#he complimented her being an educator!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mingapace · 1 month ago

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Đ𝔦я𝔱𝕪

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱɪʀ ᴊɪᴍᴍʏ ᴄʀʏꜱᴛᴀʟ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴅᴜʙᴄᴏɴ, ʙʀᴀᴛᴛʏ!ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋʏ!ᴊɪᴍᴍʏ, ꜱᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ᴊɪᴍᴍʏ, ꜱᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴘᴏꜱᴛ-ᴀᴘᴏᴄᴀʟʏᴘᴛɪᴄ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴠᴀɢɪɴᴀʟ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴅʀʏ ʜᴜᴍᴘɪɴɢ, ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀᴜɢꜱ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ᴇxᴄᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ.

𝘼/𝙣: 𝙄𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙪𝙩…𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨, 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙜𝙨.

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 7,8ᴋ

It had been days that you wandered limping and uncertainly on the still dirt path of the Highlands, paying attention to every slightest sound and movement around you.

Weeks since you last heard another human voice that didn’t sound like screaming or stupid growl.

You used to travel with five people. Six if you count the dog, and you always did. Her name was Briar, a female mutt with shaggy black fur and a sharp bark that could wake the dead — or worse, attract them. And still, she never did, like she knows. You’d joked once that she was the smartest one of you all.

Now, even her collar’s gone. Just a faint trail of blood and pawprints that vanished into the wet earth north of Kenmore.

You didn’t see her die. Maybe that’s why it still hurts more than the others.

You found your group several years after the second fall — after the second London exodus, after France collapsed and the Channel Tunnel sealed itself in blood and screaming.

You were sleeping in a half-collapsed barn near Carlisle when they found you. You remember the sunbeam that cut through the rafters, catching dust like snowflakes. You were half-starved, wrapped in a horse blanket, knife clutched in your hand like a lifeline.

They didn’t shoot you.

That was how you knew they were different.

Their leader was Nathan — a wiry man with hard eyes and a voice like gravel soaked in whisky. Ex-military, maybe. He never said. He just took responsibility and didn’t let people argue. With him, his educated and fantastic dog, Briar.

Next came Evie and Cal, the couple. They were strong and smart — she had a background in medicine, and he was a mechanic who could make a generator sing with nothing but a screwdriver and a prayer. They were in love, in the way that made people quiet around them. Like they carried something holy.

Then there was Martin — sweet, awkward, gentle. The youngest. Barely twenty. He’d lost everyone back in Wales. He never said much, but he stuck to you from day one. Like he saw something in you that the others didn’t.

You were the sixth. Quiet, fast, observant. A tracker. A scavenger. The one who could move through a house and come out with enough food to last three days. They called you a “ghost.” Sometimes a compliment, sometimes a warning.

You stayed with them for nearly six months. You shared food, fires, and stories. You even laughed once in a while — a rare sound, like birdsong after winter. You started to believe you could make it. Not just survive — live.

But that was before the infection has also reached you.

It started with a small outpost near Windermere. You’d come for supplies. You stayed for the shelter — a stone-and-timber hunting lodge, secure and remote. The perfect place to rest, clean weapons, boil water. Evie kissed Cal by the fireplace while you and Nathan took shifts on the roof. Martin went exploring.

That’s when he found her.

A woman, survivor, barely more than skeleton. Sick, hollow-eyed, but not infected. Martin, being Martin, helped her inside.

You didn’t trusted her. Neither did Nathan. But Evie… she saw just a pale and you girl, alone in the woods. She convinced the group to let her stay. Just for a night.

That night, Martin and Mira sat near the fire. She asked him questions. Whispered things. You didn’t like her. She watched everyone like they were insects under glass.

You saw them get closer.

You found out that she was an healthy rage carrier an hour too late — her scream tore through the cabin like glass.

Martin bit through her neck like he was starving. Tearing skin and flesh with his teeth and hands, hopelessly infected.

Briar run towards him, biting his legs to get him off from the girl.

Nathan shouted for you to run.

You ran.

You ran until your lungs collapsed and your legs went numb. You ran into the dark, into the trees, into the cold.

They followed, other infected joined the hunt, attracted by the noise and the shouting.

You could hear them.

You made it to the edge of a ridge. The sun was rising. Red.

Below was the ravine — steep, jagged, unforgiving. You didn’t stop to think.

You jumped.

The impact broke the world.

You woke up in the mud. Your leg was wrong. Not shattered, but torn. Tendons screaming. You tied it with your scarf and a sufficiently straight stick and dragged yourself into the undergrowth. No sign of the infected.

They didn’t follow.

Now, you move in limps and shuffles. You can’t run. You can’t fight. But you can hide.

You find shelter in hollow trees. You boil water with fireless methods to not attract them — bleach drops and cloth filters. You catch frogs. You steal eggs from nests. You chew bitter roots. And when you are a little luckier, you can hunt a deer or a wild rabbit but it always requires more effort than other things.

Your hands are blistered. Your nails are chipped. Your body is worn down to the bones of instinct.

Sometimes you hear voices at night. You think they’re real. Sometimes they’re not.

Once you thought you saw Nathan again — or someone who looked like him — across a stream. He was bent over the body made in pieces of a deer.

You don’t know if he was really him.

You never did.

Now, your leg is worse. The cold creeps back in, biting deeper each hour. Every hour you lose heat, you lose will. You’re down to one knife, no bullets, and a single can of beans you’ve been saving for when you decide to give up.

Then you see it.

Smoke.

It curls into the sky like both a promise and a warning.

You crouch behind a fallen log, one hand gripping your thigh just above the pain — your bad leg’s shaking again, nerve-deep. If you rest too long, it stiffens. If you walk too long, it swells. You haven’t eaten in two days, and your last sip of river water tasted like rust.

You know what a campfire means.

People.

And people, lately, are more dangerous than the infected ever were.

You don’t trust them. You never have.

Your body screams for shelter. Your head — the part of you that remembers the cabin, the virus, the warm blood in the firelight — tells you to run.

You grip your knife harder.

You decide to leave.

You ease back into the tree line, one step, another, breath shallow.

Then you hear it.

A voice.

“Hey,” someone calls out, the voice echoing between the rocky walls. Like they’ve known you all your life.

You freeze.

“Don’t be scared,” says a second voice — softer, female, coaxing. “We saw you watching.”

You turn slowly.

They’re already close — too close. Two of them, on the hill that rise from the small stream that you were along.

The first is a man in his thirties, smiling too easily, the sleeves of his red tracksuit rolled to the elbows, revealing arms speckled with scratches and scars. The other is a younger woman in the same tracksuit but green. But what makes you extremely confuse was the blonde wigs on their heads.

Why the hell did they go around dressed like that?

You don’t speak. You just watch. Listen.

“You hurt?” the woman asks, gesturing to your leg. “You’ve been limping. We saw you from the ridge.”

You shift your weight, subtly sliding one boot behind you — in case you need to run. Not that you can.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” the man says. “Promise.”

He smiles again and paying particular attention, you noticed several empty spots in his mouth.

Your voice cracks as you speak. “I’m just passing through.”

“You’ll freeze tonight,” the woman says. “There’s stew on. Shelter. You don’t have to stay. Just eat. Rest. We can take you to Jimmy.”

That name lands but no alarm bell rang in your head.

“I’m good,” you lie.

“Come on,” the man says, stepping forward. Not fast. But not slow either. The long spear he had in his hands that left a groove on the ground as he passed. “No pressure. But the woods aren’t safe for someone alone.”

“I’m used to it,” you say, stepping back.

His tone stays gentle, but the shift is there — subtle. Like he’s closing a door.

“Used to it doesn’t mean you should be. You don’t gotta prove anything to anyone.”

Your jaw clenches.

The woman tilts her head. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You hesitate. The old instinct to lie rises fast. But you don’t say anything.

The man’s eyes narrow, just a bit. “Alright. You’re cautious. That’s smart.”

He gestures toward the trees behind him. “Camp’s not far. You walk with us, eat something hot, sleep under a roof. You’ll feel better.”

Your fingers twitch over your knife. You could fight. Maybe. Take one down before the other grabs you. But you’re too weak. Your leg’s screaming now. And they’re watching every movement, every breath.

You feel it in your gut.

They won’t let you walk away.

So you nod. Just once.

“Alright,” you say. “Just for the night.”

The man smiles like he’s won.

As you walk between them, into the trees, you don’t miss how the man subtly angles behind you — close enough to grab you if you strip on the roots.

Gentle.

But not truly.

The forest gives way to a wide clearing wrapped in old chain-link fencing and scavenged car parts. You count at least two watchtowers. On one, someone waves down at the trio of you with a limp, halfhearted smile. Painted symbols decorate the entry post — rough spirals, suns, a jagged triangle carved into wood.

Inside, the camp is alive with quiet movement — fires, whispers, cooking. Tents stitched from tarps and military netting cluster near a long, warped bus turned into what looks like a chapel or common hall.

You try not to show how fast your heart is beating.

You know how places like this work. The rules aren’t written. They’re felt. Power floats like fog. You feel it on your skin the moment you pass through the gate.

The two who brought you in — the man and the woman — guide you gently toward the center.

No one stares.

And then you see him.

Sitting atop a crumbling stack of broken furniture like a makeshift throne, draped in a purple tracksuit, a plastic tiara hanging crooked on his head, and a cigarette burning between his fingers.

He’s younger than you expected. Mid-thirties, maybe. Blond curls, sun-tanned skin. He seems the cleanest and most relaxed of the entire clone camp, which you assumed were modeled after him. But something about him feels rotten.

His eyes lock onto yours.

Grey. Clear. Dangerous.

He smiles and, as the other man, he is missing one or two teeth.

“Look wha the wids have sent oor way,” he says, his voice smooth as warm honey poured over something sharp. His Scottish accent is marked.

You stop in front of him, the others waiting respectfully behind. The woman leaned heavily on the stick, rocking and enjoying the scene.

Who you assume was Jimmy studies you — eyes moving over your face, your coat, your leg.

He doesn’t look surprised.

“Ye’ve been walkin' a fair while, eh?” he says.

You nod once.

“Were ye on yer ain?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

“That walk must've been a tough yin, seein' the state ye're in,” he presses.

Still nothing.

Jimmy chuckles softly. “Well. Ye made it. Yer here now, and that’s whit counts.”

He rubbed his hands together, wandering with his gaze to get the support of his people before coming back to you.

“D'ye go' by a name, lass?”

You meet his gaze. Your throat is dry but you tell him anyway.

He repeats your name, turning it on his tongue.

Then he smiles wider — like it means something to him already.

“Ye’re welcome here, dearie. Ye can rest and feel safe as lang as ye like.”

That word lingers in the air like smoke.

But you know what it means. For anyone it would have seemed the words full of welcome and divine pity. To you, who had your eyes focussed on the golden cross that he held upside down on his neck, it was a temptation of the devil. Nobody gave anything for nothing, and this lying man in front of you was no less.

You don’t say anything.

Jimmy takes a few steps ahead, reaching for you. His eyes soften just enough to make it worse.

“Don’t be so tense, honey. We’re no beasts.”

He touches your shoulder, gently.

You flinch. Barely.

His hand lingers half a second too long.

“Bring her to the tent,” he tells the others. “Give her some scran- something hot an' juicy.”

He looks back at you one more time. “And let no soul say Jimmy Crystal's no a generous man.”

You nod again, too tired to argue.

Too smart to resist.

Not yet.

The cot they give you smells like herbs and dust, but it’s dry. The tent is better than any shelter you’ve had in weeks. There’s food too — lukewarm stew in a tin bowl, and bread that isn’t completely stale.

You don’t ask where they got it.

You just eat it, slow and careful, while the tent flap rustles with wind and whispers. You can feel them outside — the Jimmys, they call themselves. Moving like shadows between fires and tarps. Noisy voices. Laughter full of joy.

You don’t sleep that night. Not really.

But even there, lie in the dark, knife in hand, eyes barely closed, you know the truth.

You should’ve turned and run the moment you saw the smoke.

But now, it’s too late.

And Jimmy Crystal?

He already thinks you belong to him.

The sky is a soft slate grey when the girl who picked you up the day before, Jimmima, pulls open the flap of your tent.

“Hey,” she whispers, gently. “He wants ye.”

You blink the sleep from your eyes, gripping the knife still nestled in your bedroll. Habit. Muscle memory. You’ve slept too long and too little, mind always skimming the edge of dreams like a knife tracing bone.

Your breath fogs the air. Morning cold has teeth.

Jimmima waits without pressing. She looks different in the early light—less giddy, less glassy. She’s sober this morning. Or close to it. Her voice is level, her eyes clear. She gestures toward the edge of camp.

“He’s already waiting.”

You don’t ask who. You already know.

You rise, slipping into your coat, pulling the hood over your head. The canvas tent flap swings behind you like a mouth closing shut.

The camp is quieter than usual. Most are still curled up in their tarps and tents, coming down from the high of last night’s—sweaty, tangled, half-clothed in their colorful tracksuits like sleeping snakes coiled on top of each other.

The scent of fire ash, damp wool, and faint chemical sweetness hangs in the air.

You follow her through a gap in the fencing and out into the forest. The trees receive you with open arms, damp from the morning dew, whispering with unseen movement. Birds trill nervously in the distance. Mist coils around the ground like a low-slung ghost.

You find Jimmy Crystal waiting at the edge of the woods, seated on a flat rock, back straight, his hands resting on his thighs.

He’s not wearing his tiara today.

Instead, he’s dressed plainly—dark hoodie, black cargo pants, a hunter’s belt. The gold chains are still there. His hair is tied back in a rough knot, exposing his jawline and a faint bruise along his neck—likely from a fight, or who knows what.

He looks up when he hears your footsteps.

His eyes catch the morning light like glass. Excited. Curious.

“Ye came,” he trilled.

“You called,” you reply.

He stands.

Jimmima fades back without a word, disappearing into the trees like a respectful ghost. This is just the two of you now.

You move on the injured leg—testing it, still weak but healing.

You eyes catch a tangle of paw prints near the edge, sunk into damp earth. You squat low, pressing two fingers into the indentation.

“Three wild dogs,” you murmur. “Moving fast. Two adults, one smaller.”

He crouches beside you, watching. “Ye can tell that from this?”

You nod. “Depth. Shape. Distance between steps. This one limps,” you add, pointing to a dragging line behind the paw.

Jimmy tilts his head. “Ye could track anything.”

“Not anything,” you reply. “Just the ones that leave scars.”

“Jimmy Fox wasn’t lyin' when he told me ye’re a hunter,” Jimmy says.

So they watched you the days before.

You shrug, not showing him that the thing had disturbed you. “I’ve survived.”

Jimmy grins. “Mmhm,” he hums.

“That’s rare,” he continues. “Most of ma folks are bold. Loud. Brave in ways that get them killed.”

He crouches in front of you now — eye level, hands clasped.

“I want ye to show us,” he says. “Teach us how ye do it. How ye see what’s comin' before it’s near. Where to find water. How to find the soft trails.”

You watch him carefully. “Why me?”

“Cause ye’re better than us,” he says without hesitation. “And I hold dear what’s rare.”

The words sink in too quickly. He always speaks like that — like he’s handing you a gift made of praise and strings.

You snorted but it didn't seem like you had much choice. He would certainly have taken the speech of his hospitality towards you to convince you to return the favour. You were learning to read him very quickly.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll show you a few things.”

It’s been sixteen days.

You stopped counting after twelve, but your body remembers the rhythm of survival — the ache in your thigh fading into stubborn tightness, the taste of rust in your mouth from that one unfiltered stream, the way the air shifts before the infected come near. You’ve adapted. Again.

Jimmy’s people — his Jimmys, as some of them jokingly call themselves — have followed you into the woods like disciples into a parable. And you taught them.

You taught them how to read moss for movement. How to catch the wind’s scent and know if it carries blood. You showed them how to move quietly, how to hold their breath, how to wait before they kill. And more than anything, you taught them to listen.

Not just for prey.

For each other.

It wasn’t easy. The first time they followed you, they laughed too loud. Stepped too heavy. One of them — the one in the orange — sneezed so hard he spooked a buck that might’ve fed the camp for a week.

But now? They glide through the trees like shadows in technicolor tracksuits. Loud in color, quiet in movement. Strange little ghosts of a world long gone.

You’re proud of them.

And that terrifies you.

That evening, the sky had that unsettling dark shade that cast doubt on the weather forecast. But you knew how to tell that color apart. It was different from the gray that signaled ordinary storms. It was a sickly pallor, almost nauseating, clinging to the air like the smoke of burnt flesh. It held only humidity.

You were on the rocky promontory sharpening one of your blades when the shouting caught your attention down below.

They were back.

Those colorful misfits, noisy like a flock of tropical birds drunk on gasoline and twisted by a culture that no longer existed. They were everywhere. They laughed, shouted, pushed, some challenged each other in an obscene dance of kicks and hysterical gestures that would make anyone shudder. Everyone, except you. Because, inexplicably, you didn’t just tolerate them. You were beginning to feel something for them.

The first to return were Jimmy Fox and Jimmy Jimmy. Their steps were heavy, rhythmically marked by the metallic clang of their spears against the stones of the path. They were covered in sweat and mud, but they laughed like children. Fox clutched a metal box to his chest that jingled: you didn’t dare ask what it contained to make them so euphoric, it always brought trouble.

You watched them silently, leaning against the rock, arms crossed, like a tired, hungry guardian. One by one they all came back, and the moon rose slow and milky among the jagged ridges of the quarry.

Last, as always, was Jimmy Crystal.

You saw him appear among the trees, silent, followed by two limping Jimmys. He walked with the lazy elegance of a well-fed wolf. When he met your gaze, he gave a faint smile and just lifted his chin, in that gesture of his—a silent but heavy greeting. You didn’t respond. You turned away and went back into your tent.

You lay down in your sleeping bag, stiff as a coffin, eyes fixed on the tent ceiling, the canvas stained with resin and dust.

For a while, there was silence.

Then the noises began.

Softly, like drops of water on distant metal sheets.

Moans.

At first, you thought they were cries of pain, maybe Jimmy Jones with his bandaged leg or Jimmy Ink with his still infected finger. But then came the sighs. The rhythmic thumps. The whispers and broken laughter. And you understood.

It was that kind of night.

Adrenaline, survival, flesh seeking flesh. Bodies searching for each other like wolves after the hunt. You knew these moments. Even in your old group. Couples merging in the embrace of the post-war, as if every orgasm could keep the end away just one more day.

There had been a couple of nights when Martin had warmed you with his body. Gentle, tender, caring in his attentions. You didn’t like it but it broke that feeling of loneliness that gripped your stomach.

But Martin was probably running naked with some other infected, and you, you were alone.

You turned onto your side, squinting your eyes. You tried to ignore them. But they were everywhere. Couples, threesomes, maybe more. Those children of a limit-free era loved like they lived: shameless, without restraint, without modesty.

After the fourth laugh, you went out.

The air was thick. A light mist had settled over the field, soaked with sweat and smoke.

The fire in the middle of the fortress spat red and yellow tongues against the sky. Shadows danced on the walls of the ruined castle like obsessive ghosts. Around, bodies abandoned to grass and stone: some sleeping, others smoking. The smell was unmistakable: hash mixed with moss, earth, and burnt leather. And sweat, so much sweat.

You approached slowly, with the stealthy step that had become second nature. No one noticed you, or if they did, said nothing. Maybe you weren’t the one out of place: maybe, for once, you were part of that world.

You sat on a log by the fire. You looked at it, letting the heat melt your stiff face. You touched your forehead: it was sweaty. Maybe the air was less tense than usual that evening.

The spot on the log next to you creaked under Jimmy Crystal’s weight.

You hadn’t heard him approach, but when he sat down beside you—heavily, as if dropping himself there—you weren’t startled. His legs wrapped around the log so he could fully focus on you.

“Love, what made ye leave yer dark den?” He took a long drag from a small glass and metal cylinder, then handed it to you, looking surprised and amused.

You shook your head.

“No.” You said, firmly.

“Damn, ye’re awfy hard to convince,” he huffed, returning the pipe to his lips.

Silence thickened. The fire crackled, chewing branches like old bones. Some Jimmys had fallen asleep near the rocks. Others whispered twisted songs.

“How did yer day go?” he asked, breaking the silence you had intended to keep.

A simple question.

But it was as if he had asked who you were, where you came from, what you really wanted.

“Tiring,” you answered. “But no worse than others.”

He nodded slowly. “Ye speak plain, but there's aye a blade sharp as thorn behind yer words.”

You looked at him. His hands were dirty, nails stained with earth and blood. But also silver rings, small skulls, and symbols you didn’t recognize.

“And you have a curious way of living,” you replied. “Like the world’s just your damn playground.”

“Aye, It is.”

You were surprised by the amusement in his voice. That man lived his days firmly convinced that if one day a tight-knit group of infected headed there, they’d get through it as always.

It wasn’t courage. It was arrogance.

“Are ye feel at ease here, with us?” he asked right after, shifting one leg horizontally on the log.

Your heart skipped a beat. A question you’d been avoiding for weeks. One you’d avoided yourself.

You didn’t answer immediately.

You looked at the fire. Thought of Jimmima’s laughter, Jimmy Fox’s tired eyes, how Jimmy Ink always sought your approval.

“Maybe,” you said. “I’m learning not to hate it.”

Jimmy smiled. And the smile cast a shadow on his face. “That’s somethin', that is. We’re a bit of a state, I know. But we're still breathin'. And we care about those who help us.”

“I didn’t come to help anyone,” you answered. “I just wanted to teach you not to starve.”

“Yet here ye are. Starin' the fire with us. Sleepin' by our side. Eatin' our food— findin' it a wee bit more palatable now.”

Jimmy shifted on the log to get closer to you and his knee brushed your thigh. His hand, which had long since abandoned the bong, moved with calculated slowness. His fingers brushed aside a strand of hair that had slipped behind your ear and twisted it around one of his many-ringed fingers. You could almost smell him at that distance: smoke, chewing gum, and something… wild.

“Y'know,” he murmured, “when I watch ye move… I reckon no soul should have a body so deadly and so far out o' reach. It’s near cruel, so it is.”

You turned to him. Your eyes in his gray ones. A flash and a growl.

“I’m not here to be reachable.”

Jimmy smiled. Just a corner of his mouth. His hand moved a centimeter, disentangling the hair from his grip.

“But somethin' tells me, beneath that soldier’s armor, there’s real skin.”

His hand brushed your shoulder, where the fabric of your shirt was thin. A light touch, but relentless. No dominance, just an invitation. And you… didn’t stop him.

Not immediately.

“You’re playing with something you don’t understand,” you hissed.

Jimmy brought his lips close to your ear, without touching you.

“I like things that give me a nip.”

Your pulse rose to your throat, not from fear. It was a nameless, shapeless, murky, throbbing desire. You hadn’t felt it this strong in years.

His touch was patient.

Fingertips traced the curve of your forearm, the sharp edge of your shoulder, never digging in, never truly invading. A game. A slow siege. And you were there, heart pounding in your ears and skin asking for more.

But something inside you didn’t give in.

Despite the heat.

Despite the desire.

Your breath was ragged, short, but held back. Your muscles tense as cords. Every time he came closer, even by a millimeter, your body responded… but didn’t surrender.

And he noticed.

Jimmy watched you from the dark, with those eyes that seemed capable of peeling your soul.

His fingers stopped.

You didn’t speak.

Not right away.

You felt frustration rise inside you: not against him, not really. But against yourself. Against the barriers you’d built, the ones now keeping you alive… and keeping you captive.

Finally, in a faint voice, you asked.

“Do you still have… that stuff?”

Jimmy blinked for a moment, caught off guard by your sudden question. He said nothing for a long moment, then his face broke into a toothless, satisfied grin.

“I’ve got somethin' better, doll.”

He opened his hoodie, making the gold chains at his neck jingle, rummaged in the inner pocket of his purple jumpsuit, and pulled out a small metal blister pack.

A purple ecstasy pill slid into his open palm, resting in the center.

You stayed still, motionless, your gaze suspended between his open hand and the crooked smile curling his upper lip.

“I keep the good stuff back for special times.”

You reached out hesitantly, drawn more by his confidence than the pill itself. But before you could touch it, he lifted it with two fingers, looked at it for a moment, then with theatrical slowness, placed it on his tongue.

His mouth opened, inviting. His gaze didn’t leave you. The pink, steady tongue held the small colored orb. He didn’t swallow it. He kept it there, like a living, throbbing temptation. And with a nod, without saying a word, he invited you to take it from there. From his lips.

You stared, not surprised, but with a new hunger, one that wasn’t just desire. It was a fiercer, older impulse: to take back control not by avoiding danger… but by mastering the fire that fed it.

His necklaces—a cascade of gold chains, trinkets, and upside-down crosses—gleamed faintly in the fire’s dim light. And you plunged your hand in.

Without grace.

Without hesitation.

You grabbed him by those chains as if they were reins, ropes, burning chains.

Then you yanked him toward you.

He let out a half-sigh—part growl, part choked laugh—but didn’t resist. His face came close to yours. Eyes locked. Noses almost touching. And for a moment, the tension was pure live electricity.

Then your lips claimed his.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss.

It was brutal, necessary, almost hungry.

His lips were strangely soft but his mouth was dry, like he hadn’t drunk for days, but you knew perfectly well that was one of the side effects of hash. His breath burned against yours.

Your tongue sought his, quick, precise, and retrieved the small bitter oval, swallowing the muffled moan he made at the move.

When you pulled away, you had the pill between your teeth.

He still had your taste on his mouth.

And his eyes…

Those always glossy, theatrical, crazy eyes…

Now they were fixed, wide open, as if he’d just seen something he couldn’t name.

“Christ,” he whispered, “ye really are somethin' worth keepin' close.”

You swallowed. The pill went down like hot ash. It burned your throat.

Or maybe it was just the awareness of what you’d just done.

Your hands press against his chest and, in an instant, you push him back. His body gives way with an ease that feels almost intentional. He hits the rough ground with a dull thud and a surprised breath that turns into a laugh—short and alive.

You still don’t feel the effects of the ecstasy, that sweet poison you both took. Your body is still your own. Still steady. Breath controlled, muscles tense but clear.

That bastard probably gave you a stale candy or who knows what else, but if he did deceive you, you have no proof. Not yet. And maybe that’s exactly why you’re even more present in this moment. Even more aware of your body—and his.

“—shit, ye really—”

Before he can finish, your boot is planted firmly against his chest.

His hands come up like he might push you off, but they hover there, open. Waiting. Not resisting.

His grin spreads lazily. “Well, damn,” he breathes, eyes dragging up your body like you’re the storm on the horizon. “Didn’t know ye had that in ye.”

You press down slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to make him feel it.

“Stay down,” you say.

He hums, a sound full of pleased surprise. “That’s hot, babygirl.”

You narrow your eyes, keeping your weight where it is. He reaches up slowly—testing your limits—his fingers curling around your ankle, just above the boot.

“I like this side of ye,” he murmurs. “A wee bit mean. Bossy.”

“Brat,” you reply.

He laughs again. “Guilty.”

There’s a beat of stillness between you—just the sound of both your breathing, the creak of the floor under his shifting weight, the soft wind outside pressing against the thin walls of the shack.

You study his face. His lips are parted, his breath shaky. His expression—somewhere between reverence and desire. Not begging. Not demanding. Just… asking.

You look down at him, your shadow cast across his chest. Then you slowly lower your gaze and shift your weight. Not too much. Just enough.

Your boot slides gently, precisely, down his ribcage, then lower still, along his stomach, and even further down until the rubber sole presses firmly against the unmistakable bulge between his spread legs.

He holds his breath.

His eyes close for a moment, as if trying to stay present in the moment without completely losing himself.

“Ye’re playin' dirty,” he murmurs, but there’s a smile on his lips.

You tilt your head to the side, studying him. There’s something about him that intrigues you, that challenges you. You press your boot harder, and you see him stifle a grunt, his head falling back to meet the softness of the pillow on the little water mattress.

“You know… I’ve wanted to do this for a while.” You slide your foot, gathering and dragging the fabric of his pants along, continuing to tease the skin of his cock. He begins to slowly move his hips back and forth, pushing with his pelvis to create more friction. “I always knew you were a needy slut, after all.”

You feel his breath catch in his throat, but you’re almost certain the thing beneath your boot shifted with interest at your words.

“Fuck me…” he pants, a fucked-up smile on his lips as your movements speed up slightly. “Just there, doll, I’m close…”

His eyes never leave you as he starts fucking himself against your boot with renewed energy, not at all embarrassed that he’s literally about to come in his favorite pants like a high school kid.

You know he’s on the edge when his eyelids flutter and his moans turn into murmurs and whimpers.

With a grin, you suddenly pull your foot away, leaving him to fuck the air for a second before collapsing with his hips onto the mattress, releasing a painful yet relieved sigh.

You lower yourself slowly, your knee touching the soft base next to his side. Your foot remains between his trembling legs—to remind him who’s in control—but your hand now brushes his jaw. Rough skin, poorly shaved, warm. Jimmy closes his eyes at the touch, as if it’s more than just the pressure of your boot.

“I don’t know what you gave me, but it’s not working, damn it,” you growl, tightening your grip on his chin just a bit, your thumbnail pressing painfully into his skin.

It seemed that man could pull out from you the repressed anger of more than two decades.

“Oh, it’s workin', I assure ye…” He parts his lips slightly and takes your thumb into his mouth.

When had he moved from his chin to his lips?

Confused, you press your thumb against a broken tooth, and Jimmy moans in pain, shivering at the electric shock that runs through his body as he stays beneath you, vulnerable. But instead of pulling away, he leans forward toward you, drools dripping down your finger and pooling on your palm.

“You’re disgusting…” you murmur, though even you don’t quite believe how you’re blushing while watching his tongue curl around your fingers. “I don’t need ecstasy to tear you apart.”

Your other knee drops to the water mattress too, and you slowly slide upward until your clothed hips are level.

“What are ye—?”

“Do you think I’d let you shove that dirty cock in me? Forget it. You’ll take what I give you.”

You look him in the eyes as you let yourself fall fully onto him, your hips moving against his in a slow, deliberate contact. Your body speaks the language you don’t yet have the courage to voice.

You feel his erection pressing deliciously against your little intimate button, filling your mouth with drool. His pants are softer than your jeans, letting you fully enjoy the friction as if he were naked beneath you.

Jimmy moans softly—almost a whisper, more for himself than for you—and looks at you with a tortured, maybe even a little angry expression. You don’t know. You don’t know him well enough to read it. Besides, you’re too caught up in the pleasure slowly soaking your panties to care.

His hands reach for your hips, but you don’t let him. You grab his wrists and pin them above his head, pressing them into the soft pillow you’d found. He twitches slightly beneath you but doesn’t resist. In fact, his grin widens, darker, more twisted.

The contact between your bodies is charged, real. The slow, steady friction creates a tension that builds in your hips, your chest, your clenched teeth. But most of all it’s in his eyes—the way he looks at you as if you’re doing more than just touching him. As if you’re entertaining him exactly the way he wants.

“Come on, baby. Lose that fuckin' control.”

His words hit you where you’re most fragile. Because this isn’t just flesh. It’s something more moving beneath your skin. Something that’s been closed off for too long.

And then you let go a little more. The movement of your hips becomes less measured. His moans become more open. Your foreheads brush. Sweat slides down your back and you can feel it sticking your shirt to your skin. His body tenses, opens, surrenders. And you sink into it like a ritual, as if every gesture you make is a prayer spoken with your body and not with your words.

Then something happens.

An imperceptible heat at chest height. Inside you, that disperses in the veins, setting them on fire. You stiffen for a moment, but the pleasure is too close, too strong. The sensation slides along the spine like the caress of a feather, and you can no longer distinguish where desire ends and where... something else begins.

The room changes.

Or you change.

The light seems to become liquid. The shadows lengthen where they were short before. The colors saturate, every surface comes alive, as if you could feel the waterbed breathing under your hands. Jimmy's fingers must have freed themselves from your grip because now you can feel them on your back and they feel like roots or claws.

"Let me take ye," he whispers. "Let go, beautiful."

The orgasm mixed with the drug makes you see white for about ten seconds. Your body tenses, retracts, and then unwinds all at once as your legs shake around his hips. Your breathing is heavy, you can hear it in your own ears, and your muscles are slowly leaving you.

You let go.

Everything inside you—muscles, thoughts, heartbeats—has given way like a rope pulled to its limit. And now, as your body relaxes against his, as your skin still vibrates with every touch, you feel like you’re floating in a place where time has no name.

Dazed, yes. But alive.

Your senses are wide open. The waterbed feels more real than usual against your back. The fingers that brush your side—his—seem to speak a language you haven’t learned yet.

Jimmy moves beneath you. Or above. It’s hard to tell. The world is too slow to follow.

But then, his face is suspended close to yours. You feel it more than you see it. His breath caresses your ear, warm, heavy. And his voice comes like a whisper inside a feverish dream.

“Ye’re bonnie like this…” he murmurs. “Broken. Laid bare. Yieldin'.”

You feel his mouth brush your temple, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. The words slip out with the ease of someone who has thought about them a thousand times before saying them. You feel his hands press more firmly against your hips and feel the fabric of your jeans gather and then come out of a leg that he himself must have lifted.

“I'd watch ye break, night after night,” he continues, kissing your t-shirt-covered chest. “And I'd build ye back each time, piece by piece, like a secret that only I know.”

A broken breath escapes you. Your eyelids heavy, but not closed. Your eyes blurry, but alert.

His voice is low, warm, but restless. As if what he’s telling you isn’t just a caress. But also a blade.

You feel his rough, cold, ring-filled fingers gather your moisture, brushing your swollen clit. An amused grin opens his mouth at the shaking of your hips, but he pulls away anyway.

His hand moves slowly, calculatedly, almost theatrically, and then he brings them to his lips. His fingers glisten with the clear, glossy liquid, and when his tongue touches them, the gesture is silent, precise, deeply intentional. He closes his eyes slightly, as if tasting something heavenly.

“Mh,” he murmurs, his eyelids half-closed as he slowly licks away every trace. “Fuckin' sweet. I love sweet things.”

His fingers leave his lips with a little pop. And his smile widens as he lowers them again and, in one motion, inserts two of them inside you.

Your eyes widen but your body doesn’t react except with pleasure. Your legs open and a desperate groan escapes your lips as you grab him by the hem of his tracksuit with one hand, near his elbow, which is outstretched to support himself above you.

You start to feel his fingers moving back and forth, rubbing against your warm walls. You want to cover your ears as the wet, slick sound fills the small tent and you’re almost sure you moaned like a whore when a third finger joins the others.

Your body and mind respond in unison. One pulling you against his fingers to seek pleasure and the other pushing you away, not wanting to go any further.

“Oh, no, no, no, sugar.” He whispers, lowering his lips to one of your cheeks in a false gentle caress. His fingers curl and hit your G-spot with mastery, making you wriggle and dig your fingers into the fabric in your hands. “I want ye open and drippin' wet for me when I finally fuck ye.”

Your walls tighten as he hits that spot again and again. Your thighs tremble. You gasp uncontrollably and your moans start to bounce off the curtains and probably outside as you feel your orgasm begin to dawn.

However, his fingers suddenly pull away, leaving you there, on the edge. You turn your head to bite his arm in desperation but find only emptiness.

You open your eyes, still blurry from pleasure and the drug, and you clearly see him undo his sweatpants and pull them down slightly. You see him wrap one hand around himself and give his dripping, erect cock a few firm pumps before sliding between your soft legs.

“Oh my god…” you sigh as he presses his hands on your legs to open you up more.

“I’m not yer God yet, princess…” he growls sarcastically and rubs his head against your folds, making you gasp. “But I will be soon.”

You grit your teeth as you watch the eagerness with which his hips buck forward and the head of his cock slides inside you, overcoming the tight bundle of muscles and reaching the deepest point inside you with a grunt of pleasure mixed with your own.

The sight of Jimmy, with his blond hair tucked behind his ears as best he could, his mouth wide open and his hoodie half-hitched to get a better view of where you joined was obscene. And you couldn’t help but clench around him.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers possessively digging into the soft flesh of your ass as he pulled out and pushed back in, eliciting a broken moan from you.

“Feels like ye're chockin' me, baby.”

You don’t know if it’s the pressure of his cock against your walls, the drugs, or his words, but your brain completely shuts down as he begins to establish a punishing rhythm that forces the air and reason out of your lungs with each thrust.

“K-Keep going…don’t stop, Jimmy…”

Your encouragement must have stirred something in him because he lay down on your body and forced his tongue down your throat in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss while his balls slapped against your ass.

One of his blunt teeth digs into the flesh of your lower lip and in response your walls close around him again, holding him inside you.

“Fuck…” he chokes, sliding and pressing his lips against your throat. “Yer tight pussy is going to make me cum, sugar.”

Your eyes widen, clarity slowly returning to the surface. Your arms, once again available, closed around his forearms and you applied a gentle push.

“No…don’t-”

The words dry in your throat as his hands bring you deeper into him and hit the spot his fingers had previously found again.

“I’m going to cum, princess. I’m going to fill ye up good…”

“Fuck, Jimmy, don’t you dare-!”

A hand leaves your ass and presses against your swollen mound with precision and you don’t realize you’ve been so close to your second orgasm because it suddenly explodes with that meager friction. Your mouth opens in a scream as your pussy contracts.

With a liberating “yes” against your throat, Jimmy’s hips snap forward one last time, thrusting in to the hilt and unleashing his pleasure. You feel him throbbing inside you and give a few more shallow thrusts before going still and rubbing his itchy jaw against your cheek.

“In the end, ye liked it — me filthy cock inside ye.”

You huff, tugging at a strand of his hair and making him cry out in pain.

“Shut the fuck up.”

#jack o'connell #sir jimmy crystal #sir jimmy crystal x reader #28 years later #smut #28 years later the bone temple #danny boyle

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doctormohansamira · 2 months ago

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Samira and Robby have just such a ridiculously compelling dynamic. She’s his younger self, she’s the AU version of him, she’s the outlet for all his self loathing, he’s her idol, he’s her mentor, he’s her pseudo-parental figure that she latches onto because she doesn’t know how her own father would feel about her.

He holds her to higher standards than he does anyone else and wants her to be better than him because he knows better than anyone else where she’ll end up in twenty years the way she’s going and resents her for being better than him. She desperately wants his approval while constantly on edge when he’s looking over her shoulder and she has so little idea of what she’d do with his approval, she stares after him in shock when he gives her a direct compliment. He behaves as if she's supposed to be able to singlehandedly solve their staffing problem by moving faster. She's trying to solve different institutional problems by herself by setting an example for how they should be treating sickle cell, by not allowing Whitaker to get away with treating their patient poorly, by refusing to dismiss patients with symptoms that aren't easy to diagnose. He tells her that she's shortchanging her education. She's constantly working and learning not just from her own cases – she's doing research on the side and reading multiple case reports that she winds up applying in practical contexts.

He’s harsher with her for the same sort of things he lets slide in other people and doesn’t praise her when her methodical approach is vindicated. She’s tiptoeing around his feelings at multiple different points in the day.

He's fighting to keep from private management being brought in, and told that the only thing he can do to stop it is bring up the patient satisfaction scores. Samira's approach leads to her having the best satisfaction scores out of everyone. He recognizes immediately that these combination of things means that what he needs more than anything is ten more Samiras, but he tells that to Dana and doesn't say a word to Samira herself to concede she has a point or tell the other residents that they should in any way follow Samira's example when everything he's telling them to do is fundamentally about mimicking her results.

She wastes time and money on unnecessary tests, except we never see her do that – the time she's "wasting" is almost always her just talking to patients to help them feel safe and seen, and the one time we see her run additional tests, it turns out to have been valuable. He spends hours running unnecessary tests on a braindead teenager after Samira was the one to point out the blown pupils and immediately move on to patients she could help.

There's no one doing it like them. Most interesting relationship in the show, it's beautiful and I adore it.

#The Pitt #Samira Mohan #Michael Robinavitch

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enhaflixer · 5 months ago

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pjs - Signed, Sealed & Undone. - Part 2

A TIME TRAVEL CONTRACT MARRIAGE FIC PART ONE HERE

Synopsis: Fake marriage proposals are a tired billionaire trope.

But when Jay Park—former golden boy of Park Industries, now chaebol exile—comes back from disgrace (and back in time), he’s got one goal: rewrite the past before it destroys him.

When you, an unassuming journalist with nothing to lose, get an offer of a lifetime, you’re sure it’s a mistake.

A contract, a relocation to Seoul, and one fake wedding later, you’re still trying to convince yourself none of this is real. The only problem? Neither of you seem to remember where the performance ends and something devastatingly real begins.

WC: 11K CW (18+ MDNI) : fake marriage, slow-burn romance, power dynamics, corporate intrigue, arranged marriage trope, emotional angst, unresolved sexual tension, longing glances across boardrooms, contract loopholes, financial manipulation, morally gray billionaire!Jay, forced proximity, family expectations, betrayal, public displays of affection (for the cameras, obviously), enemies-to-allies-to-lovers, suppressed feelings, business politics, one bed trope (but make it corporate), dramatic confessions, late-night whiskey-fueled arguments, high society drama, backhanded compliments as flirting, dramatic departures followed by even more dramatic returns, lingering touches that mean too much, feelings clause not included in the contract, deep intimacy, power dynamics in a romantic context, possessive tendencies (but soft), light dominance/submission themes, clothing being undone at a painfully slow pace, tension so thick it could shatter glass, breathless dialogue, interrupted kisses that lead to frustration, and the inevitable realization that this was never fake at all.

Your first meeting with the Parks was not what you expected.

Chairwoman Soo-min Park, Jay's mother, welcomed you in her minimalist office overlooking Seoul's skyline. Everything about the space proclaimed power—floor-to-ceiling windows, a desk carved from a single slab of marble, carefully curated art pieces that probably cost more than your entire education.

The woman herself matched her surroundings—elegant, precise, every silver-streaked hair perfectly in place. Her handshake was firm, her assessment clinical as she gestured for you to sit.

"So," she began without preamble, "you are the woman who captured my son's attention where so many have failed."

You felt Jay tense beside you. This was your first test.

"I believe we captured each other's attention, Mrs. Park," you replied evenly. "Sometimes connection happens where you least expect it."

Something flickered in her eyes—not warmth exactly, but perhaps respect.

Her questions were direct bordering on invasive. Your education. Your family background. Your career trajectory. With each answer, you maintained the same calm directness, refusing to be intimidated despite the butterflies in your stomach.

When she asked about your professional goals, you surprised yourself with your honesty.

"Journalism lets me uncover truths others miss," you said. "I value authenticity, even when it's uncomfortable."

"Authenticity," she repeated, glancing at her son. "A rare quality in our circles."

"That's what drew me to Y/N," Jay interjected, his hand finding yours. "Her perspective is... refreshing."

Chairwoman Park studied your joined hands for a moment. "You understand, of course, that marrying into the Park family comes with considerable scrutiny. Your life will not be your own."

"With respect, Chairwoman," you countered, "my life will always be my own. I'm choosing to share it with your son and, by extension, your family. But I won't disappear inside the Park name."

A loaded silence followed. Jay's grip tightened on yours—whether in warning or support, you couldn't tell.

Then, unexpectedly, Chairwoman Park smiled. Not broadly, but genuinely.

"Good," she said simply. "Jongseong needs someone who won't vanish into his shadow. Come, I'll show you to your quarters myself."

As she led you through the compound, Jay fell into step beside you, an almost imperceptible furrow between his brows.

"My mother never personally shows guests to their rooms," he whispered. "That's what staff is for."

"Should I be concerned?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I think she might actually like you."

The thought was both comforting and terrifying.

Your suite was breathtaking—traditional Korean elements blended with modern luxury. Adjacent to Jay's quarters but with your own entrance, exactly as promised in your contract.

"These were my grandmother's rooms," Jay explained after his mother left. "No one has used them since she passed. Not even guests."

"Is that significant?"

"Extremely. My grandmother was the family matriarch. The only person my mother genuinely respected." He ran his hand along an intricately carved wooden screen. "This is... unexpected."

That word—"unexpected"—became the theme of your first week in Seoul.

At family dinners, Jay's father questioned you extensively about American business practices, not dismissively but with genuine interest in your perspective. His uncle, who reportedly spoke only Korean in business settings on principle, made efforts to converse with you in English while praising your attempts at Korean phrases.

Most surprisingly, Jay's cousin Danny—initially the most skeptical about your sudden appearance—appointed himself your unofficial cultural guide.

"The press will tear you apart if you make certain mistakes," he explained, showing you how to properly pour drinks for elders and which honorifics to use with which family members. "Better you learn from family than from a public relations disaster."

Family. The word kept surfacing in unexpected contexts.

"Y/N is family now," Jay's father announced when authorizing your access to the private family wing of Park Industries headquarters. "She'll need to understand our operations."

"Family chooses wine together," his aunt insisted, inviting you to help select vintages for the wedding reception.

"Family protects its own," his mother stated when she discovered paparazzi had obtained your old address in New York. She immediately dispatched security to ensure your apartment was secure and your subletting friend undisturbed.

It was Danny who finally explained what was happening.

"They're closing ranks around you," he said during an impromptu shopping trip for traditional Korean accessories. "Not because they necessarily believe this whirlwind romance—"

"But they're acting like they do," you interjected, confused.

"Because Jay chose you," Danny said simply. "That's enough. If you're his, you're ours. The Pack protects its members."

"The Pack?"

"Family nickname. Not very subtle, I know." He grinned. "But accurate. We Parks might fight among ourselves, but against outsiders, we're unified."

You found yourself surprised by the Parks' fierce protectiveness. From Danny's explanations about family loyalty, it seemed at odds with the cutthroat business world they dominated.

Later, during a rare moment alone with Jay in the garden, you broached the subject.

"Your family is so... unified," you observed. "Different from what I expected."

Jay's expression turned pensive. "The Parks protect their own. That's always been the rule."

"And yet you seemed shocked by how they've embraced me."

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the stone path. "I've seen another side of them. In business, loyalty can shift suddenly when interests change. I've witnessed how quickly protection can turn to abandonment."

Something in his voice suggested personal experience—a wound not fully healed.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," you ventured carefully.

His jaw tightened. "Just cautious. The business world has taught me that today's allies can become tomorrow's executioners without warning."

He fell silent, tension radiating from his shoulders. Without thinking, you reached for his hand.

"Well, you have me now," you said softly. "And I don't abandon contracts halfway through."

His smile was hesitant but real. "That may be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me, Y/N."

"I try, baby," you replied, the endearment slipping out more naturally now.

The moment lingered between you—not quite romantic, but something deeper than your initial arrangement had suggested. You couldn't help wondering what experience had made him so wary of sudden betrayal, even from his own family.

Later, alone in your suite, Jay paced like a caged tiger.

"Something's not right," he muttered. "I've never seen my mother compromise like this."

"Maybe she genuinely approves of me?" you suggested, curled in a window seat overlooking the compound's gardens. "Unlike whoever she was planning to match you with before."

"Perhaps." He didn't sound convinced. "But my mother never yields on guest lists. Never. It's unprecedented."

"Is that concerning?"

He stopped pacing, his expression thoughtful. "Unexpected, certainly. But advantageous. They're accepting you more readily than I anticipated."

"Your romantic soul overwhelms me," you teased gently.

His expression softened as he looked at you. "Sorry. Corporate strategy is my default setting."

"I've noticed, baby. It's almost endearing now."

The pet name made him smile every time—a small, private reaction that felt like a victory.

Three weeks before the wedding, as preparations reached fever pitch, Jay found you in your suite's private garden—your sanctuary when the pressure of performing became too intense.

"We need to discuss the honeymoon," he said without preamble, settling beside you on the stone bench.

You'd been wondering when this would come up. The wedding night and subsequent honeymoon had loomed in your thoughts—unspoken questions about proximity and expectations.

"Bali," he continued, consulting his tablet. "Private villa, secluded beach, minimal staff. I've arranged separate bedrooms, of course."

"Of course," you echoed, trying to identify the strange emotion that fluttered in your chest. Disappointment? Surely not.

"Two weeks is standard for executives of my position," he added, scrolling through details. "The villa has separate office spaces so we can both work when needed. Full security team, but stationed distantly for privacy."

"It sounds... well-planned."

Jay looked up, studying your expression. "But?"

You hesitated. "Nothing. It's appropriate for our arrangement."

He set down the tablet, turning to face you more directly. "Y/N, by now you should know you can speak freely with me."

"It's just... very businesslike," you admitted. "Which is fine. That's what this is."

Something shifted in his expression. "It is business," he agreed. "But after these weeks together, perhaps also... more than just business."

The admission hung between you, neither fully acknowledged nor dismissed.

"People will expect certain behaviors," he continued after a moment. "Public affection. Shared meals. The appearance of... intimacy."

Your mouth went dry. "You mean..."

"Nothing beyond your comfort," he clarified quickly. "But enough to convince the staff, who will inevitably report back to my family and, by extension, the press."

"Right. Our ongoing performance." You nodded, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "I can handle looking... in love."

Was it your imagination, or did his eyes linger on your lips before he glanced away?

"There's also the wedding night," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "The presidential suite at the Grand Hyatt has been secured. Very private, but hotel staff notice everything. Champagne that goes untouched. Beds that aren't slept in."

A blush crept up your neck despite your best efforts. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Nothing inappropriate," he assured you, though his own complexion seemed warmer than usual. "Just... awareness that appearance matters. The illusion of consummation without the actual act."

"Rumpled sheets and champagne glasses," you summarized, aiming for a clinical tone. "The suggestion of intimacy without crossing boundaries."

His gaze met yours, something unreadable in his expression. "Unless specified otherwise in a future amendment to our arrangement."

Your breath caught. "An amendment?"

"The contract allows for mutual revisions when both parties agree," he said carefully. "I'm simply acknowledging that... feelings can evolve. Expectations may shift over time."

The implication was clear—if physical boundaries changed between you, the option existed to formalize that evolution.

Your heart raced traitorously. "I'll consider the amendment possibility," you replied, matching his professional tone while heat bloomed low in your abdomen.

"Good," he said softly. "That's... good."

A weighted silence fell between you, charged with possibility.

"I should check on the security arrangements," he said finally, rising from the bench. At the garden entrance, he paused. "Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens or doesn't happen, you have my respect. Always."

After he left, you sat in the garden until twilight, wondering how a false engagement had led to what might be the most honest relationship you'd ever experienced.

The photoshoot among cherry blossoms marked a turning point. What began as another staged display of affection shifted when the photographer positioned you against a tree, Jay's body pressed against yours from behind.

"Kiss her neck," the photographer instructed. "Like you can't resist her."

Jay hesitated, then lowered his mouth to the sensitive spot below your ear. The touch of his lips sent electricity down your spine. You couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped you—one that had nothing to do with performance.

His arms tightened around your waist in response, and you felt him inhale sharply against your skin.

"Now turn and kiss properly," the photographer demanded. "Passionate but elegant."

You turned in Jay's arms, expecting the usual carefully controlled press of lips—three seconds, no movement, just enough for the camera.

Instead, when your mouths met, his lips parted immediately. Without thinking, you responded in kind, your hand sliding into his hair as the kiss deepened. His groan, too quiet for anyone else to hear, was undeniably real. Seven seconds stretched to ten before you separated, both breathing harder than the situation warranted.

"Perfect!" The photographer exclaimed. "The chemistry is explosive!"

In the car afterward, heavy silence hung between you.

"That was..." you began.

"Convincing," Jay finished, his knuckles white on his knee. "Very convincing."

But that night, sleep proved elusive as you replayed the feeling of his mouth against yours, his hands tightening on your waist, the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressed against you during that brief moment.

The final wedding rehearsal was scheduled for exactly one week before the ceremony—a full dress run-through to coordinate the complex choreography of family processions, ceremonial exchanges, and media moments.

You stood in the bride's preparation room, attendants adjusting the simplified version of your wedding hanbok, when commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Sharp voices in Korean—too fast for your intermediate skills to follow, but the tension was unmistakable.

Danny appeared at the door, his expression tense. "Small situation. Nothing to worry about."

"What kind of situation?" you asked, recognizing the forced casualness in his tone.

He hesitated. "Unexpected guest. Jay's handling it."

Before you could press further, the door opened again. Jay entered, his face a carefully composed mask that didn't quite hide the tension around his eyes.

"Everything okay?" you asked.

"Perfect," he replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just a minor protocol issue."

He was lying. After weeks together, you'd learned to read the subtle tells in his expression—the slight tightening around his mouth, the barely perceptible furrow between his brows.

"Babe, come on.."

He met your gaze, then sighed. "We should speak privately."

Once the attendants had been dismissed, he took your hands in his.

"Seraphina Visconti has arrived in Seoul," he said without preamble. "Apparently for a 'routine business meeting' with Korean shipping companies."

Your stomach tightened at his expression. Though he'd never mentioned this woman before, his reaction told you everything you needed to know. This was someone significant. Someone threatening.

"Who is she?" you asked directly.

Jay hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The daughter of an Italian shipping magnate. Her family has been trying to establish business connections with Park Industries for some time."

There was more to the story. Much more, judging by the tension radiating from him.

"And?" you prompted.

"And at one point, she was someone my mother considered a suitable match for me." His jaw tightened. "Her arrival, one week before our wedding, can't be coincidence."

Understanding dawned. "She was a candidate. Before me."

"Yes." Something dark flickered in his eyes. "The Visconti connection would have been... strategically valuable."

"But you chose me instead," you said slowly. "And now she's here to what? Object at the ceremony?"

"The Viscontis don't give up valuable connections easily," he replied grimly. "If they can't secure a Park alliance through marriage..."

"They'll seek another inroad," you finished. "Business partnerships, friendships, however they can get close to your family."

He nodded. "She's requested a meeting with my mother tomorrow. To 'extend congratulations' on my engagement."

The subtext was clear. This woman represented exactly the kind of strategic alliance Jay had been so determined to avoid when he proposed to you. Her presence was a direct challenge to your arrangement.

"What do we do?" you asked.

Jay's expression hardened with determination. "We proceed exactly as planned. But we must be extra vigilant. Seraphina is... persuasive. She can make fiction sound like fact and manipulation feel like coincidence."

You squeezed his hands, an unexpected protectiveness surging through you. "I'm not going anywhere, Jay. Remember, I keep my contracts."

Something flickered in his eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or something deeper.

"There's something else you should know," he said quietly. "Seraphina and I... we had some history. Brief, but potentially something she might leverage."

"I understand," you assured him, an unexpected pang of something like jealousy surfacing. "You don't need to explain."

"No, I do." His grip tightened. "Because there was never anything real between us. It was strategic on both sides. But with you..." He paused, seeming to search for words. "With you, the strategy has become... complicated."

Your pulse quickened. "Complicated how?"

Before he could answer, a knock interrupted the moment. Danny again, looking apologetic.

"Sorry to disturb, but she's here. At the rehearsal. Somehow she convinced the event coordinator she was on the guest list."

Jay's expression darkened. "Of course she did."

He turned back to you, his gaze intense. "Stay close to me. Don't let her isolate you or my family members. She's skilled at creating divisions."

You nodded, a strange mix of anxiety and determination rising within you. "I'm ready."

"Y/N," he said softly, bringing your hand to his lips in a gesture that felt more genuine than performative. "Thank you for being here. For being real."

As you stepped into the hallway together, his arm protectively around your waist, you couldn't help wondering what Jay wasn't telling you about this woman—and why her arrival had shaken him so deeply.

Something bigger was happening beneath the surface of your arrangement. Something Jay was keeping from you.

And for the first time since accepting his proposal, you wondered if there were secrets within your contract that might eventually tear it apart.

The rehearsals for the wedding ceremony required hours of practice—precise movements, timed responses, careful choreography. Two weeks before the wedding, after yet another exhausting day of preparations, you found yourself alone with Jay in the family's private study, reviewing final details.

"If I have to make one more decision about fucking flower arrangements, I might lose my mind," you groaned, kicking off your heels and curling into the corner of the leather sofa.

Jay laughed—a real laugh, not his public chuckle. "The Parks have been arranging strategic marriages for generations, but I doubt any of my ancestors had to choose between thirteen different shades of white roses."

"Is that what we're doing? A strategic marriage?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

His smile faded. "That was the agreement."

"I know what the agreement was," you said, studying him. "I'm asking what we're doing now."

The question hung between you, dangerous in its directness.

Jay moved to the bar cart, pouring two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to you, then sat beside you on the sofa—closer than necessary. You found your eyes drawn to the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he leaned back, the top button undone revealing just a hint of collarbone. When had you started noticing these details?

"I don't know anymore," he admitted, the rare honesty catching you off guard. "This has become...complicated."

You took a sip, welcoming the burn. "Because of the kiss?"

"Which one?" The question surprised you both. He continued quickly, "The photographer. The press appearance last week. The practice for the ceremony. We've kissed numerous times."

"You know which one I mean."

His eyes met yours over the rim of his glass. "Yes. I do."

Another silence, this one charged with possibility.

"We could try again," you suggested, your heart hammering. "Without the photographer. Without the audience. Just to... clarify things."

Jay set his glass down carefully. "That would be crossing a line."

"We drew those lines. We can redraw them."

He studied you, his expression guarded. "Why would you want to?"

"Because I'm tired of pretending I don't feel anything when you touch me," you answered honestly. "Because I'm curious if whatever happened during that kiss was real or just... heightened performance."

"It was real," he said quietly. "At least for me."

The admission hung in the air between you, neither advancing nor retreating from it.

"So?" you prompted.

He exhaled slowly. "So this is dangerous territory. Emotions complicate strategy."

"Fuck the strategy," you said, setting your own glass down. "Just for a minute. Just be Jay, not Park Jongseong with his perfect plans."

Something shifted in his eyes—the careful calculation giving way to something darker, more urgent. His hand moved to your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone in a touch too intimate for strategy.

"If I kiss you now," he said, voice low, "it won't be like the others."

"Good." You held his gaze steadily. "I don't want it to be."

He closed the distance between you slowly, deliberately—giving you time to retreat. You didn't.

His lips met yours, and immediately you understood the difference. This wasn't performance. This was hunger—controlled, but barely. His hand slid into your hair, cradling your head as the kiss deepened. You moved closer, your hand finding his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath expensive fabric.

When his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you opened to him willingly, a small sound escaping your throat. He groaned in response, the arm around your waist tightening, pulling you half onto his lap.

The kiss turned desperate, months of controlled touches and careful boundaries dissolving under the heat of genuine desire. His hand moved to your thigh, sliding upward beneath the hem of your dress, fingers tracing patterns on sensitive skin.

"We should stop," he murmured against your mouth, even as his hand continued its upward path.

"Probably," you agreed, making no move to pull away. Instead, you shifted fully onto his lap, straddling him. The position brought you into direct contact with unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

"Fuck," he hissed, his composure fracturing further. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you into a slow, deliberate movement against him.

The friction was exquisite even through layers of clothing. You tangled your fingers in his perfect hair, destroying hours of careful styling as you deepened the kiss.

His mouth moved to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. "Tell me to stop," he said against your skin, his breath hot. "Tell me this isn't what you want."

In answer, you rolled your hips more firmly against his, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

"I want this," you breathed. "I want you."

His control snapped. In one fluid movement, he had you on your back on the sofa, his weight deliciously heavy as he settled between your thighs. His mouth reclaimed yours with new urgency, one hand sliding higher under your dress, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear.

A sudden noise in the hallway outside—a staff member passing by—broke the spell. Jay froze, then slowly pulled away, his breathing ragged.

You both stared at each other, the reality of what had almost happened settling between you.

"That was..." he began, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

"Definitely not in the contract," you finished, adjusting your disheveled clothing.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "No. It wasn't."

"Do you regret it?" You had to know.

He considered for a moment, straightening his tie with hands not quite steady. "I regret the interruption," he said finally. "Not the action."

Something warm unfurled in your chest. "So what now?"

"Now we should probably get some sleep." He stood, offering his hand to help you up. "Separately," he clarified, though the reluctance in his voice was evident.

You nodded, accepting his help. As you stood, he didn't immediately release your hand.

"This changes things," he said quietly.

"Yes." There was no denying it.

"We should discuss it. Tomorrow, when we're both thinking more clearly."

But tomorrow brought a crisis with the venue. The day after, an issue with security arrangements. Each evening ended with meaningful glances and careful distance—both of you acutely aware of the shift but unable to find the right moment to address it.

The unresolved tension built with each passing day, each careful touch that lingered too long, each glance that held too much promise.

The wedding was a masterpiece of carefully orchestrated moments—traditional Korean ceremony in the morning, Western exchange of vows at sunset, both executed with flawless precision despite Seraphina's strategic presence in the third row.

Throughout both ceremonies, Jay maintained perfect composure, his hand steady as he placed the ring on your finger, his voice unwavering as he recited vows that sounded surprisingly heartfelt for a contractual arrangement.

"I choose you," he said, his eyes holding yours with unexpected intensity. "Above all others, against all expectations, I choose you."

Only you noticed the way his gaze flickered briefly toward Seraphina when he spoke the words.

At the reception, she approached with practiced grace, champagne flute in hand and calculated warmth in her smile.

"Such a...surprising match," she said, air-kissing your cheek. "Jay never mentioned you during our time together in Europe."

"Some connections don't need public announcement to be meaningful," you replied smoothly, feeling Jay's hand tighten at your waist.

Her smile never faltered. "How fortunate that his mother's plans changed so suddenly. We all thought—" She laughed lightly. "Well, it hardly matters now."

Before you could respond, she turned to Jay. "Your uncle mentioned the Hanjin merger is progressing. Fascinating choice, considering."

Something shifted in Jay's expression—fear, barely controlled.

"If you'll excuse us," he said abruptly, "my wife and I should greet the ambassador."

He guided you away with uncharacteristic urgency, his composure fractured.

"What was that about?" you whispered.

"Nothing. Just Seraphina being Seraphina." But his eyes kept scanning the room, tracking her movements like someone monitoring a bomb.

The presidential suite at the Grand Hyatt was everything Jay had promised—lavish, private, with discreet staff who delivered champagne then vanished.

Yet the tension from the reception followed you. Jay paced by the windows, making calls in rapid Korean, his tone increasingly agitated.

When he finally ended the last call, you confronted him directly.

"What's going on? And don't say 'nothing' again."

He stared at you for a long moment, conflict evident in his expression.

"I need to check something at the office," he said finally. "A document that shouldn't exist."

"Shouldn't exist?" You frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I'll explain when I return." He was already reaching for his jacket. "Please, Y/N. This is important."

"It's our wedding night!"

"I know." He paused at the door, genuine regret in his eyes. "Two hours, maximum. Then I'll tell you everything."

After he left, you paced the suite, frustration mounting. Whatever game he was playing with Seraphina clearly went deeper than corporate rivalry.

On impulse, you opened his laptop—the one he always kept with him, password protected and closed whenever you approached.

The password prompt glowed accusingly. You tried his birthdate. Access denied. His mother's name. Access denied.

Then, on a hunch: YN-contract-date.

The screen unlocked, revealing dozens of folders meticulously labeled and dated. One caught your eye: "Original Timeline - Evidence."

Heart pounding, you clicked it open.

News articles. Court documents. Photos of Jay looking years older, haggard, defeated.

A marriage announcement with Jay and Seraphina, dated three years earlier.

Headlines about corporate espionage, Jay's disgrace, his removal from Park Industries—all dated years in the future.

The room seemed to tilt as you opened a video file.

It showed Jay—older, with strands of gray at his temples—standing in an empty apartment, speaking directly to the camera.

"If you're watching this, it worked," the Jay in the video said. "I don't know if the consciousness transfer will be complete or if I'll remember everything, so I'm recording key details. The Hanjin merger is the trigger point. Seraphina orchestrated everything through her connection with Chairman Kang..."

He continued methodically outlining his downfall, his eventual disgrace, names and dates and evidence.

"Time travel is theoretically impossible," he concluded. "But so is the pain of having your entire life stripped away in a single day. If there's any chance of preventing it..."

The video ended abruptly.

You stared at the dark screen, heart racing. Time travel? Consciousness transfer? Future knowledge?

"I'm losing my mind," you whispered to the empty room.

You closed the laptop, then opened it again, half expecting the folders to be gone. They weren't.

Maybe this was an elaborate fiction—research for some project, a game, a psychological exercise. Because time travel couldn't be real. That would mean...

The implications made your head swim. That would mean Jay had known about meeting you at the gallery before it happened. That he'd orchestrated everything—your meeting, your relationship, your marriage—as part of some grand design to change a future that had already happened.

It would mean everything between you was calculated, predetermined, false.

"No." You shook your head. "This isn't real."

But the evidence on the screen didn't vanish. Future dates. Future events. Things that hadn't happened yet detailed with journalistic precision.

By the time Jay returned, you'd gone through half the champagne and were sitting on the floor, back against the bed, laptop open beside you.

"Y/N." He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. "What are you doing?"

"Having a psychotic break, apparently." You gestured vaguely at the laptop. "Either that or marrying a time traveler. I'm not sure which is more concerning."

His face drained of color. "I can explain."

"Explain what? That you're from the future?" You laughed, a brittle sound. "That's literally insane, Jay. I'm insane for even considering it."

He approached slowly, as if you were a frightened animal. "You're not insane."

"Then you're saying it's true? That you—what? Traveled back in time to avoid marrying Seraphina? To prevent some corporate disaster?" The words sounded ridiculous as you spoke them. "Do you realize how that sounds?"

"I know it sounds impossible." He knelt in front of you, keeping a careful distance. "But you've seen the evidence."

"I've seen elaborate fiction. Or I'm hallucinating. Because time travel isn't real." You ran your hands through your hair. "People don't just wake up five years in the past with a chance to redo everything."

"I didn't think it was possible either." His voice was steady, gentle. "Until it happened."

"So what am I to you?" The question escaped before you could stop it. "A convenient pawn in your time-travel chess game? A random variable you introduced to change your precious timeline?"

Pain flashed across his face. "Initially? Yes. I sought you out deliberately at the gallery. I remembered our brief conversation from my original life, and you seemed...perfect. Outside my world. Beyond manipulation."

The confirmation hurt more than you expected. "So you manufactured everything. Our relationship. Our connection. All of it."

"No." He moved closer, carefully taking your hands. "The plan, yes. The contract, yes. But what's grown between us? That wasn't planned. That wasn't strategy."

"How can I believe that?" You searched his face. "How can I believe anything now?"

"Because I'm telling you the truth when I could keep lying." His grip tightened. "Because I'm risking everything by admitting this to you."

"Or I'm having a complete mental breakdown and none of this is happening." You pulled your hands away. "Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and be back in my apartment in New York. Maybe this whole thing—you, Korea, all of it—is some elaborate delusion."

"It's not," he said firmly. "You're not crazy, Y/N."

"Prove it." You met his eyes. "Tell me something that will happen. Something specific. Something I can verify."

He hesitated. "The stock market—"

"No. Something personal. Something that matters to me."

Jay thought for a moment. "Priya and Jake will announce they're expecting a baby next month. Earlier than they planned to tell anyone, but there will be complications and they'll need support."

Your heart stuttered. "That's cruel. Using my friends—"

"Call her tomorrow if you don't believe me. She took a test two days before our wedding but didn't want to steal your moment."

"Stop it." You stood up, needing distance. "I can't—this is too much."

"I know." He remained kneeling, looking up at you. "And I'm sorry. I never intended for you to find out like this. Or at all, honestly."

"That's worse! You were just going to lie forever?"

"I was going to fulfill our contract. Two years, then release you with everything promised." He rubbed his face. "The timeline is already changed beyond recognition. My purpose was accomplished."

"Your purpose." The words tasted bitter. "Which I was instrumental in without my knowledge or consent."

"Yes." No excuses, just raw admission.

You moved to the window, staring out at Seoul's glittering skyline. Everything suddenly felt alien—the city, the marriage, the man behind you.

"I need time to process this." Your voice was steadier than you felt. "I need to... I don't know, call Priya tomorrow. Verify your claim. Try to determine if I'm actually having a psychotic break."

"Of course." He stood but didn't approach. "Whatever you need."

"I'll sleep in the second bedroom tonight."

He nodded, accepting this without argument. "For what it's worth, Y/N, whatever brought us together—time travel, fate, strategic planning—what's grown between us is real. At least for me."

You couldn't respond to that. Not yet. Not when you weren't even sure what reality was anymore.

As you gathered your things for the night, one question burned through the confusion.

"Why did you do it? Why come back?"

Jay's answer was simple and devastating in its honesty.

"Because I lost everything. And I couldn't bear to live through it again."

You closed the bedroom door between you, then pressed your forehead against it, tears finally escaping.

Either your husband was a time traveler who had manipulated your entire relationship, or you were completely losing your grip on reality.

You weren't sure which possibility terrified you more.

Sleep proved impossible. Around 3 AM, you gave up trying and reached for your phone, scrolling until you found Priya's number. It would be afternoon in New York.

Your thumb hovered over the call button. This was ridiculous. You couldn't just ask your friend if she was pregnant based on your time-traveling husband's inside information.

But you needed to know. Needed some external verification that either confirmed you were sane or confirmed you weren't.

With a deep breath, you pressed call.

"Y/N!" Priya answered on the third ring, her voice bright. "Should you be calling me on your wedding night? Shouldn't you be, you know, occupied?"

"Just checking in," you said, aiming for casual. "How are you feeling?"

A pause. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." You pressed on. "You seemed tired at the wedding. Jake was hovering more than usual."

Another, longer pause. "Okay, that's weird. We literally told no one."

Your heart stopped. "Told no one what?"

"Y/N..." Priya's voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you psychic or something? I'm pregnant. Six weeks. We weren't going to tell anyone until the second trimester, but I've been spotting, and the doctor says..."

The room tilted as she confirmed exactly what Jay had predicted. Exactly what shouldn't be possible for him to know.

"That's wonderful news," you managed, though your voice sounded distant to your own ears. "I'm so happy for you. And whatever's happening, I'm here, okay?"

After reassurances and promises to talk soon, you ended the call and sat motionless in the dark.

It was real. All of it. Which meant Jay had truly traveled through time. Had truly sought you out as part of his plan. Had truly married you to prevent some alternate future.

You moved to the door, pulled it open, and found Jay sitting on the floor in the hallway, back against the wall.

"Couldn't sleep either?" you asked.

He looked up, dark circles under his eyes. "Not really."

"I called Priya."

Understanding flashed across his face. "And?"

"She's pregnant. She's spotting. Everything exactly as you said." You slid down the wall to sit beside him. "How is this possible?"

"I don't know." His honesty was strangely comforting. "I went to sleep in my apartment five years in the future and woke up here, in the past. I've spent every day since then trying to prevent the sequence of events that destroyed my life."

"Including marrying me instead of Seraphina."

"Yes." No hesitation, no sugar-coating.

You both sat in silence for a long moment, shoulders almost touching.

"I'm still angry," you said finally. "And confused. And honestly, a little terrified."

"I understand."

"But I also..." you struggled to find the words, "I also can't deny what's happened between us. That feels real, even if the foundation was a lie."

Jay turned to face you. "It is real. The beginning was calculated, yes. But everything since—the late night conversations, the moments when no one was watching, the things we've shared—those weren't strategy. Those were just... us."

"Is that even possible? To find something genuine inside a manufactured situation?"

"I don't know." He reached for your hand tentatively. "But I'd like to find out."

You stared at his outstretched hand, the wedding ring glinting in the dim light. A contract. A strategy. A lie.

And yet, underneath it all, something had grown that neither of you had planned.

After a long moment, you took his hand.

"I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not having some elaborate psychotic break," you said with a shaky laugh.

"If it helps, in my extensive experience with both time travel and mental breakdowns, this feels more like the former."

That surprised a genuine laugh from you. "Oh well, if you're an expert..."

His answering smile was hesitant but real—the smile of the man you'd grown to care for, time traveler or not.

"So what now?" you asked.

"Now we figure this out together," he said simply. "No more secrets."

"No more secrets," you agreed.

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, a question in the look.

You answered by leaning forward and pressing your mouth to his—your first real kiss, not for show, not for strategy, but because despite everything, you wanted to.

His response was immediate and overwhelming, arms pulling you against him as the kiss deepened. Months of performed affection crystallizing into something genuine and urgent.

"Y/N," he breathed against your mouth. "Are you sure?"

"No," you admitted. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. But I want this. I want you."

He stood, pulling you up with him, searching your face one more time before lifting you into his arms and carrying you toward the master bedroom.

Whatever came next—whatever impossible reality you were living in—at least this part would be real.

Jay carried you to the bedroom, his movements both gentle and urgent. In the dim light filtering through the windows, his eyes never left yours—searching, questioning, even as he lowered you onto the bed.

"Are you certain?" he asked again, hovering above you. "With everything you now know..."

You reached up, tracing the contour of his face. This face you'd come to know so well, yet belonged to someone with secrets you were only beginning to understand.

"I'm not certain about reality anymore," you whispered. "But I'm certain about wanting you."

Something broke in his expression—the careful control he'd maintained since you met him fracturing completely. He lowered his mouth to yours with an intensity that stole your breath, his kiss no longer measured or performative but raw with need.

Your bodies had been close before—staged embraces for photographs, choreographed affection for observers—but this was different. His weight pressing you into the mattress felt like an anchor in a world suddenly unmoored from everything you thought you knew.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against your neck, his voice rougher than you'd ever heard it. "No script. No strategy. Just us."

"Everything," you breathed. "I want everything that's real."

His hands trembled slightly as they moved to the zipper of your dress—the man who negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking suddenly unsteady with wanting. The vulnerability in that small tremor undid you.

You helped him with the fastenings, the dress soon forgotten on the floor. He paused to look at you, his expression almost reverent.

"I've imagined this," he confessed. "Not as part of the plan. Just as a man wanting a woman."

Your own fingers worked at his shirt buttons, needing to feel skin against skin. "How long?"

"Since Washington Square Park. When you laughed at that Ukrainian restaurant. I wanted to kiss you then, contract be damned."

The admission sent heat spiraling through you. All those controlled touches, those careful boundaries—beneath them, he'd been wanting this too.

When his shirt joined your dress on the floor, you ran your hands over the planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. Not the measured rhythm of Park Jongseong, corporate heir, but the accelerated tempo of Jay, the man who wanted you.

His mouth found yours again as his hands explored with increasing boldness—tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breast, his thumb circling your nipple through delicate lace until you arched into his touch with a soft moan.

"I need to taste you," he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck, between your breasts, his tongue tracing patterns that made you shiver. "I've thought about this for months."

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he unhooked your bra with practiced ease, his mouth closing around your nipple while his hand kneaded your other breast. The careful restraint he'd always shown was nowhere in evidence now—replaced by hunger barely contained.

"Jay," you gasped as his teeth grazed sensitive flesh. "More."

He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Say it again."

"More," you repeated, understanding he meant something else.

"My name," he clarified, voice hoarse. "Not for show. For me."

"Jay," you whispered, then louder. "Jay."

Something fierce and possessive crossed his features. He moved lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your stomach, his fingers hooking into your underwear and slowly drawing them down your legs.

When he settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your most intimate place, he paused again, looking up at you.

"This isn't strategy," he said softly. "This is just me wanting to taste every part of you."

Your answer was lost to a gasp as his mouth closed over you, his tongue exploring with deliberate precision. This was Jay applying the same focused attention he gave to corporate acquisitions to your pleasure—finding exactly what made you tremble, what made your breath catch, what made you cry out his name.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as you began to unravel beneath his relentless attention. When he slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them forward while his tongue continued its assault, the tension building inside you shattered.

You came with his name on your lips, your body arching off the bed, one hand fisted in his hair while the other clutched desperately at the sheets.

Before you'd fully recovered, he was moving up your body, his expression almost feral with need. He shed his remaining clothes with uncharacteristic urgency, his erection heavy against your thigh as he positioned himself above you.

"Protection?" you managed, your mind still hazy with pleasure.

"Nightstand." He reached over, retrieving a condom and sheathing himself with efficient movements. Then he was there, poised at your entrance, searching your face one last time. "Y/N?"

You wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer. "Now, Jay."

He sank into you with a groan that sounded almost pained, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes open—connection beyond the physical as he filled you completely.

"You feel..." he began, words failing him for perhaps the first time since you'd known him.

"I know," you whispered, understanding perfectly.

He began to move, slowly at first, each thrust measured and deep. But as your bodies found their rhythm, as your hips rose to meet his, the careful control he prided himself on began to slip.

His movements grew more urgent, his breathing ragged against your neck. You ran your nails down his back, urging him on, needing more of whatever this was—this genuine connection amid so much calculated deception.

"Y/N," he gasped, his rhythm faltering. "I can't—"

"Let go," you urged, feeling yourself climbing toward another peak. "Just let go."

Something inside him broke at your words. His next thrusts were almost desperate—hard, deep, relentless. One hand slipped between your bodies, finding where you were joined, his thumb circling your sensitive flesh.

"Come with me," he commanded, his voice raw. "I need to feel you."

The intensity in his eyes, the command in his voice, the precise circles of his thumb—it was too much. You shattered around him with a cry that might have been his name, might have been a prayer, might have been a curse at the universe that had brought you to this impossible moment.

He followed moments later, his release triggering aftershocks of pleasure through your still-pulsing body. His arms gave out, and he collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most grounding way possible.

For long moments, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing gradually slowing, his heart pounding against yours.

"That wasn't in the contract," you finally said, a hint of laughter in your voice.

He lifted his head to look at you, a smile spreading across his face—genuine, unguarded. "I believe that qualifies as an amendment."

"A very thorough amendment," you agreed, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

He rolled to the side, taking you with him, keeping your bodies connected. "I may require multiple amendments. To ensure complete clarity."

"Very prudent," you murmured, tracing patterns on his chest. "Contracts should be explicit."

His expression sobered slightly. "Y/N, what happened between us just now—"

"Was real," you finished for him. "Whatever else isn't, that was."

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing your forehead. "I didn't travel through time expecting to find you. That wasn't part of the plan."

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed. His hand traced lazy circles on your back. "I'm still not entirely sure how it happened. The time travel or...this."

You settled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not having an elaborate psychotic break."

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "If so, it's an exceptionally vivid one."

"Maybe that's all life is," you mused. "Vivid hallucinations we choose to believe in."

His arms tightened around you. "Then I choose this one. With you."

You lay together in comfortable silence, the questions and complications temporarily held at bay by the simplicity of skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat.

Tomorrow would bring reality crashing back—Seraphina's machinations, the timeline Jay was trying to alter, the complex web of truth and deception that had brought you to this point.

But for now, in the quiet darkness of a wedding night never meant to be real, you'd found something neither of you had anticipated in your carefully constructed arrangement.

Something genuine in a world of strategic fabrication.

Something true in a reality bent by impossible physics.

Something neither time nor planning could have engineered.

Epilogue: Three Years Later

"I said I wanted to relax on the beach, not hike up a mountain," you grumbled, one hand braced against your lower back, the other resting protectively over the prominent curve of your seven-month pregnant belly. "This babymoon was supposed to be about pampering, not cardio."

Jay looked back at you from several steps ahead on the winding trail, his expression softening as he took in your flushed cheeks and the slight breathlessness in your voice.

"It's hardly a mountain, angel," he said, immediately returning to your side. "More of an elevated pathway with strategic viewpoints. But we can turn back if you're uncomfortable."

You leaned into him as his arm slid around your waist, supporting some of your weight while his other hand came to rest alongside yours on your belly. "A 'strategic viewpoint' is what you called that cliff in Santorini last year, and I nearly had a heart attack."

"You said the photos were worth it," he reminded you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I was being polite. I was actually contemplating pushing you over the edge for making me climb all those steps."

His laugh rumbled against you, warm and genuine. In three years of marriage—one beyond your original contract—that laugh had become more frequent, less guarded. When you'd first met, Park Jongseong's calculated public chuckle had been as meticulously controlled as everything else about him. Now, Jay laughed openly, especially with you.

"The Park heir doesn't back down from challenges," you added, perfectly mimicking his mother's crisp tone and slight accent. "Isn't that what your mom told me last week when I complained about the nursery color palette meetings running four hours? Who needs eighteen shades of 'celestial' anyway? They're all just... blue."

Jay winced. "If you quote my mother again while we're on vacation, I'm flying Danny out here to keep you company. He's been dying to revisit that story about my high school talent show performance."

"The K-pop cover?" Your eyes lit up with mischief. "With the leather pants and the hair gel? Please do. I've only seen the photos, but the video footage would make excellent blackmail material for the next twenty years of parenting."

"I looked good in those pants," he defended, though his hand moved to massage the sore spot on your lower back that had been bothering you since morning.

You groaned appreciatively as his fingers found exactly the right spot. "Keep doing that and I might not share the existence of those photos with our daughter when she's old enough to be mortified by her father."

"Negotiating already? She's not even born, and you're forming alliances against me." His tone was playful, but the tenderness in his expression whenever he referenced your unborn child made your heart flutter. The man who had once approached marriage as a tactical business arrangement now spent evenings reading pregnancy books and speaking Korean lullabies against your belly.

"Another ten minutes to the overlook," he promised, thumb working circles against your lower spine. "Then we'll head back to the villa. I promise it's worth it."

You sighed dramatically but allowed him to guide you forward. "Our daughter better appreciate all this hiking I'm doing for her. She's been practicing her taekwondo moves on my bladder all morning."

"She's already plotting her corporate takeover strategy," Jay said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "A true Park."

"God help us all," you muttered, though your free hand squeezed his in affection. "One strategic mastermind in the family was enough."

"You forget your contract negotiation tactics. You extracted a villa in the Maldives with private chef, daily massages, and no conference calls for two weeks. Our daughter is getting the best of both of us."

"Speaking of strategies," you said, pausing to catch your breath, "I've been thinking about names again."

Jay groaned dramatically. "Not this again. We had a system. A spreadsheet with weighted attributes and cultural significance metrics."

"I'm vetoing the spreadsheet." You continued walking, leaning heavier on his support. "No child of mine is going to be named via algorithm."

"It's not an algorithm, it's a—"

"Strategic naming methodology with comparative analysis," you finished for him. "I've heard the pitch, Mr. Park. Still vetoing it."

He sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "What names are you considering now?"

"I like Mina."

"That's actually on the spreadsheet's top five. Strong in both cultures, elegant, historical significance—"

"I don't care about your spreadsheet points. I like how it sounds."

"Alright, angel. Mina stays on the list." His easy acquiescence was still something you were getting used to. The Jay you'd first met would have defended his methodical approach for at least another ten minutes. "We still have two months to decide. Unless she makes an early entrance."

"Don't even suggest it," you warned. "After what your mother said about Park babies always arriving precisely on schedule, like their corporate acquisitions? I think she'd be personally offended if this baby came early."

"Chairwoman Park does not acknowledge the existence of unscheduled deliveries," he agreed solemnly, though his eyes danced with amusement. "Though she did order the hospital's maternity wing renovation completed a month ahead of schedule, just in case."

"Your mother terrifies me," you admitted. "And somehow I still adore her."

"She feels the same about you. She told Uncle Jimin you're the only person who's ever successfully changed her mind during a board meeting. He said she sounded proud."

"She should be. That sustainable investing initiative is going to increase profits by twelve percent next quarter."

Jay grinned at you. "Look at you, talking profit margins and quarterly projections. Remember when you said you'd rather die than become a 'corporate drone'?"

"I maintain that position," you insisted. "I'm an independent consultant who happens to occasionally advise the largest conglomerate in South Korea. Completely different."

"Of course," he agreed diplomatically. "Just like I'm not a workaholic, I just have 'dedication to operational efficiency.'"

You bumped your hip against his. "You've been better. Only three midnight emails this month."

"All emergencies," he defended.

"The color of the fonts on the annual report was not an emergency, Park."

"Brand consistency is critical to market perception," he began, then caught your expression and laughed. "Fine. Not an emergency."

When you reached the overlook, the view did indeed steal your breath—crystal-clear waters stretching to the horizon, the private cove of your Maldives villa visible in the distance, pristine white sand contrasting with vibrant turquoise.

"Damn it," you murmured.

"Excuse me?" Jay raised an eyebrow.

"You were right. It was worth it." You leaned back against his chest as his arms wrapped around you, hands cradling your belly. "Don't look so smug."

"I would never," he said, not bothering to hide his satisfied smile. "Besides, being right is just part of my charm."

You elbowed him gently. "Your humility is what I love most about you."

"That and my strategic viewpoint selection."

"And your modesty. Clearly."

His hands splayed wider across your belly, and as if on cue, your daughter kicked sharply against his palm. The look of wonder that crossed his face at the contact never diminished, no matter how many times he felt it.

"That was a strong one," he said softly.

"Tell me about it. I'm pretty sure I'm growing a future taekwondo champion in here."

"Like her mother," he said, his voice warm with admiration. "Strong. Determined."

"Cranky when hungry?" you suggested.

"I was going to say 'formidable when provoked,' but your phrasing works too." His chin rested on your shoulder, and you felt his smile against your neck. "She's already perfect."

The simple sincerity in his voice made your hormones send tears threatening. You blamed pregnancy emotions, but the truth was deeper. This man—who had literally traveled through time to avoid destruction—was now embracing a future neither of you could predict or control, with complete certainty that it was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Did you ever imagine this?" you asked, gesturing vaguely at your belly, at the two of you standing on this pristine outlook. "When you made that original contract proposal at that ridiculously expensive restaurant?"

"It was hardly ridiculous. Their wine list was impeccable." His deflection was automatic—the old Jay momentarily surfacing.

"You know what I mean," you persisted. "Did time-traveling Jay ever see this coming?"

He was quiet for a moment, his chin resting on your shoulder. "No," he finally answered with characteristic honesty. "This was never part of the strategy. My plan ended with avoiding the merger, preventing Seraphina's sabotage, maintaining family control of the company."

"Very romantic objectives."

"I didn't believe in romance then," he reminded you. "I believed in risk management."

"And now?" you asked, turning slightly to see his face. "Disappointed that your perfect plan got derailed by unforeseen variables? Namely, catching actual feelings for your contract wife?"

His eyes met yours, that intense gaze that still made your heart skip. "The plan was to avoid disaster," he said seriously. "I got happiness instead. That's not a detour, angel. That's a miracle."

"Don't go soft on me now, Park. What would the shareholders think?" you teased, though you leaned into his touch as his hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"They'd think I finally made a sound investment with appropriate long-term growth potential," he replied, matching your business terminology while his eyes remained soft.

"Oh? And what's the projected ROI on this particular acquisition?"

"Immeasurable," he said simply, the single word holding more genuine emotion than the countless practiced speeches he'd given over the years.

"A time-traveling corporate heir and a skeptical journalist walk into a gallery..." you began, a reference to how you often joked about your improbable origin story.

"Sounds like the setup for a terrible joke," he finished, smiling against your lips as he leaned down to kiss you.

"Or the perfect story," you countered when you separated. "Though no one would believe it."

"Danny believes it," Jay said dryly. "After walking in on us arguing about whether my future knowledge of the 2024 Olympics constituted gambling when I placed those bets."

"In my defense, it absolutely was cheating."

"In my defense, we donated all the proceeds to charity."

"After I made you," you reminded him.

"A minor detail." His hand moved in slow circles over your belly, soothing both you and the active little one inside. "Speaking of details, that cloud formation suggests a weather change within the next hour. Ready to head back? I've arranged for a prenatal massage at the villa."

You narrowed your eyes. "Did you plan this entire hike timing based on weather patterns?"

"I may have consulted three different meteorological reports and timed our arrival at the overlook for optimal viewing conditions before the afternoon clouds moved in," he admitted without a hint of shame.

"Your level of extra never ceases to amaze me." You shook your head, but couldn't suppress a smile. "This is why I keep you around, Park. Your strategic planning has its advantages."

"Just fulfilling the terms of our renegotiated contract," he replied, guiding you carefully back toward the path. "Section four, paragraph three: 'Husband agrees to ensure wife's comfort during pregnancy with particular emphasis on lower back support, regular food provision, and optimal weather condition monitoring.'"

"You need to stop letting your legal team draft our personal agreements," you laughed. "But I appreciate the thoroughness."

"The legal team wanted to include a footnote about reasonable expectations regarding my ability to control weather patterns, but I refused. I have standards."

"Of course you do." You laced your fingers with his as you began the descent. "Tell me more about this massage. Did you fly in some exclusive practitioner from Sweden who only treats royalty and tech billionaires?"

"Of course not," Jay scoffed. "She's from Norway, and she primarily works with Olympic athletes. Royalty is just her side clientele."

You burst out laughing. "You're impossible."

"I believe the term you used last week was 'extra but endearing.'"

"I was being generous."

"You usually are," he said, his tone shifting to something more sincere. "With your patience. Your understanding. This journey hasn't been... conventional."

"Conventional is overrated," you replied, squeezing his hand. "Though I do plan on writing a book someday. 'How to Negotiate Your Way from Fake Marriage to Real Happiness: A Time Traveler's Guide.'"

"Catchy title. Limited market though."

"You don't know that. There could be dozens of time travelers out there, all looking for contractual arrangements that evolve into genuine love stories."

"Dozens seems optimistic."

"Says the man who literally bent physics. You don't get to talk about 'optimistic.'"

The banter continued as you made your way back to the villa, a luxurious beachfront property that somehow combined Jay's taste for refined elegance with your insistence on comfortable practicality. Like your relationship, it shouldn't have worked on paper, but in reality, it was perfect.

Later, after the Norwegian masseuse had worked miracles on your pregnancy-strained muscles, you lounged on the villa's private deck while Jay prepared dinner—another evolution that would have seemed impossible three years ago. Park Jongseong, corporate heir and strategic mastermind, now insisted on cooking for you at least twice a week, a skill he'd developed with the same methodical precision he applied to business acquisitions.

"Your mother called while you were in the shower," you mentioned as he served grilled fish with a mango salsa he'd perfected over the past year. "She wanted to know if we'd considered her suggestion about the trust fund structure."

Jay paused, wine bottle hovering over your glass of sparkling water. "Please tell me you didn't discuss financial planning during our vacation."

"Of course I did. I told her your idea about the educational milestone incentives was better than her straight distribution plan, and that the sustainable investment portfolio she proposed needed more diverse clean energy holdings."

He stared at you for a moment before breaking into a laugh. "Three years ago, you called investment banking 'legalized gambling for people with too much money.'"

"I stand by that assessment," you replied primly. "But if our daughter is going to have Park money, it might as well be responsibly managed Park money that does some good."

"Our daughter," he repeated, a smile softening his features as he set down the wine and rested a hand on your belly. "I still can't quite believe it sometimes."

"Which part? That we're having a baby, or that you're having one with the woman you initially approached as a strategic human shield against corporate sabotage?"

"Both," he admitted. "Though more the latter. When I found you at that gallery, I was looking for a solution to a problem, not..." he gestured between you, "whatever miracle this is."

"A solution to a problem," you echoed thoughtfully. "That's not the most romantic description of your future wife I've ever heard."

"Would you prefer 'tactically advantageous alliance partner'?" he offered with a straight face.

"Much better. I'm swooning."

His expression grew more serious. "You know what I mean. I wasn't looking for connection then. I didn't think I needed it—or deserved it, after what happened."

"After what was going to happen," you corrected gently. "A future you prevented."

"Semantics," he said with a slight shrug, though you both knew it was more than that. The guilt he carried for actions his alternative self might have taken had taken months of conversations to address.

"Did I ever tell you," you said, changing tactics, "that I almost didn't go to Priya's gallery that night? I had a deadline the next day and was planning to skip it."

"You hadn't mentioned that." He looked up, intrigued.

"I finished the article early and decided last minute that I should support my friend." You took a bite of fish, appreciating the perfect balance of flavors. "One small decision. Go to a gallery or stay home. And here we are."

"The butterfly effect."

"More like the exhausted-journalist-who-finished-work-early effect, but sure." You smiled at him across the table. "Time travel or not, I think we were supposed to find each other."

"I don't believe in destiny," he reminded you.

"Says the time traveler."

"Time travel is physics. Theoretically. Destiny is..."

"Also physics, if you think about it. Predetermined paths, fixed points in spacetime."

He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been reading physics journals again?"

"Maybe. The baby likes quantum mechanics. She kicks when I read about wave-particle duality."

"Of course she does," he said proudly, as though your unborn child's apparent interest in physics was a personal achievement. "She's brilliant like her mother."

"And modest like her father," you countered, though you couldn't help the warmth that spread through you at the compliment.

That night, as you lay in bed with Jay's body curved protectively around yours, his hand resting on your belly where your daughter occasionally pressed a foot or elbow against his palm, you reflected on the strange, wonderful path you'd traveled.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured against your hair, always attuned to your shifting moods even when you thought he was drifting to sleep.

"About how sometimes the best futures are the ones we can't plan," you replied, covering his hand with yours. "Even for time travelers."

He chuckled softly. "Especially for time travelers."

"Do you ever miss it?" you asked. "The certainty of knowing what comes next?"

"Never," he said without hesitation, his arm tightening around you. "The future we're creating is better than any I could have foreseen. Besides, certainty is overrated. Where's the excitement in knowing every outcome?"

"Says the man who made a career of eliminating variables and calculating risk."

"I've developed a taste for the unpredictable," he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear that still made you shiver. "A certain journalist taught me the value of beautiful chaos."

"Chaos theory," you murmured. "Small changes in initial conditions leading to wildly different outcomes."

"Exactly." His hand splayed wider across your belly. "One gallery opening. One conversation. One impulsive dinner invitation that wasn't in my original plan."

"Was anything about that night not calculated?" you asked, genuinely curious. After all this time, there were still pieces of his original strategy you occasionally discovered.

"The way you looked at me," he said softly. "When I made that comment about the abstract painting being 'deliberately obtuse to mask the artist's technical limitations.'"

"I remember. I laughed and said you were 'refreshingly honest for someone wearing a watch that cost more than my rent.'"

"That's the moment I deviated from the script," he admitted. "In my original timeline, we had a brief, pleasant conversation and never saw each other again. But something about your reaction made me want more. That dinner invitation afterward wasn't planned."

"So I have your impulsive deviation to thank for all this?" You gestured vaguely at your life together.

"That, and your capacity to negotiate a marriage contract like you were dismantling a hostile takeover bid."

"I was thorough," you defended. "Anyone would be when being asked to marry a virtual stranger for business purposes."

"You demanded a custom sleep number bed, a language tutor who specialized in colloquial rather than business Korean, and a contract clause about maintaining your own journalistic independence even when writing about companies connected to Park Industries."

"All reasonable requests."

"The Hawaiian pizza provision was a bit much."

"A woman has to draw the line somewhere. No pineapple on pizza in our household is a hill I'm willing to die on."

His laugh vibrated against your back, comfortable and familiar. "I love you, angel. Unreasonable pizza restrictions and all."

"I love you too," you replied, shifting to face him despite your unwieldy belly. "Strategic time-traveling and all."

As you drifted toward sleep in his arms, your daughter shifted inside you, a gentle reminder of the impossible journey that had led to this moment—a contract transformed into commitment, strategy evolved into love, calculation giving way to the beautiful chaos of a life built together.

Sometimes the best vows were the ones you never planned to make, but discovered you wanted to keep anyway.

And sometimes the most calculated beginning led to the most wonderfully unpredictable destination.

fin.

Taglist: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @annybah @zzhengyu @naurwayyyyy @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @lovelycassy @highway143 @koizekomi @jaeyunsbimbo @cutehoons02 @deluluscenarios @bubbletaeq @lamin143 @dearestdreamies @heeheeyeoiizz01 @heewhoresimp @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @loudpeachdetective @cristy-101 @ash-engen @miuwonis @pinkglitterpuke @theothernads

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hamilando · 1 year ago

Text

ੈ✩ watashi wa sutaa (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : charles leclerc x fem reader

summary : “you are my best friend!” “ I AM HIS WIFE !”

tw : suggestive, cursing

fc: Giselle from Aespa*she is so pretty-*

a/n : thank you so much to @xshazxx for suggesting this ! lysm 🫶🏻

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ �� ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by kikagnome, pierreneedsgas, lordperceval and 129 others

gisisyn me wondering what did the 10/10 baddie find in this gorilla looking man

view comments

kikagnomes he is not that bad now 🫷🏻

kikagnomes I will steal his money and run away with you 🤭

gisisyn OMG, KIKA, MY LOVE * plays dramatic music*

pierreneedsgas keep your freaky japanese ass away from her

pierreneedsgas YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE MY BEST FRIEND

norizz and my wife 😮‍💨

lordperceval mine too 🤺

gisisyn and I -

gisisyn ALL THESE MEN FOR ME !?

gisisyn PIEEEEEEE CAN I DATE YOUR FRIEND

gisisyn for scientific purposes ofc

pierreneedsgas and you will get those eurpoean dick inside you for educational purposes ?

gisisyn DOCTOR, HE HAS ESCAPED

albono esteban made his brain rot

gisisyn estie-bestie follows me

albono FUCK WHY HAVE YOU SWITCHED ON THE SETTING

albono ITS NOT LETTING ME DELETE MY COMMENT

lilihye Alex, it was nice being your last love 🫶🏻

gisisyn I was joking 😚

albono i will kill you

lordperceval stay away from MY wife bro

pierreneedsgas charles, we need to talk, NOW

liked by pierreneedsgas, hamsandwich and 78 others

gisisyn WATASHI WA SUTAAA🌟🌟🌟

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pierreneedsgas you look pretty

gisisyn DOCTOR HE IS OUT

pierreneedsgas what? It's just a compliment ?

gisisyn you have a fever or what ? you never anything good to me

pierreneedsgas HE DOES NOT !? HE IS GETTING HIS BALLS CUT

gisisyn kika...?

pierreneedsgas hi bbygirl 💌

kika.gnomes pls give me my account back

lordperceval I have money, success and looks, let's be stars together ?

maxtheax success in that red tractor ?

lordperceval tractors are only Mercedes

georgey you sure about that ?

hamsandwich it's ok, I get the best of both worlds 🤺

norizz you cut your hair bangs, let's bang in real life also

lordperceval dude, she is satisfied with my dick

pierreneedsgas CHARLES PERCEVAL LECLERC, THATS LITERALLY MY SISTER, CAN YOU STOP FLIRTING WITH HER

pierreneedsgas AND THIS IS PIERRE AND NOT KIKA

gisisyn aw.

pierreneedsgas stfu, even If I tease you, I will always protect you, I made that promise ❤️

gisisyn I will start crying

gisisyn fuck I am crying

gisisyn charlws I need help

lordperceval omw 🏃🏻

pierreneedsgas this better be a joke

gisisyn it's not-

liked by lordperceval, kika.gnomes and 105 others

gisisyn my dad is french, my mum is japanese, my husband is monegasque, so I japrenchgasque ?

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pierreneedgas what the actually hell

pierreneedsgas charles, I am cutting off your dick

pierreneedsgas y/n? seriously ? without telling me ?

gisisyn hard launch ..?

pierreneedsgas did anyone know ?

norriz MEEEEE

chillsainz MEEE TOO

lordperceval they walked in on us

pierredneedsgas doing what exactly ? it better not include anything any touching

norizz IT INCLUDES LAP SITTING

chillsainz ALSO A COUCH

maxtheax and no clothes ?

gisisyn HOW DO YOU KNOW !?

pierreneedsgas y/n and charles. run.

1K notes · View notes

dayluxe · 7 months ago

Text

From childhood - Malachi Barton

¡ request are open !

pairing: Malachi Barton x fem!reader

summary: you and Malachi have always been friends, but after a sincere word you question their friendship and feelings for him

warnings: use of the translator, a bit long.

w/c: 4.242

Author's notes: I don't know what the education system is like in the United States, sorry for some mistakes.

Your relationship with Malachi had begun about 7 years ago. you would be among the cast that would act in the movie 'Trapped in the Middle', of which he was obviously part as well. They were both about 10 years old, and he was the most outgoing and talkative kid you'd met at the time.

you, on the other hand, were quite, special, so to speak. The first time he spoke to you was to tell you that he liked the color of your hair, for you it was a rather strange compliment for being the first time you spoke to him. His praise remained just as 'strange', although you noticed something. He didn't praise nonsensical things, it was quite the opposite, he always praised the little details of you.

You were always in your bubble, since since you were little you were bad at socializing and this meant that you were always the girl who was left out of the groups of friends. Malachi realized this, despite his short 10 years. And whenever he saw you in a corner, looking at everyone like a lost puppy, he would go and talk to you about the most meaningless thing you'd ever hear. She once told you about how she ate cereal for a whole week, because she fought with her mother and was on 'strike' with her.

His anecdotes were always like that, comical and nonsensical. But that's what you liked about him, that he was a spontaneous and fun person. He didn't have the need to pretend or pretend to be someone he wasn't, that was his personality and whoever didn't like it didn't matter to him at all.

By the time the film finished filming you were still in touch, you often hung out with your parents, who also had a very good relationship with each other. Disney amusement parks were their forte, they loved to go together and ride all the possible attractions, in the end they ended up sweaty and hungry, but it was worth it. You brought thousands of little souvenirs from there, which you treasured very well.

you continued acting in different films or series, such as 'Acampados', in which Malachi also participated. your popularity increased in 2019, when you entered the world-famous 'Stranger Things' series. You did quite well in the series, and your character was accepted by the fans so you began to be more pointed out by people. Your circle of friends soon came to light, and this brought people to notice the friendship between you and Malachi.

Different photos and videos of the two of you were discovered by fans, who loved how you got along with each other. But obviously all the comments were not so harmless so to speak, and comments asking if you were something else were not long in coming. This caused interviewers to also start asking those types of questions, which for your taste were silly and meaningless.

The insinuations that you were 'something else' always existed. Since they were little, their parents made that kind of joke because of their closeness, and for both there was always only one answer: 'no, how disgusting'.

Although you always avoided accusations, they were not entirely 'false'. If it was true that Malachi was attractive to the human eye, the idea of seeing him with different eyes had not crossed your mind until they entered their adolescence.

You could say that Malachi had always seemed handsome to you, but both were changing. as well as their conversations, their physique and their personality. He had always been a rather outgoing and 'flirtatious' child, so to speak. But when he entered adolescence that aspect of his personality came to light.

While he had thousands of acquaintances and friends at school, you were just there. You were known for being 'Malachi's friend', the girls always tried to create a friendship with you, you gave them all confidence, at the end of it all you didn't want to be alone all the time. but then at parties you saw them leave with Malachi, with the excuse that they were coming back soon. And as always you were there, alone on the sofa as always.

Your acting career, on the other hand, was going very well. You continued to appear in series, but in supporting roles. but without a doubt 2023 had been your year.

In 2022 you had put too much effort into your work. and at the 2023 Oscars these two films had been nominated in several categories. You felt happy, of course, but your personal life wasn't being the best.

you felt lonely, despite having thousands of followers on Instagram and tik tok. You had Malachi, and he was a good best friend, you felt like you needed more people than he did. you always compared yourself to him, seeing all his friends. he had always had a facility for meeting and talking to people, you had never been like that. and now it was being more remarkable than ever.

You had always been the friend of a party, an outing, or a while. They never stayed, but Malachi did. He had stayed despite all your problems and insecurities, understood your worries and accepted your mistakes. All those times you didn't want to talk, he was with you. Every night you cried because of the series and movies you watched, he was with you. He was there for you, and that was more than enough to make you want him as something more.

Malachi, on the other hand, was peculiar. I had many friends, that was not discussed, but you, you were a case apart. For him no one compared to you, he could talk to thousands of girls who try to be his friends, who try to be close to him, but they will never reach your level. with you he was a different person. in public he always has that confident and fun attitude, but not with you. With you he can show his weaknesses, his insecurities, his problems, everything.

You remember once he told you that he was afraid that you would change him, that some boy more interesting than him would come and you wouldn't want to continue being his best friend, all that just because he didn't give you anything on your birthday "Malachi, what the hell are you talking about? We've literally been best friends forever, I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world," you said while laughing, "not even if that boy was Timothée Chalamet?" he said while looking at you with puppy eyes "not even if it were him. no one compares to you, Malachi, no one. let it be very clear to you, silly child," you told him and then gave him a small blow on the head.

Malachi was probably the most caring person you had ever met. His love language was ultimately physical contact, and gifts. He loves to give you things, no matter how small. Whenever they go out, they are holding hands, a habit that was left over from their outings as a child. He always paid for lunches or dinners, no matter how much you insisted, he wanted to pay you even for the gum you bought at the corner store.

The rumors of courtship at her school were very intense. Often girls would come up to you just to ask if you had anything, but for some reason those girls always ended up hating you for no reason.

By 2023 these rumors got more popular. thanks to 'Barbie' and 'American Fiction' you managed to have more popularity in the world of cinema. You were grateful for that, And you found it very funny to see the different videos on social networks about how fans created all kinds of theories about their 'secret relationship'. You always ended up sending all these videos to Malachi.

For you it was funny, but each time this tension of feeling something more for the other grew and grew.

You haven't felt the feeling that every time you look into each other's eyes with a friend and it felt like your eyes were screaming 'kiss me please,' but then they walk away, and you feel like you should, even though your brain screams at you 'why would you do that? he's your friend' but your heart tells you 'you should have kissed him, you fool'.

Well.

If you haven't felt it, better for you. because it's the worst feeling in the world.

and movie nights. they were the best, without a doubt. But every time they watched movies Malachi would cling to you in a way that made your stomach feel those damn butterflies. You felt like your brain couldn't process a word of what the movie produced, and that made you feel stupid.

You knew it was bad. Falling in love with your best friend is never good, and in most cases it ends with the separation of friendship. But every time you saw his eyes, begging you to let him hold you, your mind stopped working and your heart was the one making decisions.

and right now they were in that situation. he is on top of you, hugging you as if he were going to fall off a cliff. Your heart was pounding, and the butterflies in your stomach felt like you were going to explode. His arms around your waist felt so good, so strong. The scent of his perfume flooded your nostrils, it smelled so much like him, like the typical perfume that makes any girl fall at his feet.

Your fingers gently ran through her hair, which smelled faintly of coconut.

You decided to pay attention to the movie, and subconsciously you stopped caressing her hair "why are you stop?, I was already relaxing" Malachi told you in a sleepy voice "because then you fall asleep, and I won't tell you the movie when you ask me" you told him giving her a slight tug in his hair "you're bad" he told you while itching your ribs, tickling you "stop it. i don't complain when you stop caressing me, you like to be pampered" you said while laughing "you spoiled me, so now you have to put up with me," he told you as he lay down next to you, "that's not true. now stop talking and pay attention to the movie" you said in a threatening way, and then turned to watch the movie "yes ma'am" he said with a playful smile.

their fights were like that. silly and meaningless, but that was their friendship. You knew a lot of secrets about each other, and it seems like you've spent a lifetime together.

The next day they had to go to class, so they had to get up early. Malachi hated getting up at that time, and he was lucky that today there was a type of activity which his grade had to organize. It was that the older grades had to deal with the lower grades, practically do the work of teachers, and in the last hours of school hours they would have recreational time. so instead of stopping at 6 in the morning as usual, they had to do it at 5.

To you this activity sounded fun. You were very good with children, and you loved teaching them things and entertaining them. Your patience was surprisingly good with them. and when you heard of such an activity you could not be more excited, although Malachi did not see it that way.

He was good with children, he liked them. but what he did not like was having to get up early because of him. In addition, he had to listen to you talk about how exciting that day would be for you, and just remembering how you talked and talked about everything you would teach the children, a smile would appear on his face.

After breakfast and getting ready for their long day, Malachi's mother took them to school. All the way she was talking to you about how interesting that day could be "I feel very excited, it's like I'm being her teacher, I've always dreamed of doing that" you said with a small laugh "although I think someone here isn't as happy as me" you said referring to Malachi "come on Barton, smile even a little" you told him while you were itching his ribs "stop it, i'm sleepy. I wish i was in my bed right now, not going to school" he said with his eyes closed, trying to get some sleep before arriving at school.

When they arrived at the school, they met different classmates. They all seemed to be asleep standing up, and you swore you saw more than one yawn more than ten times in less than 2 minutes "Why do they all look like zombies here?" you said to Malachi while laughing. They had been looking for somewhere to sit: "No one here looks excited about hanging out with upset kids all day," he said, sipping some energy drink he'd bought from a vending machine "Why can't everyone be like Maggie? She's super excited about this," you said, looking at the named girl. She was talking to her friends, and her excitement could be seen in how she spoke and expressed herself.

The teachers in charge of the activity called them. Everyone was divided into groups of 4 per classroom, and each group had to organize their classroom and the different activities that the children were going to do during the day. After that, everyone had to organize the other activities they would have in the school gymnasium.

The kindergarten children's entry time had arrived, and each of the groups were in their assigned classrooms. Luckily for you, Malachi had been in the same group as you.

You followed the list of instructions that the teachers had left you. Everything was going great, all the children participated a lot in the class, they all had a lot of energy, and their laughter was a perfect mix between sticky and suffocating.

You were with a group of children, since they were doing an activity and they called you frequently to ask you questions. They were very curious, but quite responsible with the task they were doing "And how old are you?" asked a little boy. His diplomatic tone made you laugh a little, but you replied "I'm 16 years old" you told him with a smile. You were sitting in an uncomfortable little chair that they used "Wow, yes you're old" said another of the children, the comment left you in shock, your mouth opened and closed in search of something to say "well, I'm not that old, we're only about 10 years apart" you said in a calm tone. "It's true, Connor. Besides, she is very beautiful, not like you," said a little girl, and then stuck out her tongue. You laughed, and although that little fight seemed very tender to you, you must have called his attention.

The break was very chaotic. Their energy was endless, and despite the multiple attempts of the children to get their way, you had all your eyes on them. "They are so energetic, I don't understand how they are not sleepy at this time," Malachi told you. You were sitting on a bench near the playground, watching as all the children played with each other, while laughing and screaming. "in the group that one of the children was in told me that I was old, Malachi, OLD. you know how that destroyed my self-esteem?" you said to him with false indignation. It was funny and painful to see how sincere the children were sometimes: "Luckily I don't see myself with a retiree, and I was saved from those comments," he replied with a half smile. You looked at him indignantly, "Excuse me? I look younger than you, and I'm younger than you. you have no right to tell me that, old man," you replied.

You kept arguing and joking about it until the recess was over. They only had a couple more hours left, but they still had to return to that hellish classroom.

His group decided to ignore the list they had been given a bit, and instead, they decided to do a different activity. They tried to make a vote, which went fatally because the room was filled with shouts 'let's draw' 'no, let's better play with plasticine' 'I want to paint' were a lot of the shouts that could be heard. In the end they decided that it was better for each one to want to do what they wanted, with a theme, something that caught their attention during the day, or something they liked.

Each one went in search of his material, and for a moment the room was filled with peace. All that could be heard were his small murmurs of concentration.

You sat next to Malachi. They both decided to draw something with some crayons "what the hell is that dude? it looks like a drawing taken from a psychiatric hospital" you told him after seeing his drawing "it's you"

You answered the "ahhh, what a romantic Malachi. I know you're dying for me, you don't have to be so obvious" you told him, as you banged your shoulder against his. "Can't it be, the great malachi barton is blushed by a girl? I thought this only happened in the movies" you kept joking with the same thing. Your smile showed how much you were having fun right now. Don't delude yourself, my friend" he said as his eyes connected "what you say tomatito, what you say."

Both laughed quietly. Prying eyes were shared, and in the air it felt as if something had happened. Something unsaid by both who did not know it was yet, or so they wanted to believe.

Malachi had always felt comfortable with you. Ever since he met you it was as if a piece of him had been completed, he knew you didn't have to leave. I wanted you to be a friend forever and not a passing friend. It was a little obvious that in recent years his attention increased, all his fame was also reflected in the school environment. Multiple girls talked to him, looking for more opportunities than he had given them. But every time it felt like an object and a pretty face it reminded you. He remembered the girl with a shy smile who was there for him, in all the good and bad times, you were his soul mate to him, someone with such a pure and kind heart that is for him forever. No matter how many times you hit it or scare it, it's always for him.

The time to show their works had arrived, each one was going to go ahead and show their craft and say what they had done.

The students were passing one by one. Some had drawn a picture of their friends, or their food, things like that.

It was a girl's turn. if you're not mistaken, her name was Katie. She was a very tender girl, you congratulated her on her drawing and a girl from her group asked her what it was about "It's the girl over there with her boyfriend" she said pointing to you. The smile on your face turned into a frown. Your companions laughed, knowing who the girl was talking about. You felt shy for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. "Are you sure it's me? She doesn't look much like me really." You said to her "Yes, it's you with the boy with the white hair" she replied in her innocent tone.

You heard Malachi's laughter and looked at him. perplexed that he was laughing at this "your drawing is very beautiful Katie, I adore the hearts you put in, what do they represent for you?" he asked her "they represent their love. you look very much in love and your love floats in the air when you are together" she said in her innocent tone.

When all the children finished teaching their crafts, it was time to go to their last hour with the children. They were all on their way to the school gymnasium. You were at the end of the children's line next to Malachi. They talked about everything they would do when they got home "I've been like a zombie all day, I don't even know how I've been able to endure the whole day with energy" he said "it must be the energy of the children, they have so much that it must be that you absorbed something" you replied, elbowing him in his side.

Katie's words were on your mind. People always said that children always tell the truth, and if it was true? You didn't want your mind to be carried away by a few words from a 6-year-old girl, but other people could see what you can't see about yourself. It was obvious that they had received comments like this since their teenage years began, and there were even many rumors at their school. everyone in the school said that Malachi rejected girls for you, you heard it through some girls in the school bathroom. Your mind couldn't help but think about it, what if it was true, and if Malachi had feelings for you?

No, that was impossible.

He could have any girl around his finger in a matter of minutes, he had never tried anything with you. That's why girls hate you and you don't get any dates, you thought. It could be possible, although your mind was still in doubt.

why?

"Hey, what are you thinking about?" asked Malachi, "nothing interesting," you replied, forcing a smile. "Don't lie to me, I know that face. You think of something and your mind goes away, just like you. So tell me" he told you. Your heart raced at his words. He knew you so well that it hurt, and the multiple theories about him fluttered inside you. "Nothing important, I already said it, don't worry" you told him. The screams of the children flooded your ears, they had already reached the gym and everyone was excited by what they saw.

The feeling of concern settled in Malachi's heart. He couldn't help it, you could tell that something was on your mind and you didn't want him to know. You two told each other everything, always.

The hours for everyone passed quickly. Little by little the energy of all the children was running out, which was understandable, they had spent all their time jumping and screaming from here to there. When it was time for them to leave, their parents went to pick them up on time. Your back hurt, in general your whole body hurt. Playing with those children was too tiring, it was difficult to match their energy.

During the remaining time in school you couldn't help but think of Malachi. Suddenly your mind remembered all the moments you spent with him, all the times he hugged you and put his arms around your waist. or the times he encouraged you when he saw you sad, the times he whispered little 'I love you' while watching movies. you avoided thinking about the possibility that he had feelings for you, fear gnawed at you inside. All the gossip and rumors connected with his actions, but your mind closed to such a possibility. It's just his kindness, he behaves like this with every girl around him. but to all of them he said 'I love you', played with the hair of all the girls?, combined outfits with the girls?. You wanted to believe it, but you knew it wasn't true.

Maybe you were scared to know that he was in love with you because you were too. You had fallen for the charms of your best friend, and that feeling terrified you. You'd repressed it so much that you didn't realize how big it was. You felt like a fool. You thought about all the girls who are in your situation, most of them want the feelings to be mutual, but you disliked this idea. You weren't supposed to like this, you couldn't like your friend, much less when he was coveted by so many girls.

You thought of everything. On the girls who were madly in love with him, on how weird it would be if you were something else. But at the same time you thought about the moments with him, how his body felt pressed against yours when you hugged, how good he smells, how he caresses your waist when they watch a movie. A part of you wanted things to stay that way, being everything and nothing at the same time. But another part of you told you, why not?, why not take a risk for the second time in your life?

a bit long, but I can't help but write so much. I don't know if this reaches so many people but I enjoyed writing it 💖

@luzmy

#malachi barton #malachi barton x reader #young actor #fic #fluff #imagine #oneshot

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lafleshlumpeater · 2 years ago

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Hi babe!! I loved your Luke x Aphrodite reader and was wondering if you could do another?? If you alr have an idea go ahead with whatever you want but maybe something with protective Luke 🤭🤭

I’m on a new Luke obsession from the show

Thanks!!!

thanks for requesting<3 i hope you like this!!

warnings: fem!reader, unwanted flirting, protective/possessive behaviour (not in a toxic way though), mentions of drinks (unspecified whether it's alcohol or not), one word that i think can be classified as a swear word?? lmk if i missed any

requests are always open <3

luke castellan masterlist part one

“Hi.”

You jump slightly. “Hey. You scared me,” you breathe a nervous laugh through your nose. What was taking Luke so long?

You and your boyfriend had gone to the fourth of July bonfire- together, obviously- and he had disappeared, mentioning something vague about drinks and the Stoll twins (probably seeking their most recent stock of soda stash, smuggled, of course) when a slightly older camper approached you. You recognised him as an Apollo camper- you had seen him train with a bow and arrow; he was good.

He sits down next to you on the sand, slightly too close for you to be fully comfortable. Your eyes dart around frantically, looking for one of your siblings to save you- but Silena was cosied up with Beckendorf, foreheads pressed together and giggling whilst Lacy was chatting up a newer camper. You curse internally, the rest of your siblings either splashing around in the ocean or helping set up for the firework display. You offer the unfamiliar camper another strained smile in a futile attempt at breaking the awkward silence.

What was his name? Something starting with 'M', maybe?

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing alone?” the mystery boy asks- a bit too directly, in your opinion, for someone you hardly know.

You give a little giggle, hoping it sounds appreciative of the basic compliment. Even after being in this agonising situation on multiple occasions, you had gotten no better at handling them. You sigh wistfully. If only your mother had given you powers to deter unwanted attention as well as attracting it.

“Uh… I’m waiting. For my boyfriend.” You ensure to place extra emphasis on the title. He smirks, unfazed.

“Some shitty boyfriend, huh?” He says in satisfaction, completely misreading the situation to fancy his own whims, accompanied with the fakest sympathetic sigh. It makes you want to scream.

“No, actually-”

“Actually, the ‘shitty’ boyfriend’s right here.”

You can’t help but exhale in relief, muscles loosening at the mere sound of Luke’s voice. You stand up, turning around to face him. “Luke.”

“Hey, doll.” The glare etched in his sculpted features (directed at the obnoxious flirt) contrasts greatly with the gooey sweetness of his greeting. “Who’s your friend?”

You try not to snort. “Uh…”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, wrapping a fierce arm around your shoulders. You melt into him. “There a problem, buddy?”

An amused smirk creeps onto your face, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Luke never calls anyone ‘buddy’.

“N- no, course not, I was just…” the Apollo camper stutters.

Luke raises a blond eyebrow. “Just?”

“Keeping her company!” he blurts out, already beginning to edge away from the conversation.

Luke looks at the ground, lips curving upwards in a cold smirk. “Well, for next time, don’t worry. I’ll take you with me next time, sweet thing, if you feel lonely, ‘kay?” he simpers, half- joking for your entertainment, half in seriousness in wanting to ward off the unsuspected boy. By this time, he’s already gone and Luke leans down to whisper, hand tightening around your waist slightly as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “My girl,” he mutters.

taglist: @quickslvxrr @bibliophile-dendrophile

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

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jaqobis · 2 months ago

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man so i've been rereading tdr and i've been really noticing here that the reason egwene has such a hard time with nynaeve is because she keeps being reminded of renna

and egwene doesn't even fully realize this! nynaeve doesn't even know she's doing it!

but egwene spends this whole book on HIGH ALERT, because the last time she trusted anyone, she got carried off to the seanchan!! siuan's directive about the black ajah only feeds into her own paranoia after being deceived by liandrin...who, you know, was black ajah. it's not undeserved fear!! but egwene has a hard time looking at anyone she doesn't know (or doesn't know well) as anything but a potential threat. she spends the whole first meeting with aviendha and bain and chiad thinking about ways to protect herself or defuse the situation, when in actuality everyone's wondering why she seems so on edge and ready to attack. aviendha literally catches her embracing the source and hastily goes I WOULD NEVER HURT AN AES SEDAI BTW, FOR NO REASON, JUST FYI,

but coming back to nynaeve...the thing is, renna — and this is really emphasized in the book, where most of the torment is off-screened and told to us later in absolutely horrifying anecdotes — really abused egwene in the way of alternating punishment with "kind" and "humane" treatment. she acted like the owner of a recalcitrant animal she really cares about, or...wait for it...a particularly abusive older sister. renna is the one with the knowledge, the right answers, and egwene was her foolish damane who was learning the ropes. who, when she was punished, was hurt because she'd brought it on herself.

nynaeve, village wisdom, also acts like the older sister with the knowledge, and with the right answers. she also favors egwene with the affections of an authority figure. it's totally different, of course, because nynaeve actually loves egwene and respects her deeply. nynaeve would never hurt her. but we see moments like nynaeve giving egwene's hair a playful tug after egwene compliments her...which completely sours egwene's mood....and is also reminiscent of renna patting her hair when she "does well." both nynaeve and renna position themselves as teachers who have taught egwene lessons, which they ask her to recall! and though their behavior and treatment of her are wildly different, egwene is unable to separate her reactions to nynaeve and feelings about nynaeve with her visceral disgust at her time as a damane.

egwene doesn't WANT to be a "good girl," because with the seanchan she was forced to be a "good girl," a pliable damane, or she'd be hurt until she became compliant. but she is free now, and she's determined to keep her freedom forever, so she CANNOT be the foolish girl who trusted an adult and got captured and tortured. she CANNOT be the valuable damane who had no recourse but to learn her lessons and attempt the smallest resistances allowed to her. she won't agree with an authority figure just because they're an authority, and she won't enjoy their kindness when they agree with her!! all of these experiences have been completely poisoned for her. and, importantly, nynaeve is safe to act out with. egwene couldn't react this way at the white tower, because they have the power to withhold her education, her future as an aes sedai (which she conflates with safety because she will have power), and because they too are willing to apply physical punishment. nynaeve, at worst, will get frustrated or say something sour, but she would never meaningfully hurt egwene. and there's the part of egwene that knows that, even with all of the trauma informing every choice she makes.

tl;dr as usual rj wrote some really compelling trauma material in the wake of egwene's horrific experiences with the seanchan. i love his commitment to depicting the messier, uglier trauma responses people can have and the sympathy with which he does it

#the dragon reborn #wheel of time #wot book spoilers #egwene al'vere #nynaeve al'meara #wot meta #egwene hate WILL get you blocked on sight

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fastandcarlos · 1 year ago

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Mini Me : ̗̀➛ Sebastian Vettel

summary: one step at a time, seb plans on changing the world, and his little shadow is desperate to join him

Your smile widened as a familiar voice called through the house, spinning round to watch Seb as he slipped off his jacket, hanging it up by the door.

“Hi darling,” he grinned, walking into the kitchen to where you were.

“Hi,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around Seb’s neck as his grabbed at your waist. “How was your day?”

“It was good, some interesting meetings,” Seb mused, “not as good as being here though.”

“We’ve had a pretty busy day, I think you’d be quite impressed to see.”

“Can I?” Seb excitedly asked, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Where is Lila anyway?”

“Living room,” you grinned, glancing through the slight gap in the doors to where your daughter was sat on the floor. “She’s been watching documentaries most of the afternoon, seems like she’s going to be a bit of a wildlife warrior like her father when she’s older,” you added, watching as Seb’s smile lit up.

He’d always prided himself on instilling his morals and awareness for the world on his daughter. He taught her a lot about protecting the environment, even though she was only five, Seb still made sure she knew her little things could have a major impact.

“Lila!” You shouted across to her, “there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

Your daughter scrambled to her feet, knowing exactly who you were on about. She couldn’t get to the kitchen quick enough, leaping into the air as Seb caught her and twirled her around.

“Mummy said that you’ve been busy, what have you been up to?” He asked her.

“Let me show you,” your daughter squealed, kicking out for Sebastian to put her down on the ground, running back into the room.

Seb stood impatiently as your daughter ran back in, holding several pieces of paper in her hands, laying them down on the floor for Seb to see. Each one had a different picture on it, with big text that you had drawn for your daughter to colour in.

“Wow,” Seb chuckled as he looked through each one. The posters your daughter had made were covered with endangered animals, many of them ones that her father had told her all about as he taught her about the world.

“I’m going to take them into school next week,” Lila informed him.

“There’s a show and tell at school next week,” you added, filling Seb in, “Lila wants to help educate some of her classmates about the planet.”

Seb almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, struggling to believe that his little girl would do such a thing. Little did Seb realise quite how much his daughter idolised him though, wanting to stand for everything her dad stood for too.

“These are amazing sweetheart,” Seb complimented, reaching across and pulling Lila across to him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m sure everyone in your class will be blown away by these.”

“Do you really like them?”

“I don’t just like them, I love them,” Seb insisted, bringing a smile to her face again.

“We spent a lot of time making them, didn’t we Lila?”

“Mummy did all the letters, she said if I wrote them no one would know what they say,” she chuckled, poking her tongue out across at you. You shrugged back at her as Seb gave you a knowing look, chuckling to himself at you.

You’d tried your best to be as helpful as possible, but just like her dad, Lila was stubborn when she had a vision in mind. You helped where you could, but when you weren’t needed, she definitely let you know about it.

“Maybe you’ll have to get daddy to tell you some more information, you can teach your class,” you offered, watching their smiles turn up again.

“Would you help me daddy?” Lila quizzed.

“Of course, it would be my honour,” Seb smiled.

“I want to teach everyone about the planet, like how you always teach me to pick up rubbish and re…re…re, what’s the word again daddy?”

Seb couldn’t help but laugh as Lila struggling, ruffling the top of her head. “You want to teach your friends about recycling?”

Everywhere the two of you went Seb made sure to teach your daughter the importance of recycling and keeping things clean. The two of them had been known to go down to your local park with bin bags, picking up anything that they found.

“I bet you’re an expert on it Lila,” Seb chimed.

“No, but I want daddy to help me with it.”

“I’ll help, don’t worry.”

Your daughter climbed into Seb’s lap where he sat on the floor, wrapping her arms around his frame, squeezing him tight as if to silently thank him for his help.

“What about mummy? Can she help us too?” Seb asked, catching a glance of you smiling, watching their interactions closely.

“Mummy doesn’t care about the planet as much as we do, she’s done enough already.”

“Hey!” You laughed, your eyes widening in disbelief, “I care about keeping everything healthy and safe thank you.”

“This is our project now,” she challenged, shaking her head at you. “Daddy and I are going to start planning whilst you cook tea.”

“The boss has spoken,” Seb helplessly grinned, knowing out of the three of you Lila was definitely the one in charge.

“I can’t believe I’m being kicked out the team when I was the one who came up with the idea,” you gasped, pretending to hold your hand over your heart, letting Lila know just how disappointed you were.

“Sorry,” Seb whispered across to you as your daughter ran away again.

“I guess I just can’t compete with you,” you teased, offering your hand to help Seb up off of the floor. “Come on old man, it looks like our bossy madam is already waiting for you in the living room to get started.”

“I suppose you deserve some peace and quiet after having her all day,” Seb reasoned, groaning as he stood up.

“Lila’s much harder work than I bet driving a race car ever was,” you sniggered, nudging him in the direction of the living room. “I’ll give you a shout when tea is ready, if you can leave your little project alone for a minute.”

For the rest of the evening Seb and Lila put together her own presentation to give at school next week. You’d worked together to exhaust her so come bed she was flat out, leaving the two of you stretched out on the sofa just a couple of hours later, hands intertwined in with one another lazily.

You were blissfully unaware of Seb’s eyes on you as you rested into his side, struggling to keep your eyes open after a day of running around after your daughter on your own. It was only when he chuckled that you finally looked up at him, smiling wide as you noticed the big grin that was on his own face.

“How did we raise such a caring, kind-hearted girl?” You smiled, reaching up to cup the side of Seb’s face with your hand.

“Because we’ve taught her all the good in the world, and she’s got the best mum in the world,” Seb joked, kissing against the top of your head.

“You’re the one that teaches her all of these amazing things,” you reminded him.

“We’re both pretty cool then.”

“She definitely takes after you,” you argued, nudging against Seb’s side. “She’s the definition of like father, like daughter.”

“I never imagined myself having my own mini me.”

“You’ve definitely got one now.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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itsrlymine · 4 months ago

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HEYA it’s been a bit , this is 📀!!

IVE GOTTEN SO MUCHHHH MOREEE FROM APPLYING ALL YOUR INFO! (For context, this is a college student speaking)

My SP is obsessed with me and has the fattest crush on me LIKEE HE TEASES ME ALL THE TIME AND LAUGHS AT ALL MY JOKES EVEN IF IM NOT TRYING!!! He never wants to upset me and makes sure I know I can talk to him if anything. He comforts me when I’m frustrated or annoyed and usually will take my side unless I’m really wrong and need to be steered in the right direction. He truly values me!!!! He shows all the signs of liking me — the eyebrow raise when they see you, blushing in my presence, laughing at all my jokes (even the unfunny ones), making time for me, ETCCCC <3<3

I finally manifested therapy to heal from my emotionally ab***ve African mother AND MY THERAPIST IS LITERALLY EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINED HER: funny, intentional, educated, and direct. I LOVE HER OMG.

Getting material things that I want (it’s great because I never got what I wanted growing up but I’m not super obsessed with material things)

People chasing me left and right, tons of compliments and admiration and being able to see who isn’t really my friend. This brought me peace because I do want to have the RIGHT people in my life and I believe not everyone IS the right person. But I still love the positive attention although I’m REALLY shy bestie 🤭🤭

Princess treatment from my SP. he’s always offering to help me out and buy me things, the MINUTE I SAY I NEED SOMETHING, HES ALREADY LOOKING IN HIS BAG BEFORE I FINISH MY SENTENCE AND IM LIKE “😮” likeee okay backpack from Dora!!?!?!? OR h’ll be like “I can go get it for you?” LIKEEEEE and he’s so chivalry, old school gentleman. I REALIZE I MANIFESTED THIS BECAUSE I LISTENED TO SO MANY SP SUBLIMINALS WHEN I DIDNT HAVE AN SP AND NOW LOOK???? I trusted I’d match with the person who’s right for me and I DIDDDDD

I think women are into me BECAUSE?!?! (And everyone else better be next lmao) They’re always looking at me with heart eyes and I’m like stoppp before I kiss you by mistakeeee 🥰 LIKE OK I met this ADORABLE EXCHANGE STUDENT and she’s always so clingy and touchy in the sweetest and most wholesome way and she always blushes around me AND IM SHY BECAUSE I THINK SHES GORGEOUS AND I FEEL LIKE SHE THINKS IM A GODDESS AND OMG WHAT DO I DO JSIDDJDBDI she even giggles whenever I act cute (I think I’m destined to be a cutie pie like Chuu - the kpop idol who was in LOONA)

OK and in my Creative Writing class, EVERYONE WAS OBSESSED WITH MY STORY!!!!! I worked so hard on it and it was a LITTLE rushed (7 pages in a week…) BUT people still complimented it and only gave minor technical criticism, and they ALL WANTED TO KNOW MORE! And I was laughing so hard because they were being so sweet and funny omggggg 🥰😭🫶🏽

I LOVE MY WORLD I LOVE MY LIFEEEE OMG

And last thing, I’ve become so in love with MYSELF which I think is the most important thing about all this. I see myself as an iconic person, a goddess, someone who is loved and chased by all, a real work of art. I can’t look at myself and be negative because LOOK AT ME?!? Why would I lie? 🤨 I do deserve all this positivity and love and I won’t settle for less!!!!

THANK U FOR YOUR BLOG ILYSMMM 🥺❤️

Now I’m gonna go manifest being all cute and feminine to maximize the princess treatment and be babied and spoiled even more 😙 I want people wanting to protect me and hold me in their arms… 🥺 I’ll update!!! BYEEE

omg hi 📀 baby how are you??!! it's been a while wow i'm so happy to hear from you!! first of all, you better come through with all of these successes what the hell!!! i love that you got the type of therapist you wanted (bc why do some african mothers need to come with a therapist off rip omgg). ofc your sp is head over heels for you, why wouldn't he be? not you boutta have all the girls shook over you as well leave some of us ughhh! i think the best thing about this whole thing is about how we come back to self and appreciate ourselves for everything that we are. we might not have seen it before but once we do, there's no going back! congrats on the princess treatment and everything ugh isn't it the best???

#anon ask #📀 anon #itsrlymine #law of assumption #imagination is reality #lawofassumption #manifesting #loa success story #loa success #manifesting success #success story

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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this isn’t exactly a question, but has twisted wonderland ever expanded on gender norms before? I know in sunset savanna women seem to be highly respected, but it seems like that is a behavior unique to sunset savanna. It seems like gender discrimination might be uncommon in briar valley because Mallenoa was so respected by her subjects, but Sebek, silver, and grim were surprised to find out she was so self sufficient and powerful when they met her in Lilia’s dream (this is more my interpretation tho) . in the endless night event, silver tells a story about a warrior who taught for her country, which is a reference to mulan i think, and the person he is telling the story to is very surprised that the strong warrior is a girl. I think silver told that story to Leona but I don’t remember. I’ve heard that royal sword academy is a school boys and girls can both attend, but night raven college is one of the most prestigious magic schools out there, so it being boys only makes me wonder if gender is a part of magic politics, although we have been shown female characters who have high educations and magical abilities such as Mrs . Rosehearts

No, not really? It’s explicitly mentioned and touched upon in extended conversations maybe a total of… 3ish times. Of those instances, most are referring to the Sunset Savanna.

Gender norms and politics are some of those elements of world-building that can come off as really ham-fisted and preachy if the characters stop everything altogether and just start expositing about it. Thankfully, TWST largely doesn’t take that “telling” route and instead “shows” us what they mean through subtle implications.

Now, for the most part I think the gender norms of Twisted Wonderland are similar to the real world, but may be more progressive overall.

For one, Twisted Wonderland has many male characters (both in NRC and beyond it) who openly wear cosmetics. No one ever comments on men wearing makeup or dressing up in a negative light. Sometimes they complain about putting makeup on (ie the effort) or certain fashions they don’t vibe with but never do they say it’s “not manly” for them to put on makeup/perfume/jewelry, care about their clothing, etc. Even the characters we traditionally think of as masculine (Jack, Leona, etc.) wear eyeliner and eyeshadow, jewelry, or try new styles of clothing. Floyd and Ace express interest in fashion. Jamil cares about the quality of textiles and Kalim is willing to buy tons of jewelry for himself (and his classmates!!) if the mood strikes him. Rook regularly compliments people’s looks and Cater has an eye for aesthetics too. Lilia brags that he is “cute” and likes to show off his cuteness to others. There's a whole group of students eager to learn more about makeup techniques from Vil (in his Halloween Dress vignettes). Idia, Jade, and Sebek see a photo of what they believe is Epel in a dress and automatically accept it. And, of course, we cannot forget our queen Vil, who champions the idea of challenging and redefining gender norms. He also shares these ideals with Epel, who has been called out by Vil for having “outdated” gender norms. Given that Vil is such a popular celebrity (5 million followers on Magicam), I get the impression that the sentiments he extols is a popular way of thinking and is the direction that TWST society wants to move toward. (This is assuming that his fans are mainly younger people.) The boys often “dress up” and wear different makeup when visiting new places such as Silk City and and Clock Town, so it appears that a lot of Twisted Wonderland society that we’ve explored leans more liberal when to comes to gender expression.

Another detail I think is important is that many of the Great Seven—in fact, over half of them—are women. This is notable because oftentimes history glosses over the achievements and accomplishments of women in favor of their male peers. The fact that NRC and all of Twisted Wonderland seems to honor them in addition to their male counterparts says something. The G7 women aren’t even the only instance of female figures who shaped history. Azul and Floyd, for example, have brought up the Mermaid Princess on multiple occasions, talking about how her union with a human prince and personal efforts have strengthened the bond between land and sea.

Gendered terms to refer to mages exist, but according to Lilia, “witches” and “wizards” are outdated (they were used during the human/fae war era of ~400 years ago). Currently, most prefer to use the gender neutral terms “mage” or sometimes “sorcerer”.

There does not appear to be gender restrictions in terms of the modern day workforce either. We know of the boys’ family members who are great mages or hold significant power or status. Mrs. Rosehearts is an accomplished medical mage, Mrs. Ashengrotto runs the most popular restaurant in the Coral Sea and his grandmother is a benefactor to those in the neighborhood, Mrs. Shroud is STYX’s Chief Engineer, Meleanor is an integral leader of Briarland’s military forces, Maleficia is queen, etc. Even the women in more mundane roles play vital parts in their communities: Mrs. Clover is a baker alongside her husband, Mrs. Zigvolt assists her husband in his dental clinic, Granny Bucchi supports him as his only relative, Marja travels and helps sell her family’s produce, etc. There are many economic opportunities for women in this world.

Some may point out that NRC is a prestigious all-boys school, so there aren’t opportunities for women in education. The same goes for RSA, which is another prestigious all/ boys school. To that, I say… that’s because NRC is a very limited scope of magic education as a whole. We don’t know how many other schools are out there or if all magic schools are boys only. It’s not impossible to think that there may be girls only or mixed schools out there—but the NRC cast are the ones this game focuses on, so we view things from that perspective. I’d also like to add that we only see male students from other schools because of meta reasons: 1) there are limited game assets, so some details are inaccurately conveyed by the live 2D models, and 2) this is a joseimuke, a game with a predominantly male cast aimed at a target audience of women. It makes sense that there wouldn’t be many live 2D assets for random female mobs.

There isn’t any lore in-game or in other official materials which would imply that women are discriminated against in education or in the workforce. However, Twisted Wonderland at large seems to still perpetuate gender expectations and gendered traits as we understand them irl. There are some instances when the idea of women having traditionally feminine interests are mentioned: (Suitor Suit) Ace complains that his ex only liked romance and animal movies, disliked thrill rides, and preferred cute things and taking Magicam pics; (Birthday Boy) Cater also mentions his mother and older sisters having interests in making sweets and cute things. Additionally, as Anon mentions, in Endless Halloween Night, Silver shares the story of Mulan, who pretended to be a man to save her father from enlisting in the army. He told this tale to Jamil (not Leona!), who reacts with surprise when he learns that this capable warrior is a woman. At the same time, there are “masculine” expectations vaguely alluded to: Deuce states he is the “man” of his household, Epel of course worries about his manliness and sees Savanaclaw, the athletic dorm, as “cool”, etc.

Of course, these gender norms are not pervasive nor are they the same everywhere in Twisted Wonderland. One extreme is demonstrated through Epel, who holds the most regressive beliefs prior to Vil’s influence. This leads me to believe that Harveston is one of these areas that perpetuates these beliefs—and when you think about its population, it makes sense. Epel tells us that his hometown is largely elderly people, who are more likely to hold conservative worldviews compared to young people. The community, being small and located pretty far from nearby urban centers, is also exposed to fewer ideas that differ from what they perceive as their “norm”. These factors will naturally shape its residents and inform how they interact with and perceive others.

I actually think that Briar Valley would also be one of those areas with regressive gender norms for similar in-universe reasons as Harveston. Briar Valley is described to us as a region mainly populated by long-lived fae… meaning they are pretty old and more likely to be conservative. Not only that, but the area is very isolated and fae in general prefer to keep to their own kind. Briar Valley is also said to be opposed to change and new ideas and technology being introduced to their land. All of these factors suggest they would have more old-fashioned ideas about gender, not progressive ones. Meleanor and Maleficia may be widely respected and viewed as capable women, but I do not think it is fair to extrapolate how magically gifted monarchs of the Draconia bloodline are viewed to the governed population. It is more likely that they are the exception, not the rule. This better explains why Sebek and Silver, who are technically subjects of Briar Valley, are surprised to learn of a powerful princess. Their shock, as well as how Lilia describes human princesses as being meek and needing protection, also implies the usual gender norms. Given that humans seem to be the majority race in Twisted Wonderland, it means those gender expectations were predominant at the time.

The Sunset Savanna is the only country we know of at the moment where women are noted to be viewed differently. According to Leona, he “respects women” since the women back in his home country are physically stronger and stronger-willed than men. (This may be a reference to how irl lionesses do most of the hunting.) It’s not uncommon to see women in high-ranking warrior or guard positions because of this. This implies that the gender roles are somewhat reversed here; women are the ones expected to be strong, not men.

Slight tangent here: I don’t particularly subscribe to the idea that “strong” women are somehow better or more deserving of praise than “weak” women. It’s a fallacy that I see perpetuated way too often in media. True feminism does not mean demonizing what is seen as traditionally “feminine”, nor does it mean women can only be independent or strong by acting in traditionally “masculine” ways. Feminism means not judging or holding back women from pursuing whatever it is they want to do, be it a career of their own, homemaking, or anything in between. Women can be strong and admirable no matter what they choose to do with their lives.

Okay, so Twisted Wonderland does operate on gender norms—but that does NOT inherently mean that Twisted Wonderland is a sexist hellscape. Gender discrimination is on a spectrum, and we’ve yet to see any blatantly regressive demands be taken as anything of real merit in TWST. If anything, they get clowned on and told off as much as Sebek is for his anti-human sentiments. And, as I’ve pointed out earlier, Twisted Wonderland on the whole appears to accept and normalizes things that may not be widely accepted irl— namely, men in makeup or in traditionally feminine fashion. There’s also many examples we can look to of regular women in power or jobs across the world of Twisted Wonderland.

We also need to remember that TWST was penned by people who also live in a society of gender norms, so it’s expected for their lived experiences to also bleed into the worlds they create. It doesn’t make them bad people, it just makes them human. They write what they know and also play around with the ideas of different societies—those that skew in both directions (as we see with Harveston vs Sunset Savanna).

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aperrywilliams · 1 year ago

Text

If Anything, I Find it Educative (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Part 1: If Anything I Find It Educative

Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t

Part 3: Douchebag Falls Short in This Case

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer is not happy attending the annual FBI Gala this year. Having to socialize with a woman who only wants to seduce him makes it worse. But one not-so-fortunate incident could improve his night somehow.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: Awkward Spencer. Morgan is stubborn about Spencer getting 'game.' Spencer spills facts about seafood (oysters), human biting, and cheating. Mention to Spencer's dick (only a phrase). Someone choking on food is described. A toxic relationship and job insecurities are described too. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Okay, people. This is kind of an experiment: I want to know how you think the relationship between Spencer and Reader might evolve (if it evolves at all). Good friends? Romantic relationship rom-com style? An angsty romantic relationship? Friends to lovers? Just lovers? What important things do you imagine could happen to them? (canon or not). What could be the Reader's whole back story?

This is just a one-shot, but I am considering continuing it based on your thoughts and suggestions.

Part 2

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Spencer's POV

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There are few things I hate more than being surrounded by many people at an event. Standing in the middle of a crowded party dressed in formal attire is one of them.

It is an uncomfortable occasion highlighted by uncomfortable clothes.

And this time, it's Hotch's fault.

Tonight, I should have been at home, wrapped in a cozy blanket and enjoying my new edition of War and Peace. But the annual FBI gala and Hotch's adamant request blew my plans.

"Strauss wants to see the whole team at the venue this year. And we are in a very thin line with her to ignore her wishes."

No one seemed conflicted with the idea of attending this fancy party. Even some of my teammates looked excited about it. While JJ and Garcia chatted animatedly for days about what dress they would choose, Morgan saw it as a chance to get to know the new female agents working at Counterterrorism. Rossi only wanted to know how good the scotch would be this year, and Prentiss took it as an excuse to have free drinks. For his part, Hotch seemed as calm as any day at work.

But me? I wasn't excited at all.

Reluctantly, I purchased a tuxedo for the gala. At first, I thought about renting one since I would hardly use it again. But my germophobic self made me think again, and I decided the expense would at least make me feel less uncomfortable.

Keyword: a little less uncomfortable.

Now, I'm standing at the entrance, scanning the venue, searching for a familiar face. The place is packed with agents from all divisions and their plus ones, so it's hard to find anything at all.

But a familiar voice pulls me from my struggle.

"Boy genius! Over here!"

Penelope is calling my name from a table in the corner. As my gaze lands on her, I can see Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Hotch there too.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips, and quickly, I stroll where my teammates are.

"Spence! You made it!" JJ greets me as I pull a chair next to Morgan to sit.

"We thought you weren't coming," Emily added before sipping her drink.

"I understood it was a requirement," I quipped, looking at Hotch. The aforementioned man nodded in agreement.

"It was, indeed. Have I to remind you Strauss is still mad about the whole ordeal with you stepping into a building with no vest and no gun?"

Hotch is right. Strauss made his life hell for a whole week until he notified my suspension.

I wince, remembering the incident in question.

Self-note: don't leave behind the vest and the gun again.

"You look very handsome, boy wonder," Garcia chimes, waving her hand and pointing at me.

I can't help but blush at the compliment. It's not she hasn't done it before, and I know she means well, but-

"Maybe pretty boy gets some game tonight," Morgan claps his hand on my shoulder, grinning.

That's why I don't like that kind of attention. At every chance, someone pips up and tries to play wingman or wingwoman for me. And although I appreciate their efforts, I like to move at my own pace. Even if some say my pace, it's more like a turtle's speed.

Giving him a tight-lip smile, I reach for a glass of water. I don't know how I'll survive this night.

Surprisingly, it is okay for now. I fall into conversation with Garcia and JJ, although it is more like me listening and them talking. Occasionally, I add some to the topic, and they seem receptive.

But Derek looks impatient to stand and march to a group of women talking on the opposite side of the venue, next to the bar. I don't look much into it until I feel his hand on my shoulder.

"You're oddly quiet tonight, pretty boy. What's up?" My sight darts from JJ and Penelope to Derek.

"Nothing?" I offer. My eyebrows creace. Derek snickers.

"I know what you need! Come on, let's enjoy the party and come with me to chat with those beautiful agents at the bar over there," he proposes. I shake my head.

"No. I'm good. You can go if you want. I don't think you need my help."

Derek rolls his eyes.

"Don't get dismissive with me. It'll help you to lose a little. I promise," he insists. And I know I'm losing my battle with him tonight.

"As if I had something interesting to say to them," I mumble, loud enough for Derek to hear.

"Don't say that. Surely, some would like to hear about, I don't know, oysters? And how they became a symbol of glamor or whatever. Because I'm sure you know that, right?" Derek points, grabbing an oyster from the tray a waiter offers him.

"Actually, oysters were not considered a status symbol until the 11th century, when the Crusades trunked access to seafood in Europe. Some researchers believe that-"

I'm about to explain the whole thing when Morgan cuts me off.

"See? Now, don't waste that knowledge with me, and let's share it with those gorgeous, shall we?"

I'm screwed.

I reluctantly stand to follow Derek. I know he's the best intention even if I won't tell him that. Maybe he's right, and I need to step out of my comfort zone occasionally.

As smoothly as only Morgan can be, he interrupts the conversation between three women by the bar. You would think they would return annoyed looks from the sudden interruption, but they did not. It is everything but that.

"Excuse me, beautiful ladies. Hope you don't mind some company. My friend and I thought it would be an honor to share part of your precious time tonight."

How the fuck can he do that?!

The result shocked me almost more than it impressed me. The three turn to us with flirting smiles flashing to Derek. And me?

That's new. And, of course, I have to blush furiously at that.

"Hey, handsome. Sweet talk, uh?" One of the girls teases Derek while the others giggle.

"I know I can do better, but you make me nervous, sweetheart," Morgan banters as smoothly as the beginning.

And that's it. We have their full attention now. Scratch that; Derek has their full attention now.

He asks for their names, and that's how I know the woman who spoke first is Vivian, and her friends are Julie and Ashley. The three of them work in the Counterterrorism Division.

"And who is your good-looking friend?" Ashley asks, skimming at me.

Why is she looking at me from head to toe?

Derek glances at me, and I understand it's time for me to say something.

"I'm Spencer," I wave.

Short and precise.

"Hi, Spencer. You are cute," Ashley points, and suddenly, my mouth goes dry.

As Emily once said, my IQ slashes to 60 when I'm in front of a beautiful woman. And Ashley is a beautiful woman. Her long, stylish blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin with perfect makeup, gorgeous smile, and a dress that accentuates her body in the right places. It would be stupid to say she is not attractive.

"Why don't we go to the dance floor while Ashley and Spencer get to know each other better, uh?" Derek offers to Julie and Vivian, winking at me.

Oh, Lord. Help me.

I don't think Derek or Ashley would appreciate it if I refused to stay here and run to the nearest exit. So I give Ashley a tight smile and prepare myself for whatever comes now.

"Well...?" she prompts, and I don't know what the fuck she expects me to say.

"Yeah. Nice party," I offer, hoping my attempt to small talk works.

Ashley's smile suggests it does.

"It is. Are you having fun?"

No.

"Yes! A lot! Are you?"

"Yeah. But I think it turns out better now," she says, subtly closing some distance between us with a playful look directed at me.

Is she flirting with me?

I clear my throat to appease some of my nerves. I need to cool off. If Derek can do this, I should try.

A waitress approaches us and offers some drinks. Ashley picks a glass of wine, and I prefer a flute of champagne. I don't usually drink alcohol, but I need it now.

"Slow down, boy. People would think I make you nervous," Ashley points seductively when she notices how I quickly down the liquid.

My eyes widen when she rests a hand on my chest and leans to whisper in my ear.

"I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

Okay. That sounds very straightforward.

I should feel flattered. An attractive woman is more than insinuating me right now; I barely said anything. But it doesn't feel like that.

Derek surely would tell me, 'Take it and play it, pretty boy,' but I don't feel like it. If we could engage in a kind of conversation, I would feel more comfortable. Don't get me wrong. I know what a potential one-night stand means, but I'm not good at it. That's how I am. Sue me.

I want to turn her down gently, so I do what I know to do, and people usually hate me for it: spit information.

"Compared with other mammals, like dogs and bears, humans don't have the strongest bite. Scientists measure the pressure exerted by an animal's bite in pounds per square inch or psi. The human bite force is 162 psi. The bite force of some dogs can reach 250 psi, while some bears have a bite force of over 1,000 psi. It's interesting, actually-"

Ashley is now looking at me, confused. She retreats his hand from my chest and hums, faking interest in what I'm saying.

As I go on with my info dump, I notice how Ashley changes her empty glass of wine to a filled one when a server offers it.

Aside from 'interesting,' 'oh,' and 'uhm,' she doesn't add more to the conversation - or more likely, my rambling - and by now, you would think she's tired of me. But no. For God knows what reason, she is persistent. I give her that.

Typically, I can ramble on and on, which is not the exception. The waiters and waitresses keep coming with drinks and food, and even I pick some for myself.

When they offer us a tray with oysters, I can't help but recall what Morgan told me before.

As I see Ashley ushering one to her mouth, I deliver an exciting fact about it.

"Did you know that raw oysters are still alive? Indeed, some people argue oysters might feel pain, and others say that because they don't have a central nervous system, they don't feel pain like other seafood species might."

Not looking at her, I focus on my oyster, inspecting it before continuing.

"If it's that so, the question is when they die actually. This is likely to happen when they are shucked rather than when they are chewed or swallowed. Scientists think this because an oyster's heart is right next to the bottom adductor muscle, so separating it from the shell kills it."

I should have known the lack of response wasn't due to the interest in the topic, although speaking was impossible for her. Her face's blueness and her hand on her neck now tell me something is wrong.

Fuck. She is choking.

I don't know what to do. She is choking on an oyster, and I'm paralyzed. The people around us start to scream as they see her turning blue. That picks everyone's attention, and I want to dig a hole to get into right now. But first, I should do something to help her. Before I can reach for her, a pair of arms hugs Ashley from behind and applies the Heimlich Maneuver. After a few thrusts into the abdominal area, we see the oyster fly from her mouth to somewhere on the floor.

At the same time, Vivian, Julie, and Derek rush to us to find out what is going on.

Ashley starts coughing, and some of her natural color returns to her face. The arms around her torso loosen, and that's when I notice the woman who just saved her life from choking.

Everything happens so fast that I barely register the slap across my face—Ashley's courtesy.

A collective 'Uhhh' is heard around us.

Before I can say anything, Ashley starts a rant full of anger and frustration toward me.

"Are you fucking crazy? Why would you say something like that? It's disgusting!"

Ironically, I'm speechless now.

What is wrong with talking about oysters?

"You fucking weird!" Ashley continues with her rant. It's like she has been holding it since we were left alone.

The woman who helped Ashley now looks between me and her with her eyebrow creased.

"Hey. You should take it easy. You're just recovering from-"

She can't finish the sentence since Ashley turned to lash out at her.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do! I almost died because of this pathetic nerd here who can't stop rambling about alive oysters! Just thinking about it makes me sick again!"

"Could it be a hint for not eating them anymore?" I muse, gaining a chuckle from the woman - let's call her the savior - and a deadly glare from Ashley. I recoil from saying anything else, and it is the wiser.

"I should have known better than to engage my time with you. Even if you actually pack a big dick, it doesn't worth it!" she whisper-yell at me, but loud enough for Derek, Vivian, Julie, and the mystery-savior woman to hear.

I'm utterly confused and embarrassed. What have to do my dick with all of this?

Derek is now dispersing the crowd around us as Vivian and Julie try to soothe her friend's anger, rubbing her back and arm.

I bet they see Ashley's wrath boiling and the high probability of her launching towards me to punch me. Their efforts to subdue her seem to work because, after a loud huff, Ashley only grabs her coat from Vivian's hand and spits at me: "Thanks for ruining my night!"

The three pass by my side to one of the exits venue.

I don't even know how I should feel.

I feel upset because my escape plan didn't go as planned. I feel relieved because Ashley didn't die. Hurt? Yeah, that, too. I didn't deserve a slap on my face. She calling me a pathetic nerd? Sadly, I'm not surprised. And it only confirms my theory I'm not good at this kind of setting.

With the show over and people not focused on me anymore, Derek approaches. I know what he wants to say, but I don't want to hear it. I'm done for tonight.

"Don't say it," I cut him off.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," he tells me with a sympathetic look, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Sure you not," I grumble. "And what was about that comment about my… dick?" I whisper to him.

Derek's face tries to remain neutral, but I know him better.

"What did you do?" I demand to Morgan, and he sighs.

"I may or may not have suggested a rumor about your attributes."

I look at him in disbelief.

"Shut the fuck up! You did not!"

"Come on, pretty boy. It worked! You caught their attention, didn't you?"

I shake my head, trying not to snap at him in public. Morgan can see the distress I'm carrying right now and relents.

"I'm sorry, Reid. I thought it would be a good chance for you to show yourself around. You're a good kid; you deserve to have a good time."

It's useless to engage in this argument again. I understand his good intentions, but like this? No, thanks.

"I better get going," I mumble, walking backward. I'm done for the night.

"Reid..." Morgan starts, but the shake of my head cuts him off. He sighs as I turn to head to one of the exits.

Walking through one of the venue's doors, I find myself on a lateral terrace. I stop for a moment to look around.

If there were different circumstances, I would be enjoying this view. To the front, you can see a beautiful and thick green shrubbery. Several fountains with little waterfalls and statues recreate a neoclassical garden. It is no coincidence since the property where the venue is located is a typical Jefferson's Neo-Palladian construction with high ceilings and large columns.

My architectural appreciation stops when my eyes land on a woman with her back leaning against one of the columns, her left hand resting on the concrete railing, and her right hand with a glass of wine. Her face is turned to the side, and she is observing the beautiful garden in front of her.

I know her. I've seen her before.

Although it is dark outside, the light from the venue's long windows illuminates the terrace enough.

My brain comes up with the answer in a fraction of a second.

Is the woman who saved Ashley from choking.

After what she did, nobody even thanked her. The worst part is knowing Ashley behaved that poorly with her. It's not fair. And it's my fault.

With that in mind, I approach her.

She seems too concentrated to register I'm just a foot of distance from her. I clear my throat to call her attention.

She turns her head with a confused look at first. But she offered me a kind smile when she realized who I was.

It's my first chance to look at her; with everything happening so fast, I barely noticed her trying to talk back to Ashley moments ago.

And now that I'm in front of her, I feel weirdly struck.

Besides her beautiful smile, her eyes hold a piercing gaze, but not the kind that frightens you. It's more like she actually sees you and gives you her undivided attention. With light makeup, her face lets you see some of her freckles. With her hair tied to one side, you can see her neck adorned with a simple gold chain with a compass-shaped pendant.

My not-so-subtle scrutiny is interrupted by her voice.

"Can I help you?" She asks, and my cheeks turn pink. But I'm here for a reason, so I clear my throat before speaking.

"Sorry. I - uh. I'm sorry for bothering you, but I wanted to thank you. For what you did back there," I say, pointing to the inside. "And, well, I want to apologize too. Ashley wasn't very kind to you, considering you mostly saved her life."

She tilts her head slightly, a frown forming, while contemplating what to say.

"Well," she starts. "I'll take the thanks. But I can't take the apologies."

Now, it's my turn to frown.

"Oh, okay. Uh - Why not?"

Not that she should do it. It's her right to do it or not, but I'm curious.

"Because you didn't do anything wrong to me, so you don't have to," she shrugs, like it's obvious.

"I kind of did. I mean, Ashley behaved awful, and I didn't -"

Before I can continue, she shakes her head to stop me.

"No. Don't do that. Why on earth do you want to apologize for someone else's bad manners, considering she treated you like garbage?"

She doesn't say it as if she is upset at me, more likely as if she doesn't understand why I would do that. And yes, she has a good point. But someone has to do the right thing, and that's what I say next.

"It's just the right thing to do."

She takes her time, mulling over my words and whether she believes me or not.

"Okay. You're correct. It's the right to do. And it's a shame most people don't do it. But I still believe it is not your responsibility here."

Something is telling me her statement concerns more than Ashley being impolite. But it is not my place to point that.

"But some people do. And that must count as something, I guess. "

It's curious how her look changes from pensive to more light-hearted.

"Okay. You win this time..." she trails off, not knowing how to refer to me.

"Spencer," I supply. She hums.

"You win this time, Spencer. And being that said, I accept your apology too," she added, sipping the remaining wine from her glass.

I smile, nodding appreciatively. It's a little gesture, but I feel better after what happened.

Silence settles between us, and I take that as my cue to leave. I had already taken enough of her time.

"Uh, well. Thank you again..."

I trail off, realizing I don't know her name.

"(Y/N)," she says.

"Thank you again, (Y/N). Hope you enjoy the rest of your night."

With that said, I should get on foot to leave the venue, as I had planned to do ten minutes ago, but for some reason, my feet didn't want to move, and I kept standing there. (Y/N) look at me as if I'm going to say something else due to the lack of movement on my part.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and now I have the same question for myself.

"Yeah. Yeah. Totally okay. Sorry, I'm leaving now."

Turning in my heels, I'm about to walk away when I hear (Y/N) 's voice.

"I didn't know that, you know? And, for the record, I didn't think it was disgusting."

I stop in my tracks to look at her with a raised eyebrow. When I catch what she is referring to, my eyes cast to the floor, and my cheeks turn pink again.

"If anything, I found it educative," she adds. I try to decipher if there is some teasing in her words, but I find none. She's being oddly genuine. Oddly, because I'm not used to people saying that when referring to the things I tend to ramble about.

"Thank you," I sheepishly say, my hands finding home in my pant pockets. "People don't tell me that very often."

A puff leaves (Y/N) 's lips before she says, "Ungrateful fuckers."

I chuckle at her choice of words.

Weird. It's the first time all night that I don't want to run away from here.

"Yeah. Something like that," I agree, and she smiles. Now I'm comfortable enough to make some conversation.

"Uh, are you from Quantico?"

"Yeah. A very adrenalinal position," she prompts, and I raise an eyebrow. "Finance Division."

I can't help but snort, and she laughs. "I told you. What about you?"

"Behavioral Unit Analysis," I reply. (Y/N)' s eyes wide in recognition.

"Wow. The one and only BAU."

"You know us?"

"Sure. I wouldn't forget a unit that has its own jet. I'm the one who enters the travel expenses from all Quantico," she explains. I hum, trying to figure out the amplitude of that sole task. "Like I told you, very exciting."

She is mocking herself regarding her job. But I find it impressive for a desk job. Not all people have the skills to run financials.

"Well, I agree it is not very adrenaline but very important. I mean, we have to travel around the country all the time. Our job depends on traveling."

(Y/N) has now an amused expression on her face.

"It's nice to know someone truly values what you do. Not even our boss does it," she points before letting a deep sigh escape from her lips. "Gosh, I'm being very judgmental right now. You're going to think I spend my life complaining about everything. I do sometimes, but I'm not always like this," she explains. I shake my head.

"I'm not judging you. Everyone has the right to say what things don't like or would change about their jobs."

"Well, thanks. Although I'm sure you guys have more reasons to be concerned. You risk your life on the field every time. That's huge."

She rests the empty glass on the concrete rail, adjusting her coat around her body. The air is chiller at this time of the night.

"You know? People say that a lot. And I agree. It's a dangerous job, but it's not better than anyone's for that reason, or whatever another reason for that matter.

Her eyes are analyzing me with curiosity. I'm not sure, but it's like she's having difficulty believing what I'm saying.

"Can I ask you something, Spencer?"

"Sure."

"Why are you here tonight?"

My eyes narrow at her question. Isn't the reason obvious?

"What do you mean? It's the FBI annual gala," I point out, knowing she already knows that too. She nods.

"Precisely," she starts. "And at the risk of being impertinent, I can say this environment makes you uncomfortable. When you were with that girl talking - scratch that, when you were talking, and she looked at you, trying to devour you with her eyes - you seemed like you didn't want to be there. Above all, knowing this kind of event is basically to show off to other bureau agents, I don't think is your notion of an ideal night."

If I wasn't impressed when we started talking - which I was - I am now.

She assumes my awe as discomfort.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to overstep."

"No, no. You are okay. And let me tell you, your observation is completely accurate," I hasten to clarify.

"Yeah?" (Y/N) asks, and I nod earnestly.

"Yeah. Have you not considered applying for a position as a field agent?"

An amused laugh leaves her lips.

"No way! I would be a total disaster! And carrying a gun is not my idea of a dream job anymore," she points out, still laughing.

I chuckle, but her answer makes me think. Before I can ask for clarification, she calls me out.

"Hey, you didn't answer my question."

I didn't, although the answer is simple.

"My boss made me."

(Y/N) scoff in disbelief.

"What? Did he put a gun against your chest?"

Well, thinking better about it, maybe the answer is not that simple.

"Not quite, but you can say I felt it that way."

I tell (Y/N) how my team always worries about my lack of social interaction, which isn't that accurate if you ask me. However, some of the pressure of doing things that people my age would generally do is finally getting me and pushing me out of my comfort zone.

She listens to me with undivided attention and seems to understand what I'm talking about.

"Peer pressure, uh? I can relate to that to some extent," she agrees.

"That's why are you here tonight, too?"

My question makes her let out a deep sigh as her eyes focus on the garden beside us for a second.

"Not really. Who knows, maybe I do enjoy being here?"

(Y/N) phrases it more like a question than a statement. And I can tell she doesn't believe it either.

"Enjoying being apart from the crowd, in a lateral terrace barely illuminated and exposed to the chilly night air? I can think of several other places to do the same thing without the trouble of a gala environment."

Her cheeks turn a shade of pink, which tells me I'm right.

"Not fair, you are a certified profiler," (Y/N) complains, faking annoyance.

"And you haven't answered my question either," I remind her. She rolls her eyes playfully.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Well, let's say I came here to prove myself something. Spoiler alert: I failed. That's why I have been mostly spending the night here."

I hum, knowing she is vague in explaining, but I'm not in a place to pry.

"Look, I would tell you more about it, but I'm sure you have to return inside. Your teammates are surely wondering where you are."

I can't help but snort, and she raises an eyebrow at my reaction.

"I'm sorry, but your assumption is far from reality. Considering what happened inside, they think I ran home. What I was actually doing before spotting you here," I admit.

"Ha! So it's true I'm holding you back but for a different motive," she triumphantly concludes.

"I didn't say that!" I complain with a hint of exasperation, to which she breathly laughs.

"I know. I know. I'm messing with you. Honestly? There are two reasons why I'm avoiding this topic right now. First, I don't think you want to hear the mess my life is these days, and second, I would kill for a coffee and a sandwich-" she pauses, stifling a chuckle before continuing. "Considering oysters are out of the table."

"Oh, come on!" I groan, seeing how she falls into a fit of laughter, so contagious that I can't help but join her.

"Sorry, sorry. Not very kind of me, I know. But I couldn't help it," she apologizes, still giggling. I bit my lower lip in amusement.

"Alright. It's okay. It's frankly funny," I admit, my words leaving my mouth before I can think of them. "Well, I could tell you more of those moments in my life - many of them - if you let me join you with the coffee and sandwich. I know a good place that is open at this hour. And you can tell me what kind of thing you wanted to prove yourself tonight."

Spencer Reid. Is that you?

I'm surprised by my sudden confidence, and it seems (Y/N) is, too. She hums, scrubbing her fingers under her chin while contemplating my offer.

"Okay, I'll take it. But don't tell me later that I didn't warn you about the mess of my life," she points her index finger at me.

"I won't. I promise."

Grabbing a cab is relatively easy since the FBI considered transportation outside the venue for people who won't be driving.

The fifteen-minute ride allows us to have a light conversation. That's how I know (Y/N) has been in the bureau for almost four years. Being an Accountant by profession and with a Master of Science in Finance from Georgetown, she was recruited for the FBI precisely considering her outstanding skills in the financial department.

She asks me about my trajectory in the FBI as well. I tell her about Gideon and the start of my life at the BAU.

Arriving at our destination, I insist on paying for the ride despite her resistance. I assured her that she could invite me to the coffee.

It must be a curious image for the patrons to see two fully gala-dressed people stepping inside a diner at eleven pm.

We sit on a bench facing each other.

A girl who can't hide her curious expression comes to take our order. As promised, (Y/N) asks for two coffees and two sandwiches.

"So, Agent Gideon recruited you for the FBI. Why did you accept? I would have thought you would be more comfortable in academics," (Y/N) asks, stirring a spoon of sugar in her coffee.

"I thought the same at the time. But Gideon saw something I didn't. He knew I wouldn't settle with learning and teaching for the rest of my life, and I needed it to be useful beyond that environment."

I explain how profiling has helped us to catch unsubs around the country and how worthy it is for me. I can't think of myself doing anything else. (Y/N) listen to me with raptor interest; it is nice to be heard that way.

"You know? I haven't heard someone speak passionately about their work in a long time. It's good you feel that way," she says with a hint of longing that doesn't go unnoticed by me.

"It is bold of me to assume you don't like what you do?"

Maybe I'm overstepping, but I'm curious. And (Y/N) doesn't seem bothered by my question. Shifting in her seat, she leans, resting her elbows on the table.

"Not bold at all, mister profiler," she teases. "But not always has been that way. I would say I started to feel uncomfortable not long ago. A couple of months, perhaps?"

I hum, thinking about what could have made her feel that way.

"It has to do with why you were at the gala tonight?"

She chuckles, nodding.

"Kind of. Remember I told you I wanted to prove myself something? Well, it has to do with what has been bothering me," she prefaces.

(Y/N) relates how things have gone well since she got into the FBI. She felt respected, wanting to do many things and learn everything she could.

That's how she met her boyfriend.

"I wasn't looking for a romantic relationship, much less at work. I wanted to be professional, separating my private life from my job. But he was so attentive and supportive. He always told me he was happy I felt fulfilled with what I was doing. He was so perfect I thought I had found my soulmate."

I don't know exactly where she is going, but sure as hell, that prick wasn't her soulmate.

"What happened?"

"One day, I wasn't good enough for him anymore. After two years of relationship, he started with harsh comments and criticism about everything I did and didn't do."

A humorless chuckle escapes her lips.

"I should have noticed. By then, he was promoted from desk duty and junior trainee to field agent. He had always wanted it, and I felt so happy for him. But that changed everything."

(Y/N) tells me about how her boyfriend stopped listening to her, and instead, every topic of conversation turned to his job, implying - sometimes saying it explicitly - that it was more important than hers.

"It's not only the fact we stopped communicating; it was realizing how low he thought about me and my accomplishments. At first, I tried to understand. Of course, he was dazed by this new life, full of danger and adrenaline. I could understand it. But when he started comparing me to his female colleagues and the things they were doing, way more important than the ones I was doing, it made me insecure."

(Y/N) takes time to collect her thoughts, sipping the remaining coffee from the cup.

"The insecurities got the best of me. At some point, I just wanted to run away and leave it all behind. I knew it was irrational, but I believed him. I even thought about changing my career and training to be a field agent. Good thing we broke up before I could do that," she admits.

"What stopped you? I mean, like you're telling this, you were going to change for him," I ask. She cast her gaze, averting mine. Her cheeks turn pink.

"I don't like to admit it, but the reason we broke up wasn't because I realized how stupid the situation was. We broke up because he cheated on me. I discovered it two months ago, breaking the camel's back."

Fuck. That prick was not meant to be her soulmate. And I feel the urge to have one or two words with him right now.

"I'm sorry." It's the only thing I manage to say. (Y/N) shakes her head.

"Nah. If anything, I'm glad it happened. Even if it broke my heart."

"He was at the gala, right?" (Y/N) nods.

"With the coworker that he chose to cheat on me. His current girlfriend."

Everything makes perfect sense now. (Y/N) was trying to prove to herself that the wound had healed. And from what she said earlier, it didn't turn that way.

She bitterly chuckles.

"Yeah. It's pathetic, I know."

Spencer, do something.

"No! It's not. Unfortunately, cheating is not uncommon, particularly in men. In 2020, IFS released a report stating that 20% of men have admitted to cheating, and only 10% have. In 2021, the Health Testing Centers asked 441 people who admitted infidelity to their partners and asked how long it took for them to tell their partners about it. 47.7% of the respondents told their partner within a week that they'd cheated. 26.6% of those have waited for a month, and 25.7% took six months or longer to tell their partner about the infidelity. And 60% of them said the affair started in a work environment."

And then again, the rambling. But instead of giving me a blank look, (Y/N) seems to consider what I just said.

"Maybe I shouldn't feel so bad about it then. Anyway, it hasn't been easy to get out of this. I thought going to the gala and forcing myself to see them together would be enough to get a closure," she reflects.

"But it still hurts," I supply, making (Y/N) hum.

"Yeah. I'm not ready, and it sucks. Not for him, but for me. I hate feeling so out of place, so dissatisfied with everything," (Y/N) retorts, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.

Her eyes look sad, and I want to do something to fix it, although I know that nothing I can say would be enough. Maybe joking will at least get her off the topic.

"And there I was talking about oysters all night," I sigh, feigning disapproval. Genuine laughter escapes her lips.

I didn't know that making her laugh could fill my heart so much with satisfaction.

"That's life," she adds, now checking the time on her cell phone. "I think I'll get going," she announces, collecting her things and preparing to stand.

"Can I walk you home? It's very late already," I ask.

"Oh no, don't worry about me. My building is not far from here."

I know she doesn't want to cause trouble, but it makes me uneasy about what could happen to her walking alone at this hour.

Thank you, BAU.

"Please?" I insist. (Y/N) raises an eyebrow.

"Aren't you already fed up with me?" she asks curiously.

"Non yet," I grin.

Not having the energy to put up a fight, she accepts my offer, and after paying the bill, we leave the restaurant.

The night is colder now, and both of us walk in silence with our hands in our pockets.

I can't know what exactly she's thinking, but at least I can't stop thinking about tonight. For someone like me, it's hard to fall into spontaneity, but with (Y/N), it wasn't a problem. That amazes me, and I like it at the same time.

When she stops walking, I get out of my thoughts.

"Here," she says, looking at the building we are standing by. "Thank you for walking with me," (Y/N) states, smiling. It's the same warm smile she offered when I found her on the venue's terrace a couple of hours ago.

"Of course. It's the less I could do."

And I mean it. She saved my night in so many ways she doesn't even know.

"Well, I need to say it was a pleasure to share this shit of a night with you and turned it less shitty," she says, grinning and satisfied with her remark.

I laugh at her statement. I couldn't have said it better.

"Thank you. It's the best compliment I have had in a long time," I joke, making (Y/N) giggle.

"You are welcome."

I have the question on the tip of my tongue. I would love to see her again, but what if she doesn't think it's worth it? I opt for the vaguest thing that comes to mind.

"See you around?"

(Y/N) thinks about it for a moment. Am I being too obvious? Before falling into a spiral, she smiles at me again.

"Yeah, sure. Why not."

I can't help but feel the excitement pouring from me.

"Great! Well, I - I'll go now. Good night (Y/N)," I say goodbye, slowly walking backward.

"Good night, Spencer," she retorts before entering the building.

I watch her disappear behind the door, and I think that while neither of us got what we wanted, maybe we got what we needed.

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Next -> Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t

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A/N 2: I'm excited to know your thoughts about this!

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #amanda perry williams #aperrywilliams #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot

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agroteraa · 1 year ago

Text

Never Be Like You

Felix Catton x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: AU where Saltburn's ending never happened. Felix lived happily up to 2016 (and on), where he met you at your new job. Meaning he is around 29 here and you are younger.

Yes, a fic based on THAT Jacob Elordi edit

Using the song "Never Be Like You" by Flume feat. Kai

Shout-out to Kasey @kcsvids ❤️

Tags: fluff, implied slow burn, AU.

Word Count: 3,8K

Early August in London this year was quite rainy, but fortunately, the day you had to go around the city with the documents turned out to be surprisingly sunny and pleasant. It was the second month of your new job.

The bell on the door in the coffee shop tinkled as you went inside in search of your senior colleague, whose errands you had been running for half the day.

"Annabel, hi! I’ve signed the documents, made copies and notarized them. Here are the originals in the folder, and here are the copies," you said, sitting down on the opposite chair and rummaging in your bag, taking out all the necessary papers.

"Oh, thank you, Y/N! I expected that you would only have time to pick up the documents, and you have already done everything! Cool, you're doing great!" the girl smiled at you, and then added, "Our new capable young employee."

She said this to a young man in a colored seemingly expensive shirt who was sitting relaxed close to her on the couch and drinking coffee. He looked at you with a smile while Annabel was having a dialogue with you and complimenting you on the work done. God. This was the guy from your job, whom you saw rarely and from afar, but you really wanted to know more about him. You didn't even know his name because you were too shy to ask, and besides, you didn't talk close yet to people in your new place.

"Felix. Felix Catton," he introduced himself, extending his long arm across the table.

"Y/N," you answered a little timidly, shaking his hand. His fingers were no less long than the hand itself, and his palm was warm, "Um... Y/N L/N."

"Okay, I have to run, bye, Ann," the guy kissed her on the cheek, threw some money on the table and smiled at you again, "It was nice to meet you, a new capable young employee."

Young. Not that young, it was your second full-time job after graduating from the university, but of course you were younger than the two of them. Annabel, as far as you knew, was almost 29 years old. Felix was probably about the same age, it was hard for you to tell. It seemed that he could be aged from 23 to 33, given that he looked so youthful and lively.

"So... does he work for our company? It seems that I saw him in the office, but very rarely..." you tried to find out information about this man from Annabel as casually as possible.

"Yes, Felix has... a more of a free schedule. His father is a co–owner of the company. So, he is not particularly worried about being a worker of the year. However, it's not like I live at work either," Annabel began to tell you openly. It seems you had already realized that she was also a pretty laid-back person, "So… What are you ordering?"

Despite your protests, Annabel ordered and paid for you coffee and lunch anyway, and then continued, "We studied at Oxford together. You could say he helped me get a job here later."

Oh. You got it. It seems that the picture in your head had finally begun to take shape. It became clear to you why some people worked hard from early morning till night in the same office as someone came at lunchtime at best and generally behaved as if they had known each other half their lives. Because that how it was. Many of them were Oxonians, and had known each other since the university, and some even from boarding schools. Of course, you also received a decent education, but it was nothing compared to Oxford. But this was also often not only about education, but also about lifestyle in general. Your family was not any close to be called poor, but still it was not comparable to this level of life, and you were able to get a current job only because of your hard work and probably decent amount of luck.

You felt a little sad at the thought that for them you probably were a girl who came out of nowhere and did the paperwork, and it was very possible that you would remain that way in their eyes. In Felix's eyes, in particular. That was how you imagined his life as a golden boy, who was apparently at this stage of his life employed in his own parents' company, where he did not need to make any effort to stay there and at the same time receive a round sum of money. Usually it also led to a certain lifestyle.

While Annabel was stirring her coffee with a spoon, you noticed an engagement ring on her hand, which you didn't seem to notice before or just didn't pay attention to.

"Oh... can I... congratulate you?" you asked, barely hiding your awkwardness, "Is it... Felix?"

"Yes, thank you… What? Felix?" the girl laughed, "No. We used to date back at the university, and after that… Well, now we are not. I can't imagine Felix as a fiancé or husband. To be honest, I don't think he can either. He's a pretty free spirit, let's put it this way."

You exhaled and nodded, on the one hand satisfied with the answer, and on the other hand you were upset and got into thinking even more. Yes, it seemed that you two were different, too different, and it came to be clear in just a half an hour on a lunch.

But that didn't stop you from thinking about him anyway for the whole next month. He still rarely came to the office, but now he nodded and smiled broadly if he saw you. You even chatted briefly a couple of times in the hallway and over a cup of coffee in the office kitchen. You still didn't know what he really was like, but he seemed nice and friendly, even though he was always in a hurry for somewhere else. Or someone else. You couldn't help but still look forward to these short meetings.

And that how the autumn came.

"Well, lucky you, Y/N – it seems that a small anniversary of three months of your work here coincides with our seasonal party," sipping from her cup, Annabel informed you, "Once in a season we go out somewhere with the whole team. Well, to be more exact – with the least boring group of people here. Come with us? We're thinking of going to a club this time."

You willingly agreed, pleased that you were invited to this party. After all, it was not for nothing that you'd been Annabel's indispensable assistant, helping her out all the time. And, to be honest, you did a lot of her own work for her. And also you hoped that you and her began to get closer in personal level, even though you were quite different, it was still quite a fun.

Week later, you were hurrying along the streets while looking at the navigator where exactly the club that Annabel was talking about was located. You were late because you spent a lot of time on dressing up and doing makeup. You wanted to make an impression and you were a little nervous. Nervous because all this time you were wondering if Felix would come or not. You were worried about both scenarios, but you still wanted him to come first of all, even though you had no idea what and how should happen next.

The place greeted you with loud enough but pleasant music and colorful lighting. Your colleagues were sitting on the sofas nearby. Annabel waved cheerfully, "Y/N! We're here! Hi! Yes, you're not even the last one, so make yourself comfortable."

You greeted everyone who was sitting. You felt quite awkward, because you didn't communicate with everyone at least on the same level you did with Annabel, but you hoped that the evening would go well and that you didn't come in vain. And it turned out to be quite alright, but anyway, part of your thoughts was roaming whether Felix would come or not.

"Okay, guys, and now we'll drink to the Y/N! She's been helping me a lot lately. Y/N, I hope this is just the beginning of your work with us!" Annabel toasted.

"To a new young capable employee!" said a velvety deep voice behind you. You turned around. Felix stood behind, dressed in a white shirt and jeans. He had a shot glass in his hand and he had some kind of red cowboy hat on a rope behind his neck and back.

You all clinked drinks together and then started to sit back down on the sofas.

"Hello, Y/N," Felix smiled broadly at you, "Glad you were invited too."

"Oh, Felix, where have you been?" your colleagues began to ask him as he sat down with them and began to tell about being stuck in another club and then getting through traffic jams here to you all.

"Unexpectedly. I thought he wasn't coming, huh," you said softly to Annabel.

"Why wouldn't Felix come to the party? It's not like going to office meetings, you know," the girl chuckled.

You continued to chat with Annabel this evening. Felix, unfortunately, did not approach you, and seemingly had fun chitchatting with all the people on the couch in front of you, although he kept glancing at you, so it seemed to you. But maybe it just seemed, because you had been drinking for the first time in a long time, and your head was already starting to feel a little dizzy.

But over time, your interlocutor talked more and more about her own with her long-time colleagues and friends, until she almost completely forgot about your presence. You began to feel gradually lonely in this company. Maybe you were right. A girl from nowhere who couldn’t even afford too many drinks in this place in central London, who was helping Oxford graduates who were, are and will be fine, with paperwork they weren’t really willing to do. But it was better to splurge on another drink than to sit and think all these thoughts.

Walking through the crowd to the bar, you stood in line and chose what to take for yourself. Something strong, but not very expensive, if possible.

"You have a small anniversary in our company today. It should be celebrated," a pleasant voice spoke softly almost in your ear. Turning your head to the side, you found Felix, who was leaning almost his entire body against the counter. He had definitely had a drink and was even more relaxed and cheerful than usual, "It's all on me, of course."

You protested a little, but Catton quickly dismissed all objections, taking two drinks for you at once and one glass for himself, "And this is about time you tell me how do you find the work here with us, where you came from and generally about yourself."

You headed back to the sofa with drinks. Since the path was laying through the dancing crowd, and you had two glasses in your hands, Felix held you protectively, placing his hand on your back and guiding you through all the people, making sure that no one would touch you. The feeling of his big warm hand on your back, on your skin, half-opened due to the design of the dress, definitely excited you and gave you goosebumps.

Some people from your company, including Annabel, was already gone to the dance floor, so you sat down on an empty sofa together and started talking. It was very uneasy and unusual for you to see Felix so close to you, also in such an informal setting. His big brown eyes looked at you attentively while you talked a little about yourself, about your education, how you got a job at this company, what you were doing here and who you started communicating with. What dark fluffy eyelashes he had. He was so handsome. You blushed a little and got embarrassed, but still, because of the abundance of information that you had to tell him, your brain was a little distracted and calmed down.

"That's great, Y/N. You're so... hardworking. And, apparently, you’ve achieved a lot on your own. That's very cool," Felix nodded with a serious face.

"Well, I haven't achieved anything special yet that I would really like, but thank you for the kind words. It's great that you're interested in your future subordinates."

"Oh, so you know? Well... we'll see about that. My dad is a co–owner of the company, but not the owner. So, it's not at all a fact that I'm going to manage over here," Felix was a little embarrassed and cleared his throat, "And I don't know what's going to happen next, I don't guess into the future for that long… Maybe I'll go abroad somewhere, like I've already done before, huh."

Then Felix began to tell about some parts of his own life - a little about his childhood, about studying at Oxford, what he did there and where he went later. He was quite modest and obviously tried not to emphasize his fabulously luxurious lifestyle, but this was the kind of thing that could not be completely kept to oneself. This manifested itself even in behavior and appearance, not to mention the stories.

But you liked, you really did like talking to him. With all that said, Felix Catton had a talent for making you feel like you were welcome, that you were no worse than him, that your lifestyle was no less boring or less important when he wanted to grant his attention. Even if you were completely different. You were listened to very attentively.

Due to this feeling, combined with his appearance and charisma in general, you were ready to never get up from this couch, if only your conversations would last forever.

But the forever ended quickly when Felix's friends yanked him onto the dance floor. Friends, and maybe not only friends. It seemed that many female colleagues and just a lot of the girls nearby were staring endlessly and smile charmingly at him in the hope of getting more of his attention. Of course, you could understand that oh so well. But all the same, you were upset that your chances were probably much less than those of all his acquaintances in his circle. Even if it was just about a sort of a close communication.

You finished your second drink and went to get another one. While you were standing in line, one of this year's hits started playing in the hall. A gentle female voice began to tell her story:

What I would do to take away

This fear of being loved, allegiance to the pain

Now I fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

I would give anything to change this like-minded heart

That loves fake shiny things

Now I fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

You couldn't take your eyes off Felix, who was having fun in the middle of the crowd – he was giving himself up to the music, dancing to the beat. Green, blue and sometimes purple spots of light slid across his face and his clothes. How graceful and natural he was now, as if he had been born on the dance floor.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

Felix completely broke up and went dancing at the pole jokingly. You didn't know if he was already so tipsy or just so relaxed naturally to that extent, but you couldn't look away with your mouth slightly opened. He was holding onto the pole with one hand, and with the other he was waving in the air, also swinging his hips.

How do I make you wanna stay

Hate sleeping on my own

Missing the way you taste

Now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

Stop looking at me with those eyes

Like I could disappear and you wouldn't care why

Now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

Your heart sank. Even though this song was about trying to bring back an existing relationship, it still somehow resonated especially with you right now. Particularly the line "Never be like you", which seemed to repeat your thought, which you carefully tried to hide from yourself tonight. You would never be like Felix.

The crowd gathered at the bar gradually pushed the gawking and not moving you closer to the dance floor, where Catton noticed you.

"Hey, Y/N, why are you just standing there so lost? Join me," the guy said cheerfully, slightly pulling you by the hand closer to him.

You started dancing together, he put on his red hat on to make you laugh a little. He was smiling widely, swaying from side to side bewitchingly in front of you.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

His white shirt was unbuttoned now, apparently, he had been hot for a while. Beads of sweat gathered on his skin and disappeared with him in the rays of the strobe light from time to time, which shone behind his back. In such lighting, it seemed as if he was moving in slow motion, and that was all a beautiful movie in which you accidentally fell into the place of the main character. But it wasn't a fantasy, it was your night right now.

I'm falling on my knees

Forgive me, I'm a fucking fool

I'm begging darling please

Absolve me of my sins, won't you

You wanted this moment to last forever. And unlike the conversation on the couch, it really felt like it was happening, like in a dream that no one dared to break. You were drowning in his magnetic gaze and smile, which he was giving only to you now. He was like Prince Charming of the 2010’s.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

Baby, baby please believe me

Come on take it easy

Please don't ever leave me... oooh

Never be like you

You mentally repeated the last lines of this song until your face itself took on a slightly pleading look. Felix seemed to catch it and touched your shoulder. His lips parted in the desire to say something, but he just stood there for a few seconds in silence, as if considering what to say and do next.

"... by the way, you look great today. I mean, your office looks are cute too, but this… You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he said after a while.

You smiled sheepishly as you continued to dance, drifting back into a musical and slightly alcoholic trance until it was interrupted by several of Felix's friends and your colleagues.

"Buddy, we've going home," the guys shook hands, and then started talking about some of their business. You moved a little to the side, and as soon as you did that, Felix slowly began to be surrounded by familiar and not so very familiar people. You went for a cocktail, and then headed to the couch, where you started talking to a colleague of yours. You kept glancing in Felix's direction at the same time, but he still didn't come up, engrossed in talking and some dancing.

After saying goodbye to your colleague, who also left, you finished your cocktail and finally decided to check your phone. Oh. You didn't know it was so late. You started looking for a taxi, but it costed a lot right now. Confused, you sat alone, staring at the screen and sucking from a straw a mix of melted ice and a cocktail from the bottom of a glass.

"Please pardon me for leaving you for a while," the hot hand laid on your back and then its owner appeared behind it, who plopped down on the sofa next to you. He looked at you with slightly regretful doe eyes, "Are you... leaving already?"

"Yes, it's very late, and there's a lot to do tomorrow… But the taxi is still expensive, I guess I'll wait a little longer."

"What are you talking about? I'll get you a car right now," Felix took out his phone and began to quickly type something on it.

"Oh, come on, don't..."

"Hey. We're celebrating your anniversary at work, our new best employee. Have you already forgotten?" the guy interrupted you, grinning, "Tell me your address, please."

You gave your address, Catton smiled slightly.

Five minutes later, a business class taxi pulled up to the club. You just went outside, and the warm air of an early autumn night pleasantly enveloped you after the hot and stuffy nightclub.

"Is this really my car?" you were amazed. Felix turned his head to the left and right, and then, leaning over, said in a serious tone, "I don't see any exactly the same beautiful girl waiting for exactly the same taxi, and do you?"

You giggled and blushed noticeably. There was a pause hanged in the night air.

"Thanks for your company, Y/N. I'm glad you're with us now. I hope we'll see each other more often from now on."

You looked him straight in the eye, and then nodded slightly and slowly.

"Good night. Please text when you... Ah..." Felix rolled his eyes at himself, "I don't have your phone number."

He looked down, shaking his head and chewing lightly on his lip. A knot tied in your stomach. Felix. Catton. Asked. You. Your. Number. It might had been more of a common courtesy, of course, but your heart started beating a lot faster anyway. Of course, you dictated your phone number to him, which made him full of ill-concealed joy. Having recorded it in his smartphone, he said, as if nothing had happened, "Yeah, great, now I have a place to text to find out how you got home," and put you in a taxi.

He gently touched your shoulders once more when he put you in the car. He pressed his lips almost weightlessly to your ear, "Good night again, Y/N. Thank you for this evening," his mumble was very warm and pleasant, you felt your hair rising on your skin.

Watching the taxi leave, from which window you looked at him back, Felix lit a cigarette. He was smiling widely and contentedly, exhaling smoke and slightly twitching his whole body on the spot from another surge of energy. He was obviously going to attend the work more often from now on.

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boondocktalks · 8 months ago

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I really wish they would’ve kept Jazmine’s backstory in the series. It would’ve showed that she was complex like Huey was, and that even she had her own struggles, despite their challenges being different from one another.

As written in the comics, Jazmine had issues with her identity, particularly when it came to her hair. Although she was biracial, she didn’t inherit her mother’s hair texture and instead, she had an Afro. This caused her to feel self conscious about herself and wonder why she didn’t share that similar feature with her mother.

She was always trying to straighten it, and even tried denying that she had an Afro. Instead of her parents telling her to embrace her hair, they tried many products to make it look more socially acceptable, and none of them worked.

Even in the script of the original pilot episode of “The Boondocks,” Uncle Ruckus made insulting comments about her hair, and condone the bullying that she was dealing with at school.

This dialogue between Ruckus and Robert takes place after Huey and Riley get into a fight with some boys who were making fun of Jazmine, and they end up in detention because of it. Although this scene doesn’t appear in the clip that was released, here’s a screenshot of the part where Ruckus made those remarks about her.

With this, as well as other examples, it confirms to me that Ruckus never truly liked Jazmine. He might have tolerated her a little more than the boys, but he rarely said her name, and pejoratively referred to her as slurs that describe those who are mixed race.

The only one that made her feel good about her hair was Huey. He even advised Tom, Jazmine’s father, to educate her about the beauty of her black roots, but Tom didn’t listen. He even compared her hair to the clouds, big but pretty. That compliment flew over her head, but it was still cute regardless. Also, he still viewed her as black, and didn’t treat her as if she was different.

I love the Jazmine we got in the show, there’s no doubt about it. However, I can only imagine how powerful her character would’ve been had they given us an episode exploring her background, and watching her build her self esteem. It would’ve been really touching to watch her transform from someone that was unsure of herself to a person who was confident in the skin she was in.

#black community #black culture #huey freeman #jazmine dubois #riley freeman #robert freeman #sarah dubois #the boondocks #tom dubois #uncle ruckus #biracial #mixed race #mixed girls #afro #comics #aaron mcgruder #black hair #mixed black girls

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layniapetrovnaaa · 6 months ago

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A Ruby Necklace and a Confession

Request/Summary: heyy can I request an Atticus Finch x f!reader where they've been friends for a while and both are developing feelings? maybe some jealousy on his part and a cheesy confession at the end? I've been simping for him pretty hard lately and was shocked by the lack of fics 😭

Warnings: Fem-Reader, Set in the 1930s, Flirting, Pining, Jealousy, a smooch, Alexandra being Alexandra, its basically all fluff and if I missed any please lmk!

Word Count: 2.6k

This is an x reader written in 3rd person pov with she/her pronouns

I think I started writing this fic like four years ago so bare with me 😭

***

Atticus Finch is not a man who takes relationships lightly. Professional, familial, platonic, and certainly not romantic. It takes time for him to develop relationships with people and connect with them. Of course, he’s a charmer, there’s no denying that. All of the Finch siblings are, Alexandra being the occasional exception; but to actually connect with someone, that was a different story for the small-town lawyer.

It had been a few years since he had been involved in the Tom Robinson trial. Things in Maycomb had cooled off a little bit, but the Finch’s were still slightly on the outs, I guess that's why she took to them so quickly, and them to her.

She came to town unannounced. How Stephanie Crawford didn't know about her settling into Maycomb until she was already living across the street would always be a mystery to Atticus (and Miss Stephanie, as a matter of fact). She came quietly, though her presence was anything but. She was the latest and most juicy gossip Maycomb’s had in a while. For what reason, Atticus was once again in the dark (he didn't partake in the drama and gossip much). She seemed like a nice girl, but according to Maycomb, she was a bit too boyish and independent for the county’s liking. And besides that, she was educated and had been sent to a women's college in New York (that much Stephanie Crawford knew). A total outrage.

Atticus met her that next Saturday morning when Maudie had invited the Finch's over for breakfast. Scout took to her quickly, as did Jem; though her pretty face made the confident young teen a bit more awkward than he would have hoped.

There was no denying she was pretty, what with the way her hair perfectly complimented her complexion and her eyes and smile rivaled to be her brightest feature. But it was her spirit that drew Atticus Finch to the young woman. She was smart, witty, funny, and vivacious. On that Saturday morning, they talked about books and the world and every little thing. They were both smitten instantly.

After their initial meeting, the father of two would often chat from across the street with his young neighbor. One morning when she had mentioned that she was in need of a job, he had the bright idea of hiring her as his secretary (of sorts). She thanked him with a home-cooked meal and informed him of her plan to work for him until she could find a position better suited for her degree. He, of course, agreed and understood, knowing that Maycomb was a small town.

She started the following week and Atticus spent most of his days showing her around and training her for the job. They grew close during this time, there were inside jokes and meaningful glances. She would bring him lunch occasionally as well, staying to eat with him (and flirt with him). Though, neither would dare say that there was anything more behind their fraternizing besides honest friendship, yet, Maycomb and Alexandra Handcock felt otherwise.

“She is too young for you, Atticus. That’s all I’m trying to say.“

“Thank you for reminding me I’m an old man, Zandra.” Atticus teased. It seemed as though, the older he got, the more the sarcastic remarks seemed to fall right out of his mouth (the sarcasm reserved for his siblings and occasionally Jem and Scout).

“That’s not-- I’m just trying to warn you. I know work has kept you quite busy as of late, but this younger generation, well they are just somethin’ else I tell you.” Alexandra aggressively stirred whatever it was she was cooking over the stove.” Atticus, you’ve seen ‘er. The short dresses and red lipstick, it’s disgraceful! Is that someone you want Scout looking up to?” she turned around to face him now, wooden spoon in one hand, the other on her hip.

Atticus stands picking up his coat and hat.

“She's a very fine young woman, Zandra.” is all he says as he puts on his hat. He decides to leave it at that. He could defend his young friend all he wanted, but Alexandra wouldn’t budge. “We better get going now, thank you for lunch.” He then calls to the children that it's time to leave.

“You mind her, Atticus!” his sister shouts from the kitchen, unable to leave her cooking.

“Have a good day, Zandra.” Atticus calls as he, Scout, and Jem exit the landing.

Atticus was used to his sister’s comments, but there was something about their earlier conversation that kept his mind occupied during the car ride back to Maycomb. Why hadn't he denied her insinuations that there was something more than friendship between him and his secretary? And why had he left so quickly after she brought it up? He knew it was best to nip Alexandra's accusations and insinuations in the bud, but normally he humored her gossiping a bit more.

***

“Cal!” Atticus called through that house as he shrugged off his coat. “Would you mind making an extra serving of supper tonight? I invited our neighbor over for dinner...again.” Cal, who had popped her head out of the kitchen doorway, grinned at the single father. “Yessir.”

Then came the thumping of footsteps. Scout (of course) came bursting into the hallway with a goofy grin. “Oh, Atticus.” she giggled, her feet were still planted where they originally stopped but she leaned her back shoulders against the wall behind her. Atticus raised an eyebrow at her, amused by her antics. “Yes, Scout?” He hangs up his coat and slips off his shoes. She watches him for a moment, a playful grin once again tugging at her lips. “Nothin’.”

And she bolts to Jem's room.

Everyone knew of Atticus’ crush before he did. It was a hot topic among the kids and Calpernia did her best to shut the rumors down even though she too knew of the events unfolding. It was impossible to miss. The longing stares and slight stutter was most unusual for the father of two. The fact that he invited her over for supper nearly every night didn't help either. How could he not invite her over again when here she was looking utterly radiant flipping through the pages of her book, and here he was, unable to focus on his reading as he admired her. Maybe the gossip wasn't gossip. Jem and Scout had gone to bed about an hour ago and Calpernia had just left. Atticus had offered Cal a ride, nearly insisting, but she simply shook her head and gave the man a knowing smile, closing the door quietly behind her.

“What are you starin’ at Mr.Finch?” the young woman flirts with a shy smile.

“Oh, just thinking.” He closes his book. “Are you traveling back north to see your folks for the holidays?”

“I’m not sure yet, I haven't thought about it too much to be completely honest.” she closes her book too, bringing her legs down from off the chair she was sitting in and instead crossing her legs. “I haven't got too much family left around anyways.”

“Well, if you'd like, you're welcome to join us at the landing for Christmas this year. Jack is coming to town next week. I know he and the children would be quite thrilled to see you there.”

“Oh I'm sure he would.” She roll her eyes and Atticus hums humorously at her exasperation.

She had already met Jack once before. He came for a week to visit for Scout's 10th birthday. The youngest finch was beguiled by the girl instantly. He had a thing for fiery women and the more he pushed the more she argued and he ate up every second of it. She liked Jack and his eccentric personality and wicked tongue. He was fun to flirt and contest with but both knew he was not the brother she was focused on. Unfortunately for all, that did not seem clear to Atticus.

“Does your sister know you're inviting me over? From what Jack and the children have said I don't think she’s too fond of me.”

“She’s not too fond of anyone, don't dwell on it, sweet.” He stands, letting out a sigh and walking over to her. “Besides, I think you deserve the chance for her to get to know you properly before forming any opinions.” He takes her hand as she stands from the chair “I’ll walk you home.”

***

Christmas was rapidly approaching and it was decided that Atticus would be bringing the young neighbor along this year. Atticus made it known that she was not obligated to bring any presents but she insisted on getting Scout and Jem something for welcoming her so graciously. She didn't forget about the older man either, but he insisted on her not spending a cent on him, so instead she baked him something new every week in December, that he could not say no to.

It was a later night at the firm and quite frigid out as well. On nights like this, she would wait patiently for Atticus to finish up and he would give her a ride back home with him. Busying herself with some last-minute gift wrapping, she hears the door swing open.

“There she is.”

“Jack Finch.”

She stands and makes her way over to the raven-haired man, giving him a quick hug and peck on the cheek.

“Where’s that brother of mine?” he asks but calls loudly enough for Atticus to hear.

As Atticus makes his way to the front of the building, his brother inquires about the scattered wrapping and cheap toys.

“Ah, that's right. Alexandra did say that we'd have a floozy attending Christmas this year.” And the remark is barely out of his mouth before she slaps his shoulder and he feigns hurt. At the same time, Atticus had made his way out of the office and was quickly embracing his brother. The two exchange pleasantries and she continues wrapping but not for long before Jack starts on his devilry again.

“Hmm, I do wonder what my caring ol’ brother got you. Perhaps a silk slip for you to wear for him?” Jack teased.

“That’ll do, Jack.” Atticus speaks calmly, yet the hint of embarrassment in his voice is unmistakable.

She throws a present at the younger Finch (which he catches).

“Jack Finch you oughta be the naughtiest man in Maycomb county!” she chirped. “You’re lucky your older sister wasn't around to hear you say that.” She can’t help but laugh slightly, imagining what Alexandra would do if she heard that innuendo that had slipped passed his lips.

“Besides,” she starts, straightening her dress. “Atticus and I agreed that we wouldn't exchange gifts due to the economic climate of my wallet.” she couldn't help but joke, and the brothers couldn't help but smile.

***

Christmas had finally come and so far it had gone better than anyone expected. Dinner had been lovely, there was absolutely no denying Alexandra's cooking. Both of the women had definitely had their guard up at the start of the holiday but as the dinner and questions went on Atticus’ guest seemed to be passing more of Alexandra’s tests than either had expected and therefore she was slightly less hostile than anticipated. Or maybe it was just that it was Christmas, either way, Atticus was grateful that she seemed to be feeling somewhat cheerful. In fact, she had tasked the young lady with dealing out the presents (as she was not quite trusted in the kitchen just yet).

There were three more presents for the girl to pass out. One large box and two smaller ones. The larger one had a big nametag on it that spelled out Jem in large text. Clearly from Scout as she was not one for subtlety. The other was for Atticus’ sister Caroline, who she seemed to click with instantly that night. The last small box was thinner and more rectangular-shaped. It wasn't wrapped, but only because there was no need. The box was a soft velvet and a deep crimson color. The only decoration that adorned it was a simple green ribbon and a smaller nametag on it. Taking a peek at the name, her heart skipped a beat. It was her name on the card and that handwriting she could recognize anywhere. She admired the gift for another moment before she felt a presence behind her.

“About that,” Atticus drawls, gently taking the velvet box in his hands. “Could I have a word with you? Out back, maybe?”

“You didn't.” she says with mock seriousness.

“I’m afraid so.” he jokes back.

And Jack Finch is just grinning.

She follows him out onto the back porch of the landing. An elongated rocking chair was nestled in the corner surrounded by pale yellow gardenias. As she sat, she noticed the small wrapped box that was held firm in the older man’s long fingers.

“So, I suppose that’s for me then.” she nods meekly to the gift.

“Indeed.”

The giving and receiving is gentle and warm. She delicately unties the ribbon and pulls out the dainty necklace with a teardrop-shaped ruby hanging from the middle.

“Oh, Atticus I--”

“How bout I put it on for you, hm?” His question is more rhetorical, and as she shuts her gaping mouth she realizes that that might be the first time he’s ever interrupted her. She hands him the necklace and turns so he will have an easier time putting it on. She sits up straighter and shivers lightly as his fingertips sweep over the back of her neck. She quickly feels her cheeks and ears heat from the intimate contact.

Once it’s on, she turns back to face him.

“I don’t know what to say-- thank you, Atticus.”

He smiles at her and she gives him a heartfelt hug, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He takes a deep breath in and his smile fades a bit as they pull away.

“There’s somethin’ else, too” He places his hands on his knees and looks at her very matter-of-factly. And she looks cautious but listens willingly.

“We’ve-- uh-- We’ve gotten to know each other rather well since your moving here. The children seem to really like you being around and all.” He pauses and looks a bit shy but gains some confidence when he sees her grinning face.

“They're both such lovely people.” she reassures and he gives an appreciative but still slightly nervous glance and suddenly she can't take it anymore. All the compliments, dinners, time spent together, and now the necklace. This beautiful necklace. No one had ever made her feel so loved or welcomed and she couldn't help herself when her eyes kept flicking down to his pouty lips and she's trying to focus on what he's about to say but sooner than either of them realize, they are leaning in and closing their eyes and her lips are pressed against his. One of his hands moves to her shoulder as the two fall deeper into the kiss. The nervous tension that filled the air dissipated entirely. As they separate she can't help but bite her bottom lip and look up at him. It's obvious on his face that her alluring look makes him want to indulge himself again, but instead, he chuckles a little and so does she.

“I'm sorry–” she apologizes. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Well, I was just hopin’ you'd maybe like to be around a little more even.” he leans back slightly, and the hand that was on her shoulder is now rubbing circles over her knuckles. “You're a wonderful gal, and if you’ll have me, I'd love to take you out somewhere nice– court you properly.”

“I would love that.”

The pair grin goofily at each other.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Atticus.”

#this if the first full thing ive written and published in like three years so this is prolly super shit but oh well #atticus finch #atticus finch x reader #tkam fanfiction #tkam #tkamb

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