would happen. So he waited.

It was almost two months before you woke up from the coma, he honestly didn't expect you to wake up. Raiden had come back and healed what he could yet you stayed unconscious. During those two months Johnny stayed at your bedside, telling you what was happening around base and how the war was going.

You woke up slowly, not shocked to see Johnny half asleep in the chair beside your bed.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, slowly turning towards him.

He startled awake, nearly falling out of the chair and causing you to giggle. A shock of pain ran through your side and you winced, gently grabbing it.

“Careful, it's gonna be sore for a while, Mileena got a pretty good bite out of you” he says after he recovers, coming to stand beside you “Did I mean what?”

“Everything you’ve been saying. It's gotta be multiple times a day you say you wish you could take my spot…..that you love me” you explain, twiddling with the blanket that had been draped over you, barely even making eye contact with him.

He nearly chokes on air, his entire face going red. “You heard all of that?”

“Every bit of it.” you smile softly, looking up at him. “Did you mean it?”

He sighs, scooting closer and holding your hand “Every bit of it” he says, smiling and kissing your hand.

#johnny cage x reader #mk1 #mortal kombat #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage

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heavens-hearken · 2 months

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❅ playing for keeps ❅

❅ Here at the University of Michigan, hockey rules. ❅

The Wolverines, headed up by the infamous Kiszka brothers and their captain, the team has sailed straight to victory for three straight years.

But, off the ice, the boys are finding their dating lives to be a little lackluster. That is until…

Daniel, powerhouse defenseman, meets a fiery figure skater and finds for the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to keep score.

Jake, the star center forward, finds himself in the library nearly everyday, pining for the girl who is supposed to be his tutor.

Josh, Jake’s faithful right wing, lands himself in hot water after a rowdy party and falls for the girl who runs the campus nonprofit.

and

Sam, the fan favorite goalie, discovers that his Philosophy 100 TA isn’t simply going to fall at his feet like all the other girls do.

Bundle up!

We’ll see you on the ice!

a/n: i’m so excited to share this lil series i’ve cooked up for y’all!! i’m…. working on it! i’ll have danny’s story out soon though! i promise <3

#josh kiszka x reader #jake kiszka x reader #sam kiszka x reader #danny wagner x reader #greta van fic #josh gvf #jake gvf #sam gvf #danny gvf #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #gvf #greta van fleet #buffy tries writing

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genderkoolaid · 11 months

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hey! if you have the spoons, would you happen to have any posts/anecdotes refuting this thread? https://www.tumblr.com/neondyke/719263498717233152/nonhoration?source=share

so. one of my big problems with how we talk about TERFs is the sort of conspiratorial energy some people have towards them- not in that TERFs don't lie about their beliefs, but the idea that all radical feminists are part of this huge conspiracy where none of them actually believe any of what they say. The idea that no TERF actually, genuinely cares about women, or gender non-conforming people- or that none of them hate men.

Just because TERFism is misogynistic, harmful to GNC people, and often allies with conservative men, does not mean every TERF hates other women, GNC people, and likes men. Its vital to be critical of what TERFs say vs what their actions say- but we do ourselves and them a disservice by shoving our fingers in our ears and essentially saying that no TERF can be genuine, and I actually know what they really believe in their hearts. This is especially important when you aren't interacting with high-level TERFs (especially those making bank off public appearances & books & shit), but like. regular smegular everyday women who got radicalized, or people who are on the verge of being radicalized and are put-off by people who seem to be incapable of seeing TERFs as having genuine beliefs.

I say that all because the idea that TERFs aren't misandrists, that they don't really hate men, is just straight-up ridiculous. It assumes that radical feminism was born exclusively as a reaction to trans women, that none of its theorists or activists were genuinely trying to apply Marxist analysis to gender/sex dynamics and create a better world for women. Which ignores other parts of radical feminism, like their anti-sex work rhetoric/whorephobia. (If you have access to JSTOR, I recommend reading "Radical Feminism and Feminist Radicalism" by Ellen Willis, a former radfem; it dives into the problems with 60s radical feminism from an inside perspective).

I absolutely think TERF hatred for trans women is not exclusively a result of their misandry. This is because all transphobia is systematic, and everyone born and raised in transphobic society has transphobia woven into their thinking. So if you are a cis woman, probably one who has had traumatic experiences with misogyny coming from cis men- probably one with some interest in leftism, who is annoyed by liberal #girlboss feminism which feels lackluster, who is envious of the subversive, direct-action, "tear the system down" feminism of the past- and you have an unexamined, ingrained bias against trans people, well. TERFism will provide explanation and affirmation for your trauma and the promise of the radical feminist action of your dreams to allow you to lash out at your oppressors with the logic of the guillotine. Your unexamined bias against trans women will mean you don't see their transmisogyny as unreasonable, and even if you never really thought about trans women before, its gonna be real easy for you to accept them as a threat to Real Women.

But to assume that every time a TERF says "men" or "male," she means "trans woman," is just ignorant. TERFs are surrounded by cis men, because they live in the same society as us. They see cis men acting misogynistic, many of them have been personally hurt by cis men, they very much mean "cis men" when they say things like "all men should be castrated" or "all male babies should be aborted"- how exactly can you talk about males as a sex and never refer to cis men? When they talk about how using dildos or any sort of penetrative sex is patriarchal and Bad, that's not because they hate trans women, its because they see anything that could be associated with maleness as bad.

Here's a quote from Sylvia Riveria's very important work "Queens in Exile, The Forgotten Ones":

"Oh, yeah, we mixed with lesbians. We always got along back then. All the division between lesbian women and queens came after 1974 when Jean O'Leary and the radical lesbians came up. The radicals did not accept us or masculine-looking women who dressed like men. And those lesbian women might not even have been trans."

TERF hatred for transmasculinity goes back far before ROGD and the idea of transmasculinity as a social disease affecting "innocent young girls." Here's a quote from Leslie Feinberg's Transgender Warriors:

"A view that the primary division of society is between women and men leads some women to fear that transsexual women are men in sheep's clothing coming across their border, or that female-to-male transsexuals are going over to the enemy, or that I look the same as the enemy."

If TERFs have no real hatred for men or masculinity, why did/do they attack butches & transmascs? Why, before ROGD was the trendy way to attack transmasculinity, did they specifically attack us for being too masculine and therefore imitating the oppressor? The idea that trans women are the only ones blamed by TERFs for ROGD is also false- adult trans men, especially those with any public influence, are frequently blamed for "preying" on young "girls." (Also, fun fact: that last quoted paragraph ends with: "Trans people of all sexes and genders are not oppressors: they, like women, rank among the oppressed.")

Lastly, I feel like we- all trans people- have an issue of trying to match our genders & the way our genders do impact how we are treated, with the way our sexual/gendered misgendering also impacts how we are treated. For example, I am often frustrated by trans men who are resistant to talking about how trans men face misogyny because "it feels like misgendering." I don't think we can really deal with transphobia unless we cope with the fact that we are trans people- we are socially placed between genders and punished for that, and that means that we will be attacked because of our relationship to our gender assigned at birth (although not exclusively). See this post for more of my thoughts on that.

Obligatory "please don't harass any of the people in the screenshot above, just block them & move on" notice

#m.#ask box #transandrophobia #transmisandry #anti transmasculinity

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lapumpkinmusic · 9 months

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youtube

la pumpkin - everyday lackluster

#la pumpkin #everyday lackluster #full album #experimental #edm #house #electronic #darkwave #electronica #trance #instrumental #piano #music #bandcamp #soundcloud #spotify #Youtube

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pippin-katz · 3 months

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Like A Love Song

Pairing: M/M | Crossover Ship - Marco Peña/Johnnie Blackwell Media: The Kissing Booth 2 (2020), High Strung (2016) Rating: T (for language) Word Count: 2,098

Marco is having a shitty day and goes to the park with his guitar to relax, but ends up having an interesting interaction with the attractive violinist who plays at the same spot.

A/N: I literally wrote this in a fit of inspiration and need for a romcom short story, but it came out pretty nice, so I thought I'd share here! Enjoy!

As the subway slowed to a stop, Marco lifted his wrist up to read his watch. He read 1:26 and heaved out a heavy sigh as he stepped off the subway car onto the platform. His guitar bounced against his back as he made his way up the stairs. The breeze greeted him by playing with the dark curls resting on his forehead, but the sun was nowhere to be found. It seems that it was aware of Marco’s melancholy mood and opted to spend the day behind the clouds in solidarity.

His day had been unpleasant since he woke up twenty minutes late that morning. In his haste to catch the bus to campus and make it to class on time, he hadn’t been able to brew himself a cup of coffee and forgot to put his laptop back into his bag after studying the night before. He ended up being forced to take notes by hand, leaving it cramping and sore afterwards, as well as giving him a wicked headache. Such pain had been a hindrance to practicing for his thesis performance in the following class.

Music and migraines don’t mix well. After only an hour, his professor had noticed his lack of progress and given him a pitying look. Marco couldn’t remember the last time he felt so embarrassed as they suggested he take the rest of the day off.

He had taken the advice, intending to purchase lunch from his favorite food court restaurant, only to discover that it was closed for some reason. He’d settled for a lackluster protein bar from the vending machine.

That’s what led up to where he was now, begrudgingly exiting the subway station. As silly as it was, all the obstacles and inconveniences caused a lump to form in his throat and heat to prickle behind his eyes. Marco was disappointed, exhausted, and hungry, and all he wanted to do was relax, even if it was only for a few hours.

Despite the lack of sun, it was pleasant outside. The subway station he’d gotten off at was next to a park that he often visited when he needed fresh air. Sometimes he brought his guitar with him and played whatever he wanted, not caring about anything, and letting the music take him wherever it led. If he was lucky, occasionally someone would drop some change or bills into his open guitar case. He didn’t play for tips but being a college student with a major in music, he never turned them down. Overall, it was an enjoyable experience.

There was only one problem: Hot Leather Jacket Violin Guy.

He was exactly what he sounded like. He was tall and pale, with dark hair that swooped down to fall just barely over his eyes. His lips were full and looked absurdly soft. He always wore casual alternative clothing that was typically topped off with the leather jacket his nickname implied. The final piece was, of course, the aforementioned violin. It was a dark brown that looked nearly black, and though Marco was certainly no violin expert, he could tell it was one of high quality; it was definitely not bought from an everyday music store. He was good, really good. The sound that came from it was richer than any other he’d heard. Every note seemed to sing with emotion.

Hot Leather Jacket Violin Guy was stunning, incredibly skilled, and Marco fucking hated him. Well… sort of.

There was no logical reason for it. Despite making eye contact a few times, they’d never spoken to each other. It wasn’t as though Violin Guy had done anything to warrant his hatred. All he did was stand in the same spot every day, look unfairly beautiful, and play the violin. Maybe that was all he needed to do for Marco to dislike him; maybe if he stopped and thought about it for a few minutes, he’d be able to chalk it up to projecting his own insecurities onto the handsome stranger.

However, on this particularly shitty day, he couldn’t care less. Marco was not someone who asked for much. He didn’t find himself asking some divine power for favors regularly, but today all he wanted was for Hot Leather Jacket Violin Guy to not be at the park.

Luck was not on his side, as should have been evident to him from the events of the day leading up into this moment. Marco trudged along the sidewalk to his favorite spot in the park; it was a coincidence that it was the same place Hot Leather Jacket Violin Guy played. There was a small fountain with tables around it. The concrete turned into pretty tiles, making it look like a little plaza. It was by far the best part of the park in his opinion, and he wasn’t going to let some brooding violinist with a pretty face ruin that for him.

That was his thought process as he approached the fountain. The soft sound of running water was accompanied by the telltale notes of the violin, allowing him to hear the other man’s presence before he could see him. Marco rounded the fountain and was greeted with the visual of the violinist; he pointedly refused to acknowledge if his heart sped up.

As usual, Violin Guy was wearing some ripped black jeans, a band t-shirt, and his signature leather jacket. His eyes were closed as he let his bow glide across the strings, and there was a barely noticeable sway in his body as he played.

Marco recognized another musician with true passion for their craft easily, which only made him more annoyed. It was harder to justify his distaste for the guy when he shared a musical soul. He sighed as he shook his head and wandered over to sit under a tree.

Marco’s hands were still a bit sore from class that morning, but it wasn’t unbearable, and he wasn’t planning to play anything difficult. He methodically removed his guitar from his back and set the case down in front of himself. He moved slowly as he unzipped it, retrieving the instrument.

The guitar’s wood was familiar and smooth under his fingertips. Its cool surface was soothing. He plucked a few notes experimentally, adjusting the tightness of the strings to find the perfect pitches. Once everything was properly tuned and prepared, Marco closed his eyes and exhaled.

Stress and anxiety had been clinging to him all day like a soaking wet blanket, weighing him down and sticking to him uncomfortably, but when he focused on the cool breeze on his skin and the sounds of nature around him, it slowly melted away. His fingers moved on their own as he strummed and plucked whatever notes called to him. He let his melancholy mood move his music rather than forced himself to play something more upbeat; fighting negative emotion was a waste of time. The improvised melody reflected his mental state perfectly.

Marco sighed as he paused at the end of a phrase, feeling as blue as the cloudy sky overhead. It really had not been a good day.

That’s when he heard the melody echoing back to him through the voice of the violin a few feet away. Marco looked up from his seat on the grass, eyes landing on the Violin Guy, who was standing a little closer than he had been before.

Instinctively, Marco scowled. What? Did this guy think he was better than him? Was he playing the same tune just to demonstrate how much lovelier it sounded when he played it?

As Violin Guy played, he glanced his way, making deliberate eye contact. Marco felt himself freeze under his gaze, unable to look away as he listened to solemn notes come from the other man’s instrument. He captured the same sadness that Marco had originally played with, but then he added to the tune. When he listened very closely, he could hear an almost questioning tone underlying some of the notes.

The man met his gaze again as he paused, his expression neutral but eyes expectant. Tingles ran up and down his spine; it was a question. Marco looked down at the guitar in his hands. He debated for a moment. For some reason, Violin Guy had noticed his negative mood and chose to approach him, speaking a musical language that only they understood. Marco didn’t know why he was doing this, but he would be lying if he wasn’t curious about the man. This was his opportunity. He poised his fingers to answer.

He licked his lips as he concentrated, plucking out a slightly different melody. His disappointment and exhaustion bled into the music. Marco closed his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as he felt it all flow through the guitar. When he finished the phrase, he turned his head toward the violinist.

Violin Guy gave him a tiny nod, so small that Marco wasn’t sure if it was a nod at all. Then he raised his bow to the strings once more and spoke back. A series of notes floated through the air. They were soft, maintaining a somewhat melancholy feeling, but there was a twist in them. It was something hopeful and kind that made Marco’s chest expand and his eyes grow hot. Against all odds, his lips quirked up just a little bit as he listened to the sweet sound of the violin.

He met the man’s eyes again, his own widening as he received a small smile in return; he didn’t think he had ever seen Violin Guy smile before. He nodded down to the guitar as he continued to play, the tune becoming more hopeful as he continued. It was an invitation.

Marco felt his throat close up as his cheeks warmed, but despite the nerves, he began to play along. He was hesitant at first, but the two instruments blended beautifully as they performed their impromptu duet. There was so much feeling and personality in each sound, but somehow, they came together in just the right ways to create a masterful melody. Marco’s lips grew into a true smile as the frustrations of the day left his mind. His playing grew livelier, brighter, and by the time they finished their little song, he couldn’t even remember why he was so upset to begin with.

He beamed at the violinist as he lowered his guitar back into his lap, and the other man looked down bashfully, nervously tapping his thigh with his bow. Then he straightened his posture and stuck his chin out a bit. He made eye contact with Marco and walked directly up to him without pausing.

Marco’s eyes widened as he was offered a hand. Uncertainly, he tried to meet him in a handshake, but the violinist grabbed his wrist instead, making him gasp. He tucked his violin under his arm and fished into the pocket of his leather jacket. Marco found himself unable to speak as he pulled out a pen. He opened it with his teeth and quickly scribbled onto his skin.

When he finished, he released Marco’s hand and cleared his throat. His pale cheeks had grown quite red. He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. He closed it, and instead nodded to him before turning to walk away, pretending as though he was unbothered when the opposite was obvious. Marco blinked rapidly, frozen for a moment. His skin still tingled from the other man’s touch. He looked down at the writing, his heart leaping as he recognized a phone number.

There was also a note underneath the digits. His cheeks flushed with heat as he grinned shyly to himself. The man had written: “I hear music when you smile. – Johnnie”

Marco looked up to see the violinist, Johnnie, with his violin packed away and posed to leave. He rubbed the back of his neck, figure tense as he kept glancing between him and the ground. Marco flashed him his most dazzling smile, and the tension in his shoulders disappeared as relief washed over his expression. He raised his hand to give him a small wave as he began to walk away. Marco returned it enthusiastically and watched with his grin still in place as he left.

Once Johnnie was gone, he ghosted his fingertips over the ink on his wrist. He pulled out his phone and created a new contact with the number. Marco inputted his name but tapped to add a note. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he typed: Hot Leather Jacket Violin Guy <3

#fanfic #crossover ship #marco peña x johnnie blackwell #the kissing booth 2 #marco peña #taylor zakhar perez #high strung #johnnie blackwell #nicholas galitzine

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mirandapriestlyswife · 17 days

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Mirandy Apocalypse Fic- Chapter 1

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Hi everyone! Ive decided to make the first part of this released fic into a prologue and this will be the first official chapter. Hopefully I’ll be able to upload to AO3 soon. Enjoy! :)

read prologue here- https://www.tumblr.com/mirandapriestlyswife/747204446805704704/mirandy-fanfic-apocalypse-au-prologue

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Miranda fucking Priestly. The bitch lives. Well.. Kind of.. She didn’t look older per-say… More broken maybe. Her eyes looked hollow. As if they’d witnessed the worst that was to come. Her gorgeous white hair somehow remained almost perfectly styled. Did this woman have some kind of hair department she was keeping in a bunker to avoid infection??? Andy had just assumed that alike every other rich asshole, Miranda had purchased some underground bunker upstate. Yet here she stands. Staring directly into her soul.

“Andrea..?” Mirandas voice sent shivers down her spine. Andy gaped in disbelief that this woman was somehow still alive. Young, relatively healthy Lily had passed in a matter of hours. Yet 54 year old Miranda Priestly stood in front of her looking as healthy as ever. She noticed how Miranda was eyeing her up and down, probably trying to determine if she was a hallucination or not. Andy swallowed but it seemed her mouth had gone dry, “Miranda..? I-.. You’re alive.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more of an observation. Was she happy to see Miranda alive? Absolutely! If this was quite literally any other person alive Andy would’ve ran straight at them and given them the biggest bear hug she could muster. But this was no ordinary person, no, this was Miranda fucking Priestly.

Miranda pursed her lips slightly which made Andy wince. She should’ve been kinder with her greeting.. The older woman cleared her throat “I am? I hardly noticed.” She said with disinterest. How could anyone be disinterested to find out they are in fact not the last person on Earth?! Unless Miranda was actually still making every single Runway employee come in to work everyday. ‘Yes im aware there’s a global pandemic but is that really an excuse for our swimwear shoot to look so lackluster?’ Andy could practically imagine her saying. She attempted to swallow but was once again met with cottonmouth, “I- I- are you- are you real..?” She practically choked on her own words.

“Am I real?” Miranda scoffed. “Of course Im real. If anyone here is a hallucination its you.” Andy was almost offended by this woman’s lack of shock. Did Miranda really think so little of her? That she wasn’t even worthy of a proper acknowledgement of ‘Hey! It’s great to see Im not the only person here! It’s been months since I’ve had someone to talk to!’. She took a deep breath and then she felt the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. This was all too much. The death, the loneliness, but now she had someone, someone to make her less lonely, but of course that had to have been the one person that wanted nothing to do with her. She wailed. Having no shame of fully breaking down in front of her former boss.

Mirandas eyes displayed… Sympathy.. almost. She stared at the crying woman.. Before eventually walking closer to Andy. Close enough to touch, close enough to hug. But.. Hugging would be too much. For the both of them. Or at least that’s what Miranda had decided. Instead, she placed a firm hand on Andys shoulder. “…Im glad to see you.” The way Miranda says it so slowly, so firmly, it puts Andy at ease. She doesn’t stop crying, but the wailing ceases. She took a deep breath and rushed to Miranda, throwing her arms around the shorter woman. In any other circumstances, she wouldn’t have dared touch Miranda. But this was quite literally the end of the world.

Andy sobbed into Mirandas shoulder. Oh how wonderful it felt to hug someone. Someone that was alive. Someone that she knew. She knew once they’d both gotten over the shock of seeing someone breathing that Miranda would probably kill her for getting tear stains on whatever designer blazer she was sporting midst of the fucking apocalypse. Leave it to Miranda Priestly to still be fashionable as ever even when there’s quite literally no one else to see.

Eventually she felt Miranda put her arms around her already trembling body, causing more sobs to erupt from Andys mouth. She pulled away quickly and wiped her tears with shaking hands, only to put her hands back on Mirandas shoulders, for some assurance that she was in fact real.

“How are you- how are you alive? I- im so..” Confused? Happy? On the verge of a panic attack?? Miranda took a deep breath and with surprising gentleness, removed Andys hands from her shoulders. “I would like to ask you the same thing.” Even with her gentle touch, the older woman’s voice still contained some bite. Perhaps she was still upset over Paris? Couldn’t she put aside their petty differences and look at the real problem at hand? They were possibly the last two people left on Earth. “Are there.. any other survivors with you..?”

Miranda went dead silent. Andy wasn’t even sure if she could hear her breathing. She looked absolutely broken, she then scoffed, as if to hide her moment of vulnerability. “‘Survivors’ you say that as if we’re in some sort of fictitious zombie apocalypse.” She let out a deep sigh as the sorrow to her voice returned, “No.. There’s no survivors with me.”

Andy felt a pit in the bottom of her stomach. That must mean- oh God.. “Oh Miranda.. I’m so sorry..” That must mean the twins had passed. Miranda looked teary eyed, she gave Andy a curt nod and looked away, of fear of crying. “Yes well.. I’m sorry as well.” She sniffled and Andy practically saw Mirandas heart break. She sighed and gazed at Miranda sympathetically, she opened her mouth to say something when she was interrupted. “What are you doing at Elias-Clarke?” Andy was almost offended by the question, it was asked so accusatorially. What was she doing at Elia-Clarke? What are you doing at Elias-Clare?! “..Just looking for some familiarity. Something nostalgic to fill the day, you know.” Miranda looked at her from head to toe, just as she had her first day on the job. It made her feel small, even it was done out of habit. “‘Familiarity’? You haven’t worked here for 2 years.”

“3 years.” Andy corrected. It’s been 3 years since I- um.. since.. Paris.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow, “Well I have much more important matters at hand then remembering when my second assistant abruptly resigned in disgrace.” Andy cracked a small smile, “From what I remember you gave me a pretty damn good letter of recommendation.. I mean good coming from you.”

Miranda gave her an unamused look. “I called you my greatest disappointment, what about that to you screams ‘pretty damn good’?” Andys smile widened, oh how she missed this. Having a conversation is something she really took for granted. “Actually you said ‘biggest disappointment’.. And you also said that anyone would be a fool not to hire me..”

The other woman smiled almost fondly at the thought. Maybe she missed conversations too? She never pictured Miranda as an extrovert in her free time, but surely everyone craves some type of human interaction from time to time. “Yes, yes, do remind me of my generosity after you left me stranded at a show with no assistant.” Ohhh the bite was back. “Mira-“ She started, but was abruptly cut off when she heard the sound of a microwave going “ting”.

Andy froze. “…You have… You have power?!” She’d been living on expired chips and cans of beans for months!! And this woman was having fucking microwaved dinners?! A luxury in retrospect.

“Of course I have power?” Andy was in utter shock. How?? How did this woman have power?! “But- the power companies.. I-I- mean I’ve been living in the dark for months! Besides battery powered stuff and-“

“..Stuff..?” Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Well I have no idea why you would do something as barbaric as that.. Half the buildings in this city have some sort of generator.. Elias-Clarke’s has been running strong for a few weeks by now.”

“A few weeks?!” Andy scoffed

“Yes Andrea, thats what I said isn’t it?”

“Do you even know how long generators last?! It’s less than 3,000 hours! I mean-“

“Did I say it was running constantly?” Miranda scoffed and turned on her heels, walking towards the microwave that was positioned behind Emilys old desk. Since when did Runway even own a microwave? And since when did Miranda Priestly eat anything that even so much as touched a microwave? Andy watched in wonder.

“I turn the damned thing on for less than 30 minutes a day. I figure when it eventually stops working ill simply.. Move to another place of residence.” The way Miranda spoke with such ease, as if this all came naturally to her was a bit unsettling.

“‘Another place of residence’? You live here? Why would yo-“

“Honestly Andrea, do you think I would want to live in the house where my daughters died?”

Andy froze. The way those words flew out of Mirandas mouth with such hostility.. Underneath the that frigid mask, Miranda was in fact a grieving mother. It made Andy’s heart ache. She no longer felt as if she was staring at the untouchable queen of fashion anymore, but a human being. She watched Miranda pull out the steaming microwaved dinner, God it smelt delicious. She hadn’t had a hot meal since the power was cut in New York.

You know how in zombie apocalypse movies they usually have an estimate that all of New York City would be infected in around 24-48 hours? Well they weren’t too far off in all honesty. Once the infection had reached its peak, it was swift to take the lives of pretty much anyone that hadn’t caught it already. God knows Andys run into her fair share of corpses. Thats part of the reason she tried to not move around a lot, fear of running into the corpse of someone she knew.

“You relocate a lot?”

Miranda rolled her eyes as she peeled back the plastic of her microwaved meal. “I’ve moved around from time to time. I prefer to sleep in my office.”

“Really?”

“No, im clearly lying to entertain you.”

Andy cracked a smile, which Miranda caught and stiffened, almost as if she were flustered. The older woman cleared her throat as she focused her attention back on her microwaved meal, moving it onto some of the fine china she always kept in her office. Though this set looked newer than the one she used when Andy worked there.

“Well, I stay in my friend Lily’s old apartment.. Its about.. An hours walk from here? Not sure-“ She laughed awkwardly, “Ive kinda stopped keeping track of time..”

Miranda hummed.

“Lily? Is that a relative of some sort or-“

“My best friend.” Andy interrupted. Miranda looked shocked at the fact that Andy had the balls to interrupt her, which made her smile a bit brighter. Miranda shook it off and picked up her plate of hot microwaved mush, briskly walking to her main office.

Andy froze up for a moment, did this woman seriously walk away mid conversation?? I mean sure, she hadn’t talked to another person in months, but she still knew her manners! Her smile faltered and she followed Miranda, who was now sat at her desk, poking at the hot still partially frozen “steak” on her plate.

Miranda looked up, unsurprised that Andy was still there. Probably looking as disgusting as ever in her unwashed jeans and sweater that was over 5 years old.. Yet Miranda gazed at her fondly. Not in the way someone would gaze at a long lost friend or even a former coworker. No, she gazed at Andy as if she were some souvenir from some vacation from a better time. As if she were some cherished snow globe.

“Well..” Miranda began as she cut into her unappetizing meal. “If you’re truly an hour or so away from home, I recommend you be on your way.”

What?? Was Miranda seriously kicking her out?! I mean.. She didn’t expect she’d ask her to stay the night.. But downright kicking her out?! Andy let her frustration simmer in the back of her mind. Can’t allow herself to get in a fight with quite possibly the last person in all of New York left alive.

“…Right.” Andy sighed and straightened herself upright. “Well I’ll be on my way.” She turned to leave, making it as far as her old desk before Miranda called out.

“Oh, and Andrea?”

She stopped and turned around. Miranda cleared her throat. “Be back here tomorrow at 7 AM. Thats all.” She then turned around in her creaky office chair to gaze out at the empty city.

Andy was absolutely livid. Now she had a damn schedule to follow?! She took a deep breath.

“Yes, Miranda.” She said through gritted teeth, in which Miranda only made a small noise of approval at, which to Andys annoyance made her heart flutter.

She grumbled to herself her whole walk down what felt like a thousand flights of stairs. What a shitty situation. It’s the end of the goddamn world and the only company she has is a woman that shes sure hates her guts. But at least for the first time in months she had something to look forward to.. Which made Andy smile.

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Hope you enjoyed!! :)

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guinea-pig16 · 8 months

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Something Better || Chapter 2: Familiar Grounds

Ghost x Reader x Soap

Fic is below the cut, please read Chapter 1 first if you haven't!! Please enjoy !!!

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Word Count: 4,500+

Warnings: guns and gunfire

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You stared at yourself in the mirror. Goddamn. You couldn’t remember the last time you looked at yourself. You looked like hell.

You had dark bags under your eyes from sleepless nights, your skin had a sickly tone due to lack of time outside and inconsistent meals, your once muscular arms had gone soft due to inactivity, and your eyes that once sparkled with life were dim and lackluster. You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a long sigh. You had a lot of work to do.

You called Laswell the next day, accepting the position. You could hear the smile on her face as she explained the next steps. As soon as you had completed your recovery, you would be under her jurisdiction for the next few months as she showed you the ropes. Then, you would be assigned a task force. Now, all you had to do was recover. Easy enough.

It was in fact, not easy. You thought bootcamp as tough, but this was just downright torture. Everyday, your nurses would push and bend your leg in a new, painful way. But you would show up everyday bright and early, eager for more. And every night you would collapse into bed, exhausted, your mind too tired to plague you with nightmares.

You got yourself to begin eating more, making sure to leave your plate practically spotless. Your nurse openly cried in front of you when she saw your clean plate.

Slowly but surely, your stamina was returning as well as your muscle definition. You were able to walk further everyday without assistance from a cane or a nurse, though you still had a noticeable limp. But eventually, you would have to resort to using your cane, though you wouldn’t admit it.

Two months pass, and your doctors declare that you’ve completed your recovery. The nurses who have been with you since day one decided to throw you a small party to celebrate, bringing in plates of snacks and drinks. You were happy to see them look at you without pity and sympathy, just joy and pride. The party was full of laughter and smiles, and occasionally a few tears. Especially from your personal nurse, who practically saw you as her child. Then, the day came for you to be discharged from the hospital.

“Now, just remember sweetie… I’ll always… I’ll always be here for you.” Her eyes well with tears once again and she chokes down a sob. You smile gently and nod. She breaks down and wraps you into a bone-crushing hug, being mindful of your lower back and leg. You awkwardly pat her back. She fans her eyes and takes a deep breath, before returning to helping you pack your few things. You walk out of your room, a content smile gracing your face. A different nurse walks with you to outpatient, as yours is currently being consoled by the others. You give her a grin and a wave goodbye, causing her to break down once again.

The nurse walks you to outpatient and you see Laswell waiting outside, leaning against her car. The nurse gives you a small hug and wishes you well. You thank her and return the thought, before turning and leaving the hospital for the first time in months. You take one step outside, and breathe in the fresh air. You take another step and-

“AH!” You cry out, a sharp, searing pain rips through your right leg. You would have collapsed to the ground if Laswell hadn’t caught you. And then you realized something. You forgot your fucking cane.

“You alright there, L/N?” Laswell asks, helping you stand up straight. You hiss through your teeth as your thigh begins to spasm painfully.

“...Yeah… Forgot my damn cane…” You mumble, slightly embarrassed. Right after those words leave your mouth, your nurse comes running out the doors, clutching your cane.

“I can’t believe you! Trying to leave without your cane! You should know better!” She chastises. You just have to stand there, clutching your returned cane, as your nurse chews you a new one. Laswell stands behind you, a small amused grin on her face. Eventually she calms down, and gives you another hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Be careful dear. I better not see you here again unless it’s to visit, alright?” You roll your eyes slightly and smile.

“Yes ma’am. Take care now.” You wave goodbye as Laswell opens the passenger side door for you. You see her hand move to take your cane for you, but stops herself. She rounds the car and gets in on the driver’s side as you tuck your cane next to your seat and pull yourself in. You throw your small bag of belongings in the back seat and buckle. Laswell takes off the emergency break.

“You ready to begin, L/N?” She says, turning her head towards you. Eyes full of determination, you nod. She smiles. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

_______________________________________

From that moment on, you spent nearly every single day by Laswell’s side. She assigned you classes to take, mission logs to read, training simulators, she even brought you to mission debriefs. She watched your progress closely, praising you when you completed an assignment, and correcting you where you messed up. After four months of training, she finally decided you were ready for your first official assignment.

“You’ll be assigned to one of our low stakes task forces to start off with. If you do well, you’ll be moved to higher stake task forces. Got it?” You gave Laswell a curt nod, taking in each and every word she said. You two were on your way to meet with the general to get your first mission before you met with the task force. Your cane hung around your arm. You didn’t want the general or the task force seeing you walking with it, even if you did have a noticeable limp.

The two of you reach the general’s office door. “Now, General Evans is just going to state the mission, it will be up to you to figure out how to accomplish it.” Laswell said, looking at you. You nodded in response. She gave you a nod back and knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Said the voice from inside. Laswell opened the door and the two of you stepped inside. General Evans was standing in front of his window, looking outside. He turned once the door closed and gave you both a smile. You straightened and saluted him, slightly hiding your cane behind your back.

“At ease, you must be Officer L/N, the retired vet, right?” General Evans stuck his hand out. You took it and he gave you a firm handshake.

“Yes, sir.” You replied. He smiled at you and gestured for the two of you to sit at the chairs in front of his desk. He took his place behind his desk and laced his fingers together.

“Alright, so, we’ve got some important intel at one of our bases in the Bahamas, but a local terrorist group has invaded it and claimed it as their own. So we’re sending task force 125 in to infiltrate and reclaim the base. It should be easy enough, the group isn’t large and won’t have the same gun power we have.” He explained. You listened intently, mind swimming with strategies and plans. You could see Laswell watching you out of the corner of your eye.

“Got all that, officer?” You nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, I expect this to be resolved by 0800 Friday. Dismissed.” You nod and stand, saluting the general once more before you and Laswell leave. Once outside the office, your leg trembles and you finally resort to using your cane for support. Laswell glances at you, but doesn’t say a word.

“Right, let’s go meet the task force.”She says. You nod and both take off down the hall, albeit slower than you would have liked due to your limp. The two of you head to the training room of the base. As you approach the door, you lean your cane against the wall and walk in without it. Laswell hesitates a moment, looking at your cane. But you’re already through the door.

There’s only one group in the training room today, that being task force 125. As you enter, you see the captain stop and look at you. He motions for his men to stop as well. You see that the team is decently sized, about 10 people including the captain. Laswell steps in behind you and stands at your side, arms behind her back.

“Well, you must be our new strategist, right?” The captain approaches you, almost sizing you up. He notes your posture, how you lean all your weight on your left leg. You think you hear him let out a huff. You straighten your back, much to its discomfort, and stick out your hand.

“Officer Y/N L/N. You must be Captain Fischer, or am I mistaken?” You say, eyes boring into his own. He hesitates slightly, before gripping your hand tightly and shaking it.

“...That I am. And behind me are my men. Get over here, boys!” Fischer turns his head and yells. His troop kind of awkwardly walks forward, and a handful salute you and Laswell. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Laswell’s eyes slightly narrow.

“Alright, here we have Privates Bradley, George, Stephenson, White, Foster, and Woods. Then it's Corporals Park, Garner, and Pittman. You got that, officer?” Captain Fischer says, a slight snark in his tone. You nod.

You know exactly what this team is like by just looking at them. During your years of service, you’ve encountered people like them before. They’re young, reckless, and think themselves unkillable. They’re egos are high because they’ve been placed in a task force. Little do they know, their task force is just the clean up crew. Compared to you, they’re just a bunch of rookies. But you know that you have to start somewhere in order to move up.

“Pleasure to meet you all. Now, let’s get started shall we?” You say, hands behind your back. You explain the mission to the team, word for word, exactly how General Evans gave it to you. You notice that they halfway listen, a couple of the privates eyeing you up and down.

“This mission should be easy in and out. I’ll have the plans ready by,” You glance down at your watch. “0200 this afternoon. By then, I expect you to be ready for debrief and packed for the plane that leaves by 0700. Copy?” You saw the Captain’s eyes roll slightly. But you didn’t let it bother you. You saw Laswell slightly smile next to you.

“Copy that. We’ll be waiting.” He says. You nod, and dismiss the team. They shamble away, glancing at each other, chuckling. You let out a breath you were holding and grit your teeth. Your leg had been throbbing the entire time, but you didn’t let it show. Laswell nudged your side. You looked over. She was holding out your cane to you.

You stood there for a second, then took it, gratefully leaning on it for support. “Thanks.” You say. When had she grabbed it for you?

“No worries. Now, let’s get you the intel you need for the mission.” And with that, you two took off back down the hall.

You spent the morning planning how the mission would go, considering every countermove, attack, even what the weather would be like. You double, triple, quadruple checked the intel you received, making sure it was 100% accurate. You wanted to prove yourself to Laswell and make sure this mission went smooth as butter.

Exactly at 0200, you met back with the task force. Though, you had to wait about 10 minutes longer for the entire team to show up. You went over the plans with them, detailing where they would infiltrate, where the intel was located, and where the enemies would be located. They half listened, occasionally yawning loudly. You ignored them. At least it wasn’t your ass going on the mission.

Later that day, Laswell walked with you to the black top to put you on the plane. Task force 125 was surprisingly on time and packing their things into the plane. You saw the captain look you up and down, taking in your cane, and whisper something to one of the corporals, smirking. You once again, ignored it. You and Laswell stopped in front of the plane.

She turned to you. “Alright, L/N. This is your first mission. Don’t mess it up now, understand?” You nodded. She patted you gently on the shoulder. Her eyes softened. “You’ve done good so far, now’s your chance to prove yourself, got it?” You gave her a smile, and nodded again. She glanced at the task force and back to you, then leaned down next to your ear. “Try not to let them bother you that much, they’re just a bunch of idiot rookies.” She whispered. You chuckled slightly.

“You got it, Laswell.” You said, a smile on your face. She returned the smile and patted your shoulder again.

“See you in a couple days, officer.” She said. You saluted her and she walked back into the base.

You took in a deep breath, and walked onto the plane, clutching your bag, cane clacking against the ground. You could see the soldiers eyeing you from the corner of your eye. You tried not to let the embarrassment build up in your gut.

The engines rumbled to life as you and the task force settled down. And the plane took off into the sunset. You hoped to God this mission would go as planned.

_____________________________

“Fischer, what’s your status?” You said into the microphone, watching the body cam feed intently. You had landed in the Bahamas just a few hours ago, but there was no time for rest and relaxation, much to the team’s dismay. It was just past midnight, and you had shoved their asses right out into the field. You knew night missions tended to go smoother, as the enemy wouldn’t be expecting it. At least, from your experience they didn’t.

“Tired as hell, but moving forward.” He responded, a snarky tone to his voice.

“Copy that, keep proceeding, you’re about 1 click away from the base. Keep low to the ground, there’s a chance for night guards.” You said into the mic. Fischer grunted in response. You shuffled around the various screens, looking over your people’s shoulders. When you arrived, you were given a small team to help you monitor the task force’s radios and cameras. You listened to the idle chatter over the radios between the team’s members.

“Officer L/N, we’ve got visuals on the base.” Said a member of your group. You went over to him and looked at the camera. Private Stephenson had been the first to approach the base.

“Private, we’ve got a visual on the base, keep low and keep an eye out for guards.” You said to him. You heard him sigh.

“I’ve got it.” He replied, before inching closer to the building. You furrowed your brows. What the hell is he doing?

“Private, stand by, wait for the others to arrive.”

“I said I’ve got it. This shit’s easy as hell, I’ll be in and out, 2 minutes top.” Stephenson said.

You frowned and were about to start to order him to wait again, when you saw a glint of metal from his camera.

“Stephenson, get to the ground. Now.” You said, eyes fixed on the sniper rifle that was steadily aiming for his head.

“What, why?”

The rifle stopped, and you knew what was about to happen.

“Get on the fucking ground, NOW!” You yelled. Stephenson hesitated slightly, but dropped to the ground right as bullets whizzed past his head. You gritted your teeth. The fucking idiot just alerted the base to their presence.

“Goddammit Stephenson, you just let the whole base know you’re here.” You grumbled on the radio. He said something back, but you had already switched back to Fischer’s channel.

“Keep to the trees, Stephenson was kind enough to let the group know you were coming. Expect more targets to leave the base. They’ll be looking for you.” You said, pinching the bridge of your nose. Bunch of idiots… Your team was never like this… You stopped that train of thought before it could continue.

“Roger that.” Replied Fischer. You watched as the team slowly approached the edge of the treeline, a couple retrieving Stephenson from the edge. You and the team watched carefully as members from the terrorist group exited the building, just like you said, looking around. You scoffed slightly at their weapons. General Evans was right, they wouldn’t stand a chance against what you had. But they had the advantage now of expecting the team, and you could tell they weren’t going to be scared off easily.

“Let’s just go in, guns blazing.” Said Corporal Garner.

“Negative, they’re expecting you now, you’ve lost the element of surprise. They’re weapons may not be the best, but they have the advantage right now. Remember, they outnumber you, it’s 10 against 20. Best course of action is to lure a handful into the woods and take them out.” You said, watching the targets scan the treeline.

Fischer scoffs. “Please, we’re better trained than them, we can take them.” You see him get ready to charge, along with the others. You grit your teeth, and your team looks at you with apprehensive eyes.

“Do. Not. Engage. You’re going to get your shit rocked. Lure a handful of them into the woods and take them out with your knives.” You say, attempting to keep your cool.

Fischer straight ignores you. You hold your head in your hands as you watch them charge out into the open. Gunshots echo through the radios and you watch the screens, your face set into a deep scowl. Just as you said, the team is quickly overwhelmed and are forced to take cover behind a couple fallen trees.

“Captain, we’re taking on too much fire! What do we do?” Yells Corporal Park. You stand there, waiting for Captain Fischer to respond. He doesn’t, and in the silence you can tell he’s panicked as hell.

“Captain. I’m going to say this slowly so it gets through your thick fucking skull. Throw one of your smoke bombs at the targets. Once the smoke has filled the area, you, Park, Garner, and Pittman charge and take down as many targets as you can with your knives. Do not use your guns, they’ll be able to see the flash and hear the sound, alerting them to your location. Before the smoke clears, enter the building and have the rest of the team shoot down the rest of the targets. Retreive the intel and get your fucking asses back to base. Copy?” You say, voice low. You couldn’t help but let some of the venom enter your voice as you spoke. Your team was looking at you apprehensively.

Fischer was silent for a moment. “Roger that.”

“Good. Now begin.” You replied. You watched as he executed your plan. He threw the smoke bomb, and as soon as smoke filled the area, he, Park, Garner, and Pittman jumped over the fallen tree and sliced down at least half of the targets. They slipped through the open door and Fischer motioned for the others to begin shooting. Gunshots rang out through the night air as they stepped through the base.

“Keep your guns up, the base could still have targets inside.” You say through the radios. Fischer, Pittman, Garner, and Park reply with a curt ‘Copy’. Right after they replied, a terrorist jumped into the hall with a gun, but was quickly shot. They inch down the hall, towards the intel room. Finally, they entered and quickly found the intel you were looking for.

“Good. Now get your asses back here.” You say. You get a quick ‘Roger that’, and watch as they exit the building. The rest of the team have already taken care of the targets, their bodies splayed out on the ground. You huff and take off your headset. You gently set it onto the table, an attempt to appear you’ve kept your cool. But you and your team both know that it’s just a ruse. You were fucking pissed.

Your boots clamped on the ground, your cane clacking angrily on the concrete floor as you tore down the hallway, people quickly getting out of your way as you rushed past them. Your right leg was screaming at you for the harsh speed, but you didn’t care. You had a score to settle.

You arrived outside right as the task force returned. They looked nervous and as soon as they saw your figure striding towards them, scared. Captain Fischer stepped forward, mouth open to speak. The only sound he let out was a small cry as you hooked your cane around his knee and tugged, causing him to fall. You grabbed his collar before he hit the ground, getting him down to your level. You brought your face close to his.

“Listen here you ignorant, egotistical prick. I don’t give two fucking shits if you like me or not, but you do not ignore a direct order, do you understand me?” You savored the fear in his eyes. He swallowed and gave you a single nod. You loosened the grip on his collar and let him fall to his knees. You glared at the team around you, they shrunk under your gaze.

“You all could have died tonight because you decided you were more intelligent and experienced than me. You’re fucking lucky I didn’t leave you all out to dry out there. I know you think you’re better than me because you’re faster, stronger. But let me tell you something.” You leaned forward, your voice low. “You disobey an order again, and I’ll fuck you up so bad they won’t know which side is your ass and which is your head. Am I clear?” The team hesitated a moment and let out mumbles of ‘yes’s and ‘okay’s. You scowled once again.

“When I say, ‘Am I clear?’ I expect a fucking ‘Yes, Officer.’ Now, once again, AM I CLEAR SOLDIERS!?” You yelled, posture straight, feet apart, arms behind your back. The team stands stiff as boards, and salute.

“YES, OFFICER!” They yelled in unison. You sigh, looking at all of them. You hold out a hand to the Captain, who’s still kneeling. He hesitantly takes it and you pull him to his feet.

“Good, now get the hell out of my face. We’re leaving by 0900 so get some rest.” They scurry away, the Captain hesitating slightly, looking at you, before he ran off. Once they’re gone, you let out a gasp and clutch your right leg. It was killing you the entire time, but the anger had thankfully sheltered you from the pain. For a bit at least. You hobbled back inside and made your way to your assigned quarters.

You closed your door and leaned against it, savoring the darkness of your room. You had a headache coming on, and you were thinking about the mission. You pulled out your phone and texted Laswell.

You put your phone back into your pocket, not expecting a response. You shambled over to your bed and collapsed in it, exhausted. You weren’t going to worry about changing. Your eyes began to drift close, when you felt a buzz. You quickly pulled out your phone again.

You smiled at your phone. Setting it on your nightstand, you rolled over and pulled your blankets up to your chin. Letting out a sigh, you drifted off to sleep.

________________________________

After that mission, task force 125 treated you with respect. They executed every order you gave them as effortlessly as possible, and listened intently to your debriefs. You worked with them for about 2 months, before Laswell transfers you to another task force. You’re surprised when the team wishes you well, Captain Fischer giving you a hearty handshake as a goodbye.

For the next 6 months, you bounce between task forces, each one providing a new and more intense challenge from the last. You plan, strategise, and give orders effortlessly. You’ve had no casualties in any of the teams you’ve worked with. You began to develop a sort of reputation as this incredible strategist, the one who got things done without losing men. Eventually, you developed a codename, Harbinger.

Even with your reputation, you still couldn’t escape the judgemental gazes of the teams you worked with. Their eyes would immediately be drawn to your cane, to your limp. You could tell they wanted to ask, but no one ever did. You never gave them the chance.

One day, as you wrapped up a mission with your latest task force, 326, Laswell entered the intel room where you were monitoring the team's return.

“Oh, Laswell, nice to see you. What are you doing here?” You ask, turning away from the screens. She came to your side, and you saw her clutching a folder. She smiled at you and handed over the folder. You gave her a curious look, and opened the folder. Inside were four documents. You skimmed through them. They were files of the soldiers, John Price, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, John ‘Soap’ Mactavish, and Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. Your eyes widened slightly. These were the members of task force 141. You looked back at Laswell, who was smiling.

“You’re being transferred to task force 141 with me, L/N. This is your last mission with 326. Tomorrow we’re flying over to Greece where they’re stationed to meet them.” She said. Your jaw dropped. You’re going to be task force 141’s strategist, along with Laswell. The task force 141. You’ve heard the rumors about them, about their strength, resilience, and teamwork. They all moved together as one, and were considered unstoppable. You’d heard what they did with the Hassan mission. You studied their debriefs intently. And you were about to meet them.

“Are… Are you serious? Do you think I’m ready?” You ask. As excited as you are to work with such a strong team, you can’t help but feel a bit apprehensive. Are you skilled enough to be trusted with the lives of these soldiers?

“I’m certain of it. This is what I’ve been training you to do, remember? Since day one I’ve been wanting you on the team, but the higher ups wanted to be certain you were ready. You’ve proven to be more than skilled enough to work with task force 141.” Laswell says, smiling at you. You look back at the folder in your hands, thinking.

You look back at Laswell, determination present in your eyes. “What time do we leave?”

She smiles.

“That’s more like it.”

You hand her back the folder, and the two of you leave the room. You can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings to the table.

______________________________________________________________

Hiiii !!! I wanted to thank yall for your support of this series !!! Ive never had so much fun writing something before !!! Next chapter we'll see our task force 141 boys!!! Have a wonderful day !!! Ciao !!! <3

XOXOXOXOX <3

tagged people:

@sucka2me @deltottoro

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astarionz · 4 months

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not to talk abt it again but that “who’s the most sympathetic of the chosen of the dead three” poll really shows what happens when you dedicate an entire act to one of them that the other two feel lackluster in comparison.

bc i read through the tags and i was like “oh a lot of people don’t know gortash was sold to raphael and severely beaten everyday as a child” (bc you have to really go out of your way to figure shit out about him), and then ppl just don’t seem to think too deeply about orin, i feel. considering ppl think she’s less sympathetic than ketheric… o_o (u also have to go out of ur way to get some info abt her too)

#kind of interesting. i just wanted to comment on it again #txt #i could go on and on abt orin but sadly im at work

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morganofthewildfire · 1 year

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The Trouble With Tinder

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a rowaelin oneshot.... maybe

just a little fun au! parts of their job are inspired by The Hating Game

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If Aelin Galathynius was certain of anything in her life, it was that she hated Rowan Whitethorn.

A coworker at the same publishing firm as her, she’d known him for a few years at this point. And throughout those years, she hadn’t warmed up to him whatsoever.

They were technically at the same level, but he treated her like he was her boss, always assigning tasks and acting like he needed to double check her work. Acting like he was better than her. It was infuriating.

But she needed this job too much to quit, so she had to just deal with it.

“Aelin?” The receptionist, Elide’s, voice crackled through the intercom in her office. “Rowan’s asking for you.”

But sometimes, it was harder to deal with than others.

“Okay, thanks Elide,” Aelin called back, huffing through her nose. She was being summoned, like a fucking animal. But instead of just protesting and staying put, she pushed out of her chair roughly, stomping to the door in her excessively tall stiletto heels.

Flowy pants, a silky tank top, and heels. It was pretty much a variation of the same outfit every day, and she always felt powerful in it. Powerful, yet feminine, two attributes that were not contradictory.

And in her feminine outfit, she traveled over to one of two doors in her office. One led out to the main room, where most of the other desks were situated, her team of publicists working on their own work assignments. She and Rowan were both co-managers of the department, Rowan heading up more of the editorial side of things while she worked more on marketing. They both delivered reports of the company’s progress to their managers, the Executives whose offices were upstairs.

This quarter's report was undoubtedly what he wanted to talk to her about.

So she went through the second door, which unfortunately connected right to Rowan’s adjoining office. She didn’t like being that close, but as their positions were close, the access was necessary.

“What, Whitethorn?” Aelin asked drily, pushing open the door and leaning against it. Like always, her heart stuttered a bit when she looked at him. He was just sitting at his desk, in his white button down and his smooth backed silvery hair.

He looked like he did everyday, but that was the problem. He was hot.

Dangerously hot. And wickedly intelligent, though she didn’t like to admit it, which nearly attracted her as much as his looks did.

But he was a major asshole, so she was able to push aside whatever lingering attraction she had.

Especially when Rowan gestured idly to the chair in front of his desk, making her fume at the dismissive nature of it. Making sure her indignation was known, she swayed over there, sitting down roughly and crossing her legs, leaning back into the chair and bouncing her foot.

“I read your part of the report you sent over,” Rowan said, still typing away on his laptop, not looking at her.

“Okay,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “And?”

“It’s fine,” he said, flatly, but she could hear the judgment in it.

“Fine?” She questioned, raising a brow. And he finally looked up from his laptop, pausing in his work and leaning back in his chair.

“There’s a few weak areas that I tagged and emailed back to you,” he said, and she felt that familiar burst of anger.

“I sent that to you as a favor so we could make sure we’re on the same page,” Aelin spit, crossing her arms. “Not so you could check my work like you’re my teacher.” Rowan narrowed his eyes.

“When someone’s work is known to be a little lackluster, it’s best for everyone to make sure that it’s adequate,” he said, smiling smugly.

“You bas-” she started to curse, until he cut her off.

“Language, Galathynius,” he chastised, returning to his laptop. “We’re in an office, we have to be civilized.” Oh if she could say what she really wanted to right now…

“I’m not making the changes you’re suggesting,” Aelin said instead, her jaw clenched. “My work is fine. And I’m sure our bosses will agree.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, closing the lid of his laptop. “Whatever you say, Galathynius,” he said, sliding his laptop into his bag. “If you want to keep shoddy work, that’s on you. I’ll just look better for the upcoming promotion.” Oh fuck him. That was another reason tension was so high between them, there was the promise of a promotion hanging in the balance, a promotion to the executive team instead of lower management.

Both of them were under consideration for it, but only one of them could get the job.

Aelin wasn’t necessarily obsessed with the idea of it, really her dream was to be an author, and publish books of her own. But it was better than where she was at now, and she couldn’t stand the idea of Rowan being her boss.

“Where are you going?” Aelin interrupted her own train of thought, realizing he was standing up and packing. “It’s lunchtime.”

“None of your business,” he said, shooting her an odd look as he walked toward the door. “Just worry about your own work.” He pushed open the office door, unable to resist shooting one last retort at her. “It needs it.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Aelin sitting there alone.

She needed a fucking drink.

--------

She did in fact get a drink. Her best friend Lysandra left work early and came over to her apartment at her insistence, where they drank wine and got ready before going out and getting more drunk than Aelin had been in months.

But she needed it. Desperately. Especially if she’d be working overtime next week to fix her already perfect work. Except it wasn’t perfect. After his dismissal in his office, she’d gone back and looked at the changes he’d suggested to her part of their presentation. And unfortunately - he was right. She’d missed some important pieces, and overemphasized pieces that they didn’t need to highlight.

His suggestions made it stronger. Which pissed her off.

She started cursing him under his breath as she fought with her keys to unlock her front door. She and Lys had taken an Uber home, and now all she wanted to do was just collapse into her bed.

Aelin finally managed to get the door open, after several minutes of rattling the handle, and then she stumbled inside, shutting and locking it behind her. She rubbed her face idly as she maneuvered into her bedroom, smearing her already ruined makeup.

She flopped onto her fluffy bed, kicking off her heels idly as she sunk into the way too comfortable comforter. Damn Rowan. Damn his perfect eyes and his perfect tattoo and his perfect muscles. And his perfect ability to make her lose her temper.

She hated him.

With the alcohol coursing through her, she reached for her phone, barely able to see the screen through her bleary, mascara coated eyes as she unlocked it. Her dress was riding up her thighs, her face partially covered by a fluffy pillow as she scrolled through her apps, looking for something to distract her until she inevitably fell asleep.

Instagram, Twitter, that random game she’d downloaded after an ad had convinced her to… so many options.

But her self-sabotaging self decided to click on Tinder.

Tinder.

It was 2 am on a Saturday night, or Sunday morning depending on how you looked at it. Anything on Tinder right now was just an absolutely horrible idea. But she was ready to make an absolutely horrible decision.

The first face she saw was handsome enough. A little boring maybe, with brown hair and brown eyes, and a down to earth, rugged look that would have suited her back in high school but not now. Chaol Westfall. He was six feet, according to him, and was a cop.

At that, she swiped left.

She didn’t need to date another cop.

The next face caught her eye. He was more classically handsome, with black hair and bright blue eyes. And a wicked grin that made him look like he could keep up with her mischief and relish in doing it. Dorian Havilliard was his name.

Nope. She recognized that last name. She didn’t need a daddy’s boy or a nepo baby in her life. Rich maybe, yes. But spoiled. And that would irritate her.

Left.

She huffed as she scrolled through an uncountable number of faces, swiping left, left, left, for all of them. Until -

Green eyes. Distinctive silvery hair. That tattoo.

His first picture was a simple one, a candid of him with his hands in his pockets, clearly turning to someone off screen and laughing. His face was brighter than she ever saw it, and something in her chest warmed and unfurled. Must be the shots.

She scrolled down in his profile, glancing over the information. It was all stuff she knew. Where he worked: with her; how tall he was: a delicious 6’4”; where he was from: Doranelle; whether he was a dog person or a cat person: dog. Their only neutral territory was her dog, Fleetfoot. He pretended not to care whenever she’d show pictures of her to other coworkers, cooing over how cute she was, but Aelin would catch him peering over someone’s shoulders, hoping for a look.

And she knew for a fact he had a picture of his own dog framed and on his desk.

And there the dog was, in the next picture on his profile. He was crouching down on what looked like a dock at a lake, posing with his adorable terrier mix of a dog, smiling yet again.

And shirtless.

She was way too drunk for this. So drunk she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his tan, mouthwatering, skin. He was so godsdamned muscular, with a godsdamned six pack, and arms. He could totally lift her and press her against a wall, and throw her on the bed without exerting any sort of effort at all.

And the tattoo. She only ever got a glimpse of it out of the collar and sleeve of his work shirts, but here it was in all of its glory. Black, swooping ink, tracing down those muscles of his. She wanted to trace every inch of it with her tongue.

She’d start there, before going down his chest, laving over every inch of his abs, hands running up and down that smooth skin before dipping into the waistband of his pants, taking his whole length into her mouth, playing with him until he came down her throat…

Gods. She needed to fucking stop.

But the heat was already racing through her, pooling uncomfortably in her core. Her toes curled in her sheets, biting her lip as she stared at the screen.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was her infuriating thumb, but before she could change her mind, she swiped right.

Her eyes went wide as it loaded, her heart thumping in her chest until it stopped completely as her phone lit up with a truth she couldn’t comprehend.

You have a match!

-----

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