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writingmeraki · 2 months

Text

gents in dilemma.

a park sunghoon drabble !

pairing : rich!boy!sunghoon x gn!reader, teasing classmates to ???

genre : fluff/humour (?)

warnings : nothing just sunghoon using his privileges as a pretty rich boy lmao also no actual knowledge os spider-man comics im sorry if it's inaccurate <3 !

author's note : wooo! a double update ?!? who is thisss mayhaps very random but i told ya'll ( if u read my recent mingu drabble ) it's been a while since i realeased anything enha :( this was sort of a warm up to get back into writing for them! if you have any ideas pls send them in!! i rlly want to write for them again hehe <3

sp dt to my enha moots ! @blue-jisungs ; @lheebra ; @haknom ; @odxrilove ; @hsgwrld ; @quaissants ; @enluv ; @hannie-dul-set ; @tqmies ; @byuqi ; @urszn ; @flwoie ; @tranquilpetrichor ; @hqrana ; @shuamorollss ; @strxwberry-skiess !! just to let you know i love u guys and think of you when i open this app 💌 !! i am ia a lot but i truly am grateful for you and your works 🩷!

word count : 1.2k

You were stuck there anyways. Your brother wouldn’t come pick you up earlier enough and all your friends left already so you found no point in wanting to leave and sit outside in the hot and humid weather where you’ll probably just end up with mosquito bites and sweaty skin.

The song played in your earphones as you lazily flipped through the Spider-man comic. It was your newest hyperfixation and you had difficulties getting copies but you were getting there.

Suddenly an intrusion popped in front of you as you got to the good part, but you paid no mind to whoever it was.

Besides, who in their right mind would want to make small talk with a stranger in the damned detention room?

The music was dull but you could hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. Sighing, you put down the comic and looked unamused at the boy in front of you.

Park Sunghoon. Rich, smart, pretty boy who lived up to all the stereotypes that clung to his personality while also hanging out with the same sort of people. Not a stranger you thought.

You wondered how you missed seeing him and…Park Jonseong? (If you remembered correctly) walk in. Perhaps you indeed were too focused in your daydreams.

Now amusement flickered in your gaze as you looked up at him.

He definitely did live to his pretty boy name you mused as you took in the moles on his face, the shade of his pink lips, the messy yet perfectly sitting hair of his.

He gulped under your calculating gaze, not knowing why he felt nervous all of a sudden when it was his idea to tell you not to say anything to Mr.Kim for when Jay and him would ditch the detention they got that day. He confidently told his friend he would threaten you if you didn’t comply, perhaps maybe bribe you a bit and surely it would do the trick.

But how his words seemed to bite right back at him because suddenly his mouth felt drier and tongue heavier under your gaze. For a brief moment, he wondered how he had never seen you, otherwise, he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget a face like yours.

“Now now,what ever have I done to have the Park Sunghoon right in front of me?” You grinned teasingly at him and fuck you had dimples. He swore he might have died in that moment and reached heaven.

He felt a shove that snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Uh-yeah um we- wait you know me?” You raised a brow at his words, the amusement only growing as you saw the tip of his ears getting red.

Was he flustered…by you?

“ ‘course I do, it would seem weird if I didn’t at least to you people.” You murmured the last part, darting your eyes to his friend who seemed to roll his eyes.You weren’t sure if it was because of you or because of Sunghoon.

“Can you get to the point idiot-”

“Hey! Shut up, yeah? I’m talking-”

“All I see is you acting like a huge fucking si-”

They whispered to each other, almost making you giggle at the way they both seemed to be arguing over something, you figured you were somehow involved.

“Well see- the thing is we’re going to ditch this.” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, tilting your head a little as you leaned forward in your chair, placing your head on one hand.

“And? Does that concern me?”

“We don’t want you snitching, that’s what he meant. You can ditch too, Mr.Kim’s known for never coming back to his detentions once he leaves.”

You shook your head, “I’m fine here, I have to wait anyways, you can-”

Suddenly a thought occurred to you, “Hmm, the snitching on you both part sounds tempting, I might even get brownie points, struggling with his class anyways.”

No,he was not supposed to find your smirk cute, nor the mischievous glint in your eyes.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Wha- what’s in it for you?! You can ditch too! Didn’t I say that already-”

“Wait. I might have something.”

Jay stared at Sunghoon in both disbelief and annoyance while you looked at him curiously. He set his bag down and opened it, pulling out something.

“Here.”

You couldn’t believe your eyes. The newest edition of the Spider-man series. You’d been trying for ages to get it, but held yourself back when you saw the triple digit price point.

Of course he’d have this.

You gasped in disbelief, looking in awe as you grabbed it and flipped through the pages. Sunghoon found it absolutely cute the way your eyes lit up.

He was concerned about how enduring he already found you in the span of approximately 10 minutes.

“It’s too expensive, I can’t-”

“Who said I am giving it to you? I’m letting you borrow it so you won’t rat us out.”

It seemed the tables turned and it was your turn to be flustered under his teasing gaze and he did in fact have a cute grin. Shit-eating one but adorable.

“I’ll take it to my grave.” You hugged the comic to your chest and did a zipping your mouth motion, throwing away the pretend key. He let out a chuckle at your actions and the sound absolutely did not do something to your heart ( You think it might have burst ).

Jay had been observing the interaction and he knew why exactly Sunghoon did what he was doing. Seems like the supposed ‘ice’ prince was melting at your mere presence. Oh he was so going to spill everything to the rest of his friends and tease him for the life of it.

Sunghoon’s gaze moved towards your phone, seeing it was still unlocked he took it while you yelped in alarm, “Hey! I said I won’t say anything!”

You had stood up from your chair and now only realised just how much taller he was than you when he began to type something with his hands raised above you.

“Here. My number and I rang it to have yours. Call me when you’re done reading, I expect to get my comic back soon enough.” He held your hand and plopped your phone in it, while you remained frozen at his bold moves. Even the blonde next to him was surprised at his actions, that probably said a lot to you.

He swung his arm around Jay who had an amused grin as he shook his head, waving bye to you, pausing for a moment when he realized something as he looked back at you.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh-oh um,” You were still in a trance at what just happened as you said your name, not as confidently as you wished and you cursed yourself mentally for already being so hung up on his actions.

He repeated it as if testing it out, “See you soon then,” He grinned at you as you just chose to wave back, thinking you might just say something stupid.

Looking down at your phone, you saw his number and back at the comic book that laid on the desk, you grinned bashfully, shaking your head as you laughed.

Maybe just maybe, Park Sunghoon wouldn't have to wait until you finished the comic for you to see him.

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

feedback is always appreciated 💌

links : main navi ! | enhypen masterlist !

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months

Text

Shirt Swap II

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get a package

When you and Momma get home from the park, there's a package outside of your door.

You scamper up the front steps and kick at it.

Momma sighs. "Princesse, what have I told you about kicking boxes?"

"Not to," You huff," Because they might be fragile. But! But, it's got my name on it! Is it stuff for the new house?"

Momma and Morsa have been busy packing a lot lately. They say it's because you're going back to Germany and they're getting stuff ready for the new house.

They've got the World Cup first though so the summer is going to be very stressful and busy, which is why they're packing everything now.

"If it was stuff for the new house," Momma says fondly as she picks up the package and opens the front door," Then it wouldn't be addressed to you."

"But it is for me!" You insist, pointing at the label," See, it's got my name!"

It has got your name but it's also got a bunch of other labels on it too.

Momma gets a box cutter and opens it. "It looks like it's come from abroad," She says, cutting through the layers of tape and pulling the flaps up.

"Ooh," You say, kneeling by the coffee table as you peak inside.

There's a little letter at the very top but you're more interested in the many jerseys underneath it.

You grab at them, pulling each out carefully. You recognise a lot of them as Barcelona jerseys - the blue and red design recognisable easily.

Momma reads the letter as you go through them.

Most of them are Barcelona shirts like you thought but there's a white shirt too with blue accents and the crest of three lions on it.

"Momma!" You gasp as you hold it between your hands," It's a Keira Walsh shirt! Momma, look!"

You hold it up triumphantly, a look of complete awe on your face.

Momma's smiling at you. "I can see that," She says, waving the letter at your face," It's signed too. Have you noticed?"

You hadn't at first but, as you look at your little pile, you notice that all of them are signed.

"Wow."

"They're from Aitana," Momma says as she reads you bits of the letter," She hopes that you're doing well and she's sorry that it took so long. Please enjoy the collection of club and national team jerseys she's gotten from her teammates."

You take little time to think before you're tearing through the box again, throwing jerseys around as you dig through it.

You've got two Keira Walsh jerseys - her England one and her Barcelona one.

You've got another Caro one too, her Norway shirt this time instead of an old Wolfsburg one. You get an Engen shirt too. You vaguely recall Engen in your memory, at your last year at Wolfsburg with her and Auntie Frido (who had also encased just her Barcelona jersey because you had so many of her Swedish ones).

You brush your fingers over the fabric of the red Caro and Ingrid Norway shirts. It's red. You like red. It's not quite Arsenal red but red is red and you think the Norway shirts are really cool.

You tell as much to Momma.

She laughs. "You know, technically, my Denmark jerseys are red too."

You roll your eyes. "They're red-pink," You tell her," This is proper red. Not Arsenal proper red but still more red than red-pink."

You close off that line of argument by digging through the box again. You stop at a Barcelona shirt. You run your finger over the number eleven on the back and the name too.

You're very good at reading in all four of your languages so you spell it out quickly.

"A-lex-ia," You sound out slowly," Alexia." You frown. You think you've met someone called Alexia a few times before but never someone with a surname like that. "That's a weird last name."

Momma laughs again. "It's her first name, princesse. Sometimes, when you get very good and very famous, you get to put just your first name on your shirt."

You think about your keeper gloves, hanging out on your desk. You haven't packed them yet, not when you still have time to go to practice with Zećira and Ann-Katrin.

You look back at the shirt in your hands.

"I want to have my first name on my jerseys," You say softly, not exactly to Momma but you know that she can hear you," I want to be really good like that someday too."

Pernille smiles at you, not saying anything as your stare down at Putellas' jersey with a little crinkle in your brow. You keep looking at it for a moment longer, completely in awe at the singular first name on it before grasping for your England Keira Walsh shirt.

Momma helps you put it on just as the front door opens again.

Morsa appears in the doorway, hopping on one foot as she lifts the other in the air to take off her shoe. She looks at the carnage with one brow raised.

"Did a bomb go off?" She jokes," I don't remember ordering any new jerseys."

"Aitana Bonmatí sent them," Momma replies," Remember, I told you that we met her during the friendly against Spain? She was quite taken with our princesse." She pulls the jersey over your head. "So much so that she rounded up enough jerseys for maybe two extra teams."

"I've got two Keira Walsh jerseys, Morsa!" You exclaim excitedly. "And-And Caro and Ingrid's red Norway jerseys! They're so cool! Norway's so cool!"

Morsa looks a bit horrified at that. It seems that she can take you wearing Denmark jerseys but a line has definitely been crossed when you start chattering on about how cool Norway is.

"Alright," Morsa cuts you off right before you launch into a tirade about how cool Caro's dribbling skills are," Well, you've got new jerseys. So, what does that mean?"

You gasp. It completely skipped your mind and you scamper over to the hallway wall to stand against it, smiling proudly as Morsa snaps a picture of you wearing every new jersey Aitana sent you.

"Alright," Momma says once she's helped you back into your Keira Walsh England shirt," Now, Aitana also attached her number so how about we send her a little video?"

You grin at the camera, little fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. "Thank you, Aitana!"

"For?"

"For my new jerseys! Thank you!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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fluentmoviequoter · 21 days

Text

Rook Book

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!metro!reader

Summary: When you return to the Mid-Wilshire station for a Metro inspection, you don't expect to run into your former TO, Tim Bradford.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, incorrect police procedures

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Boot, let’s go!” Tim urges. “You can talk to your friends later.”

“Good morning to you, too, Officer Bradford,” Lucy replies. “How’d you-“

“Shop.”

“I just-“

“Shop.”

Lucy sighs before walking away from Tim. She’s used to his grumpiness by now, but she can tell by his attitude that there will be a few Tim Tests today. The war bags are already in the trunk, so Lucy isn’t sure what the rush is.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s been a while,” Wade says as he shakes your hand.

“Too long,” you reply with a smile. “When my captain mentioned this, I knew I had to take the assignment.”

“So, what does Metro want with a station review? Isn’t that usually IA’s thing?”

“Typically, yes. I think my role here is best described as a scout. Cap wants some new blood and we’ve got a couple of Metro openings. We need the best, and for some reason, I get to choose them.”

“You’ve already chosen one, I’m sure.”

Wade smiles as you furrow your brows. He shakes his head and reaches for something on his desk.

“Who?” you ask.

“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”

Someone knocks on the door, and you turn around as Smitty steps inside.

“I thought you quit,” he says when he sees you.

“I think I know who I won’t be choosing,” you tell Wade.

He tosses you a set of keys and waves. You leave his office and glance around. The station hasn’t changed much since the last time you were there, but you’re sure the people have. As you walk through the bullpen, you see someone you recognize.

“Bradford?” you call.

Tim freezes at the sound of your voice. He hasn’t seen you in years, yet hearing his last name come out of your mouth takes him back to when he was a rookie. Walking several steps ahead of him, Lucy stops and turns at the call of Bradford’s name. She’s expecting to be held up for a minute or two, but when she sees Tim turn slowly toward you, she knows that it’s more than that.

“Hey,” Tim says.

When he sees your smile, he relaxes and steps toward you. You don’t miss his initial reaction, though, and it makes your smile grow.

“I did not think you’d still be here,” you begin. “Maybe I should’ve done a better job.”

Tim nods, and Lucy rushes to his side. She smiles and extends her hand toward you before she speaks.

“Hi, I’m Lucy, uh, Officer Chen. How do you know Officer Bradford?” she asks.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply before telling her your name. “And you are?”

“Oh, I’m Tim’s rookie.”

“You’re a TO?” you ask incredulously as you turn to look at Tim. “Seriously?”

“Lucy,” Tim begins, “this is my TO.”

Lucy’s jaw drops and you chuckle. Wade calls your name, and you look over your shoulder at him. After he beckons you to return to his office, you turn back to Tim.

“I’ll see you around,” you say.

“Why?” he inquires.

“Metro’s recruiting.”

Tim watches you go and doesn’t move until you’re out of his sight. His shoulders are tense, but there’s a small smile on his face that Lucy hasn’t seen before.

“You never mentioned her!” Lucy exclaims.

“Because she was my TO, not yours,” Tim argues.

“She doesn’t seem that much older than you.”

“I’m not that much older than you.”

Lucy raises her brows but remains silent this time.

“Our ages don’t matter. Aren’t you supposed to be in the shop?” Tim argues.

“Aren’t you?”

Tim tilts his head to the side, and Lucy decides this isn’t a battle worth fighting. She’ll ask about you later, anyway. After Lucy walks away, Tim glances towards Wade’s office once more. He remembers every moment he spent with you, and the memories are making it hard to focus.

“You drive,” Tim tells Lucy as he enters the garage area.

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever unserious?”

Lucy nods and takes the keys from him. As she climbs into the driver’s seat, she realizes why he doesn’t want to drive. He can’t, for some reason.

“You had a crush on your TO,” she accuses quietly.

“Do you want me to quiz you on everything in the rook book?” Tim replies. “Because if you keep this up, that’s what you have to look forward to.”

“You don’t have one.”

“No, because I actually know everything in it. Now, you can pick. Be quiet and drive or I start asking questions about cavity search procedures.”

“I will be quiet and drive,” Lucy decides. “For now.”

Tim takes a deep breath as he remembers the rook book you kept with you when he was a boot. Every memory he has of you is good, and now he’s concerned that Lucy is right. Not that he did have a crush on you, he knows he did, but that he still does.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “I need you and Chen to return to the station.”

“Copy that,” Tim responds.

“What do you think that’s about?” Lucy asks.

“The Metro inspection.”

“I didn’t know about a Metro inspection.”

“I can tell you’re about to burst, so you can ask one question before we get back to the station,” Tim offers.

“Ooh! Wait, just one? How am I supposed to choose? Because I want to know about what kind of TO she was, but I also need to ask if she knows that you liked her.”

“Choose one.”

Lucy taps her fingers on the steering wheel for a moment before smiling. “Did she test you like you test me?”

“Are you asking if she had a version of Tim Tests?”

“Yes.”

Tim nods as he answers, “Yeah. She gave me tests. It’s one of the reasons I started doing Tim Tests. Practical knowledge and experience are important, but she’s the one who taught me that.”

“That’s so cute! You based your teaching style on your teacher crush.”

“Chen,” Tim warns.

“Okay, okay. Then did she quiz you on the rook book, too?”

Lucy knows she is pressing her luck with asking another question. Tim doesn’t answer, and as she nears the station, expects he’ll make her do pushups later.

“Yeah, she did. Always had a copy of the rook book with her. Sometimes, she’d read it while I drove around and would only talk to me to ask me questions.”

Lucy smiles to herself, now completely convinced that Tim had a crush on you. The way he talks about you and remembers you, though, makes her think those feelings may still be alive. Once the shop is parked at the station, Lucy decides to get to the bottom of Tim’s relationship with you, and if there isn’t one, she needs to make something happen.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bradford, thanks for coming back so quickly,” Wade says. “Head into my office. Chen, I’ve got an assignment for you.”

“Yes, sir,�� Lucy replies.

“There’s a Metro inspection happening today, and I need you to take the Metro officer around, show her everything she needs to see, make introductions, whatever she asks.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucy tries to hide her smile because she suspects that you are the Metro officer she’s about to spend a bunch of time with. Maybe you’ll be more open than Tim. When you approach her with a smile, Lucy knows that her investigation of your relationships will be more fun than your inspection of the station.

“Officer Chen, sorry to pull you from patrol, but Sergeant Grey said you were one of the best,” you greet.

“No problem,” Lucy says. “And you can call me Lucy if you want.”

“Okay, Lucy, I would love a tour of Mid-Wilshire station. It’s been a long time since I was here, so walk me through like it’s my first time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lucy turns and leads you toward the front desk, to start the tour as she would with a visitor.

“Lucy?” you ask. “What’s Tim like as a TO?”

“He’s great. I mean, he’s grumpy and has a ton of Tim Tests, but I like riding with him.”

“Tim Tests,” you murmur under your breath. “Cute.”

Lucy smiles at your reaction before she begins the tour. You don’t mention Tim again for a while, and Lucy thinks that you are too focused on your inspection to think about him. As you near the bullpen at the end of the tour, Tim is exiting Wade’s office.

“You abducted my boot for a personalized tour?” Tim asks you.

“Lucy mentioned Tim Tests,” you say, changing the subject. “Don’t tell me copied my rook book move, too.”

Tim rubs his thumb across his jaw before answering, “I didn’t.”

“He told me that you used to carry a rook book around and would ask him questions,” Lucy interjects. “I’m really glad he didn’t take that idea.”

You look at Tim with a smile as you ask, “That’s all you told her?”

Lucy looks back and forth between you and Tim, but neither of you seems to remember she’s there.

“The rook book wasn’t a rook book,” Tim says after a moment. “It was just a book that she put the cover on. Those days that she didn’t want to talk to me, she’d just read through our shift and ask me random questions to make it look like she was doing her job.”

“Yeah. Because I’m the one who had trouble doing my job,” you reply with a laugh.

Tim shakes his head, and Lucy suddenly feels the urge to interrupt before he says something out of line.

“How’s the inspection going?” he asks instead.

“How’d your meeting go?” you counter. “Because the inspection is just a cover and we both know it.”

“Cover for what?” Lucy asks.

“She’s recruiting for Metro,” Tim explains. “Looking for the best talent in our station to move to a new team.”

“We’ve got three openings,” you remind him. “Just think about it, okay?”

Tim looks toward Lucy, but you give him a knowing nod. Lucy feels lost like a kid listening to her parents talk about something she hasn’t experienced yet.

“Thanks for the tour, Officer Chen,” you say. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

You say bye to Tim before walking past him. His fingers flex at his side as you pass, close enough to touch. Tim closes his eyes for a moment before turning to Lucy.

“Let’s go. Patrol isn’t over yet,” he says.

“Are you sure you don’t want to grab a book first?” she responds. “I know, shop. I’m going.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After the day of your inspection, Lucy doesn’t hear your name again. Tim returns to his high-stress tests, driving, and random procedural questions. You clearly made an impact on Tim just by being near him, and as Lucy’s rookie exam gets closer, she wonders if Tim pushed you away.

“Can I ask a question?” Lucy asks.

“Depends. Is it about the exam? Because that’s all you should be concerned about,” Tim says.

“No. Well, sort of. Did your TO help you study?”

“Are we talking about my experience as a rookie or about my TO?”

“Your TO,” Lucy answers softly.

“Fine. Ask away.”

“Why hasn’t she been back?”

“She has a job. Metro is busy, so she doesn’t have a lot of time to make personal visits.”

“Did she offer you one of the positions?”

“She did.”

“And you didn’t take it? Why not?”

“Because you’re still a rookie. I have to get you through this.”

“You could’ve handed me off, that happens all the time. Did you say no because of her?”

“I didn’t say no, Chen. I said not yet.”

“Metro positions don’t open every day! You can’t throw away your career to drive me around for a few more months!”

“Lucy!” Tim yells. “Drop it.”

Lucy sits back and presses her lips together to stay quiet. Tim’s cell phone rings, and he glances at it before raising it to his ear.

“Hello?” Tim answers.

Lucy looks over in shock. Tim has never answered a personal call in the time they’ve been riding together. Whoever is on the other end speaks for a moment, and Tim listens intently.

“Got it… Yep, see you then.”

Tim ends the call and drops his phone to continue driving.

“Who was that?” Lucy asks.

Tim looks over but doesn’t answer. He says, “Read your rook book,” and keeps driving.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Bradford,” you call as he and Lucy enter the station.

Tim leaves Lucy and walks to you. He stops beside Wade’s office and waits for you to begin. You told him on the phone to come straight to the station when his shift ended and he’s ready to know why. Nolan and Jackson enter behind Lucy and silence as they watch Tim talk to you.

“Who is that?” Nolan whispers.

“Tim’s TO,” Lucy answers.

“My captain wanted to call you, but I thought it would be better to tell you in person,” you begin. “You passed the Metro test, and your spot is waiting for you.”

Tim smiles, glad he has his back to the rookies. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything I haven’t done before.”

“Which is?”

“See potential in you.”

Tim nods and thanks you again. You look over his shoulder and the rookies look away quickly, but they’re less than stealthy and it is obvious they’re trying to listen in.

“Has Lucy been asking about me?” you ask.

“Nonstop. Don’t look so happy about it, though.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Mostly if I had a crush on you.”

“We both know you did,” you say.

Tim doesn’t argue, and your smile grows.

“I know you told her about my tests and the rookie book, but what else does she know?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s interesting. Because I don’t know any more than that and I’ve known you a whole lot longer.” You glance down at your Metro uniform before adding, “Oh, and my captain also said that Metro officers are allowed to have interpersonal relationships as long as they don’t interfere with work.”

Tim looks up quickly with wide eyes. You stifle a laugh, and he rolls his eyes.

“So… are you ready to admit you had a crush on me?” you ask.

“Something like that.”

You wave at Lucy and step away from Tim. He reaches an arm out to stop you, but you only wink at him before you continue walking.

“Are you going to do something this time?” Wade asks as he exits his office.

“We’ll see,” Tim answers. “Lucy has to pass the rookie exam first.”

“It looks like she just got herself a tutor.”

Tim turns and finds you and Lucy talking excitedly. You smile at him, and Tim feels like a boot again.

“This is gonna be fun,” Wade and Lucy say simultaneously.

Neither you nor Tim hear them, too busy looking at one another.

> part 2: Rook Book to Remember Me By

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #hanna writes✯#tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 months

Note

Can I request this. A dancer reader with pokemon scarlet and violet. Reader has meloetta, oricorio, scream tail, primarinna, hoopa and toxtricity.

If you want the lore on this reader. They are a singer whose family was said to be the descendants of a siren.

This reader has never caught a pokemon with a pokeball. The pokemon that join reader just travel with them. This reader uses sign language or writing to communicate as their voice is dangerous as it can charm anyone ho hears it if they aren't related to reader from their dad's side.

Reader went to this school was near to her mom's childhood home.

Meloetta and Primarinna (who ia an alpha pokemon) were able snap people out of Reader's voice and joined reader so they don't hurt anyone with their voice.

Toxtricity is protects reader from being kidnapped and overprotective and is resistant to their voice because punk rock.

Hoopa follows reader as reader is interesting.

Scream tail was a pokemon her grandma asked to protect reader.

As a dancer, you've made quite a name for yourself in the Paldea region--almost rivalling celebrities like Ryme and Iono.

People everywhere find your performances stellar, especially when your Pokémon provided backup dancing and singing.

A year prior to the Treasure Hunt, you did a show for the Festival of Masks in Kitakami, telling a moving story about the "Loyal Three" and Ogerpon.

Ofc you regretted it after learning that was a false narrative.

Speaking of your team, it was quite peculiar...consisting of an Alpha 'mon with menacing red eyes, two mythicals, an Ancient Paradox 'mon that somehow got out of the crater, and a perfectly normal Toxtricity and Oricorio.

However, you don't speak much, preferring sign language and/or writing as ways of communication..and your friends wondered why...

Although after becoming close with Arven, Penny, and Nemona (and eventually Carmine and Kieran), you wrote them all messages detailing your past.

You're a descendant of sirens, appearing entirely human yet having the alluring voice of one.

You basically know Hypnosis..but it wasn't something you were proud of, because you've charmed people into following your voice, and...it almost always ended badly.

Unfortunately, that made you a prime target in several kidnappings from evil organizations in other regions.

They falsely believed your family could somehow learn Pokémon moves and became obsessed with harnessing that same power..even though it had nothing to do with Pokémon at all.

Since moving to Paldea, it's become your safe haven, especially since your mom's childhood home was here and you could retreat to it whenever you wished.

After your grandma gave you Scream Tail to accompany you during your many journeys, the rest of your team sorta formed itself.

You never believed in using pokeballs, and thus they followed you wherever you went (ofc as long as it was allowed).

Oricorio was always perched on your shoulder to scout out high places and be your number 1 cheerleader (in the case of the pom-pom variant).

Amped!Toxtricity became your bodyguard and a friend you could rely on after learning its Punk Rock ability made it quite resistant to your voice. So you'd make small talk with it, although you still don't say too much.

It's ready to throw hands wherever and whenever you're being bothered--by students, staff, and tourists alike.

Alpha!Primarinna was a lass you discovered at the Wistful Fields one summer day, having come a long way from Hisui (like Bloodmoon Ursaluna).

Normally Alphas are belligerent, but she felt a sudden connection to you and obeyed you right on the spot. A giant and loyal protector.

Hoopa travelled through space and time to meet you, finding you quite interesting...and grinned deviously after you managed to win its prison bottle at an auction.

It almost caused chaos at the mart, tricking you into opening it, but even you were able to tame its Unbound form and convince it to become Confined again.

Finally, Meloetta was lured to one of your performances and provided beautiful backup vocals, and ever since then you two have done many duos as dancer/singer.

Her and Primarinna are the only ones who can snap people out of your spells. They know you hate to hurt others but sometimes humans just push your buttons and...well...next thing you know, the two ladies are scrambling to save them from walking through hostile territory to greet you.

Fortunately, those events happen rarely now and you've been able to form meaningful friendships.

Since nobody in your team is stuck in a pokeball, they usually hang out at your mom's childhood home or in your dorm--but Toxtricity and Oricorio insist on being with you in-class.

As far as everyone's reactions go...

.......

Nemona is PSYCHED to see you have a team specifically themed around music and song (except for Hoopa, although it knows Throat Chop yet seldom uses it), always wanting to battle them.

Also converses with you in sign language. I hc she learned it so she could communicate with deaf/HOH trainers so they can battle with her, too, free of judgement.

Penny is both impressed and terrified tbh--especially with the Alpha who has looks that could kill if it weren't for your unique connection with the giant water/fairy. But her Sylveon gets along with Primarinna surprisingly well.

Arven almost didn't believe you were a descendant of sirens until he witnessed you hypnotize a substitute who thought you weren't answering their question..nearly falling into the trance himself until Meloetta showed up.

He's never doubted your power since.

Carmine did tease you in the beginning for being even quieter than her little brother, but felt guilty after reading your letter...wanting to learn sign language herself to own up to her mistakes.

Kieran saw your performance at the festival and couldn't believe you returned to Kitakami as a student, wanting to challenge him to a battle.

You? A celebrity? Against him????

But after the ordeal with Ogerpon, he felt betrayed by his two biggest idols...and so your letter went unread, although it remained in his bag and he finally looked at it post-Indigo Disk.

He showed up to your dorm at BB Academy that same day, a bagful of candy apples and berries as another apology.

Least to say, your team adored the treats.

Even Toxtricity--who genuinely thought he was being an annoying brat this entire time--finally softened up around him.

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viennakarma · 2 months

Text

Everybody wants a taste

Pato O’Ward x Reader

Summary: Pato knows better than to push you, but sometimes he does. The punishment is bad, but sometimes he can count on you to be merciful.

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: female!reader, established relationship, smut, +18, porn with very little plot, Dom!reader, Sub!pato, rough sex, slapping, biting, praise kink, degradation kink, jealous!reader, possessive!reader, brief aftercare, not beta read

Relationship: Pato O'ward x Reader

Note: This is a birthday oneshot for my best friend Sophia, who loves to lurk around in my blog (and she thinks I don't know what her user is)! Happiest birthday, Sophia! I love you, thank you for being my friend. [o que você não me pede sorrindo que eu não faço chorando? eu avisei que o tempo ia me inocentar, hehe]

If you are pato o'ward and is seeing this, LEAVE!

“Strike one,” you mumbled close to Pato’s ear as you watched him perk up to your voice. His hold on a champagne flute shook minimally but you knew he heard you and understood the warning in your voice.

Pato had been more socially involved in tonight’s party. Which usually wouldn’t really bother you too much, but when there were at least three random women openly flirting with him, and he didn’t do anything to stop it, it really got on your nerves. And he knew the only one getting punished for it is himself.

You left him alone and went to the bar, asking for a new mojito, but your eyes were trained on Pato on the other side of the room. He was aware of you too, the flush on his cheeks you knew was a reflection of your power over him.

He kept talking with the same women who were flirting with him before. You mentally gave him ten more minutes to pack up the conversation and come to you. When he didn’t, you raised your hand and showed him the number two.

Strike two.

He gulped, saying something to the women and scurrying away from them. He started walking up to you, but he was halfway through when one of the women stopped him standing in front of him and running a hand up and down his chest. It was only a couple of seconds, and Pato quickly held her wrist, told her off and kept walking up to you.

You sipped your drink, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes when he finally stopped in front of you.

“Strike three, Patricio,” you said with a saccharine smile and he shook his head.

“You saw that- she came onto me! I didn’t do anything!”

“Had you stopped her way before, none of it would’ve happened.”

“But she-”

You held a finger up, and he silenced. After finishing your mojito, you set it down and took Pato’s hand, walking away. He followed you into the taxi, and quietly sat down on the way home. You absentmindedly held a hand on his thigh. Pato tried to not to squirm, knowing that you were pretty pissed at his little stunt. You were the jealous type, and when he was feeling a little adventurous, he’d go out of his way to get a rise of you, but tonight had not been his intention to piss you off and risk not being allowed to cum, as you knew it was the one punishment he didn’t enjoy fully.

At home, you two removed your coats, and you sat on the sofa, seemingly relaxing against the cushions. Maybe you were in a good enough mood to not punish him.

“Can I take off your heels?” Pato offered, kneeling by your feet. You arched an eyebrow but offered your foot. He unlatched the straps of your heels, and you sighed as he massaged each of your feet softly.

Pato stood up and went into the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water that you almost chugged down, he knew you always got thirsty after nights out. But you knew better, you knew he was trying to butter you up after hitting three strikes at the party. You opened your arms, and he fell face first into your chest, nuzzling his face on the low cut of your dress. You scratched up and down his back, and he practically purred into you, melting.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, baby,” you muttered and he just stood up, carrying you into the bedroom.

He only stopped when he placed you on the floor by the bed. You linked both arms around his neck, tiptoeing to kiss him on the lips. Pato’s hands circled your waist, and he palmed your ass just as you deepened the kiss, opening your mouth and feeling him sighing into your lips. You kissed down his jaw, then you held his face, kissing down his neck, biting softly. He melted, and you tightened your hold on his jaw.

“You think I don’t know you’re trying to evade your punishment? Being a good boy now won’t spare you,” you bit harder on his neck, and he groaned out loud, “take your clothes off and get on the bed. Boxers stay on.”

He whined because he knew his boxers only came out if he were to cum, and right now, he wouldn't. You went into the closet and got a pair of leather handcuffs, a collar and a crop. You took your clothes off, staying only with panties on. When you went back, he was laying on the bed, as instructed. As soon as he saw the handcuffs, he put both hands up so you could tie him to the headboard, you knelt beside him, placing the cuffs and then, the collar around his thick neck.

You sat on his lap, only two layers of fabric between your cunt and him. Leaning down, you kissed him hard, devouring him, sucking his tongue, biting his lower lip, nipping at his chin. You grounded your hips on his, moaning at the feel of his erection under you.

“I’m using you tonight, baby,” you told him, moving your hips up and down his covered cock, “be good, and maybe you get a reward in the end, yes?”

“Yes, please,” he moaned, bucking his hips up, into you. You sighed, slapping his face, not very hard just as a warning, but he smiled at you, all sweet and innocent. So you slapped him again, his face flush and he bit back a smile.

You scooted back until you were between his legs, running your hands up and down his muscly thighs. You leaned down, fully mouthing at his cock over his boxers, and he moaned pathetically. Letting your saliva drip down onto the fabric, you fully sucked on him, wetting him all over and making a mess.

“Ah, please, please, love-” He moaned out loud, trying to control his hips, shaking.

“I’m sorry? Did you say something?” You stopped, and he whined, shaking his head no.

You ran your nails up and down his chest, and his breath hitched. You kissed his chest, then you bit down on his skin until a red mark was left. Pato loved pain, he was so turned on whenever you marked his skin out of possessiveness. You knew he would never go for someone else, but a jealous part of you was satisfied that if he ever did, there would be bite marks and hickeys all over his chest to let anyone know who Pato belonged to.

You quickly stood up so you could remove your damp panties. On top of him again, you scooted over, until you had a knee on each side of his head, and the motherfucker smiled wildly as soon as he realized what you were doing.

He welcomed your cunt with an open mouth as you sat on his face, his tongue lapping up at your folds up and down. As a motorsports driver, he had great head and neck control, so you could fully sit on his face and he would be fine.

You moaned, holding on the headboard for balance. He sucked you as if he was making out with your cunt, and you quickly built up to your orgasm. You were so close that you started to ride his face full force, one hand on his head, pulling his hair as you rode him, his stubble was a good kind of pain against your sensitive skin.

When he fully sucked your clit, you were a goner. Moaning and writhing until that shaky haze left your body after you fully rode out your orgasm.

“Ah, baby! You’re such a good boy making me cum,” you said, moving from his head, looking at the complete mess you made of his face.

You held his face and kissed him, tasting yourself and he moaned into your mouth when he felt your hand cupping him over his boxers.

“What is your color?” You asked, breaking the kiss with a string of saliva between your lips.

“Green, baby. Please, please!” His hands bucked against the handcuffs. You hummed and squeezed his cock harder, his boxers wet with both your saliva and his precum.

“I’m not sure if you deserve anything good today, honey” you reached for the crop, hitting Pato’s thighs with it, and he squirmed.

“I’ll be good, mami. I promise I’ll be so good for you!” He pleaded, sweat coating his forehead and the bite marks already showing up purple all over his chest.

You pulled at his boxers, finally setting his cock free, and he moaned at the possibilities. Leaning down, you spit over his cock, not that he really needed, he had leaked so much precum already. You wrapped a hand around his girth, pumping him torturously slow, up and down. You watched his face contort into pain and pleasure, and he tried his best to not fuck into your hand. He failed, so you gripped the crop and hit each side of his face with it. Pato kept moaning and whispering his begging words.

Finally, you let go of the crop, got on his lap and lined up his cock into your entrance. He looked down, all hopeful.

“If you cum without my permission, you will regret it, Patricio.” Your voice was serious, and he nodded in agreement. You reached for his face and slapped him, and he groaned as you placed his cockhead into your warm cunt, “answer, me.”

“Yes, yes, yes! I won’t cum- cum without your permission, mami!” He nodded.

You sunk into him, at once and you felt so full you needed a moment. His eyes rolled back at the feel of your tight, warm cunt. You placed both hands over his chest for balance, then you started riding him, slow at first, up and down with your wetness coating his length. You were going slow, but so hard that he hit that one spot inside you that had you shaking with desire, the knot in your core tightening up before release.

Both of you were moaning obscenely loud, your falling on your face as your muscles started to strain from the movements.

“Ah, mami, please let me cum! I’m so close!”

“Hold it,” you told him, not stopping.

“I can’t! Feels too good- fuck- ah, I can’t-”

You pulled him out, scooting forward on his abdomen and away from his cock as he cried out, so close to his release.

“I told you not to. I’m going to touch myself and make me cum, and you won’t get any release today,” you threatened. He whined.

“No, no, I’ll be good! I won’t cum until you say so, please. Please let me fill you up!”

You chuckled at his eagerness, and you went back, spearing yourself on him once again. Tired of games, you started riding him, fast and hard, pounding both of you on the bed. Running your hands up and down your body, you pinched your nipples and rubbed your clit, until it had you cumming hard on his cock, your cunt clenching so hard on him that Pato thought he was going to pass out trying to hold back his own orgasm. He managed to resist the warm embrace of your cunt pulsing through your high, letting your moans fill the room and you recover from your own orgasm.

“You’re good, baby, so so good holding back f’me,” you said, breathless, “got your first reward.”

You leaned to the headboard, your tits pressing over his face, and uncuffed his wrists, massaging softly with your hands.

“Can I touch you?” His eyes shone like a boy in the park.

“Yes, baby,” you placed his hands on your hips, and started riding him again.

You kept the rhythm from before, snapping your hips, now with the aid of his own hands. It didn’t take much for him to start stuttering, his moans louder by the second.

“I’m sorry, so so sorry! I’m sorry-” Pato said between groans as his hips started bucking into yours.

“It’s ok, baby. You can cum,” you finally allowed him, pulling on his collar to choke him a little bit.

“Thank you, mami. Thank you, thank you!”

He came with a loud groan, his eyes rolling back and his grip on your hips bruising as he twitched inside you, and you clenched around his cock, milking him within an inch of his life. He was all flushed and fucked out, his face sweaty, rosy lips, teary eyed with his pupils blown wide. One of your favorite versions of him. You plopped on his chest, both of you panting and worn down.

You cuddled for a little while, then you managed to get Pato into the bathroom for a warm and quick shower to clean the two of you. He washed you and you washed him, softly and with much affection as always. Aftercare was such an intimate moment between you, always checking with each other if everything was alright. You ran a hand through his hair, down his back, up to his shoulders, and he sighed contently as you ran your hand down his chest. Before leaving the shower, he hugged you, kissing your head and holding you tight for a couple of seconds.

He was sleepy when you got back to bed, you checked his hickeys and bites to see if you had accidentally hurt him, then you put some cream on his skin.

You laid down and Pato laid on top of you, his face against your boobs just as he loved to do.

“Baby, you were very good today,” you told him, softly running a hand through his hair.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“We need to get water and a snack, come on,” you poked him, but he nuzzled further into your boobs.

“Just five more minutes?”

“Ok, five more minutes, then” you kissed his head.

“I love you,” he said.

“I know,” you pulled his head to peck his lips, “and I love you too.”

#formula 1 #smut #pato o'ward #pato o'ward x reader #pato o'ward x you #indycar #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #arrow mclaren #patricio o'ward

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 10: Blame Everyone But Me For This Mess]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), Aemond-induced chaos, death and destruction, witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “I’ve Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 3 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Aemond!” he roars into the cerulean midday sky, knowing it is useless, that fate has already spoken.

All his life, fate has proven Criston Cole wrong. He once believed he could not rise above being born to a steward in the Dornish Marches. He once feared he would never be permitted to join the Kingsguard. He once felt in his twisting, self-loathing guts that he would never love any woman but Rhaenyra. And Criston once knew—without reservation, without complexity—that Alicent’s eldest son would never amount to anything worthwhile, could never be courageous, self-sacrificial, competent, a true king. Each time, fate had a different ending in store.

All around him, Green soldiers are dying in what will be known to history as the Butcher’s Ball. They are being slit open, disemboweled, crushed beneath the hooves of warhorses, stabbed and clubbed and speared. The Northmen have scorpions with them as well, with massive bolts to bring down dragons; but they are unnecessary. There are no dragons on the battlefield today.

Criston pictures Aemond as a boy, always so sullen, always so dutiful. He read and he wrote and he sparred in the castle courtyard until the blisters on his palms burst and bled and then turned to callouses, knots of dead-nerved scar tissue that grew over his wounds but never cured them. Criston did not just believe in Aemond’s abilities, his honor; he was certain of these things, he carried them as interminably as the lines in his palms. Criston knew Aemond and Vhagar would be the saviors of the Greens in this war. He knew Aemond would be here.

But he’s not. He’s just not, and there’s nothing I can do to bring him.

Cregan Stark is cutting through the Greens’ men. He is not a soldier, he is a force of nature, he is a thunderstorm or a famine or a rogue wave, he is winter coming to rip the trees bare and bury the weak in frostbitten earth. Arrows are loosed by the Northmen’s archers, lethal hissing rain. One hits Criston in the shoulder of his sword arm. Another pierces him through the small of his back, severing his spinal cord and dropping him to his knees.

Through the fray, Cregan sees the Kingmaker. He wants him, he wants Criston’s blood on his blade, his hands, his face; and what the Warden of the North wants, he is never denied.

Alicent, Criston thinks, and he remembers her lying in bed after giving birth to Aegon. She was a girl, just a girl, pale, sick, in terrible and unspoken pain, never the same in body, forever darker in mind, alone in a room full of tapestries of her husband’s house as the court celebrated her newborn son. She knew she had been used. She knew this was her life and always would be, a wheel that goes around and around and crushes the same bones until they stop mending, until the misery and desperation becomes so much a part of you that you could almost forget it’s there. It’s your shadow, it’s your religion, it’s a sigil or a ring.

I suppose now I have something to live for, Alicent had said, and Criston sat on the edge of the bed took her small, cold hand in his own. He raised her knuckles to his lips and answered: I swear to you that I will always protect him. That I will never let him die.

Here in the Riverlands as Cregan Stark descends upon him, Criston looks up again and sunlight spills over his face, warm and kind and golden; but the sky is still empty.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the gardens of Dragonstone, on a bench carved out of gloom-grey basalt, you pull Aegon’s legs into your lap and roll up his loose cotton trousers to inspect them: scars that have knit shut the gashes bones once cut through, muscle mass that is slowly building itself back again, good circulation, able to carry him if only for short, hard-fought distances. You have bled twice since Aemond flew back to the Riverlands to seize Harrenhal. Here under flinty autumn skies and pine trees that sway in brisk wind that smells like saltwater and metal, you think that perhaps the earth is done giving things. This is the time for harvests, not blooms. This is the season of endings, long nights full of cold stars, firelight, reaping.

“Stop,” Aegon says gently. He’s clutching a thick wool blanket around his shoulders. He’s always cold now, pale and shivering. His silvery hair hangs in untamed waves around his face adored with only a single small braid that you weave for him each day. “I don’t want you to do it.”

No; he only wants the maesters to see his weakness, his suffering. “I like taking care of you. It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s how we met, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” Now he smiles. “I have no idea what you saw in me.”

“An exemplary cock, mostly. Better than any in my medical books.”

Aegon laughs, a sound you rarely get to hear anymore. Then he is grave again. His hair blows in the gales that roll in off the ocean; his eyes, a tumultuous blue like waves in a storm, are ringed by shadows. “Angel, listen to me.” He places a hand over yours where it rest on a knot of scar tissue just below his kneecap. “If I don’t…” He pauses, and you think as you look at him: He’s nothing but scars now, he’s nothing but pain that is calloused over but never forgotten. “If I’m not here when the war is over, I want you to know that you’ll still be protected. Aemond knows. Larys knows. You are to be provided for. You will reside only where and with whom you choose to.”

“Why wouldn’t you be here?”

Aegon shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We should be realistic.”

“You’ll be here. You have to be.”

Aegon stares into a thicket of rose bushes, blood-red petals and twisted thorns. And he says faintly, like something a strong wind could carry away: “I’ll try.”

“We’re winning, Aemond and Criston and Daeron and the Greens’ armies. They might have won already and we’re just waiting to hear the words. Aemond will end the war and then we’ll all be together again in King’s Landing.”

Aegon gives you a wry smirk as you roll back down the legs of his trousers, concealing his roadmap of harm. “A man like Cregan Stark would not be such a disappointment. He would be able to ride into battle. He would not have compelled you to bloody your own hands. He would not be feeble and deformed.”

“It can’t be anyone but you.”

Overhead, half-shrouded in mist, there is an immense reptilian shadow and a rumbling like the earth splitting in two, cracked and forced apart by eruptions of steam, lava, trapped toxic heat. Gingerly, Aegon returns his boots to the earth, stony and barren. He winces and groans before he can bite it back to hide it from you.

“I’ll go,” you tell Aegon, skimming your fingers through his hair and touching your lips to his temple. His wave-blue eyes are watery, grateful. “Stay here. I’ll bring him to you.”

You hurry through corridors and down spiral staircases, watched by dragons of iron and stone with fire burning in their mouths. And of course, there is more than one reason why you want to greet Aemond by yourself. You don’t know what he will say to you; you don’t know if he’s still angry. But when he strides through the entranceway of the castle to meet you—his hair in one long white-blond braid, his black coat billowing around him in the sharp wind—he is not alone.

There is a woman with him.

“…Aemond?” you say, staring at her: hair like onyx, skin like snow. She grins at you beneath eyes that are pools of ink, dark and glassy and with hardly any whites. You do not believe she intends to unnerve you; still, there is a blade-cold shudder that tumbles down the rungs of your spine.

Aemond replies with pride that is hushed, pure: “This is my wife.”

“Your…?” You cannot look away from her. Her gown is black lace with long, dragging sleeves and a train that curls around her like a dragon’s tail. You can see glimpses of her starlight skin through the fabric, her forearms, her waist, her thigh. Isn’t she cold? You are wearing heavy velvet, pine green like Aegon’s banner, and still the impending winter needles at you. “Who…?”

Lord Larys Strong arrives, his cane tapping on the stone floor. When he sees the woman, he jolts to a halt and gawks. “Alys?”

“Hello, brother.” Her voice is deep, smooth, melodic. She speaks the language of ocean currents, roots in dark fertile soil, the revolving of the stars.

You turn to Larys. “Who is this?”

“A bastard daughter of my father,” Larys answers, slow and disbelieving. “Alys Rivers. She…she was at Harrenhal, last I saw her…years ago…”

“And now she is here with me,” Aemond says. “She is precisely where she belongs.”

Silence fills the room, the world, the space that has opened up between you and Aemond. Wife? Bastard? Harrenhal? At last, you manage shakily: “Aegon is in the gardens. He’s waiting for you.”

“Good,” Aemond says. He wears something you have never seen on him before: not just pride but serenity, consolation, contentment. “There is much to discuss.”

As slate-grey wind whistles through rose thorns and cranberry bushes, you and Larys step out into the gardens with your uninvited guests. Aegon’s eyes snag on Alys, widen, and then dart to you. He mouths: Who the fuck is that? You shrug, bewildered.

Aemond says: “Allow me to present my wife, Lady Alys Rivers of Harrenhal.”

“Your wife?!” Aegon exclaims, like he couldn’t possible have heard correctly. “Your wife?!”

“Yes.” Aemond’s arm snakes around Alys’ waist. She folds into him, palm to his chest, lips to his throat, something creeping and boneless like ivy or mist or smoke. “You’ve had two now. I’ve only just found mine.”

“Rivers,” Aegon echoes incredulously. “A bastard from the Riverlands.”

Larys notes: “One of my father’s natural children.”

“A Strong bastard?!” Aegon cackles and looks to Larys. “Where is Daeron presently? Can he be summoned here? He should see this.”

“It is no jest, Your Grace,” Aemond says calmly. “It is a true pairing of souls.”

“And you were not at liberty to give yours. You have to marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter. That was the deal, that’s why he has pledged his army to us.”

“Daeron can do it.”

“Daeron won’t be old enough to marry for years, and that’s not the point! This is a slight, an egregious slight, to reject a Baratheon noblewoman in favor of a…a…what was she, a serving wench? A wetnurse? What happened to your pathological obsession with self-righteous duty? And why aren’t you and Vhagar with Criston?! Is this what you’ve been doing for the past six weeks while I was trapped here, suffering and useless? You’ve been hiding in the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with your so-called wife? What was so fucking crucial that it kept you from the battlefield—?!”

“She carries my son,” Aemond says.

A gasp spills from you before you can silence it; Lord Larys covers his mouth with one hand. Aegon stares numbly at his brother, not warring with envy or spite but raw astonishment. This is an asset to the Greens, it is a detriment, it lifts a burden from his shoulders, it imperils all of you. “You have no way of knowing what it is yet.”

“I know. We know.”

“And why have you flown to Dragonstone?” Aegon demands. “To torment me with your disobedience, to illustrate so vividly how all that relentless, calculated striving has finally cracked your brain in half—?!”

“No.” Aemond glances to you. “Something has happened. And I wanted to be here in person to deliver the news and…express my condolences.”

“Condolences?” you say, fearful, alarmed.

“Lord Larys will not have received word yet,” Aemond continues. “It has only just transpired. But Alys has seen it.”

Aegon shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. “Seen it…?”

“She sees things. The future, the past. Not every detail, but some of them. She’s seen Mother in the Red Keep, a prisoner but still alive. She’s seen Jaehaera safe and well at Storm’s End. The child has a protector, though Alys isn’t sure who.”

“She’s a witch?” Aegon says flatly. “This bastard Strong woman that you have taken to wife is, among all her other deficiencies, a witch?”

And Alys answers in a voice like the night sky, dark but threaded with glimmers of stars, moonshine, comets: “I am a woman who lives between two worlds. Your Angel is much the same, I think.”

Aegon blinks at her, not entranced or awed but fighting the instinct to flinch away.

“There have been riots in King’s Landing,” Aemond says.

“Yes, obviously. Everyone is aware of that. I think the Wildlings north of the Wall have heard.”

Aemond ignores the jab. “The Master of Coin, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, was travelling through the city in a carriage when…” He trails off, uneasy. He glances at you again. His sole remaining eye—river-blue and without any malice—shimmers with grim compassion.

“What?” you say. “What happened?”

Aemond speaks to Aegon in words you cannot comprehend, swift ageless High Valyrian.

Aegon sighs testily. “Slower. Enunciate.”

Aemond tries again. Aegon repeats a certain word, unable to decipher it. Aemond offers him several others, what you can only assume are synonyms.

Aegon’s face goes even paler, the last of the blood draining out of his cheeks. Then he reaches out a hand to you. “Come here,” he beckons softly.

“Why?”

“Angel, come here now.”

“They killed him, didn’t they?” you ask Aemond. Your voice is trembling, icy, choked. He was an architect of Rhaenyra’s war effort, but he was your father first. He was a beast with blood on his hands, but now you are too. “The common people hate Rhaenyra and they hate my family. So they murdered him.”

Alys says: “They did not just murder him.” And she is not taunting you, though she grins like she might be; she has lost pieces of what it means to be human. She is no longer fluent in anything as trite as sympathy or decorum. Her obsidian eyes gleam, polished, glowing. Her long black hair blows in the wind. There are raven feathers in it, you notice now, and twigs, pine needles, earth, sand, ashes. “They bound and tortured him, they sliced off parts of him to keep as relics, they rode on horseback through the streets swinging his severed head and cock as they celebrated an end to all taxes—”

“Will you shut the fuck up?!” Aegon shouts at her. “Angel, please, come here.”

“Your brother was there too,” Aemond says solemnly.

Yes, of course he would be. He was always Father’s favorite. “Clement,” you whimper, pressing a palm to your chest. Your lungs burn as they drink down chill autumn air that cuts like a blade.

“No,” Aemond says. “The other one.”

“What?” No. No, that can’t be true.

“Not Clement,” Aemond insists. “It was the other brother. The burned man.”

No. No no no. I can’t believe it, I won’t believe it.

“Angel,” Aegon pleads, still reaching for you.

“Everett,” Alys says, dreamy, not knowing how cruel it feels, like splinters of glass beneath your skin instead of arteries and muscle, like shattered bones. “He was not difficult for them to catch. He could not run.”

Your words escape in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t believe you.”

Alys offers her hands. They are long, lithe, white like a skeleton’s. “Would you like to see?”

“No.”

“I can show you. Then you will trust what I say.”

“Alys, my love,” Aemond warns.

“No, you’re a liar,” you snarl at her. “You’re not a witch, you’re not some prophet, you’re just a liar and I don’t believe you—!”

And before you can flee she’s crossed the space between you, she’s gripped your wrist with those slender claw-like fingers, she’s pouring her magic into you like poison down a prisoner’s throat. The vision surges into your skull and fills it, sight and sound and scent: Everett screaming as he is dragged from the carriage, the hoard ripping at his clothes and his eyes, dull kitchen knives pulled from pockets, the coppery ether of blood in the air. You can feel the feverish heat of the crowd. You can feel their boiling-over animal rage. You can feel everything, but you can’t stop it.

Beyond the grisly mirage, you can hear yourself shrieking, muffled and distant; and you can hear someone else bellowing for Alys to let you go. Her hand is yanked off of your wrist and you are abruptly back in the gardens of Dragonstone surrounded by indomitable flora that warps and tangles and endures. You are kneeling on the cobblestones, tears flooding from your eyes. Aegon is on the ground with you, his arms circling around your waist. He is calling Alys a bitch, a monster, a demon. He is threatening to feed her to his dragon.

“Forgive me,” Alys says to you, peering down with a vague sort of regret etching lines into her brow. “I did not intend to cause any distress. I only meant to help you understand.”

Aegon seethes at Aemond: “Take your witch back to Harrenhal.”

“No,” you protest; and Aegon studies you, puzzled, as you gaze up at Alys, this half-human phantom that dwells between realms, something like a dark mirror image of an angel. “What else have you seen?” Tell me Aegon lives. Tell me the Greens win and we have a chance at a better world one day. Tell me this was all worth it.

“She has seen Daemon and Caraxes meeting me at the Gods Eye,” Aemond says. “She has seen me taking flight to join them in battle.”

Aegon is stunned. “When?”

“Soon. Three days from now.”

You sob, thinking of Everett; and Autumn too, wherever she is, who will reappear when the war is over searching for home but forever unable to find it. Aegon holds you and you pull yourself into him, arms slung around his neck. His silver hair brushes your face; his scarred right cheek is rough against yours. When you breathe in violent hitches, you inhale rose oil and wine and salt and warmth and misery, you taste the war that built him and now has returned to claim the debt.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s fault,” Aegon whispers, fierce and merciless. “We will kill Daemon and Cregan Stark. We will retake King’s Landing and capture Rhaenyra. And I swear to you that she will burn.”

Aemond is saying: “Do we have permission to stay the night or not? We’ve traveled a long way. My wife is tired, and so is Vhagar. Another flight so soon would tax her.”

“You can swim,” Aegon pitches back.

Lord Larys Strong—ever servile, ever composed—clears his throat, both hands resting on the handle of his cane. “Would anyone care for some soft-shelled crabs?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mist hangs heavy over the castle the next morning, a cool metallic grey like steel; the sun is muted, only a wisp of itself, a memory that is swiftly fading. Alys Rivers stands in the surf fetching seashells and stones that she plinks into a basket. Locks of her long, wild hair dip into the roiling water and emerge sopping and heavy, sticking to her ink-black gown. Aegon is curled up with Sunfyre at the edge of the beach. The dragon breathes with rattling, labored heaves and Aegon pets his golden face, wishing the beast’s wings to knit themselves back together and his own legs to be strong again, murmuring to Sunfyre in some clumsy patchwork of High Valyrian and the Common Tongue to assure him that he’s served his king well.

You and Aemond walk down the windswept beach together, your boots sinking in wet sand and leaving imprints like bruises on flesh. Your gown is a deep, vibrant red like the sigil of the newly decimated House Celtigar; Aemond’s hair is wavy and damp and blows loose in the breeze. You are reminded of the night you shared with him six weeks ago, though you don’t want to be. Neither of you have mentioned that indiscretion. You believe you have silently agreed to forget it. You ask the prince regent: “How many people do you think you’ve burned in the Riverlands?”

“Why do you care? They’re not you. They’re not me.”

“Perhaps each life we take robs something from us as well. It carves a piece of the soul away and leaves it less than it was before.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow, intrigued.

“I am less than I once was,” you explain. “Acts of love feel like violence, violence is mistaken for love. Things that horrified me a year ago are now what give me solace when I dream of them. Vengeance, slaughter, fire and blood. Aegon grows more bitter, more ruthless. And so do you.”

“We will have the luxury of reforming ourselves when the war is won and Aegon is the undisputed king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“If there’s any part of us that remembers who we were supposed to be.”

“I remember exactly who you were.” Aemond grins. “Fawning over Aegon, weaving braids into his hair. Scurrying around with your bandages and vinegar and honey. Always seeking to take his pain away. Always waging your own little war against the agony of mankind.”

“That feels like a different person,” you say, peering out over the ocean.

“We will build monuments to those we’ve lost,” Aemond promises. “Jaehaerys, Maelor, Otto. Your brother and my sister. You say you dream of fire and blood? I often find myself dreaming of Helaena.”

You turn to him, startled. And you recall the warnings her ghost gave Aegon before Baela and Moondancer arrived on Dragonstone: Don’t fall, don’t fall. “Does she say anything?”

“She keeps telling me I’ll lose my left eye.” Aemond smiles wistfully. “And I answer: Helaena, that’s happened already. But when I try to comfort her, when I try to embrace her, she turns away from me and says it’s too late. That I’ve ruined myself.” He walks with his hands linked behind his back, his face thoughtful but not brooding. “I still miss her,” he says. “And I still feel responsible. But things are easier now.”

You follow his eyeline to where Alys is plucking a starfish from the frothing waves and placing it in her basket. And doesn’t it make some strange bit of sense that Aemond’s match would be someone rare, bizarre, gifted in ways that are in equal parts mesmerizing and fearsome? “I’m glad you found someone who eases your burdens.”

“She has suffered tremendously. She knows what it is to be unloved and overlooked. She had to reinvent herself, just like I did. She had to shed her skin and step into a new one that she stitched together herself.”

“Perpetual Resurrection,” you say softly.

“Perpetual Resurrection,” Aemond agrees.

Now Alys is trekking up the beach to join you, her soaked hair whipping in the wind and her basket slung over one arm. From where he sits with Sunfyre, Aegon watches her with narrowed, disapproving eyes. “This belongs to the king,” Alys says to you, opening her hand. In her palm rests the ring of gold wings and jade eyes. “You should return it to him. He does not like me.”

You gasp and take the ring that you last saw before Aegon fell from the sky and shattered his legs, his spirit. “How did you find this?”

“It spoke to me. I spoke to it.” She smiles, more like a leer, though she does not mean it to be. Her eyes—onyx, jet, black moonstone—are bright with amusement. “See? You do not understand. Sometimes it is best not to ask.”

You slip the ring onto one of your fingers for safekeeping until you deliver it to Aegon. From the stone staircase that leads up to the castle’s main entrance, Larys waves Aemond over to him. Aemond kisses the woman he calls his wife farewell—a deep, burning kiss—and then departs. You say to Alys: “How did you become…like this?”

“I surrendered to it. Anyone can, if your life is hell and you are willing to burn it down to the foundations. You go deep into the swamp and then it goes into you. It grows through your skin and into your veins. It tangles up with you, vines climbing your ribcage and spine like ivy on a trellis. It changes you. It makes you greater than you were before. The victim becomes the victor. The weak turn watchful and wise.” She is gazing at where Aemond stands with Larys, exchanging theories and plots. Aemond shakes his head at something Larys says. “I always knew he would find me. The man whose fractured pieces fit with mine. Yet each time I thought I glimpsed him only to realize he wasn’t the one, I would think: How long must I wait? I have buried so many children. Will I ever have more? Will he come to me before it is too late? Is it too late already? But no, he flew to Harrenhal just as my hopes were giving out like a dry well. And Aemond was worth every second, minute, month, year. He was worth the beatings and the contempt, the rapes and the blood. He was worth all of it.”

Alys reaches out to touch your cheek and you recoil; but she is not giving you a revelation this time. She is merely tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a fond, maternal smile. There are mottled plumes of violet and indigo on the side of her throat, you notice only now. Alys catches you staring.

“Aemond can be rough, domineering,” she says with a sly smirk. “You know how he is.”

You know how he is. You know how he is. Horror strikes you like lightning; you imagine what other visions she has swimming in her changed blood. “It was a mistake. Aegon must never learn of it.”

“Of course not. That would kill him.” And you are gutted by a blade of cool serrated treason. Alys does not appear to be aware of it. “If I can ever be of service, please do not hesitate to summon me. I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.”

“A door? Which door?”

“Any door.”

You contemplate her. “Why would you believe that you owe me loyalty?”

“Because of Aemond,” Alys says simply, without any trace of resentment. “You mean something to him. So you mean something to me.”

He doesn’t crave me anymore. He has his own prize now. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“I never am.” Then Alys glides off to rejoin her husband.

Hours later as you are helping Aegon into bed—he must be carried up and down the castle steps by his guards in a litter, something he considers mortifying—you weave a new braid for him and then pour him a cup of milk of the poppy when his glazed eyes keep listing to the glass bottle of pearlescent relief, deadened nerves, liquid dreams. You crawl into bed beside him, curl up against his scarred chest, listen to the slowing thud of his heartbeat as his arms enfold you and draw you in ever-closer. His dragon ring glints on his hand, returned to its rightful place.

“Your legs?” you ask, kissing the gnarled scar tissue that has grown over his collarbones like climbing roses, like ivy. He can’t really feel your touch there, that’s not why you do it. You do it to show that you aren’t repulsed by his wounds and could never be, could never think of any part of him as something less than wondrous.

“That’s most of it,” Aegon murmurs drowsily. “I’ve started getting this ache in my back too. It won’t go away.”

“What?” You bolt upright in bed. “Show me where.”

He gestures: the curve of his spine, just above his hips. Panicked, you begin pressing lightly over where his kidneys are.

“Here? Aegon? Does that hurt?”

But now he’s realized how frantic you are, how upset. “Oh, no, never mind,” he says, clutching his pillow and feigning being too tired to speak on the subject for even a moment longer. He yawns dramatically. “It’s just a sprained muscle, I think. You know I’m always crawling around now like some kind of vermin. It’s nothing serious. It will heal in time.”

“Aegon—”

“I’m alright.” He grabs your hand and pulls you back down to him, buries his face in your hair, nuzzles and sighs contently as he whispers: “Shh. I’m alright. Stay, stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You left him!” you hear Aegon yelling from his rooms, and you drop the book you had been reading in the castle library, an anthology of illnesses of the body, the mind, the soul. You sprint through the shadowy corridors towards the noise, the hem of your sapphire gown fluttering around your ankles. You are always dressed in jewel tones these days. You are anything but neutral.

In Aegon’s bedchamber, Larys has pressed himself to one stone wall like he wishes to disappear. Alys is observing with her strange, impassive, void-dark eyes. Aemond is being berated. He does not appear resentful or defiant; no, he is paralyzed. He is haunted, he is damned.

“You left him!” Aegon screams again, and hurls a full wine cup that strikes Aemond in the chest, spewing red through the air like blood spurting from slit veins. The king is standing, but with great effort; he is scrabbling through the drawers of his bedside table for things to throw at his brother. Yet the glass bottle of milk of the poppy remains untouched. “You abandoned him, you betrayed him, you fucking murdered him!”

“Aegon, what’s going on—?!”

“Almost a week ago, Cregan Stark’s army met Criston’s in the Riverlands,” he tells you. He is panting, red-faced, furious as he recounts Lord Larys Strong’s words, the news the Master of Whisperers only now received from one of his innumerable informants.

You stare at Aemond, horrified, already knowing what this means. “And Aemond wasn’t there.”

“He was at Harrenhal!” Aegon roars, tossing one of your medical books at Aemond, a volume on herbology. It strikes the prince in the nose, and blood gushes from his nostrils; ruby droplets freckle his hair. Aemond makes no attempt to defend himself. He is in shock, he is mourning. “He was fucking his witch while our men were being butchered!”

“Criston, he’s…he’s…?”

“He was slain in battle,” Larys informs you quietly.

Aegon staggers to his brother, shoves him roughly, receives no retaliation. “He was the closest thing you had to a father, he worshiped you, he loved you, and you left him to fend for himself after I told you over and over again that you and Vhagar needed to stay with him, and now he’s gone!” There are tears on Aegon’s face, crystalline tracks that bleed down his cheeks and jaw and throat. “You killed him, you killed him!”

“The Stark men?” you ask Larys, not wanting to know but needing to.

“Moderate losses. Now headed south towards Daeron and the Hightower army.”

“You fucking traitor,” Aegon hisses, sobbing, beating his palms against Aemond’s chest again. “Your whole life all you’ve wanted was responsibility and the second someone gives it to you, you throw it away! Why can’t I be the one with a body that works?! Why can’t my dragon be whole again?!”

And at last Aemond finds his voice. It is brittle and almost too hushed to hear. “I’ll make this right. When I defeat Daemon and Caraxes at the Gods Eye, it will be over.”

“It’s already over for Criston!” Aegon explodes. “It’s over for Helaena and Jaehaerys and Maelor, it’s over for Otto and Everett, it’s over for Sunfyre, we keep losing people and it’s all your fault! You started this war and you’re too much of a goddamn coward to end it!”

“He will end it,” Alys says in that deep placid voice like dusk, dawn, midnight.

“Don’t try that bullshit with me! I don’t want to hear about your delusions, I want him to do his goddamn job! I want him to act like the hero he’s been begging to be seen as since he was five years old! You know why no one wants to write books about him or carve his face into statues? Because he doesn’t fucking deserve it!”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond whispers, his mouth trembling.

“You should be!” Aegon hemorrhages, and then collapses to the floor, moaning with his face in his hands.

You go to him, try to soothe him, grab the wine cup from the floor and fill it with milk of the poppy, tilt it against Aegon’s lips. He gulps the numbness down with helpless, hated need. Aemond and Alys flee for the doorway.

Aegon says, suddenly more calm: “Aemond, wait.”

The prince regent stills and turns back, listening. Aegon, with great difficulty, begins to say something in High Valyrian. Aemond cuts him off. “No, that won’t happen—”

“Please,” Aegon rasps. “Listen to me.” Then he continues. And as he speaks, Aemond’s eye fills with tears, a glistening like ice over lakes in the winter, like gemstones in a crown. You look between them, searching for any clues you can read.

“I understand,” Aemond says at last.

“Good. Now get out.”

Aemond wipes his face with his sleeve and then disappears from the room. You tell Aegon as you rise to your feet: “I’ll be right back.”

Aemond is moving quickly; you don’t catch up with him until he’s passed through the castle entranceway. Down by the ocean waves beneath a blood-red sunset, Vhagar is already landing, leaving cataclysmic imprints in the sand with her claws, trenches and impact craters. From the edge of the beach, Sunfyre watches with dull, wounded interest. Alys is halfway down the staircase. Aemond stops when he hears your footsteps, waiting under the rising full moon and materializing constellations.

You demand: “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Aemond.”

“He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain. He doesn’t understand—”

“Aemond, what did he say?”

The prince regent sighs and looks at you. “He said he doesn’t think he’s going to get better this time.”

I can’t believe that. I can’t survive that. “Why did you have to do it?” Your voice splinters; your throat burns. “He’s right that you started this war. You’re the reason Rhaenyra will never negotiate. You’re the one who made this horror inevitable. Why did you have to kill Luke?”

The dusk is radiant on Aemond’s face like firelight. It is a long time before he speaks. “I never intended to.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “What?”

“I never gave Vhagar the order. She went after Arrax. I tried to stop her.”

It wasn’t murder. It was an accident. And you think of all the times people have told Aemond that everything that’s happened is his fault, and how he has never disagreed with them. “Who knows?”

“You. Alys.”

“No one else?”

“Who would believe me?” Aemond smiles faintly, profoundly sad. “And even if they did, would that make me so much more noble than a kinslayer? A Targaryen who can’t control his own dragon? A man who is reckless, ineffective, unworthy?”

Here in air the color of flames and gore, you tell him, perhaps more kindly than he deserves: “You’re worthy, Aemond.”

“I will end this. I will meet Daemon and Caraxes in battle. Alys saw it.”

“Did she see you win?”

“Are you worried about me?” Aemond teases, grinning crookedly. And he does something that he hasn’t tried in a long time. He swipes for your forearm and you snatch it out of the way just before his fingers can close around it, just before he can catch you. Aemond chuckles. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll win the war for the Greens. We will return to King’s Landing, we will rebuild, Aegon will heal. He will live for a long, long time.”

“Yes,” you say, wanting so desperately to believe it.

“You know,” Aemond adds as it occurs to him. “If the king does happen to predecease you, in ten years or twenty or thirty…and you find yourself unincumbered…Aegon the Conqueror had two wives. Alys would always be first, but…”

“No, Aemond.”

“Fine,” he says, agreeably enough. He smiles down at you. “I will come back to let you know when it’s done. Then I will fly south to join Daeron in annihilating Cregan Stark’s army. And then we’ll all go home.”

Yes, yes, let that be true. “Good luck,” you tell him, soft like a whisper.

“I don’t need it.”

Aemond descends the staircase, climbs up the rope ladder into Vhagar’s saddle, takes flight with Alys into the late-autumn dusk; and you watch them vanish into the crimson horizon until the sky is empty.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader

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117luv · 5 months

Text

flowers for you

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: none

pairing: enha hyung line x fem!reader

a/n: hey loves! posting after being ia cause life just gets busy but we move forward lol and i hope everyone enjoy this and love ya! also hbd to my babyboy jake <3

heeseung

heeseung had always shown his love for you in various ways, from little things such as having your hairtie on his wrist to buying your favorite snacks whenever he went shopping, even if you didn't tell him to purchase them for you. as a small token of your appreciation for him being the best boyfriend, you decided to pick up flowers on your way home. you opened the door and were met with silence, which means he hasn't gone home yet, and you quickly hid the bouquet of lilac flowers before he arrived. his footsteps were heard while you were cleaning things, and you immediately greeted him in the living room. "hi baby, i missed you so much. also, how's work today?" as you hugged him, pressing a kiss on his shoulder. "it was okay, and i miss you more," he replied while hugging you tightly as he took in your scent. you let go of the embrace and quickly ran into the kitchen, grabbing the flowers, and quickly ran back to him. he was confused at first and asked, "what are the flowers for, love?" to which you replied, "they're for you, my love. i just want to show you my appreciation for being the best boyfriend, so i picked these flowers on my way home," as you gave them to him. he couldn't help but pull you for another embrace as he showers your face with kisses. "thank you for the flowers, baby. you just made my day 100 times better. i love you," he said as he placed a kiss on your forehead. "i love you more," you replied as you kissed his lips.

jay

it was the final day of their fate concert in seoul and you wanted to surprise your boyfriend. he had asked you if you could come to their concert, but you declined due to your work overlapping the schedule, which turns out to be a lie because you're planning to surprise him by coming there when he least expected it. as he heard you apologize for not being able to, he reassured you that it was alright and understandable, despite the fact that, deep down, he wanted you to see him perform. as you arrived at the concert venue, you felt as though you were their fans in the crowd. the concert was amazing, and the boys did great, especially jay when he started playing the electric guitar. you were quickly escorted to the back stage, grabbed the bouquet of blue hydrangea flowers from the staff, and walked towards their dressing room. he was wiping off his sweat when he saw your reflection in front of the mirror with a bouquet in your hands. his eyes widened, and he quickly ran towards you as he hugged you tightly. "congratulation, baby. im so proud of you," you said as you gave him the flowers. he felt like a young boy having a puppy crush as his heart beat faster while grabbing the flowers. "they are so beautiful, angel. thank you for giving me this; i will surely treasure this day," he said as he pressed a kiss on your cheek. as the adrenaline died down, he asked you about how you were here when you had work, to which you replied by lying about it in order to pull off this surprise. he just pulled you back to him and started asking about your day.

jake

the members wanted to pull off a surprise for jake's birthday, and you are more than happy to help the boys pull it off. jay and sunghoon decided to prepare the cake; sunoo and jungwon prepared the place, while ni-ki prepared the gifts. you had assigned heeseung to be the person to lure jake towards the surprise. as everyone is trying to fix everything, you took the flowers and quickly took care of the rest. suddenly, heeseung texted you that they were 5 minutes away and put everyone in their place. jay was holding the cake while the others had the poppers ready once he entered the room. jake entered the pitch-black room, and as the lights turned on, he was met with the members as they were holding up a cake and popping the poppers while greeting him a happy birthday. his eyes searched for a familiar figure, and he slightly pouted when he failed to find you amongst his members. all of a sudden, there was someone poking in his shoulder, and as he turned around, he saw you with a bouquet of roses in your hands. he couldn't help but flash you the biggest smile as he hugged you. "i thought you wouldn't be here," he said while pulling you closer. "why would i miss my favorite boy's birthday and flowers for you. happy birthday, baby," you said while kissing him on the lips. he grabbed the flowers and thanked you for giving them to him, and as the party started, he held on to you the entire time while pressing kisses on your cheek. it was truly a great way to end his birthday alongside his members and the person he loved the most.

sunghoon

it was your second anniversary, and you had a whole day planned for the two of you. sunghoon had cleared his day just to spend it with you, which means a lot due to his hectic schedule as an idol. he had come home later than usual and is currently curled up in your arms with his face hidden in your neck. as much as you loved to stay like this forever, you wanted to prepare breakfast and the flowers you had bought yesterday for him. you quickly lifted his arms and replaced it with your pillow to not wake him up. he stirred a bit but went back to sleep momentarily. you made your way to the kitchen and started to cook breakfast for the both of you, and after a few minutes, you had finished the meal. it's now your time to wake him up as you carry the tray towards your shared bedroom. you gently woke him up, and he started to slowly open his eyes. his eyes were met with yours, and you kissed his lips while he was waking up. the kiss had definitely woken him up, and he quickly stood up. "can you give me a warning next time? i cant have a heart attack at 7 in the morning," he said, to which you replied, "love, we have been dating for years now. you shouldn't be surprised with my kisses," while placing the tray in front of him. "oh, what's this? you didn't have to do this for me," he said while staring at the food in front of him. "you deserve it, baby, and here are flowers for you," as you gave him a bouquet of yellow daisies, which caught him off guard. "darling, what did i do in my past life to deserve you?" he said as he pulled you for an embrace and said, "happy 2nd anniversary, my love." he said after placing a kiss in your forehead.

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theoutcastrogue · 4 months

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A copyright lawsuit filed by several major publishers puts the future of the Internet Archive's scan-and-lend library at risk. In a recent appeal, the non-profit organization argued that its solution is protected fair use and critical to preserving digital books. This position is shared by copyright scholars, the Authors Alliance, and other supporters now backing IA in court.

The Internet Archive (IA) is a non-profit organization that aims to preserve digital history for generations to come. The digital library is a staunch supporter of a free and open Internet and began meticulously archiving the web over a quarter century ago.

In addition to archiving the web, IA also operates a library that offers a broad collection of digital media, including books. Staying true to the centuries-old library concept, IA patrons can also borrow books that are scanned and digitized in-house.

Publishers vs. Internet Archive

The self-scanning service is different from the licensing deals other libraries enter into. Not all publishers are happy with IA’s approach which triggered a massive legal battle two years ago.

Publishers Hachette, HarperCollins, John Wiley, and Penguin Random House filed a lawsuit, equating IA’s controlled digital lending (CDL) operation to copyright infringement. Earlier this year a New York Federal court concluded that the library is indeed liable for copyright infringement.

The Court’s decision effectively put an end to IA’s self-scanning library, at least for books from the publishers in suit. However, IA is not letting this go without a fight and last week the non-profit filed its opening brief at the Second Circuit Court of Appeals, hoping to reverse the judgment.

Support from Authors Alliance

IA doesn’t stand alone in this legal battle. As the week progressed, several parties submitted amicus curiae briefs to the court supporting IA’s library. This includes the Authors Alliance.

The Authors Alliance represents thousands of members, including two Nobel Laureates, a Poet Laureate of the United States, and three MacArthur Fellows. All benefit from making their work available to a broad public.

If IA’s lending operation is outlawed, the authors fear that their books would become less accessible, allowing the major publishers to increase their power and control. The Alliance argues that the federal court failed to take the position of authors into account, focusing heavily on the publishers instead. However, the interests of these groups are not always aligned.

“Many authors strongly oppose the actions of the publishers in bringing this suit because they support libraries and their ability to innovate. Authors rely on libraries to reach readers and many are proud to have their works preserved and made available through libraries in service of the public.

“Because these publishers have such concentrated market power […], authors that want to reach wide audiences rarely have the negotiating power to retain sufficient control from publishers to independently authorize public access like that at issue here,” the Alliance adds.

This critique from the authors is not new. Hundreds of writers came out in support of IA’s digital book library at an earlier stage of this lawsuit, urging the publishers to drop their case. [...]

In a separate amicus brief, several prominent legal and copyright scholars, many of whom hold professor titles, raise similar arguments. They believe that IA’s lending system is not that different from the physical libraries that are an integral part of culture.

“Libraries have always been free under copyright law to lend materials they own as they see fit. This is a feature of copyright law, not a bug,” the brief reads.

What is new here, is that publishers now assert full control over how their digital books are treated. Instead of allowing libraries to own copies, they have to license them, which makes it impossible to add them to the permanent archive.

“The major publishers refuse to sell digital books to libraries, forcing them to settle for restrictive licenses of digital content rather than genuine ownership. Moreover, publishers insist they can prevent libraries from scanning their lawfully purchased physical books and lending the resulting digital copies.” [...]

#information wants to be free #internet archive #theory

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purinfelix · 5 months

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back home ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

pairing: joão félix x reader (established relationship) summary: after a solo trip away, you're a little worried about how your boyfriend might react to your return warnings: none, angst if you squint hard enough maybe? w/c: 770

a/n: HELLO IM ALIVEE im sorry for being so ia akjdnsa no excuse i'm just lazy ... but in the mean time i did go on a trip with some friends (which is what inspired me to write this lol) and went to my first in person football match !!! anw hope yall take this as my apology for being so inactive <3333

“It’s only two weeks.”

That’s what you told your boyfriend months before you had begun planning your solo trip, knowing he was the type to fret over you and whether you were organised enough. You continued repeating this phrase to him leading up to your departure - you had mumbled it into his hair, whispered it into his ear, and even shouted it across rooms when he raised his protests. Whenever he would think a little too hard about how long it would feel for two people who never seemed to spend more than a couple of hours apart. Even so, you appreciated his worrying over you, taking it as a sign of him caring for you.

But now, two weeks later, as you fidgeted nervously in the backseat of the taxi he had called for you to take home from the airport you found yourself repeating the phrase again, only now to yourself. It felt as though the moment you two had separated, all of Joao’s worrying had found a new home within you, and you had already begun counting down until your reunion. This was only made worse by the fact that it seemed your boyfriend was growing more and more comfortable in his solitude - and ultimately, your absence. It worried you to see this, as much as you could through the frame of your phone screen during each of your nightly facetimes.

Even now as you stood fumbling with the keys to your shared apartment, you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying. What if he had come to enjoy his ‘alone time’, and took it as a sign to distance himself? What if this distancing led to him spending time away from you, or even worse - a breakup? As your mind wandered to the worst-case scenario, you pushed open the door with trembling hands.

A tuft of brown hair peeking out from above the couch cushions let you know your boyfriend was home. Your many bags slipped off your arms and fell to a heap on the floor with a soft thump, the sound alerting Joao.

You braced yourself, ready for a scowling expression or even one that was completely vacant. Ready for him to scoff, stand up and walk out of the room, disinterested at your return. Or for him to begin telling you about how he had already begun moving out, and how maybe this time apart had done you both some good.

“Oh, thank god.”

His voice was soft, fragile almost, as it broke the silence between you two, followed shortly by the padding of his feet as he rushed over to you. His body crashed into yours, sheer force sending you a couple of steps backwards and any worries that plagued your mind far, far away. If it wasn’t for how tightly he was holding you, hands digging into your shoulders, you were sure you would’ve fallen over.

You struggled to muster up more worrying thoughts, overwhelmed by the warmth of his body pressed up against yours, the feeling of his embrace. You let out a deep sigh, not of fatigue or frustration but pure relief, feeling yourself melt into his touch.

“I missed you,” he muttered, face pressed into your hair as if he was afraid letting you go might cause another two weeks apart.

“I missed you too,” you heard yourself admit, words muffled against his chest. But he still understood you, which he made clear by squeezing you even tighter.

It felt like forever before you broke apart, but still not enough as Joao continued to press gentle kisses to your temple, lingering with each one as if trying to show you just how much he had missed you. Finally, he brushed past you to shut the door and pick your several bags off the floor - bags which had required much effort for you to haul around but he managed to pick up with much ease.

“Welcome home,” you can hear the smile in his voice, even though he’s faced away from you as he begins to walk to your shared bedroom. You watch him disappear around a corner, and he begins telling you about how his plans to surprise you at the airport with a bunch of flowers were ruined by training running overtime. You’re still in the doorway, a little dizzy - from jetlag, from a lack of sleep and proper food, from how hard he squeezed you in that hug. Even so, you feel a smile tug at your own lips because even though it was ‘only’ two weeks, you couldn’t be more glad to be back home.

#joao felix #fc barcelona #joao felix x reader #joao felix x you #joao felix fanfic #joao felix fluff #joao felix oneshot #football fanfic #football #oneshot #purinfelix #jet writes ★

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pandorasprongs · 27 days

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CHAPTER FIVE | this is what it feels like.

'it's nice to have a friend' masterlist + playlist | previous chapter

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.0k

SUMMARY: reader is starting to forgive jamie, even going to a charity gala together.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of what happened in amsterdam

A/N: yay! welcome back to me, i guess HAHAHA sorry for going ia for how many months, life just got in the way and i wasn’t able to make time for writing. i’m a bit rusty at this, but this is an extra long chapter and is mostly fluffy (at least, imo), so i hope you guys enjoyed it! we’re down to the last two (maybe three?) chapters of our story, which i hope you all will like :) see you then and thank you again for waiting!

Your relationship with Jamie did start getting better. Slowly, but surely. It wasn't the same as the past few months, though. That repair of your relationship was built on denial and was bound to come crashing down like it did.

You were still talking, but he wasn't coming over every weekend anymore. He was the one who suggested it too, so you wouldn't feel pressured to decide if you forgive him just yet. He wasn't pushing for an immediate answer either and he was making that clear with how he was acting.

He sometimes sends you a message just to check in and your replies were short, but not apathetic. You'd do the same too, usually after his matches, specifically when it ended on a loss, since most of them were as of recent. What was it, seven matches at this point?

The loss at the Man City game was especially painful, but after you saw the article about Zava's retirement, you had hoped that some part of Jamie was relieved about it all.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear Jamie knocking at your door. You open it and instantly get blinded by the light. "Fucking hell."

"Shit, sorry," Jamie exclaims, shutting off his headlamp. Once the light is gone, you finally get a clearer look at the footballer. He was in a grey hoodie which was starting to get all sweaty, and was currently jogging in place. "Went out for a workout with Roy before dinner, and we went pretty far. He already went home though."

You knew where Jamie lived and if he had run that entire length, you don't know how he's not passed out at your doorstep. "Congrats, I think. Why'd you pass by?"

"I wanted to see you," he answered, a little out of breath. You'd be lying if you said your heart didn't skip at that. "If that's not weird."

"No, it's not," you answered quickly, a smile creeping on your face. "D'you wanna come in? I made some pasta if you haven't eaten yet." You offer without thinking but don't retract it in any way. Things like these would help you bond again right? And after seeing Jamie give you a genuine smile and a soft look with his eyes, your worries instantly dissipate.

So now you're having dinner with Jamie and barely any words are spoken, until he mentions, "I'm going to Amsterdam in a couple of weeks. We're having a friendly against Ajax."

"Amsterdam?" Maybe you should've hidden the worry in your voice better.

As far as you know, Jamie had a complicated relationship with that place. You don't know what happened, never wanting to press for too many details, but the first time he went there with his dad, your best friend came home a shell of himself.

—

You headed over there the moment your mom told you he was back and while you half-expected Georgie to turn you away in case his dad was still there, what you ended up seeing was worse. You found Jamie lying down in his bed, just staring at his ceiling. When you called out to him, he made no move to acknowledge that he had heard you.

You were fourteen and uncomfortable with emotions, but you knew you needed to do something for him. You made multiple attempts to try and get a verbal response from Jamie, but it fell on deaf ears.

It was only when you asked if you could lie down next to him did he finally move. He turned to face the wall and his back towards you, but you didn't say anything about it. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him.

"If you don't want to talk about what happened, it's okay," you whispered. "I'll just stay here with you."

In one swift move, Jamie turned around and pulled you into a hug. It was almost instinct that you pulled him closer.

You don't really know how long you stayed like that, but it was long enough that you started to get sleepy and eventually drifted off. The next morning, you woke up in an empty bed. Your grogginess quickly turned into confusion.

It would've turned into panic soon if Jamie hadn't walked back into the room as he dried his hair with his towel.

"Oh, you're awake," He said softly. From his voice alone, you wouldn't have been able to tell that he spent that night crying, if not for the bags under his eyes betraying him. The swelling had gone down from the cold water, but the redness was still there.

You don't say anything at first, unsure of how to proceed. But Jamie breaks the tension by asking, "Do you wanna have breakfast before you go back? Smelled mum's cooking from the hallway.”

"Okay." Jamie pulls you up from the bed but doesn't let go of your hand as you head down the stairs. He squeezed it tightly as you walked into the kitchen, his own way of saying thank you.

—

That's how the two of you always were. Talking about your feelings was never a strong suit, but that didn't mean you weren't there for one another. It's how you dealt with hard times as kids, but maybe it was time to ditch that as adults. Or at the least, work on expressing yourselves better.

As if Jamie could read your mind, he gives you a reassuring look, "I don't really think about that trip anymore. Don't really remember much of it either. I just remember the second time. When we were 16 right?"

"Oh yeah," You chuckle at the reminder. Jamie's mom had planned a trip for the two of them to Amsterdam and your parents just happened to also be figuring our your own summer holiday plans.

The five of you spent a week there going on tours, visiting museums, and all the usual tourist activities. One of the pictures you still had of you and Jamie was one your dad took when you visited some tulip fields. Jamie had his arm around your waist and both of you were holding stroopwafels, impatiently waiting to eat them.

A group of old ladies passed by as the photo was being taken and thought you were a young couple, which both of you were quick to deny. Things were only awkward for about twenty minutes till Jamie started chasing after your stroopwafel because he had already finished his.

"That was pretty fun, wasn't it?"

"Mhm," Jamie says as he continues to eat. "I still remember all the facts you made me memorize. Might try and annoy Roy with them."

The two of you continued to talk that night and for the first time since that night in Nelson Road, being with Jamie didn't put a pit in your stomach. There was no longer a nagging voice in your head reminding you of the past or the rising feeling of resentment when he'd joke about the past few years. Instead, you were just content and happy to be there with him.

When you finished your meals, you suddenly got a waft of Jamie and almost gagged. "Oh my God, you definitely need to shower."

Jamie pulled his hoodie up to his nose and cringed. "Right. I guess I should head home now."

"No. I am not letting you out into the streets of London smelling like that. You can shower here," you offer and without giving Jamie a chance to respond, you start walking over to the bathroom.

Jamie lagged behind a bit but caught up as you pulled an extra towel from the cabinet. "You can go to the guest room for spare clothes. Dad leaves a bunch of them here when they come over. Oh, and slippers too if you want to give your feet a rest." The footballer gratefully takes the towel and heads into the bathroom.

When you hear the water start, you move to walk back to the living room when you pass by your bookshelf once again, the empty spaces between your books glaring at you. You head into your room and open your closet to pull out the pictures. You pick up the one from Amsterdam, from your graduation, and from your 10th birthday, and scatter them around the shelf.

You go get ready for bed and change into your pajamas before going back to the living room to wait for Jamie. After 30 minutes — or an episode and a half, — you hear him call out your name.

You find Jamie in the hallway in one of your dad's giant grey shirts and sweatpants. When you approach, he finally asks, "Have these always been here?"

He points towards the frames and you realize that despite the number of times Jamie's been in your flat, he's never looked at the top of your bookshelf.

"I put them there pretty recently." You admit before turning towards the footballer.

Jamie catches your eyes and seems to be debating whether to say something. He finally speaks up, "So I take it you've..." but he trails off, leaving you to finish it.

"I forgive you. Well, I think I’m starting to," you start. "I guess these past few months, I've been compartmentalizing my anger towards you and that wasn't fair. I know neither of us is particularly good at expressing our feelings, but we should've talked about this back when we saw each other again. That's my fault, I admit and I'm sorry. But I'm happy now, spending time with you and I don't have this sinking feeling that it'll all go to shit anymore. So yeah, I think I forgive you, Jamie."

You give him a wide smile and before you know it, Jamie wraps his arms around you tightly. Your smile only grows wider as you pull him closer.

This is what you've missed all these years. Being so comfortable and safe with Jamie, that him randomly hugging you doesn't take you by surprise anymore. You're content and happy. And you have Jamie, your Jamie, back.

He breaks apart from you and the two of you walk back to the living room, the sitcom still playing on the TV. You expected him to make his exit by now, but seeing as you've just made up, Jamie felt confident enough to stick around a bit longer. He takes a seat across from you on the couch. Maybe it was because he was fresh out of the shower and no longer wearing sticky clothes, but he felt freer than ever.

Jamie glanced down at his phone at notifications from the team group chat and suddenly remembered another reason why he passed by your apartment. "Are you doing anything Friday?"

The last time Jamie asked you that, it ended with one of the worst outbursts you've ever let out, but you tried not to be reminded of that. Besides, you trusted that he'd keep his word; he wouldn't break your heart once again.

"Not really. My lectures are all in the morning that day. Why?"

"There's this charity ball that my boss does every year and I was looking for a plus one," Jamie explained slowly, before turning to you to see your reaction. "If you want. You know, as friends."

You don't know what stunned you more: the way your heart swelled when Jamie asked you to go with him to an event or the sinking feeling that appeared when he added the 'as friends' part. All this tension and ghosting these past few weeks made you forget all about those pesky, jittery feelings that you still had for him, but now that the dust had settled, they were coming back.

You try to ignore it, just for this moment, and prepare to answer him. But the more you thought about this "charity gala," the more you realized what you were about to agree to.

"Wait, is this the thing where people bid on football players for dates?" You remember seeing an article on it a few years back where three women got into a bidding war for Jamie. "Fucking hell, if you're just doing this to stage another bidding war for you, then—"

"No! 'Course not! You kept saying before how you want a reason to dress up!" Jamie's quick to defend himself and you fall back into your seat. "Plus, I can't have Richard setting me up on yet another disastrous date, I just can't."

You say nothing, absorbing his plea, but then watch as Jamie's expression turns mischievous. He teasingly asks, "Why? Would you actually bid on me? You're already spending time with me for free." He playfully elbows you and you take in a whiff of the lavender-scented body wash you kept in the guest bathroom.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Christ, and they should be paying me for it, too." You reply, but you avoid eye contact with Jamie knowing how easily you'd break into laughter if you did.

"Fine, I'll go with you." You finally agree and before Jamie can celebrate your response, you add on. "But, you owe me a date, too. To Liv's wedding."

Jamie takes a second to reply, and you worry your usage of the word "date" threw him off. But quickly enough, his mischievous smile returns and he agrees, "Alright, it's a deal."

Neither of you mention the gala again till Jamie finally decides he has to get going — "It'll be worse for me if Roy gets to my house and I'm not there," — and says he'll send you the formal invite when he gets home.

It only sinks in when you're getting ready for bed that you're actually going to a formal gala. With Jamie. As his (friendly) date. Next week. What a way to start the new era of your friendship, right?

You wonder how exactly he'd introduce you to the rest of the people there. As his childhood friend? His date? Every option made you feel jittery inside, and you have a hard time accepting that it's possible you're falling for Jamie once again.

The first time you ever found him attractive was at the ripe age of 16, after locking eyes with him when he was celebrating one of his team's wins. It was that summer of growth spurts and you started to see what everyone else did; Jamie Tartt, your best friend, was fucking fit. It only took a year till you fully accepted it, but ultimately decided to never act on it. Well, aside from that one time, which neither of you brought up again after the morning after.

It took another two years before you gave up on those feelings and buried them deep down, or at least tried to. But allowing Jamie's friendship back into your life brought those feelings back up to the surface.

So, the week went by quickly and you were now waiting in your apartment in a cropped silk camisole, high-waisted black trousers, and wedge heels that Liv let you borrow, pacing a hole into your floor. All you did with your hair was pin the side bangs away from your face and you hope that's enough.

You hear a knock on your door and you almost trip on the bottom of your pants to open it. You find Jamie in an almost identical outfit to the one he used for his date before, except in a different color. His hair had been slicked back, reminiscent of his older hairstyle but the highlights made the look pop more.

When his eyes land on you, Jamie takes a second to scan you before exclaiming, "Fucking hell."

With a teasing tone to try and make yourself feel more at ease, you ask, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Jamie looks back up at your eyes and smiles, "You look great." You don't detect a hint of banter from the guy which makes you feel warm inside, until he adds, "Though, I half expected you to wear your dress from our year 12 formal."

"Jamie, I swear I can still find something else to do tonight." You threaten but are unable to stop the smile creeping up on your face.

Jamie just chuckles and takes hold of your hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "Come on," He realizes what he's just done and pauses to see your reaction, but when you tighten your grip on his hand, he continues, "Need to get there early so they don't swarm me for pictures." You roll your eyes as the two of you head out of the building.

You actually did get to the venue quite early, since the photographers were still setting up the booth and so the two of you walk over to two ladies, one of whom you recognize as Keeley Jones. After he introduces you, — as his friend and plus one, no mention of the word "date" — you soon find out that the taller one is Rebecca Welton, the owner of AFC Richmond.

"Wow, so you two practically control Jamie's career. Blink twice if you need me to take him off your hands." You lean in towards the two of them but speak loud enough for Jamie to hear and he pulls you back to his side as you laugh. The two women chuckle and share a look between them that you don’t know them well enough to understand, so instead you brush it off.

Jamie gets called for photos and Rebecca leaves to greet the guests heading inside the venue, so you're left standing with the PR manager of the team. As you watch Jamie cycle through various poses, Keeley leans in to ask you, "So, how long have you known him?"

"Well, I met Jamie when I was seven, but when I went off to uni and he joined Man City, we kind of drifted apart and didn't really talk for the next few years." That was basically the truth, anyway. "But I went to one of the Richmond games and we bumped into each other."

"Well, I'm glad the two of you met again. Honestly, Jamie's become much more tame recently. He hasn't had any Twitter feuds or issues in weeks. Makes my job a lot easier." You chuckle, knowing that instead of fighting back, Jamie ends up just complaining about it to you. She adds, "You must be a good influence on him."

"People have been saying exactly that since we were kids, so maybe it is true." You reply and Keeley gives you a wide grin.

When you head into the venue, there are already a few guests settling down in the area. You recognize some of them as footballers, — both from AFC Richmond and other teams, even some retired ones — business owners who are trying out being philanthropists, and people you've seen on magazine covers.

You were less uncomfortable than you expected because everyone's attention was on Jamie. You stood by him while he greeted a bunch of people and continued to introduce you as his plus one. You hated crowds when you were kids and Jamie knew that, so he'd always check on you if you wanted to go to your seats ahead of him. You'd shake your head every time because you've already had years to get over that fear. Plus, everyone had been nice so far and more polite than you expected rich people to be.

Everyone finally decides to leave Jamie alone and the two of you head to your table, where some of his teammates are already seated and chatting amongst themselves. You recognized them immediately: Sam Obisanya, Dani Rojas, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes, and Richard Montlaur. Without Jamie even having to introduce you to them, Dani had already asked what your name was.

“What a lovely name! I’m Dani.” You shake the hand he offered you, as the other players start to welcome you as well. They were so warm and kind, that it’s no wonder Jamie had gotten so much better during his time at Richmond. It seemed their energy was so infectious that it was rubbing off on Jamie.

Though, it could be a bit overwhelming too, as they all wanted to have a conversation with you. Someone had asked, “Tell me more about growing up with Jamie,” while someone else chimed in, “Do you think there’s a correlation between your genes and how well you can shoot a penalty? Because Colin here…” and somewhere in the mix, you hear, “That’s a lovely bag you have. Where’d you get that?”

While Jamie was enjoying watching his favorite person interact with his favorite group of people, he started to notice how tense you were becoming, despite the plastered smile on your face. He reached out to grab your hand as he interrupts all the conversations with, “Alright, alright, I think the programs about to start. Let’s stop bothering my date for now, yeah?”

Date. The word alone sent chills down your spine. Even more so when you turned to look him in the eyes, and he had a look of concern that only you could’ve detected. You breathe a sigh of relief and give him a comforting look, which allows him to relax, too.

You both turn towards the stage as Rebecca, along with Ted, their coach, walk up to the mic. They start with the basic pleasantries, thanking everyone for coming, with Ted’s occasional funny chime-ins. As they segue into the auction itself, you can hear your own table come back to life. The teammates started to tease one another when Colin turns to you, “Oi, looks like you’ll have to put up a fight for Jamie tonight.” He nods towards the table behind yours, and you spot a familiar looking lady, smiling at the man beside you. It’s only when Jamie groans that you realize who it is: the old woman who was one of three people in Jamie’s “bidding war” two years ago.

“Oh my god,” you’re unable to stifle your laughter and instead turn away to try and hide it. “You know what, I think I’m fine going home alone, Jamie. This isn’t the first time you’ve gone off at a party to get lucky, so go have fun!” You tease him, but instead, he turns to you with a desperate look in his eyes.

“Please, don’t do this to me, (Y/N). Make sure you win.”

You scoff and lean in, “Who says I’m even bidding tonight? I’m not even tenured, Jamie. How much money do you think I have?”

Jamie pleads once more, “Please. I’ll pay you back in full and you can pick all the movies we watch for the rest of the month. Anything, come on.” You sigh and finally give in to his puppy dog eyes.

You give him a slight nod and he quietly thanks you, as Ted starts to introduce the team. “Let’s start the auction with one of our striking strikers, Mr. Jamie Tartt!”

Jamie gets up and walks over to the stage, and it’s only then you realize he had been holding your hand this entire time.

Ted rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, but before Richmond’s coach can even start the bidding, you hear a loud voice behind you exclaim, “Five thousand pounds!”

You have to hold in your chuckle as you turn to Jamie who is now desperately staring at you. You raise your paddle high enough and shout, “Six thousand pounds!”

“Oh, and another bid from Mr. Tartt’s lovely date tonight. Can anyone match that, do I hear seven thousand?” The lady once again raises her paddle.

“Eight thousand!” You exclaim once more, as Jamie lets out a sigh of relief.

This back and forth goes on for a while, up until the final bid (from you, unfortunately) of fifteen thousand pounds. The football player finally allows himself to relax and with one final slap on the back from his coach, makes his way back to you.

“Thank you,” he whispers, squeezing your shoulder as he gives you a quick hug and sits down. You playfully roll your eyes, but give him a small smile back. A few more rounds of bidding take place until Jamie leans back into you. “You feel like going on that date now?”

You turn to him confused, “Like, right now? We’re in the middle of the program.”

Jamie shrugs, “We’re done with our part now and gave out a good amount for the charity. Most of them won’t even notice us leave, come on,” He takes hold of your hand, and as if on cue, activating those butterflies in your stomach, yet again. “Unless you want to bid on someone else tonight, which in that case, I didn’t know you had that in you.”

You roll your eyes but eventually agree. You say your short goodbyes to everyone at the table and Jamie leads you to Rebecca and Ted, who, after Coach Beard — you believed his name was? — had taken over for him, was currently gorging on the appetizers.

“Hey boss, Ted, we’re heading out early, but see you both on Monday.” Jamie quickly explains, still not having let go of your hand. You’re starting to wonder if he’ll ever notice or has just grown used to it like he was before.

“That’s no problem, Jamie, see you and thank you for coming!” Rebecca directed that last comment towards you and you give her a big smile. But his coach wipes his mouth with his table napkin and stands up to greet you anyway.

“Well, I can’t let you go off yet without introducing me to this lovely lady.” Ted reaches out to shake your hand and you take it quickly before he leans to whisper to Jamie, but loud enough for you to hear. “Is this her?”

“Jamie Tartt, do you talk about me to your coach?” You ask teasingly, but instead of his usual reaction of fake annoyance, he turns away shyly.

Ted replies for him instead, saying, “Oh well, not all the time. I usually have to pry it out of him, too.” He nudges the football player, who finally decides that it is definitely time for you two to leave. He leads you out of there and the pair of you walk back to his car in a comfortable silence.

You may not have realized it till now, but the inside of the venue was the stuffiest place you’ve been to in a while. Sure, the people were nice, but the mixing of colognes and posh accents was starting to get to you. Before you can thank Jamie for getting you out of there, he’s rifling around his jacket for something.

“I, uh, found something in some of my old stuff. Was planning to give it to you before we left, but I… got distracted,” you try and ignore the warm feeling creeping up on your cheeks as he says that and instead watch Jamie turn back towards you, pull out your hand, and place an item on your palm. “Here.”

You look down to find a small plastic ring with a “gem” in an obnoxious pink color. You chuckle as you’re reminded of the toy rings Jamie would give you on your birthday as kids, till you realize… you’ve been missing one of them since you moved out.

“Wait, is this…” You start and look back up at Jamie, who has a sheepish look on his face. Definitely doesn’t fit him.

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you because well, we weren’t really talking all these years, but I went by your house a few days before you left for uni, but you weren’t home and so I went to your room and saw that lined up with the rest of them on your drawer. I thought you were crazy for keeping them all those years, and I wanted to mess with you, so I… took one of them, hoping you’d notice. You never did though, so now I look kinda stupid.” He explained guiltily, but you could only laugh.

“I thought it just fell into the trash when I was moving out. If you wanted me to notice you taking something, you should’ve taken my shoes or something. Why the ring?” You lean onto the side of his car, and Jamie joins you on your right.

He shrugs and swipes his hair back, “I don’t know. We were going our separate ways and you were going all the way to Wales for so long. I realized it was going to be a while before we saw each other again. I thought, maybe if you’d realize it was missing and wanted to go looking for it, you’d always have a reason to go back to me.”

You feel a heavy weight on your chest as the last part sinks in. After everything that’s happened, it had never occurred to you that even at one point, Jamie was afraid of losing you too.

You sit in that silence for a while before you decide to rest your head on Jamie’s shoulder, in one way telling him, I would always go back to you. He got the message.

“I know it doesn’t go with your usual outfit choices now, but I just thought you’d want it back anyway.” He whispers, causing a smile to form on your face.

“Thank you, Jamie.” You look back up at him, his face softening at the sight of yours. “You wanna go on that date now?” You straighten back up and take his hand in yours this time. “What does the legendary Jamie Tartt have planned for this one?”

Jamie looks around and spots a bike rental on the other side of the car park. You didn’t even have to ask to know what he was thinking. “Race you back to that ice cream shop across your flat. Last one there has to pay.”

“What kind of date is that, Tartt?!” You exclaim, as he drags you across the street.

If there’s one thing you knew about Jamie, it was that he was a sore loser. So after you dropped your bikes in front of your flat and were massaging your calves waiting for your sundaes, this may have been the happiest you’ve seen him lose at something in your whole life.

TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchickrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamietarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @taytaylala12 @loveforaugust @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully @dickgraysonspersonalwhore @jess4rush @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fic #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #it's nice to have a friend series

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nrdmssgs · 7 months

Text

Tips to write for Nikolai (useful phrases)

Masterlist Tips to write for König (useful phrases)

AN: This guide is not meant to encourage you to start loving Russian language or culture. As much as I personally love Nikolai, I'll absolutely understand, there are people out there, that may feel bad, seeing him in CoD franchise, because of everything going on right now. This is not a call to start loving him, not a call to start describing this character as an absolute angel (he is not and never was). If seeing such a guide makes you feel bad - I'm genuinely sorry, and I'm open to a dialogue to make it better.

I tried to cover the most commonly used themes. However, it's impossible to make it short, yet all-covering. So please don't hesitate to come into my DMs with 'hey, I want Nikolai to say this thing in my fic - could you translate it in Russian for me?'. I'm always super-happy to help!

These are not my HCs, about what would Nik say, just some usefull phrases!

And the last one: Russian language uses Cyrillic letters. But I personally love to, at least try to hear, how other languages sound. So I provided translations (Cyrilic) and transliterations (Latin).

TW: swearing

Basic words, you may need for everyday chit-chat

Hello - Здравствуй Zdravstvui

Hi - Привет Privet

Good morning \ day \ evening - Доброе утро \ добрый день \ добрый вечер Dobroe utro \ dobryi den' \ dobryi vecher

Goodbye (untill next time) - До свидания Do svidaniia

Bye - Пока Poka

Thank you - Спасибо Spasibo

You are welcome - Пожалуйста Pozhaluista

Yes \ yes of course - Да \ Конечно Da \ Konechno

No - Нет Net

Petnames

Genderless (can be used, referring to both men and women, depending on relationship dynamic):

Angel - Ангел Angel

My soul - Душа моя Dusha moia

Treasure - Сокровище Sokrovishche

Sun \ little sun - Солнце \ Солнышко Solntse \ Solnyshko

My joy - Радость моя Radost' moia

Love - Любовь Liubov'

My light - Мой свет Moi svet

My happiness - Счастье моё Schast'e moe

Dream - Мечта Mechta

Little cloud - Облачко Oblachko

Little fire - Огонёк Ogonek

Precious - Прелесть Prelest'

Heart - Сердце Serdtse

Little tiger - Тигрёнок Tigrenok

Wonder - Чудо Chudo

Feminine and masculine versions of petnames (Here you can add 'my' moia for feminine, moi for masculine versions of names)

Priceless - Бесценная \ Бесценный Bestsennaia \ Bestsennyi

Divine - Божественная \ Божественный Bozhestvennaia \ Bozhestvennyi

Peerless - Бесподобная \ Бесподобный Bespodobnaia \ Bespodobnyi

Gorgeous - Великолепная \ Великолепный Velikolepnaia \ Velikolepnyi

Delightful - Восхитительная \ Восхитительный Voskhititel'naia \ Voskhititel'nyi

Darling - Дорогая \ Дорогой Dorogaia \ Dorogoi

Precious - Драгоценная \ Драгоценный Dragotsennaia \ Dragotsennyi

The only one - Единственная \ Единственный Edinstvennaia \ Edinstvennyi

Desired - Желанная \ Желанный Zhelannaia \ Zhelannyi

Golden - Золотая \ Золотой Zolotaia \ Zolotoi

Affectionate - Ласковая \ Ласковый Laskovaia \ Laskovyi

Beloved - Любимая \ Любимый Liubimaia \ Liubimyi

Sweetheart - Милая \ Милый Milaia \ Milyi

Tender - Нежная \ Нежный Nezhnaia \ Nezhnyi

The one, I can't stop looking at (lovingly) - Ненаглядная \ Ненаглядный Nenagliadnaia \ Nenagliadnyi

Incredible - Невероятная \ Невероятный Neveroiatnaia \ Neveroiatnyi

Charming - Очаровательная \ Очаровательный Ocharovatel'naia \ Ocharovatel'nyi

Dear (often said to someone, you consider your family) - Родная \ Родной Rodnaia \ Rodnoi

Sweet - Сладкая \ Сладкий Sladkaia \ Sladkii

Good one - Хорошая \ Хороший Khoroshaia \ Khoroshii

Love confessions and stuff around that

I love you. - Я люблю тебя. Ia liubliu tebia.

I like you. - Ты мне нравишься. Ty mne nravish'sia.

I fell in love with you at first sight. - Я влюбился (if man says it) \ влюбилась (if woman) в тебя с первого взгляда. Ia vliubilsia \ vliubilas' v tebia s pervogo vzgliada.

I can not live without you. - Я не могу без тебя жить. Ia ne mogu bez tebia zhit'.

You drive me crazy. - Я схожу по тебе с ума. Ia skhozhu po tebe s uma.

I wanna be with you. - Я хочу быть с тобой. Ia hochu byt' s toboi.

I think about you constantly. - Я постоянно думаю о тебе. Ia postoianno dumaiu o tebe.

You are my only one. - Ты мой (if the partner is masculine) \ моя (if the partner is feminine) единственный\ая. Ty moi \ moia edinstvennyi\aia.

I really need you. - Ты мне очень нужна (f partner) \ нужен (m partner). Ty mne ochen' nuzhna \ nuzhen.

We were meant for each other. - Мы созданы друг для друга. My sozdany drug dlia druga.

I'm ready to do anything for you. - Я готов/а на все ради тебя. Ia gotov/a na vse radi tebia.

I'm never giving you to somebody. - Я тебя никому не отдам. Ia tebia nikomu ne otdam.

Dirty talking

I want you. - Я хочу тебя. Ia hochu tebia.

I'm all yours. - Я вся твоя \ весь твой. Ia vsia tvoia \ ves' tvoi.

Your body drives me crazy. - Твоё тело сводит меня с ума. Tvoe telo svodit menia s uma.

I want to feel your touch all over. - Хочу чувствовать твои руки везде. Hochu chuvstvovat' tvoi ruki vezde.

You can do anything you want today. - Тебе сегодня можно всё. Tebe segodnia mozhno vse.

Take me the way, you want to. - Возьми меня, как ты хочешь. Voz'mi menia, kak ty khochesh'.

I want to make you moan. - Хочу заставить тебя стонать. Hochu zastavit' tebia stonat'.

Give yourself to me completely. - Отдайся мне весь (to m partner)\ вся (to f partner), без остатка. Otdaisia mne ves' \ vsia, bez ostatka.

Show me, that I belong to you only. - Покажи мне, что я только твоя \ твой. Pokazhi mne, chto ia tol'ko tvoia \ tvoi.

What do you want to do to me? - Что ты хочешь со мной сделать? Chto ty hochesh' so mnoi sdelat'?

Don't stop. - Не останавливайся. Ne ostanavlivaisia.

I want to taste you. - Хочу попробовать тебя на вкус. Hochu poprobovat' tebia na vkus.

Swearing

Fuck (as an interjection) - Блять Bliat'

Fuck off - Отъебись Ot"ebis' (to one person), отъебитесь ot"ebites' (to a group of people)

Bloody hell - Ёбаный пиздец (NOT used during sex!!) Ebanyi pizdets

Bastard - Сволочь (applied to any gender) Svoloch'

Motherfucker - Ублюдок \ уебан Ubliudok \ ueban

Son of a bitch - Сукин сын Sukin syn

Asshole - Жопа \ задница. Zhopa \ zadnitsa.

Cunt \ Pussy - Пизда (This and next one can in theory be used in bed, but i really strongly recommend you to NOT) Pizda

Cock \ Dick - Хуй Hui

Cultural extras to get in the mood

I sometimes meet this take, that Russian, as well as German language, sounds menacing or harsh. And as much as I understand, that it is subjective perception, I have something to add: you can modulate Russian speech as well as any other. You can sound like softest softie, coo and purr in Russian, if you want. Here is a good example: a guy just reads a poem, but you try and tell me, he is not straight seducing you.

Very nice perspective on how non-tourist Russia looks like. The guy travels to places, that still look and feel like USSR and somehow manages to survive. Don't mind him rambling, how good was soviet life - he doesn't mean it, he just says whatever people, he meets, would love to hear.

Another good channel to explore non-tourist Ru and some extreme weathers. Don't worry, there are no jumpscares and nothing scary happens on the videos.

Russian winter is a tricky one, because -40 С in Yakutsk can sometimes feel softer as -20 in Moscow. Humidity and wind are the keys.

No, vodka is not the only alcohol option) You can write a Ru character, that despises vodka and it will be 100% legit.

If you need domestic and interior references to Nikolais youth in soviet Ru - I can recommend HBOs Chernobyl series. An accuracy and attention to domestic details there is so great that it gets uncanny sometimes.

Stefan Kapičić does very tender and smooth version of Slavic accent. And he is 100% right to do so - it works good both for his character and the audience. If you want to hear heavier versions of Russian accent - here is a little funny video.

#cod nikolai #nikolai cod #nikolai cod x reader #nikolai reboot call of duty #call of duty #call of duty mw 2022 #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mv2 #call of duty mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii

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badasgirlfriend · 7 months

Note

hi I love your jesse Swanson x reader stories. Loved them!! If you're still doing requests, could I request a jesse Swanson x reader where the reader is also a singer and is in the bellas and do the part in pitch perfect 1 where they do the riff off and Jesse sings feels like the first time and do the reader rapping instead of beca?

Pretty Boy | Jesse Swanson

pairing: jesse swanson x fem!reader

fandom: pitch perfect

a/n: hii thank u for the req and sorry for taking so long i was ia for a bit, i only changed the ending bc i dont like the song because beca raps (dont attack me) hope u like it<3

"Come on, sing along," Chloe chirped, gesturing for Y/N to join the Bellas as they prepared. Y/N just shook her head, feeling anxious, riff of, what they called it wasn't her thing. But Chloe didn't seem to notice.

"Nah, I'm good," Y/N said, attempting to be polite. Chloe just nodded in response and flashed a smile of support as she joined her friends

Y/N noticed Jesse gazing at her, and she stared right back with a curious expression. Jesse cracked a mischievous smile, then madr a thumbs-down gesture and mouthed, "You're going down."

Y/N giggled as she let loose a playful blow kiss right at him. only for him to catch the kiss midair and press it against his heart

Y/N was relieved that it was night and that Jesse was too far away from her to notice her blushing. But this exchange had not gone unnoticed by Aubrey, who had been watching their whole interaction from the beginning.

"Go, Stacy!" She cheered for her closest friend as she stole the spotlight from Donald. Everyone's eyes were on her

"Baby, all through the night I'll make love to you," Fat Amy chimed in, but Jesse stepped in front of her, stopping her mid-song.

"And I guess it's just the woman in you," he sang, making the Belles groan. The rest of the group made their way to their designated spots, grumbling in protest.

"That brings out the man in me" he pointed at Y-Y/N smiling

"Idiot" she muttered trying to hide her grin

"It feels like the first time" he continued singing, opening his jacket to show his chest. He placed his hand on his heart just like before and winked at her

"Feels like the very first time"

Y/N didn't understand where her newfound confidence was coming from, but she suspected the drinks she had earlier might be playing a part. Yet, she was also convinced Jesse was behind her feelings. Without giving it any thought, she charged towards Jesse, eager to take advantage of the moment.

"it feels like the first time-"

"It's like everytime they turn the lights down," Y/N cut him off with a sly smirk and Jesse's eyes widened in amusement. He backed away and gave Y/N the spotlight with a round of applause. "just wanna go that extra mile for you"

She looked at the crowd and everyone was staring at her confused, even the Bellas.

'extra mile..?" Aubrey muttered trying to remember the song

Y/N was now regretting her decision as everyones eyes were on her, even the Bellas weren't backing her up

'Seriously does no one know this song' she thought to herself

Jesse's encouraging smile gave her the confidence she needed to dive back into the song "Go on,"

"We can get down," Y/N sang, now more in tune "Like there's no one around"

Amy and Stacey both gasped as they began to understand what Y/N was singing. Stacey had already joined in the song, her voice perfectly harmonizing with Y/N's. The two Belles' vocals blended together seamlessly, now with Amy joining them

"We keep on rockin' we keep on rockin"

"Cameras are flashin'" Amy made camera noises towards Emma and Stacey as they grinded on each other "while we're dirty dacing"

Jesse let out a sharp "woah" as Emma danced. One of the Treblemakers patted Jesse's shoulder in encouragement. Jesse didn't care about the outcome of the competition; if losing meant he got to see Y/N like this, he would willingly come up as the losing team every time.

In his eyes, Y/N was breathtakingly beautiful. Every laugh was like a melodic refrain that made his heart race a bit faster. His eyes were glued to her every movement, especially the graceful twirls that she would execute.

"They keep watchin' they keep watchin" The rest of the Bellas all joined in, singing the lyrics with the trio, except for Audrey, who seemed oblivious to the song.

Seeing as the crowd was completely caught up in Y/N's performance, she turned towards them and sang in a louder voice, "Feels like the crowd is saying", prompting the audience to join in with

"Gimme, gimme, more gimme more gimme more." Y/N beamed in satisfaction as everyone joined in and sang along with her.

"Anddd, we're out" Y/' said as they finished the song, everyone clapping and cheering. Jesse laughed joining the applause. Before he could say anything the MC came

"Okay funs over sorry laddies the word you needed to match was 'It' not 'It's'. You are CUT OFF" he shouted and the trebles cheered

"What when did that rule happen" Chloe shouted

"Whatever stupid riff off"

Y/N smiled, her expression showing no sign of disappointment. As she saw Jesse in the crowd, she sent a warm, appreciative smile and said, "Congratulations, pretty boy."

Jesse grinned mischievously and replied, "Does the winner get a gift?"

"You wish" Y/N rolled her eyes

This was the moment, Jesse thought to himself, the perfect instant to ask Y/N out. "Hey, I was wondering if maybe..."

But before he could finish, Audrey abruptly interrupted, "Y/N! We have to go."

Disappointed with the interruption, Jesse turned to Audrey, his expression one of annoyance.

"Sorry, chief's calling," she said with a light chuckle

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked

"Definitely," Y/N replied,

Y/N followed Audrey and then suddenly stopped, turning to face Jesse once again "Jesse," she breathed, her eyes shining with determination.

With swiftness, she leaned in towards Jesse and planted a brief kiss on his cheek, leaving him completely stunned and unable to hide his flush of surprise.

"Good night"

As Y/N hurried away, Jesse was left standing there, his face flushed with surprise. His hand was still covering the spot on his cheek where the unexpected kiss landed he murmured to himself

"Good night... fucking hell." He shook his head the grin never leaving his face

#jesse swanson pitch perfect #pitch perfect #jesse swanson #jesse swanson x reader #jesse swanson x y/n #jesse swanson fic #jesse swanson imagine #pitch perfect fanfiction #pitch perfect imagine #skylar astin

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foxy-eva · 1 year

Text

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Wedding Headcanons

Spencer begins fantasizing about marrying you after only two months of dating. He knows right away that you are the one.

He proposes to you not long after your first anniversary. Of course you say yes immediately. Getting married to Spencer Reid is like a dream come true.

Spencer would prefer a small wedding but if it's important to you, he'll agree to have a big celebration.

He's also open to the idea of eloping. He doesn't care how you two get married as long as he'll he able to call you his wife for the rest of your lives.

Derek helps him pick out his wedding suit but nobody can talk him out of wearing his converse with it. Seeing him wearing his favorite shoes at your wedding warms your heart.

Seeing you in your wedding dress as you walk down the aisle takes Spencer's breath away. You look absolutely stunning.

He has troubles reciting his vows because he can't hold back his tears. Of course hearing him tell you how much he loves you makes you cry as well.

Your first kiss as husband and wife is innocent and brief, unlike everything that will follow once the two of you are alone.

Nsfw under the cut, minors DNI!

Your first night together as newly-weds exceeds all of your expectations. Despite being exhausted, Spencer insists on taking his time worshipping you.

He keeps mumblings "my beautiful wife" against your skin as he kisses every inch of your body.

He is more possessive than ever, claiming you as his while he loves you in the most intimate way.

He loves to playfully call you Mrs Reid during sex. It becomes his new favorite nickname for you.

Spencer and you barely leave the hotel bed on your honeymoon but you wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

If you liked these headcanons you should check out my stories Honeymoon and Forever Has A Nice Ring To It.

Find my MASTERLIST here

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @spookydrreid @gspenc @justreadingficsdontmindme @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @pauline5525mgg @sanaz1dlol @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @s4r4hsblog @sebs-oxygen @beepbooptoop @lovejules888 @liltimmyst @encyclo-reid-ia @lilibet261 @fandomstuffff @spencer-reid-wonderland @happymangospot @airconsbeswag @conniesanchor @jordierama @reaux02 @ellamaianderson @cynbx @feltonswifesworld87 @snowsnow27 @dashneydanger @melifluorei-d @l-e-n-a @bitchassbecky691 @iameternallylonely @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @amititties @lover-of-books-and-tea @castiels-majestic-wings

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

Text

Popstar Protection Program

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x singer!fem!reader

Summary: As a young popstar performing in LA for the first time, you don't expect to need police protection. A very reluctant and grumpy sergeant keeps you safe and gives you inspiration.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff, vague mention of heavier topics (nothing specific)

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (from such a good episode, too)

Los Angeles can be scary. The aerial shots in movies and TV shows make it look inviting, and the focus on the glamorous aspects tends to hide the dangerous underbelly of the City of Angels. Even scarier, you think, is walking through Los Angeles when a large percentage of the population knows your name.

When you started singing, you never expected to become a “star” or be on the covers of magazines, and you absolutely never thought you’d be playing a sold-out show in Staples Center. While you should be focused on practicing and ensuring the show goes well, you can’t think of anything else except the incident in the airport when you landed.

✯✯ 2 Hours Ago ✯✯

Getting off the plane in LAX, you first notice the lack of fresh air. After playing on the East Coast and opening in smaller venues in towns on the other side of the country, you expected this to be similar. Los Angeles is nothing like Charlotte, Boston, or even Nashville. Taking a deep breath, you grow excited to see Staples Center and all the other sights of Los Angeles.

But you don’t even exit the airport before your hopes and plans are shattered. A large crowd of paparazzi are blocking the area outside your gate. You try to navigate through them with your head down, but one of them knocks his camera into your arm, tilting you off balance and making pain radiate down to your wrist.

“Alright, back up! LAPD, move back!” somebody yells on the other side of the crowd.

Slowly, you notice that no one is pressing up against you now, and when you see a man in a police uniform, you release a shaky sigh.

“Thank you,” you say.

He says your name, glancing over your shoulder. “Where’s your protection detail?”

“My what?”

“Oh boy. I think you should probably come with me; there’s some people that can keep this from happening again.”

“Why- why did it happen?”

“Paparazzi are practically vultures. They get paid by the picture to take advantage of people, invade their personal lives, and the closer the better. My guess would be one of the smaller papers or magazines heard you were coming and wanted to get a feature out before your show.”

“So, where are we going?”

“LAPD. Mid-Wilshire station is your best bet to get good cops and stay far enough from the center to avoid the cameras that seem to live there.”

“And then what?”

✯✯ Present ✯✯

“Absolutely not!”

Sitting outside an office with glass walls, you try not to look over as you eavesdrop. Your arm has been iced and wrapped, but the pain is now the least of your concerns. Three groups of officers entered the room after the cop who saved you explained the situation to the watch commander. At least one of them seems opposed to being your protection detail for a few days.

“We’re cops, not bodyguards! There are dozens of places in this city that cater to people like her!”

“Um, excuse me,” you interject, knocking on the open door. “I’m sorry to have caused all the upset, but I will find another way. Thanks for your time.”

Sergeant Grey says your name, gesturing for you to stay. “We’re going to take care of you. It’s your first time performing here and after your less-than-ideal welcome, you deserve someone to show you that LA isn’t all bad.”

“It’s not all good either though,” one of the officers adds.

“I don’t…” you begin.

“Why does this require three teams?” Bradford asks. You recognize his voice as the one that was wholly against the idea a moment ago.

“Bradford, this is your assignment. If you have a problem with it, take it up with IA,” Grey answers.

Bradford’s jaw clenches harshly, and his eyes flit to you before shaking his head and looking away.

“This is your protection team until after your show,” Grey explains, “Harper and Thorsen, Nolan and Juarez, Chen, and Bradford works with Metro so he knows this city inside and out.”

You nod along with the names, and a few of them offer their first names as well. After introducing yourself to the five officers who seem to care, you’re directed to an unmarked SUV.

“Aaron and I will be your mobile detail. You don’t go anywhere unless we take you there. Nolan and Juarez are more peripheral, unseen, protection. Lucy will stay with you as close to 24/7 as possible, and Bradford- well, Bradford’s here,” Nyla explains.

Chuckling, you thank her for the clear explanation and climb into the passenger seat after Aaron opens the door for you.

“I love your music, by the way,” he whispers.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that, and all that you’re doing for me,” you reply.

Aaron nods, closing the door and climbing into the backseat behind you. Your hotel reservation has been changed, booked under someone else’s name, and located farther from Staples Center. Watching the streets of Los Angeles from a police car window is, at the least, safer than the alternative, but it’s certainly nothing special.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Any idea as to why Bradford hates me without meeting me?” you ask Lucy.

“Tim is grumpy. He’s protective and loyal but he’s- he’s like a dog that wasn’t socialized enough as a puppy. Vicious until he gets to know you and then he’s the best friend you could ever ask for,” she answers, holding up one of your dresses.

“You’d look great in that color,” you muse. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Bradford wants to get to know me.”

“You think so? About the color? Because I need a new dress,” she replies.

“Take that one. Get it altered or just use the fabric, whatever you want.”

“Thank you!” As she hugs you, she lowers her voice to add, “You’re also young and beautiful and famous… Tim doesn’t always deal well with people who are different than him.”

You nod, but you don’t believe her. You’ll only be with Tim Bradford for a few days anyway. It shouldn’t bother you… but it does.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We’re changing things around,” Nyla announces as she enters your room. “Lobby’s swarming with paps, but there’s also a crowd of men screaming your name.”

“So, what are you doing?” you ask.

“Bradford is taking point. He’s got some big plan that, and I quote, ‘no will catch on to.’ I won’t repeat the rest of it for your sake, though.”

“Grey is making him do it?” you guess.

Nyla hums, neither a yes nor no, but you know the answer. When he barges in a moment later, you stop talking, preferring not to give him another reason to hate you.

“Get your stuff, we’re leaving,” he demands.

You nod, walking into the suite's bedroom to gather your things. Part of you wants to know what Nyla and Bradford will say behind your back, but you’re also terrified that Nyla is just better about hiding her true feelings.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is your problem?” Aaron demands. “She’s in danger and you’re not helping any!”

“This isn’t the job I signed up for. I am a Metro Sergeant but I’m stuck on- on princess protection duty! She’s just a kid who sings,” Tim answers.

“It’s about her age then,” Nyla repeats.

“No! Well, yes, but she- what makes her special enough for a team like this? Why does she get a real protection detail?”

“Tim,” Lucy says quietly. “Have you listened to her music?”

“Why would I?”

“Her specific genre, what she sings about has made a lot of people angry,” Aaron explains. “Those paparazzi weren’t there for a ‘Taylor Swift is in LA’; they were looking for a much bigger story.”

“Spit it out, Thorsen.”

“Plenty of people have reason to try to kill her.”

Tim falls silent, looking at Nyla. She tilts her head in a ‘we can’t prove it but it’s probably true’ gesture. He looks back toward the bedroom.

“Look, I’m doing my job. I’ll be civil and that is it,” Tim concedes.

“That’s all we’re asking,” Lucy replies. “We’ll be in the neighborhood. Nothing can happen to her with our protection, right?”

“Right,” Aaron and Nyla answer, looking at Tim.

“Right. Because it is our job, nothing more.”

You come out with your single suitcase, waiting until Tim takes it from you to speak. Thanking him softly, you listen to his quick explanation that you’ll be staying with him rather than Lucy, and the rest of the team will be patrolling nearby in case of an emergency.

“You’ll be fine,” Lucy promises. “And thank you again for the dress. I can’t imagine how much that cost and I can’t thank you enough.”

Tim’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Wondering why someone in your position would be willing to give away an expensive dress days before a concert confuses him. Tim reminds himself that he can’t start caring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim’s house is incredibly comfortable. You can tell that he doesn’t want you here, and when he disappears into a back room with his phone and earbuds, you assume it’s his way of getting as much space as he can. Pulling your songwriting journal from your bag, you start writing, disappearing into the emotions and the story you want to share. Time falls away when you’re writing, and you don’t hear Tim reemerge or walk to the doorway before you.

Tim clears his throat, and you look up from your place on the floor. You look small and as young as you are, sitting on the carpet and leaning against the bed with a journal in your lap. Tim has something to say but nearly forgets what it is when you look up at him through your lashes.

“I will admit that I judged you prematurely, and I’m sorry,” he begins.

“It’s okay,” you offer.

“No, just, let me finish. Please?” You nod, and Tim continues, “I thought you were just an entitled kid who found a way to convince the cop from the airport that you needed special attention. Craved it, whatever. And you’re just, you’re young and famous and that confuses me. I don’t know what life is like for you, I can’t relate to any part of that fame.”

“I can’t relate to your life either, but I didn’t shut you out because of that,” you whisper.

Tim licks his lips before speaking again. “I’m sorry. Aaron told me that you sing about- that you- uh-“

“Write songs for people who will never relate to the love songs or the ‘thank God for my parents’… who will never relate to a song on the Billboard 100 or feel protected by a song? Yeah.”

“And I diminished that. I listened to your last album-“

“That’s what you were doing back there?”

“Don’t- don’t laugh at me,” Tim replies, finally smiling. “It was really good. And I truly am sorry.”

“Consider it forgotten.”

You raise your hand, and Tim chuckles as he shakes it. He sees the nearly full page of your notebook and leans down. You slam it closed, and he shakes his head at your sudden movement.

“They’re private until they’re available on iTunes and all major streaming platforms.”

“Got it,” he replies, mock-saluting. “And, just so you know, I needed songs like this as a kid. Still do, so thank you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the next 48 hours, Tim ebbs and flows. One moment, he’ll talk to you for an hour straight, but by that afternoon, he won’t even look in your direction. It’s dizzying, and you don’t realize how much you’re thinking about it, about him, until you reach the last page of your notebook.

“Ready for the show?” Lucy asks, dressed in an event security uniform.

Shrugging, you run your finger over the edge of your journal.

“Songs?”

Lucy sits beside you, offering a hand. You lay your hand over hers, taking a deep breath.

“I thought I was making progress with Tim. He apologized and he was being nice to me and then it all stopped. Like we backslid. And, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Sounds like you don’t want to,” Lucy says softly. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

“I can’t.”

“Then maybe you should sing to him.”

Laughing, you argue, “That would be even worse.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is humming while he and Aaron stand outside your dressing room door.

“You listened to her music,” Aaron accuses, placing the song.

“Yeah. Even apologized,” Tim answers.

“You haven’t talked to her at all today. Did something- oh my- did you kiss her?”

“What? No, I didn’t kiss her, and keep your voice down! I had to pull back.”

“Why?”

Tim doesn’t answer but glances over his shoulder to your door.

“You like her.”

“No- maybe.”

“You need to tell her. We don’t know when or if she’s leaving.”

“That’s why I can’t tell her. If she’s leaving tomorrow there is no point, and if she doesn’t know, telling her could influence her decision.”

“What about the effects of not telling her?”

✯✯✯✯✯

You open the door suddenly, and Tim and Aaron turn toward you quickly.

“Whoa!” Aaron exclaims.

“You look beautiful,” Tim says, sending you a small smile.

“Thank you. All of you, for everything these last few days.”

“Break a leg,” Lucy says, waving as you walk toward the stage entrance.

“Everybody in position? This job isn’t over yet,” Tim radios.

✯✯✯✯✯

You notice Tim standing in the wings during your second song. As if your energy has been zapped from you, you fight not to collapse. Tim’s eyes narrow as he watches you.

“Instrumental,” you tell your bassist, who communicates it to the rest of the band.

Rushing toward Tim, his eyes search your face. His hands raise to your sides as he waits for you to speak.

“I-“ you stop, turning off your microphone. “I thought something was happening.”

“When?”

“No. Between us. I thought maybe there could be something there but then you stopped talking to me. What happened?”

“You’re supposed to be singing right now.”

“I have a journal full of songs about you, Tim!” you exclaim. “I can’t come out here and sing without knowing if those ideas have a chance of coming to life!”

“You wrote songs about me?”

“Tim,” you beg. “Just answer the question.”

“Nothing happened. We’re too different and I didn’t want to push too hard.”

“Who gets to decide if we’re too different? Because I disagree.”

“Don’t tell me you have a song about it, I’ve heard that one.”

You sigh, beginning to accept that Tim is skirting around a rejection.

“You can do better,” Tim says quietly. “No point in me showing you how I feel when you could have any man you wanted.”

“I don’t want any other man!” you yell over the music.

Tim’s eyes widen, and his hand leaps to your waist to your mic pack, turning it off and tugging your microphone down.

“Thorsen, your badge is mine,” he grumbles.

Tossing the microphone onto a nearby chair, Tim raises his hands to cup your face.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure since you said you didn’t want to deal with me.”

“That’s- I don’t think I put it like that.”

“No, you said you were a cop not a bodyguard. But I think you’re a pretty good bodyguard too.”

“I tried not to,” Tim admits. “Tried not to feel this way, I mean. But every time I see you, it’s like I see another part of you. You’re beautiful, and your music is beautiful, and I’m sorry for pushing you away and being-“

“Worthy of a breakup song?”

Tim sighs, leaning toward you. “You need to finish your concert.”

“Promise to be here when I’m done?”

“I promise.”

You grab your microphone, hooking it on quickly before waving at Tim and returning to the stage.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Aaron,” Tim radios, “Did you turn her mic back on?”

“Those things are tricky,” Aaron replies.

“Then maybe you should go talk to the tech department and stay out of my sight.”

“Yes, sir.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The lights dim, and as the crowd applauds, you run to Tim, crashing into him as you hug him tightly. His arms wrap around your waist, smiling as he congratulates you for your first sold-out show.

“You’ll come to the next one?” you ask.

“Only if you sing one of those songs you wrote about me.”

“I’ll sing them all. Even if you’re the only one in the audience.”

Tim cups your cheek, pressing his palm against your cheek as he pulls you in. His kiss is the opposite of earlier; a look that sucked the energy from you has become a kiss that breathes life and love into your very being. You pull back before leaning against Tim and can’t hear anything except your shared heartbeat.

“I think they’re calling for you,” Tim whispers.

The muddled yells of “Encore! Encore!” greet you, but you’re warm and happy in Tim’s arms.

“I don’t want you in my audience,” you correct. “I want you at my side.”

“Then I should be easy to find. Knock ‘em dead. Again.”

Tim kisses you again, and you credit that as the reason your encore was better than your performance (LA Times’ words, not yours).

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