#[[-replies after ten thousand years-]]

[rafesgfs]

three cents

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: you butt dial your boss during a girls night … the girls night where you told them you’d fuck aaron hotchner for three cents.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: talks of big dick energy, prostitution if you squint, red wine, gray sweatpants (mentioned)

Girls' night out was wild, no one knew where you would end up. One night, you ended up on a boat and the next you were on a train to NYC. After getting thrown in jail with Emily, JJ, and Penelope during another night out, you all vowed to keep whatever happened during the night a secret from everyone, specifically Derek Morgan. Derek Morgan who had bailed all four of you out of jail, Derek Morgan who teased you relentlessly for weeks after.

After a long case, Emily suggested another girl’s night which all of you agreed on, desperately needing a celebratory drink after saving a little girl. It was around one in the morning when you got back to Quantico and though Aaron gave you the day off for tomorrow–or well, later today–all four of you decided to crash at Emily’s and drink to your heart’s content.

Popcorn and Hersey kisses lay on Emily’s coffee table, bottles of half-empty wine and jello shots litter the floor and you’re all giggling about whether to prank Derek by getting phone cases with a picture of him shirtless. You’re all on board and Penelope is getting them custom-made through a website she’s found.

“Speaking of Derek’s abs.” JJ drags the ‘s’ creating a hissing noise. She turns to you, grinning. “I’ve wanted to ask ever since you went to that Doctor Who convention with him. Do you like like Spence?”

You giggled, taking a small sip of wine, thinking about the genius. “Noooo. Spence is my friend. And he runs with his gun like it’s weighing him down. Besides, I only went to that Doctor Who convention because he went to see Barbie with me. He’s, like, too young for me, too.”

“He’s older than you.” Emily points out, smirking, knowing full well you liked older men. “He’s adorable and sweet.”

“Spencer is definitely cute and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had a sex dream about him,” you confessed, smiling as the girls burst out laughing. “But he’s too … inexperienced. I like my men like I like my wine. Old.”

Your phone had been on mute since you entered the plane, not wanting to abruptly wake anyone up if they were resting, so not a single person in the room had heard your phone ringing or Aaron’s multiple “hello’s” trying to get your attention. All of you were oblivious to your boss listening in to the conversation.

“Is Rossi too old for you?” Penelope asked, inciting another round of giggles.

You nodded, finishing off your glass of wine. “Just a bit. I’ve seen pictures of him when he was in the Marines though, and I definitely would’ve been the fourth Mrs. Rossi back then.”

Emily cackled, a bit of red wine spilling from her full glass. “Okay, I have a question. Would you guys fuck Hotch for ten million dollars? Be honest here.”

“No!” both JJ and Penelope spit out. They all turned to you, grinning like madmen.

You shrugged, filling another glass. “I’d do it for three.”

“Damn, three million? That’s–“

“Nope,” you smirked, taking a sip.

Emily paused, head tilting in confusion. “Three … hundred thousand?”

“No.”

“Three thousand?”

You shake your head, grinning at the confused woman. “Nope.”

“Three hundred?”

“No.”

Emily’s eyes widened, jaw-dropping a little further as you denied her guesses. “Three dollars?”

“No.”

“THREE CENTS?” JJ was the one to shout, mouth dropping open when you giggled and nodded.

Penelope threw a pillow at you, and you giggled, dodging it, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “Hey! This is supposed to be a judge-free zone. I’d suck and fuck Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner for three measly cents.”

“Okay, I’d understand if you said Derek but Hotch?” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head at the thought. “He’s like twenty years older than you!”

“Exactly! That’s part of the appeal,” you replied. You were sure by tomorrow no one would remember your confession–though you were positive you wouldn’t either–and that they wouldn’t tease you too much over it. “He’s the literal definition of a DILF.”

The girls laughed at your words, JJ having to clutch onto a pillow to control herself.

“And!” you continue. “I was working out with Derek once and Hotch came in the gym with gray sweats and his dick looks humongous. It was a huge fucking bulge. I think I saw it twitching.”

Penelope slaps her hands over her ears, playfully grimacing at your words while Emily chugs the remains of her glass, absolutely baffled. You didn’t mind, sex and boys were common conversation topics during girl’s night (and sometimes when Emily would catch you making eyes at someone.

The rest of the night continued the same, though less talk about Hotch’s big dick and more on whether you all should make more jello shots. By the time you’re coming up with an answer, it’s five in the morning and all four of you are knocked out from the alcohol in your system. Even in your drunk state, you knew you’d wake up to a pounding headache.

When Derek calls in the morning, telling everyone about a new case, you’re all moody and grumpy. Hotch wanted everyone in even though he had given the day off, so no one was jumping for joy especially not in your hangover state.

Despite drinking the most, Emily drives the four of you back to the BAU, mumbling obscenities under her breath on the way. When you enter the elevator, Derek is there, causing all of you to groan at his presence. One look at you and he laughs loudly, knowing what had transpired the night before.

You wish you could shoot his foot.

In the briefing room, Hotch apologizes for having you all come in on your day off, pausing to glance at you before presenting the case. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid that much attention to it, your headache taking up your attention. Fire, serial arsonist, fifteen dead, Seattle.

“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch announces, walking across the table. As the team filters out of the room, he calls your name. “In my office, please. I want to discuss something with you.”

Confused, you follow him to his office, pushing through your headache to think about what he could possibly want to speak to you about. You come up blank, even more confused when you see him lock the door to his office as you enter. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hotch shook his head, moving past you to his desk. He picks up something and turns around. In his hands are three pennies, and he’s holding them out to you. “Three cents.”

You’re getting deja vu on the words, and it’s not until several seconds of standing in silence and confusion that it clicks. Three cents. You blush, looking at the pennies. “I don’t understand.”

“You said you’d suck and fuck me for three cents,” he smirks at your shock, placing the coins in your hands.

“What–”

Hotch unbuckles his belt, causing you to stop mid-sentence. “You’ve got twenty-eight minutes to suck my cock. Get to work.”

[realcube]

HQ MEN AS YOUR BOSS ...with chemistry pt2

characters ♡ kuroo, atsumu, sakusa & ushijima

tws/tags ♡ vaginal, semi-public sex // recording, slight daddy kink // oral (receiving) // size kink — minors dni!

part one ♡ sfw version

♡ KUROO

as a chief sports promotor, of course kuroo needs a secretary, but the jva says he'll need to pay for one out of his own wage. he's apprehensive about the idea at first but figures that with the time he'll save by having one, the profit would be greater than the loss. and once he meets you, he's automatically sold.

although he may have have been wrong about the whole 'profit greater than loss' thing, he's definitely losing a bit of money by having you as a secretary. not of your performance or anything — no, you're an incredibly effective worker and are increasing engagement by tenfolds — but rather, due to the fact he's dropped thousands on gifts for you.

kuroo isn't subtle about wanting you, so instead of overtly flirting with you like a lout, waiting by your desk almost everyday is a gift with a cheeky note. without fail, it is always pricey and extravagant too: diamond necklaces, luxury perfumes, designer bags and jewellery made from real gold and silver (he knows which metal you prefer, but he buys you both because you can have it all). it's a classy way of showing he cares.

one day, a random tuesday a month after you and your ex broke up, your primal desires took over, and — after two years of knowing each other — you finally decided to submit to kuroo's advances. you could do a lot worse, anyway.

and you realise that as he has you bent over his desk, in his office contructed of mainly windows. at least you had a nice view of the city skyline while he hit it from behind. with his hands starting at your waist, then exploring under blouse, he leans forward to sensually kiss from your shoulders to your neck. slowly and gentle, in stark constrast to how roughly he was nailing into you.

he keeps going until he reaches just behind your ear, then he chuckles against your flush skin, "wearing the perfume i bought, angel? smells good on you." his finger circles your clit teasingly, "i like it. gotta let everyone know whose bitch you are."

♡ ATSUMU

he doesn't give a shit about his garden, it just happened to come with the big house he bought. there could be a family of rabies-infested racoons living back there for all he cares. atsumu just saw your personal adverisement for your gardening services online and thought you were hot. thus, he made up some lie about wanting trees planted and flowers grown to get you to come over.

but once you actually arrived at his home, you were far too focussed on taming the inhospitable environment he calls a garden to even notice the passes he was making at you. eventually he just gave up and left you to your work, but not without discreetly taking photos of you from the windows in his kitchen to send to the msby jackals groupchat with the 👀 eyes emoji.

he was expecting jealousy to befall the team but instead, the jackals take notice of how intently you are working on the garden, and atsumu receives and influx of messages mocking him for showing off a girl that clearly has no interest in him and offering their houses as a solace for you. however, he promptly replies stating that even though you may seem preoccupied right now, by the end of the day, he guarantees he will have slept with you, and if he doesn't, he owes each one of them ten thousand yen.

and unfortunately for the jackals, atsumu wins that bet.

"just like that, yeah." he grunts, holding your legs against his shoulders, "cum for daddy. c'mon." his breathing is heavy while his bare chest, glistening with a sheen of sweat, heaves. he has you laying on his coffee table while he fucks into you, big cock leaving you a wet, incoherent mess. your greedy cunt clamps down on him and he can tell by your quivering legs and heightening moans that you are close to your climax.

"thats righ— wait.." his breath hitches, steady pace faltering for only a moment as he grabs his phone off the couch and swipes, onto the camera. slowly regaining power and momentum in his thusts while holding the camera above your exposed figure. he grins and slurs, "gotta record this t' send to the team n' prove i wrecked this gorgeous body. go on. keep moaning for daddy."

♡ SAKUSA

there's no better feeling than coming home to a pristine house, that's what sakusa thought. however, being pro volleyball and always training and going to promotional events hasn't left him with much time to get the cleaning done himself. he wasn't fond of the idea of someone being in his house alone when he wasn't there, but he was even less fond of coming home after a long day of training, muscles aching, and still having to vacuum.

he researched dozens of cleaning companies, until he found one that he deemed reputable enough hire from. he arrages the trial for a day he is off so he can assess the quality and trust-worthiness of the cleaner he is sent.

so perhaps it was the halo effect, but as soon as he saw you walk through his door, he knew he wouldn't have a problem with leaving you alone in his house. in fact, the idea tickled him slightly.

having a cleaner wasn't cheap, especially considering how big his house is. despite that, after he met you, he increased the frequency of cleaning visits to five days a week, making you essentially his personal staff. and it goes on like this for around five months, racking up quite hefty total.

every single penny is worth it though, in his opinion. to come home to shining floors, spotless counters and to experience the habitual fleeting moment of tension between the two of you, before you left. that all changed though when he got his first day off in months, and he was able to hang around the house while you did your usual duties.

you were sprawled out over his linen couch, one leg hooked over the armrest and the other resting on his shoulder. lips moves vigorously against your folds, while his tongues delves in and out of your dripping hole. the sizzling coil that's been winding in the base of your stomach suddenly gone stiff, ready to snap at any moment.

his merciless fingers pinch and pull at your clit, as his tongue continues to plough in and out of you, rhythm only ever wavering to lap up the juices covering your folds. that is, until the coil breaks and you come undone right against his face. your walls convulse around him and a breathy moan is pulled from you. hot liquid surges out of your pussy in squirts with each thrust of sakusa's tongue, as he fucks you through your high.

once you settle down, he finally pulls away for air. with your fluid dripping down his chin, drenching his shirt and the wooden floor beneath. slowly standing up, sakusa looks at the floor with a grimace, "clean this up."

♡ USHIJIMA

whether ushijima can cook or not is down to personal preference, but he is independant enough to know how to cook meals that are vital to a hearty and healthy diet, such as boiled eggs, oats, beef stew etc. yes his dishes may be lacking in any flavour or delectability but it's nutritious and that's what matters.

but once he is a pro volleyball player and travelling constantly, he doesn't have the time to meal prep for himself anymore and his paycheck grants him some disposable income, so what's the harm in hiring a chef?

however, once you enter his life as his personal cook, you become a luxury he can no longer live without. until now, ushijima wasn't aware eating was supposed to be enjoyable, he always viewed it as something he just at to do in order to get all his essential vitamins and minerals. who knew food could taste this good?

it was an extra benefit that you looked so good while making it, too. neither of you would ever admit it but there was always a heavy atmosphere of sexuality when you were around each other. ushijima was undoubtably stoic so his tells were subtle, but you took notice of the lingering eye-contact; how his hand would always brush past your ass when he'd walk by you in the kitchen; the way he'd stand so close to you in coversation.

it was only a matter of time before the boiling tension between you two erupted.

you sat on the kitchen counter with your legs wrapped around his torso as his big cock drilled into you. your arms were over his shoulders, nails digging into his back with your eyes sewn shut. he's a mammoth; the biggest you've ever taken. every time he pushed into you, it was as though you were going to split in half.

he could tell you were struggling, so he slipped a hand under your ass and pulled you towards him in order to whisper in your year, but during the process he ended up forcing his dick even deeper inside you, resulting in a mewl from you. he leaned down and grunted, "take it."

something about your trembling form, so delicate and supple, hardly able to fit him inside you, it drove him mad. so eager finish himself off, he picks up you up by the ass so you are hovering a couple inches off the counter, and takes full control of your movement. pressing you against his dick per his whim and matching your movements to his brutal pace.

your only response to this is a chorus of profanities, and piercing the flesh of his back with your nails. he's delighted, though, at how your pleading pussy swallows him so nicely, despite its initial protests.

[northlt03]

Amortentia (Jegulus)

Regulus didn’t smell. It drove James insane sometimes. 

He didn’t smell after quidditch practice, or even after just waking up. It was another one of those things about him that made him seem “perfect”. James hated it. 

Regulus was so much more than the image he presented himself to be, but he’d gotten too lost in playing the part, maybe that’s all he’d become. 

Every single “imperfection” had been driven away by his mother. Not just for Regulus, but for Sirius as well. The Black family had an image to maintain, high society they had to live in. They couldn’t accept body odor, crooked teeth, or any blemishes on their skin. 

James didn’t know how they did it. But none of the Blacks had any negative body odor. No matter how much they sweat. 

It’s not to say they don’t have a particular smell. According to Slughorn, everyone had a distinct smell, something unique about them. 

Sirius smelled like wet dog fur, James knew this because he slept in the bed next to him and every night Sirius turned to padfoot in his sleep. 

Narcissa smelled like spring, like her namesake— narcissus. Strangely intense, yet cool and floral. James had only placed the smell last year when they had grown the flower in herbology. 

Walburga black smelled like roses, James imagined that’s what the queen of hearts from Alice in Wonderland smelled like. It was suffocating if you had the displeasure to be near her, like a thousand thorny plants squeezing your windpipe. 

James wasn’t padfoot, he didn’t memorize smells. But it’s hard not to notice how his closest friends smell. It made him feel warm, to be surrounded by so many people he loves, all with a distinct smell. 

Remus smelled like chocolate, like wet fur, wooly sweaters, a warm fire and old books. James could tell that’s what Sirius was smelling in his cauldron right then. That’s the reason he was thinking so much about smells in the first place. 

Sixth year brought with it responsibilities, but also more advanced potion making. James always wondered why he didn’t drop potions when he had the chance. 

Sirius was blushing so hard, his skin tone matched the pink potion. James had to stifle his own laughter as Remus tried to go over the recipe once again to make sure they had made it correct. They were all paired up for this particular class. Sirius and Remus at one cauldron and James and Peter next to them. It used to be Sirius and James together, but after one too many pranks in the classroom, Professor Slughorn had separated them. 

“Clockwise!” Remus corrected Sirius just before he could have ruined their potion. They were the second ones to finish their potion so Slughorn was already making his way towards the boys. “Bloody hell, Sirius. Stop overmixing it”

James exchanged a look with Peter. Why had he let Sirius pick Remus while pairing up again? Oh that’s right— Wingman duties

James was nowhere near as great as Lily or Remus or even Snivellus in potion making, but he managed. Mostly he used Remus’ notes and applied common sense. It drove Remus insane sometimes, how much work he’d have to put in to memorize something, only for James to make an educated guess about it. James couldn’t really explain how he knew stuff, he just did. Call it pattern awareness, or whatever. 

“So from the way Moony was yelling at Padfoot, I’m guessing we have to stir it clockwise?” James raised an eyebrow.

Peter only snickered as he watched their other two friends bickering like an old married couple. “What’d you think Moony smells, James?”

“Wet dog” James replied easily, “And that awful old leather jacket Padfoot refuses to throw away,”

“I bet Sirius smells chocolate and wool” 

James had known Peter for years, they'd had baths together when they were babies, learned how to ride a bicycle from James’ father, spent ten christmases trying to make gingerbread houses and so many more memories. 

That’s all to say, James knew what Peter smelled like. He had a distinct cologne he swore worked wonders on the ladies, and as stereotypical as it was for the rat to love cheese, he really did. 

So if James was in love with his best mate, that’s what he would have smelled. 

But instead when he dared to take a whiff of the potion (after coughing violently because it was pretty strong), all he smelled was broom wax, old books and paint. 

“Mmmhmm” Peter grinned, “Camembert, and candy. Smells so great I’m hungry now. And you?”

“Old books” He frowned, “And paint”

“Careful, Pads might think you’re in love with Moony too”

James wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He was glad he didn’t smell lilies, relating to his old embarrassing crush. It had been months since he had obsessed over Lily Evans and even thinking about that time made him cringe. 

James had quickly realized he had no idea what love was supposed to be. He grew up watching his parents so immensely in love he’d been in love with the idea of love and the idea of Lily Evans. And ideas are dangerous things to be in love with. 

For his sake and Lily’s, he was glad he stopped liking her. 

But after Lily… well, there had been someone James had grown a liking too. And he couldn’t help the disappointment when he didn’t smell Regulus in the potion. He took a few more whiffs, just to be sure. But to no avail. The potion still smelled the same. 

James wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe he was just incapable of loving. Because he couldn’t smell Regulus, that had to mean he wasn’t in love with the boy as he had previously thought. This was clearly a Lily situation again. And that bothered James. Mainly because he wanted to be in love. Not just because of his fantasy of being so in love with someone, but also because Regulus was so lovely. 

He was witty and sharp, beautiful and sarcastic, knowledgeable and petty, headstrong and stubborn but also sweet and funny. He seemed to positively glow under James’ praise. James loved it when he flushed pink, James loved it when he shot back a retort, when he smiled a secret smile for only James, when he dragged his long fingers over James’ skin— touch for the sake of touch. James loved every single thing about Regulus, the way his eyes crinkled when he tried to stop himself from laughing at one of James’ bad jokes, the way he sneezed, the way his lips parted, the way he tasted so sweet when they kissed, but most of all, James thought he was in love with Regulus.

He wasn’t sure what smell he was searching for. He knew Regulus didn’t smell. He didn’t have a signature smell like Peter’s cologne. But James was still disappointed. 

He wanted to make Regulus feel loved, he wanted to be in love. He had said it once and Regulus had said it before. 

Three simple words. 

And what if they were a lie?

A knock on the door made Slughorn change directions. He had been heading toward James and Peter’s potion to check it, but he walked toward the open door. 

James would have recognised those curls anywhere. 

Even before Regulus was fully visible, stepping into the doorway, eyes searching the class, James was grinning. Who cared what the stupid potion said? The potion could be wrong. Maybe James and Peter brewed it wrong. 

All that mattered was that Regulus lit up James’ world, it genuinely felt that way. Just passing him in the hallways, getting to stare at him as he stared at the stars, just listening to him talk about astronomy or his favorite paintings felt like a reward to James.

So yeah, fuck the potion. 

James Potter was in love with Regulus Black.

That’s when he spotted the paint splattered on the edges of his otherwise neat robe. He was handing a book he must have borrowed back to Slughorn. His eyes landed on James and though he tried to keep his composure in thanking the professor, James grew ecstatic at the acknowledgement.

The effect Regulus had on him really had to be studied. 

Just before he left, he sniffed the room, his eyebrows furrowing in that Regulus Black way as he mock glared at James. He had the face of an aristocrat but the mind of an artist. Maybe he was both.

James was thankful his table was the closest to the door and the others were too busy either bickering, fawning over their potion or still completing it. 

“You smell, Potter” Regulus scrunched his nose in disgust, turning to walk away, “Didn’t you shower after quidditch? It’s disgusting, it’s a wonder the whole room isn’t gagging with how strong it is, even your sandalwood perfume can’t mask it.”

James could barely say anything before Regulus had walked away. 

Paint splatter, the old books in the room of requirement and Regulus’ personal collection, the broom wax from when James had watched him polish his broom before a match against Hufflepuff. 

Slowly the pieces floated together and James thought he had started floating too. He felt light, like a floating lantern, a ball of warmth in his chest. 

And what had Regulus been talking about? James twisted his ankle his last game. Madam Pomfrey hadn’t cleared him to fly the whole week, he had been moping about not being able to play. 

When he looked at Peter, his friend was looking back with an amused look. 

“Fucking hell, Prongs”

“Don’t tell Padfoot”

[bee-wg]

Year 2:

“Jay! What the Flip?” It’s the ass crack of dawn, and Theo is already trying his best SpongeBob impression.

“Whaaat?” I yelled back with a mouth full of pancakes.

“You put your dirty clothes on my bed again!” He squealed.

”Dude, you asked for it. What are you whining about?”

“Boys, What did I say about yelling in the morning?” She yelled.

“Yewn, bwintow!” I think Dad was telling us to break it off, but he’s too lost in the Cream Cheese Danish.

Can’t blame him. Delicious and high protein? There’s nothing better.

Theo rushed down with a constipated face. 

“Ewww. They’re still wet to the touch. Wait. Is it dripping sweat?”

Okay. I overlooked the wet part, but he asked me to have it. 

I’ve been cleaning out some gym clothes that don't fit anymore, and Theo wanted some. I’ve decided to fully commit on football and my stocky phase, so I gave that shirt one last try yesterday. It was definitely not made for a more rugged build person. As I walked around the house, I unknowingly soaked it. I used to be disgusted with sweating. I would shower and wash the clothes by hand after each morning run. Recently I’ve been sweating a lot easier, but Dad told me to look at the bright side of things, and I do see it. Usually I would only sweat when I get a real good workout. Since it's easier to sweat buckets, that means I’m getting lots of exercise.

That leads back to this. I don’t feel as compelled to wash them anymore. They’re the result of my hard work on the journey back to being shredded. 

“No more pancakes in the morning for the month.” He said.

“What?…But…You can’t do that.” 

His face tells me, “Yes, loser. I can.”

***

“What happened, dude? Your cat died?” Brad asked.

This is supposed to be an easy practice because it’s the last before the summer. I guess Coach woke up and chose violence. 

I’ve been only doing a few yards of Quick Steps and Sumo squats. My lungs are now collapsing.

I’m only 230 pounds; there are players heavier than me doing better. I’m doing something wrong. It must be because I didn’t have protein pancakes for days.

“Dude, you there?” Brad asked.

Trying not to wheeze, I replied.

“Yeah, S’all good. I’m just hungry.” 

It would be an understatement. When you’re used to protein goods pumping your belly full of energy every morning, what does five English muffins and some hash browns even do?”

“Hahaha, classic Jay. You’re the man.” Brad answers with a slap on my back.

“Gosh, you’re getting sweatier than Aiden.” He said in disbelief.

“Oh, by the way. Aiden’s going to Costco to buy a speaker for our dorm. You mind giving him a lift?” Brad asked.

“Bad timing man, my dad broke the old Toyota. It’s taking a long time to repair.”

“No problem. I’ll see you next semester then. Take care!” Brad waved as he sprinted out of the field.

***

I felt like I could eat a horse when the bus arrived. I passed through the usual stops, and finally.

The warm smell of chicken nuggets invites me.

I pull out my phone and check. Ten consecutive days. I can definitely redeem a free meal today.

“Welcome, what can I get you?” The cashier asked.

“Can I have the Double Western Deluxe Combo?” “ I have the loyalty discount.”

“Thank you, here’s your number.”

After what felt like forever, they finally called my number. 

It’s a pretty big meal, but today’s situation calls for it. 

I’ve been doing pretty well sticking to a fries-only diet when I’m here. With some occasional burgers and soda thrown in, I’ve accumulated a few thousand points to have meals like this once in a while. The only downside is the bus here takes way too long. I guess it’s better than the neighbours knowing I’m a regular customer. 

As I finished the fries, I saw a guy wandering outside with my university’s gym bag.

Wait, is he from the team? 

Wait, is that Aiden?

No. Shit, Is Aiden waving to me?

He’s probably waving to someone else.

Then the door’s jingle chimes.

“Yo, I didn’t expect to see you here!” Aiden said.

My alone time is ruined.

“Yeah man, me too. What brought you here?” I asked.

“Just bought the speaker and couldn’t find any restaurants here. I thought Costco had a food court.” He looked down at my plate.

“Whatchu havin’? Oh Damnnn, that’s a chunky burger!” He said in excitement.

“Haven’t had them in years, my mom hates that shit.” 

I just wish to crawl into a hole at this point.

“Yeah, my mom hates them to-” 

“I should have one too.” Aiden interrupted.

”What?”

Then he came back with a smaller combo with a box of salad.

“Oh man, I’ve been wanting to have a taste for so long,” Aiden said with glittering eyes.

He got a few bites of the burger and fries, then moved on to the salad.

“So what are you doing this summer?” I asked.

“Oh, not much. Probably hang out with the guys. My dad wants me to go to a training camp though. It’s not like I will play football after college anyway, so what’s the point?”

Then we talk about dorm drama and who the coach is going to recommend to the NFL scouts.

He is actually quite chill to talk to. 

“You don’t like it?” I point down to his unfinished burger.

“No, it’s the best thing I’ve had in years. Definitely beating celery or carrots. I just have a diet going on, and I kinda impulse bought this.”

“I could finish it for you.” I offered.

“Really? Thank you so much dude!” He said.

“You’re actually pretty fun to hang out with. I always thought you had a stick up your ass.” He added unhelpfully.

By the time the last of his burger and fries disappeared in my stomach, I was ready to sleep it off when I got home. 

My phone rang, waking me up from sleep. It’s 2 AM.

Probably Number Seven. He always calls at an odd hour. 

I picked up the call.

“Duuuuuuude, I didn’t know you go to fast foods. I thought we don’t keep anything from each other.” Instead of number seven, Brad said.

“Jay, knock it off,” Theo grumbled on the other side of the room.

“Keep it down, Brad. What is it?” 

I knew shit would get out of the bag sooner or later. At least I had two weeks of peace.

“Next time let me join too!” Brad said.

What the hell is up with these people? 

“Fine, whatever. Let me go to sleep.”

“Thanks a lot, man. I’ve never had fast food before!”

I have the feeling that this is going to bite me in the ass later.

Brad is calling me. Again.

“Dude, what?” I asked calmly.

“Woah, no need to get so worked up.”

“I asked some of my mates, they all agreed to meet up at the mall’s parking lot,” Brad said.

What is going on? It’s only been five hours since he last called me.

“Don’t forget to bring your laptop and an empty stomach! It’s gonna be an epic summer.” Then he hung up on me.

I should be used to Brad’s bullshit by now. He’s been like this since high school.

The bus on the way there is as tedious as usual. 

Why did he tell me to go with an empty stomach? Didn’t he know that I get really grumpy without any breakfast? It’s worse now without pancakes.

He looks at me eagerly, like a dog finding its treat.

“What is it, man?” I asked as he led me to the back of the restaurant.

Then, no Harry Potter bullshit, he opened the wall.

“What the hell? There was a room back here all this time?”

“Wait, Brad. You rented a party room?”

“It’s sick, right? I thought we could chill here for the summer, and go to the river nearby when we’re bored. Oh, I also brought the guys here. And a projector!”

“How did you afford this? I didn’t know you were rich.” I look at the big ass room with my friends in there already playing video games. Even Aiden the snitch is here.

“Oh, I have a pretty successful OnlyFans account. I thought I could spend it on you guys.”

“…”

“…”

“Good for you, man. Gotta hustle in this economy.”

He ordered a party combo with a bunch of salad. Then we started playing video games. It wasn’t until I was on a losing streak playing Yoshi on Mario Kart, I realized. They were staring at me expectantly.

“What?” I asked.

“So…Can you help us finish?” Aiden said.

Oh no. Not again. I turned to look at Brad.

He responded with a toothy grin.

“Please Jay, you have, like, the biggest appetite out of all of us. Look at all this free food going to waste. I bet you’re still hungry.”

“There are five of you,” I said.

“Marcus can help,” Brad added.

“Wait, me?” Marcus said.

He’s the team’s linebacker. The only guy bigger than me.

“Fine. At least it’s free.” I said reluctantly.

The fact that all of the juicy meat is screaming for my attention might be clouding my judgment.

We continued playing games, watched some movies while I munch

It was pretty fun. I got to talk to the people I wouldn’t usually talk to.

For example, I didn’t know Braxton played piano or Oscar was a hardcore Pokémon card collector.

The rest of the summer continued and the guys would meet up about three times a week.

I should’ve said no the second time Brad asked. But how can I let the food go to waste when the guys need me?

Marcus doesn’t come often because he’s occupied with his boyfriend. So the guys developed a way for me to eat all of their share. I would drink a dubious amount of water to expand my stomach in the morning, giving me more space. 

It was incredibly stupid, but when the guys cheered me up while I devoured the last of the remains, I felt pretty proud of myself.

By the end of the summer, not wanting to waste the last of our freedom. Everyone has been scrambling for things to do.

That’s where Brad’s dad comes in. He organized a BBQ party by the beach and invited all the football Dads from high school who were still in their little group chat. Of course, we are invited too.

“Oh come on, Jay Jay. You have to go, or else I’m gonna be all alone.” Brad whined.

“No Brad. You’re gonna be with twenty people, you won’t be alone.” I replied.

“If you’re worried about not having any swim trunks that fit, you can borrow from my old man, or we could go shopping together.” Shit, he’s awfully insightful.

“Your dad is like, 500 pounds. I’m not that fat, dude.”

Then Theo asked me if he could join cause he had grown out of his swim shorts too. Whatever that means.

That’s how we ended up here with Brad showing me an ugly Hawaii print speedo with a blue Jay on it, and Theo laughing his ass off with him.

“No, I’m not going to wear that,” I said for the final time.

“You’re no fun, Jay,” Theo said.

“Right? This guy gets it.” Brad replied to him.

“So you’re the culprit who made Jay fat,” Brad asked.

”Dude, you don’t know the half of it. I basically sacrificed myself to advance his cooking career.” I added.

“I don’t know. I would think taking care of his laundry, dishes, and meals, just to have him burp in my face and snore at night makes up for it. If anything, I'm doing too much. I should stop doing the protein pancakes agai-“ 

”Theo! You’re literally the best chef in the world. I am honoured to be your Guinea pig for the rest of my life.” I said.

He smiled 

Yes! Crises subverted.

“Hahahahaha you two are so strange.” Brad, who is still listening, said.

The possibility of protein pancakes being taken away from me sends shivers down my spine. I try to refocus on Brad’s shenanigans.

He came out of the fitting room with a professional swimming Jammer.

Why did he even take his shirt off? Goddamn washboard abs.

“Don’t you think it’s too extra for the beach barbecue?” I asked.

“I think it fits him nicely,” Theo said.

“Theo, you get me,” Brad said, then winked at him.

Is he trying to rizz my cousin?

“It’s my turn!” Theo said, grabbing a few trunks he chose.

Then he came out, without a shirt too, wearing a bright orange swim shorts.

“I see you’re putting my gym membership to good use.” Goddamn washboard abs, where did that even come from? Now that I think of it, he’s been fitting my old gym clothes better.

“You look awesome, Theo. The orange fits you nicely.” Brad said.

“I guess it’s my turn,” I said without enthusiasm.

After struggling to pull it up my ass. I walked out with the ugly print forest green trunk that’s wedged between my inner thighs; with a shirt on, thank you very much.

“Woah, look at those hefty thighs,” Brad said.

I’m out of options, and there’s no way I’m walking into another swimwear store again. So we made our way to the counter.

The day for the beach finally arrives, and I can already feel the swim trunks digging into my ass.

What’s more annoying is that Mom and Dad are now angry at me.

I would be angry at myself too.

Now I’m in a car with no AC, listening to how I should make better life choices.

“Jay, I didn’t think you would sneak off for fast food without telling us.” Mom said.

She caught the extra burgers I sneaked in to munch on at night this morning.

“Jacob, don’t you remember what I told you about garbage food?” Dad asked.

He said my full name. He never says my full name.

“If you want fried chicken you could ask mom to make it. You know it’s healthier at home.” Dad said.

“Am I not making enough, Jay?” Mom asked.

“I’m sorry Mom, I know I shouldn’t go,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it, honey. We can get through this together. If you want more fried food, Theo and I will make lots of it at home.”

“I got you, Jay,” Theo said, patting my shoulder.

We finally got to the beachside. After finding a shade to park our car, Dad struggled a bit to get out of the car. It seems like the old Toyota is seeing its last days. We might need to upgrade the car soon.

I know Dad is probably not mad at me, but his disappointment was worse.

Hopefully he can forgive me after getting some barbecue in his stomach.

We started setting up the chairs with Brad’s dad as more of my high school friends and their dads started coming in. I haven’t seen most of them since we graduated.

Dad went to greet them and it looked like he fit right in.

He was the Dad everyone’s dad was jealous of but couldn’t help to like him.

I was pretty shocked when I heard Dad wanted to come because he always declined their barbecue invites. 

He was the fittest of the group, but it looks like he is one of the heavier guys here. Dad told me he’s almost 260 pounds now, so Theo and I will probably lose again this year.

I feel conflicted. I wanted to look like Dad before when he had chiselled abs, but I also want to look like him now when he has a much larger presence with the same amount of confidence. I can’t do either correctly.

“You daydreaming, bro?” Brad said.

“It’s nothing. Let’s get the boxes out,” I replied.

“Just so you know, you can tell me whatever you want, Alright?” He said.

“Thanks man, appreciate it.”

He’s too pure to know about my problem with how my abs or belly doesn’t look right.

We got the tablecloth pinned in place to withstand the wind, then set up some disposable tableware.

“Good job, son,” Dad said as he patted my back.

I smiled for the first time today.

Brad’s dad put us on watch duty for the grill while I fought not to drool on the food. 

I’ll get my share. Old people first.

“Jacob? You’re all grown up! You’re a big boy now, almost as big as me. I bet you made your father proud.” Mr. Lancaster said. 

“Mr. Lancaster, you’re here! I didn’t know you were coming.”

He used to take me to his house with Ms. Lancaster when my mom was busy, or when Dad was substituting for other teachers.

Avery and I used to-

Wait, Avery is here?

I looked around to scan everyone.

“Oh, my boy is having a problem with his car, so he is probably not coming.” Mr. Lancaster said.

“We have the same issue too; it’s been a mess. Say hello to Avery for me, eh?”

“Of course, good to see you, Jay.” He replied.

I sighed in relief. I don’t know what to say to Avery if he comes. I missed him, but I also ignored him a couple times when I spotted him at the fast food place.

We served for an hour and a half. I probably lost the 60weight pounds I’ve gained, and my stomach is definitely deflated now.

Note to self: If I ever need to lose weight again, just stare at tasty barbecues all day just to have none of it.

“Ahem. Woah cool! Look at that shiny thing over there. I’m going to go fetch it!” Brad said suddenly, then ran off.

“Wait, you still have your-“

He ditched me.

I tried to flip over both of our grills to no avail.

“You need help?”

“Ahhhhhh!”I yelped.

Ave laughs with his usual lopsided smile.

“I thought you were,” I said.

“Dead? No. I caught an Uber.” Avery said.

“Right. Long time no see.” I reached out my hand for a shake.

“Seriously, Jay? When did you start doing that shit?” Ave said.

Same old Avery then. I took my hand back and hid a grin.

He looked so different I didn’t know how to react. By the looks of it, he’s almost doubled my weight, maybe around 450s. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while. You look good.” He said.

“You looked good too.” Now that I see him closely, it suits him, makes him look sturdy. His ass is hanging out in the back like a bra though.

“What were you up to this past year?” I asked.

“Well you know, I screwed up the football scholarship. But it’s the best thing that could’ve happened to me.” He said.

“I was pretty depressed for a bit, so I decided to go on one of the self-searching trips to some countries and states...”

Then he told me about the kind people and assholes he met on the way, as we finally sat down with our share of Barbecues.

Ave said that he got to eat food he never imagined existed, learn about cultures that changed his perspective on things.

He said he has never felt freer of any emotional constraints than he is now. I couldn't stop my smile from forming. I’m really happy for him.

He has always been harsh on himself. When school didn’t work, he dedicated his all to sports. On his way there, I felt like I lost a friend.

We talked for hours about the airplane seats being a bitch and how he’s sorry for whoever sat next to him, or about how I am addicted to fast foods and pancakes. He’s probably the only one I know that can relate.

I was lost in the conversation, with Brad interrupting occasionally with strange looks of wiggling eyebrows or smug smiles. I really don’t know what he’s on.

It’s when Dad is folding up the seats, and Brad’s dad cleans up the grill. Ave asked me.

“Wanna do this again sometime? My dad’s coffee shop has a new brownie coming up that he’s really proud of.”

Yes, of course. I wanna learn more about you and be friends again.

“Sorry, men. School is going to be busy. I also need to focus on football more this year, or I will get too fat to play.” I said.

“No problem Jay. You know I’ll always be there for you.” Avery said.

I tried to one arm hug him and he fully embraced me. His body is so warm and unbelievably soft.

For a moment, I wished I was proud like him. But I’m not free like him

Gathering supplies Dad brought, I walked back to the car, forgetting to ask for his number.

The school year started without much fanfare. But the feeling of estrangement grew.

Hanging out with the team was fun, but playing the game just doesn’t bring me the same amount of rush and anticipation anymore, instead, I look forward to the meal after the game that brings me the rush. It’s not like I was playing the game much anyway; I’m a glorified Waterboy now. My job is to refuel the Gatorade or water, then squirt it into the guys’ mouths. After that, I just need to hand them the towel and sit back to finish my hot dog. 

I know the team appreciates me. I would keep doing it for them if not for Coach’s disappointing stares. He probably thought I would be a star player like Dad, but I ended up fatter than the linebacker. I would be disappointed too.

My decision was made following the buzzing call of our defeat.

Chapter 3 ->

[saphronethaleph]

Negotiate Early, Negotiate Often

The unknown Sith lit his lightsaber, one end, then both, revealing it to be a saberstaff.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan activated their own lightsabers, then Obi-Wan frowned slightly.

“Just curious,” he said. “But what’s your name? I just realized I’m only thinking of you as ‘the Sith’.”

“My name is Maul,” the Zabrak replied. “Darth Maul. I am your end, Jedi.”

“Hmm, debatable,” Obi-Wan replied. “We don’t actually know yet and that’s the point of this lightsaber battle. As soon as we get around to starting it, anyway.”

He shrugged, twirling his blue saber blade around his hand. “But I’m curious, that’s all. Why now? After hiding for a thousand years, Maul… why now?”

“Now is the time to reveal ourselves to the Jedi,” Maul declared. “To take our revenge.”

“Right, there’s two Sith at any one time,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“...Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I’m negotiating,” Obi-Wan replied. “It’s sort of experimental. I’ll see how it works.”

He returned his attention to Maul. “But – well. There’s two Sith at any one time. There’s currently… what, ten thousand Jedi Knights, and about the same number of trainees and padawans? It’s a lot, is what I’m saying. And now we know you exist.”

Maul’s mouth had fallen open slightly, and he shut it with a scowl.

“You’re lying,” he said, shaking his head. “There can’t be ten thousand of you.”

“There very much can,” Obi-Wan answered. “Though I’m not a knight. I’m a Padawan. Qui-Gon is a Master, but he is also a knight.”

He reached into a pocket. “I’ve not got the names of all ten thousand, but my comlink has a few hundred comcodes programmed into it-”

Maul snarled, reaching out with his hand, and threw a piece of detritus at Obi-Wan with the Force. Obi-Wan immediately put his comlink back in his pocket, spun his saber, and sliced the object in half.

That seemed to get the battle going more generally.

“Is this how weak the Jedi are?” Maul asked, grinning, as they locked blades in front of one of the power cores.

“I’ll be honest,” Obi-Wan replied. “I’m not sure you thought through that whole bit about how we haven’t known you existed for a thousand years.”

Qui-Gon advanced, and Maul twisted to block both attacks at once. That turned into a slash aimed at removing Qui-Gon’s head, and Obi-Wan deflected the slash away with a swipe of his own blade.

“You see,” Obi-Wan went on, as the battle ebbed and flowed. “We haven’t had much in the way of enemies with lightsabers for a thousand years. Most of our work has been dealing with enemies who, at the most, have blasters – and generally speaking we aim to disable, not kill, unless killing is the only remaining option.”

“A sign of the weakness of the Jedi!” Maul laughed.

Obi-Wan blocked all three of Maul’s next attacks, flowing through the forms of Soresu with an easy grace. “Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps it’s a sign of strength. To kill someone when there’s an alternative is to take the easy way out – finding a solution that doesn’t require killing everyone who disagrees with you is harder, but more rewarding.”

Qui-Gon just sort of stood back, watching his Padawan and trying to look for an opening where he could help without promptly getting decapitated.

“Are you the Master or the Apprentice?” Obi-Wan asked. “Because if you’re the Master, then – I’ll be quite honest, I do question why you didn’t reveal yourself years ago, and why you’re acting largely as hired muscle.”

He shrugged, working it into his bladework as he deflected one attack after another. “And if you’re the Apprentice, then… again, why do you reveal yourself now? If you didn’t know there were that many Jedi, what’s your Master’s motive?”

“Stop! Using! Soresu!” Maul snarled, trying to force an attack through Obi-Wan’s defences.

“I’d rather not,” Obi-Wan told him. “We’re talking, aren’t we? I’d rather have the time for a discussion. But please, do think through what I’m saying. Why Naboo?”

“My Master handles politics,” Maul said, then scowled.

“Ah, so you’re the Apprentice,” Obi-Wan declared. “In that case, allow me to compliment you on your excellent skill with Juyo. If I weren’t using a purely defensive Soresu style I’d probably have been filleted by this point-”

Maul punched him in the face with the hilt of his saberstaff, and Qui-Gon stepped in with his green blade flashing to save Obi-Wan from a fatal blow.

“If you could stop annoying the Sith, Padawan?” he suggested.

“Negotiations are often fraught, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, picking himself up again and working in tandem with his Master. “You need to know about the other person before you can reach an acceptable compromise.”

“So, your Master handles politics?” Obi-Wan asked, through the glowing energy doors. “And he sent you here.”

“I don’t want to talk to you any more,” Maul said. “I’m going to kill you both.”

“And then what?” Obi-Wan replied. “Your Master tells you well done, and you go back into hiding, while the next time you face the Jedi Order we’ll have been preparing for it? What about this is worth it?”

“Revenge!” Maul snarled. “At last, we will get revenge on the Jedi!”

“Revenge for something a thousand years ago?” Obi-Wan asked. “...even Master Yoda isn’t that old.”

He shrugged. “What I’m trying to say is that – are you really getting what you want? Or are you following the orders of your Master?”

“I am trying to meditate, here,” Qui-Gon said, kneeling between two of the force fields.

“It’s still a legitimate question,” Obi-Wan replied. “If at least one of us three does have to die, then don’t we at least all want to know why? Maul’s Master sent him here for something, but we don’t know what. Does Maul know? Or is he just going where he’s sent, into deadly peril, where his Master hasn’t even told him how many Jedi there are?”

He lifted his gaze, to catch Maul’s eye. “Has he been told as little as possible, to make him a weapon instead of a person?”

Maul snarled, then the energy gates began to deactivate.

Maul and Qui-Gon immediately engaged in a duel, and as soon as the gates in front of Obi-Wan deactivated he sprinted forwards.

The last one activated just before he reached it, and he stabbed his lightsaber into the projection systems. The whole laser gate shorted out, and Obi-Wan followed through to join his Master in an attack on Maul – then reached out his hand, suddenly yanking on Maul’s saberstaff with the Force.

That threw the Sith off, and Obi-Wan destroyed the staff in a single blow.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was very Niman of me.”

Maul stared at the two glowing lightsabers pointed at him.

“...Jedi don’t kill prisoners, right?” he asked.

“If you’ve committed any crimes, then that might eventually happen,” Obi-Wan said. “But that would be up to a trial. I don’t actually think you’ve done any crimes except trying to run over Anakin with a swoop bike and one count of assault… so that probably wouldn’t happen, no.”

He glanced at Qui-Gon. “Does that sound right?”

“I’m not even going to interfere here, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied. “You’re clearly better at defensive negotiations than me.”

“Defensive negotiations?” Maul asked.

“Negotiations involving Soresu,” Qui-Gon explained.

“In that case…” Maul said, then paused. “I have a new person I want to get revenge on. He’s called Darth Sidious, and he did want a benefit from attacking this wretched place.”

He grinned. “He wanted to be elected Chancellor, using the sympathy for his own planet.”

Obi-Wan made an interested noise.

“Well,” he said. “That’s a very impressive revenge, achieved quickly. My compliments!”

[wolfiesmoon]

Shaky hands

Twisted wonderland x gn!reader

my hands are very shaky, especially when i get nervous or uncomfortable and since i often get embarrased and inconvenienced by them why not have someone comfort me for that instead ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅Malleus Draconia

Malleus just assumes you're scared of him like the rest and are pretending to stay calm.

I mean, if your hands shake so much when around him, that must be what it is. That is a clear-cut sign of fear, after all.

He doesn't mind it, but he doesn't get why you keep insisting to hang out with him then.

But you, on the other hand, like Malleus. Like like him. And it just so happens that your hands become ten times more shaky around your crush. You try to cover it up by fiddling with them and keeping them distracted but it's still obvious a lot of the time.

"Are you scared of him?" Lilia asks you, tone still calm and casual.

"Ah, no... You've got it all wrong..." you denied, cheeks heating a little.

It should be fine to tell Lilia, right? He might be a tiny little bit cunning but you doubt that he'd take this information to his advantage and blackmail you or something. He wouldn't do you like that.

"I, ummm... like him." You hid your hands behind your back to hide your obvious nervousness.

"Oh my. I never expected to hear this in a thousand years." Lilia's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't seem upset or like he was going to take advantage of you. Just pleasantly surprised.

"Just how much do you doubt Malleus...?" Lilia laughed at your comment.

"Depends on what field we're talking about. You should make a move. Who knows what might happen."

So here you are, walking next to Malleus, about to do something bold. Which happens to be gently holding his hand.

Listen, that's bold in Malleus standards.

You try to calm your hands down but nothing works so you just give up and go for it, gently taking his very still hand into your shaking one.

His hands are surprisingly warm.

"Why are you holding onto me?" He asks a bit coldly and a slight shiver runs through you. You're still not used to his cold, blunt way of speaking sometimes.

"I, ummm... how do I explain this... this is supposed to be... You know what? Do you mind it?" You just realised he might not like the feeling.

"It's strange but not particularly unwelcome. Are you not scared?" He asks, making you tilt your head. Scared of what?

"Your hands keep shaking."

"O-Oh, about that... don't worry about it. They always do." You gave him a somewhat awkward smile. He always seems to glance at your hands when you're together. So he must have been looking at that.

"Oh, I see." He replies simply.

Somehow, he feels a little relieved that you aren't afraid of him too.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅Leona Kingscholar

You narrowly avoided getting a corrosive potion spilled on you just 10 minutes ago, and your hands are still shaking from the adrenaline.

Oh my god, why does this school insist on giving you a new heart attack every day? When it isn't Grim, Deuce and Ace causing trouble it's narrowly avoiding being melted by a potion.

You don't know why, but you ended up in the garden where Leona sometimes falls asleep. Your legs just kind of took you there.

He was already awake when you found him.

"Why are you here? I thought you actually cared about class, or something." He yawned.

"I actually.... don't really know."  You looked off at some of the plants, too awkward to look him in the eye.

"What happened?" He asked all of a sudden. You must still look scared and shaken up.

"Ummm, a dangerous potion almost spilled all over me." You explained, twiddling your fingers to make your hands look less shaky.

He sighed. "If that's all, then stop shaking like a leaf." He sounded annoyed, but you doubt that he actually was. He almost seemed relieved.

"It's not that easy, genius." You shot back, furrowing your brows.

Suddenly he grabbed both of your arms, clasping them together in his own. "There. Problem solved." You had no idea if he held your hands on purpose or if that's just his simple solution to prevent shaky hands.

The slight blush on his cheeks would compel you to think it's the former.

Actually, you're not sure if you want to know the answer. What in the world would you do if a prince fell in love with you? It's a children's story book you don't even want to begin to imagine right now, as tempting as it is.

"Hey, Leona! I brought you your- Ooooh!~"

You tried pulling your hands away but Leona's grasp was too tight. He could have easily let go of your hands and pretended nothing's happened, but he didn't. Okay, now this is really weird.

"Since when are you into herbivores?" Ruggie smirked.

"Shut up, Ruggie."

Ruggie looked to you, looking for a possible explanation from you instead.

"No comment." you avoided eye contact.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅Riddle Rosehearts

You looked really nervous and scared to Riddle at that moment. And you really were.

You have a really important test in 15 minutes and your hands can't seem to calm down. You're already getting frustrated at them, attempting to stabilize them against a surface or taking deep breaths, but alas, nothing works.

"You seem to be troubled." He mentioned, glancing down at your hands.

"Oooh, it's really obvious, isn't it...?" You sighed. This is way too embarrasing.

"It's quite alright, I get how you feel." Riddle's tone became a little quieter and more gentle and he sat down next to you.

"Can you distract me for a bit? I mean, if you aren't too busy with dorm stuff." You fiddled with your fingers, hoping he would say yes.

Riddle is strangely calm around you. When you're with Ace, Grim and Deuce he's his usual uptight dorm leader self but when the two of you are alone that tone fades away.

How strange.

"Are you listening?" Riddle snaps you out of it, furrowing his brows.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" You scratched the back of your head clumsily.

"You're always lost in thought. You should get rid of that habit. And it's rude to not listen to the other person when they speak." He scolds you. Sometimes he worries that you do that in class, too.

"Right..." you clenched your shirt, hand still shaking a little.

"This clearly isn't going to work. Let's revise one last time together." He clapped his hands, waiting for you to take out your notebook.

"Are you sure you have the time to be doing this?" You asked, now really worried that you're keeping him from something important he should be doing.

"It's shameful of me, truly." Riddle sighed, not explaining what he meant any further and leaning the notebook towards you so you can revise.

Somehow, he's willing to ignore his house warden duties to help you calm down. He wants to be concerned by that, but how can he leave you alone when you look so worried?

I swear i intended to write for someone new this time😭 oh well maybe next time

[purinfelix]

forever young ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

pairing: (childhood bff) gavi x reader summary: a scene from your childhood, a promise from your best friend, and a full circle moment word count: 889

a/n: it's finally done! this is the gavi fic i couldn't decide on the ending for - thank u to everyone who voted in my poll for it <33 😭 - also I KNOW there aren't live commentators when you watch football matches in person okay its for the plot

“In ten years, I’ll probably be so good that I’ll score all the time! And you can come and watch my matches!” 

You could remember it like it was yesterday - Gavi sitting next to you on a park bench, the two of you messily devouring ice cream cones you had begged your mum for enough pocket money to buy. He was excitedly explaining his plans for when the two of you were older, him being a professional footballer obviously, and you still by his side. 

“And when I do score, I’ll point up to you in the stands just like this, okay?”

“That’s so far away in the future, you’ll probably forget by then,” you sigh, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing as he poses and his melting ice cream drips down his small hands and onto the pavement below. 

“I won’t, I swear!” 

You nod unconvincingly, more concerned with making sure your treat doesn’t become a similar mess and for a moment the two of you sit in silence. The warm summer sun tingles on your round cheeks, even as the approaching afternoon causes it to dip below the horizon. You watch as Gavi tries again, and fails, to clean up his hands by lapping up the dripping ice cream. Despite being so young, you’re struck by a sudden desire to retrospectively freeze this moment in time and make sure the two of you can stay like this forever, safe from the changes growing up might hold. 

“I’ll have to go back soon,” Gavi’s voice cuts through your uncharacteristically angsty thoughts, as he turns back to you worriedly after noticing the dimming skyline. 

“Ah, right,” you mumble, slumping back onto the bench - the two of you had been enjoying yourself so much you had almost forgotten how strict of a curfew the academy gave him. 

“Hey, don’t worry!” Gavi pipes up, noticing your expression, “the more time I spend training the sooner you’ll get to watch me score super cool goals!” 

You try your best to muster up a convincing smile, not wanting to send him back in a bad mood after the two of you had had such a fun afternoon together. Satisfied, he finishes what’s left of his icecream before hopping up off the bench and brushing the crumbs of his cones off his lip. You stand too, albeit slower, since you too need to get home before it gets dark.

“Oh and hey, Fermin showed me how to use the dorm phone last night, so I can finally call you! Keep an eye on your phone tonight, okay?”  

Before you can reply he pulls you into a tight hug, and all you can think about is how you hope he can't feel how hard your heart is beating in your chest. Before you can hug back he’s already pulling away, shooting you another quick smile before turning to jog in the direction of the dorms, and you wave goodbye as you watch him go. You’re not sure why you do this, since you’re pretty sure he won’t see you - but if not for him, you wave to give yourself an excuse to stand there a little longer and watch his tiny silhouette disappearing into the afternoon sun.

Despite the deafening cheers of thousands of fans, Gavi is able to spot you from where he's standing on the pitch - his worried expression is instantly replaced with a beaming smile, his arms frantically waving to get your attention. As soon as you spot him you can't help but do the same, almost falling out of your seat as you do, excitement coursing through your veins.

Sitting back, you take a minute to take everything in - the vibrant green of the field is almost blinding and the clamour of everyone around you is enough to give you a headache. But more than anything, you're hyper-focused on one thing tonight, this being the first professional match you'd been able to watch your childhood best friend play.

The match starts with the shrill shriek of the whistle, and you're on the edge of your seat, eyes following the quick movements of the ball as best as you can. To be honest, you know very little about football despite Gavi talking your ear off about it at any opportunity you gave him - but you know enough to know he's absolutely killing it. It's actually a little difficult to keep up with how fast he's moving.

It happens before you can even register it, but the surge of cheers and people jumping up around you forces you up to your feet to join in. Your eyes race, desperate to find your friend - but it seems he's already found you, both eyes locked on yours as he points up to you with the widest smile you've ever seen.

At that moment, you see an echo of the young boy you had fallen in love with over ten years ago - and you can't believe he's kept his promise, the pose and smile the same as it had been back then. You're breathless with joy, and you feel your heart swell.

"Oh, and what's this? The young midfielder seems to be pointing up to someone in the stands!" the voice of a commentator booms through the speakers as you sink back into your seat, your cheeks almost aching from how wide you're smiling.

"We can't really see who it is, but whoever it is must be someone extremely special to him, and extremely lucky!"

[virgoilluminati]

Heyyyyyy,

Can I request a Jude imagine where you attend the match where he does his bicycle kick and you’re just so proud of him ? Established relationship

Thank You

The Final Frame

A/N: i remember watching jude scouring that against slovakia and screaming so loud in the pub it was sooo embarrassing 🙈 ✨Apologies this isn't my longest fic, but i lowkey really love it.

Inspo: You and Jude have been together for two years after you helped treat one of his teammates, as the local surgeon. Despite this, you have never been to a single one of his games, as you barely get time off. One day you decide to surprise him with tickets to the semi finals of the champions league and scores the best goal of his career.

The stadium was a cauldron of noise, filled with tens of thousands of passionate fans. The air buzzed with anticipation as Jude's team prepared for their critical Champions League match. The match had been marked on calendars across Europe, but it held a special place in the heart of one particular spectator.

As a surgeon, you had spent countless nights in the operating room, your hands saving lives and mending broken bodies. Your demanding career often kept you from attending Jude's matches, despite the years you'd spent together. But tonight was different. You had managed to clear your schedule, and for the first time, you found yourself in the stands, eager to witness your partner in his element.

You had kept your visit a secret, not wanting to add any pressure on Jude. His focus needed to be entirely on the game, not on the fact that his significant other was watching from the stands for the very first time. As the crowd roared and the players took their positions, you scanned the field, your eyes locking on Jude. His presence was commanding, his focus unwavering. This was where he belonged.

The stadium was a sea of colors, the team’s vibrant jerseys blending with the scarves and flags of the fans. The air was electric, charged with the energy of thousands of voices chanting and cheering. You took a deep breath, the scent of fresh-cut grass and the faint tang of sweat filling your senses. This was a world so different from the sterile, controlled environment of the hospital. Here, everything was raw and alive.

The game began with a blistering pace. You watched in awe as Jude moved across the field with grace and precision. Every pass he made was calculated, every movement purposeful. He was a maestro, orchestrating the flow of the game with a skill that left you breathless. It was one thing to hear about his prowess on the field, but to see it in person was something else entirely.

It was two years ago when you first met Jude. You had just finished a grueling 14-hour surgery and were grabbing a quick coffee in the hospital cafeteria. The cafeteria was nearly empty, the only sounds the hum of the vending machines and the distant chatter of nurses finishing their shifts. You were exhausted, your mind still buzzing from the intensity of the operation. You had just saved a life, but the weight of the responsibility always left you drained.

Jude had been there visiting a teammate who had injured himself during a match. He was sitting a few tables away, and you noticed his easy smile and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about football with his friend. Despite your weariness, you couldn't help but notice how his presence seemed to brighten the room.

"Hey, do you mind if I sit here?" he had asked, holding his coffee.

"Sure," you replied, too exhausted to care about small talk.

He sat down, and for a moment, there was silence. Then he started talking, and you found yourself drawn into his world. He spoke about his passion for the game, his dreams, and his fears. You listened, fascinated by his dedication and drive.

"You must have a really interesting job," he said, glancing at your scrubs.

You smiled wryly. "It's definitely not boring. I'm a surgeon."

His eyes widened with genuine interest. "Wow, that's incredible. It must be so rewarding, saving lives every day."

You shrugged, a modest smile on your face. "It has its moments."

You exchanged numbers that day, thinking it would be nice to have a friend outside the hospital. What started as casual conversations soon blossomed into something more. Late-night phone calls, stolen moments of time together, and shared dreams brought you closer together.

Your heart raced with every near miss, your hands gripping the edge of your seat. The tension was palpable, each moment hanging in the balance. Jude was everywhere, intercepting passes, setting up plays, and directing his teammates. His passion and determination were evident in every stride he took.

As the match wore on, the score remained deadlocked. The stakes were sky-high, with both teams desperate to secure their place in the next round. Your nerves were frayed, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the field. In the final minute, with the game seemingly destined for a draw, Jude made his move.

You remembered the night before your biggest surgery yet. You had been a bundle of nerves, unable to sleep. The surgery was a complex procedure that would test every bit of your skill and knowledge. The clock read 2:00 AM, and despite the late hour, Jude had stayed up with you, talking through your fears and offering words of encouragement.

"You're going to be amazing," he had said, his voice steady and reassuring. "You always are."

"What if something goes wrong?" you had whispered, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at you.

He had taken your hands in his, his touch warm and comforting. "Then you'll handle it, just like you always do," he had replied. "You're one of the best surgeons in the country. You've got this."

He had then shared a story from his own life, a time when he had been under immense pressure. "It was my first big match with the national team," he said, his eyes distant as he recalled the memory. "I was so nervous I could barely think straight. But my coach pulled me aside and told me something that I've never forgotten. He said, 'Nerves are just a sign that you care. Use them to fuel your performance.' And I did. We won that match, and it was one of the best games of my career."

Those words had given you the strength you needed, the reminder that you were capable of overcoming any challenge. You had gone into that surgery the next day with a renewed sense of confidence, and everything had gone smoothly, just as Jude had predicted. Afterward, you had felt a sense of accomplishment that was indescribable, a feeling that Jude had helped you achieve.

A cross came in from the right, the ball arcing through the air towards the penalty box. Jude's eyes never left it. He leaped, his body twisting mid-air in a perfect bicycle kick. Time seemed to slow as his foot connected with the ball, sending it flying towards the goal. The stadium fell silent, the collective breath of thousands held in anticipation.

The ball sailed past the outstretched hands of the goalkeeper and into the net. For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, the stadium erupted. The noise was deafening, the joy palpable. Jude had done it. He had scored the winning goal, securing his team's place in the next round of the Champions League.

You leaped to your feet, your voice joining the chorus of celebration. Tears of pride and joy filled your eyes as you watched Jude being mobbed by his teammates. He looked up into the stands, his eyes searching, and for a brief moment, they found yours. You weren't sure if he recognized you amidst the sea of faces, but you hoped he felt your pride and love.

After the match, you made your way down to the players' area, your heart still pounding with excitement. The halls were a maze of concrete and metal, the noise from the stadium a distant roar. When Jude finally emerged, his face lit up with surprise and joy at the sight of you. He rushed over, sweeping you into his arms.

"You came," he breathed, his voice a mix of disbelief and happiness.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," you replied, holding him close. "You were incredible, Jude. I am so, so proud of you."

He smiled, his eyes shining with emotion. "It means everything to have you here. I can't believe you saw that goal."

You laughed, the sound filled with pure joy. "I've always known you were amazing, but seeing it in person... It's something else."

As you walked together towards the locker rooms, Jude turned to you, his face serious. "I know how hard it is for you to get time off. Thank you for being here. It really means a lot."

You squeezed his hand. "You deserve to have someone here for you. You've always been there for me, Jude. This was the least I could do."

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley wins a box seat ticket for the first game of the World Series final, he doesn't think his day could get any better. But when he's given a seat in the press box by mistake, he meets a gorgeous sports writer from New York. And he has one of the best nights of his life.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and smut (18+)

Length: 6300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was half asleep, sipping on his coffee while he drove to North Island from his house in the soft pre dawn light. He really hated these early training days that started at six o'clock and didn't end until after dinnertime. He'd be in the air all day, and then he'd probably be too tired to stay awake to watch game one of the World Series. 

Everyone on base was excited that the Padres were playing the Angels. A Southern California showdown for the ages. Tickets to game one in San Diego were selling for almost a thousand dollars per seat, but the sports radio host Bradley was listening to was giving them away.

Bradley yawned as the host asked, "Who was the first major league baseball player to pitch a ball over 100 miles per hour?"

"That's easy," Bradley mumbled. "Nolan Ryan." And then he realized that it was 5:30 in the morning and perhaps nobody else who was listening knew that fact. "Huh," he grunted, reaching for his phone at a red light. He dialed the number and was shocked when he got through to the host. 

"Good morning, caller! What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm Bradley. From Coronado."

"Do you have an answer for me, Bradley? Which major league player was the first to pitch over 100 miles per hour?"

"That would be Nolan Ryan."

"You sound confident in your baseball knowledge," the host replied. "Double or nothing? I'll upgrade your ticket to a seat in a box suite if you can tell me which team Ryan was pitching against."

Bradley smiled to himself as he pictured the boxes of his dad's old baseball cards that he still had in his garage. "He was pitching against the Chicago White Sox."

And just like that, Bradley was the proud owner of a suite ticket for game one of the World Series at Petco Park later that night. 

---------------------------

Your flight from New York to San Diego had been delayed so many times, you were a little surprised you managed to get to your hotel in your rental car and then make it to the game on time. At least you'd been able to start writing your article on the flight. Unless the game went into extra innings, you should be able to finish by your midnight deadline. Because if there was one thing the New York Times didn't mess around with, it was the hard cutoff for your submissions. 

As you made your way to the media entrance at Petco Park, you pulled out your lanyard with your credentials and looped it around your neck. As soon as someone learned that you were a sports writer for the most prestigious newspaper in the country, they were either impressed or they did a double take. You were a freshly thirty year old female with a ten year career in sports journalism, and you didn't take shit from any guys about it. 

In fact, you loved it when men tried to one up you. Because they never could. You knew more than they did about sports, you were an amazing writer, and you found pleasure in shutting them down. Preferably in front of their friends. And then they would inevitably try to ask you out. And you would shut that down, too. It was a game that you were very good at now. 

As you were scanned into the ballpark by a security officer, you quickly made your way up to your assigned press box. You expected the heavy hitters to be there. And of course you'd be the youngest, and probably one of just a few women in attendance. As you climbed the narrow stairs and swiped your badge one last time, you opened the door and strolled past a table filled with food and drinks. And then you saw them: Carl from ESPN, Jack from The Chicago Tribune, Harold from the Los Angeles Times, and Quincy from the Philadelphia Inquirer. You would keep your guard up, because it was just a matter of time before one of them made some sort of comment about your ability to do your job. 

The room was already filling up as you claimed a spot on one of the narrow counters where you could set up your computer and get to work. You removed your lanyard and tossed it next to your stuff, and then you waved to Raya from MSN Sports, the only other female in the room. When you turned to grab a drink and some food, you noticed the flash of a handsome face and a mustache. And then you stifled a scream as you saw and felt a plastic cup of cold beer meet your chest before soaking the front of you completely. 

"Oh, fuck!" came the deep, raspy voice of the most handsome man you could remember seeing in recent history as he stared at your chest. You supposed it was a fair trade, because you couldn't look away from his face no matter what you did. He was hot; all tan skin, brown eyes, and wavy, brown hair. And the blush that crept in and colored his cheeks made him look boyish as he glanced up to meet your eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

When he swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted down to your chest again, you looked down as well. Great. Your light blue lace bra was plainly visible through your white blouse, and the beer was even dripping onto your jeans and your new, white Chucks. 

You just shook your head and shrugged. "It's okay. Shit happens. But why did you bring a beer in here?" you asked. But he still looked so embarrassed and flustered, you decided to mess with him. "Who do you write for? I'll send them my laundry bill."

"Write?" he asked, and yep, that was confirmation that he had the sexiest voice you had ever heard. 

"Yeah," you said, feeling a little flustered yourself as you reached for some napkins to dab your shirt dry. "Tampa Bay Times? Boston Globe? Oh Lord, don't tell me you're from Barstool Sports. I don't recognize you, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember you." That was a lie; you would definitely have remembered him.

"No," he said, watching your every move. "I don't write."

You laughed as his gaze flicked up from your chest to your eyes when you looked up at him. "That explains the alcohol, then. But why are you in the press box? Did you get lost up here?"

He smirked at that. "No. I won a radio contest and got a seat in a box suite. But somehow my ticket got mixed up, and they sent me a media pass instead."

"Really?" you asked, eyeing him up and down now. "I had to pay for a four year journalism degree for my media pass, and you're going to tell me I could have just listened to the radio?"

His laugh was infectious and his smile made you a little giddy as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bradley. I don't think I could manage to write an article about sports, even if I was getting paid to do it. You must be very talented." You preened a bit at his words as you shook his hand. "And I'm really sorry about the beer," he added, gesturing to your shirt. "I'd offer to get you a drink or dinner, but the food in here is free, and you're actually working. So, I'll just stand here like an idiot and keep shaking your hand and apologizing until you tell me your name and tell me to stop. I'm really sorry about your shirt." He was still shaking your hand, and now you couldn't stop smiling.

You told him your first name and then you said, "You can stop shaking my hand now, Bradley." 

"Let me grab you some water?" he asked, and when you nodded, he turned toward the bar in the far corner. And you took in his tall frame, broad shoulders and massive biceps which were highlighted by his Padres shirt. 

"Oh no," you whispered to yourself, still mindlessly dabbing your wet blouse with some napkins.

--------------------------

Bradley turned toward you with two water bottles, and thankfully this time he managed to keep the drinks in his hands. You were so fucking cute, and your wet shirt was doing crazy things to him. He couldn't stop smiling, and when you looked up at him and cautiously accepted your drink, you were smiling too. 

"Thanks for not drenching me again," you said, tapping your drink to his. And then Bradley heard an older guy call your name, and you turned in his direction. 

"Nice shirt," he shouted so everyone was suddenly looking your way. "That how you plan on getting an exclusive with one of the players? Sex sells now? I thought this was about the game."

Bradley was appalled that another journalist was talking to you like that, but before he could say that your wet shirt was actually his fault, you were shouting back at the guy.

"Harold, you couldn't even drag your sorry, old ass down to the field fast enough to get an exclusive with the mascot. I don't know how you're not retired or dead yet. Didn't you cover the 1922 World Series?"

Bradley watched Harold purse his lips at you before he turned away and took a seat. And when Bradley glanced down at you as you sipped your water, you looked completely unfazed. And he was ridiculously turned on.

"Damn, nobody should be messing with you," he said, thoroughly impressed. "You're an Ace."

You just rolled your eyes, but you looked very pleased by his words. He already knew he wanted to talk to you all night, but now you were setting your drink down next to your computer and opening it as you sat. "This is a boys club. Just a dick measuring contest. I can't let up for a second or I'll get steamrolled."

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your damp shirt as he asked, "I don't want to commit another beer related crime. You seem to know how this press box stuff works. Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," you told him as you licked your lips. "As long as you don't spill anything else on me."

Bradley eased himself down on the stool next to yours, and his knee brushed your thigh. He watched you filling out a baseball stat sheet while you opened up a document on your computer. 

"So what was the trivia question?" you asked as you sipped your water again.

"Trivia question?" he murmured, watching your lips wrap around the rim of the bottle before you took a drink. 

"Yeah, isn't that how you won the pass? For the box seat? Even though you're slumming it with the journalists now?"

"I wouldn't call this slumming it," he said, eyeing your pretty face. "But yeah, they asked who was the first pitcher to throw a ball over 100 miles per hour."

"Oh. Nolan Ryan. Angels versus the White Sox. Nice," you said as you smiled at him. Fuck. You liked sports. You wrote about sports. You were gorgeous, and you knew more about sports than he did. Bradley let his mind drift to peeling off your damp, white shirt and licking the taste of beer off your chest while you moaned baseball stats and ran your fingers through his hair. He could definitely get into that. He briefly wondered if you were going to be at the next game here on Sunday.

And then you were keeping the game stats in your notebook at the same time you typed up notes, and Bradley realized he had missed the first few pitches. "Oof, that was a sloppy curveball," you muttered as you peered down at the field before checking the overhead screen. "He's supposed to be their Ace."

"Nah, you're the Ace," Bradley said, and you turned to grin at him as your fingers brushed against his. There was not a lot of room at this little countertop, and when you tried to nudge his arm out of the way, he wrapped it around the back of your stool. 

"How am I supposed to keep my stats with you taking up so much space?" you asked, but your tone sounded playful, and you leaned a little closer to him. "You're massive."

Those words spoken in your voice had his cock stirring. "Yeah well, not a lot I can do about that, Ace."

That grin was back as you tapped the end of your pencil against your lips, and his gaze followed the motion. "So what do you do, Bradley? I'm going to guess you're not a waiter since you can't walk without spilling drinks. And you're definitely not a writer."

"I'm a pilot. A naval aviator," he told you softly, running his thumb along your back and watching you bite your lip. 

"Fascinating," you told him before returning your attention back to the game and scribbling down the pitch count. And that's when Bradley's gaze landed on your badge which was sitting next to your computer. 

He recognized your full name immediately. "Holy shit. You write for the New York Times."

"Yeah," you replied, turning to look at him before pulling your lip between your teeth again.

"Ace. I recognize your name. You're the best sports writer in the country."

Bradley was blushing, he knew he must be, but your bright smile was focused on him, and he couldn't keep his fingertips from drawing lazy shapes along your back where his hand rested. 

"You know me?"

He nodded and raised an eyebrow at you. "You're famous. I read your articles all the time. I downloaded the New Your Times app solely for you."

When you laughed and gently bit the eraser end of your pencil, Bradley groaned. "You're funny," you told him.

"You're gorgeous." The words were out his mouth before he could stop himself. He thought about apologizing, but then you leaned in a little closer and ran your pencil eraser up his thigh along his jeans.

"Stop distracting me," you whispered, kissing his cheek before returning your attention to your computer. Your lips had brushed the end of his mustache, and he could still feel the soft sensation there as you gazed at him from the corner of your eyes. This was going to be a long night for Bradley.

--------------------------

Bradley had called you gorgeous. He was playful, and he kept a smile on your lips. When he made a comment about the Angels' catcher, you told him, "You're completely right. I'm adding that to my piece." And he blushed that deep shade of pink again. 

"Damn, Ace. I'll be thinking about your voice when I read your article tomorrow morning." 

"Mm," you hummed, marking down another strikeout. "It would be fun to read it to you. I think you'd blush. The whole time." 

His lips were parted, and he looked a little surprised. "It would be the filthiest of dirty talk," he muttered, and when you giggled, he grinned. 

You had to bite your lip against the desire to kiss his cheek again. "World Series articles and pitching stats? That's what's gonna do it for you, Bradley?"

"Shit, how dirty can you make those pitching stats?" he whispered, thumb still skimming along the back of your shirt.

"You'd be surprised," you told him, shooting him an innocent look as he nodded at you.

"I'm sure I would."

The more you scribbled down in your notebook as the game progressed, the closer Bradley got to you. His big palm was warm on your back and you found yourself leaning into him more and more. By the eighth inning, his leg was pressed up against yours and he just kept getting closer. 

"Ace, you're killing me," he murmured, taking your pencil and erasing the sloppy note you had written about the Padres relief pitcher. "Let me help."

You laughed as he rewrote your note very neatly followed by what you assumed was his phone number. Oh, he was a bold one. Very handsome, very funny and very bold. 

Without a word, he handed your pencil back to you. "What am I supposed to do with that?" you asked, tapping his phone number with the pencil.

His breath was warm on your cheek as he said, "Save it in your phone. Call it. Text it. Let it know when you're in San Diego. I don't know, Ace. I just like you."

Your lips parted right as the Padres catcher hit a home run, and as everyone else in the ballpark erupted in cheers or groans, Bradley pressed his lips softly to yours. And then you tossed your pencil aside and ran your hand up along his neck. His lips were soft, but damn, his mustache was rough and you liked it. 

You pulled back a few inches. "And if I text you, you're going to write back?" you asked. 

"Immediately," he promised. 

"Well then maybe I'll save your number."

He groaned softly as you marked down the home run. "Are you covering game two on Sunday?" he asked as the ninth inning started.

"I'm covering every game," you told him, letting your hand rest on his thigh. The soft noise he made had you scraping your fingernails softly along his jeans as he watched your hand instead of the game. "I'll be back and forth between San Diego and Los Angeles for the next two weeks or so, if they go to seven games. Which, in my professional opinion, they will." 

After your fingers grazed his zipper, you watched his head tip back, the veins in his neck working as he swallowed. You were pretty turned on now, too. And the way he was responding to you was making things worse by the minute. 

"I'm gonna have to drop a grand on a ticket to see you back here on Sunday, aren't I?" he asked as you shrugged and ran your finger along his belt loop. Then you released him and turned back to type a few sentences for your article. 

"Listen," you told him without looking at him. "There's no guarantee I'm even going to let you have my number, so I wouldn't worry about that just yet."

He was quiet for a beat as you typed away, and then he said, "How about you let me buy you a drink for real? Right after the game tonight?"

"I have a deadline to meet," you told him, and he looked disappointed as he nodded. "But my article is almost done. And my hotel is right across the street. We could go to the bar there?"

"Absolutely," he murmured, his fingers still at your back. "Anywhere you want."

As soon as the game ended with a Padres victory, you tossed your computer and notebook into your bag, and you were on your feet next to Bradley. "Let's get out of here." 

You took his big hand in yours, glancing up at him occasionally as you tried to beat most of the crowd to the exit. And each time, he was looking back at you, smiling. You led him across the parking lot, and your hotel was in sight when you pushed him up against the brick wall outside of the ballpark. Bradley welcomed your body against his, and he looked at you like he couldn't believe this was happening just before you kissed him.

It was dark over here, even the streetlights were dim. His hands were on your back as your fingers tangled in his hair, and you were rubbing yourself gently against him. 

"Ace," he grunted against your lips. "You gotta let me buy you that drink." 

You could feel him growing harder for you as you kissed him and tasted his tongue. Suddenly the hotel bar was the farthest thing from your mind. It had been replaced by thoughts of your hotel room bed instead. 

"Come on, Bradley," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and leading him further down the sidewalk. He went with you willingly, leaning down to kiss your cheek and your neck as you waited in a crowd of people for the light to change at the crosswalk. 

"You smell good. Like the beer I spilled on you," he groaned, holding you close. The movement of his lips had his mustache prickling your neck. You wanted to feel it on all your sensitive skin. You wanted to see if you could make him blush in bed. 

You and he stumbled across the street and into the hotel lobby where you eyed the bar as he wrapped his big hand around your waist. You looked up at him and asked, "Wanna skip the bar and go up to my room? Find out if I taste good like the beer, too?" 

The sound of Bradley's groan as his hand slid down to your butt had you pressing yourself against his thigh. "Lead the way, Ace."

--------------------------

The elevator ride to the top floor was filled with the sound of kissing as well as the little gasping noises you made. Your hands were at the fly of his jeans as he pushed you back against the wall and devoured your mouth. Bradley was so hard and ready for you, he was honestly surprised. He just met you. This was not a usual occurrence for him. 

"Bradley," you moaned, unbuttoning his jeans as the elevator jolted to a stop. You abandoned his jeans for his hand and pulled him down the hallway, running toward your room and laughing. You stopped in front of one of the doors and started to dig in your bag.

He stood behind you and ran his lips along your neck as you gasped for him. You were so responsive, stroking something deep down inside of Bradley every time you reacted to him. He wrapped his hands around to the front of your jeans and started to play with your button as well. When his fingers met the soft skin of your belly, your head tipped back against him. 

"I can't find my room key," you moaned as he ran his hands up inside your shirt. He watched as you gripped the bag with both hands and let your eyes drift closed. 

"You're not really trying very hard, Baby," he said with a smirk. He couldn't believe you right now. So pretty and so lost to his touch. He was throbbing and aching for you, too. 

"Because you're teasing me!" you complained with a laugh. But then you turned in his arms, and suddenly Bradley's hands were on your bare back. Your eyes were wide, bag clutched between your body and his. "This is... not something that I usually do. Especially not when I'm on the job." Your voice was soft, and as you nervously bit your lip, Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Same, Ace," he promised with a smirk. "In fact, I've never had a woman seduce me this quickly before. You're irresistible."

Your laughter was the best thing he had ever heard. "I thought I was the one being seduced here?"

"No," he said, reaching into your bag and plucking out the key. "You're in charge." He handed it to you, and you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him hard before you turned and unlocked the door with your other hand. You pulled Bradley with you as you stumbled backwards into the dark room. 

As you searched blindly for the light switch, you pushed Bradley against the wall. You had your fingers in the hair at the back of his head and your tongue was in his mouth as you located the switch.

"That's better," you mumbled breathlessly as you turned on the light, and Bradley pulled away from you a few inches. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered as he tightened his right arm around your waist. He wasn't being shy about how hard he was for you, and you weren't being shy either. You whimpered as you rubbed yourself gently against him, and he ran his thumb along your cheek and down to your lips. "I haven't been this turned on in so long."

Then Bradley watched you reach down and pull off your white shirt in one smooth motion, leaving you in that sinful looking blue bra before him. You were stroking him through his jeans with your right hand when you whispered, "I thought you were going to taste me, Bradley." Your eyes were wide and innocent looking as you challenged him. 

He nodded slowly. "I wanna taste you everywhere." Then he scooped you up as you laughed, and he carried you to the king sized bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "You gonna let me do that?"

"Yes," you whispered right next to his ear, and Bradley eased you down onto the bed with his body weight on top of you. As you started tugging on his Padres shirt, he managed to remove his shoes before reaching down both of your calves and yanking yours off. He tossed them blindly behind himself, wincing as he hit the wall with both of them. 

But you just laughed and pulled his tee shirt up, leaving him in his white tank. You were holding his shirt in your hand as he pressed his lips to yours. "You taste so good here," he whispered, running his tongue along your bottom lip as you wrapped your leg around his hip. Then he kissed your chest before licking a stripe across the top of your lace bra as you bucked your core against him. "Fuck," he groaned. He licked and sucked on the top of your right tit. "Your skin tastes like that spilled beer. I love it on you."

"Well then, you better clean me up with your tongue, since it's your fault in the first place." You tipped your head back, and arched your back off the bed, and Bradley followed your lead, letting his big hands find the clasp of your bra. You moaned softly as he unhooked it and moved his fingers around to ease the fabric away from your body.

"God damn," he groaned before taking your nipple between his lips. Your fingers were tight in his hair as he sucked on you, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your other breast.

"Bradley!" you cried out when he rubbed his mustache across your nipple. He was dying to fuck you, but you were letting him tease the hell out of you, and he was loving this.

"You like that?" he asked, enjoying all the cues you were giving him. He couldn't stop grinning as you whimpered a soft little yes before pulling his undershirt off. 

When you ran your fingers through his chest hair and down his abs, Bradley swallowed hard. Because you didn't stop there. You reached right for his unbuttoned jeans and eased his zipper down. He held himself over you, looking down into your needy eyes as you ran your fingers along the elastic of his underwear before delving inside. You licked your pouty lips before you wrapped your hand around his cock, and then you closed the distance up to his lips with the softest, sweetest kiss. You stroked him slowly while barely brushing your lips against his, and it was driving him absolutely insane.

"Ace," he grunted, and you squeezed your hand around his cock and giggled while he moaned for you. Then you gasped and let go of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately pulling himself away from you while he panted.

Your eyes looked concerned, so he put a little more distance between your bodies. "I don't have any condoms," you whispered as you eased your hand away from him.

Bradley pressed his lips to your forehead. "I think I have one in my wallet. It's new."

"Oh," you gasped. "Should have known," you told him. "You're pretty gorgeous, too."

Bradley wanted to ease your mind, let you know that he didn't hook up with a lot of women anymore. He wanted to tell you that the condom was there for just a special occasion like this one. He wanted to explain to you that the last few he'd had in his wallet had been sacrificed to Jake when he'd been in a pinch at the bar.

But you were easing him onto his back, and he supposed it probably wouldn't make much of a difference. It wasn't like you were going to want more from him than just tonight. Besides, he hadn't had anything that wasn't casual in a very long time. 

You were on top of him now, straddling his waist in your unbuttoned jeans, and you were reaching for both of his hands. And when you had your fingers laced with his and pinned his hands over his head, Bradley closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your lips were soft on his face and your thumbs were stroking along his palms in a way that was not only turning him on more, but also providing him with some comfort. 

When you whispered his name, he opened his eyes and he felt surprised by the realization that he only met you tonight. 

"Maybe you should get that condom ready?" you asked softly, rolling your hips against Bradley's torso.

"Yeah," he grunted. And then you were easing down his body, taking his jeans and underwear with you. Bradley propped himself up on one elbow as his cock sprang free. You made eye contact with him, lips parted on a soft whimper. 

"Bradley," you sighed, tugging his jeans, underwear and socks completely off. 

Before you tossed everything aside, he mumbled, "Grab my wallet, Baby." Your eyes met his with so much need before you focused on taking the leather out of the pocket of his jeans, it had him reaching for you. 

You shoved it into his hand before you scrambled back up his body and brushed your fingers through his hair, kissing his lips like he was every goddamn thing you wanted.

Bradley removed the condom and tossed his wallet onto the floor. Then he had you underneath him again. You still smelled like the spilled beer as he kissed his way along your chest, and you were trying to wriggle out of your jeans. "I can take care of that," he whispered, pressing the condom into your hand. Then he had every scrap of fabric removed from your body, and he didn't know if he could handle how perfect you really were. "Ace," he groaned when you eased your feet up his biceps and let your ankles rest on his shoulders. 

Bradley's lips found the inside of your right thigh as if he was drawn to you like a magnet. Your eyes were half lidded, and you had one hand in his hair and one on your tits. How was he going to recover from this?

"Let me taste you," he begged, and when you nodded, his lips were on your pussy immediately. He groaned, already addicted to the way you tasted here too. He kissed along your slit and buried his nose against your clit.

"Oh!" you gasped, tightening your grip on his hair and spreading your legs wider for him. Bradley's cock was throbbing against the bedding as he slid his tongue up through your soaking wet pussy until his lips were wrapped around your clit.

"Yesss," you hissed, gently riding his face as you whispered his name. And with each stroke of his tongue, you got a little louder, your fingers pulled his hair a little more. Oh, he was so fucking turned on for you, he wasn't sure he'd last more than a minute once he had that condom on.

"Bradley!" you gasped, pressing your heel into his back while he sucked on your clit. "Put the condom on."

It took him a little bit to get his lips away from your pussy, because he really wanted to get you off with his mouth. But then he rationalized that you wanted him to get you off with his dick instead, and that sounded perfect, too.

"Okay," he panted, brushing his wet mustache against your belly as you opened the condom for him. He rolled it on and kissed your lips as he pressed himself to your core. Now you were holding him in place by his hair as you returned his kisses, softly moaning into his mouth as he pressed his tip into you. You felt warm and tight and perfect, and as you took every inch of him, he stroked his thumb along your cheek.

"Oh god," you whimpered, frantically kissing him and licking his mustache. Your voice was coming in little gasps, and he loved the sound of it.

Bradley withdrew and thrust back inside you, and you rolled your hips with his. "You gotta tell me what you like, Ace. I want to make you feel good."

He watched your eyes go a little wider before you reached for his hand. When you took his index and middle fingers between your lips and started sucking on him while he fucked you, he groaned. "Baby. God that feels fucking great. But don't make me cum yet."

With a soft whimper, you swirled your tongue along his fingers before popping them out of your mouth and guiding his hand down between your bodies to your clit. Bradley had to suck in a deep breath and think about one of his superior officers leading a boring lecture to keep himself in check. He never felt close to the edge this fast, but as he ran his wet fingers along your clit and fucked you into the bed, he knew he could cum if he let himself. 

"Bradley," you whispered, and he buried his face against your neck. "Harder."

He bit his lip and fucked you harder while you whined his name, and he kept his fingers on your clit, trying to work you up. He needed to get you off. He absolutely needed to do this. Because he was hoping you'd call him or text him. He wanted you to save his number and use it. He was already dying for more. 

"Ace," he groaned, pressing his lips to your neck as your fingers drifted down his shoulders to his back. 

You moaned, "I like it when you call me that," so Bradley pressed the nickname against your lips with his until you were gasping and clenching around him. When you came for him, you took his fingers from your clit and laced your hand with his as his movements grew more erratic. 

He was saying something as he came inside you, but he wasn't exactly sure what. And you were looking up at him with a soft, fucked out smile and pushing his hair away from his forehead with your warm hand. And then you let him collapse on top of you while he was still buried inside you, and you ran your fingers back through his hair. 

Bradley settled his cheek against your chest and let himself enjoy the feel of your breathing evening out after your orgasm. You were still making soft sounds as you rubbed your calf along his leg. He could have stayed just like this all night. You felt that good. 

Just as he looked up at you, about to ask if there was any way you'd want to see him again this weekend, you laughed softly. 

"Wow. That was fun."

Fun. He wanted to be more than a fun time. "And good, I hope?" he asked softly. 

"More than good," you whispered, laughing again. "Amazing." 

Bradley smiled at you, and he knew he was blushing. "Yeah. Amazing is the right word for it."

And you were smiling so much, Bradley laughed as you tried to hide behind your hand. He leaned in and kissed your wrist. "Ace, I-"

Bradley jerked away from you as an alarm went off somewhere in the room. When you sat up, he gently eased himself out of you with a grunt.

"That's my thirty minute warning," you told him, scrambling out of bed. "I need to finish my article and submit it."

"Oh," he said, watching you bend to locate your phone. "Right."

You looked at him and licked your lips nervously as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. And then you bent to start retrieving your clothing, and Bradley's heart sank as he stood as well. Wordlessly, he went into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash his hands, and when he came back out, you were dressed in your underwear and the white shirt he had messed up.

"I guess," he whispered, pulling on his own underwear, "I should go then."

You pressed your lips together and nodded slightly. "I guess so."

"Okay," he said, quickly getting himself dressed in everything except his Padres tee. He just held that while he looked at you. "You have my number."

"I do," you whispered. 

"You can use it," he told you with a smile, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. And then your lips were on his. And then your fingers were in his hair again. 

You moaned and then pulled away from him, and Bradley forced himself to walk backwards to the door, not wanting to take his eyes off you. 

"Bye, Bradley."

He didn't want to say goodbye to you, so he said, "See ya, Ace," and then he was out in the hallway with the door closing behind him.

-----------------------------------

Oh, Bradley! I love Ace, and I hope you do, too! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[azzifudd]

Idk if u take requests but if you do could u write something about the recent live that azzi made an appearance in either them not being on live and everyone hanging out in Paige’s room and azzi comes in bc she’s stressed and Paige comforts her or Paige comforting azzi after the live ends

crumbs

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

730 words

Paige watches as Ayanna re-enter her room, holding out a plastic knife. And then behind her, a familiar figure, whose appearance causes Paige’s heart, as always, to beat a little faster. She shoots a quick look over to KK’s phone, where Azzi isn’t yet visible, and tries to mouth to her that they’re on live. 

She’s too late, and Azzi steps into view, glancing at the camera. 

All Paige can do is point to the camera and shoot her what she hopes is an apologetic smile. 

“It’s Azzi Fudd!” KK shrieks and they all laugh. 

Azzi groans, with her head to her hands, leaning to the side until she flops onto the bed. Paige laughs, looking at the screen and watching the viewers go wild, comments flying down the screen.

She fights her natural instinct to go over and wrap her arms around Azzi, her body leaning forward until she’s almost standing up. But then she remembers the camera, and the live, and the nearly ten thousand people watching. 

So she stays perched against the dresser even as Azzi buries her head in the sheets, clearly upset, and her body tense.

KK asks her, “You wanna try a cookie?” 

And when Azzi refuses, turning onto her back, Paige frowns. 

“What happened?” She questions gruffly, worry quickly building inside her, and anger toward whatever was causing that pout on her girl’s face. 

But when she finds out that it’s just the stress of a difficult class, Paige relaxes even as KK throws out the wild idea of asking people watching the live to DM her or Azzi with help. 

When Azzi wanders over to try the cookies, Paige knows that, like always, she won't be able to keep her eyes off her. No matter how their relationship has changed over the years: from strangers to friends to more, and everything in between, she has never been able to keep her eyes off Azzi. 

It doesn’t help that Azzi gazes back at her, eyes smoldering as she bites down on a piece of peanut butter cookie. It’s not fair, Paige thinks, breath hitching, that she looks so damn good eating a cookie, and that Paige is on camera while Azzi is barely an arm’s reach away. 

Paige distracts herself by reading comments and showing off her iPad case when KK leaves the room to look for fries that Azzi has asked for. And then they move into the living room so Paige can show off her much improved cartwheel. 

Eventually, Azzi wanders into the room, asking KK if anyone has DM’d her with accounting help.

“She’s still on live.” Paige says. Out of the view of the camera, Azzi can finally approach her, and she opens her arms so Azzi can step into her embrace. 

“You didn’t warn me you guys were on live.” Azzi whispers, arms going around Paige’s waist, hands slipping under her shirt to rub along her lower back. 

Paige relaxes into the contact, arms coming up to wrap around Azzi’s upper back as she leans her jaw against Azzi’s head. 

“I thought you were gonna be working on your homework. I was gonna come down when we were done.” 

In the background, she can hear KK complaining about the live lagging and then finally cutting off, but she pays it no mind.

Paige leans back until she can look Azzi in the eyes. 

“You still hungry?” She asks. “I can run out and grab you something if you want.”

“It’s okay.” Azzi replies, pressing her face into Paige’s chest as she holds onto her. “My accounting homework was just being a bitch, and I just wanted a break and a hug.” 

Paige squeezes her back tightly and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry, baby.” 

They stand there holding each other for a little longer, until the sound of their teammates’ bickering breaks Paige out of her Azzi induced stupor. 

“You wanna go back to your room?” 

Azzi nods against her chest.

“Aight, Azzi and I are gonna head back to her place. Don’t leave a mess in my room.” She points at KK and Jana as she says this. 

“What? Girl boo!” KK says from the couch, where she’s still working on her Lego build. “You said you were gonna do that Tiktok with me.”

“Maybe tomorrow, dude, Azzi needs some peace and quiet.” Paige smiles softly as Azzi presses a kiss to her cheek. 

The other girls shoot each other knowing looks. Paige is always soft like this when it comes to Azzi, and there’s no talking her out of it. 

They leave the apartment, hand in hand. 

[stxrvel]

the one where you came close! (2)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, we're still on the safe zone, angst if you squint, just silly writing! a/n. hi guys! finally second chapter is out! im blown away with your response!! thank u so much from the bottom of my heart! i loooooved reading your comments <33 pls remember updates are weekly or biweekly! and if you want to be tagged pls say so in the comments! see you next week ;)

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

“This is unbelievable! We're going to be rich!!!” 

“What makes you think my sister is going to give you any of that money?” 

“I created that Instagram account that was tagged in Kim Taehyung's damn story, I deserve a raise!” 

“What makes you drones think my daughter is going to give you any of that money?”

“None of you are going to get anything out of that act of feigned innocence. Honey, are you all right?”

It seemed like a light had gone on in the room, four pairs of eyes landing on your still pale, surprised face. The night had been heavy after Yuna's call and you'd had so little sleep that you didn't know how you were functioning at the moment. Maybe that was the thing: you weren't functioning at all.

When you woke up, you thought it had all been a bad dream and that definitely the first exposure you'd had to the guys in years hadn't been because Taehyung came across your books at a convention you decided not to go to and uploaded them to his Instagram account with over eighty million followers. It was impossible, wasn't it? Too crazy. 

Maybe not as crazy as waking up to your parents banging on your bedroom door saying that over a hundred thousand orders had been placed overnight and they didn't have enough book production for that much demand. 

Be that as it may, Yuna and your mother took care of the communications on the account. You went from having twenty followers (including your family and friends —your father had created an account exclusively for that and only followed you—), to almost sixty thousand in at least twelve hours. The posts you had worked so hard to create and put together were finally getting the attention they deserved, but it had all happened so fast and suddenly that it was too strong to process calmly. 

Weighing which was stronger, whether Taehyung's acknowledgment of your existence after so many years of zero contact or that your book sales shot up so immeasurably that they couldn't even keep up with demand, even if a month went by, didn't make things any easier. 

“She's obviously still in shock,” Yuna replied to your mother at your lack of response from the living room, right across the dining room where you had been sitting since you had come down from your room. Your breakfast was still untouched on the table, but that seemed to be the least important thing in the room with all the more important news. 

“Have the printers answered yet?” your brother's voice through the speaker of your father's phone rang as you blinked, reality settling too slowly on your shoulders. You didn't even want to think about what it meant that Taehyung had done that. Maybe it was simply an altruistic act, wasn't it? Maybe he felt guilt and wanted to ameliorate it somehow. What better way than to do an act of charity?

“I'm on it,” your father was sitting across from you in the dining room, his laptop on the glass of the table as he moved his hands over the keyboard and stared through his glasses at the full tip of his nose. From the way his eyes narrowed, your mother snorted. 

“Why don't you get those glasses adjusted if you know you don't see well up close, let alone on electronic devices?” the woman reached over, dragging your father's glasses until they were almost glued to his eyebrows. Your father barely gave her a goofy grin as your mother started shaking her hands. “You better move. I'll do it. You write too slow; you're getting on our son's nerves.” 

“Nah, I'm fine. I don't know if y/n is tho.” 

Silence returned and you growled internally. Well, that was enough conjecture and assumptions without any information to substantiate them, it was time to get down to business. 

 “Do you think we should take over this business now?” Yuna completely ignored your stretch and you sent her a confused look. 

Your brother exclaimed from the phone in agreement. “I call dibs on the treasury!” 

“There's no way you can keep the accounts right! You're studying law.” 

“Seojun is good at numbers, Yuna.” 

 “Ha, with all due respect Mrs. I/n, he must only be good at counting sheep.”

 “Hey,” you tried to get attention, getting up from the chair. 

 “y/n, don't talk, you're still in shock. Can you believe he once called me from the supermarket to ask if he got his change right? He didn't even move from the checkout counter. There were people booing him.” 

 “Ow, my poor baby.” 

 “I told you not to say that to anyone!” 

 “I can't keep quiet if they're speaking lies about you!” 

 “This wasn't lies! This is about my pride!” 

 “Nonsense. I'll handle the treasury. I double majored in finance and international relations for a reason.” 

 “You can't run anything without starting bossing everyone around!” 

 “It's not my fault you're a good-for-nothing!” 

 God. It was going to be a long day. 

- 

Sorting out the whole printing issue and the number of orders was difficult, but with a couple of stories, interactions with new followers and express delivery of the few copies you'd already had at home for months, the waters calmed down a bit. Now, in the stifling silence of your room, you wanted to run. 

 “Are you going to stare at the ceiling all night?” 

 “Maybe.” 

Yuna watched you from the bed while all you could do was stare as notifications continued to pop up on your Instagram account and your mail because the requests simply wouldn't stop, even though you had made a thousand clarifications to all the new followers. You were trying to focus on the bright side of things, regardless of whatever reasons there may have been for everything to have happened that way, but with your friend's incessant gaze lying on your bed it made it a little difficult. You knew she wanted to pierce your skull from curiosity, but you wouldn't know how you would answer her questions. 

 “Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?” 

 The tension had become a little more latent during the last few minutes, when Yuna saw a specific notification on the account. Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin had followed you. To describe your look of shock might be an understatement, and all you did for the next half hour was run across the room and throughout the house vociferating that you were living a nightmare. 

 Yuna has known all along that you had never been a fan of the siamese or their clan of friends, but she never knew why exactly. You had to tell her that you weren't interested in fashion, that you didn't like the kind of music Jungkook made, that hip-hop was never your thing, that you weren't interested in dilfs and you weren't interested in dance either. You had to tell her that all the things you once did with them didn't matter to you because it was painful, even if it was hard to accept.

 You couldn't remember the times you would go shopping at the small mall in town to buy the trending clothes to put together different outfits with Taehyung and Jimin, then go try them all on at your house and invite the others and even your parents to do an impromptu runway show. You couldn't remember how the genre of music that Jungkook and you listened to all the time on his iPod and your MP3 player was the same one that his entire music career focuses on. You couldn't remember the nights when Yoongi would share his writings with you and you would help him compose a song or two on the piano when he felt brave enough. Or the times when you would accompany Hoseok to his workouts and then watch him create dance routines to his favorite songs while Jungkook sang in the background. You also didn't want to remember the times when Namjoon and Seokjin would sponsor their trips and give everyone gifts without expecting anything in return. 

You couldn't remember those things. It was too much to bear for such a weak heart. 

“What do you want to know?” you sighed, your body sliding on the chair as the notifications grew. 

“How did all this happen?” 

“Why do you think I have an answer for that?” 

Yuna clicked her tongue, sitting on the bed with the cell phone still in her hands, still staring at the notification that snapped her out of her sanity. 

“It's just… this is all unbelievable, magnificent and unreal. But how come you're not so excited about what happened?” Yuna slid across the sheets, to be right in front of you, but you refused to look away from the computer. Every time you thought you had overcome and grown around everything that happened so many years ago, something would pop up to remind you that you still had a long way to go. Maybe the nostalgia was strong, but so was the anger. “Regardless of how things turned out, because I know you're not as big a fan as me, this opens a million doors for you and I don't know why you're not celebrating it like we are.” 

 “It's…complicated.” 

 “I don't think so. Tell me.” 

Yuna was unstoppable when she wanted to get answers out, but besides the obvious, of course there was something else that bothered you and kept you from enjoying this boom so much. 

 “It's just that all of this doesn't feel like it was a product of my effort,” you began, letting your gaze wander over the desk. The copies of your books you kept for yourself, the first ones you'd ever printed several years ago, lay there, as tattered as your failed accomplishment. “It doesn't feel like an achievement that my work had exploded thanks to a celebrity whose fans would buy even the toilet paper he uses. A lot of those people won't even read the book. They will just buy it and take a picture of it to say that they have the same book that the great Kim Taehyung read. Many of those books will never have a life, they will just be dust collectors and be reminders that all this did not happen because of my effort.” 

“What the fuck are you blabbering about? Of course it's the fruit of your effort! Of course you deserve it!” Yuna got up from the bed and moved the chair around the back to leave you in front of her disgruntled and almost offended face. You could see the words drawn in her face. “You worked so many years to pull this off and after so many bumps you finally can! You deserve to have what you wanted so badly. This recognition will last just the same because many other people will read them and love them and they may not be many, but you will form a solid foundation as time goes on with people who will be truly unconditional and supportive and that will grow over time. Don't look at this so negatively, maybe you skipped a couple of steps, but you had every right to. It was what you deserved after all the effort and dedication you put into this project for so many years.” 

 Yuna didn't hesitate for a second. Her very serious expression sent a shiver down your spine and you could tell from her furrowed brow that she really was angry at your perception. Perhaps she was right, but without knowing the full background of this specific situation, you were only left to shake your head in assent and send her a grateful smile. 

“I guess you're right,” you lifted a shoulder, turning your gaze back to your mail notifications.

“Of course I am!” the smile returned to her face and it didn't take long for her to look back down at her phone with sparkling eyes. “Now that we got the emotional charge out of the way, would you mind telling me how you know Taehyung?” 

Your breathing stopped for a second and you cursed yourself because it sounded too loud as you almost choked on your own saliva. 

“Oh?” 

Play fucking dumb. 

“What, did you think I wasn't going to notice? He wrote it crystal clear.” 

Yuna wasn't even looking at you, too focused on running her finger over the row of notifications. Her nonchalant demeanor only caused you to panic more. It was as if she had caught you red-handed. 

One of the best writers I've ever met in my life, damn you Kim Taehyung. 

“Ah… I didn't… I didn't really know him so let's just say…”

“He couldn't have said that for nothing, don't you think? No celebrity would do that unless it was a person they hold in deep regard.” 

Yuna had just caught you totally off guard. Maybe you should've focused a lot more on what Taehyung had written before you blocked his user from your personal account and threw the phone in the bottom of your drawer the night before and tried hard not to think about the rest for the rest of the night and all that day. 

“It's just that… uhm… we studied at the same school. But for a short time actually. I don't even remember it well actually, ha, ha.” 

Your laugh came out too constrained under your friend's narrow-eyed stare. You knew you'd have a hard time convincing her because you were a lousy liar. 

“You know, it always struck me as odd that you weren't a fan. Taehyung and Jimin are like the two extremes of your ideal type.” 

“Whaaaat?”

“And Jungkook's music is literally the kind of music you listen to, you just don't listen to his. All the other artists in the same genre you do listen to.”

“That has nothing to do with…” 

“And even your parents don't claim to know Kim Seokjin when your mother was literally a nurse. She probably worked with him.” 

“What does that have to do…?”  

“And your brother is a hip-hop fan. How come he doesn't listen to Agust D? He's the best rapper of the last few decades and he's been trending for a long time.” 

“…” 

At what fucking moment? 

“And all of them, plus Hobi and Namjoon, they all went to the same school. They're all friends. And you say you went to school with Taehyung?” 

“Ahm… well, yes, but it's not like I would have met the others.” 

Yuna looked at you, really looked you straight in the eyes as if that way she could tell what it was you were hiding or as if that solved all her guesses. It was impossible for her not to figure it out if she had already tied up all the damn loose ends. 

Since the boys had left one by one, clearly your family was the first to realize how much their departures had affected you. In the beginning there was communication and all, but when Jungkook was the last to leave you lost any kind of link with them completely. You never knew exactly what happened because no matter how hard you tried to contact them you couldn't, not even your parents could talk to the boys' parents. Perhaps they had simply grown up, matured, completely forgetting about their ordinary life in that town. 

They seemed to have disappeared from the planet. 

Until your family moved to the capital. Jungkook was just starting out as an idol, but he had an amazing debut. He had captivated the entire audience and was too successful almost from the second one. It was a torment to watch them grow professionally little by little because, although you were happy for their achievements and all, you couldn't forget that they had basically abandoned you. And your parents and Seojun had noticed. They had noticed how much seeing them all over the place was bumming you out, so unreachable when at one point they were all in your living room eating your mother's delicious kimchi and listening to your father's anecdotes. Everyone was affected by their departures, but clearly no one as much as you. 

That's why, of course, your parents and brother had made a silent vow to keep all media about the boys away from you, because they didn't even talk about it by accident in the house, at least not when you were present. 

“It must be a huge coincidence…” Yuna continued and only at that moment did you realize how much you got into your head. Your vision slightly blurred. “I shouldn't accuse you of anything for things like that, should I? What nonsense.” 

You were probably as white as a sheet of paper. 

“Yeah, it would be too weird… ha, ha.” 

God, you had to stop letting out those giggles when you were nervous. 

“Anyway, should we order fried chicken for dinner?” 

“I think I heard mom say she was going to make japchae.” 

“Ohhhhhh, Mrs. l/n's japchae is delicious!” 

You let out a laugh watching your friend spring up from the bed and head for the door. She stopped halfway out and pointed her index finger at you. 

“Don't tell my mom I said that.” 

You made a gesture to zipper your mouth shut and Yuna finally left. 

The previous conversation had been so tense that you already felt tired and ready to sleep at seven o'clock at night. Really the whole day had been so heavy for everyone that you didn't know how the lights in the house were still on. For now, you couldn't do anything else, even if orders continued to come in, now everything depended on the printer and how fast the books would come out, so you would have to wait. 

Maybe you should rest. You had asked your boss for the day off, but tomorrow you would have to continue working hard. Regardless of the incredible growth you'd had, you couldn't let your work go to waste. 

Tomorrow would be a new day. A quieter one, preferably. 

-

a/n: i'll try to have ready part 3 for next week! see you on june 13 at 11:59 pm - GMT5 time!

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592

[wholoveseggs]

Hii I was wondering if u can make an elijah fluff. Like context hes been married for like 1000+ years and he still gets nervous around reader

Dinner can wait.

{Masterlist}

Elijah is nervous about you returning home after a trip, so he cooks dinner to calm himself.

~♡♡ Thanks for the request anon ~ I love domestic Elijah, I could write a million stories on this subject ♡♡~

2k words - Warnings: None, just fluff!

Elijah moved with assured grace around the kitchen, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his dark hair falling softly across his face as he carefully arranged his ingredients. There was something soothing about cooking, and tonight it was something that he really needed. He glanced up at the clock and sighed, wondering if he had enough time to prepare his special sauce, or if he should just use his normal béarnaise. He decided that he wanted to use the special sauce tonight and reached for a saucepan. As he started to slowly melt his butter, he heard the front door open. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he heard the familiar footsteps of his sister enter the kitchen.

"What's for dinner tonight, brother?" Rebekah asked, opening the fridge and reaching in to grab one of his bottles of wine.

"Coq au vin, but unfortunately, Rebekah, it's for two, not three," he said, looking pointedly at the wine bottle she had taken out.

"That's okay," she replied, "I'll just help myself to your wine."

She winked at him and poured herself a generous glass, then pulled out a chair and sat down at the counter to watch him.

"So she's coming back today?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, adding the chopped onions and mushrooms to the pan. "Her plane arrives at seven thirty."

"Do you need me to pick her up?"

"No, thank you," he said. "I've already arranged a driver."

"And have you thought about how you're going to greet her?"

Elijah frowned at her, not liking the look of amusement on her face. "What do you mean? I'll greet her in the same way I've greeted her for the last ten centuries."

Rebekah laughed and sipped her wine. "I think that's the problem, brother," she teased.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his knife hitting the chopping board with a little more force than necessary.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she said. "Every time your wife returns home after being away for any period of time, you go out of your way to impress her. You cook, you clean, you buy her flowers and gifts, and when you greet her, you are always so polite and gentlemanly, almost as if it's a first date.”

"So?"

"So, Elijah," she said, smiling affectionately at him, "don't you think it's time you stopped trying to impress her and just showed her how much you love her."

Elijah sighed and rubbed his hand across his brow. "I don't think I know any other way," he admitted.

"Then learn another way," she replied, draining her glass and standing up. "I've got a date so I won't be home for dinner, but I expect to see you both tomorrow."

"Fine," he said. "Thank you for your... help."

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek, then grabbed her bag and left.

He watched her go and then looked down at the half-chopped ingredients in front of him. He had always enjoyed cooking for his wife, but this time was different. This time his hands were shaking as he lifted the knife, and his stomach was fluttering. 

Why was he nervous? It was his beautiful wife. His sweet and gentle y/n. The love of his long life. 

They had been married for one thousand years, but his feelings towards her had never changed. She was still the girl from the village who had captured his heart when they were children. The girl he had courted and then married, and who had stood by his side when he had become a vampire and all the challenges that it had brought. He sighed and started preparing the rest of his ingredients. Maybe Rebekah was right, and it was time for him to try a new approach.

When you stepped out of the airport and took your first breath of fresh air, you felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You were so close to seeing your husband, and it made your heart flutter. You looked around and smiled when you saw a tall man with dark hair and eyes waiting patiently for you, holding a sign with your name on it.

"Hello," you said, "I'm y/n."

"Good evening, ma'am," he said politely. "My name is Joshua, and I will be driving you home tonight."

"Thank you, Joshua," you replied. "Can we get going? I've been away for too long."

"Certainly," he said, picking up your suitcase and walking to the car. He loaded it into the trunk and then held open the door for you.

"Where is Elijah?" you asked, getting in and settling yourself into the leather seat.

"He had a prior engagement tonight," Joshua replied, closing the door and walking around the car to get in the driver's side. "He asked me to let you know he was sorry he couldn't meet you and that he will see you when you get home."

"Oh," you said, trying to mask your disappointment. You knew your husband well, and you were certain he was lying about a prior engagement. It had happened before, and you suspected that he had arranged a welcome home surprise for you. You would have preferred he just picked you up, no surprises necessary; you simply needed his presence.

When you arrived home, there was a light burning in the kitchen, and as the car pulled up, and you opened the door, you could smell the wonderful aromas of your favorite food. Your husband was definitely here. You got out and walked towards the house, smiling at Joshua and thanking him as he carried your suitcase inside and left it at the foot of the stairs.

"Thank you, Joshua," you said, as he turned to leave.

"You're welcome, ma'am," he said, "and have a good night."

"I intend to," you replied, your lips curving into a smile as you turned and walked towards the kitchen.

As you approached the doorway, you could see Elijah's silhouette in the light, his broad shoulders and strong arms moving quickly as he finished off the meal. You paused and leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

You remembered the day you met him, and how shy and reserved he was, how nervous and uncomfortable he was around you. He was always so sweet and shy, unaware of just how beautiful he was. You remembered how his eyes would light up whenever he saw you around the village, sneaking glances at you whenever he thought you weren't looking. You remembered how happy he was when you had agreed to go for a walk with him. How he would stumble over his words and blush as he told you about his dreams and ambitions. And you remembered the day he kissed you. It was the first time either of you had ever kissed anyone, and he was so unsure of himself, his hands shaking as he held your face and his lips barely touching yours. But his lips were so soft, and the feeling of his warm skin on yours was exhilarating. You remember the day you married him and how proud he was to call you his wife. The way his eyes filled with tears as he kissed you, the way he smiled and held you so tight. His vows still clear in your mind even after a thousand years.

"My dearest wife, I will always be true to you, through everything and no matter what happens. My love will be yours until the end of time. I will always cherish and protect you. You are my everything."

Little did either of you know how long you would keep those vows; immortality had not yet come upon either of you. It was both a blessing and a curse, but with Elijah by your side, you knew you could handle whatever came your way.

You watched him now, still the same beautiful, sweet, and caring man you had fallen in love with. He was the man who had stolen your heart, and he was the one who would forever hold it. He was moving around the kitchen frantically, nervously glancing at the clock every few minutes. He was clearly making sure everything was perfect for your return. You wondered how he didn't hear you come in, but you supposed he was so lost in thought that he couldn't sense anything else. You smiled to yourself, loving him even more.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him close. He froze, and you could feel his heart pounding against your cheek.

"Hello, my darling," you said softly, kissing his shoulder blade.

He let out a long sigh and relaxed in your arms, his hands covering yours. "Hello," he whispered.

"Mmm, something smells delicious," you murmured.

"It's coq au vin," he replied.

"My favorite," you said. "I'm impressed, you must have put a lot of effort into tonight's dinner."

"I wanted it to be perfect," he said quietly.

"Why?"

He turned around and placed his hands on your cheeks, stroking his thumbs over your skin, his brown eyes were warm and full of emotion. To you he still looked like a the nervous teenager who gathered all his courage just to talk to you.

"Because," he said softly, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you again.

His lips were soft and warm, his kiss slow and tender. You felt his hands slide into your hair and tug gently, his tongue slipping between your parted lips.

"Elijah," you murmured.

"Hmmm," he mumbled, kissing his way down your throat.

"Something is burning," you said.

He immediately pulled back, his eyes wide as he looked over his shoulder. The sauce was smoking, and he quickly reached for the pan and removed it from the heat, turning the stove off.

You watched as he ran his fingers through his hair, his jaw clenching in frustration.

"I'm sorry, it's ruined," he said. "I just..."

"It's okay," you said, taking his hand and leading him out of the kitchen.

"But what about dinner?" he asked.

"Dinner can wait," you said, "or we can order take-out. All I really want right now is my husband."

You smiled and he grinned back at you, his earlier nervousness forgotten. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you, lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom.

"I love you, my beautiful wife," he whispered, laying you on the bed and climbing on top of you.

"I love you, sweet husband," you replied.

He kissed you again and then proceeded to show you just how much he had missed you.

[marlenesluv]

Sick Day. (CL)

summary: you woke up not feeling good, having to cancel on your date with charles, but he has an idea.

warnings: none! this is pure fluff.

note: lowercase intended!

masterlist here -> masterlist link

^ check my list for all my other works! ^

waking up sick was one of the worst things to happen. the scratchy throat, runny nose, and coughing up a lung. another horrible thing? having to cancel on your boyfriend on a day he took off to spend with you.

you grabbed your phone at six thirty in the morning, way too early to be up, but your cough had woken you. quickly, you texted charles, wanting to let him know that your day was officially off. you didn’t want to get him sick, but you also don’t think you had it in you to get dressed.

after sending your messages, you grabbed a cup and filled it with cold tap water, taking some advil and an allergy pill for your runny nose.

you then grabbed a mug and made some peppermint tea, which always helped to alleviate some of the obnoxious symptoms.

putting on gilmore girls, you nestled under your fuzzy blanket and watched as rory talked to logan. just then, your phone went off a few times

you grumbled, wishing your boyfriend wasn’t so stubborn. the last thing you wanted was to get him sick and cost him a race.

sniffling, you tapped on your screen, replying to him in hopes he hadn’t left yet.

it was futile. you accepted it as you continued to watch your show, sipping on your tea as you continued to cough and sniff. the allergy pill hadn’t kicked in yet, advil the same, a headache forming.

ten minutes later, you heard your door unlock. knowing it was charles, you shimmed further underneath your blanket, hoping he would stay outside of you blanket and away from your germs.

“ma chérie? i know you’re in the living room. i hear your show on.” charles shouted, taking his shoes off by the door and walking into the living room, finding gilmore girls playing and a blanket over his girlfriend.

“baby, what are you doing under there?” as he finished his sentence, he lifted a corner of the blanket up, causing you to stuff your head into the pillow and yank the blanket back down.

“you can’t just hide under there…” he trailed off, because he knew you could.

he walked to the kitchen with his bag in one hand, taking the soup out and grabbing your favorite hoodie, freshly sprayed with his cologne, and he had been wearing it yesterday.

“chérie? i put my hoodie on the coffee table if you want it, i’m going to warm up some soup for us.” you groaned in reply, waiting for his step to retreat as you poked your head out and slipped the hoodie on, breathing in his cologne, already feeling a little better.

however, that didn’t last long as charles snuck behind the couch and jumped over the back, hugging you like a mad man.

“charles! no! get off of me! i’m going to get you sick. go away!” you yelped, trying to escape his strong arms. curse him and his extensive workouts.

“absolutely not. i miss you and we will spend the day together if it’s the last thing i do.” he tightened his arms before pressing a kiss to your forehead before he got up and grabbed the soup.

you pulled the blanket over your arms as you watched him walk around your kitchen like it was his own. the fact that he had been here a thousand times and you still got butterflies was insane. you loved him beyond words, the little things, even after three years, made you fall even more.

little things like: bringing you coffee in the morning, spending the night watching movies, and now, warming you some soup because you’re sick.

“here. chicken noodle and toast. what episode are you on?” charles asked, pulling some of the blanket on his lap as he started to eat his soup.

“logan and rory and arguing. she made an article making fun of privileged people-“ he cut you off before you could finish.

“-even though she is privileged? she’s annoying this season.” you giggled, smiling at the tv and laying your head on charles’ shoulder.

before you started dating, he had never seen a second of the show. now? he’s seen gilmore girls over 5 times, the first watch with you, the second was so he could understand it better, and the rest have been with you.

so, yeah, charles knew almost every scene, but so did you. you didn’t need words when you were next to him. fever and all, the only thing on your mind was the beautiful boy next to you.

“i love you, chérie.” charles said as he kissed your head, making you blush.

“i love you too, beau.”

_______________________________________________

ma chérie - my darling

chérie - darling

beau - handsome

(all french)

_______________________________________________

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

[tojisbbg]

𝘽𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚

❝close your eyes slowly and feel the wind, the bonfire is fading out.❞  

♡ sukuna ryomen ♡

a/n: ugh, the sukuna brainrot after the new episodes are driving me insane.

reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated <3

content: sukuna ryomen x fem!reader, fluff, minor angst, hurt with comfort, lots of teasing (it's sukuna lol), not edited.

---

"hey! that's mine." you whined, watching the demon who sat next to you steal your last mochi.

"not anymore." sukuna smirked before shoving the ball of goodness in his mouth, humming in content.

"stupid demon." mumbling under your breath, you sent a glare towards his way. sukuna stopped chewing, narrowing his eyes at you.

"you got a problem, human?" he snickered.

"yeah, stop eating my damn food and go find some humans to munch on. i know that you don't even like the taste of human food, you do it to piss me off." you rolled your eyes, earning a mocking chuckle from him.

"i'll munch on you." sukuna threatened emptily, making you snort.

"yeah okay." you murmured to yourself, watching over the distance from the cliff both you and the king of curses sat upon. it was close to sunset and the warm summer breeze blew past your hair.

"what's wrong with you?" he scowled, making your head turn to face him with furrowed eyebrows.

"the hell do you mean?" you scoffed, making sukuna stand up as his tall figure towered over yours. however, you remained unfazed, staring back into his gaze.

"you've been acting like someone shoved a stick up your ass ever since we've got here. it seems like you've forgotten your place, human." sukuna spoke in a low tone, making chills run down your spine.

"forgotten my place? i've served you for a thousand years and this is the thanks i get? how absurd." you sarcastically replied, a fake smile plastered on your lips. the king of curses eyed you without amusement, clearly not enjoying your sudden change in behavior.

"do you know how stupid you sound? why should i be thanking a pathetically mere human like you? you should be grateful that i've spared your life. you should be kissing the ground that i walk on for even considering you to be worthy of my time." he harshly responded, making your heart crack as every word of his felt like a knife stabbing you in the chest.

you knew that his lips never once touched honey, his words were always crude and cold to the ear. however, after spending nearly ten centuries with him as a companion, you grew used to his snarky remarks.

though others feared him, you saw him as a friend.

"i never asked you to spare me. what stopped you from killing me, huh?" you boldly spat out, and within seconds you were lifted off of the ground. a yelp left your mouth as sukuna lifted you by the collar.

"nothing's stopped me from kill you, perhaps the fact that you've fascinated me with your unhinged personality. however, it seems that my generosity has no meaning to you. i could kill you in a matter of seconds." he smirked, the tattoos on his face glowing under the sunlight as he pressed on of his sharp talons against your neck.

"then do it. kill me, sukuna." you blurted out nonchalantly, catching him off guard. his eyes widened at your words, before narrowing them.

"oh? accepting defeat already? this isn't like you, y/n. since you've obediently served me for many centuries, i'll give you a change to beg me to spare your life and apologize. i think that's fair, no?" an evil grin danced on his lips, grazing his sharp talon against your flesh, which drew a drop of blood.

"beg? and by what means should i beg someone like you to spare my life? in my eyes, you're nothing but a sack of shit. i didn't beg a thousand years ago nor will i beg now. stop being a coward and kill me, you stupid curse!" you yelled at him, making his face fume with anger as he raised you up to his eye-level.

"what did you say to me?! keeping you alive for those many centuries was the biggest mistake that i have ever made! you wanna die that bad? fine, i'll kill you with my own hands." sukuna's voice echoed throughout the forest, before he dug his talons a little deeper on your neck. you closed your eyes, wincing a little in pain as you waited for your end to come.

however, after a few seconds, you no longer felt any pressure on your flesh. you opened one eye only to see his face full of hesitation. sukuna noticed your stare and let out a heavy sigh.

"i don't know what's gotten into you today but sleep it off. i'm being nice only this time, but i'll actually kill you next time if you pull this type of shit again." he warned you, placing you back on the grass before walking away to place some distance between you two.

"what? don't have the balls to kill me? fine, i'll make your life easier." you gave him a sly smirk, watching him turn his back to look at you.

"what?" sukuna sneered.

and without warning, you ran towards the edge of the cliff before jumping off. you felt your heart drop, as you didn't do well with heights.

sukuna ran after you while screaming your name, not expecting you to actually jump. he quickly jumped off the cliff, trying to reach you as fast as possible before your stupid human body collided with the cold water below.

the curse knew about your fear of heights and large bodies of water, since you couldn't swim. but, to his dismay, you already came crashing down in the water.

sukuna panicked, quickly diving as he swam in search of your body. he saw your hand in the distance and quickly grabbed it, pulling you towards his body before hugging you tight as swimming up to the surface. he leapt back up on the cliff with your sopping wet body that was now cold to his touch.

sukuna placed you down on the grass as he watched your body being non-responsive.

"y/n? y/n! fuck, wake up." his breath hitched as he tried to use his cursed technique to help you recover but your pulse was as weak as ever.

"stupid, stupid, stupid brat! why did you do that?" he cursed under his breath, now being swallowed in a massive hole of regret. you regained your consciousness, your ears picking up his deep voice wallowing.

"ryo...?" you weakly asked, making his head shoot up at the nickname you always teasingly called him by.

"y/n!" sukuna breathed out in relief, picking up your body in his arms to hug you tight. the warmth of his large figure engulfed your body and you couldn't help but silently cry as he shoved his face in the crook of your neck.

"why would you do that, you stupid human? i-i.... god, you're so stupid!" his voice was shaky, his hold on you was as if he was scared that you'd run away if he were to let go.

"you could always replace someone like me." you sniffled, eyes welled with tears that made your vision blurry. you didn't see the puzzled expression that was now drawn on his face.

"i could never." sukuna swore.

"the girl from the market. you seemed to take a liking for her. she even complimented your markings." you swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, sad eyes looking into his.

"is this what all this about? some incompetent, foolish girl? i'll kill her at once if that is what you want." he sternly said, stroking your hair as you cried on his chest.

"did you really mean what you said? that i was a mistake to have around?" you nervously asked, chewing on your bottom lip.

you've never once regretted spending those centuries with the king of curses. every day was a new adventure that you both took on. you are confident that no spot on this earth has been left untouched by you two. sukuna has always shown you kindness in his own cursed way. whether that was letting you to tend the garden by his room, which allowed only his entry. or letting you speak to him however you wished to and call him that stupidly yet fond nickname; ryo.

no one has ever addressed him by that name.

you've accepted him for the monster that he was. he showed you his true form, which many found horrific and hideous. a wooden like mask that covered half of his face, four eyes, four arms and a huge height.

yet, you were not afraid and didn't see him any different. you gave him your annoying hugs, poked him while he napped, ate from his plate and in return he protected you. sukuna made sure to shade your stupidly tiny human body with his large figure, caging you in his four arms.

you always had what you wanted.

"i never meant a single word, y/n. you are not a mistake and i'll rip out my own tongue to show you how sincere and sorry i am." he looked at you with apologetic eyes, his hands moving towards his mouth. you quickly halted his actions, shaking your head.

"it's okay, i trust you." you offered a soft smile.

"don't ever scare me like that again, you hear me? i chose you as my companion to spend the rest of eternity with. you're my soulmate, you can't escape me. if death ever comes upon either of us, we'll meet each other in hell." sukuna gently stroked your cheek, wiping away your warm tears. the words coming out of his mouth would sound insane to any sane person, but to you, they meant even more than 'i love you'.

"you know, no matter how many times i kill myself, i won't die. you cursed me with immortality, so i can only die by your hands." you chuckled, making his eyes widen as realization hit him.

"do you... do you really wish to die? i know that not everyone enjoys living for so long and i kinda did force this upon you. if you want, i can lift the curse and you'll.... you know, almost immediately." sukuna gulped harshly, not being able to even say the words of your death.

you cupped his face before pressing a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. you could feel his cheeks becoming warm, as he leaned into your touch.

"i've never once regretted spending those thousands of years with you, ryo. i have never been happier and you know why? it's because i love you. god, i love you so much, and i'd happily spend a thousand more years with you." your eyes glistened with nothing but pure love and adoration for the curse in front of you.

and for the first time in your life and sukuna's life, his eyes became glossy as if it held a thousand oceans. feeling a little insecure about revealing such raw emotion to you, sukuna buried his face in your neck.

"and i love you. so, don't ever leave me, okay? you stupid human." his voice was muffled into your clothes, but it rang clear in your ears as you laughed.

"look at me, ryo." you requested, and he obliged. you traced the lines of ink on his face before giving him a soft smile. without wasting another second, you crashed your lips onto his. the sudden kiss knocked the wind out of his lungs, but it wouldn't take for the king of curses to melt into the taste of your lips.

you gently ran your fingers through his peach colored hair, feeling his fingers rub slowly at your sides while you both kissed. you felt him smile against your lips, pulling away only to press another tender kiss.

"i'll make you my queen, y/n. you're mine, forever and always."

[saphronethaleph]

Longform Statistical Analysis

“Master Nu,” Windu said, with a smile. “It’s nice to see you in the Council Chambers once more.”

“Thank you,” the librarian replied, inclining her head. “Unfortunately, I bring dire news.”

“...you do?” Windu asked, worried now. “What kind of dire news?”

“Dire news coming out of the library is usually either trivial or an absolute disaster,” Ki-Adi-Mundi contributed. “Which is it, so we can decide how worried to be?”

“Quite possibly, both,” Nu told him. “To summarize… Masters, two years ago we discovered that the Sith were not extinct. With this in mind, I have been engaged on a long-term project – I evaluated data about the discovery, admittance, tenure and ultimate loss of every single Jedi for which we have data. Every one in our archives.”

“Now I understand why it took so long,” Even Piell said. “In fact, I credit your skills for taking so little time. That must have been… what, a thousand years… there are ten thousand knights now… hundreds of thousands of Jedi total?”

“Around that,” Nu confirmed. “But the problem is… this. This is the number of active Jedi at any one time, during the first hundred years after Ruusan.”

Her holoprojector activated, showing a kind of flow diagram made out of strands of light. Light yellow marked those newly discovered and accepted as initiates, green padawans, blue for knights and purple marked those who were masters. The tiny Order, wounded but triumphant in the years immediately after Ruusan, was reborn and swelled as it gained more members and those members it had reached greater degrees of Mastery.

“Two hundred years,” Nu went on, as the diagram swelled and zoomed out. The growth was slower now, harder to see on the same scale, but the Order pulsed in colours of green and blue and purple as the Golden Age of the Republic continued.

“...you said this was dire?” Adi Gallia asked.

“We’ll get there,” Nu said, accelerating the projection a little.

As it ran forwards, decade after decade passing by until it approached the present, Master Yaddle leaned forwards in her seat.

She wasn’t the only one. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the Jedi Order – which had swelled to enormous, triumphant scale during the Golden Age – had begun to contract again.

By the time it reached the present day, it still possessed deep reserves of strength, but the colouring was… just a little different. The purple of Mastery was less common, though the blues and greens of Knighthood and Padawan were still fully present, and Nu manipulated her controls a bit more.

A second strand appeared, this one much thinner and more intermittent. And, as time tracked towards the present, it went from a shading of mostly blue hundreds of years ago to shades that were a little more green.

“This is the members of our Order who left our ranks due to their death,” Nu explained. “While the differences year-to-year are so minor that I would hesitate to describe them as meaningful, when given the long view and looked at in aggregate the effect is clear.”

She folded her arms. “The Sith faced by Knight Kenobi is the anomaly – an open Sith attack which makes no pretensions as to what they are. This is what I would call a true threat, Councillors. Not a single Sith who seeks to kill individual Jedi in a duel, but a centuries-long program of gradual, subtle, pervasive damage to the Jedi Order, chiefly through the loss of Padawans before they become Knights.”

“You think the Sith are behind this?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.

“Behind any given casualty?” Nu asked. “...no. I have no proof I could offer, though a detailed examination of the loss of any given Padawan may conclude that there was some other factor behind their death. Behind the whole pattern? I think it’s quite possible, Master Mundi. We know the Sith can plot and plan for something for a thousand years, and there are only two targets for such a plot that make any sense – ourselves, and the Republic.”

She met the gaze of each councillor in turn. “If this is not due to the Sith, my friends, then we must ask ourselves – what is? They have been doing something for ten centuries and we know nothing about it.”

After a slightly dismayed silence, Yoda tapped his gimmer stick on the floor.

“Much to think about, we have,” he said. “Master Nu – more to say, have you?”

“Yes,” Nu replied. “My presentation, I hope, serves as a reminder that the Sith did not appear out of nowhere two years ago. They have been doing things over the last thousand years, and it is quite possible that we have run into their machinations without identifying them as such… it would be a great mistake to generalize from the Sith defeated by Knight Kenobi.”

“...hmm,” Windu said, frowning. “During the interrogations of Nute Gunray. He said that his actions were based on a shadowy figure pressing him to get a treaty signed by Queen Amidala of the Naboo. That treaty would have benefitted the Trade Federation, but nobody else.”

“The wording of the treaty, benefit the Trade Federation, it would,” Yaddle said. “The existence of the treaty – benefit someone else, perhaps?”

In his office, Sheev Palpatine paused halfway through reading a law.

He had the strange feeling that he’d just been betrayed by his greatest ally. But that was nonsense, since the closet thing he had left to a true ally was paperwork…

[qqueenofhades]

I'm watching the results come in for the French legislatives first round, and I have been following American presidential race and supreme court from afar. I am depressed. Please say something wise that will give me hope. I never thought to live through times like this.

Anonymous asked: Hey I know you said you’re avoiding posting about politics so absolutely feel free not to reply, but any tips about not getting hopeless? Especially when the fellow young people in your life are all clamoring to talk about how both parties are the same, they won’t vote, etc, etc (😑)?

Welp. It seems that what the people want to hear at this point is some Wise Words From Internet Grandmother Hilary, so... I will do my best to see what I can come up with. It bears repeating, as I have said many times before and will do so again, that I still have heard no better advice for living through The Horrors than the Gandalf: "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." Because, yeah. That, in its simplest essence, is it. We cannot control The Horrors. Individual people have never been able to control The Horrors, and five thousand-odd years after the invention of documented human history, here we still are, making the same stupid fucking mistakes. That is pretty maddening to deal with, and if you try to think of it like that, it is impossible to wrap your head around and it will only drive you crazy. So, then. What?

I will freely admit that I am scared too. Despite my best efforts, the post-debate furor wigged me out, I had to log off all social media and news sites for most of the weekend, not look at anything aside from one site I trust for two minutes, and try to get myself back in an okay headspace. So yes, rule number one: STOP DOOMSCROLLING. Please get a muzzle on that little voice in your head that says you HAVE to look, you HAVE to read everything, you have to KNOW JUST IN CASE HOW BAD IT COULD POSSIBLY BE. Then you look at stuff that makes you upset, and that leads to other stuff that makes you more upset, and then there you are in a stew of anxiety and anger and everything else that doesn't help. Do not look at the Bird Site Formerly Known as Twitter or news sites or anything else that is liable to have stuff that upsets you, especially in Panic!!! moments like this. It is designed to make you feel worse and it obscures the fact that nobody actually knows. Like, I devoutly hope that the anonymous "adviser to a prominent Democrat" and the NYT editorial board and everyone else screaming about how Biden should drop out right now step on ten Legos a day for the rest of their lives, but they also DO NOT KNOW (and given the NYT nakedly admitting to a personal vendetta against Biden for not giving them an interview, everyone can see exactly what this crass and unbelievably stupid sabotage attempt is, but yeah). Even if they get quoted in prominent publications, they do not know what is going to happen. They are not prophets. The NYT has, as noted, showed its ass 800 times before and keeps coming up with polls that are so ludicrously pro-Trump that it's becoming a cottage industry to debunk them. They are crass and cynical and trash and all that, they have vested interests, they have a platform, but repeat after me: WE DO NOT KNOW "FOR A FACT" THAT EVERYTHING IS DOOMED AND WILL NEVER BE OKAY AGAIN IF WE DO NOT LISTEN TO THE ALMIGHTY NEW YORK TIMES. In fact, the NYT has been so fucking wrong so fucking many times that at this point, I would bet on it being the other way around.

As part of my Bad Headspace Night on Friday night, I did picture the worst-case scenario of Trump winning, American democracy being overthrown, fascists around the world being emboldened, etc. It was a nasty mental picture and I didn't like anything that would come about if it did, but I had to remind myself that even if it did happen, well, the world would still be here, and good people who care about its future would have to do something to make that future happen. It would be ten times harder and it would be the result of another unimaginably evil and cynical fascist sabotage campaign, but... those are not exactly unprecedented in human history. (See: making all those mistakes over and over again.) People in the past were faced with those same exact moments where everything seemed monumentally hopeless and doomed for a generation, and they fought back, and they won. That's the thing. Fascists are evil and awful and terribly unnecessarily destructive, but they are not unbeatable, and they never have been. If we make the choice to resist them, then, well, they can be resisted. It will not happen by posting vaporous screeds on social media, or sitting on your ass and waiting for some miraculous savior/revolution/whatever to swoop in and save you, but it can happen, and it can work. That's what is very hard to remember in the current Horrors, but it's the way it's been for as long as there has been evil. It is not the be-all and end-all of the human experience and never will be.

Likewise: if a la the second anon you're being surrounded with people who are saying stupid things and making you feel worse: just don't be around them any more. It's that simple and you should do it. You can unfollow people who are posting defeatist rubbish, or you can avoid spending time with people railing about how everything is already doomed and voting is useless, etc. You may feel guilty because these people are your friends or you don't want to cut off contact, but you need to do what is best for your mental health, and if all you hear is BS, then, yeah. Pull the plug, cut the cord, do whatever you want. You do not owe anyone else your headspace, your attention, your mental health, or anything else, especially if it is demonstrably idiotic and incorrect. Find ways to do something. Go out and volunteer. Put down the phone (again, this cannot be overemphasized) and stop looking at doomerists on Twitter who get their engagement fix from making you upset and angry. Read a book, watch a TV show, visit a friend in real life, take a walk outside (if you don't live in a furnace, which unfortunately a lot of us do right now). Just sit and close your eyes and meditate. Stretch or move your body. Drink water. Super basic ordinary things that get you away from the increasingly frantic death spiral mindset and put you back in the reminder that things are never over and there is still a lot of time for everything.

As I said: I am doing this myself right now. It is not easy. I know it is not. I wish that we lived in a kinder timeline where this was not necessary, but as Gandalf says, nobody ever wishes for this and yet it happens nonetheless. But we can still control how we react to it and identify the things that are doing their best to make us feel terrible and doomed and hopeless, and make a choice to move away from them. We do not know what's going to happen, no. But we also do not know that everything is doomed, and you know what, it usually ends up not being that way. So that's what I can offer for now. Courage.