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bahrtofane · 1 month

Text

promises under the stars

It's strange. When kisses under stairwells and behind his parents house turns to no more than passing gazes. To hatred. But this is the life you live, the life you have chosen. So you live. You will live.

Jude x fem!reader

Word count - 6.3K+ (yikes !!)

Watch it - angst with minimal fluff. enjoy ?

p.s. - i took a few creative liberties with the time lines an what not so plz take it with a grain of salt and dont think too deeply about it thank u

you can read Judes pov here !

—-----

“Jude, “ you sigh. He doesn't look at you, he's afraid of what he’ll see and you know it.

It's a warm summer night, and you sit side by side on the bleachers of his training field. You waited for hours for him to be done, all for just a few moments together. In full honesty, you're not even supposed to be here, you've been threatened from both sides. And even family overseas have joined in. it's a mess. You think you told them you were off to the library, something like that.

You pulled so many strings just to be let inside to watch training, likewise for Jude. But you're here, he's here. That's all that matters.

Only the lights on the field illuminate you, but you have memorized his face to need no light to see him. Your fingers grab into the seat under you, knuckles turning white. You're afraid. Oh so afraid.

“Please,” you try again, soft and steady, patient.

He finds the courage to face you, ripping himself from the doubt that surrounds him.

You are what plants him to reality, keeps him steady. Your smile is enough to calm any worry, wave away any woe. He hates what he has to do.

“You know this is the last time I’ll see you,” he mumbles. He can't keep risking things the way they are. There's so many eyes on you as it is. He won't put you into harm's way, even if it means parting ways to do so. He wrings his hands together. Breathe, he tries to remind himself. Breathe.

You nod, swift and curt, “I know.” oh how you know. You've been dreading this day to come for a while now. And now that it's here, what can you do?

He picks at the cuffs of his training jacket,“I told them I would marry you, but my agent said it would be unwise.”

“You would marry me?” you whisper, eyes wide.

“A thousand times over. “ he finds your hand, gently lacing it together.

“I wish things were different.” a knot in your throat forms, and tears well in your eyes.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, gently bringing you snug against him as you sob. You will never understand why your families are so adamantly against you two all of the sudden. Your whole childhood was filled with teasing and jokes of marrying one another, giggles when you would be forced to stand in pictures, but now that it was to be true suddenly the jokes faded and anger took its place.

He is good for you as you are good for him. Jude is a man like no other, patient, caring, kind, soft and easy to you yet firm to all else. He holds each door open, never forgets flowers, even when he's away. Surprises you with your favorite sweets, never misses a good night or good morning text. Buys you things you mentioned casually in a fleeting conversation, all because it comes from your lips. If you were to wish for the world he would buy it all, tied neatly and delivered to your window sill.

He takes each burden off your mind with a smile, carries your things, sends a ride to any place you wish to be. (he's working on the actual license).

You fully expected your families to be static, jumping for joy and diving straight to wedding planning. Instead you were met with a brisk, “no.”

No? No to the man who has overtaken your heart and mind? No to the man who wishes to see your flourish and bloom in every regard, every aspect, every part of life? It's cruel in a way. You once used to grimace at the idea when you were younger, fake gagging and instead choosing to wrestle with him in the grass. And now you beg to be allowed to see him.

To ban your union is one thing, but to see him at all brings too much weight on your heart.

You fought every step of the way, every step until now. It gets to be too much at a certain point, when you have to watch your very move in fear of being caught, of being seen with him. When eyes wash over you with lips upturned in sneers and whispers soon following.

The delicate facade you've built is beginning to crack at the seams. Soon there will be nothing left to keep you together. You fear going mad.

So you choose to let him go.

Your phone buzzes, prying the two of you apart. Your heart leaps to your throat. Have you been found out ?

It's just a twitter notification.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. He rubs gentle circles on your knee. His hands are warm. Just like you remember, just like you dream of. In the gentle quiet of your room you close your eyes and wish for him.

“We can't see each other but I want to keep in touch. I'll wait for you. If you'll wait for me.” he whispers.

You see the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Ever thoughtful Jude, waiting for you to finish crying to allow himself to do so.

“I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. “ you nod, leaning on his shoulder.

And you do just that.

Youre forced apart when a teammate tells him to get going.

He scowls, “hold on.”

The teammate, whose name alludes you, shrugs and jogs back inside.

You stand, watching him shake the tension out of his shoulders.

“This is it then,” you mumble, lip quivering.

“Yeah,” he takes your hands in his, “guess so.”

You bit your lip to stop any more cries. He unlatches a hand from yours, brining it to cup your face gently, wiping the streaks of dried treats left on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he leans down, pressing a single kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” you nod, chasing his lips. He gives them to you. Soft and easy. You screw your eyes shut. Oh you're crying again.

You part when you can no longer breathe, foreheads pressed together while your chests heave.

“My angel,” he sobs.

“Ill find a way back,” you kiss his cheek.

He nods, here,” shaking his training jacket off and putting it on you.

Someone yells his name and he sighs. One last kiss to your forehead.

You watch him sprint down the stands, giving you one last smile before disappearing in the tunnel.

—--

Dortmund is kind to him, you watch as you flourish on the field, never missing a game. You know it's too much to go in person so you stay tucked into bed, laptop out and always always waiting for his name to be announced. Giddy as he looks at the camera. Some days you even convince yourself he's looking right at you.

He calls when he can, facetime you when he's at the facilities. Obnoxiously flexing to the camera while you laugh. You treasure these moments. The few minutes a day when the time difference allows for an overlap. Just enough to get you through to the next day. He always blows a kiss to the camera, and you alway catch it. No matter how cheesy.

“I stubbed my toe.” he whines on the other end.

You laugh, “and whose fault is that.”

“Yours.” he decides.

“Uh huh.” you shake your head fondly, raising a brow at your phone that sits on a window sill. Today you're at a cafe getting some work done. And he just finished dinner.

“Think you'll be able to come to a game soon?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

You stop typing, frowning, “Jude…”

He shakes his head, “I'm sorry. I know. We can't.”

“Maybe in a year or so? Things should be cooled down by then.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, “they still giving you a hard time?”

You blow air through your nose, “hard time is an understatement, they've practically banned sports.” making light of the outrages situation helps you feel better some days. Jude joining in helps. He always helps.

“So dramatic.” he tuts.

You nod, “so dramatic.”

—--

The year comes and goes. The texts slow down till they are few and far inbetween. You can't blame him. You watch him dominate the field in each appearance, breaking records and showing the world what you've always known, showing just how special he is.

His following count skyrockets and he gets a blue check. You feel special to be one of the few he follows. No matter how silly. Even when he doesn't reply to you and posts on his story you try not to take it too hard (you let it get to your head on bad days.)

You wait for each reply patiently like a lifeline nonetheless, connecting the two of you together. You drop everything the moment his name flashes on the screen. You try to ease the butterflies that float and twist in your stomach, the jitters that make it hard to type out responses right. But you can't help it.

He wins the German cup. And you get a call late into the night, bleary as you reach for your phone, groaning while you put it to your ear. Skipping over his face that illuminates the screen, smiling. Cheeks flush and eyes blown wide.

He giggles, “hi.”

“Hi,” you mumble back.

He giggles again, “m in your ear.”

You squint, bringing the phone in front of you and getting your first good look of him of the night.

“Hey Jude.”

“Hey love.” he sighs dreamily.

You come to your senses soon enough, scooting to sit upright, pushing your pillows around getting comfortable.

“Are you drunk?” You laugh.

“Shhh…” he puts a finger to his lips, “secret.”

You raise a brow, “you’re not doing a very good job at keeping it that way.”

Bursts of laughter bubble from his lips. Swaying side to side while. He blinks, hard, mouth open while he stares.

“ ‘M fine.” He nods. Proud of himself.

You frown, “Are you going to be okay? Are you alone?”

“Erlings with me. My best roommate.”

“Okay good. Be safe.”

“You’re so pretty.” Is what he manages to get out.

“Thank you. You should go to bed.” You smile. He’s sweet, no matter how drunk.

“But I missed you.” He pouts, bottom lip quivering and for a second you think he’s about to cry. Instead he blows a kiss to you. Of course you catch it.

“I missed you too. But it’s late, for both of us.” You lean against your pillow, blinking against the dark of your room.

He hums, tapping his finger against his chin. “I won the cup.” He blurts.

“I know love. I watched.”

His eyes go wide, “you watched me.”

You nod, “the whole game.”

He scrunches his nose, “wow.”

“You did amazing.”

“Wow.” He repeats.

You yawn, squinting against the time in the little corner of your phone.

“Jude.”

“Hm?”

“Head to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

He sighs, shoulders sagging, “fine.”

“I love you. “

He perks right back up. “I love you. You. You.”

You give him a little kiss to the screen and he manages to fall back on his bed sighing happily. You hear erling come in and decide to hang up. You hope he manages to get out of his kit for the night.

——

Things start to calm down on your end. It's almost like everyone's choosing to forget about the hell they've put you through. But you don't make a fuss, you are happy to have peace of mind, no matter how fleeting it may seem. It's just one step closer to being able to have him. Fully and wholly.

He calls you early into the morning. He's sitting in his house, shirt off, smiling.

“Uh oh. What's this about? “

He only smiles wider, bringing an ipad out of nowhere and showing it to you.

You squint, “jude i can't see that. “

He huffs, “here,” picking up his phone and flipping the camera to where his ipad now sits on his lap.

On the screen reads flight information, for about 2 weeks out, destination is to you. Your eyes go wide and you hear him chuckle on the other end.

“No way. No way oh my god.” you all but squeal.

He flips the camera back around, “Can't wait to see you again,” he beams.

“I missed you so much.”

“Me too.” he mumbles, lips curling in a smile.

——-

You greet him at the airport, flowers in hand. No you don’t care how cheesy it is. Even if you have to wait in the most obscure place, car parked and nerves rising. Playing with every button and switch on your dashboard, picking at every spec of dust you can reach. You got it detailed yesterday and you’re already nitpicking.

You check and recheck your phone, picking at the petals of the flowers that rest in your passenger, until his contact illuminates your screen.

You frantically answer, “hey.”

“TSA was being a bitch.” He groans.

You chuckle, “that bad.”

“The worst. Where you at?”

You look around for signs, “arrivals, right next to the luggage cart return thing. It says door D5. “

“D5. Okay okay I’m coming.”

You hum, hanging up and drumming your hands on the wheel.

He calls you again, “okay I’m walking out the door. Can you help me with the luggage?”

“Yeah-“ you unbuckle your seatbelt, putting your hazards on and stepping out of the car. You see him walk out the door and you almost drop your phone while rushing up to him.

He lets go of his carry on, opening his arms and you slip right into them.

“Hey,” he hums into your hair.

You laugh,“hey.”

You unlatch far too soon for your liking out the sounds and rush of the airport pushes you to get him in your car and outta here.

You grab his things, one carry on and one checked bag, clicking your keys and opening your trunk. He doesn’t let you do much else, lifting the suitcase and sliding it inside. Your little 4 door sedan manages to fit the checked bag in your truck. With not enough room for the carry in, it slides into your back seat.

You close the door, patting the top of your car affectionately, “there. All good to go?”

He nods, opening the door to your passenger and gasping, “flowers?” Eyes going wide, eyebrows shooting in and looking at you. Lips parted.

Oh yes. You forgot about those. “Haha. Yeah. Flowers.”

He picks them up gingerly, setting them into his lap as he gets into the seat. “Are these for me?”

You hop to the driver's side, buckling your seatbelt, “duh.”

He giggles,”they’re sweet.”

“Smell them.”

He does, putting his face in the petals, “woah.”

“Best flowers in town.”

“Smells like. Fresh laundry.” He nods.

“Laundry. You called my flowers laundry.” You sigh.

He swats your arm, “it’s a compliment jeez. Just landed and you’re giving me a hard time.”

“Yeah yeah buckle up.” You flick his arm.

The ride home is one filled with animated stories to catch up the time between you two. Completely oblivious to anything else as you drive with one hand, and the other plays with his fingers.

You get to your little apartment, parking and getting his things out. Sliding your key card over the sensor and you guide him to the lobby.

You roll over to the elevator and hit the button. Sniffling while it heads up.

“Are you sick?” He narrows his eyes at you.

“Nah.”

“Mkay.”

The elevator dings and you find your way to your little home, unlocking the door and motioning him inside.

“Ta da!”

He snorts, “I’m excited.”

“You should be. Best house this side of the equator.”

He rolls his things inside, shaking his head, “so there’s better on the other side?”

You shrug, “there might be.”

He collapses on your couch the moment he sees it. Closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

“Shoes off at the door Jude.” You slide yours off and set them next to your shoe rack.

He groans, kicking them off and trudging back to set them next to yours.

By the time you put his things in your room, he's out like a light, snoring softly.

—--

You let him sleep, by the time he comes back to it it's dinner time. Groggy and cranky he pads over to your dining table, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes but reaching for you.

He finds you eventually, plating the last bit of food while he wraps his arms around you, leaning into your back. You stifle a laugh while he mumbles something about you being mean. You only roll your eyes, unlatching his grip.

“Time to eat baby.”

He only purses his lips, leaning against yours. You give him what he wants. Pressing a gentle kiss and guiding him to his seat. A sleep Jude is a clingy one you've learned.

He eats all you make, complimenting and praising you after every bite.

“You're so good at this.” he sighs, taking a sip of his water.

“Anything for my favorite boy.”

He preens at this, smiling wide.

He's only here for the next three days but you'll take anything you can get.

——-

Jude worries for you.

Even in the gentle lull of your ac that fans his face while you're fast asleep against him.

He wonders who much longer he can keep doing this. Holding onto hope that down the line he will still have you.

His time is running out with you. It feels just like the day you parted at the stadium. Crying. He noticed you kept the jacket, neatly tucked in your closet.

It makes him frown. Making you waste your youth waiting for him.

Part of him wants to keep you for him and only him. Keep waiting and hoping things will work out. Another part of him, much less excited, wishes for you to look him in the eye and tell him you don't love him anymore.

One of you has to do it, he thinks.

Even if you move in with him and you get married. Is it worth the fall out? His mother hates you. His father cant stand hearing your name at the dinner table on the few days they eat together.

He knows the sentiment is shared on your end.

But he loves you. Oh how he loves you.

—--

After he leaves you don't hear from him for months on end your worry rises, and when the replies also shorten, your fear takes a hold of you. Sensibility out the window and in comes every insecure thought.

He's found a hot shot model to be with hasn't he. Or better yet a female player. Reporter perhaps? You're not dumb or blind, you know you're not the only one who sees how handsome he is. He's growing into his features beautifully. But does he see you?

Is he leaving you behind now, as his life and career continue to accelerate at speeds you can barely keep up with, is he no longer waiting for you ?

—--

Jude finds his routine once again. Training playing, training playing. It's a little dull, he thinks.

Much better if you would be here.

But he can't have that.

He stops himself from talking to you. It feels wrong. He can't shake off the feeling that he's only doing you wrong by making you keep up with him. So he slowly distances himself.

—--

He cant stay away. Not even if he tries.

He surprises you near your birthday. Completely unannounced while you're in the middle of cleaning.

You open the door to a jittery Jude who grabs you close, pressing his lips firm to yours.

“Hello to you too,” you giggle in between kisses.

Peck! “You're so-” peck!, “beautiful.”

You shoo him away, getting his things inside as he takes his shoes off at the door.

“I missed you so much, “ he mumbles against the crook of your neck.

“Me too,” you sigh, clutching into his hands like a lifeline.

“I got you tickets?”

You look up at him, “okay. Ill go.”

He attacks you with a hundred more kisses, bursts of laughter spilling from the both of you. You dont think youve ever been happier.

—--

You do go. Sitting in the fancy VIP section while watching him warm up. You almost forgot he’s at Madrid now. Big leagues huh.

He sends small waves your way in between exercises. And you only watch fondly.

When it's time for the actual match, you can't believe you get to watch him score. And he points right to you.

You love him. Oh how you love him.

He finds you after it's all set and done. Kissing you silly while he ignores the hundreds of notifications that make his phone buzz and sputter on the table.

You frown, “who is that.”

He chews his lip, “prolly just the guys,” leaning back into your lips.

You're forced to part ways when the calls flood in, promising to see you soon when he takes care of things.

He doesn't come back to see you, instead leaving you to head back to your hotel alone. You try not to think too deeply into it. But you fear you are already starting to lose him. After everything really has passed and fizzled out to nothing but memories. You fear it's all too late.

—--

You see him only once more during your stay in madrid. When youre all packed and leaving. He presses kisses to your skin whispering promises. And you believe him.

When you land back home you go back to your routine of watching him from afar. And again the replies shorten. So much so you only get the odd text every few weeks. Until it turns to months. And you're back to radio silence.

It's almost a self pity party, trying to keep up with him. Even now that you can go see him, he can come see you, does he even want that anymore?

You crave to talk to him, to know him, to go back to the closeness you once shared. You know that's no longer your place in his life. You were someone he once treasured. Now you're another unanswered dm that lays in his inbox.

Does it hurt you as much as it does him? You don't think so. Not when pictures of him on vacation with his “friends” surface. Who even are these people? You don't recognize a single face. It fills you with rage.

Almost like he's trying to erase his past life with this new squeaky clean image of the perfect player with the perfect life. Friends and all.

Is he ashamed of you?

You fight the urge to call his mom and stir up trouble from the past. So instead you hunker down in your room and try to keep yourself busy and mind off of Jude. This turns out to be much easier said than done.

—--

Jude finds himself in another after party, wearing clothes much too expensive to be getting champagne sprayed all over them. But what else can he do?

He crafted this image delicately. Can't turn back now.

There's a woman who keeps whispering into his ear. She's not you. No matter how much his teammates howl and egg him on. He can't bring himself to do so much as face her.

He's not interested, gently moving her aside while he nurses his drink.

She scoffs, calling him a slew of names. He frowns, excusing himself and making a beeline for the bathrooms. Locking himself inside a stall and leaning on its walls.

He calls you. Of course he does. And you pick up.

“Hey Jude.” he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Hey love.”

“What's up?”

He sighs, long and drawn out, “I just miss you.”

You snort, “really because it seems like you've been having a blast on beaches with people i've never heard of.”

Oh.

“It's not like that-”

“Jude. don't lie to me. If you've found someone else, tell me now.”

“I havent I swear. They really are just friends.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were going?” you whisper.

There's a beat of silence. And Jude can't find the answer. Looking at the ceiling of the club like it will magically come to life and give him just the right combination of words to make both of you happy.

You sigh, “if we are going to make anything work I can't be out of the loop this much Jude. I can't know things after paparazzi do okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, meek.

“Where even are you?”

He licks his lips, “this after party thing.”

“Its in a club isn't it.”

He doesn't answer but it's confirmation nonetheless.

“Dont be stupid and start calling me more.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but you've already hung up. He rubs his eyes and head out the stall. Washing his hands and splashing some water on his face.

When he gets back out there, he decides to call it a night. Ignoring the groans and frowns he gets.

When he's back in bed. He's looking at flights to see you again.

—--

Jude gets a call a few weeks later.

It's right after he gets back from training. Hasn't even changed yet.

The number is unknown and he ignores it the first time. Setting his phone on the dinning table and kicking his shoes off.

When it calls back two more times he picks up.

“Hello?” he scratches the back of his head.

“You know why im calling.” its your father.

Jude scrambles to take a seat, chewing his lips. What does he mean know why. He hasn't talked to you in a few days.

“Um, I really don't know-” he gets cut off.

“This will be my last warning to you. You are not going to ruin my daughter's life i dont give a damn how old you are, how old she is. None of this player nonsense. She has a proper education. You aren't going to ruin that for her, do you understand?”

Silence.

“I swear if I hear you coming around her or talking to her I will sue you and your whole family.”

The line goes dead and Jude sighs. Great. Just great.

He calls his lawyer, seeing if it would be legal to sue.

His lawyer hums, “well they can come at you from any angle really. Emotional distress possible defamation. Id lay low for now.”

So he does just that. Yet again going silent on you.

—--

He hears wind that people have put two and two together. Your instagram has been flooded with requests. You've always had it private but you've been forced to change your user name and picture.

You don't know how but pictures from when you saw him in Madrid have resurfaced.

And have gone more than just viral. It's all people are talking about.

Your work life has gone from just pleasantries and work only talk to people crowding around you begging to know more. You've had people show up to your workplace for god's sake. Begging to be let in so they can see you.

Jude calls you, worried. “I'm so sorry I don't know how pics were even taken. I'm so sorry im so sorry.”

“I don't know what to do Jude i've never dealt with this kinda stuff.” you mumble.

“Hey, hey its okay. Ill get you in contact with a security company dont worry leave it to me.”

“Okay.”

“For now. I dont think ill be able to see you anytime soon.”

“Thats okay.”

“Be safe yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—--

Your family is in a complete uproar. They blame Jude. of course they do. Your father talks about suing him but you turn it down.

“He didnt mean for this to happen.”

Your mother shakes her head, “this is why we told you to stay away from him.”

You dont regret any moments with him.

It takes a while. A grueling few months for your life to finally go back to normal. But Jude rarely comes back like before.

You watch the months turn to years flashing by. Facetimes become a luxury of your past self. Calls are reserved for special occasions like an aged wine. Only brought out sparelily. You get one on your birthday but it feels forced. Heavy and filled with all too much silence.

You've tried calling, texting. Rarely receiving the time of day. Who is Jude to you anymore?

“Hey, “ he smiles. A picture perfect rehearsed one. You almost forgot what he sounded like when speaking to you. How long has it been now?

“Hi.” You mumble.

“Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

You shrug, “it’s okay.”

Silence while you pick your nails.

“Any plans?”

“I don’t know, maybe dinner with friends.”

“Oh Emily?”

You want to roll your eyes. You haven’t spoken to Emily in years.

“No Jude. We’re not in touch anymore. New friends I’ve met”

He mouths a silent “oh”.

He wants to tell you why he's been gone for so long. But unfortunately he's caught up in a legal battle. Your father actually went ahead with it. And he's stuck trying to make sense of it.

The maniac got good lawyers. And he's using every last bit of the law to win it. Using the leaked pictures that caused you so much trouble as his main leverage.

He's been advised not to talk to you. But it's your birthday. And now seeing you moved on, new friends, new life. It feels like it's time to let go.

For your sake. He's only brought problems into your life. And you live a life now without him. He just hopes you're happy.

—--

You see him once, passing by through the city center. You want to run after him, grab his shoulders and shake him awake, scream and yell, beg for him to remember your promise. But you do none of that. The second your gaze meets his, your heart leaps to your throat, you blink and he's gone.

You get a text from him a few days later, first since your birthday.

Was nice seeing you.

You want to cry. What did he see? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It wasn't nice. Not at all. It was awful. It ripped any piece of sense out of you and made you sick.

You dont reply.

—--

You wish you had. He gets called to the national team, and suddenly your family begins to boast of your connection to him. And that's just it. Your connection. Not theirs. Yours. You know him, you love him. Or you knew him.

After so many years of cursing his name now they all but sing it.

The local community is hosting watch parties, you refuse to go.

You know the gossip around you as is. You don't need it said to your face. These people are unforgiving on their best days, cruel on their worst. More so the older generation who seems to hold not an ounce of basic human decency.

And somehow you find yourself in a room painted in blue and white, you look away at the stares you get when you walk in. You're regretting coming at all. You're wearing a blank jersey you've had for a while, slumped in the corner of the room, watching. Waiting for the comments to pour in sooner or later.

But they don't, not for now. Instead, the room erupts with cheers and applause as Jude scores a goal, you smile. Not bad for a midfielder huh. The air is electric with excitement, but you feel detached, as if you're watching the scene unfold from a distance, picking at the plate of sweets that rests on your knee.

As the game progresses, you can't help but steal glances at Jude on the screen. He looks different now, more confident, more assured. He's cut his hair, clean and precise. And yet, there's a sadness in his eyes that mirrors your own.

You wonder if he thinks of you, if he remembers the promise he made all those years ago. Has it really been years? But the thought is fleeting, lost amidst the chaos of the crowd and the weight of your own heartache. And soon I have a headache.

When the final whistle blows and England emerges victorious, the room erupts into celebration once again. But you slip out quietly, unnoticed, lost in your own thoughts.

Outside, the night air is cool against your skin as you make your way home. You're not waiting on anyone, and it's a short walk away. The streets are quiet, the sounds of celebration fading into the distance.

You pause for a moment, taking in the stillness of the night. And in that moment, you make a decision.

You may not have chased after him when you had the chance, but you refuse to let this be the end of your story. You refuse to let fear and doubt hold you back any longer. There is no use to let yourself be defined by what ifs.

With a determined step, you pull out your phone and type out a message to Jude.

Watched you play tonight. I'm proud of you.

It's a small gesture, but it's a start. And as you hit send, you feel a glimmer of hope stir within you.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn't goodbye after all. Maybe there's still a chance for the two of you to find your way back to each other, to rewrite the ending of your story.

But for now, all you can do is wait. Wait for his reply, wait for the future to unfold, and wait for the day when you can finally be together again, without fear or hesitation. In a way he'll always be your Jude.

——

News reaches you in the form of an instagram post on a summer day. Not family, not friends, not him. It’s your explore page that plasters it on your screen, in the middle of your morning routine you see him all tidied up in a suit, facing away from the camera, the side of his face illuminated by soft light. Next to his side is a woman in white, you only see a peek of her face but you call tell shes smiling.

“Just married.”

Married. Just. Married.

Oh.

You don't register it at first, the words looking more like a foreign language than any coherent sentence. So you finish brushing your teeth and your hair. Moisturizing your face, slipping back into bed and rereading it over and over and over again till it finally does click for you.

He gave up on waiting.

You keep going back to the picture. He's grown into a proper man now. His features are full and bright. He's gotten a different haircut. Leaving behind the one of his youth. You read through the comments of teammates and old friends congratulating him.

You realize the tie he's wearing is the one his dad got him when he first left for dortmund. You think you're gonna be sick.

No one bothers to ask why you've been crying all day. It's safe to assume everyone knows by now, hell the whole population probably does.

What changed his mind? What made it that he couldn't even bother to let you know beforehand?

And yet there's a stupid prick of hope that can't seem to go away. You're still waiting for him aren't you.

—--

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, the reality of his marriage settles heavily on your shoulders. You can't help but wonder if he thinks of you, if he remembers the promises made under the stars, if he regrets the choice he made. But you push those thoughts aside, burying them deep within you, because what good would they do?

A sick twisted idea of wrecking his home blooms in your mind, but you know you can't. You just can't. Not to him. You can't take away something like this from him.

Life goes on, as it always does, but the ache in your chest remains, a constant reminder of what could have been. You try to distract yourself with work, with friends, with anything that will keep your mind from wandering back to him. Yet, he's always there, lingering in the back of your thoughts like stardust.

You hear snippets of his life through mutual acquaintances, through social media posts, through the grapevine of gossip that always seems to find its way to you. He's thriving, it seems, his career reaching new heights, his personal life seemingly content. Apparently he has a kid on the way, would you look at that. And you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. To top it all off you still have no clue on who this woman is. Not who she is, what she does, where she's from. Absolutely nothing, it drives you mad to say the least.

He hasn't spoken to you. Not since that day in the city center.

Maybe if you would have known all that was to come you would've gone after him. Chasing him endlessly through cobblestone stress and crowded walkways. Would he have even stopped? Given you a moment of his day?

The same man who spent his days off in your apartment kissing your worries away and promising you a tomorrow you still cling to.

You're a foolish foolish woman. And for some reason, you don't hate him. You don't think you ever could. Even after everything, every single year that's passed. A part of you will always love him.

—--

#jude x you #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #bahr footy #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude x y/n #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff

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genshin-impact-unofficial · 5 months

Text

💘~Let me see you~💘

Genshin men brushing your hair away from your face.

Ft. Itto, Diluc, Xiao, Tighnari

Tags: long-haired!reader, pre-relationship, huge crushes, fluff, meet cutes, a little gaslighting for flavor, flustered dorks, extremely PG here just sweet torturous pining. Note: I'm back! If this looks familiar than it probably is. Other than a few tweaks, this is a repost from my old blog! I will be posting my old stuff and working on new things too! Enjoy!

Itto

Listen…. This man’s impulse control is ZERO. So reaching out and tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear was never a second thought.

Itto has always been a touchy person. You are no stranger to being included in elaborate handshakes, crushing hugs, palm aching high-fives, and the occasional holding of the hand while he leads you to the next bout of mischief the gang is getting into.

This touch tho….. was so much softer than you've ever thought the oni capable of. You'd question whose hands they were if not for the soft graze of Itto’s long pointed nails.

It's not weird unless you make it weird...... Please don't make it weird.

If you point out the gesture, he insists that he was just helping a homie out. Bro is DENSE, absolutely clueless that he has a big ol' crush.

Everyone in the Arataki gang was dying to know what would happen next in the newest adventure novel from Yea Publishing House. This volume of the popular story had just been released and if they weren’t quick enough it was bound to sell out! Sure, it was only going to take a couple days to restock but the spoilers were guaranteed to be all over the streets by then. Itto was at the forefront of the line, insisting the whole gang camp out early to snag one. It became evident that this is where the Oni’s foresight had ended. The rowdy bunch was standing in front of the seller when the realization had hit; you were all too broke to get copies. In an act of impulse desperation, you had the bright idea to ban together. One by one, members emptied each of their wallets of what little mora they had. You could hear the grumbles and complaints from other people waiting in line as you quickly added it all up. Shinobu would definitely scold you all if she there and not caught up in ‘cool ninja stuff’ as Itto calls it. You proudly announced it was enough for one volume.... and a couple snacks. Overall, a complete success in Itto's book!

“Great going Y/N! We have the next volume of ‘I Stubbed My Toe And Became A Vampire Magical Girl In Another World’ AND we have enough tri-colored dango to go around! See? What did I tell ya? We keep nothing but the best here in the Arataki gang!” The oni bragged with the widest grin stretching from ear to ear. He laughed as he wrapped one beefy arm around you and punched the other triumphantly in the air. Itto’s energy was contagious and soon even you were also holding the book up and exclaiming with the others just how much the Arataki gang rules.

Broke and happy, the ban of hoodlums cheered for their victory and gathered on the beach. You’ve learned a thing or two since joining the Arataki gang, like how to get comfortable almost anywhere. You handled getting the bonfire going as Mamoru was already poking sticks through lavender melons. The rest of the guys were off grabbing makeshift seats like stumps or big rocks. It didn’t take long since this was far from their first rodeo. Once the fire was big and healthy, Itto boisterously bestowed upon you the honor of storyteller. The boys eagerly sat around the fire to finally enjoy the fruits of their labor. You chuckled at his antics and dove right into the first pages. You barely registered how Itto diligently chose the closest seat and hung off your every word. Everyone was a great audience, ooo's and ahh's were always right on cue.

The main character just discovered their newest magic vampire power and were heading into the heat of their latest battle when…. you froze. The words on the page stopped computing as soon as you felt a feather soft touch on your skin. Tentative fingers swept across your forehead and lingered for just a moment behind your ear. You must have been so caught up in the excitement that you didn't think to tie up your hair. It was spilling over your face while you were reading. When you glance over, you are met with Itto's complete and utter attention. His intensely crimson eyes are locked on only you, listening intently with a relaxed smile across his features. He looked at ease and entirely oblivious to the fact that he just made your heart skip a beat.

"Boss you can flirt with Y/N later! The big fight is about to happen!" Genta complained loudly, followed by agreeing groans from the rest of the boys.

"Pffft flirting?!?!? I was just looking out for my bud here! As a responsible leader of this crew its my responsibility to-... to make sure Y/N doesn't get hair in their mouth and choke! I just saved their life! It’s foresight like this that makes me qualified to be the head honcho around here!" Itto's ramblings got louder and more confident with each word, thoroughly doubling down on his point. The Oni stood at full height and began spewing his facts about the serious dangers of choking and the statistics of deaths by hair per year, most of which you were sure were untrue.

"Ok! Ok boss! Sure, please can we get on with the novel?" Akira groaned, not fooled for one second, but wanting so badly for it to end.

You put the bumbling man out of his misery and cleared your throat loudly. Itto’s ego was stroked enough and took the hint to settle down. The man reclaimed his spot next you without a fuss, his dopey smile returned yet again. You attempted to cover your heated cheeks with your book and willed yourself to forget the tingling on your skin where Itto's touch had lingered. You shook your head up clear your thoughts enough to get comfortable once again. There were still the final chapters to get through and the show must go on!

Diluc

LET ME TELL YOU! This man has TOO MUCH impulse control.

Diluc is so well-versed in etiquette and would never carelessly reach into someone's personal space without permission. Unless it’s a FIGHT.

Something about you makes all that etiquette go right out the window. He is doing it before he can think himself out of it.

He would scold himself for overstepping and possibly making you uncomfortable. He apologies earnestly, ever the gentleman.

Internally flustered, but hides it a little too well. Composure is this man's bread and butter after all.

Is acutely aware of the fondness they have for you. He often busies himself with other matters to keep from dwelling on it too much.

To say you bit off more than you could chew would be an understatement. The sack of potatoes you bought from Springvale looked deceptively light before. In your rush to get back to Dawn Winery, you didn't even think to use a wagon or bring any help. You were sure Adelinde was going to be so disappointed at how late you were.

As the newest maid, you were eager to prove yourself. Everyone at the manor was nice, but Master Diluc seemed particularly reserved with you. The master of the house was quite friendly at first, often sharing a few conversations with you as you cleaned around his office. You deliberated whether it was the vases of flowers you switched out in his office. Cecelias just seemed to brighten up the place more. Or maybe it was when you arranged his meals to resemble cute animals sometimes. But you only did that when you notice him having a particularly rough day! Ugh, he must think you're so unprofessional.

You let your thoughts wonder as you miserably carried your potato’s. Soon you felt your steps become sluggish and a slight tremble in your arms, signaling you couldn't go much further. The winery was still another half mile away but you had no choice. You slumped down in defeat on a near by rock. You were sure definitely going to be fired for this, how careless of you to not think ahead. Even if Diluc disliked you, you really enjoyed your time at the winery and getting to know everyone. You hung your head in shame, praying that you at least got to say goodbye to the rest of the staff before getting kicked out the manor.

"Y/N? Are you hurt?" A hand cut through your curtain of hair that blocked your view of the approaching figure. Gingerly, the gloved hand guided the strands away from your face and tucked them behind your ear. Diluc was crouching in front of you, his intense gaze scanned your features for discomfort.

"Master Diluc! No I'm alright! I'm so sorry I-" You quickly explained your situation and tried to stay focused while Diluc's gentle touch lingered on your skin. He seemed visibly relieved to learn you were unharmed. It was only then he noticed his encroachment. The man jerkily retracted his hand and leaned away to give you some space. The red haired man seemed alarmed for but a moment before clearing his throat to recompose himself.

"My apologies, I heard you gone alone to Springvale and had still not returned. This path can be dangerous when it gets late. I saw you crouched over and I thought.... Regardless I apologize for my boldness.” Diluc stated awkwardly. Despite his shyness, he still looked every part of a prince when he stood and offered you his hand.

“Thank you for being concerned.” You smiled and took his hand. “I’m just lucky to have such a thoughtful master! There was no need to come all the way out here for me.” You lied through your teeth and turned to attempt to lift the sack once again. Diluc cleared his throat and visibly clammed up once more. Wordlessly, he lifted the potatoes in your arms and began walking back to the winery. You tried insisting that you could do it, but he stubbornly declined and refused to meet your gaze. It was quite endearing to see the confident master of the dawn winery made such a bashful gesture. Perhaps your boss didn’t dislike you as much as you think....

Xiao

Be nice. Dude doesn’t understand the intimacy of the gesture. Why are you suddenly acting so strange?

Xiao was just annoyed that it was in the way. As a man of action, it was only natural to moved it. It is nothing more.

He wasn’t going to let a strand of hair keep him from looking at your face. Why is that such a big deal? Why are you red? He’s just telling you the truth.

Nah, it was you and your mortal reactions that is making him flustered. It was you staring at him with those big cute mortal eyes that’s causing this. It has to be, there’s no other explanation. (Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss)

Is either clueless or refuses to connect the dots that he likes you a lot. Its probably a mixture of both.

Working at the Wangshu Inn came with a few perks and stargazing after your shift was by far your favorite. The view, sounds, and atmosphere were wonderful. And it wasn’t just anywhere that you also get a quality companion to share it with. You had just settled in and laid the two plates of almond tofu next to you. It took but a few moments from when his name left your lips for Xiao to appear. The stoic man wordlessly walked over and took his usual seat nearby. Routine took over from there but getting to this point was akin to pulling teeth.

Xiao was annoyed when you initially took a liking to his vantage point. The adeptus could see all the surrounding hillychurl camps from the spot you insisted on sitting at for hours. He took no joy in intimidating humans, but his looming presence usually worked to deter mortals from he didn’t want them to be. Imposing aura or not, everyone has to share. You stubbornly stood your ground and stated the roof was plenty big enough for the two of you. Xiao would never resort to physically moving you, therefore was forced to relent. He remained out of sight but you sometimes caught glimpses of him when he would arrive there first. You couldn’t help the small inkling of guilt in your chest from forcing the other out of the spot. You really didn’t mind sharing. As a peace offering you began to leave small gifts behind. Sometimes they were small trinkets, some folded origami, or occasionally fruits and other snacks. When you saw your gifts still there, you would simply take it and replaced it with something else. It took nearly two months but when you returned to see your gift gone for the first time, you couldn’t help but smile the rest of the night. It became like a habit, not unlike befriending a crow.

Learning Xiao took a liking to almond tofu was the real game changer. You made your best effort to cook the dish yourself, cutting no corners. When you left the meal box there you expected it to be like the other gifts that disappeared into the night. It was a shocking to see something in return the next day. It took only a few more days for the yaksha to finally cave and joined you. He primarily insisted that you didn’t have to keep making your offerings. You laughed when the realization hit you. You spent the last months quite literally making offerings to an adeptus, praying for forgiveness.

Over time, the company became expected on the rooftop and the silence was comfortable. When conversation was sparked it flowed naturally and cemented an unlikely friendship. Although friendlier, Xiao could still be blunt and dismissive at times. It happened especially when he became frustrated with understanding mortal’s ever changing customs.

“You can’t just hold people’s faces like that!” You squeak, hiding your burning face in your hands.

“I wasn’t holding your face. I was moving your hair away, its blowing everywhere. I can’t even see you when its this windy. You should be wearing it up so I can look at you while you’re talking.” Xiao responded defensively but his tense tone didn’t match the words leaving his mouth. It especially contrasted the way he had used both his hands to smooth down your hair on each side, pausing to look back into eyes. When his stare hadn't let up, you were the one to break away. Your heart was damn near about to beat out of your chest.

“That’s something that.... lovers do! It’s embarrassing in this context.” You try to explain, noticing his frustration. Xiao’s eyes widened just a tad before avoiding eye contact altogether and crossing his arms.

“That doesn’t make sense. Just forget it happened then and keep telling your story about the inn guest.” The yaksha stated, grabbing his plate and turning away as he listened. The moon was just full enough for you to spot a small dusting of pink on Xiao’s ears. You decided to show him mercy and didn’t push it further. After all, it would probably take weeks of offerings for him to forgive you for teasing him.

Tighnari

No sweat. Doesn’t even bat an eye at the physical contact. He’s just being practical.

It doesn’t stop there. This dude will give you a whole up-do. It’s dangerous to keep your hair loose like that in the forest. He’s seen plenty of cases.

Your safety comes first and foremost. As soon as Tighnari notices it obstructed your vision he is on it. He’s surprisingly good at styling it too. Its not unlike braiding ropes and vines.

More insistent than normal on the matter. He claims it’s because you’re still relatively new to the forest. But other forest watchers may beg to differ.

He considers you a good friend, but it does confuse him when he notices these odd waves of protectiveness. It’s something he’s going to have to research further before coming to any solid conclusions.

There is extensive in-depth training that each forest ranger must go through before being allowed to step foot outside the marked trails of the Avidya Forest. It was grueling, but totally worth it when you saw you were finally scheduled for your first real patrol! As part of training, Forest Watcher Tighnari was assigned to accompany you and show you the ropes. You meticulously poured your lesson notes and made sure you had all necessary equipment on hand. Tighnari was the best there was and there was a part of you that really wanted to impress him. He was sure to quiz you right? There is no way he would let someone into the dangerous parts of the forest without being sure that you knew your stuff right? Nerves were definitely getting the better of you.

In hindsight it was quite silly to have worried so much. Tighnari was surprisingly easy to get along with and not afraid to get straight to the task at hand. As the week went on, you eagerly accompanied him on his routes and witnessed first hand just how brilliant the forest watcher was.

You didn’t expect how down to earth the revered Chief Forest Watcher Tighnari turned out to be. It was common for him to go off on tangents and lectures here and there, but it never felt like he was just trying to flex his knowledge or question yours. He was kind of excitable in that way, and you couldn’t help but find it quite endearing. You picked up on the quirks that indicated that was become accustomed to rangers spacing out while he talked on and on. Tighnari even seemed surprised that you had follow up questions about the topics he was just rambling on about. His ears were always a dead giveaway that he was caught off guard. Even someone without a big ol’ stupid crush would have found it cute.

The tall fluffy ears in question may or may not have added to your carelessness on this particular hike. Perhaps it was why a tiny little branch sent you tumbling down into a ravine. Later you would be corrected that the ravine in question would more accurately be labeled a gully, though that specific fun fact was far less welcomed.

“Y/N?!? Are you alright? Don’t move, I’ll be right there.” Tighnari called out urgently and hurried over to you.

“I’m okay. I don’t know how well you can treat a bruised ego though...” You called back. Attempting a joke to hide how embarrassed you felt. It wasn't your smoothest move. Tighnari was there in moments to help you sit up. His nimble fingers began untangling your hair from your face so that he could to get a better look at you.

“This isn’t a time for jokes Y/N. That could have been a serious fall.” You've heard this tone before. It was usually reserved for reckless forest visitors or rangers that didn't heed his instructions and cause trouble. This was your first time being on the receiving end and to make things worse you looked a mess with twigs and dirt covering you from head to toe.

“I know. I’ll be better next time.” You replied dejected. Tighnari managed to brush your hair back to take a look, but your eyes darted anywhere else while he examined you.

“You're lucky enough to walk out of that with just a couple minor abrasions. Just be careful alright?” Tighnari concluded, his tone softened considerably. You braved yourself to sneak a small glance up at him and he offered you a comforting smile. “Although, I do have an inkling of what caused you to misstep in the first place.” The forest watcher continued.

“And what would that be?” You asked far too quickly. The only way you were ever going to admit to ogling over your boss’ cute fluffy fox ears was over your dead body god damn it!

“Having your hair loose at this length can prove quite hazardous while paroling. I must have overlooked it before. Here, come sit I think I have a solution.” A careful hand guided you over to a nearby log. Next you felt the small tugs and pulls of the remaining twigs being dislodged from your hair. Tighnari was gentle but efficient while he worked behind you.

The ambiance of the forest made the silence quite enjoyable. It became so relaxing you could fall asleep if you wanted. You probably would have too, but you became hyper-aware each time Tighnari's gloved fingers brushed past your skin. After some time he announced he was done and you reached behind your head to feel what you could only describe as an intricate braid leading down your back.

“Wow! I didn’t expect.... thank you!” You said, in awe at his handwork.

“All in a day’s work. Come on we should be heading back before dark.” Tighnari led the way back to the trail. “And uh, watch your step.” He added with a sly grin. You rolled you eyes and chuckled at the playful sass. There’s plenty interesting specimens to learn about in the Avidya Forest and you were sure you just found your favorite.

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evilminji · 5 months

Text

Thinking About Ghost Writer's Library ( o.o)

Yeah, that's right folks! It's ya girl! Back on her bullshit, with PONDERING TIME. But like? GW? Is AT BEST? Somewhere around Victorian or Edwardian, given his aesthetic, right? And? Granted! It COULD be, he just vibes SUPER HARD with this Hot New Look(tm).

But like?

He is Baby.

They basically ALL are Baby. It's the... no, A(!) Baby area of the Zone. A place where sentient life is JUST sort of beginning to happen. On the COSMIC, INTERDIMENSIONAL, scale of things. What, after all, is a MERE few millenia? When the average is counting things by Eons? And even WORSE? When your ENTIRE COUNTRY and HISTORY is? What... CENTURIES?

Zygote. You are not but an infant. Back to daycare with you.

Which of course, leads the baby sitters. Even the occasional Adult. SOMEONES got to watch them. But it's not like THEY want to volunteer their eternity. They have Obsessions to follow. And there are A LOT of Baby Zone's to watch! More forming every day! The great dance of Life And Death etc etc, Yada yada!

Who's being punished? Make them do it! *Clockworks in long term plan*

But! Not the point here! Though fascinating to consider! The POINT? GW->Baby. His Library? Larger then then any Earth libraries, yes. But! Still SMALL. A BABY'S collection of books! Still growing. And for all his bragging and posturing? FAR from the Zone's BEST Library.

It likely doesn't even get to make the LONG FORM list.

Which Danny? Who is STILL banned? Quickly figures out. Because? Amity Library is... DECENT. It's working with the funding It's gotten dispite the damage ghost fights have done. Danny loves that library. He does. But... he also? Kinda has run out of things to READ.

And like HELL is he gonna BEG to enter GHOST WRITER'S Lair. Mister "Love Christmas or I'll torture you with it" can SUCK [REDACTED] and shove it up his [REDACTED BUT WITH VIOLENCE THIS TIME]. So? He asks, vaguely of course, Mr. Ho the librarian what he should do.

The man practically froths at the mouth at the thought that there is some BASTARD denying children books over PETTY PERSONAL BULLSHIT. Wants to meet this guy out back. "Talk books". Mr. Ho is like a bazillion years old and a tiny grandpa, he's amazing and Danny STILL kinda wants to be him when he grows up.

But since Danny won't let him deck Ghost Writer. He shows him how too look up other libraries in the area. Which... sparks An Idea(tm). He thanks his favorite librarian and races home. Makes a Bee Line for the Far Frozen.

Can he LOOK at the Infinity Map, Frostbite? He knows taking it is only for Important Events, but... why, you ask? Well...*explains*

Which is how he ends up, with a pen and paper, watching Trained Yeti Map Makers(tm) quickly sprawling out Map after Map, as Frostbite (who is apparently the only one AUTHORIZED to do this, who knew?) formally asks the Map in? Weirdly specific and oddly phrased ways, for the best libraries? Huh?

Ooooh! Frostbite is authorized because he's the only one TRAINED in the exact workings of the Map. Yeah, that makes a lot more sense. When Danny was using it, it dragged him at like Mach bajillion all over the place and he had to keep rephrasing things.

So? He can go now, right? Since he has the directions?

What do you mean "not quite"?

Danny finds out he needs an "Adult Escort". Because he is Baby. And much like children can not fly to Peru alone from halfway across the globe, so too, they can not LEAVE the baby zones to travel through Adult Territories where they could get Ended by accident, WITHOUT Adult supervision. Safety first!

D:< He just wants BOOKS!

Fine! Clockwork is old as BALLS! Older probably! He's LITERALLY TIME! How's THAT for OLD, huh?! Can he GO NOW!? He just wants to check out their ghostly sci-fi section! He's curious AF! He bets they have ALIEN Sci-fi! Come oooooooon!

Clockwork, of course, let's himself be dragged along. Because this is hilarious. AND going to terrify so, SO many assholes. Which is Funny :)

Danny gets his library card to *Unpronouncable without several neck bones humans do not have*, which is the size of Jupiter's BIGGER BROTHER. It isn't even the "Best" library. Just the closest. Danny has a manic... everything, the Fenton blood is strong with this one. So Many Booooooooks~!

And yeah, school books or whatever, probably a great learning resource.

BUT THE SCI-FI AND COMICS SECTION! It goes on for MILES! LITERAL MILES! *incoherent noises of joy*

Needless to say, the Librarians think he's ADORABLE. Such an eager reader! And so SMALL! A BABY! Look at his lil hands~! Be careful with the books, okay sweetie? Oh heck yeah! He WILL be!

And obviously? He gaurds those books with his LIFE. That's his Premium VIP Celebrity Gucci Bespoke Comics of The Multiverse Access! You'll have to pry it from his multi-dead, still smoking, Ended 5Ever hands!

The problem with THIS is?

Even with careful book covers? Those are CLEARLY glowing books. Like... day glow. Unnaturally glowing. The OTHER problem, is UNLIKE that baby GW? Adults can make their books multilingual. OMNILINGUAL. Is this book in French? Or Ainu? Yes. If it's YOUR language, then that's what you're reading in. Is it a bit clunky at times? With things that don't translate well, having to be explained in side notes? Yes. But better then not being able to read them at all!

And of course, comfort and repetition breed mistakes. You get too used to doing something. Forget you're supposed to be HIDING it. Maybe you go to college. Maybe the world moves on. You bring down a government agency with your friends. Become an infant king, much to the unspeakable alarm of the adults who SHOULD have been watching and protecting you. Maybe you have WORDS with them. Who's to say.

You're tired. It's been a long month.

You just want your coffee and a snacky lil treat. Something yummy for the you. Surely you've earned it, right? You've been good. So you take your sweet new alien sci-fi epic, your scrunkly feral Racoon lookin self, and you crawl like the half dying man you are. Towards the sweet relief of sugar and caffeine. Pride? You don't know her. Gib the coffee or you bite.

Unfortunately! There is some shitty "the Youth Today blah blah blah, let try and catch them of gaurd with loaded questions to prove my point and make a whole generation look dumb" reporter on campus. You see them out of the corner of your eye. They clearly think you are the weak link.

They are making their way towards you, mic raised.

Ah. Tragic, they have chosen death.

Before they can reach you, you raise your voice and not so much throw them under a bus, as drive the bus over THEM. Because THIS Coffee shop is the Punk hangout spot. And you've made casual friendly acquaintances with the six foot something, Sam clone from Scotland, whose life goal seems to be "Fight God".

And THESE fine folk DEFINITELY want an interview :) Have Fun, Thorn!

Needless to say, the clips go viral. With Danny sitting in the background, coffee and muffin achieved. Minding his business. Reading his glowing book. Which everyone ignores, on campus. Because EVERYONE knows Danny can make things glow! It's his weird minor power. Some lab accident in his teen years. NBD

But like... no body ELSE "knows" that. So it attracts attention.

Which would be FINE.... if he was reading an EARTH book.

But he's NOT.

And someone recognizes it.

Maybe it's Martian. Kryptonian. Could be Asgardian. Depends on the crossover you want! Because it could be ANY crossover! Lost books. Not just the Great Classics(tm) that people like to save. But the silly ones. The small ones. The equivalent of dime store novels and cheap drug store comics. Children's books. Banned books. The things Powerful People tried to erase from history itself. The things TIME tried to erase, with the fall of nations and the coming of war.

The destruction of worlds.

All of it there.

Imagine it. Standing on a planet, far from the world that was once your home, KNOWING in your heart that everything is gone. Everyone. That NOTHING but what you carry with you remains. And looking up one day to see, in the background of some average and silly video? Not "War and Peace" or "Great Expectations" or some other likely exported peice... but? Some youth reading that overly dramatic trashy sci-fi book that your cousins wouldn't stop raving about. The ones all the adults were SICK of hearing about.

It would NEVER have passed the bar for export.

It was silly and embarrassing but culturally significant.

It's... it's right there.

How?

Wouldn't the desperation that fills you be suffocating? Are there others? Is that an original? How is it here? How can he READ it? Who taught him? Who IS he? Is he one of us? Where? How? HOW?! Please. PLEASE!

And Danny? Would have no idea! :)c it's great~

@hdgnj @hypewinter @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe

#dpxdc #dpxmarvel #dpxanybody #dp prompt #go nuts folks #minji ponderings

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as-is-above-so-below · 1 year

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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 3: Let's Have a Baby

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence and death (ofc), implied child loss Note: The much-awaited part 3 of The Captain! Thank you so much for all of your support! And don't y'all, Part 4 is brewing ;) Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

“Mohawk’s gettin’ particularly long, Johnny boy. When’s the last time you took any off the top?” Freyja asked, tugging at the end of a long strand at the back of his head.

“Dinnae dae that!” Soap whipped his head around and gave her a look of playful irritation. “If it weren’t for that wee barra in your belly I’d knock ya one, lass.”

“You wish, tough guy.”

“Just you wait, soon as y’return to full duty, we’ll have a square go, ye fuckin’ weapon.”

“I’ll block off my calendar.”

She and Soap had grown rather close since they all returned to England following the mission. As promised, Ghost spoke with Price, who convinced Kate to transfer her to the 141 permanently. While she was on desk duty for now, being on the same team would be tremendously helpful in keeping their schedules in sync. The couple could carpool to and from the base together, and John would do his best to keep them from being deployed at the same time.

Plus, she got to spend all her day with her friends and husband, which was a phenomenal change of pace from their previous setup. It was far less lonely being surrounded by the bustle of the busy base and having other friends to talk to besides Price.

They had a standing ‘play date’, as Price called it, every Friday night, where they watched movies, played board games, and ordered takeout. Board games usually ended in a heated exchange between her and whichever unlucky soul had crossed her (usually during Catan), her normally fiery temper heightened with each month of pregnancy that passed. There had been several instances of Ghost scooping her up in his arms and hauling her away to cool off before (any other) objects were lobbed at someone’s head.

One time, Freyja was in rare form when Gaz refused to trade for a material she desperately needed, and whipped a pointed dinner knife in his direction.

“What is with you guys and throwing bloody knives at me?!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air as Ghost dragged her off, screaming obscenities in various angry-sounding languages.

Soap jerked the blade out of the wall. “Dunno if I should be turned on or terrified,” he had said thoughtfully, turning it over in his hand.

“BOTH, YOU SLIMY, CHEATING MOTHERFUCKERS!”

Catan was banned for a few weeks after that incident, and Freyja gave Kyle the following day off as an apology, though he insisted it wasn’t necessary.

Freyja lowered herself into a chair on the other side of Soap’s desk and leaned her head on her fist, watching him do his paperwork. She’d already finished for the day but was waiting for her husband to fetch her and bring her home to prepare for another Friday with the boys.

“So, Captain, any big plans for this weekend?” Soap asked, still scribbling away at the stack of forms in front of him.

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Nah. It’s our anniversary on Sunday. Have a routine visit tomorrow to see how the baby’s growing. Nothing crazy.”

“Anniversary?! You didn’t tell me that was comin’ up!”

Her eyes rolled with a chuckle. “Soap, we aren’t showy people. Never have been,” she started, adjusting to sit straighter after having slid down in the chair a bit. Her round belly had started to weigh down her body a few weeks back, and she was starting to feel the effects of back and neck pain. “We weren’t together for very long when we got engaged, if you’d even call it that. We got married a few days later, as soon as we got back to the UK. Didn’t want to waste time, given our line of work.”

Johnny laughed at this, tossing his pen into a mug he fashioned as a stationary holder. “Oh, I’d bet he just loved slappin’ his name after ‘Captain’, too,” he joked with a raised brow.

The image of a spinning circle on a computer came to mind because that was exactly what she was doing. Buffering, her mouth open slightly while she processed his comment. Her mind screamed at her to say something, anything, but nothing came out as she stared at the Sergeant.

He clearly picked up on her inner turmoil, because he asked, “What? What’d I say?”

Goddamn pregnancy brain. “Ah…Nothing. He didn’t like me taking his name, actually,” she mostly muttered, unable to find a way out of the conversation at this point. “He asked me not to change my name and I did it anyway.”

“I don’t get it, why wouldn’t Ghost want ya to change yer name?”

Freyja sighed as she rubbed a hand over the top of her bump, a recent habit for comfort. The baby hadn’t been particularly active that day, only offering a bit of shifting. “You’d have to ask him, John.”

She rarely called him John, so he knew the conversation was over on her part. “How’s your back?” Best to change the subject and move on.

She was grateful for it. “Terrible. Even sitting here is bothering me.”

Soap lit up and he practically jumped to his feet. “I can do that thing I saw Ghost doin’ last week!” He was already in front of her before she could even answer.

He had been relentless ever since he caught their cute little private moment in the kitchen when she was supposed to be getting herself some fruit to snack on. Simon followed shortly after, offering to get her fruit bowl together for her so she could sit down again. Craving some semblance of independence, she instead offered to cut up her snack while her husband took some of the weight off her back.

“Walked myself right into that one. You just want an excuse to grope my belly.”

“Me? Never! M’offended that y’would say such a thing, Bonnie,” he feigned hurt feelings, pouting with his best puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, fine! Come’ere, I’ll show you,” she laughed, high up in her chest. Freyja pulled herself up with his hands and moved them to the more open space in his office. “Alright, so I’m gonna stand here—“ She turned to press her back against his chest and took his wrist in her hands. “—then you just wanna put your hands flat like this—“ She flattened his palms just under the swell of her stomach, by each point of her pelvis. “—and now you carefully pull up. Emphasis on carefully.”

She groaned at the sudden relief, her head falling back against Soap’s shoulder as he just barely lifted her stomach.

“There w’are. Steamin’ Jesus, how’s such a wee thing so bloody heavy?”

“Yeah, now imagine carrying that around with your back twenty-four-seven.”

They stood silently for a minute, soaking in the relief from the lack of pressure on her disks. A small hand dragged across the underside of her stomach, pressing against Soap’s hand. His chest rumbled against her back, but he held steady.

“Will anyone be coming for a visit? When she’s born?” It was bold of him to bring up such a sensitive subject, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“No.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

“I have everyone I need right here, Johnny. Who else outside my husband would give my back a break and hold my giant belly?” She reached back to jokingly slap his cheek a few times.

“Where’s that husband o’ yours at? It’s gettin’ late.”

A soft knock on the open door had her turning her head. “I’m comin’, Jesus,” Ghost said, approaching with his hands in his pockets, t-shirt tight as ever. He took in her smiling form, intrigued by the scene in front of him. He smiled beneath his mask, eyes crinkling slightly. “How are my girls?”

Freyja flinched, a hand flying to her belly at the sharp kick. She sported an angry pout. “Ow! That hurt, you little–”

“Be nice. She can’t help that I’m her favorite.”

She pulled out of Soap’s hold, sad to lose the help on one hand, but thrilled to see Simon on the other. “You’re so obnoxious. I’m literally creating her organs and limbs, making sure she has ten fingers and toes, and I don’t get so much as a single hand or kick. But the second she hears your stupid voice, she’s suddenly an MMA fighter,” she complained, shoving at his shoulder. “Un-fucking-believable. I hate you.”

“Mmm, sure you do. How will I ever get back in your good graces?”

“I want Chinese tonight.”

“I think I can manage that.” Ghost bent down to gently, but briefly, touch his forehead to hers, one of their familiar gestures to refrain from more overt displays of affection on base. She would occasionally give him a peck over his skull mask, and they often shared passing touches, but neither partner was a huge fan of PDA. In the comfort of their own home, they were much more obvious, even around the other members of the team. Just not on base (save for a quick romp. Or two. Or– y’know what, never mind).

“Aw, lookit ya wee sook,” Soap cooed, nudging Ghost with his elbow as he walked past, gathering his things to head home.

She giggled and patted Simon’s pec. “He really is!”

Simon grumbled but guided Freyja to the door with a hand on her lower back. “If you lot keep talkin’ nonsense around me, I’ll pop a gasket.”

“It’s not nonsense, Simon. It’s a beautiful language. One that your people just so happened to smother into near extinction,” she sang, pursing her lips in a challenge as she looked up at him walking next to her.

“OOO, sick burn, lass!” Soap smacked their hands together, laughing heartily.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

~*~

Simon checked the time on his phone again with a deep sigh, shaking his head. He detested getting to work anything past ten minutes early, and it was currently five past six. Freyja had told him to go ahead and toss their baby bag in the car, which he had done ten minutes ago. He insisted they keep their ‘go-bag’ (her word, not his) with them, either in the car on errands or on base during the work week.

The area around their front door was littered with broken-down cardboard boxes from various toys and furniture from the nursery. The Task Force had turned out to be extremely generous uncles, to the point where the Rileys hardly had to buy anything. Johnny and Gaz were by far the worst listeners, continuing to purchase mountains of clothes long after Freyja and Ghost begged them to stop. Enough clothes that she would never have to wear the same outfit twice for the first year of her life.

Not even born yet and already spoiled rotten.

Her boots weren’t in the tray by the door, so she must have gotten to that part of her routine, at least. He pushed off the door frame in their entryway, making his way toward the living room. “Frey, what are you doin’? We’re already five minutes late–”

He cut himself off when he laid eyes on the sight in front of him – his wife, now 39 weeks pregnant, attempting to contort her body around her bump to lace up her boots. Simon allowed himself a moment to watch in amusement before clearing his throat and grabbing her attention. “Do you need help?” he asked, about to kneel in front of her.

She grunted and shook her head, then tried to smooth the mussed-up fly-aways that had started to poke up at the edges of her tied-back hair. “No, I can do this. I just did it on Friday.”

“Darling, that was three days ago. There’s no shame in askin’ for help–” He stopped again at the icy glare thrown his way, crossed his arms over his chest, and sat in the armchair across from her. “A’right, if you insist.” He had long noticed that she sometimes struggled to accept help with tasks she could normally complete on her own, if not for a protruding bump being in the way. He knew if she really needed help, she would ask.

This time, she propped the heel of her boot on the coffee table and attempted to stretch over her belly. She was proud of the strength and flexibility she had been able to maintain throughout her entire pregnancy, up until now. Not many people could say they could even see their feet this far into their pregnancy, let alone tie their shoes. After another minute of huffing and puffing, fingers just barely unable to graze the laces, she held her foot out to her watchful husband and sighed. “Fine,” she mumbled, crossed arms mimicking his.

He smiled softly under his mask, blue eyes twinkling with silent laughter as he slid to his knees at her feet, pressing the sole into his chest. “Thank you,” he praised, taking his time to focus on doing her shoes up at the tightness she liked to support her ankles, but allow breathing room at her calves. As he finished up the second foot, he heard a quiet sniffle and jerked his head up to meet her eyes.

Bloody hell, not the waterworks again…

He gently pushed her legs apart and settled between them, his gloved hands covering and rubbing her knees. “What’s wrong, love?”

Freyja wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then used the neckline of her t-shirt to swipe at her wet cheeks. “Nothing, I’m just annoyed. Feels like I can barely function on my own.”

“If I recall, you’re the one who insisted on working until she’s born.”

“Fuck you.”

“Promise?”

She playfully shoved his shoulder, rolling her eyes as she scoffed.

Ghost pulled his mask up to his nose, just enough to steal a long, soft kiss from her, fingers still gripping her thighs. When they broke apart, he swooped down to press wet kisses on her belly. Freyja put the fabric back in place with deft fingers. “A’right, we sorted?” He smacked her thigh twice when she nodded and offered her hands to help her stand. “Good, you know how I am about bein’ late.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll be an early bird like her daddy.”

“Better than always being late like her mum.”

“Low blow, baby. Low blow.”

They made jabs at each other back and forth the entire ride to base (lovingly, of course) and during their walk to their offices, only pausing for the occasional passerby.

~*~

Kyle handed off a steaming mug of tea to Ghost, taking a small sip of his own as they watched the recruits spar with Soap. Most days, the three of them worked with the privates for a few hours, varying from marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, etcetera. Ghost tugged his mask up enough to enjoy his caffeine, the steam dampening the wrinkled fabric.

“How was your weekend, Ghost?”

He hid his subtle smirk behind the cup, the memory of their anniversary evening at the forefront of his mind. Ghost met Gaz’s gaze with a side eye, to which the Sergeant snorted with a throaty chuckle. Gaz fixed the brim of his hat lower to shade his eyes from the sun better. “Shouldn’t have asked,” he said, a bright, cheeky grin on his face. “Change the subject.”

Ghost thought back to that morning, snickering himself and cradling the mug with both hands. “Frey couldn’t tie her boots this morning.” He tried to hide his amusement, he really did. But both men burst into deep laughter, Gaz shamefully covering his eyes with his free hand as he imagined the Captain working around her stomach.

“Bloody hell, poor thing.” When they finally composed themselves, Kyle took a deep breath and wiped a stray tear from his eye. He sighed and placed his now empty mug on the ground, his hands now hanging onto the lip of his tactical vest. The Brit observed the training session, occasionally glancing over at Ghost to gauge his mood. Maybe he should mind his business, but Gaz also wanted to be a good friend to the Rileys. In the end, he decided to take the plunge. “I see it, y’know,” he said, choosing a careful tone.

Simon turned his head fully to shoot him a probing look, urging him to continue.

Gaz sighed to himself. In too deep, now. “Just something I’ve noticed. Seems like she’s done this before, s’all.”

Damn Kyle Garrick and his perceptiveness. How long had the Sergeant been sitting on that thought, watching and observing her mannerisms? Simon stood staring blankly at his companion, unblinking for too long. His heart clenched painfully, twisting and beating violently against his ribs. When his eyes did finally come back into focus, he covered his face again. “As you were, Sergeant,” he commanded, his tone stern and unyielding. Neither of them noticed the Scot break away from the recruits, reading a text from his phone.

“I don’t mean to pry, sir–”

“Lt?” Soap held the device up, brows knotted together. He didn’t make much of an effort to hide his emotions and was concerned. “Price needs ya, sir. Said he’s pretty sure yer wife’s been in labor for the last hour.”

The trio quickly appeared in her office, where she sat behind her desk, beads of sweat on her forehead as she typed away at her computer. John shrugged helplessly and then scratched at the stubble under his chin. About an hour into their daily morning meeting, where he brought her peppermint tea while they worked over files and potential recruits. They were mid-discussing her scheduled c-section when he noticed her breaths sporadically shake, or the muscles in her arms tightening for seemingly no reason. Price asked her if she was okay and was brushed off every time he prodded at her; when he finally had enough, he decided to call for reinforcements.

Freyja glared at the men, mainly aiming it at Price. “Traitor,” she growled, continuing to work through another contraction.

Simon tossed the keys to their car to Price, who swiftly snagged them out of the air and slipped behind them. In the meantime, he tucked his mask into the back pocket of his jeans, his slightly overgrown blonde hair and the top of his head sticking up. He sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at her as she attempted to ignore his presence. His foot slipped a little on the floor, and he found a small puddle trickling across the floor from the space under her chair. “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked, impossibly soft and gentle for a usually deep, gruff military man.

“No.” She was an accomplished sniper and a skilled linguist and had been deployed on hundreds of special missions, interrogations, and rescues during her military tenure. She, however, wasn’t very convincing when it came to lying to her husband, especially when another sharp pain rippled through her body, forcing her to flinch.

“Wanna try that again?”

Her eyes watered uncontrollably, her lip trembling as she tried to keep herself together. The notion didn’t last long, and her head shook from side to side.

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

“Hm.” Simon turned her chair with his shin until she faced him. As he suspected, dark wetness was creeping up the fabric of her jeans. “We should get going then, yeah?” He tilted his head to the side, watching as she grabbed his hand in a fierce grip.

“Simon–” The woman choked on her tears, panic starting to claw its way up her stomach and wrenching her tight throat. “The OB’s out of the country,” she whimpered, barely a whisper.

“I know. Seems that she’s taken after her old man, like y’said,” he offered in an attempt to give her some comedic relief in her state. Simon could see the panic attack set in, and while he knew he couldn’t stop it, he could at least lessen its effects some.

“I was kidding.”

He smiled softly at her and squeezed her palm, drawing soothing circles with his thumb. “Don’t think she’s quite old enough for sarcasm, there, sweetheart.” He got down to his knees in front of her, sitting back on his heels, just under eye level now instead of towering over her. A familiar position for them as of late. “Looks like we’re doin’ this the old-fashioned way.”

She started crying hysterically now, nearly crushing his hand and cradling her belly. “Simon…I–”

“I know.”

It was as if their audience had completely disappeared, leaving just the two of them for what should be a private moment. But Soap and Gaz were still pressed to the wall by the door. In the months they had become close friends with Simon’s wife, she was almost always composed, her moments of hormonal rage the only outlier they witnessed. They’d never seen her such a panicked, blubbering mess, but Gaz had an idea he knew what it was about, even without specifics. For that reason, he chose to keep his distance and advised Soap to do the same with a tap to the shoulder.

“This–This isn’t the plan. I wanted…they’re supposed to take her out. I don’t want to push again.”

“I know,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, love, but you’ll have to.”

“Can’t we just–” A gasp cut her off, her features pinching together in pain while she rode out yet another contraction.

“No. We can’t.”

“I can’t do this again, Simon! I can’t!” Her chest heaved and she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath. Panic attacks had become more frequent during her pregnancy. There had been about five or six instances where an odd feeling or uncomfortable pain had anxiety washing over her, sending her into a spiral until they could get to an emergency room or OB, snapping at them to ‘just fucking check, for fuck’s sake’. This was definitely one of the worst. All of her meticulous planning, down to every nitty-gritty detail to ensure she didn’t have an episode went right out the window because a certain impatient Riley was eager to make her exit and simultaneous entrance to the world.

The world was collapsing around her, dark and suffocating. The cold pit dragged her back to what seemed like another life, where she lay curled up in a hospital bed, sick and hot and in the worst agony she would ever experience. Her bones burned and ached, struggling to sit still yet unable to move at the same time. Price’s phantom touch ghosted up and down her bare back in that place, brushed her sticky hair off her forehead, pressed a cold towel to her neck as violent sobs and forced, unnatural contractions tore through her—

She blinked when different, gloved hands slipped under her hair, the warmth of her skin bleeding through the material as he cradled her face. Her fingers slipped down to dig into his tattooed wrist. “You can, and you will. Take a breath,” he took a deep breath, guiding her through the exercise. He held the air in his chest before letting it out in a slow exhale, which she mimicked. Ghost summoned Gaz over and rose, pulling her up with him. “Good girl. Can you walk?”

When she nodded, Kyle slipped into the space beside her, offering his forearm for support. She knew Simon could have handled her himself, but it warmed her heart to see him leaning on their friends. John had been a great support system when Simon deployed on his own, but having so many hands to hold made her feel loved and understood.

“A’right then, let’s have a baby, yeah?”

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jamneuromain · 2 months

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Hii!!! I just read A Whiff of Blood and it was amazing!!! Omg its been a while since I read Lloyd being caring without having another motive. This is pure goodness 😍

I was wondering if there could be a scene where y/n asks to leave work early bc she has a date. Lloyd says fine but ends up at the same restaurant as her with Danny to spy🤣 and y/n saw them and this will be the first time she yells at her boss. how would the boss react? falling for her even more or trying to save his dignity and ego 😎

Hi babe! So sorry that this one-shot is taking forever to come out (and I've made a little adjustment to it :3 hope you don't mind

A Rush of Blood

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader, Lloyd is being a (surprisingly) softie(?

Summary: You asked whether you could leave early for a date, while Lloyd decided not to keep his feelings bottled up any more.

W/C: ~4.5k

A/N: This is the final sequel to A Whiff of Blood, Thank you for all your love for Mob!Lloyd<333

Lloyd can’t help but look at your empty seat for the fifth time in a row. The boring-ass meeting for the quarterly revenue of his properties drags on, yet you haven’t returned for a while now.

Lloyd checks his watch.

It’s been fucking two minutes and forty-two seconds since you excused yourself with your phone buzzing in hand.

The ticking watch gets him more annoyed and impatient by the second. Two minutes and forty-four seconds, two minutes and forty-five seconds, two minutes and forty-six - where the heck are you?

You pick up the call as soon as you reach your desk, “Allie?”

“Hey hon. Bad news, I’m stuck at the airport. There has been a huge blizzard here in Alaska and all flights are banned from taking off.” Allie remains her chirpy sound, but a hit of restraint peeks from her words.

Allie has been your friend since high school. You’ve bonded over the mutual love of boy bands during your teen years. Though you have moved on from your love of pop singers/bands, Allie maintains her enthusiasm for K-pop idols.

“I’m in the middle of a conference, so, sorry about making this short,” you sigh, “I assume they can’t get any plane in or out for today?”

You scheduled for fine dining with Allie at one of Lloyd’s restaurants later this evening. At this rate, you are no longer surprised if he owns the Hollywood landmark too.

“Not in this damn weather, no.” She curses under her breath, “Not for three days as far as I’m aware.”

“Jesus.” You rub your temple as it is throbbing, “Sorry about the weather. I’ll reschedule the dinner.”

“No… don’t be.” Her hesitation on the phone sounds slightly suspicious.

“Allie?” You raise your voice dangerously, “What did you do?”

“Don’t be mad,” she holds a pregnant pause, “I’ve got this really cute boy – he’s a year behind us, by the way – and he’s working now in LA, Scott McCall – that’s double C in McCall, and I planned to introduce you two during dinner.”

“The fu- Allie!” You whisper-yell in the phone, “You’re gonna dump me and let me have dinner with a completely random person?”

Allie squeezes a few dry laughs over the speaker, “Eh- Sorry?”

“You better pray there’s no plane in three days because I’m going to crawl through the phone lines and strangle you if I have the chance.” You sputter a curse, “And burn all your K-pop albums.”

She gasps, “NOT THE ALBUMS!”

Typical Allie.

“Seriously though, you had the chance of meeting him two months ago... at an exhibition. The gallery downtown near the bakery? The Retro-modern Exhibition? The one you left early? It took him a lot of strength to get to me and then to you, so … just try, okay? If it doesn’t work out, it’s fine.” Allie sounds unlike her usual self, “If it works out … I guess you’d have a great story to tell your kids.” She can’t help but joke at the end.

“Yeah yeah, ha-ha, very funny.” With a sigh, you agree to her match-making plan, “Fine. But I really have to go back to work now, ‘kay?” You roll your eyes instinctively when the other end of the phone passes a squeaky “yes” to your ears, “I’ll be there on time. Dinner, six thirty, he’d better not be late.”

“You’re my life-saver. Mwah! Love ya’ bye!” After blowing a kiss via mid-air, Allie hangs up the phone as if fearing you will regret your decision in less than a second.

You end the call at the same moment the door to the conference room swings open, and out came a few executives for his real estate.

“Sorry, Mr. Hansen,” you put your phone into your pocket, straightening your shirt because you have been leaning on your desk. You know how much Lloyd hates disturbance, and creases on a shirt.

Lloyd purses his lips with a frown, an expression he wears often to indicate he’s not happy.

“If it’s okay for you, Mr. Hansen, I’d like to leave early today.” You request rather boldly.

For three years of your work as a secretary, the only other time you left early was a medical emergency of your mother. She fell down the stairs, hit her head, and had a broken femur. Though it wasn’t much of a big deal when she was transferred to a ward later, it scared the hell out of you to take the call from the local hospital, telling you your mother was sent to the ER in an ambulance.

Lloyd was generous enough to grant you a week of leave, but you got back on Day 5 after making sure your mother was well and taken care of.

“Is your family alright?” He asks, clearly still remembering the last time when you got kidnapped on the street, for which he had to assign Claire – a bright young lady, whom you’ve grown fond of over these past weeks – to act as your bodyguard and occasionally your assistant. Under Lloyd’s orders, she went to oversee the security cam installation at your apartment door.

“They are fine.” You suppose it’s better to tell him the truth regarding your leave, rather than having him meet you in his restaurant a few hours later, “I uh… have a date tonight.”

“A date?” He raises his eyebrows, repeating syllable by syllable, “A date, you say?”

“Yes, a date.” It feels like a betrayal all of a sudden, a betrayal of your work ethic. Your throat tightens, “Ahem, I’ll be leaving at five, if that’s alright with you, Mr. Hansen.”

Lloyd studies you for a moment.

“Okay.” He shrugs, sounding carelessly, “If you finish the work for today.”

You are pretty sure that there’s no more itinerary for either Hansen or you after this meeting, but you still play your role as a dutiful secretary and ask, “Anything else you would like me to do?”

“Call James and tell him to pick up the loan I gave out to the Dawson scum, five mil’ in cash or non-bearer bonds. If Dawson returns even one dime short, I want his arm broken. And deliver the drycleaning to my place by five tonight. Tell my butler, while you’re at it, he can hold off the repair down at the basement, this can wait till January. And,” he pauses, “I want you to tell Dani, head to her place personally, and tell her that I’m cancelling the Cuban appointment.”

“Yes, Mr. Hansen.” You pick up the landline straight away, ready to dial James’ number.

“You are not taking any notes whatsoever.” Lloyd narrows his eyes, “What are the tasks I just gave you?”

Lloyd seems extra grumpy today, plus you are not a note-taker anyway. You cover the speaker with your palm, though puzzled as to why he’s moody all of a sudden, but comply with his demands, “Call James, collect the debt from Dawson; get the drycleaning to your house by five, and tell your butler Marlin not to rush on the basement repair; and lastly, tell Dani you’re cancelling the Cuban appointment.” And you have no clue what this “Cuban” appointment is. Darn, Lloyd does keep a whole lot of secrets from you, “Anything else, Mr. Hansen?”

Fuck.

He sounds like fucking Cinderella’s stepmom dumping beans into the fireplace. Since when did he get off on ordering you around doing meaningless chores? He could perfectly do them himself, not to mention some of the biddings he has just told you were unnecessary – the basement repair? It was a damn doorknob getting stuck, not a pipeline that leaks like a faucet.

“Claire’s not here, take Avik with you.” He grumbles, returning to his office and slamming the door shut.

Avik is a silent, tanned man who often acts as Lloyd’s muscle. He emerges from thin air – or probably from some corner, standing rigidly behind you like a statue.

“Hey Avik, mind if I drive?” You put a warm smile on your face, swinging the car key on your finger.

Avik merely nods, gesturing that he’ll walk in front of you.

After picking up Lloyd’s drycleaning and telling Marlin the exact words from Lloyd's mouth, you head off to your next assignment.

Dani.

Dani is a woman approximately your age, speaks fluent Spanish, English, and Italian, probably a couple of other languages that you couldn’t understand too, and rumored to be Lloyd’s ex.

She is a charming lady living in a mansion away from the glamourous nightlife of LA, but not shy of parties. In fact, you’ve accompanied Lloyd to a few that she hosts, and if you ever need a party planner, she would be your No. 1 choice – if you can afford it.

You tap on the steering wheel somewhat anxiously, checking your watch. It’s five to six, and Dani’s residence is halfway across the city, and you have yet to finish the job that Lloyd told you to.

It feels like double standards when you explicitly told Allie that your date cannot be late.

Dani’s lovely butler, Mrs. Santos invited you in, leading you to the guest room.

“To what do I own this honor of having Lloyd’s personal assistant arriving at my place?” Dani flips her hair and giggles.

“Lloyd has sent me to tell you that,” you still remember the strange code phrase word by word, “He’s cancelling the Cuban appointment.”

Dani carefully studies you for a moment, before bursting out laughter, “He… He said that? The Cuban appointment?”

Darn, even when she’s laughing, she’s charming as always.

“Yes.” You answer her question, “If there’s no message you want me to forward to him, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Dani hangs a mysterious smile on the corner of her lips, her honey-toned skin practically gleaming as she speaks, “None. But if you don’t mind me asking, do you have any plans for tonight? I want to borrow you for one of my parties – you know,” she shrugs, “connections and all that.”

Dani’s parties are always filled with delightful cocktails and exquisite people she knows from all over the world. It’s a perfect chance to refresh your connections with all sorts of people – thieves, CEOs, fences, politicians - part of the reason why she asked you to stay.

Yet, you were already booked for tonight.

“Sorry,” you politely rejected, “I’d love to, but I have a date tonight.”

“Well, you-” Dani points at you with her perfectly manicured finger, sounding cheerful, “are welcome at my place, anytime. You can bring your date here even, if you need a place to chill.”

“Thank you, Dani.” You respond, “Have fun at your party.”

Dani cocks her head to the side. The bright flashy diamond earrings peek from under her hair, swaying as if they were about to fall. She hums thoughtfully before wishing you a pleasant evening.

As soon as you step out of her estate, Dani picks up her phone and dials Lloyd’s number, “I recall a certain someone claims that he needs absolutely no help landing a girl,” She twirls her hair around her fingertips, chuckling, “the Cuban appointment, Lloyd? Wow, you must be really desperate. Now, you want me to help you sabotage her date? That I can do...”

With Lady Luck by your side, you’ve successfully reached the restaurant five minutes early with someone already at your table, while Avik sits at a table on the other side of the aisle, keeping an eye on you.

“You must be Scott.” You pull your chair to sit, trying your best to ignore the bulk of muscles on your righthand-side, watching as the young man across the table hastily puts down his water glass and stands abruptly with his face flushed.

“H… Hi.” He can barely stop the grin on his face, “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Allie is right. He is cute.

Scott scratches the back of his head, plopping down on his seat, asking hesitantly, “If this is not too intrusive, how did you get a reservation? My friend has been dying to try this place for a week and the nearest spot available is three months later.”

“My boss is a close friend of the restaurant manager.” Lloyd practically runs this place. The manager gets scared shitless every time he needs to deliver the quarterly books to Lloyd and he asks you to do it in his place. Hence, he’s greatly in your debt. But you are not going to tell Scott you work for the largest gang in the city, so you feign your interest and ask, “What about you? Allie didn’t tell me what you do for a living.”

His face goes flushed pink again, “I uh… I work as an assistant curator,” he adds, “but I paint.”

“Oh really? That sounds fun. What do you paint?”

Scott chats on and on about his love for contemporary art and various ways of making a beautiful moment permanent when you notice Avik stands up and leaves.

“… sorry,” you apologize to Scott, for you have missed the question he asks, having paid too much attention to the bodyguard Avik who doesn’t seem like returning, “what was that again?”

Scott shuts his mouth momentarily before managing a small smile, “I was just thinking that we should get the waiter. Is there anything you like on the menu?”

The food was divine, and the wine was savory too. Though the waiters seemed a little distracted – you guessed it was probably their boss telling them to stay away from your table for you to enjoy your date. After exchanging pleasant conversations, you know it’s time to end this lovely date.

Before getting the check and leaving, you excuse yourself to freshen up.

Scott nods with his curls bouncing.

Scott is nice.

He is smart, funny, and cute with his untamed curls.

You put on a thin layer of lipstick. Looking into the mirror, the polite smile breaks away when you watch your reflection.

Scott is a decent guy. Why don’t you like him?

A vague outline rises in your head, before evaporating.

Stop it. You tell yourself. Scott is a nice guy. You should enjoy this date.

Only when your figure disappears behind a few tables, did someone sit on your spot.

“Evening.” A moustache man traces his finger on the cup from which you drank, crossing his legs, “Scotty, right?”

Scott clenches his hand on the arm of his chair, but Avik appears quietly behind him, grabbing his shoulders to have him sit down. A hard piece of metal is pressed to the back of his head. It doesn’t take much common sense to understand that Avik has a gun pointing at him.

“Don’t get all flustered,” Lloyd pours some wine into both glasses, “I’m just here to… be nice.” A wicked grin creeps up his lips as Lloyd continues, “The woman who you’re dating tonight?”

Scott gulps, squeezing a “yeah” out of his teeth.

“That’s my girl.” Lloyd dead-pans, massaging the light smudge of your lipstick on the glass, “So, if you have any wrong idea, or any thoughts about her…” Lloyd has a cold gleam in his eyes, shakes his head and tuts, “Don’t.”

Poor Scott has his face drained of colors. His lips quivering, “I-I’m not- I don’t want to be part of this…”

“Good.” Lloyd smirks. Drinking from your glass, he licks his lips to savour the sweet honey taste of your lipstick, before giving his final order, “Now be a good boy, say your ‘nighty night’s, and get the fuck out of my turf.”

“Boss.” Avik’s eyes dart to the lavatory, signalling that you are approaching this table.

“Aaaand that’s my cue.” Lloyd stands up from the chair, looking content, “Keep this little interaction between us, will ya’?” He pouts, “I’d hate if she gets upset.”

By the time you reach this table, Scott sweats in buckets like he has just been to a sauna.

“Is everything alright?” You can’t help but ask.

“Yeah… yeah.” Scott could barely mask his trembling voice, or keep his eye contact, “I’m … feeling uncomfortable… right now.”

“Is it the food? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“No… I mean, I think so. The asparagus was raw.” Scott wipes the sweat off his pale face, “It’s been lovely, but …”

Your eyes dart to the table where Avik was sitting. Nope, he isn’t there. For a second you thought that Avik might have terrorized Scott into backing out. Such a stupid idea, why would Avik do that? You throw this thought to the back of your head, before suggesting if Scott needs a lift home, or to the hospital.

Scott nearly jumps from his spot upon hearing the offer, which confuses you as he avoids speaking or looking at you, as if you were a plague.

He takes his belongings, bids you good night before sprinting out of the restaurant.

What the fuck have you done???

You trouble yourself with the question when Avik returns to your side without a single sound, “Avik, I was wondering where you’ve been.”

“The backroom where I can observe the surveillance footage, ma’am.” His voice booms, “Shall I drive you home?”

“Yes, I suppose.” You sigh.

Avik gestures for you to walk, but you stop in your tracks.

“Avik?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Did you have any food yet?”

You did not see him ordering anything when he was sitting across the aisle, nor do you believe that he’d risk losing his job over some half-cooked asparagus.

“… No Ma’am.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. The exhaustion of trying to satisfy Lloyd’s tasks and doubting whether he’s being paranoid again takes over you for so long, you seem to lose a little bit of human emotions – neglecting dutiful Avik, as a result.

“Sorry about that, Avik.” You apologize, feeling slightly better that you’ve come to your senses after a long day, “I’ll have them prepare something vegan for takeaway.”

“…thank you, Ma’am.”

Grabbing a waiter passing by, you tell him about your request, before resting on your chair.

Out of sheer boredom, you tap on your glass, scraping the lipstick smudge off the crystal-clear surface with a used napkin.

Avik coughs as if he has just choked on his own spit.

“Everything alright, Avik?”

It seems like you’ve said this for the second time tonight.

“Yes. Ahem. Yes, all is well.” Avik clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Because you can totally have tonight off. I’m more than capable of driving home myself.” You offer sweetly, expecting him to take the suggestion and leave you here.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Avik replies rigidly, his shirt collar tightening around his tanned skin as he speaks, “Thank you, but your safety is my priority.”

You should have known better than to negotiate with Lloyd’s muscle. They follow his orders like workers around a queen bee. Pursing your lips together, you decide not to spend time bargaining with Avik, but scroll on social media to distract yourself.

Avik lets out a long, slow exhale when you are focusing on your phone. He’s great at bodyguarding, but terrible at being a double agent.

The takeaway package arrives shortly – or it could be you are too tied up in the TikTok drama to notice time slipping away from the tip of your fingers. Avik takes the wheel while you sit in the back, trying hard not to think about the sudden change in Scott’s attitude.

It’s not like you don’t enjoy Scott’s company. You do. But Scott’s dashing out of the restaurant leaves a certain impression that you don’t think you’d forget anytime soon. Maybe the food was raw. Or burned. Or he had some pills. Still, it doesn’t explain why he ran out of the place like a bloodhound was chasing him.

Or is there something wrong with you? Something he’d grow repulsive of?

“Stop the car, please.” The thoughts in your head are preventing you from breathing. With Avik’s puzzled frown in the rearview mirror, you shrug, “You can go park the car. I want to have a little walk and some fresh air.”

After what must be an internal debate in Avik’s silence, he slowly stops at the curb, agreeing for you to have your fresh air.

The street is silent, not a living soul in sight. You close your eyes and breathe in the fresh air.

Oh well, maybe the air is not so fresh after all, with the smell of gasoline and dust and … smoke?

You turn around.

Lloyd’s Rolls-Royce follows you like a toddler in small steps, with a hand outstretched from the window that flicks his cigarette stub to the curb.

“Mr. Hansen?” You could’ve been dreaming. Why would Lloyd’s car follow you? Why – “What are you doing here?”

Lloyd steps out of the vehicle, popping a peppermint into his mouth. Crushing the candy with his jaw, he mumbles, “Just having a late-night stroll.”

A ridiculous idea comes into mind, and you ask in disbelief: “Are you following me?”

“No.” Lloyd stares at you straight into your eyes, but you’ve seen him lie better, “This is my turf. And you can’t ban me from patrolling my own territory.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes.

Sure. Patrolling. Very convincing. He just happened to stumble in front of your apartment building among hundreds of thousands of streets.

“Of course.” Maybe it’s the wine, because for crying out loud you would be tongue-tied if you were to say this at work, but the sarcasm drips out of your tone like water out of a broken faucet, because you are not in the mood. At all. “Good night, Mr. Hansen.”

“I had a great night.” Since he counts the scurrying of one horny young man as a win, Lloyd casually drops, “Can’t say the same about you.”

What the heck is wrong with him?

Now it’s definitely the wine that does the talking, as you poke him square in the chest with your index finger, your voice littered with fury, “It’s after-hours, and you don’t own my after-hours, in case you don’t have a watch, okay?”

Lloyd offers his characteristic lop-sided smile, “What - you’re gonna buy me one?”

“No?!” You huff out in disbelief. Has he taken hallucinating drugs? Why on earth is he acting funny? “This is not - look, Mr. Hansen-”

Lloyd steps closer. You get that whiff of smoke from his body, and the musky cologne that he occasionally uses in rare circumstances, and your words somehow get stuck in your throat.

“Lloyd.” He pronounces his name, loud and clear, “C’mon sunshine, lllllloyd.”

Lloyd. The name rolls to the tip of your tongue. It feels natural and soft, unlike Lloyd Hansen himself. But the syllable drives your heartbeat wild. He is your boss. You are obligated to call him Mr. Hansen.

Well, maybe not obligated. But you would feel more comfortable calling him Mr. Hansen. The name Lloyd sounds like an over-step of your work relationship.

Your work. Your beloved secretary job. Which is fine. Which you enjoy, as you handle his affairs with some effort. But the name. He’s asking you to call him Lloyd and that sounds more intimate than what you should be calling your boss.

“I- ” You are at a loss of words. What does he want? Does he want you to be his mistress? Which is ridiculous, because you don’t want to be the type of canary living in a birdcage and sing for him whenever he pleases. More importantly, he cannot be having thoughts about you – or does he want this to be a one-night thing where he could pull up his pants and comment on how long since he had a good fuck?

-stop it. It’s an insane thought. He’s not interested. So are you.

You accidentally look at his eyes, and you recognize the burning desire rooting deep down. It scorches you instantly as your eyes meet, before you lower your head to avoid the demanding gaze.

“You’re my boss…” You mutter weakly, knowing well that this stupid excuse does not prevent you from enjoying (or feeling safe at) Lloyd’s presence – most of the time, when he’s not bloody or throwing punches – or from the plain fact that maybe, just maybe that you feel a little different towards him, and that for the briefest of moments, you wished that he was sitting across the dinner table tonight, taking you out on a date.

Lloyd’s expression goes still for a second.

You can’t tell whether he’s mad or upset.

He sighs, taking a step towards you to close the space between you two, before framing your face in his hands and whispering in frustration, “God, you’re so dumb.”

His lips are soft, contrary to his mean words. They land on you with a bitter taste of burned tobacco, as his tongue swipes the seam of your lips, forcing an embarrassing mewl out of you.

It felt like Lloyd and his roughness. It felt like an iceberg breaking into chucks, whales lifting their head to breathe and the dam that withholds feelings inside your head cracks. It felt … right.

He slowly breaks away the kiss, sighing again, right next to your lips, his moustache making your cheek itch.

“Am I about to get a kick in the balls?” He asks softly, nose gently rubbing on yours.

“No…no.” Not that you don’t want to, because how dares he! Following you and kissing you like that! But because your head turning into a warm mush.

“Good.” He nibbles on your lips, you can feel his lips curving into a smile, “ ’cause I kinda like them.”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.” He lands another kiss on you before pulling away. The bad-boy grin visible on his face.

You feel like you need to say something. Anything. So, you open your mouth and: “Do you want … a cup of coffee at my place?”

Lloyd cocks his eyebrows in surprise, but there’s no way he’d let slip of this chance, “Sure, why not.”

The mush in your brain refuses to leave. Your body acts on auto-pilot, leading you away from him.

You don’t even notice that he’s not following you this time, until he calls your name out of the blue, with a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Yes, Mr. Hansen?”

Lloyd decides to let slip of your poor choice of words this time, simply pointing his thumb in the other direction: “Your home is this way.”

Taglist (Also tagging those who might be interested): @stargazingfangirl18 @sarahdonald87 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @magnificentsaladllama @biteofcherry @petalj @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @thezombieprostitute @yiiiikesmish @warriorblu @vonalyn @notathingjustthere @lokislady82 @irishhappiness @toozmanykids @alicedopey @cakesandtom @universitypenguin @openup-yourmind @helenaeisenhower @wilsons-striped-ties @tittittoee @bean-is-reading @yearningforsappho @esposadomd @salvatoreitmeanssaviour

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#lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen fluff #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen fic #mob!lloyd hansen #the gray man #a whiff of blood

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richincolor · 7 months

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It's Banned Books Week!

While this isn't really a week to celebrate because censorship and the suppression of diverse voices is never okay, this is a week to lift up the work of educators, librarians, authors, book publishers, anyone who has a hand in making sure everyone's voice is represented in the books we love. The past few years have seen an increase in school boards across the country banning books in classrooms and libraries. The most egregious, to me, has been the removal of classroom sets of books in Florida. The ALA released early data on the number of challenged books for 2023 so far and its heartbreaking. The data reveals that, "Between January 1 and August 31, 2023, OIF reported 695 attempts to censor library materials and services and documented challenges to 1,915 unique titles - a 20% increase from the same reporting period in 2022, which saw the highest number of book challenges since ALA began compiling the data more than 20 years ago. The vast majority of challenges were to books written by or about a person of color or a member of the LGBTQIA+ community." (https://www.ala.org/advocacy/bbooks/book-ban-data) I don't know about you but this makes me want to fight even harder.

So, what can you do? The ALA provides an cool list of ways you can get involved not just this week but all year round such as volunteer at a library, speak out at a school board meeting, join organizations such as Unite Against Book Bans, purchase and share banned books, and even attend some of the events this week. Check out this page (Banned Books - Get Involved) for more detailed information about how you can help.

Starting today the ALA is hosting a few events that you can gain insight and inspiration. I'm looking forward to Banned Books Week Honorary Chair LeVar Burton's talk tonight at 8pm EST (5pm for you Cali folk like me) and a roundtable discussion titled "A Seat at the Table: Youth Advocates on Fighting Books Bans" by students leaders doing the hard work on Thursday at 8pm EST/5pm PST. Click on this page (Banned Books - Events) to get more information.

Lastly, Saturday, October 7th is Let Freedom Read Day where the ALA is asking us all to commit to doing at least one thing to help fight against censorship and support those on the front line. On their page (Let Freedom Read) is a list of actions that you could do on Sunday (or any day really), but for me, personally, please send love to a teacher or librarian because we could really use the support. Just saying "I'm there for you" or maybe donating a book to a teacher's personal classroom library would go far in the fight against censorship. If there is any time to give back to those who promote literacy and representation for all, this is the week to do it.

#banned books week #weneeddiversebooks

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littlejuicebox · 5 months

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Midnight Chimes

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: Pre-BG3. You are an apothecary on holiday, visiting your family in Baldur's Gate. You happen upon a certain silver-haired rake, and think perhaps he isn't what he seems. Rating/Warnings: PG / Very mild if any game spoilers but nothing related to major content or scenes Word Count: 2.3K Notes: Playing around with a little something different. Tried to keep this GN but please lmk if you caught something! :)

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The bell sounded its subtle chime above the tavern door; your buzzed gaze drifts from the ink-splotched pages of the book in front of you as you assess the newcomer. A cold gust of winter air sneaks in behind the elf now entering the tavern, and you shiver before pulling your fur coat more snugly around your frame. As you do, you realize you’ve seen that particular elf around here before. It had been several years, not since you were a lowly apprentice at the apothecary shop down the street… but you’d recognize that head of perfectly coiffed silver hair anywhere.

Had it really been almost ten years since your father threw that very same stranger out of the family tavern and forbade him from coming back? Admittedly, the elf looked like he’d hardly aged a day in all that time, but you supposed that was far from unusual for his race.

Pristine silvery hair, annoyingly attractive and all too aware of that fact, holding himself with a palpable air of haughty confidence… yes, he was exactly as you remembered from those many moons ago. You were just a youngling then, not but twenty, and back then your eyes had tracked the rake and his behavior with suspicious curiosity, just as they did now.

You’d been a server all those years ago, working nights at your parents’ tavern for tips and studying at Valindra’s Vials during the day. He’d been somewhat of a regular, always leaving with some being or another wrapped in his charismatic spell, and always waltzing in a few days later entirely unattached, as if that being never existed. A rake through and through.

And then one day, father had thrown the rake out for pickpocketing, forbidding him from ever returning. Years flew by, you completed your apprenticeship and moved to Waterdeep, only to return on holidays to visit your family and endure constant badgering about settling down and finding a spouse… and you’d all but forgotten the silver-haired elf.

Yet here he was, as if nothing had changed, and as rakish as ever. Father no longer tended the bar on weekends, so no one was around to recognize the man and throw him out on a decade-long ban… besides you. And honestly? It didn’t seem worth disturbing the last few hours of your holiday on such melodramatics. In your mind, a paying patron was a welcome patron as long as they kept their sticky fingers to themselves.

The silver-haired elf enters the warmth of tavern and meanders about, glossing his scarlet eyes over the crowd before ordering something from your cousin behind the bar.

You turn your attention back to the book and the notes you’d been penning in the margins, a nearly empty glass of wine and barely eaten sweet roll your only company. You pick off another piece of the pastry and pop it into your mouth before flipping the page of your tome. Hopefully mama and papa would be in bed by the time your cousin closed the bar… and you could sneak into your room without any further harassment from those two.

Family was everything to you, and you loved your parents dearly, but during every holiday visit you were quickly reminded why you’d originally left for Waterdeep. Things became stifling after about a week in that tiny apartment, and you were more-often down in the tavern than up in the living arrangements above it toward the end of your stay. Distance truly did make the heart grow fonder in your case; you were itching to get back to the solitude of home and away from the relentless line of questioning from mama and papa. Thankfully, you’d be back on the road to Waterdeep come morning and done enduring the inquisition until the next holiday.

You see the rake slide into the seat next to you out of your peripherals, and he opens his mouth, no doubt to shoot you his best line, but you cut him off with a quick and firm, “Nope. Not interested.”

He’s stunned. Baffled. It’s written on his face as you turn to address him head on, your narrowed eyes meeting his red ones squarely and unabashedly. The elf’s mouth is hanging open; he shuts it and squints in your direction for a mere moment. Then, he takes a sip out of whatever is in his goblet and narrows his vermillion eyes at the contents inside instead... not a fan of the drink, it seems.

The stranger decides to throw away whatever poor line he was going to use on you. Instead, his gaze flickers down to the book in your hands and takes note of the new conversational material. He is clearly not going to be dissuaded by your first rejection.

“What are you reading, darling?” The silver-haired elf asks, his voice resembling something of a purr. He leans just a bit closer, faking interest in the pages as you feel his hand slip nearer to your thigh.

“A book, darling. Ever seen one before?” You responded flatly, truly in no mood for whatever game this was and pointedly pushing his hand out of your personal bubble. You snap the book shut and stare at the silver-haired elf incredulously, placing the tome in the space between your bodies as a barrier.

Something about your response caused the rake to laugh in absolute delight, as if being outright rejected had never happened to him before. He was seeming to enjoy this little exchange. You, on the other hand, were not.

“Look — what’s your name?”

“Astarion.”

“Look, Astarion, I can promise you I am not interested. I’m not playing hard to get, I’m not playing coy. You may not remember me, but I remember you… my family owns this tavern and I worked here years ago, before my father threw you out… or did you forget that technically you’re banned? I know your game; in fact, I’ve seen you play it more than once. There are plenty of fine people in this establishment that cannot take their eyes off you. So if you’re looking for a lay, take your pick of the low hanging fruit and bugger off.”

Astarion is silent, but his eyes twinkle in entertained delight around the edges, a small smirk dancing on the corner of his mouth as he appraises you. He hums softly and takes another sip of his drink before glancing around the room. Sure enough, there are more than a few patrons with their sights quite obviously set on the rake and whatever talents he may possess, but he rolls his eyes at the gawkers and turns his attention back to you. Finally, Astarion breaks the silence with a low murmur, quite intent on continuing whatever interaction this is.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering why the hell every word that comes out of his mouth sounds like the most salacious thing you’ve ever heard.

“And what if I’m not looking for a lay, hm? What if… I’m looking for a riveting intellectual discussion? Is that more up your alley, darling?” Astarion asks, that cocky eyebrow lifting in something of a challenge.

You sigh. Admittedly, "riveting intellectual discussion" wasn’t something you often came across while visiting your family; it was certainly more up your alley than whatever half-assed lines he thought he might throw like bones to a dog. And... it would be nice to have someone to share a decent conversation with for once, if the rake could actually stand up to the challenge.

“Fine.” You mutter before downing the rest of your wine and gesturing to your cousin, who was now watching you from the bar with vague curiosity, for a refill. Astarion smiles before tapping the cover of your book with long, lithe fingers.

“Notable Poisons and Toxins of the Sword Coast?” He asks, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Looking to murder someone, perhaps?"

“I’m an apothecary.” You explain with a dismissive wave of your hand.

This intrigues the elf even further and he leans closer to you, this time genuinely, which makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He rests his head on his hand as he watches you, bidding you with a small gesture to continue on. You aren’t interested in a rake you tell yourself, even though he’s somehow even more attractive up close.

“I sell mostly perfumes, soaps, and basic medicinals for ailments in Waterdeep nowadays. Poisons and antidotes aren’t a particularly big seller... but I still prefer to remain up to date on the latest information.”

“Do you know of any poisons that can kill the undead?”

Your brow furrows. What an exceptionally odd and particular question. But then again, this man did promise intellectual conversation, and discussing bread and butter poisons would’ve been far from riveting to you. Perhaps he was truly interested… or at least actually attempting to pursue an intellectual conversation, though most people you interacted with showed much less interest in your craft. At any rate, you were happy for an opportunity to showcase your knowledge.

“A positoxin would do the trick. Difficult to make and difficult to come by, though… and ridiculously expensive, to boot.” You murmur, taking a sip from your newly filled goblet.

Astarion nods and hums, the gears behind his eyes turning and processing thoughts you cannot read. He cocks his head slightly, raising that ridiculous eyebrow in that simultaneously captivating and arrogant way of his. His voice comes out low, tone carrying notes of teasing playfulness. “And what about you, darling? Do you think you’re… skilled enough to make this positoxin?”

“Yes.” You murmur confidently, and yet you blush. You know your skill set to be strong, sure, but it was unusual to be placed in a position where you actually had to display that confidence. Especially to a strange rake you just met that very night.

Astarion laughs again and shakes his head. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you? Then, tell me how you would go about it.”

You continue on for several minutes, you don’t really know why, apart from the fact that Astarion is absolutely engrossed in everything you’re saying and it’s the first time anyone has actually listened to you prattle on about potions. You inform the elf that the art of positoxins is notoriously difficult and would take several weeks and a handful of hard to come by ingredients to brew just one vial. Astarion bids you to go on as he finishes his goblet, asking all the right questions to keep you talking and soaking up every ounce of information as you continue.

The conversation does not lull; you feel the passion and excitement in your voice grow as you become less guarded. The rake proves to be a wonderful audience, able to follow along with your level of intellect and interject his own knowledge in only the way an educated person could. Yet he was content to let you take the lead and just listen. It was surprisingly refreshing to have someone really hear and understand you… and actually take interest in something you were fascinated by instead of outright dismissing it or just nodding along.

Soon enough the clock tower chimes midnight and your cousin is yelling last call to everyone in the bar, much to the disappointment of the poor drunkards. Astarion’s eyes, previously lulled into a soft and cat-like gaze by your ramblings, snapped into a wide-eyed, forlorn expression. “Gods, is that really the time? I-I have to go.”

He practically jolts out of the seat, his tone hurried and gestures fidgety. “I-it was nice meeting you, uh…”

“I’m Tav.” You respond softly, your eyebrows furrowing as you study the man and his sudden change in demeanor.

“Tav. Yes, lovely to meet you. Perhaps I’ll see you around here tomorrow and you can tell me more about positoxins or perhaps some alchemical cure for vampirism… seems you have a plethora of knowledge to share and I’m all pointy ears.”

Your face falls, and for the first time you realize how much you wish that were a true possibility. “I return to Waterdeep tomorrow, I’m afraid. I can’t leave the shop in the hands of my apprentice for too long.”

Astarion’s expression matches yours and you sigh in disappointment as you drop your hand into your bag and start rustling around inside. Perhaps you’d misjudged the elf and he hadn’t been exactly what he seemed; you’d quite enjoyed his company, in the end. You pull out a small card with your shop address on it; there is a sample vial attached to the card by a jute cord.

“Here. This is my address in Waterdeep. Feel free to write. I come back at least once a year to visit my family… but sometimes more, if there’s something worth coming back for.” Your hint is subtle, but you hope he catches your meaning. Your fingers brush his as he takes the card, and you swear you feel the tingle of connection. Or perhaps that’s the two glasses of wine talking.

The silver-haired elf takes the offering, looking down at the inscription and running his fingers over the embossed words before he tucks everything into his pocket. “And what’s in the vial?”

“A sample. Like I told you, I primarily sell perfumes and soaps nowadays. That mixture is one of my favorites… a delightful combination of bergamot and rosemary... and a secret ingredient I won't name. Try it out and tell me what you think in your letter."

Astarion shakes his head just slightly, almost imperceptibly, a faraway look in his eyes. The clock tower bells chime again, their second call for the midnight hour, and he snaps back into the present. The elf turns to look at you one last time, eyes boring into yours with such shocking intensity. “I really must be going. It was… truly a lovely surprise to meet you, Tav.”

He grabs your hand in his shockingly cold grip, gives it a squeeze, and swiftly exits. You hear the tinkling of the doorbell and watch as the rake runs down the alley before dodging into the shadows and altogether disappearing from view.

You grab the goblet he left behind, along with your own dishes, and walk behind the oak bar to help your cousin close up as the final patrons make their drunken exits in a cacophony of grunts, arguments, and off-tune singing.

“Who was that?” Your cousin asks, nodding his head toward the seats you and Astarion just occupied moments ago as he wipes down the bar and all manner of filth left by the patrons that night. “A potential suitor, perhaps? Your parents will be thrilled.”

“Oh… I think probably not. A rake of a man, to be sure. He was quite cute, though. In another life… I think we could’ve been friends.” You respond as you begin with the dishes, the warmth of the water washing away the coolness imbued in your fingertips from the elf’s touch.

Tomorrow you’ll head home to Waterdeep and the solitude of your apothecary shop. Part of you will wait for a letter that doesn't show, and you'll shove your disappointment deep into the back of your mind, never once admitting it to yourself. But fate spins along as it should, and a few years from now you'll be standing on an unfamiliar beach after a horrible crash, the familiar scent of rosemary and bergamot drifting in the air.

——-

A/N: This was originally meant to be a one shot, but I loved the premise of the piece so much that I wanted to try and turn it into a series. Read the first chapter here.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #rosemary and bergamot is a great essential oil combo #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion x you #astarion fanfiction #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #astarion x original female character

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venerawrites · 30 days

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Omg I love your writing and am so so here for all the Gaara love! ♥️

Could you pretty please do Gaara finding out his S/O is pregnant?

author's note: thank you so much, you are so sweet! I love this request, it is so cute! Thank you so much for the idea! <3

Gaara never wanted to be a dad.

Not because he didn't love you or because he didn't want to share his life with you...

But rather because he did not believe he was fit to be a parent himself.

Firstly, he was a pretty busy man and knew he would not be able to spend a lot of time with his child. Being the son of the late Kazekage himself, he knew how rare family dinners and walks to the park were.

Secondly, he has never been good with children. Growing up without any friends, he was unsure how to handle anyone below the age of 10.

Like, how are you even supposed to speak to them? Like babies? Like adults? Do they have the capacity to even fully understand words?

Gaara was fully happy with the idea of spending your life together just the two of you, and based on the many conversations you had before, you were too.

But accidents DO happen...

and you DID get pregnant, despite your joint effort to prevent it.

When you saw the two lines on the test, your eyes widened in shock. The idea of becoming a mother hasn't even crossed your mind and here you were, holding the proof that a new life was starting to bloom inside of you.

You didn't know how to break the news to Gaara. So you decided that you are just going to wait for a few days till an appropriate time to share it with him presents itself.

The young Kazekage, however, knew you like the back of his hand and immediately knew something was wrong once he noticed your withdrawn behaviour.

So one morning, before you could even start your day properly, he rolled over on your shared bed, so he was hovering over you and cornered you between his arms.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong or do I have to keep you hostage in this bed?", he joked, yet there was a note of concern in his voice.

You stared at him long and hard, not cracking even a smile before abruptly saying:

"I am pregnant."

His smile fell and his whole body stiffened. His eyes became double their normal size and his mouth fell open.

When? How?... What?

Both of you always made sure to use protection, how was that possible?

He will start stuttering questions, crashing next to you with his brows furrowed in confusion. You are going to have to give him some basic sex ed talk about how contraception does not always work 100%.

"I want this child", you told him, eyes focused on your fidgeting hands in your lap, "I don't know about you but-"

Your words were interrupted by the soft feeling of his fingers interlacing with yours. When you looked up at him, he had a soft smile on his face.

"Hey", he gently said, "I want this child too! You are carrying the fruit of our love inside of you."

And at this moment you knew a new, better chapter was about to begin for you two.

I feel like Gaara would try to appear calm and collected about the news, just so he doesn't freak YOU out, but internally he would be scared and nervous.

He would borrow books from Suna's library about how to deal with pregnancies and new parenthood, going as far as even taking some written notes of the tips he finds interesting.

The more time passes, the more overprotective he would become.

Like I don't think he would stop you from doing lower-class missions from the very beginning (especially knowing how stubborn can you be about stuff like that), but after the first 3 months, he is definitely banning you from leaving the village.

He would send Kankuro to check on you regularly, making him use lame excuses that he is just "popping in to take something that Gaara has forgotten in the house".

First 5-6 months are pretty smooth sailing, tbh... Other than the fact that he is more worried than usual about your well-being, I don't think there is going to be much change to your relationship.

But THE LAST 3 MONTHS... OH MY!

This is when your mood swings, cravings, and hormones just go through the roof.

You are constantly unhappy with him - if he is with you, why is he suffocating you? If he is away, why is he working so much?

lots of fights about minor stuff :(

Gaara definitely has the patience of a saint, so poor man would just calmly take your insults and 5 seconds later - your kisses.

He is questioning if he wants a second child, tho

Despite being a busy Kage, he would still make time to pamper you after work by giving you foot massages, preparing your favourite snacks, or going for late-night walks, just because you wanted "some damn fresh air".

Overall, pretty caring and gentle with you during your pregnancy, but not TOO overbearing. He respects your personal freedom and at the end of the day, he thinks you know better than him what you are doing.

#gaara of the sand #gaara headcanons #gaara x reader #gaara imagine #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #sabaku no gaara #naruto requests

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hooked-on-elvis · 3 months

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How did Elvis took care of his awesome hair? 🚿🍃

Plus, a quick overview on one of the King's hairdressers and Memphis Mafia man, Larry Geller: How somewhat he was the friend Elvis needed and how Elvis' over-controlling inner circle banned Geller from their surroundings for a while.

I was actually looking if I could find Elvis' haircut name - precisely the type of haircut he had on the '68 Comeback Special and "Charro!" (1968), since I'm a girl and I have zero idea about the names for male haircuts but I just love that haircut he had so much I wanted to talk about it... anyway. But I found an article about Elvis' hair care routine and that sounds very interesting to me, so it might be something you wanna know too.

This is told by Larry Geller, so this means this was Elvis' hair routine starting from mid 60's on, precisely from 1964 to 1967, and possibly also from late 1972 to 1977 *, periods in which Larry was responsible for taking care of the King's hair.

Geller, who will be launching his own line of organic hair products later this year, tested out some of his first custom mixes on Elvis. “I used to go to the health food store and get a benign base shampoo and get some vitamin capsules and pour 99 percent pure aloe vera and other herbs into it, and shake it up,” Geller tells Yahoo Beauty. “That’s what I used on Elvis’ hair. He said to me, right from the get-go, ‘You can do whatever you want with my hair, but one thing — make sure I keep it!’” Source: Yahoo Beauty: Elvis Presley’s Hairstylist Spills the King’s Secrets by Lilit Marcus. The article was shared on a Graceland's website on January 28, 2014.

Elvis, you're the best, man. LOL. Just that comment is worth this entire post. It made me laugh. But the article goes on.

Then there was the daily routine. “I shampooed his hair regularly, usually every day. I would massage his scalp for a few minutes, then brush his hair at least 50 or 60 strokes. I was focused on long-term health of his hair, which was so important,” Geller explains. He also used products like vitamin E and jojoba oil to style Elvis’ hair and replace conditioner. Hairspray was used to set it, with Geller alternating multiple brands so that none of them would dry out Elvis’ coif too much. As for its color, Geller dyed Elvis’ hair every two to three weeks with a L’Oreal formula. What did the two men discuss during all that grooming? Religion, philosophy, books, life, and anything else you can think of. “Elvis had everything,” says Geller. “He was an extraordinary human being. He had the greatest eyes, the greatest voice, fans galore. He also had great hair.”

Elvis in "Frankie and Johnny" and "Spinout", both 1966 movies.

Larry Geller styled Elvis’ hair for: "Roustabout" (1964), Girl Happy (1965), Tickle Me (1965), Harum Scarum (1965), Frankie and Johnny (1966), Paradise, Hawaiian Style (1966), Spinout (1966), Easy Come, Easy Go (1967), Double Trouble (1967), and Clambake (1967). Geller prepared Elvis’ hair for the last time for his funeral in August, 1977.

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Elvis' hair must have been so good smelling and soft. Washed every day, organic products to make it smooth and shiny as it was. 🫠🥹

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Now, if you want to understand why there's a pause in Larry's association with Elvis, here it is:

LARRY GELLER QUITS WORKING FOR ELVIS IN 1967: INDIRECTLY CAUSED BY ELVIS' HEAD INJURY POSTPONING THE FILMING FOR 'CLAMBAKE'.

On March 9, 1967, Elvis was staying in him home in Bel Air, Los Angeles, and one incident (Elvis tripped over a TV cord in his bathroom and banged his head against a porcelain bathtub) caused the beginning of the production for the movie "Clambake", for which he was preparing to, to be postponed. Colonel Parker was fuming when he heard about the need for Elvis to take a couple of weeks of resting to recover from the mild concussion he had. It was a critical moment in Elvis' life. By the time the filming begun, Elvis even put up some weight from his normal 170 lb (77 kg) to 200 lb (91 kg) — I said it before, whenever this happened to Elvis' body it was because he was extremely distressed. He was an emotional eater.

Getting back to the accident, Parker even thought Elvis did it on purpose not to fulfill his Hollywood commitment since Presley clearly was not happy about his movies anymore, something Parker somehow blamed it on Elvis' spiritual quest. He pulled some strings to manipulate Elvis to remove Larry Geller from his inner circle by saying to him that all that spiritual thing was getting too much into his head, distracting him from his business obligations. If not enough Parker said to Presley that Larry Geller was brainwashing him because of some personal agenda he must have had in his mind — it's mentioned by someone, somewhere (i'm sorry, I'm not gonna remember where I've read it now) that Geller was planning on using Elvis' money to open a religious study center or something like that).

Basically, Parker thought Larry was a threat because if Elvis decided in throwing his career away, like some say he was by becoming a preacher, Parker would lose his most profitable and only client. Consequently all the religion and spiritual "shit" (as they called) that Larry Geller had put inside the King's head (as they thought), presenting him with many books and having deep conversations for hours with Elvis about several religious and spiritual subjects but not exclusively that, they also talked about meditation and self improvement as a human beings, astrology and so on, all of that was threatening Parker's plans over Elvis.

But Parker didn't make it on his own. Even Priscilla says in her memoir book that Elvis was obsessively reading non-stop and wanting to share his learning with everybody else, but his friends and herself didn't care about none of this self-improvement and religious talk. His inner circle even looked at Presley's spiritual quest as somewhat annoying, including Priscilla. Their thoughts about Larry Geller were something like "Larry changed his mind. Elvis is not spending time with us as he used to." Ugh!

Nobody actually told Larry to leave, tho, and Elvis wouldn't do such thing if he didn't have a good reason to - until this point Larry was a confidant to him, one of the only people he could talk about life and wonder what was God's plan for him, his true life mission, something Elvis would never cease trying to understand. However, Elvis' inner circle and Colonel Parker begun making Geller feel uncomfortable, unwelcome among the group, while they took Elvis' attention back to them, practically forcing Geller to decide to finally leave and go away for good, and he did it. But it was not something definite.

Many things happened in Elvis' life since Larry Geller and him went different ways but by August 1972, tho, Geller got back in contact in Elvis when he attended one of Presley's concerts in Las Vegas, and from then on Larry begins working for Elvis again, till the end of the King's life in 1977.

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis history #elvis presley history #larry geller #memphis mafia #colonel parker #priscilla beaulieu #priscilla presley #elvis hair #elvis the king #elvis fans #elvis fandom #60s elvis #70s elvis

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sweetestofchaos · 7 months

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➵ Parings: Teacher!Jungkook x OC!Netta ➵ Genre/Trope: Fluff, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Co-Worker AU, Teacher AU ➵ Rating: 18+ ➵ Summary: The new English teacher has a big fat crush on the PE teacher Jeon Jungkook and everyone know about it...including Jungkook, himself. ➵ Word Count: 6.1k ➵ Warnings: Kissing, Thigh Riding, Ass Smacking, Food Play, Oral (fem receiving), Fingering, Mentions of Periods

𝘮.𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 ▵ 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 ▵ 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

a/n: 10 months later and I’m finished!! I have to thank @dawnagustd and @vvh0adie for helping me ease into the smut from when I first started writing this bad boy. I was starting at the screen for hours just looking dumb. Thank you @hobeemin for being my beta, your comments made me giggle!! Banner made by the wonderful @floralkive. MDNI/Support divider made by @benkeibear

It was a known fact that Little Flower Academy was one of the few elementary schools that didn’t have a dating ban for its employees. The headmaster wasn’t stupid; he knew that if you worked around people for days at a time, crushes and even love were bound to happen. Netta was the kind of woman who never mixed business with pleasure, but when Jeon Jungkook came into her world, that idea was washed away like the chalk lines at recess. Netta had a huge crush on Mr. Jeon, the cute Health and PE teacher. She wasn’t sure what it was about the man that made her heart pound so harshly. With just a single glance or if he smiled, Netta swore there were yellow jackets in her stomach, or maybe it was just pizza sticks she ate from the cafeteria.

The first time Jungkook spoke to Netta, she couldn’t stop staring at the mole on the bridge of his nose; it was cute. She was so lost just staring at it that she completely missed the question that had been asked. It wasn’t until Jungkook laughed and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck that Netta snapped out of whatever trance she had been in. She apologized for zoning out, and Jungkook shook his head, his dark hair flying around his ears before he repeated his question. He wanted to know how she liked the school, and if she had any issues, she was more than welcome to come to him. Issues? There was only one that Netta could think of, and it was standing in front of her.

The two quickly became the topic around the water cooler of the academy. Teachers and parents alike all whispered about how good they looked together, the dream team they were called to their faces, and behind their backs, they were the perfect couple. Netta heard the rumors and wasn’t sure if Jungkook had too. If he had, he never let on about it. Jungkook was kind and very funny in the weirdest of ways. He was a giant nerd, to be honest, and Netta was thankful that she could see that side of him as his friend. That’s how she ended up here, now. All alone in Jungkook’s home, helping him grade papers while eating Thai take away on a Friday night.

Jungkook has his bluetooth speaker playing music at a lower volume, sitting on the couch with papers spread out all around him. Netta is sitting on top of a pillow on the floor with her legs folded underneath her, twirling a set of red chopsticks between her fingers. She glances at Jungkook when he sighs and pushes his hair from his face for the nth time that night. Jeez, can he look any hotter? A familiar beat catches Netta’s ear, and she bites her lip as Jamie Fox’s voice fills the air.

You know what, I'm ma make it do what it do baby,

I'm ma make it do what it do baby

Netta drops her chopsticks, and they fall to the floor, making Jungkook look away from the papers in front of him. “You good?”

“Huh?” Netta stares at Jungkook and tries to ignore the sexual words spilling from the speakers. Does Jungkook not hear what’s playing? “Y-yeah, I’m good. Just…yeah.” Netta turns her attention to the papers in front of her and squints at the black text. What does this even mean? It’s like she’s reading a different language all of a sudden.

“How many papers have you gone through?” Jungkook’s voice cuts through Netta’s foggy mind, and she can feel heat warm her face. Honestly? She hasn’t graded much; it’s kind of hard to focus when Jungkook’s scent is all around her; plus, the oversized smokey green denim shirt isn’t doing anything for her well being either. How can he wear something so simple and look so hot? It’s not even fair at this point in life. “Net?” Jungkook tilts his head to the side, and Netta quickly pulls herself together, ducking her head down as she bites her lower lip.

“I didn’t get much done.” Netta sees the frown pulling at Jungkook’s lips and swallows. “S-sorry Kookie.” Her voice is soft as she spots the chopsticks on the floor by her leg. “I-I need new chopsticks!” Netta jumps to her feet, and Jungkook’s jaw clenches.

“Sit down, Ms. Robbins!”

One second, Netta is standing, and the next, she is sitting on the edge of the love seat, the fallen chopsticks clutched tightly in her fist, staring at Jungkook with wide eyes. Jungkook sighs and takes his reading glasses off, setting them on the table before he sits up and runs his hand through his hair…five times, not that Netta is counting or anything. Jungkook tucks his hair behind his ears and inhales with a smack of his lips. He stares at the unmarked papers on the table before he turns his gaze to Netta, who refuses to meet his eyes.

Jungkook’s lips press into a line as his eyes flicker up to the ceiling, licking his lips as he tries to gather his thoughts together. He sniffles once and runs a hand through his hair once again, his bangs falling right back in place, framing his face. Netta risks a glance Jungkook’s way, and her breath catches in her throat as their eyes meet. Jungkook raises an eyebrow and presses his tongue against his cheek while Netta looks away.

“Netta?” Jungkook calls her name softly, speaking just above a whisper as if anything louder would spook her.

“Y-yes?” Netta squeaks out, and she clears her throat. “Yes?”

Those rumors about Netta having a crush on him may be true after all. Keeping that thought in mind, Jungkook nods his head and sighs. Jungkook smiles, his lip ring catching the light and forcing Netta to focus on his lips. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Huh? Tell you…what?” Netta fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist and starts to bounce her left leg as she tries to figure out Jungkook’s question.

He cracks a sly smile, “The rumors are true, huh?” He swipes through his hair once more, shaking his locks before he sits back in his chair. Netta has no thoughts, his arms are folded, and his legs spread. Her mind is empty as she stares at Jungkook’s massive thighs. Were they always so thick and inviting? Netta’s thighs press together subconsciously, and she shifts in her seat. Seeing her movement, Jungkook strikes. He uncrosses his arms and holds his hand out to Netta. “Come here, Netta.” Jungkook’s voice is magnetic, pulling Netta from her seat to stand between his legs.

Jungkook tilts his head back to get a better look at Netta’s face, “What’s going through that pretty head of yours, Ms. Robbins?” Jungkook slowly raises his arm and places a hand on Netta’s waist, keeping his eyes locked on her face. He doesn’t want to miss any signs of discomfort. “Humm?” Jungkook’s thumb slips under the hem of Netta’s shirt, and he forces himself not to look away from her face even though he wants to see the goosebumps that he feels on her bare skin. Wrapping his other hand around Netta’s wrist, Jungkook pulls her closer, and reaches out, her arms caging Jungkook on either side of the couch as she stops herself from falling on top of him.

“J-Jungkook!” Netta gasps, and Jungkook’s smile is wicked as he gazes at her.

“I’m not reading the room wrong, am I?” Jungkook questions as the rest of his hand slips underneath Netta’s shirt.

Netta opens her mouth, and no sound comes out. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Jungkook’s warm palm pressed against her side so softly. His hands are large, so very large, and his fingertips are calloused. Netta lets herself wonder how they would feel against more of her skin. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Netta gathers whatever resolve she has and lowers herself onto Jungkook’s lap, her knees on either side of his left thigh.

Jungkook mutters something under his breath, and before Netta can question him, Jungkook cups the back of Netta’s neck and pulls her into a feverish kiss. Their lips mold together, their tongues taste each other, and Netta’s full weight falls into Jungkook’s lap, her legs refusing to support her any longer. Jungkook groans into the kiss, feeling the pleasurable weight settle sweetly on his upper thigh. The heat from between Netta’s legs seeps into the fabric of his jeans, and Jungkook squeezes Netta’s hip tightly. His lungs burn, but he fights the urge to breathe; he doesn’t want to part from such sweet lips. Jungkook never knew that peanut pad thai was so delicious.

Netta slides her hands from the back of the couch and tangles her fingers into Jungkook’s hair. The strands are silky soft, and when she accidentally tugs, Jungkook moans into her mouth. Netta pulls away from the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connects their lips, and she pushes at Jungkook’s chest as he chases her lips.

“W-Wait…Jungk-kook.”

Jungkook hums and licks his lips as he inhales deeply. His heart is beating rapidly under Netta’s fingers as the rise and fall of his chest starts to slow. Jungkook’s eyes are wide and alert as he stares at Netta concerned. He cups her cheek in his hand and swipes the spit from her bottom with the pad of his thumb.

“Are you okay? D-Do you want to stop?”

“God, no!” Netta shakes her head, and Jungkook smiles, all bunny teeth and scrunched up nose.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook whispers as he bumps his nose against Netta’s, trying to kiss her lips again.

Netta firmly pushes at Jungkook’s chest and puts space between their bodies, “I don’t want to do this on your couch…we could ruin the paperwork.”

Jungkook glances over Netta’s shoulder at the piles of ungraded tests and the rainbow of markers scattered on the table and floor. Jungkook’s tongue darts out to play with his lip ring as he thinks over Netta’s words. His hands slowly trail to Netta’s buttocks, and his fingers tap out a random beat that matches the current song playing from the speakers.

“My bedroom is a mess,” Jungkook pouts, and Netta giggles as she plays with the necklace hanging at Jungkook’s throat.

“Jungkook, we work with a bunch of children. I doubt your room is any worse than theirs.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes and gives Netta’s butt a firm slap, making her yelp and jump in surprise.

“I don’t think I like your tone, Ms. Robbins.” Jungkook leans forward and nips at Netta’s jaw before he licks up the length of her neck to her ear. “Are you a messy girl? Is that why you won’t mind my room? Just gonna make it messier for me, yeah?”

Jungkook’s words go right to Netta’s core and settle so deep that she can feel her walls clench around nothing. Empty. She suddenly is so self-aware of how long it has been since she last had sex with someone. Netta bites her lower lip, and a shiver crawls down her spine as Jungkook ghosts a gentle path of kisses from her ear to the corner of her lips.

“No, no, Ms. Robbins,” Jungkook easily pulls Netta’s bottom lip from between her teeth and soothes the tender flesh with his own lips. He licks at the bitten skin and sucks Netta’s lip into his mouth, his hands pressing firmly against Netta’s butt and she moans. Her hips start to move on their own, back and forth, over the meaty length of Jungkook’s thigh. Jungkook breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers, “That’s it, make a mess for me. I can’t wait to clean it all up.” Jungkook’s tongue is sinful as he licks back into Netta’s mouth. He leaves no space unexplored and slides his hands around a little to sink his fingers into the sides of Netta’s upper thighs.

Jungkook pulls Netta down more onto his thigh, and he flexes, giving her something harder to grind against. A broken moan slips past Netta’s lips, and Jungkook swallows it whole, devours every sound that continues to spill from such sweet lips. Everything feels too hot; Netta’s nerve endings are on fire, and the coil in her stomach is wound too tight. Her panties are wet, embarrassingly so. So wet that Netta knows she has soaked through the fabric of her yellow jeans. She wonders if she has soaked Jungkook’s jeans as well. The blood rushing behind her ears becomes louder than her thoughts; all she can do is feel.

There is a damp patch of skin that Jungkook keeps nipping and licking at; it’s right below her ear, and it’s driving her wild. Jungkook’s body is warm, firm, and strong under her hands. She wants to touch more than just his hands and face. Netta pants, her head lolls backward, and her eyes screwed shut as a warm wave of pleasure washes over her body. She whines, and Jungkook curses under his breath; he can feel the pulse from between Netta’s legs. He can see the wet mark she had made on his jeans and wants more. Jungkook grabs the back of Netta’s neck, mindful of the passion, twists in the way, and crashes their lips together.

“In my room, on my bed, now!” Jungkook pushes Netta away from him, and she scrambles to her feet, her legs wobbly and weak from her first orgasm of the night. “Second door on the left,” Jungkook informs Netta as he stares down at the wet patch on his thigh. He can see that Netta hasn’t moved, and he picks his head up with a raised eyebrow.

“What-” Netta wraps her arms around herself and shifts her weight from foot to foot.

Jungkook slowly stands from the couch and cups Netta’s face once more. He runs his thumb over the seam of her lips and tugs the bottom lightly, “What’s holding you back? We can stop if you would like.”

Netta looks down at her sock clad feet, and Jungkook gently grabs her chin between his thumb and index finger before he tilts Netta’s face upward.

“What is going through that mind of yours?”

Netta’s eyes well with tears, and her lower lip starts to quiver. Jungkook’s eyes widen, and he pulls Netta into a tight embrace as he wraps his arms around her.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay.” Jungkook smushes his cheek to the top of Netta’s head and rubs her back. “We don’t have to do anything; you don’t want to do Netta. We can even pretend that it never happened!”

“I-I’m s-sorry,” Netta cries into Jungkook’s shirt and shakes his head.

“What are you - no! You have nothing, and I mean nothing, to apologize for, Netta. Do you hear me?” Jungkook pulls away and bends a little at the knee to get a better look at Netta’s face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you-”

“No! I-I liked it…I-I wanted it.” Netta fists Jungkook’s shirt in her hands, and Jungkook just stares. Why is Netta crying if he didn’t read the room wrong? “We work together, Jungkook.”

“Yes…is that a problem?”

Netta pulls away from Jungkook and wipes at her face, embarrassed to be seen crying like this after she just ruined his jeans.

“I can’t sleep with you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook licks his lips, and his tongue goes right to his lip ring, “Because we work together?” Jungkook questions slowly and carefully as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Netta nods her head and links her fingers together as she speaks, “I just don’t want to make it awkward at work or anything…you know?”

Jungkook inhales and nods his head. Yeah. Okay. He can understand where Netta is coming from. Their work place was full of gossip, and he can understand why that would be off putting.

“I understand, Netta. I guess I misread the room, huh?”

Netta shakes her head, and Jungkook frowns, “I really do like you, Jungkook,” Netta admits, and her face heats up. “I just can’t do a one night stand with a coworker.”

Jungkook repeats Netta’s words, “A one night stand?” Netta looks up and sees the amusement in Jungkook’s eyes. “I don’t think I was clear with my intentions, but that’s my own fault for doing things out of order.”

“What?”

Jungkook pulls his hands from his pockets and grabs Netta’s hands gently between his. “I would like to date you, Ms. Robbins.”

Netta stares at Jungkook, face lost and adorable, making Jungkook giggle as he bops her nose with his finger.

“May I do that, Netta? Can I take you out? On a real date, officially?”

“Officially?” Netta parrots, and Jungkook motions towards the take away boxes. Netta quirks an eyebrow, and Jungkook’s ears heat up. “This was a date?”

“I-I had more planned!” Jungkook defends, and Netta laughs with a shake of her head.

“An official date would be lovely, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook’s whole face lights up, and he surges forward, capturing Netta’s lips with his own. The kiss is light and sweet, a clear way to show his true feelings. Netta rests her hands on Jungkook’s chest, and he nibbles at her lower lip, making Netta whine against his mouth.

“I have a spare bedroom…you can spend the night.” Jungkook whispers, and Netta sighs softly. “It has a lock that I don’t have the key to if that makes you feel better.”

Netta giggles and pecks Jungkook’s lips three times before she pulls away, “What would I sleep in?”

“I’m sure we could find something.”

“And if we don’t?”

Jungkook grins and snakes his arms around Netta’s waist, his hand resting low on the small of her back. “The sheets are really soft, perfect to sleep nude.”

Things at work are interesting. Netta and Jungkook are seen carpooling to work often, and they sit next to each other in the break room with their lunches. The Art teacher, Taehyung, is sure that the two of them are dating, while Seokjin, the Headmaster, is certain that they are in the beginning stages of a relationship. He likes to point out that Jungkook is more reserved around Netta; he isn’t touching her or making slick comments. He is very respectful, and Netta is the one that usually touches his hand. Hoseok, the Math teacher, doesn’t really care. He’s just happy that Jungkook has finally stopped talking his ear off about the new English teacher.

Netta sits with Jimin, who teaches Social Studies, and Yoongi, the Science teacher. Everyone, students, teachers, and parents are gathered outside for the teachers versus students kickball game. Namjoon, another PE teacher, is the referee for the match, and Netta giggles along with Jimin as all the moms drool over him. The teams are mixed with different grades from kindergarten to fifth, and the teachers were well rounded. Jungkook, Namjoon, and a handful of other teachers are together on a team and wear matching white mesh tops over their blue t-shirts. The kids wear yellow mesh tops over their shirts, and the school provided them with new cleats so that no one gets injured while playing.

Taehyung and Seokjin are the announcers for the game, and they are dressed for the part, both wearing black slacks with button up shirts and colorful ties. Taehyung has a yellow beret to match the children, and Seokjin, a white one to stand with the teachers. As the last of the parents and staff fill the bleachers, Seokjin announces the teams and Netta smiles. This is going to be a great game. Plus, Jungkook is looking right in those black sweatpants.

“You’re drooling,” Jimin teases as he nudges Netta with his elbow, and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“Leave her alone, Min. You know she’s down bad for Jeon.”

“S-Shut up!” Netta whines as she clicks her tongue and pulls the hair band from her wrist. Keeping her eyes on the game, Netta pulls her twists into a low ponytail and folds her hand in her lap. “I’m watching everyone.”

“Sure you are,” Jimin giggles and links his arm with Netta’s. “So, when is loverboy taking you out on a date?”

“I never said anything-”

“I overheard Jungkook asking Namjoon.”

Netta rolls her eyes and sighs, “We’re supposed to go out later tonight.”

“Where’s he taking you?”

“Why do you want to know?” Yoongi cuts in, and Jimin glares at him from the other side of Netta. “Their love life has nothing to do with any of us. Leave ‘em alone.”

Netta laughs as Jimin pouts, and Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Yoongi. But honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. I don’t know where we are going. Jungkook said he wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“How romantic!” Jimin gushes, and Netta turns her attention to Jungkook, who is now standing at the plate to kick.

“I guess it is…”

The students beat the teachers nine to five, and as their reward, Seokjin was going to host an ice cream party for everyone next Friday during the last class.

“Bye, Mr. Jeon!” A few students shout from their parent’s cars as they drive past, and Jungkook beeps his horn as he starts his engine. Right away, he puts the air on and sighs the moment the cool air hits his hot skin. He’s still sweating from running outside, and his heartbeat is slowly returning to normal. Jungkook pulls the sun visor down and looks at himself in the mirror; his hair is a mess, his face is sweaty, and his eyes are alive and bright. He wipes at his face and pushes his hair back quickly before he flips the sun visor back up and leans back in his seat.

He is waiting for Netta to come out so that he can drop her off at her place. They have their first official date tonight, and Jungkook is determined to have a great time for Netta. Everything is planned out, and now all Jungkook has to do is get himself ready. A few minutes pass before Netta comes out of the school with her friend Jimin by her side. The two are talking about something that Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine, and he unlocks the doors for her.

Jimin is ever the gentleman and opens the passenger door for Netta and shields her head as she lowers herself into the seat. Leaning against the door frame, Jimin looks at Jungkook and narrows his eyes.

“You better treat my bestie right, Jeon. I will kick your tall, muscular ass if you fuck this up!”

Jungkook huffs a laugh and nods his head, “Goodbye, Jimin.”

Jimin kisses Netta’s cheek and slams the door shut before heading to his car. Jungkook waits for Netta to buckle herself in and pulls out of his parking space.

“You did really well today. I thought your team was going to win.”

“What kind of teachers would we be if we swept the floor with a bunch of little kids?”

Netta laughs and nods her head in agreement. She is sure that the children would have been heartbroken if they had lost, especially with the promise of an ice cream party as the prize.

“Well, I still think you kicked ass out there.”

“Yeah? We still lost the game…my ego is bruised.”

“Your poor ego.”

“Kiss it and make it better?”

Netta glances over at Jungkook, and he smiles innocently.

“You’re a dork.”

“I’m your dork,” Jungkook says with a wink before he turns his attention back to the road.

Date night is beyond anything that Netta was able to imagine. She was under the impression that Jungkook was going to take her out to eat, and that was it, classy and simple. How wrong she was. Jungkook took Netta to an aquarium. The aquarium was something that Netta recalled telling him about over a late night phone call when Jungkook asked what was something she missed from her hometown. They explored the whole place, swam with the dolphins, pet the stingrays, and cuddled some otters and Jungkook won a large penguin plushie from a raffle that he entered. For dinner, Jungkook had placed an order for pickup at one of his favorite small family restaurants, and they ate their meal under the stars on a large blanket in the park.

It was a perfect date, and Jungkook suggested that they end the night with ice cream, to which Netta agreed. Ice cream sounded wonderful, and that’s how she ended up back at Jungkook’s home, once again sitting in his living room. They sit on the same couch and share a tub of ice cream between them, along with a few other treats, while One Piece plays on the tv.

“Nami is always hitting them,” Jungkook pouts, and Netta laughs.

“If they would act right, they wouldn’t get hit.”

“They are pirates! There is no acting right,” Jungkook argues, and Netta licks the spoon in her hand.

“Pirates or not pirates, they shouldn’t scream at each other all the time.”

“It’s entertaini-”

“Shit! C-Cold!”

Jungkook’s brain freezes, and he stops talking mid-sentence as he watches the melted ice cream from Netta’s spoon drip onto her bare leg, her thigh that is exposed since she chose to wear a dress tonight. Netta drops her spoon into the tub of ice cream and quickly wipes her thigh with her middle finger, collecting the melted ice cream. She brings her finger to her mouth and licks the melted treat from her finger.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

She turns her eyes back to Jungkook, and he is staring at her hard. Netta tilts her head, unsure why he looks so pained, and she follows his gaze to the smeared ice cream on her thigh.

“Jungkook?” Netta calls his name gently, and he doesn’t budge, so she unbends her leg and kicks out her foot. The tips of her toes graze Jungkook’s outer thigh, and he jumps from the sudden pressure against his leg. His large eyes find Netta’s, and she smiles while biting her lower lip. “See something you like?”

Jungkook’s eyes drop back to her thighs, and he grabs her ankle now that her foot is resting on his lap. The spoon in Jungkook’s hand slaps against the side of Netta’s calf, and she jumps from the coldness.

“Sorry…” Jungkook’s voice is breathy as he slowly lifts Netta’s leg upward towards his face, “Let me get that for you.” His tongue peaks out of his mouth, and her breath catches in her throat as the warm wetness of his tongue sends goosebumps up her body. Jungkook’s tongue slides up, up, up. The splat of ice cream long gone as he moves higher, stopping at the side of Netta’s knee before he places a wet kiss on the skin. He lets her leg fall to his shoulder, the other still tucked under her butt, giving Jungkook a great view of the black and green panties underneath the dress.

“Not sure what I enjoy more-” Jungkook places the ice cream on the table and drops his spoon into the tub. “the ice cream or you.”

Netta releases the breath in her lungs as Jungkook devours her with his eyes and untucks her other leg from underneath her butt. “I don’t think you tasted me properly, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook’s eyes darken, and he quickly grabs her legs and throws them around his waist, “You might just be right, Ms. Robbins.” Jungkook lifts them both from the couch and supports Netta’s body by holding her ass in his hands. “Should we test our hypothesis?”

Netta fights the smile on her face, “Did we come up with one?”

“I hypothesize that you taste better than anything I’ve eaten today.”

“Just today?”

Jungkook smirks and clicks his tongue, “Let’s find out.”

Making his way through the apartment, Jungkook heads to his bedroom and toes open the door of his bedroom, thankful that he never fully closes it when he leaves. He steps inside and plops Netta down on the bed so that her legs hang off and drops to the floor on his knees. Jungkook places his hands on her knees and trails them up over her thighs, the fabric of her nude colored dress catching against his hands and bunching as he travels farther up. Jungkook licks and sucks at the exposed flesh of Netta’s thighs; her skin is salty and smells like cookie dough. Jungkook groans against her inner thigh and sinks his teeth into the soft skin. Netta whines, and her back arches as her hands tangle in Jungkook’s fluffy locks.

“Shhh, relax for me…I just want a taste.” Jungkook’s voice is gone, airy and light, as his hands tuck into the waistband of Netta’s panties, and he tugs them down. Netta removes her hands from Jungkook’s hair before she lifts her legs slightly and bends her right leg to make it easier for Jungkook to remove them. He just lets the panties hang from around her left ankle. The dress that Netta is wearing is now bunched completely up her waist, her lower half exposed to the cool air in Jungkook’s room, and she shivers when his warm breath glides over the wetness that is slowly leaking from her core.

“One taste...please, Ms. Robbins?”

Netta nods her head, and Jungkook stares at her with wide eyes, his lips parted slightly as his tongue plays with his lip ring. “Y-Yes…go ahead, Jungkook.” Netta’s heart pounds in her chest as Jungkook lowers his head, not once breaking eye contact. The warmth of his breath makes her shiver, and in that moment, Jungkook trails his tongue from her perineum and licks upwards to her sensitive nub, dipping the tip into her dripping slit teasingly.

“O-Oh!”

Spurred on by the soft pants of ‘ah, ah!’ and ‘s-shit’, Jungkook slurps up everything Netta offers. Like a peach, her juices coat his mouth and chin as he wraps his lips around the puffy bud between her legs. Netta’s back arches, and Jungkook moans against her, grinning as her thighs squish his head like a vice. His dark eyes are sparkling in delight as Netta threads her fingers through his silky locks and pushes his head down. Not waiting to leave his baby wanting for more, Jungkook manages to get his right hand between Netta’s legs and slips his middle finger inside of her dripping cunt.

“Oh, f-fuck!”

The stretch is very slight, not much, but the pressure is enough to make Netta’s legs quiver. Jungkook presses a messy kiss to her pussy and nips at the tender flesh of her inner thigh, “That’s it, baby. So fucking wet…mmm-” Jungkook hums as he licks his lips. “Best pussy I’ve ever eaten.” Jungkook’s voice is liquid gold, thick and warm as he presses his index finger in with his middle, and Netta’s whole body is shaking. “Close, Ms. Robbins?”

The air in Netta’s lungs is hardly there, and the words on the tip of her tongue come out as harsh pants of breath as she struggles to control herself. Jungkook’s fingers are long and thick around his knuckles. They press into her quickly, hitting that soft bundle repeatedly as he laps at every place he can taste. He can feel how her walls pulse around him, a silent beat that his body easily follows.

“Squeezing my fingers so tight…” Jungkook tries to wiggle his fingers, and Netta moans loudly. He removes his fingers and nips at Netta’s right thigh, the flesh tender and damp with his spit. “Look at the mess you made,” Jungkook holds his hand up to show Netta the sticky clear strands of her arousal between his spread fingers and grins wickedly as Netta stares down at him through hazy, hooded lids.

“J-Jungkook!” Netta whines at the loss of his fingers and sinful mouth. She was in the throes of pleasure, at the highest peak, ready to plummet before he pulled it all away. Jungkook raises an eyebrow and nibbles at his lip ring. Shaking her head with a huff, Netta kicks at Jungkook to move from off the floor, and he crawls onto the bed. “Can you do something with that? Please?” Netta motions to Jungkook’s soiled hand, and Jungkook easily pops his fingers in his mouth with a lewd moan as he sucks her arousal from the digits. “Jungkook!” Netta squeaks in embarrassment and slaps at his chest.

He pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud, wet pop, and Netta wishes she could hide under the covers. “Why are you acting shy now, hmm?” Jungkook wipes at his mouth and chin with the back of his wrist and pulls Netta into his arms. He nuzzles their noses together and grins. “Best pussy-”

“Shut up, Jeon!” Netta slaps her hand over his mouth, and Jungkook kisses her palm. Jungkook nips at her finger, and Netta giggles as Jungkook wipes his head back and forth playfully like a dog trying to escape its muzzle. Netta pulls her hand from his face, and Jungkook pecks her lips.

“Do you want to stop here?”

“But what about-”

“Aht, aht!” Jungkook shakes his head and grips Netta's chin lightly between his thumb and index finger. He tilts her face upwards and stares into her honey brown eyes. “I’ve gone to sleep with boners before. It’s not that big a deal. Do you want to stop here or keep going, Ms. Robbins?”

The urge to pee presses into Netta’s pelvis, and she bites her lip, “C-can I use the bathroom first?”

Jungkook laughs and kisses the tip of her nose, “Go. I’ll get everything ready here.”

Netta wiggles out of Jungkook’s arms and hurries out of his room, her panties now somewhere on his bedroom floor as she walks the rest of the way out of them. Jungkook lays in bed, his heart racing in his chest before he takes a deep breath and sits up. He runs a hand through his hair and strips out of his shirt, pants, and boxers. Not wanting to make Netta feel awkward, he reaches into his nightstand drawer and grabs a condom from the pack. He rips the foil, rolls it on over his dick, and settles under the blankets, exposing his chest.

From the floor, Jungkook’s phone rings from his pants pocket, and he groans. Glancing at the door, Jungkook chews at his piercing. It wouldn’t hurt just to check to see who is calling. Slipping out of bed, Jungkook grabs his pants from the floor and digs his phone from his pocket. He looks at the screen, and Netta’s smiling face is looking up at him. He glances at the door again before hurries out of the room and knocks on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you okay in there?”

The sound of crying is muffled behind the door, and his phone goes off again. Netta is calling him again, so Jungkook answers.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying? D-Did I hurt you?” Jungkook’s voice raises with panic, and Netta sniffles a few times.

“I-I’m sorry, Jungkook. I-I wanted to do more b-but my period c-came and-” Netta bursts into tears on the other line, and Jungkook’s heart drops into his ass.

“No, no. It’s okay, Netta!” Jungkook reassures her. “D-Do you have anything with you? I’m sorry, I don’t have anything here.”

“I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“Just wait here, okay? I can ask my neighbor if she has anything for you to use so you aren’t stuck in the bathroom. I-Is that okay?”

“I’m sorry Jungkook-”

“Stop apologizing! It’s fine, Netta.” Jungkook walks away from the bathroom and heads to his room to throw his clothes back on. “Give me a few moments. Do you mind if she comes over? I can run to the store and grab whatever you need in that time.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Netta, stop. I’m dating you, and you’re dating me. That means we take care of each other, right?” Jungkook hurries to the front door and slips on a pair of shoes. “Right?” he asks again, and Netta makes sounds of agreement. “Right! So, act right, and let me take care of you.”

Netta’s laugh is watery and full of snot but it makes Jungkook’s heart race.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook grins and knocks on his neighbor's door, “You’re welcome, Ms. Robbins.”

#jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x oc #teacher!jungkook #soc jungkook #act right #exqueuese me

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anamericangirl · 1 year

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New editions of legendary works by British author Roald Dahl are being edited to remove words that could be deemed offensive to some readers, according to the late writer's company.

British newspaper The Telegraph first reported that the publisher of Dahl's books, Puffin, made hundreds of changes to original texts of the author's well-known children's books.

The character Augustus Gloop in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is no longer called "fat." Instead he is described as "enormous," The Telegraph reports.

Instead of being called "small men," Oompa-Loompas are now "small people," the article says.

Further, the changes to these books include adding language not originally written by Dahl. In his 1983 book The Witches, he writes that witches are bald beneath their wigs. According to The Telegraph, an added line in new editions says, "There are plenty of other reasons why women might wear wigs and there is certainly nothing wrong with that."

The Roald Dahl Story Company told The Associated Press that it worked with Puffin to review the books out of a desire to ensure "Dahl's wonderful stories and characters continue to be enjoyed by all children today." The company said it worked with Inclusive Minds, an organization that works for inclusivity in children's books. Changes were "small and carefully considered," the company told the AP.

The changes have drawn criticism from advocacy groups, readers and writers.

Suzanne Nossel, CEO of the free expression advocacy group PEN America, called the changes alarming.

"Amidst fierce battles against book bans and strictures on what can be taught and read, selective editing to make works of literature conform to particular sensibilities could represent a dangerous new weapon," Nossel tweeted. "Those who might cheer specific edits to Dahl's work should consider how the power to rewrite books might be used in the hands of those who do not share their values and sensibilities.”

This is totally unacceptable. They are literally rewriting books now. If books have to be rewritten to conform to modern day sensitivities that will result in books being rewritten every few years by those who control the narrative.

There is nothing offensive in Roald Dahl’s books and if you see the word “fat” or “men” or a sentence about women in wigs being witches and you get offended then you deserve to be offended. Toughen up. You’ll never make it in the real world.

I predict this is only just the beginning, though. They are making “small” changes to start and see what they can get away with. Next time the changes won’t be so small.

If they can rewrite books they can literally rewrite history

#and fuck them for messing with Roald Dahl #that’s malicious #they aren’t their books to change

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masterjedilenawrites · 4 months

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@dragonrider9905!!! I have sat on this prompt for way too long 😩 I almost let it go but I already had a few hundred words written out, so I went ahead and added a few hundred more to finish it. It's a lot shorter than it could have been but oh well... maybe it's something I add to later? Anyway, hope it was worth the wait! 😬

Tech x reader | 1.1k words

Content: references to reader being a little dumb/having bad ideas, descriptions of traps and peril, mostly comedic with some heart

Fact: Your family was missing, and the only hope you had of finding them was by teaming up with a group of tenacious clones called the Bad Batch. You were restless in your search for them, doing all you could to keep up with the Batchers as they chased after clues.

Fact: You were not the brightest star in the sky. At least when it came to mission plans. You'd led them on wild goose chases, miscalculated various risks, and almost burnt down the ship one time. To say it was fitting you be banned from any strategy meetings was simply a given after a certain point.

Fact: Tech liked you anyway.

He wasn't sure why, given the obvious differences in the ways your minds worked. He was methodical, technical, and realistic; you were hasty, abstract, and idealistic. He was content to work on plans until they were perfect, while you were quick to take action, even when you weren't sure what those actions were. He was intellectual, you were imaginative.

And yet, despite all these differences, all the ways you two just never saw eye-to-eye, he found himself drawn to you anyway. He got close whenever he could, picked your brain on whatever he could think of, just to see what your answer would be. He looked forward to seeing you each day and couldn't help but prioritize your well-being just a little higher than any others'.

The rest of the Batch didn't quite hold the same fondness. They were polite enough, and you did have some good times laughing around campfires. But they had drawn a hard and fast line around letting you call any shots on missions. Tech was fittingly put in charge of holding you back. He could listen to your dumb and silly ideas all day, but he would also know to never let those ideas turn into actual plans.

For a while, the arrangement worked. Tech kept you from interfering without making you feel bad. And the rest of the Batch was able to continue making progress toward finding your family.

But then one day, they got themselves in a mess so bad, not even their own bold strategies could fix it. They were on a rescue mission. A kidnapped senator held hostage in a mansion on an outer rim planet owned by Separatist sympathizers. Supposedly the senator had been the last person to see your family. You and Tech stayed behind in the Marauder, watching the heat signatures of the rest of the Batch make their way through the labyrinth of rooms in the mansion, coaching them around corners and keeping them one step ahead of any enemies.

They had made it to the senator easily enough, but then a whole slew of alarms and booby traps went off, a completely unaccounted for defense system. Every counter measure known to the galaxy seemed to be deployed. The holopad lit up in Tech's lap, while the comms link in your hand vibrated with panicked voices. Chaos.

Tech tried his best to get them out safely, but every new exit route he picked had a threat worse than the last. They were trapped.

"I'm trying Hunter, I'm trying!" he snapped as his fingers swiped back and forth on the holopad, desperately trying to find even the smallest chance of escape.

"I have an idea," you offered, but even if you had been allowed to have ideas, your words were lost amongst the chorus of yells and shouts through the comms.

"The hallway you came from is full of soldiers now, both stairwells are booby trapped with grenades, the back hall to the servant's quarters is on fire..." Tech was explaining as he did one more thorough sweep of the options.

What about the air vents? asked Hunter.

"They're being filled with venomous bees as we speak."

Jump out the windows? Echo asked.

"You're hundreds of feet up. No way to scale down. There's anti-air turrets that'll shoot down the Marauder as soon as I get it off the ground. And I'm pretty sure the glass is shatter proof anyway."

"I have an idea," you tried again, louder this time, but Tech waved a hand at you to be quiet.

The room's filling with water now! came a moan from Wrecker.

Hurry up Tech, Crosshair hissed. We're running out of time.

"I know!"

You'd never seen Tech lose his cool like this before. This really was a bad situation. It didn't even matter about the information the senator may have about your family. They could all die if you didn't act quickly. And seeing as Tech wasn't interested in hearing you out, you decided to waste no time arguing and just jump right into your own plan. You were fairly confident it would work. Maybe 60%. Which was better than your usual calculation of 50/50, and certainly more than anyone else was coming up with at the moment.

You jumped out of your seat and rushed toward the ramp. This got Tech's attention. He looked between your empty seat and the mayhem emitting from the technology in his lap a few times before finally running after you.

"What are you doing?" he asked just as you jumped onto the muddy ground of the forest you were camped in.

"I'm going to knock on the front door and ask them to stop hurting our friends," you explained, never breaking your determined stride. Thankfully you were parked close to the tree line, and then it was only a short walk across the lawn to the mansion.

Tech blinked. "What?"

You were already several paces away so he shook himself and ran to catch you.

"What?" he asked again as he spun you around by the arm. "That's your plan? Just asking them to stop?"

"I'll ask nicely," you shrugged. "They're not droids, they're people. So who knows, they might just listen."

"But that's not... You can't just... Wait..." Tech sputtered as you turned heel and began walking again.

"Or maybe they'll want to negotiate," you called over your shoulder. "It'd be better if you were there for that part."

You did pause, turning slightly to give him a questioning look, waiting to see if he'd follow.

Tech was dumbfounded. Asking the enemy to simply stop didn't follow any line of logic or reason. He looked down at the holopad he still had clutched in his hand, knowing it wouldn't show him any more hope than it had before. Five heat signatures - one for each of his friends and one for the senator - were huddled in the middle of a room that was trying every which way to kill them. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Nothing, except to listen to you.

"This is by far the stupidest plan you've ever had," he said, meeting your earnest gaze. He took in a deep breath, already picturing the lecture he'd get from Hunter for daring to entertain your idea. But what choice did he have? He cared too much to let them perish. And, if he was being really honest, he cared too much about you to really believe you were as dumb as they all said.

So with that, he turned off the holopad and squared his shoulders, ready to follow your lead, logic be damned.

"Of course I'll help."

Every Character Tag: @dangerousstrawberrypie, @justanothersadperson93, @arctrooper69, @sleepycreativewriter, @techie-bear, @theroguesully, @cw80831

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#star wars #the bad batch #the clone wars #tech #tech x reader #bad ideas #hunter #wrecker #echo #crosshair

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