#I’ll try to find draft emails to send in the next few days

[femmeidiot]

reminder that on this indigenous people’s day the community of standing rock is still engaged in multiple legal battles surrounding DAPL which trump authorized the building of after Obama stopped it. The draft EIS statement is out now for public comment in the US so if you live in the US try to make public comment. There will likely be draft public comment statements published that you can easily email within the next few days.

here’s info on the EIS and public comment : https://www.nwo.usace.army.mil/Missions/Dam-and-Lake-Projects/Oil-and-Gas-Development/Dakota-Access-Pipeline/

The comment period closes on November 13th

[uncaaj]

Fanfic: Feedback (Bluey)

READ NOW ON AO3!

Every morning right when he awoke, Bandit Heeler was on his phone, looking through any new notifications. Whether it was a news article, a text from a friend, or an email from work, he made sure to not leave anyone hanging for longer than necessary. He liked clearing them out as his first accomplishment of a productive day.

This morning, as he sat up in bed in their rental, he pondered what he might receive. He probably shouldn’t be doing this while on vacation, but a habit was a habit. The first thing to pop up across his lock screen was his email app.

His stomach did a somersault.

“Morning, babe,” Chilli yawned, sitting up. “What’s new today?”

“Marcus got back about the book,” said Bandit in a small voice.

For the past few months, Bandit had taken his career in a new direction. Instead of planning and supervising digs in various corners of the world, he had taken on a new challenge: writing a book about the first dogs to walk upright. Since Marcus Beagle was his closest colleague and an experienced book editor, he became Bandit’s biggest champion for making this dream of his a reality. Through the many writing blocks and organizing of all his findings into a cohesive narrative, Marcus was there offering encouragement and insights from the many books he helped see to shelves.

Finally sending off the book to Marcus was the catalyst for the Heelers going on this vacation in the first place, a much-needed respite while the fruits of his labor were inspected. This was his first book and the first big piece of writing he had shared since childhood. For once, Bandit couldn’t bring himself to look at the email yet.

“Well, what does Marcus think?” Chilli asked, scooting closer and peering over his shoulder.

Bandit tapped the notification and braced for the email app to open. This was it. The culmination of all he worked for. He started to read.

Bandit,

I realize you’re on holiday but I couldn’t wait to send this off to you. I must say that I appreciate all the work that you’ve put into this project and I quite enjoyed reading your first draft.

“That’s great, babe!” Chilli gave him a smoochy-kiss and hopped out of bed. “I’ll get brekkie started for the kids, you tell me how the rest of it goes, okay?”

Bandit nodded at his wife as she shut the door. He heard his kids’ excited cheers and chuckled. Now back to his business.

That being the case, it is only the first draft and we have a lot of work ahead of us still.

Bandit’s stomach plummeted into his tail. The world outside fell away and as he read through the email numerous times, he began to feel the lapping waves of discouragement.

He wished he never saw that notification.

BANDIT: This episode of Bandit is called…*sigh* “Feedback.”

“Where’s dad?” asked Bluey as Chilli set her plate of eggs and sausage down in front of her at the kitchen bar.

Chilli looked back to their bedroom down the hall from the living room. “I think…he slept in. I’ll go get him.” She delivered Bingo her breakfast and went back to check on Bandit. He was usually out by now moaning about his hunger, so this was a bit odd.

When she opened the door, she saw Bandit sitting on the bed staring ahead at the wall. His phone was locked and off to the side.

“Babe?” said Chilli. He didn’t acknowledge her. “Bandit?”

He flinched. “Oh, uh, hey babe.” His shoulders slumped and he turned back to the wall.

Chili sat down next to her husband and regarded him. The spark in his eyes he had a few minutes ago had vanished, replaced with an emptiness that had her worried “Is everything alright?” she said softly.

Bandit blinked and turned to Chilli, trying to put up his usual sunny demeanor for her. “Uh, yeah, it’s all good. Is, uh, brekkie on?”

Chilli placed her hand on his. “Bandit, what’s wrong? You looked like someone stomped on your pavlova.”

Bandit sighed. He really couldn’t sneak anything past his wife. She was too good, all that airport security training coming in handy. Slowly, his front broke down and he returned to staring at the wall. “He hated it.”

“What?” Chilli stepped back. “That doesn’t sound like Marcus.”

Bandit laughed. “You’re right, but he said it’s not where it needs to be yet, and he called it a ‘first draft.’” Chilli put her paw on his shoulder and his ears slumped, the last vestiges of his self giving way to his sadness. “He knows how hard I worked on this book already, how much he pushed the publisher to let me tell this story. It just feels like…heh, that I did make a beautiful pavlova and it’s been stomped on.”

“Oh, come here, big fella.” She pulled him into a hug.

“I poured over every word, babe,” Bandit lamented, “and I just feel like a fraud now. Like…I never should’ve started.”

Chilli’s next decision would be the key to getting her husband out of his funk. Like the bones he uncovered every day, she set to pull him out and clean him up.

She booped him on the snout before walking to his side of the bed. “Alright, Heeler, I know what you need,” she declared, pulling him up to stand. “A good day at the beach with your kids.”

“What?” Bandit sat back on the bed at Chilli’s abrupt tone shift.

“You’re on holiday and you deserve a clear mind away from your work. Did you read the whole email?”

Bandit scratched the back of his neck. “Well, no.” Truthfully, Marcus’s criticisms were only in the first paragraph. He threw his phone aside after reading just that.

Chilli helped him up again. “Okay, have some breakfast, leave all those cares behind, and maybe later on you can revisit that email with a better perspective. I know how hard you worked on that book and Marcus does too. Come on, Bluey and Bingo are waiting.”

With that, Bandit was gently pushed to the door and quickly gathered as much composure as he could. He knew Chilli wasn’t letting him dwell in his self-doubt but he wondered if it really would help him forget. Before he could sink back into the depths of his sadness, the door opened and Bluey and Bingo’s tails wagged furiously. They cheered his arrival and Bandit’s heart melted like it always did.

Breakfast did improve his mood. That gnawing in his stomach after he read the email did feel like hunger. It was funny how often he mistook one for the other. Afterward, everyone packed their bags and went down to the beach, which was also relaxing. Of course, Bluey and Bingo kept his mind and body active with tons of games. But when he wasn’t chatting with Chilli or helping his kids turn him into a merdog on land, he felt himself drifting back to that nagging voice that said, you aren’t good enough for this. Your words weren’t worth it. He zoned out and drifted his gaze toward the horizon as his kids’ laughter fizzled, blending with the washing surf into a kind of white noise.

A snap within the din brought him back to reality. “What? Huh?” He searched around, locking eyes with Chilli, her snapped fingers held aloft.

“Let it go, babe,” she said, gesturing to the sprawling beach around them. “You’re missing all this.”

“I’m trying,” said Bandit.

All the distractions seemed to only leave him afloat on his anxieties until one incident with a Stickbird would help both Bingo and him to process their grief over their creations and let go of the bad feelings. As he used all his might to chuck his angry and upset far away into the ocean, he felt like he could finally enjoy the day with his family and leave the book and its woes behind.

Later that day, after all the chaos died down and the kids were put to bed, Bandit sat back and let the silence come in without any of the negative talk that had plagued him earlier. Sadly, it didn’t last long as his phone rang. Sitting up, he picked up the device and beheld Marcus’s proper-looking headshot on screen. A wave of ill thoughts nearly made him drop his phone but he managed to answer the call anyway.

“What’s up, babe?” Chilli asked.

“G’day, Marcus,” Bandit said tentatively, finger twitching as he held the phone to his ear.

Chilli gulped. Oh, dear.

“Evening, Bandit!” Marcus greeted in his chipper English, “Did you get my email earlier today? I know you’re usually prompt with responses so to not hear from you all day was a bit unusual, I’ll admit.”

“Yeah, uh, busy day with the kids is all. We were at the beach.”

“Oh, that sounds delightful!”

“Yeah, it was…” Bandit trailed off, feeling his angry and upset filling him again. “Marcus, I-“

“Would it be alright if I turned this into a FaceyTalk? I want to talk to you about that email, not as your boss, but as your friend.”

Bandit raised an eyebrow in surprise. But he gave the go-ahead and moved to the kitchen bar. He propped his phone up on the napkin holder and soon, Marcus appeared surrounded by the overflowing burgundy bookshelves in his home office. 

He adjusted his big square glasses and waved. “There you are, then!”

“Hey there, Marcus,” said Chilli, leaning into the frame. She patted his shoulder. “I’ll let you two get on with it.” As she walked to their bedroom, she had a feeling things were about to be worked out.

With Chilli gone, Bandit turned his focus to Marcus. “So how’s Daisy and Honey?” he asked.

“Oh, wonderful,” said Marcus. “Honey’s more curious and inquisitive than ever, and Daisy? Well, where would I be without her?”

“So true.” Despite the levity, Bandit felt his worry threatening to spill over him, more so upon seeing Marcus take a breath in and sigh.

“Well, I should get on with it, shouldn’t I?” he said. “I wanted to hop on here, face to face more or less, and…really express how proud I am of you.”

Bandit blinked. “I-I mean, you already did in the email-”

Marcus held a hand up. “No, I really didn’t. When you’ve been doing this as long as I have it’s admittedly easy to…jump into that stuffy, professional voice and minimize how much of an accomplishment writing a book really is. It isn’t an excuse but an acknowledgment. I minimized your accomplishment in that email and I apologize.”

Bandit put up a brave face and waved the air away. “All good, mate. I know it’s business and all that. And I suppose it shouldn’t have upset me like it did today, but…”

He leaned back in his seat and scratched the stubble on his chin, once again searching for the perfect words, as he did countless times writing his book. It was all he could think to do. “I-I dunno. I guess I just thought back to school where I’d try to express myself by writing and the words were never right to me, never worth anything. This is really the biggest leap I’ve taken in putting something good out into the world, ya know?”

Marcus nodded. “It isn’t an easy feat by any stretch of the mind, and the fact that you’ve completed a manuscript is commendable. And I meant it when I said it was really good. Not many people can say they’ve written a first draft as close to a finished book as you have. It was compelling, well-researched, and made me feel as if I was out in the field by your side, and I’ve never done any iota of fieldwork!”

“R-really?” Bandit asked, leaning in slightly toward his phone.

“I felt your passion for this history as I have for all your years at UQ, and it makes me proud to call you a colleague and a friend.”

This was more than anyone had ever said about a piece of his writing before, and it threatened to overwhelm him. He cleared his throat to reposition the developing lump and said, “Thanks, mate. You…you don’t know what that means to me. But then what was that ‘still a lot of work to do’ talk about?”

“Because your words are valuable to the world, Bandit, and I want to do everything in my power to ensure they have as much value as they can have, that you never doubt your voice in writing ever again. That’s a promise. A wise dog once told me, ‘Once you put something good out into the world, it’s no longer yours really.’”

Bandit laughed, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “That quote sounds familiar, almost like it’s one of mine.”

Marcus reciprocated the laughter. “Yes, you’ve got me. So let’s make this the best thing it can be, together, before you let the world have it, eh?”

“You got it, Marcus,” said Bandit.

“And I owe you a pint when you return from holiday.”

Bandit laughed again, feeling all the extraneous negativity that weighed him down all day draining away til not a drop remained. “I’ll hold you to that, mate.”

“Of course. Good night. Tell the kids Honey says hi.”

“Sure will. Thanks, again.”

“My pleasure, Dr. Heeler.”

Chilli looked up from her book and smiled as Bandit entered and climbed into bed next to her. “Sounded like good conversation in there,” she said, bookmarking the page and setting it down on the table.

“Yeah, we worked it all out,” said Bandit.

“Still regret writing the book?”

Bandit turned to her, and Chilli saw the life in her husband's eyes back and brighter than it had been for a while. “Nope,” he declared, “Not one bit. In fact, I think I’m gonna really enjoy being an author.”

[marvelous-harry]

okay so i have a prompt where y/n is harry's assistant + his submissive and one day she fucks something up and harry is super mad. he punishes her and is mean dom after. bonus if y/n cries and begs🙈🙈🙈🙈

Email Fuck Ups Harry/Fem!Reader Words: 1.2k Warning: Dom!Harry, Sub!Reader, Derogatory nicknames, face slapping, spanking, face fucking. Summary: After a spelling mistake causes delays Harry is very unhappy and punishes you in his set trailer.

“I need a word, excuse us,” Harry said sharply as he clamped his fingers around my arm tightly and dragged me along. I smiled apologetically at the other PA I’d been talking to and figured she off all people would understand.

“I’ve just been asked by Jeff if I’d forgotten to record an acceptance video for the Juno Awards cause they just reached out to him asking for it. It was supposed to be sent in days ago, did you forget to send it in?” Harry hissed as he walked us over to his trailer and unlocked it before pushing me inside.

“What? No, I sent it in, I swear!” I told him quickly as I put my bag down and reached for my laptop. “I sent it, I know I did,” I whispered as I begged my computer to work faster and that they had to be mistaken cause I definitely had sent it in. I glanced at Harry. His whole body was tensed up and the 50’s shirt he was wearing looked like it was going to break from Harry tightened his muscles so much. He was pissed, that much was obvious.

Opening my work email, I clicked on sent messages and was delighted to see that the email was there. “See?! I sent it! Five days ago, one day before it was supposed to be in for clearing!” I bragged as I clicked on the email, turning the laptop so Harry could see.

Harry grabbed it and scanned the page quickly. I saw him take a deep breath before he turned the laptop back to me before pointing at the email address. “Does that look right to you?” he asked in a way too calm voice.

Looking over the email address it didn’t take long to see that the last part clearly had a spelling mistake in it. I whimpered. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll fix it and apologize for the delay. I can call them right now,”

“Just create a new email, get it ready to send, and let me look it over since you can’t be trusted to do your actual job right,” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me expectantly.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied quietly as I quickly drafted up an apology and included the video file. After triple-checking the email, I turned the screen towards Harry again and let him look it over as I quickly dried my eyes.

Harry clicked send on the email and waited a few seconds to make sure it sent before closing the laptop shut. “Bend over the table,”

Getting up from my seat, I bent over the table and grasped the edges of it as I rested my cheek down on the cold wood surface. “I’m really sorry I messed up, Sir,” I told him as Harry yanked my jeans and underwear down.

“Not as sorry you’re going to be in a bit,” Harry said as he put one hand on my lower back. “Don’t scream,” he warned me before bringing his hand down hard.

Whimpering, I clenched my mouth shut as I struggled to keep quiet. I was certain that the sound of Harry hitting my bum so hard with his large hands was echoing through the whole set and everyone would know what was going on. Shuddering at the thought, I hated that it made my pussy wet.

“Are you getting fucking turned on right now? You that much of a whore that me beating your ass red and blue gets you going?” Harry spat out as he landed an extra hard smack on my bum.

Gasping as he moved his hand between my legs and embarrassingly easily slid two fingers into me, I closed my eyes and moaned. “Sir!”

“Fucking slut. Get down on your knees,” Harry ordered as he yanked his fingers out, gave me another hard smack before stepping back.

Licking my lips, I kept my eyes down as I, as gracefully as I could, got down on my knees in front of him.

“Should just keep you on your knees all day, you’re a lot better at being a toy I can use than you are an assistant. All you’re good for isn’t it?” Harry said as he opened his trousers and got his cock out. “Open your mouth,”

Opening my mouth wide, I moved towards his cock eagerly as I wanted to taste the little drop of precum that was resting on the slit of his cock. Whining as Harry gripped onto my hair and forced my head back, I looked up at him pleadingly.

“Did I say you could take me in your mouth?” He asked, tightening his hold on my hair.

“No, Sir,” I whimpered, tensing as he raised his hand and stroked my cheek.

“I know it must be hard for a dumb little slut like you to control yourself around cock, but at least try,” Harry said before pulling his hand off my cheek a few centimeters before slapping me.

Gasping as the pain and the pleasure from the slap made me shudder once more, I barely had a second to prepare as Harry shoved his cock into my mouth. Moaning, I tried to relax my throat as Harry gripped my head tightly with both hands and started fucking my mouth.

“Fucking made for this I swear,” Harry groaned as he pulled me down on his cock. Gagging as he hit the back of my throat, I dug my fingernails into my skin as I struggled to pull back. Heaving for my breath as Harry pulled back, I looked up at him as strings of saliva hung from my lips to his cock.

“More?” I asked as I wiped the tears off my cheek and looked at his cock eagerly.

Harry just smirked as he shoved his cock back in and started thrusting fast in and out.

The trailer got filled with the most obscene sounds as Harry fucked my throat. Glugging, sucking, gagging sounds mixed with both our moans creating a symphony of porn noises. I was so fucking wet but I didn’t dare move my hand anywhere near my throbbing pussy knowing that Harry would very much not approve.

As my nose was roughly pressed up against his pubes again, my eyes watered and my throat closed around his cock making me gag even more but he wasn’t letting me go. Harry did a few short but forceful thrusts as I heard him groan loudly as he cummed down my throat.

Feeling faint as he pulled out and let me go, I looked at him as he cleaned off his cock and put it back in his pants. Whimpering as he grasped my cheeks hard, I looked up at him wondering what was next.

“Clean yourself up, you look filthy. When I come back to get you, you better be dressed, packed up to go, and have prepped your ass for me cause I’m going to fuck you as soon as we get home no matter if you’re ready or not. Does your little whore brain understand the words I’m saying to you?” Harry asked.

I tried to nod in his firm grip. “Yes, Sir,” I managed to mumble out. “Good whore,” Harry replied as he patted my cheek patronizingly and let me go before checking himself in the mirror before leaving the trailer.

Crawling over to the mirror, I looked myself over and loved how wrecked and used I looked. Stroking my hand over my bum cheeks, I moaned at the pain and how warm they felt. “Fuck,” I whispered as I tore my hands away before deciding to find the buttplug I was made to carry around, already looking forward to Harry finishing work.

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles

First date: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none! words; 2,196 words

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

Seokjin felt like a drink. It was nine o’clock in the morning, so absolutely out of the question, but it didn’t stop him from craving it. Whiskey. Definitely whiskey. Nana’s PA had just been to pick up Arin for the weekend – Thank God. Finally she would be able to spend time with her mom after a month, which he was over the moon about, and selfishly, that meant his date with you could go ahead. Even if he was so nervous he could throw up. 

Work had been a great distraction for the past two days but once he’d woken up this morning the realisation had dawned on him. He was going on a date tonight. His first in a decade. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it and asked you to dinner. He’d faced his fears, possibly made a fool of himself and shared too much about his personal life in the process, but you hadn’t seemed to mind at all. You were so easy to talk to, it was refreshing. He’d felt brave for the first time in months – years.   But it still didn’t stop him from being on pins as soon as he’d opened his eyes this morning. 

He’d showered early, just after Arin had woken up and then he’d helped her get ready for the day too, allowing her to eat her breakfast in front of the television as he tried to swallow down his bowl of porridge too. It tasted like cardboard – but then again, it might have been his cooking. Misook usually made the food around her, when he wasn’t dining out or ordering take out of course. 

Arin had noticed his strange mood straight away. Obviously. 

“Daddy, what’s wrong with you this morning?” She’d asked, looking over at him warily before hesitating. “I am spending the weekend with mom, right?”

“Of course you are, sweetie” he’d rushed, shaking away the  surge of anger he’d felt. It pained him to know she was always expecting the worst lately. “Your mom just text me to say Jia is on her way.” 

She’d smiled then, her face lighting up and he couldn’t help but match it, his nerves disappearing for a while. That was until he was left all alone, the house now empty and silent. He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter (where he’d left it after his small nightcap last night) and shook his head. He should drop you a text, just to check in and see if you were still on for tonight. He needed to find out what time to pick you up anyway. He probably should have messaged you the day before, he panicked suddenly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled his phone from his sweatpants pocket. Oh well, there was no time for regrets, that’s what his father always said. 

It took him at least ten minutes to figure out what to say. His first draft sounded too cheerful, too false, he was trying way too hard and had added an examination point. His second was too formal, fifteen years of sending business emails back and forth obvious. He settled on something in the middle – he hoped.  

Unknown (9:32am)  Hi Y/N,  It’s Kim Seokjin, Arin’s father. Just wondering if you still want to have dinner tonight? If so, please let me know and I will send through the restaurant details. We can decide on a time for me to pick you up.  Regards, Seokjin 

Only, reading it back after he hit send he began to second guess himself. Of course you knew who he was, his confidence might be lacking a little right now but he knew he wasn’t totally forgettable. What an idiot. Not that he could do much, there was no turning back. He’d committed. 

He busied himself with a bit of Saturday morning cleaning while he waited for your reply, and by that he meant straightening up the pillows he and Arin had been sitting against earlier. When he returned to the kitchen, your message was waiting for him. 

You (9:43am)  Of course, send the details. I trust your taste! 

See, exclamation points suited you. It was cute. He could just imagine you saying it in person, your dazzling smile, maybe that little giggle you’d made a few times on Wednesday. He felt something warm in his chest as he got lost in his thoughts, nerves easing once again. You were excited for tonight, he told himself.   Maybe you were even just as nervous as him possibly… 

He spent yet another few minutes composing his reply. A lot more casual this time, signing off with just his name. He didn’t always text like this, Namjoon could vouch for him, but he didn’t think you were both quite there yet. He wanted to show his best self after all. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to make you like him as much as he liked you. 

Seokjin (9:50am)  The sudden pressure… The restaurant’s name is KIM. I hope you like it. Is 7 alright to pick you up? I made reservations for 7:30.  Seokjin 

In truth, this restaurant was one he co-owned with his brother. Seokchul was the executive chef and they were both very proud of how successful their business venture had become. He knew taking you to such a place might seem like a cop-out – or worse, a brag – but that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to treat you in a place that meant a lot to him. He could have chosen multiple restaurants, he was a regular at quite a few and could easily get a great table, but see, that did seem like he was showing off and he did not want to give you that impression at all. It was the complete opposite of his personality. KIM was a good choice, he was sure of it, and it helped that his brother didn’t work weekends, so there was no risk of bumping into him. Although, he had let him know about the date (and had begged him not to spill to their mother). 

You (9:52am)  I will. 7 sounds perfect. I’ll send through my address. See you later! 

You followed up with a Google Maps link to your home, and he sent a quick thank you – sans his name this time. With a quick sigh he pocketed his phone again, it was time to get on with his day. He had some paperwork from yesterday to complete by Monday morning so he should probably make a start. He stopped to order a light lunch at midday, ate it as he scrolled through his very limited social media before getting back to it. 

He called it a day around 3pm, a call from his mom interrupting his flow. He spent an hour talking, their weekend phone calls were habitual by now and he enjoyed them immensely.  He loved his father of course, but their conversations mostly revolved around work. Despite stepping down as CEO three years ago, he was still a vital member of the company, and Seokjin continued to consult him at every opportunity and lean on him for support when things got stressful. With his mom, she was the woman he could still be a kid around. They could talk about anything and everything, but for her own benefit he left out his plans for tonight. He knew what she was like, she’d get way too excited and overwhelmed and before long she’d be sobbing down the line while simultaneously asking to meet you. She’d been wanting him to meet someone new for so long, much like Mrs. Shin. It was a surprise the two women weren’t conspiring behind his back. 

No, he’d keep it a secret for now. If things went well tonight, then possibly his mother would get to find out. He wasn’t getting his hopes up though – or at least he was trying not to. 

It was just after four when he got off the phone, too early to start getting ready just yet, so he sat in front of the television and tried to concentrate on a series he’d recently started. (It wasn’t going well. He was on about one episode a week out of a nine season TV show.) It was no use though, the nerves were rearing their ugly head again. 

He decided to choose his outfit. Seokjin wasn’t much of a thinker when it came to fashion, he just grabbed whatever he saw first that morning, but tonight he wanted to at least put some effort in. After much deliberation he decided on a navy two piece paired with a white dress shirt. It wasn’t over the top, he thought, but nice enough to make that impression that was so very important to him. He kept his hair simple. He’d managed to squeeze in a haircut yesterday so it made things easier, but upon closer inspection in the mirror he noticed those pesky grey hairs of his glittering in the sunlight. He grimaced, worried now. He didn’t know your exact age yet, but it was obvious he was a few years older than you. He was no spring chicken, especially with those wrinkles around his eyes. He had been called handsome all his life, no stranger to it, but right now he was dubious. 

He pushed his trivial concerns away and concentrated on the next decision. What car he would take. He didn’t want to go too flash – again with the showing off thing – so the Aston Martin was definitely off the cards. He hadn’t actually driven that one much, going through some sort of so-called midlife crisis when he’d bought it straight after his divorce, so he made a mental note to take it out next weekend. He decided on the Mercedes convertible (roof on, of course). It seemed like a suitable choice, not too flashy at all really. He didn’t want to run the risk of putting you off him or overwhelming you with showy displays. He was well aware of the differences between your lifestyles, not that he cared at all, but it didn’t stop him from understanding. The things that seemed slight to him could very well be enormous for you. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape or form. 

Shit, on second thoughts maybe his restaurant was a bad idea… 

.

.

Seokjin was always punctual, he prided himself on it, but tonight it made him nervous. He’d said 7 but it had only just gone quarter to. He couldn’t very well stay in the car for fifteen minutes, you’d spot him out the window, so ever so slowly he opened his car door and stepped out, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He was sure he noticed his hand shaking as he closed it behind him. He was such a mess it was embarrassing. 

You lived in a nice little neighbourhood, it seemed quiet, and he admired your pots of flowers in the patch of garden you had as he made his way up the path that led to your front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, adjusting his suit jacket as he waited for you to open up. It’s fine, Seokjin, he told himself. It’s just dinner. You’ve done much scarier things in your life. Pull yourself together, man. 

A few seconds later the door opened in front of him and you came into view, looking as beautiful as ever. I’m fucked, he thought immediately. 

“Hi,“ he forced himself to say as he smiled. He was probably staring but he couldn’t help himself. You looked stunning, your dress deep red in colour and incredibly flattering. His throat felt dry and he swallowed quickly. 

“Hey,” you greeted back. 

“You look beautiful,“ he couldn’t help but awe, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line with his compliment. 

"Thank you,” you smiled almost shyly. It was adorable. “You look…really good.“ 

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, aware the sound was probably highly unfaltering, but he couldn’t help it. "I’ll take it. Thanks.” He tilted his head to the right then, composing himself. “Are you ready to go? I’m a bit early, I know. Sorry about that." 

He really couldn’t tear himself away from your beauty, but luckily you didn’t seem to notice, busy nodding as you clutched your purse to your side. "I, uh… I would invite you in to kill time but my best friend’s embarrassing.” Your voice raised as you continued, your head turning slightly down the hallway. 

He raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he guessed said best friend was in the house somewhere? He smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine.” 

As you stepped forward, a breath of a chuckle slipping from your throat, he moved to the side, outstretching his arm to let you lead the way. You accepted with a brief nod of your head, your gazes catching for a split second. God, you were gorgeous. 

His nerves might have eased a tad, but his heart was still beating just as fast – if not more.  

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[just-here-for-the-moment]

You just had to bring the symbol of Victory into this didn't you?!???? Is this some sort of euphemism I should look forward to or!??!?!?????

Yes!! Let me “paint you a picture” (groan)... Also, I sat down to draft my response and it's somehow *gestures at this whole mess* 2300+ words!?? And confession time! I’ve never even SEEN "The Mentalist"! Everything I know about Marcus Pike has come from cute GIFs and the Internet and fanfics… so… I don’t even know what’s going on with me today. But thank you! :D

(This is leaking over from this post if anyone needs to play catch-up)

Paris

Word count: 2300+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Marcus Pike x “You” in Paris, reader is an Art History Professor (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow burn; cute Marcus Pike; coffee and pastries; kissing and stuff; public-ish sex in the Louvre after hours; spontaneous P/V sex (probably unprotected, idek) we're all adults here, wrap it before YOU tap it!

It’s like, you and sweet Marcus have definitely hit it off and you’re really into each other after that field trip meet-cute and your date, but you haven’t slept together yet. He gets called away for a case, so you wish him good luck and hope that you can see each other again soon.

A few days later it’s spring break and you have a trip to Paris planned to complete some research for your next publication. You email Marcus while you're waiting to board. You let him know that you’re going to be out of town for a few days, but that you hope his case is going well, and maybe when he's back you two can pick up where you left off?

You land in Paris and check your messages, and you see that Marcus has replied to your email. He says he can't share the details of his case, but that he hopes he'll be wrapped up by the end of the week, and that he definitely wants to see you again. He asks about your research trip, so you shoot a quick email back to fill him in on the details.

You get to your hotel and sink into a hot bath with your phone. You open your emails, and your brain tells you that you're just checking to confirm the details of your appointment with your research contact in the morning... but the little uptick in your heart rate tells you that you're actually looking for another reply from Marcus. And it's there. He says that he loves Paris and that your research sounds exciting. He asks where you’re staying? You give him the name of your hotel, and tell him that you haven't stayed there before, but it's cute.

Before the water even gets cold you have another reply, sending the butterflies behind your navel into a tizzy. He says that he's stayed there once or twice and that the café in the lobby has excellent pastries. You smile and let yourself imagine a vacation with Marcus, here in Paris, sharing pain au chocolat over a little table in the café. You refill the tub with hot water and sit daydreaming for so long that your fingers prune up.

You get out of the bath and wrap yourself in a plush robe, and sit on the edge of the bed. You email Marcus back, wishing him a good night and telling him that it's late where you are, but that you promise to try one of the pastries in the morning with your breakfast coffee. By the time you're in your nightgown and ready to sleep he's responded, wishing you sweet dreams and hoping that your research goes well. You smile and reply, "Thanks," and then drift down into pleasant dreams.

The next morning you take yourself to the little lobby café and treat yourself to a café crème and an almond croissant. Marcus was right, and you nearly moan aloud as you wrap your mouth around the flaky pastry. You open your email and send him a picture of your croissant with one bite missing, and you joke that you blame him for ruining you for any other boulangeries you might visit during your trip. By the time you're done with breakfast he's responded with a wink emoji and a quick "Sorry I ruined you," and you desperately want to email him back and boldly ask him to ruin you in other ways. You stop yourself, and your brain can't think of anything appropriate, so you just don't respond and you leave to go to your research appointment.

The day is long, and the dusty archives and a few misfiled papers cause small irritations. But you find a few of the things that you needed, so you call it productive enough. You break at 3 p.m. and decide to start again fresh in the morning. Maybe an early dinner and another scalding hot bubble bath will set you right. You decide that the weather is nice, and that your hotel is close enough that you can stroll back and people watch, disconnect your brain from your work and transition into relaxation mode along the way.

You arrive back at your hotel and go to your room to change. There is a card slipped under your door, the front desk letting you know that you have a delivery of some kind to pick up. You try to remember if any of your colleagues or your boss mentioned that they would send you anything? Is it paperwork? Some kind of file for your research? You decide to shower and change into a nice dress to lift your mood, and then head back out for dinner.

You take the card to the lobby desk and hand it to the desk clerk and he disappears into the back office. When he returns you're surprised to see that he's holding a floral arrangement, not huge or ostentatious, but lovely and cheerful and somehow your favorite color exactly. The clerk sets the vase on the desk. You reach for the card and open it.

"Good luck on your research. -Marcus"

You break into a wide grin and you practically float back to your room. You set the flowers on the room table and open your email to thank him. You send him a photo and an effusive "Thank you!" and a winky kiss emoji. Is that too much? No - if one little emoji scares him off then he's not the guy you thought he was.

He responds within minutes, a quick "You're welcome. Glad they arrived in one piece." and his own winky kiss emoji. Your heart flutters and you reply immediately, "They're really lovely. Thank you for thinking of me."

A moment later his next email pops up: "Can I take you to dinner and pick up where we left off?"

You reply: "Absolutely! I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in town!"

He responds: "No, I meant tonight."

You hesitate, does he want to call you and chat on the phone while you eat dinner? Some kind of video call, like a virtual date? Before you can type your reply, a new message pops up: "I'm actually in Paris. My case is here and I arrived a few days before you did. I didn't want to scare you off or come to your hotel unannounced, but I'm free tonight and I'd love to see you."

You throw your head back and laugh. This is definitely way more fun than eating alone and people-watching. You message back an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'm ready when you are!" and he emails you and says he'll see you in 30 minutes in the lobby. When you get downstairs he's waiting by the front desk, all soft scruff and loosened tie and warm brown eyes, just as you remembered. You smile and hug him, and in that moment you feel like a fairy-tale princess meeting her prince, being swept off your feet in the most romantic city in the world.

You have dinner at a cozy bistro around the corner, Marcus making you bubble with laughter as you talk. He listens to you moan about the missing pieces of your research, your pressing need to track down a letter from one artist to another that was mentioned in an old diary but which hasn't yet surfaced. You're sure it's around the archives somewhere, just waiting for you to piece it together with the rest of your project. Marcus tells you that his case is almost wrapping up, and if you want he can arrange to catch the same flight home as you. You smile and tell him that would be nice.

You finish dinner and he asks if you want to go to the Louvre, and you check the time and say that they're almost closing. Marcus smiles at you and says, "Don't worry about it," and he looks a little mischievous. You tell him you're up for an adventure, and he takes your hand and ushers you into a taxi.

When you arrive he asks the desk staff for someone he knows, and you make a quick run to the restroom. When you return, Marcus has two laminated badges, special access for professionals and visiting staff that allows you to stay for a few hours past closing. You can't believe your luck, being allowed to spend extra time in one of the most special places in the world, not to mention that your escort is the most handsome and charismatic man you've ever met.

You start in the Denon wing and wander through the museum, talking and laughing quietly, enjoying the opportunity to see things that you would normally have to fight hordes of tourists to see. And maybe "enjoy" isn't the right word, because if someone asked you how you were feeling right now, you would say you were "on cloud nine" or "elated" or "floating." It feels like a dream, and you're not sure if you're going to remember all of it later, but you desperately want to, and you're trying so hard to file every sight away into your brain.

When you reach the Mona Lisa, an odd hush falls over you, and you realize it's the first time you've ever seen it without a crowd twenty deep in front of it. Marcus seems to know what you're feeling, because he takes your hand, almost shyly. And he keeps holding it, warming your fingers as the two of you walk on. You stop in front of Delacroix, "Liberty Leading the People," and you tell Marcus that it's the first painting you ever fell in love with, a million years ago in high school during your very first art history class. You look at the painting and he looks at you, and when you finally turn toward him he captures your mouth in a warm, urgent, soft kiss. You can feel your eyes sparkling at him when he pulls away, and you don't say a word, you just smile and hold his hand as you walk through doorways and up and down stairs.

You come around a corner and there it is, probably the most famous statue in the world: the Venus de Milo. She takes your breath away, and then Marcus does, too, stealing a kiss when you least expect it. And you're torn completely in half, unsure if you would rather keep kissing him or just stare at the curves and planes of her body. So you try to do both; you kiss him and keep one eye on the Venus and you start to feel dizzy, like you've overloaded on sugar, but it's just the impossible circumstances that you've found yourself in.

And you break apart from him, and take his hand again, leading him into a corner that's a little more private. You back yourself against a wall and pull him to you by his tie, and you kiss him the way he deserves, with your full attention and precision. Minutes pass slowly, and you only come up for air because you're afraid you're going to faint. Your thigh is blazing hot where Marcus's hand has raked up under your skirt, and the only reason you don't fuck him right there is because of a security camera keeping watch on the alcove.

You tell him that you both should finish your tour and go back to your hotel, and he agrees. You try to keep your mind on the art, and you tell Marcus about how awestruck you were as a student when you learned about the way that sculptors could depict every curve and dimple of a woman's body through the wet drapery technique; the sensuality of the human form made only slightly more modest when viewed through a veil of fabric; the sheer awesome impossibility of marble carved to look like gauze.

You both get lost in the conversation, and you wander up a staircase and around a corner, and there it is: your absolute favorite piece of art, the piece that you have studied and memorized and dreamed about. And you've seen it before: you've been to the Louvre a handful of times, but this time there are no noisy footsteps echoing off the marble, no tourists trying to capture the glory of it with their tiny and unworthy cameras and phones when there are perfectly good books and postcards available in the gift shop... the Nike to end all Nikes, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. You are, quite simply, blown away.

And if it had been a normal weekend walking tour of the sacred Louvre, if you had been there with anyone else... you wouldn't have ended up wedged against the wall of the archway to her left, skirt hiked up as Marcus pounded into you, one of your bare legs hooked over his hip and your arms wrapped around his neck. If it had been any other day or any other time, you would have stopped him before he unzipped his fly and pulled his erection out; you would have had some remaining shred of propriety, of decency. But it wasn't a normal day and he wasn't a normal man, and you really weren't yourself.

You had gotten carried away by the late hour and the thrill of being allowed to wander the empty museum, and if you were being honest, you really wouldn't have wanted to stop it. You wanted to give in to the romance of the city and the priceless treasures on display and the heady conversations with Marcus. You wanted to be exactly where you were, with exactly who he was, doing exactly what you were doing and feeling exactly how you felt as he thrust into you and grunted your name like a chant while you traced the lines of the Nike with your lust-blown eyes.

You didn't make it to the Richlieu wing until a year later, on a sunny Saturday morning with your new husband Marcus.

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Roll call: please message me if you don't want to be on my "all fics" tag list!

@221bshrlocked @danniburgh @starlightmornings @honestly-shite @spacedilf @anaaaispunk @silverwolf319 @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @the-queen-of-fools @driedgreentomatoes @juletheghoul @dihra-vesa @anxiousandboujee

[delicioussshame]

Sugar daddy AU: new chapter. That’s it, that’s the fic.

The world has never stopped spinning for Shen Yuan before, so why would it now?

He’s sure Luo Binghe is thrilled with his current situation. If he really wanted to create a perfect bubble where he would be the center of Shen Yuan’s universe, he has succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He’s been all Shen Yuan has been able to think about. The moral conundrum of considering whether you’re attracted to your former student, and if so, whether you can and should accept his affection, has been dominating his every moment. Each time he thinks that yes, he could see himself allowing this, allowing Luo Binghe the more he has so visibly been craving, he falters. In a way, it seems like a culmination of all his failures; a failed career he’s a disgrace to and a return to values he’d sworn to leave behind with his family.

But maybe, just maybe, Binghe would be worth it. Shen Yuan thinks if anyone could make those concerns seem ridiculous with only the power of their presence by his side, it would be Luo Binghe.

All his hesitations don’t stop his heart from freezing in his chest where the school sends an email regarding his teaching plan for the upcoming term.

It takes him a few minutes to calm down, to ride the wave of anxiety that returning to the beat of regular employment brings. He hasn’t looked forward to returning to class for years, but after those sweet weeks spent doing nothing but relaxing? Facing coworkers that were at best indifferent, at worst downright abusive for the sake of disinterested students is such an unappealing prospect that it almost gives him nausea.

He’s been too spoiled. Shen Yuan normally spends the summer working part-time jobs to make ends meet. This year, Luo Binghe had swiped all those worries away. One of the first things he’d done was tell Shen Yuan that he’d be paying his rent for now, like he would be providing for all his other needs. Shen Yuan had protested, but he’d known it was pointless. How was he supposed to stop Luo Binghe from sending money to his landlord?

Without those preoccupations, Shen Yuan had permitted himself freedom from work in general. He had spared not a thought to that most unpleasant matter. His romantic life, if it could be called that, had demanded all his attention.

Now, enough was enough. This had been fun, but Shen Yuan had a job to do. No matter how much he dreads it, he has to review his lesson plan.

Such is life.

_________________

It takes Luo Binghe only one cursory look at Shen Yuan to notice something went very, very wrong. His dear teacher is tense, hunched over his desk, hand on his forehead as if he’s trying to hold a headache at bay. Shen Yuan hasn’t appeared this stressed since he set foot inside Luo Binghe’s home. He radiates distress like he did that day, when Luo Binghe went to visit him and found him on the verge of collapse.

Back then, all he wanted was to stop that collapse.

That conviction has never faltered.

Gently, Luo Binghe taps Shen Yuan’s shoulder. “Laoshi?”

Shen Yuan doesn’t turn. “Binghe, not now. I’m busy.”

Luo Binghe glances at the document he’s worked on, and swears inwardly. Is all it took to reverse all the progress they made a reminder of that dreaded job?

Shen Yuan isn’t going back, and that’s final. “Why is Laoshi wasting his valuable time on this? Doesn’t he trust his Binghe?”

Shen Yuan turns toward him, annoyance visible on his face. “What does trust have to do with this?”

He stays firm. “I told Laoshi all I wanted was for him to be happy and healthy. I promised I would do anything for this to happen. His job doesn’t make him happy. Why would he return to it? He still has a few days to send his notice in time. He can leave the school behind and stay with me instead.”

Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. “Binghe, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. I see no reason why Laoshi should go back when he doesn’t need to work.”

“I do need to work. I can’t rely on Binghe’s good will for the rest of my life. Sooner or later, he’ll get tired of paying for an old man and will look to buy a younger, sweeter companion.”

There is so much wrong with this sentence Luo Binghe is struck silent. Shen Yuan knows better than this. He’s just in too fool a mood to act like it.

He regains control of himself. “First, Laoshi must never talk of himself like he’s a passing fancy I feel like throwing money at. It’s insulting both to yourself and to my love for you. Second, he can rely on me however he wants to. If he’s not secure with his current position, that can be dealt with. I will happily pay whatever lawyer he chooses to draft any arrangement he deems agreeable. I can transfer him a set amount of money each week that he can manage at his discretion. I can also give him a lump sum, significant enough that if something were to happen, he could live by himself, though he’s already my will’s sole beneficiary. Work is unnecessary.”

At this, Shen Yuan shakes. “I’m sorry? Did you just say that in the event of your death, you’re leaving me everything? Me?”

Luo Binghe doesn’t know why Shen Yuan is so surprised. “Who else? Laoshi knows I have no family. I have no plan to die before Laoshi, but if it were to happen, that’s no reason not to keep my promise.” It won’t, of course. Luo Binghe won’t allow it.

“Are you serious? That’s something you do for a spouse, not a dumb childhood crush.”

He genuinely thought they were over this. “Laoshi isn’t a crush. He’s someone I’ve been in love with for since I was a teenager. Didn’t I say I wanted him by my side at all times? I planned consequently.” If Shen Yuan wants children, modifications will be made to the will, but this won’t be happening anytime soon. For now, Luo Binghe wants him all to himself.

“I… We’re not even a couple yet! Binghe is being reckless! If he’s this open, what’s stopping me from fleecing him for all he’s got and leaving him destitute!”

Luo Binghe laughs, encouraged by the “yet”. “Laoshi would never. He’s too good a man to do such a thing.”

“I could! Binghe thinks he knows me so well, but the truth is he doesn’t. He’s got this image of me as a saint, as a person without flaws nor desires, but he’s wrong. Every day, I take advantage of Binghe’s kindness.”

Shen Yuan is the one who doesn’t know himself. “Taking what’s freely offered is not taking advantage.”

“It is when no sane person would make the offer!”

“Does Laoshi think me insane, then?”

“Well, no. I know Binghe is very smart.”

“Then why not trust I know what I’m doing?”

“Because you don’t!”

This is going nowhere. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m making Laoshi happy by keeping him from a job that is killing him.” He sighs. “If Laoshi absolutely feels like he needs to earn his own income, I will support him until he finds a decent job, or will pay for his continued education so that he can find something better, but I would much, much prefer he doesn’t bother. It’s stress he doesn’t need, for no reason. I just cannot accept his return to a school that has only one good point: him. It’s not good for him. As I said earlier, whatever he needs as collateral to feel safe, I’m willing to provide, as long as he does what’s best for himself.”

Shen Yuan looks speechless.

Luo Binghe doesn’t flinch.

“Every time I think Binghe must be fooling himself, or fooling me, he goes and does something like this, something that no one else would do, as if to prove his honesty. He makes me feel like an idiot.”

“That must be novel. I imagine someone as wonderful as Laoshi doesn’t feel that way often.”

“Just most days of my life.”

“Then his life must change. Laoshi should only feel good.” Which is something Luo Binghe would gladly help with, no matter when and where.

He takes Shen Yuan’s hand in his; presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “Please. Don’t go.”

Silence rests heavy on his shoulders for a while, until Shen Yuan breaks. “I’ll consider it.”

Luo Binghe embraces him and decides to wait.

_________________

The notice is sent two days later.

_________________

One moment Luo Binghe is preparing to go to bed, the next Shen Yuan, still damp from the shower, sits on his lap and kisses him.

It takes Luo Binghe negative one second to respond in kind, to open his mouth and to kiss back, his arms snaking around Shen Yuan’s waist to pull him closer and keep him there. Laoshi is the one who initiated! Luo Binghe can’t allow him to take it back.

Not that it seems like he will. Shen Yuan doesn’t struggle at all as Luo Binghe deepens the kiss, as his hands find the buttons of Shen Yuan’s sleeping shirt and open a trail he follows with his mouth. His laoshi’s breath fastens as Luo Binghe acquaints himself with his chest, fingers dancing over his ribs and down the gentle curve of his back.

Such good behavior has to be rewarded.

He does lift his eyes to Shen Yuan’s before removing his pants.

His beloved doesn’t say a word as he turns his gaze away demurely, but the caress in Luo Binghe’s hair speaks volumes, as does the seductive way he opens his thighs. If Shen Yuan has finally accepted his advances, how could Luo Binghe refuse him?

There are so many things Luo Binghe dreamed of doing to his Laoshi. He wants to spend hours worshipping him, keeping him in a state of unforgiving arousal until he begs for release. He wants to prepare him carefully and take him gently, painlessly, until all of Shen Yuan’s stress has left him and he’s barely conscious. He wants to fuck him until he screams. He wants to ride him languorously, for hours on end, until his body has taken the shape of Shen Yuan and no one else’s. He wants to be tied to the bed and used until he’s crying for mercy, and then be denied that mercy. He wants to go to work wearing the mark of Shen Yuan’s teeth high on his neck proudly, knowing his laoshi is wearing the exact same mark at home. He wants to fill him up with a remote-controlled toy and bring him to ecstasy during those interminable board meetings that would at least have a purpose, for once.

But for now, all he wants is to get to know all of Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan startles when Luo Binghe presses a kiss to his rapidly filling length, but he doesn’t protest. Good for him, because Luo Binghe isn’t sure he could have stopped. Not when he finally gets to find out how he tastes, how he sounds, how beautiful he looks when he flushes from pleasure.

He moans around him when Shen Yuan’s fingers twist into his hair. Shen Yuan could fuck his throat anytime, if he wanted to. Luo Binghe wouldn’t mind choking for him.

Maybe he could overcome that reflex with practice.

He would love to try.

It takes little time for Shen Yuan to groan and try to pull him off, which is a futile endeavor. Like Luo Binghe is going to waste any gift of Shen Yuan.

He greedily swallows it all down when Shen Yuan bites back his student’s name and digs his nails into Luo Binghe’s scalp.

Luo Binghe has never been this hard. “Laoshi, Shen Yuan, please.” He’d take anything. He’d rut against his leg if Shen Yuan would allow him to. “Please.”

Shen Yuan is bright red when his beautiful hand wraps around Luo Binghe’s cock, pulling and stroking in an awkward, unexperienced hold that Luo Binghe knows he’ll never get enough of. Just the sight of those white fingers on his feverish skin is enough to enthrall him. How is he going to last when they grow skilled? He’ll embarrass himself like the teenager he isn’t anymore! Even now, it takes all he has to last a few minutes.

He thought no sight could be fairer than Shen Yuan in pleasure, but the view of his fingers and chest covered in Luo Binghe’s come is so overwhelming Luo Binghe wishes his love was the type to allow for recording. If it were his face despoiled so… Luo Binghe would probably not soften at all.

Hopefully Shen Yuan will let him.

Another time. While Luo Binghe himself could easily keep on going for the rest of the night and the day after, what has happened tonight was probably a lot to ask of shy, proper Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe tries to soothe his exaltation, instead exploding in praises and endearments for his visibly embarrassed lover.

Luo Binghe ignores his attempts at distancing himself, instead holding him in his arm until Shen Yuan quiets and closes his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him.

_________________

Well, that happened.

It wasn’t… It was fine.

Okay, it was more than fine. One can only lie to themselves for so long. Luo Binghe is devastatingly handsome and convinced he loves Shen Yuan, for some reason. He’s not immune to that much charm!

He was kind. Shen Yuan had been as mentally prepared as he could be to find himself pushed on his back and taken, but Luo Binghe had waited.

Shen Yuan fully expects it will happen sooner or later. He’ll deal then. It will be hard on him, because quite honestly, he’s not sure anyone on Earth is built the right way to accommodate Luo Binghe, but he’ll do it. Binghe deserves it.

If he’s that serious about providing for Shen Yuan, he should get his money’s worth. Shen Yuan couldn’t live with himself otherwise.

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

[lets-imagine-fanfics]

War With The Ghost Part 4

Jake Peralta x Criminal!Reader [GN]

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3]

Not My GIFs; Picture 1: @tamazo2 | GIF 2: Unkown

Words: 1.2K

[Masterlist] [Send a Request] [Fandoms I write]

A/N: So this has taken a reallly long time to upload but has been sat in my Grammarly drafts for ages, and since I am getting back in to writing I figured imma finish my series. 

After you had made your predictions that Detective Jake Peralta (AKA your boyfrie...your date?...) was investigating you and your crew (also known as 'The Ghost' which is why Jake didn't think you were... well...  you) you decided to risk it for the sake of your crew and investigate Jake Peralta's case.

"Okay, let's make a plan... What do we need to be able to keep tabs on Jake's case, Sniffer?" You asked as you paced the empty apartment of your base.

"Hard to say, I don't know what kind of software he has, different software takes a different hack," Sniffer replied, his voice laced with exhaustion as he rubbed his forehead.

"There could be a case file at his place" You hear Jonesy say in his gruff voice. "If that's the case, you could always just break in, saves us all a job" he added with a smirk.

"Saves everyone getting involved that's for sure" You reply, a playful glare towards Jonesy. "I'll set up a date," You say as you start to walk to one of the bedrooms for your phone call with Jake "whilst I do that... Try and figure out what computers the precinct have and then Sniffer..." You turn back around to look at your team who are all eyes on you. Sniffer nods understanding that you want him to create a bug that you can plant. You head down the hall to the bedroom furthest from the team so you can't be heard on the phone.

You can hear his phone ringing through and then... "Hi, Jake". --- "I have an Instagram picture of one of Jake's work colleagues, Gina, It's a selfie, but her work computer is in the back of the picture, it's just a HP computer, nothin special" Creeps spoke up after going from Jake's Instagram followers and working out who Jake works with off of the last names that Sniffer had managed to find from some of the newspapers. From there, he found Gina's and, well, he hit the jackpot.

"This picture was a year ago; they could have gotten new systems now, a few precincts got new computers a few months ago as a good work initiative, didn't they." Creeps replied.

AJ grabs the phone from Creeps and looks through a few photos of Gina "Okay, so her spirit animal is a wolf, she loves Beyonce, and... believes in psychics... Get me her work number; I have an idea."

Sniffer found the work number, that was the easy part, AJ put her phone on private, dialled in the number and let it ring through.

"Hello, Is this Miss Linetti?" AJ asked through the phone, making sure to put on an accent. 'This is she' Gina replied.

"Oh, good, I'm with HP, and I see on my list that the 99th Precinct should be... due for a... computer software update soon, I am just ringing to check that everything is working well before we go ahead and send the update." 'Yeah... I guess everything is working' Gina again replied.

"Oh, excellent, I'll go ahead and send that email for you just to confirm you want the update... and then it will take a few days to come through, but first I need to take some details just to make sure our information matches your software otherwise the update might make your computer do a system reboot." At this, Sniffer actually facepalmed. 'I don't know those deets'

Sniffer started to write something down before showing AJ "It can be confusing at times but don't worry, there is a straightforward way of seeing... erm..." AJ vigorously shakes her head at Sniffer, saying no, whilst Sniffer nods his head at AJ as he shoves the paper closer to her face. "What does the windows logo look like on the keyboard?" 'Like a flag.' "Like a flag? Okay... and does it have a circle around it or does it look like the end is pixelated like it belongs in 'Avengers: Infinity War'?" AJ asks. 'Circle one?'  Gina finally said as if analysing the logo on her keyboard.

"The circle one" AJ confirms looking at Sniffer who nods eagerly. "Excellent, thank you Ms Linetti, that's the one we have on our systems too.  That's the Windows Vista software, well we have confirmed that and we will continue with the update. Thank you for the help." 'No problem, I guess' Gina replied before hanging up.

"How did you know it was the Windows Vista from just 'flag' and  'circle'?" AJ asked Sniffer who was getting a high five from Creeps at that point.

"Windows logo changed a bit; I would have been screwed if she said neither coz that means it could either be XP or 7 and we would have had no way of telling them apart."

Sniffer sat back down at his computer from being stood; next AJ was he vigorously wrote notes and hints down for her whilst on the phone, as he got done making the bug email for you, you appeared from the bedroom.

"I have a date, It took some time and convincing, but I am picking him up from the precinct, did you find out what computer system they were using or whatever?"

"Creeps found the person to call and AJ rang, she was brilliant on the phone, taught her well. Quick on her feet. Sniffer managed to figure out what computer systems the 99 was using and created the bug email, and I just stood 'ere looking pretty." Jonesy relayed everything that had happened whilst you were in the other room.

"You are amazing at standing there and looking pretty, Jonesy" You say with a smile as Sniffer sends off the bugged email.

"Don't you know it" Jonesy replied with a grin. ------

You were heading to the precinct whilst you were on your phone. "Now remember, we can't help you when you are in there, no earpieces, no calls, you are totally dark in there." Creeps said on the other end of the phone.

"Oh no, 'cause I really wanted you lot listening in on our date" You reply sarcastically.

"Okay, Okay" Sniffer joined the call. "Right, once you reach Jake's computer, add the hard drive and send over the file. It will be visible in your hard drive file but not on the computer - due to the bug we sent to Ms Linetti via email. Once you have sent it over, we can then take a look at anything and everything on Jake's laptop and then whenever he sends an email - with our keywords; the bug will automatically multiply and attach to the emails and docs sent, and then once we are ready, we can erase every single file and email about the Ghosts."

"Very nice touch, Sniffer" You say pleased with his thinking.  "I'll be in touch after everything is done" After that you hang up, knowing that your team no doubt had a dozen comments about what 'Everything' could be.  

When you walked into the 99, you headed into the bullpen when you heard someone speak to you. "Hi, can I help you" A short man wearing a detective's badge asks.

"Yes, actually... I'm looking for Jake Peralta, this is where he works, isn't it?" You ask feigning innocents.  

"Jake... Yeah, he's out at the minute, but his desk is just there if you want to wait" The man replied with a soft tone.

"Perfect, Thank you."

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time-Ch 5

I'm back! lots of things to come, and a slightly longer, Tim centered, chapter! and...the build-up to the Timari subplot! 

Yay!

 I know that is what everyone is actually here for lol.

Tim was tired of looking for Jason.

He wasn’t at any of his normal safe houses, and none of his usual contacts had heard from him in the last few weeks. Three weeks after the ridiculous scandal had broken, the press had all but forgotten Tim for the time being. As he ducked through alleyways, the teen couldn’t help but be thankful as he climbed back on his bike and sped back towards Wayne Manor.

He was done waiting for his brother to show up. There was something sketchy going on in their city, and if Jason wasn’t going to show up, then it was no longer his concern.

When he got home, Tim found Bruce waiting for him in the study looking over the side gardens. The older C.E.O.’s face was grim.

When Tim approached the desk, Bruce handed him a stack of papers. As Tim started to page through them, he had a flashback to when Jared Stone had brought the pile of tabloids.

As he flipped through the new stack, Tim realized that it was Jason’s credit card statement. And-was that…? “did he buy a ticket for Paris? Why didn’t we get notified about his passport passing through customs? Why is Jason in France of all places?” when he looks back at his adoptive father, the man’s face was grim.

“I don’t know, Tim. But we sure as hell are going to find out. Go to his apartment. I know you have a key. We need to see if he left anything out from before he left.” Bruce paused before adding, “he’s been gone for two weeks. There has to be a reason.” Tim nodded as he moved to stride from the room before Alfred spoke, shocking both Bruce and Tim.

“Maser Bruce, did you by chance call Master Jason? Last I remember, his cell phone was still working.” The father and son froze, before turning to the family Butler, slack-jawed.

“We really are stupid.”

 Damian didn’t see anything wrong with Todd being gone. It was quieter around the Manor and it meant that the 13-year-old was allowed to patrol through Crime Alley by himself, something none of his predecessors had been able to do at his age.

As the young teen flew over the city, his mind raced. He found this the most relaxing part of his time with his father.

At the manor, there was always something going on and there was always someone looking over his shoulder. Here, as he went rooftop to rooftop, arching over this city, the boy was able to finally find some peace.

A sound over his earpiece broke Robin from his quiet elation. “Robin, how are you doing? Is everything clear?” oracle’s voice filtered through, bringing him to relax. Oracle he could handle.

“it’s a regular night, Oracle. A few of the regulars. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“perfect. Finish up and head back, B wants you back before 2 because you have school tomorrow.”

The annoyed “Tch” that came down the line made the redhead laugh from where she sat at the computer.

 Tim had texted Jason before he had left for patrol. When he got back, there was a response waiting for him.

Jason: in Paris. I’ll be back soonish

Tim: Jay, what’s soonish?

Tim: there’s a situation we need your help with.

Jason: kid, I'll be back when I can.

Jason: if B cares, tell him Gina kidnapped me. I’m staying with her right now.

Jason: otherwise, just wait. It's personal business.

Tim: Jay, we are your family. Doesn’t that make it our business too?

Jason: in this case, no. fuck off, replacement

Tim: See you when you get back Jay

 The teen sighed. It was just like Jason to try and handle everything himself. This time, Tim couldn’t play interference either, he was stuck across an ocean. He just hoped this Gina person wasn’t as impulsive as his older brother. If she was, they would all be in trouble.

 As he made his way to his room, having showered and gotten himself ready for the next day, Tim paused by his desk.

He had taken the time to compile a file on the girl from a few weeks ago but hadn’t read it yet. He knew that if he was to read it, it would be violating her privacy, but he did that every day, so was this any different? To Tim, the only difference was that this girl wasn’t someone to watch or take in. she was just a normal girl with a normal life, who had run into him for a split second.

It wasn’t like he was going to meet her, right?

The teen shook his head and flopped onto his bed. It wasn’t worth it tonight. He could have the moral debate with himself when he was properly rested.

 Maybe he should have called in sick. Tim was definitely finding a way to leave early, as he looked at the list of meetings that he had been scheduled for.

Why had he agreed to this again? He could have sworn that he had told his assistant that Wednesday was his day to go home and work on his college classes. Instead, Tim had a feeling that he was going to be at the office late.

On his off night too.

 Partway through the day, he noticed an email that he didn’t recognize in his personal inbox. The inbox that he probably shouldn’t have been checking on the company computer but…

After a moment of hesitation, the young C.E.O. had clicked on the new email and blinked at what pulled up.

  From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake,

My name is Marinette Dupain Cheng. I believe that we ran into each other quite literally a month and a half ago, approximately. As I am sure that you have at least seen the fictitious stories floating through the media, I assume that you are aware of the interaction that I am referring to.

Originally, I had no intention of reaching out, but a friend of mine encouraged me to reach out. (had actually was the one to give me your email. Does the name Jason Todd ring a bell?) I do hope that this whole press fiasco hasn’t hindered you too terribly.

Kindest Regards,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Tim blinked once before rereading the short email that the girl had sent. No. no way. She knew Jason? And what did she mean, Jason was the one to encourage her to reach out? Opening up a new draft, Tim hesitated before flicking his wrists to rid himself of tension and trying his reply.

 From: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

To: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

Miss Dupain Cheng,

I was surprised to receive your email, but it seems that it came at a fortunate time. Yes, I do know Jason Todd. I know him quite well, actually. He and I were adopted by the same man, Bruce Wayne. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet my brother?

I must apologize, for the whole scandal from last month. I know that neither of us were directly responsible, but I do feel bad for any trouble it may have caused you. If it is not too much of an intrusion, I might also ask, how were you able to respond so quickly? The only reason I knew about the incident was Bruce’s old friend Jared. The man came into my office in a fit about the nerve of the photographer.

(if you ever meet the man, you will understand what I mean when I say that he never does things halfway. He had picked up a copy of every magazine or tabloid that ran a story about it. When he came in, he actually brought his crocodile as well. Fang scared the lobby staff more than anything has for the past bit, I believe.)

I hope this finds you well,

Timothy Drake Wayne

 After reading through his email one more time to make sure it sounded professional enough, Tim hit the send button and let out a deep breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that this was the start of something important.

Suddenly, Tim was very glad he hadn’t read the girl’s file.

 As he was preparing to head to yet another meeting later that afternoon, Tim glanced at his personal email again. To his surprise, the teen was met with another email from the French girl.

 From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake (or is it Drake Wayne?)

Jason was sitting next to me when I opened your last email. Imagine my surprise when he panicked. Apparently, he had decided against informing any of his family of his departure. I must say, his reaction was quite entertaining.

Onto your question from your email, Penny Rolling, a good friend of mine, dropped off a box full of the tabloid trash that her husband, Jagged had shipped to her as soon as she got it. After my initial reaction, the two of us got a good laugh out of the whole situation. Especially when we heard that Jagged tried to bring Fang into your office! I guess to you, he would be Jared, but to me, he will always be my Uncle Jagged.

In other news, I thought it would be polite to pass on that Jason will be returning in the next few days. He has been fretting over a family emergency, not that he will tell me what it is but, there is only so much I can do. However, I thought it might be prudent to forewarn you that he will be bringing my grandmother back with him. Nona said it was something to do with one of his ‘side hustles’. Knowing those two, however, makes me think that Jason has gotten himself into something significantly illegal this time.

No need to apologize for something that neither of us could control! You did not ask for the photographer to take that ridiculous photo, nor did you ask for the fiction writers who work for the tabloids to write a piece of the photo. That said, I do feel that it has opened many new avenues. I know that Jason and I reconnected because of the photo, and it has given my lawyers something to focus on while we wait on proceedings for other matters.

Have a good day,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Jason was coming home sooner than he planned. It seemed like Tim’s text had actually gotten through to his older brother.

With a sigh, he marked the email as important so that he would remember to respond to it before he started on his homework.

The teen C.E.O. snagged his thermos of coffee on the way out the door, he had a meeting to go to.

And...there it is! this week I'm going to try and work out my posting schedule. what did everyone think of the emails?

  i know that there are a lot more people in the Wayne/bat family, so I'm going to work them in a little bit at a time. as far as Dick Grayson is concerned, btw he knows about the scandal but not about Jason's sister or that he's not in Gotham.

MasterPost

Tag List

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter 

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[moonlightsapphic]

Three sleepless hours after midnight, a sliver of light falls through the closet door I left open. The AC in the otherwise quiet apartment hums, and I lie in bed with my phone, in a still strange city, a hundred miles away from everyone I know … oceans away from her.

I get caught up with her recent posts on Facebook—cat memes (I have really and truly turned her), baby videos, and disses at university administration. I swipe through her profile pictures, the latest one cracking my heart in two. And then an older one from earlier this year steals my breath—a translucent red top, casually confident posture, berry lips in a bright smile at the camera.

My thoughts shift from What am worth to you? to When will I get to see myself here? as I reach the ones with our mutual friends for their birthdays.

The last few are from freshman year—batch-mates I’ve never met, a life I’ll never be part of. I tap into her old profile and skim through photos from 2014 to 2019, smiling at the bushy eyebrows that she can barely tolerate having around anymore, painfully typical teenage poises, and full-coverage make-up looks done at salons that she wouldn’t be caught dead in now.

I go on a speed-scrolling spree trying to find the first post of hers I’d ever interacted on. Yes, THE first post. It’s a little activity I indulge in sometimes—a losing battle that I enjoy playing.

On a tangent, I end up a rabbit hole of 2000s Taylor Swift that were once my anthems when I was in high school, crushing on guys that I would eventually fade from my life (perhaps after causing it to take a turn for the worse).

But I didn’t know that back then. School was bittersweet and memorable and I wish I could say I wouldn’t change it for anything, but as I listen to “Permanent Marker”, “Sweet Tea and God’s Graces”, “The Diary of Me” and “This is Really Happening”—

I think of haphazardly solving math problems with her and only just managing to turn it in before class begins, watching in awe as she pesters amused teachers with the same questions that I had trouble raising my hand for, and then getting berated for whispering about her new musical band obsession during lectures.

I think of her towering over me protectively and clucking at my clumsy lankiness, intimidating the boys that’d make eyes at my lunch, and then dragging my lazy ass off for a walk around the playing fields. We’d rant about sociopolitical issues and shit-talk our small town together. I’d get embarrassed at my accidental ten-minute monologue about the achillean book I read last weekend, then profusely apologize as she laughed at how adorable I was.

I think of after hours, when she’d wait with me at the bleachers and joke that I was a kid in need of picking up. We’d exchange stories about our, well, unconventional (complicated, often sucky) families. She’d shake her head and wipe away a tear from my face, because of course I would be (reflexively) crying. I would tell her that she was the gentlest person I knew, and she would only grin because she’d know it was true, and because she thrives in vulnerability even more than I do.

In hangouts at my place, she would flush and look away instead when I’d tell her she was also the smartest and the damn coolest. Over iced coffee and fresh-baked iced chocolate cupcakes, a mutual friend would weigh in, gushing about her curls and eyelashes and collarbones. Protesting weakly, she would eventually want the earth to swallow her up.

In cram school waiting room, I would whisper to her that I thought so too, before we stole a frantic, almost-accidental, confused, desperate kiss in the feeble glow of the old tube-light. The graffitied walls would be our only witness, and by the time the other girls poured in, we’d be intently working on our homework on opposite sides of the room. No one would hear my heart pounding, or her hands shaking.

We’d text furiously through the night. Then for the next few days, weeks, months.

And after graduation, we’d say goodbye.

And we’d end up here anyway. Without any of the extra steps.

I press send on the email I spent hours drafting to the girl I love, and get myself a drink of water.

Aren’t stories magical? I finally feel like I can sleep.

[dinosaurtsukki]

Tsukki fanfic owo S/o is always loving and caring towards tsukki but one day tsukki keeps being emotionless and neglecting s/o. He thinks that s/o will always be there cuz s/o has always been the one saying how much she loves him. But s/o gets mad cuz it was a bad day and tsukki is still emotionally off. S/o ain’t like screaming or anything but silently crying cuz that’s how tsukki is and thinks that she should take care of her own emotions. Tsukki sees this and opens up about being stoic.

Heyyy if you’re taking requests for tsukki fic, can you do a wholesome tsukki and s/o kinda thing. I wanna have one where tsukki laughs and enjoys his time with s/o. like he secretly thinks a lot about how much he loves s/o. idk but I just wanna read fanfic where tsukki laughs and smiles a lot :”)

okay i know these two were probably sent by two diff. people but i kind of wanted to do both of these in one, slightly long drabble hehe. i hope you all like this i had a ton of fun thinking of it and writing it :). also, i made reader a university professor because that’s an occupation i’m more familiar with. and,,, i hope this is what you were looking for ? (i kind of went off a bit ahh i’m sorry!) 

You and Tsukishima struggling with being around each other 24/7 during quarantine 

(feat. arguing, pen-clicking, and then some singing and fluff later on)

between you and tsukishima, it was him who predicted that the pandemic would inevitably lead to a long lockdown period where you two would have to live in the same space, twenty-four hours a day. it was your one ray of light during that dark time when the world was essentially on fire. you and tsukishima tended to have busy work schedules with him at the museum and you teaching at the nearby university so you saw the lockdown period as a way to spend more time with your boyfriend.

the first few weeks were fine aside from the constant caution whenever you or tsukishima went out for groceries. neither of you had work yet with the university and museum still adjusting so you two spent the time learning how to bake bread, sleeping in until noon, and staying up late, curled up on the couch and re-watching the Jurassic Park series.

the next few weeks were... less than fine. both of you had to get back to work, which meant a whole lot of online meetings. tsukishima spent hours working on the new online exhibits that the museum was doing while you were grading papers for days. that’s when you started picking up on some of the annoying things that your boyfriend did, like: not putting the milk back in the fridge, hogging the blankets when you guys slept, and playing the music on his headphones really loud that you had to remove them yourself to talk to him. but you weren’t the only one picking on annoying habits. tsukishima felt that he was just now realizing how many products you had in the bathroom that he couldn’t even find his own shampoo. he hated that you always finished the hot sauce by dumping two tablespoons on your food whenever you ate. and he absolutely loathed the sound of you frantically clicking your pen whenever you were stressed.

but, those few weeks were still somewhat alright. the two of you either dealt with things by talking it out or just ignoring them altogether. tsukishima would still carry you to be whenever you passed out on the dining table and you still made him an extra cup of coffee in the afternoon.

and then, the next few weeks happened. at this point, tsukishima barely had any work to do with the museum’s online exhibit up, except for answering the occasional dumb question on their website. he spent most of the day pacing the house, looking for something to do unless he was going to lie in bed while blasting music. you, on the other hand, were chest-deep in writing course packs, syllabi, compiling readings, emailing students, and conducting online classes. almost everything you two did led to you or tsukishima jumping at the other’s throats. 

and that’s when the metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan.

you were in the middle of checking papers, knowing very well that your deadline was fast approaching and if you wanted your students to get on with their next task, you had to send them the drafts of their papers as soon as possible. as per your usual habit when you were stressed out, you were clicking your favorite violet pen like crazy. tsukishima, who was at his desk on the other side of the room that you two shared as your office, could feel his sanity hanging by a thread that was unraveling with every click of your pen. and you were clicking your pen a lot. 

‘it’s their nervous habit, it’s their nervous habit, it’s their nervous habit,’ tsukishima repeated as he closed his eyes and increased the volume of the music he was listening to in hopes to drown out the sound.

click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-cl--

“can you not?” tsukishima tugged his headphones off and swiveled around to yell at you. the sudden volume of your boyfriend’s voice made you jump in your seat but unable to react fast enough when tsukishima stood up and plucked the purple pen from your hands. 

on any other day, you would have simply apologized and reasoned with tsukishima about your nervous habit. but, you weren’t grading a shit ton of papers on any other day.

“easy for you to say when you don’t have all these papers to grade!” you stood up and looked at your scowling boyfriend right in the eye. both of you had dark circles under your eyes and unwashed hair and neither of you cared. “why don’t you get out of the room if it’s so damn annoying?”

“maybe it’s because i also live here and i have every right to be comfortable in the office without having to hear the sound of your pen 24/7!” tsukishima yelled.

“well it’s not like you have anything important to work on,” you snapped, putting emphasis on ‘important’. that struck a vein with tsukishima and you could see the irritated quirk of his eyebrows. 

“are you saying that i’m useless here?” he said slowly and menacingly. “it’s not my fault that the fucking museum isn’t open at this time.”

“i’m not saying that but it sure would be nice for you to give me a helping hand once in a while when you know what i’m going through,” you huffed. you knew that you two were straying far away from the discussion about your pen-clicking habits but all those weeks of putting up with each other’s habits and other frustrations were bubbling from the surface.

“don’t you think i wish i could just take a break from all this? it sure would be nice if you just asked me how i was doing or cooked dinner more than just a few times a week!” you yelled.

“what am i, your mom?” tsukishima scoffed.

“no, you’re my boyfriend,” you emphasized. “and you’re just supposed to do things like that especially when you know what i’m going through. like, i get that you like keeping to yourself most of the time and you’re not super into cuddles or anything but, i don’t know, a ‘how are you?’ once in a while would be fucking great!” you gasped for air after your rant ended. for a fraction of a second, tsukishima looked almost sad or sorry and you began to hope that maybe you got through him. but, as quickly as it came, tsukishima scowled and turned away.

“if dinner’s what you want then fine, i’ll make something later. but for the love of god, stop clicking your fucking pen,” he sighed and sat at his desk before putting the headphones over his ears. you fumed at his indifference, you could practically feel your face heat up from anger. in a few strides, you crossed the room to his desk.

“we’re not done talking tsukishima!” you yelled over how loudly you knew tsukishima was blasting his music. in one quick motion, you unplugged the aux cord of his headphones.

unluckily for tsukishima, his phone did That Thing called ‘Playing Your Music Out Loud After Removing the Headphone Jack’ that he desperately avoided again and again by constantly lowering the volume on his phone before removing his headphones. even more unluckily for him, he was blasting his playlist full of taylor swift songs that had somehow held his sanity for the past few weeks.

and you, a sworn taylor swift fan, heard the very familiar opening track of ‘Wildest Dreams’. 

both of you were quiet as the intro played, both very shocked from the sudden interruption that had broken your heated argument. and then, tsukishima reacted by reaching for his phone. unluckily for him again, you reacted faster and grabbed the phone first.

“no way,” you exclaimed as you opened his playlist and scrolled through the songs, your anger quickly forgotten. 

“y/n, give it back!” tsukishima gritted his teeth and swiped at the phone in your hand. he could feel his own face heating up from embarrassment at his secret being revealed. 

“why are you embarrassed about it? it’s cute! you should have told me way sooner and we could have listened to folklore together,” you grinned at him. “and i love this song. ‘you said let’s get out of this town--’”

“give it!” tsukishima grabbed the phone out of your hand while you were distracted singing. 

“no, no, no! don’t pause it! i love this!” you whined, grabbing at his arm as he sat down. tsukishima was one press of a thumb away from ending your enjoyment. but, it was exactly that which stopped him from pressing ‘pause.’ now that he thought about it, when was the last time he heard you laugh.

and besides, ‘Wildest Dreams’ was a good song.

“come on tsukki,” you grinned cheekily. “look! it’s about you! ‘he’s so taaalll and handsome as heeeellll,’” you sang, trying to reach taylor’s high notes. 

“do you realize how embarrassing you’re being right now?” tsukishima sighed, but the hand over his mouth hiding the grin on his face betrayed how flattered he was.

“sing with me! sing with me!” you chanted, jumping up and down on the balls of your feet. “come on, nobody’s watching! in case you haven’t realized it, it’s literally been just us here.”

tsukishima looked at you. he wasn’t that unhinged from the lockdown yet that he would start singing taylor swift out loud.

but the ecstatic look on your face was something that he undoubtedly missed, along with his favorite strawberry shortcake at the cafe you two frequented. and you were right. it was just the two of you.

“...say you’ll remember me,” he sang softly. the grin on your face widened and you let out a giggle before joining him.

“standing in a nice dress staring at the sunset babe,” you sang. tsukishima smiled freely as he sang and watched you enjoy yourself. and then, you held at his hands and tugged him from the chair.

“what are you doing?”

“we’re going to dance. duh.”

“wh-what? no!” tsukishima shook his head even as you successfully tugged him out of his chair. “singing is one thing and dancing is another thing.”

“think of it as more like, you already sang so might as well dance,” you smirked at him. tsukishima stubbornly kept still even while you held his hands and swayed from side to side. “tsukkiiiiiii,” you whined when he still refused to move. you kept swaying while pouting up at your boyfriend. finally, he let out a sigh and put a hand behind your back before pulling you closer to him.

“that’s not how you dance, idiot,” he muttered. 

“so... you’re going to show me how?” you smiled cheekily. tsukishima rolled his eyes but proceeded to sway you back and forth as he hummed along to the music. you enjoyed the slow dance before, without warning, tsukishima grinned and spun you around.

“hey!” you laughed, feeling yourself stumble before being pulled back into tsukishima’s arms. 

“what? i thought you wanted to dance?” this time, it was his turn to smile cheekily at you. 

“yeah but--” you were cut off with tsukishima spinning you around again. “tsukki-- i-- stop!!” you attempted to say in between your boyfriend laughing and repeatedly spinning you around. 

“stop! i’m dizzy!” you erupted into fit of laughter as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend to stop him from spinning you again. “where the hell did you learn that?”

“mom always had this thing where she would suddenly dance during christmas and new years when she had too much to drink,” tsukishima smiled at the memory as his hands circled around you. “usually, it was akiteru who she pulled to dance. i kind of, picked up a thing or two.”

“hmmmm, a new fact about tsukki,” you hummed and looked up at him. “i’ve learned two new facts today.”

“two new facts that you’re going to keep secret,” he emphasized, flicking you lightly on the forehead. 

“yeah, yeah. you can stop burying yourself in your headphones now and blast your favorite artist on loudspeaker,” you sang. 

“fine,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around you tighter. tsukishima realized that he hadn’t hugged you like this in a while. hell, you two hadn’t had this kind of break in a while. after weeks of feeling like he was ‘putting up’ with you, tsukishima remembered what he was doing sharing a living space with you in the first place. 

“hey... i’m actually not that bad at grading papers. like, i know grammar and how to write a proper argument. also, i had to tutor two idiots throughout high school,” tsukishima said. you looked up at him with a relieved smile on your face. tsukishima felt a knot in his chest loosen. maybe he should have offered that weeks ago.

“that would be great, tsukki,” you smiled. “i’ll... try not to click my pen too much.”

“yes please,” tsukishima sighed with relief and let you go. “i’m getting some water from the kitchen. need anything?”

“some tea would be great right now,” you nodded and sat back in your chair.

“got it,” tsukishima nodded and started for the door. but before he left, you called out to him.

“love you, kei.” 

tsukishima smiled as he reached for the doorknob. “love you too, y/n.” 

taglist (still open to anyone who wants in): @montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart@akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan@therainroguefanfiction@atetiffdoesart@stephdaninja@oikaw-ugh @charliefredb @dramaqueenweeb1469@tremblinghearts @applepienation also you @janellion because you’re responsible for any swiftie!tsukki content that i write from now on

[thisisawonderfulusername]

carry me

diego hargreeves x reader

requested: anon

summary: diego has been dating the person who teaches karate down the street for a while. after meeting the family at reginald’s funeral, they end up helping to stop the end of the world... twice.

trigger warnings: cursing, unedited

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i’m so sorry to anon that this took so long to come out, i’ve been in and out of writing and i was busy so it was sitting in my drafts, half finished for a while lmao. but here it is! i hope it was worth the wait. i wasn’t able to fit everything that you wanted in, but i got the basics lol.

you take slow steps around the room, watching as your most advanced students spar, taking hits from their opponents that land on the padded gear they wore with loud thuds. this was something you watched every day, but these students were your favorite because they were never afraid to give or take a packed punch.

there’s a tap at the window that forms the wall to your left, but you ignore it, assuming it to be a bird or something that hit the glass. when it returns, this time much more insistent on getting someone’s attention, you turn your head to look and you see diego standing outside of the dojo. sighing softly, you look towards your assistant, “i have to attend to something, take over for a few.”

as the slightly younger man nods, you exit the room and make your way out of the building after slipping your shoes on, rounding to where your boyfriend waits. “i hope this is important.” you tell him with a small grin, “i don’t leave my students for just anything, you know.” he doesn’t smile or anything, his face set into hard stone, and your eyebrows furrow. “is everything okay?”

“my dad died.” he tells you simply, and your lips part in surprise, stepping towards him, ready to comfort him, but he shakes his head. “i don’t care about him. it’s the funeral that i care about. i’m only going to see pogo and grace, but my family will be there and i don’t know if i can tolerate them alone.”

you glance through the window at your students, “are you saying what i think you’re saying?”

he nods, “if what you’re thinking is that i want you to come with me, then yes, i am.”

you purse your lips, taking a deep breath as you think it over for a moment. “when?” you question, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“uh... now?”

you’re too surprised to think for a moment, just gaping at him at the suddenness of it all. after a few seconds, you regain yourself, shaking your head, “right now? you’re serious?”

diego gives another slow nod, looking at you like a lost puppy. you sigh heavily, looking away from him into the dojo, before running your fingers through your hair. “alright.” he smiles at that, and you hold a finger up, “let me send out a few emails. i can’t just dip out without an explanation.”

-

when you met his family, they loved you, much to his annoyance. that week was a crazy one, and you ended up having to help save the world- which didn’t work at all.

and then you landed in dallas, texas, in the year 1963, only a few weeks after diego did. when you found the newspaper that told you where you were, it also gave you some very interesting information on what your boyfriend had been up to when he landed before you.

that’s how you ended up at the mental institution that he was being held, watching as he was escorted into the small visiting room. the smile on his face when he saw you was contagious, though you tried to hold yours back.

“hargreeves, what the hell did you do?” you question with a chuckle as the guards moved to stand nearby, ready to step in if anything happened. too bad they wouldn’t be able to stop what you had planned. there were only two of them. really, a mistake on their part.

taking your hands as he sat down, the man leaned forward onto the table. his hair had grown out a lot since he had gotten here, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t think that he looked good. “i missed you.” he doesn’t answer your question, and you roll your eyes, raising your eyebrow to get him to tell you. “okay, i’m going to save the president. and you’re going to help.”

your lips part for a second, and when you have fully processed what he said, you let out a bewildered laugh. “no,” you tell him, “no i’m not. you’re not going to do that.”

his eyebrows furrow in confusion and you can tell that he had gone a little crazy in his time here. “why not?”

shaking your head, you run your thumb over his knuckles. “because, that’s just a stupid idea.” you grin as you watch him deflate slightly, “do you have any idea how that would change the timeline? it’s going to change everything, and if five ever finds us, he’ll kill you for it.”

when he doesn’t say anything, almost seeming like a toddler with how he looked at you, you sigh, leaning forward slightly. “but i’ll tell you what we are doing,” you start, the volume of your voice dropping, “we’re getting you out of here.”

the smile comes back, and he leans towards you, sneaking in a quick kiss. “i’ll get the one at the door.” he whispers, and you nod, already bracing yourself for the fight ahead of you. “on three.”

“one... two... three!” with the raise in your voice, you jump up from where you sit, and so does diego, jumping the guard at the door before he can even realize what’s going on.

you managed to barrel over the table and get your guard, landing a kick right in his chest that knocks him back into the wall behind him. the impact doesn’t allow him to recover in enough time to fight back, and with a punch to the face (one that had definitely broken his nose), he was out like a light, slumping to the ground.

turning, you see that diego had no trouble getting the other guy, and just as you were about to leave the room, you’re surprised by the sudden appearance of a red light that flashes in time with the alarm ringing through the place.

“let’s get the hell out of here before we’re both stuck in here.” you grab his arm, beginning to run down the hall towards what you hope is an exit, and not a dead end that lead to guard detaining you.

as you run, diego keeps a good hold on your hand. “you know,” he breathes, looking behind the two of you to be sure nobody was following, “it’s hot when you fight like that.”

you can’t help but laugh, but shake your head. “we don’t have time for your flirting, diego.” you tell him, taking a sharp turn down another hall. you suddenly stop when you come face to face with another woman, diego nearly bumping into your back but stopping just in time.

“i knew you were crazy enough to plot an escape.” the woman chuckles, and you’re surprised that she knows him.

you look to him in silent question, and he lets out a breath. “no time. we’re still in a pit of guards, if you’ve forgotten.” he’s already beginning to move forward, “let’s go!”

with his shout, you’re running again, the woman right beside you. you’re not sure who she is, but introductions can be made later, when you’re not in danger of being locked up.

-

you had really thought that she was an okay person. diego seemed to like her enough to keep her around, and she seemed harmless (other than her knowledge in combat).

yet there she was, standing in the middle of the empty field ahead of you, the handler at her side. five and diego had gone out to meet them and see what they wanted while you, klaus, allison, and luther stood near the barn in the snow, squinting to try and get a peek at what was happening.

you didn’t get much time to wonder, however, because with blue flashes- literally everywhere- people started popping up all around them, equipped with briefcases and a gun.

“oh, my god.” you hear luther breathe out from next to you, the four of you looking out as they continue to pop up. they filled the field behind lila and the handler, and you began to realize what this was.

“this can’t be good.” you mumble, your heart beginning to race.

sure, you could fight. you had trained in karate since you were seven, but that didn’t seem to be of much importance right now, when they were all pointing guns at you and you had nothing to protect yourself with.

in the distance, you see the woman pulling something out of the pocket of her jacket as the two boys begin to turn and run, causing the rest of you to do the same.

the next thing you know, you can hear the pounding of hundreds of feet against the frosted ground, too caught up in trying to save your ass to look back and see everything. you just hoped that diego was okay.

then, the gun shots begin. all around you, bullets crashed into the ground as you ran for cover, and just as you were about to dive behind carts of hay with the other three, you feel the sharp stinging pain in your leg. you fall to the ground just behind the hay, and when you look down to see what the pain was, the snow is stained with your blood.

breath becoming shallow, your eyes widen at the sight. “fuck,” you breathe shakily, hands waving wildly in the air as you try to think of what to do, “what the fuck.”

you’re too busy worrying about the blood pouring out of your thigh to see what everyone else sees- vanya floating in the air, a white glow surrounding her- until the fire raining down on you ceases.

you look up from the red snow, shifting your body to look past the side of the cart while the others stood to look, seeing lila beginning to do the same as vanya had done.

allison, klaus, and luther begin to run- apparently not taking notice of your situation- just as the force from the power begins to move over the field, and you try to push away from it before it can get to you, but you’re too late. the cart is knocked over by the force, trapping you under it as you hit your head against the ground, effectively being knocked out.

-

“where’s y/n?” diego questions the moment he’s on his feet, looking around at all of his siblings who had helped him get out from under the tractor that had trapped his leg.

the three that had been with you look to each other, silently asking if you had been with them, and when nobody seems to say anything about it, klaus looks to the cart that they had left you at. “last time i saw her...” he says, pointing towards where you were trapped.

the man’s eyebrows furrow as he immediately turns on his heel to run to the cart, seeing the blood when he gets to it and quickly dropping to the ground beside your unconscious body. everyone else had followed and when they saw the sight, luther jumped to lift the hay that trapped you as diego pulled you out.

“god, no!” he pants, looking to your leg that had slowed down a bit in it’s bleeding, his eyes widening as he quickly checks for your pulse. he lets out a relieved sigh when you’re alive, looking to the others. “i’ll take care of her,” he tells them with a nod, “go find five, get rid of lila.”

they all split away from the two of you with the command, going to defeat the enemy that is the crazy lady you had met at the asylum.

-

she had been dealt with. mostly. the handler was dead and lila had disappeared with the suitcase she arrived with, off to who knows where to do who knows what.

you shoot up from the ground when you wake up, groaning from the pain the shot up your leg. “ah, shit!”

diego quickly looks up when he hears you, “oh, thank god you’re up.” he lets out a huff of breath, shaking his head. “how did this happen?” he questions, motioning to your thigh, where a piece of your shirt had been wrapped around the wound, already bleeding through.

“well, i got shot.” you state the obvious, picking at the shirt and gritting your teeth as you feel the pain.

he breathes in sharply, “okay, you’ll be okay.” he nods, and you think he may be telling that to himself rather than you. “we took care of lila and the handler-”

“i really thought she would be an alright person,” you shake your head as you prepare yourself to stand up, but diego quickly stops you.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea.” he warns, his hand held up to keep you from doing it, “i’ll just... carry you.”

you grin at the proposition. “a real knight in shining armor.” you chuckle, “i guess i’ll allow it.”

“yeah, yeah.” he smiles as he loops his arm under your knees, careful to not move your thigh too much to avoid pain, before putting the other on your back. you put an arm around his shoulder, and he lifts you slowly, trying his hardest not to hurt you.

you squeeze your eyes shut at the pain that courses through your leg, but you try to tough it out. “did five find a way to get back home?” you question, opening your eyes to look up at him.

“yeah,” he tells you, “we had an array of briefcases to choose from.” he chuckles, bringing you around the front of the house. “grace will be able to fix you up.”

“oh, thank god.” you giggle, “i thought i’d need you to carry me around everywhere.” you joke, curling a piece of his hair around your finger. “i wouldn’t mind it, though.”

“neither would i.”

-

taglists

main: @horrorklaus @megasimpleplan4ever

tua: @rasberrymay @noodlextrash @atomicpillar @malfovs​

diego hargreeves: none yet

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

The Iowa Caucus Happened

A job offer slides into Rafael’s DMs as he waits to find out if it’ll be a new start or prison on February 8.

Accidental Feminist Icon

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

“Mister Barba?”

Rafael didn’t like hearing his name from the young woman behind him, especially not given what he’d done. He’d texted Carmen on the first day of the trial, and she’d agreed to look into the offers from attorneys he knew, and some he didn’t, while he sat beside Dworkin and emotionally prepared himself to testify. The ones he’d looked at the night before came from people he didn’t like or were last resorts. He’d moved from his visceral response to finding law to back his actions. Applying logic could let him detangle himself from his conflicted emotions. Catholic guilt wrestled his humanity. That said, he also found himself desperate to introduce Ollie to music as Carmen worked from his apartment that first afternoon, not caring for once as the toddler drooled or sneezed or spilled all over him.

“Yes?” he asked, taking his coffee from the cart. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“We haven’t. I follow you on Twitter.”

“Ah,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss-”

“Rachel Sullivan. I have, like, a reading Twitter.”

“I’ve seen that! Read with Rachel? Your icon is a copy of Howl?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, chuckling. “I just- listen, I know it’s bad what’s going on and a lot of people are really hurt and going after you. Do I get it? No. But, I think you didn’t get a good choice, and you did what’s right for you. When it seems impossible, it’s not my place to judge something I can’t fathom. And a lot of people feel the same. A bunch of us have a group chat and we hope everything goes well and you get to start again.”

It was a stark contrast to his interaction with mami or emails from church ladies. There was an acknowledgement of disagreement, but he needed more people to respect that they weren’t there like she did. He also remembered watching his father die, and while he didn’t like the man, he regretted not ending that pain. It only drew out hurt for everyone. 

“Thank you, Rachel. That really means the world to me.”

“Good luck today,” she said, giving him a wave when she took her coffee and left. By the end of the day, Rafael hated Peter Stone for being a damn good prosecutor, and he wondered if there were any cases he’d tried, especially the ones before SVU that he was wrong on. He made his way into a new bar, definitely not his usual during all of this, and he sat and drafted his resignation. It took longer than he cared to admit, and he restarted and reread it time and time again. By the time he was drunk, he’d written something he could proofread the next morning and ignored calls from Olivia, Carmen, and mami. 

He decided it was time to do what he had been dreading, logging into Twitter. Since Carmen had cleaned it up, more people had found him, and he was able to easily ignore anything hateful by skimming for murder or murderer in the body of the tweet. He skipped those, and Rafael was surprised to see some apathy, sympathy, or respect for his reasoning. Lazily, he scrolled his direct messages. A select few of the people who knew him contacted him with revulsion, but his filtered messages were filled with vitriol. He found Rachel’s account again, following her back and deciding he could break his unspoken rule of only following people he knew or the occasional blog/podcast/museum/celebrity. If anyone contacted him with kindness, he was now more open to the reciprocity of Twitter; no one would be asking him to prosecute their case soon.  

He saw a message from Tripp Greene. In Harvard, they’d had an unspoken alliance as the two scholarship kids in their cohort, a silent allegiance that continued into law school. There were very few people Rafael respected personally from Harvard, but Tripp had remained kind, even if he worked in something as ruthless as politics. They’d been reunited by Rafael’s uptick in Twitter popularity. He was more proud than he should be by the potential presidential candidates that had followed him. Rafael should have known Tripp would reach out; he was ever the silent cheerleader and had watched a sibling die on life support when he was at Harvard. They’d discussed the morality of pulling plugs and the selfish desire to keep people alive, though most of it had been Tripp talking and Rafael listening.

While moving to Iowa seemed extreme, he was acutely aware that he would end up haunting the DA’s office and Manhattan SVU like some ghost of ADAs past instead of moving forward. His mother had a boyfriend and looming retirement that seemed likely to take the pair to Miami, where she could play grandma to his grandchildren. There was nothing left for him here but Carmen, and while a great friend, she was not enough to erase the last twenty-one years of his life. When Carmen called for the fifth time that night, he ignored it, but it was quickly followed by Answer the phone or I tell Olivia I haven’t heard from you. With a groan, he answered when Carmen called again sixty seconds later.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to delve back into a play by play of my day.”

“That’s why you’re drunk at seven o’clock,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm as she pretended that solved everything.

“It’s only been two hours?”

“You’re not at Forlini’s.”

“I’m not hanging out with Stone.”

“Send me your location. I just picked Ollie up from mom’s.”

“Take your son home, Carmen. I’ll be fine.”

“But we could talk about how much I also hate Stone. I’ll even stop and let you grab take out from that Cuban place you like.”

“Deal,” he acquiesced, motioning he wanted to close his tab. “Call me when you’re close.”

“Deal. ETA is about fifteen minutes.”

He polished off his scotch, signing the check and tipping well before taking his briefcase and leaning against the wall as he waited for Carmen’s SUV. She waved at him out the window, and he hurried into her passenger seat. Though he always knew that she was a great secretary and assistant, Carmen was proving to be the friend he needed right now. Olivia, in the few phone calls they had, was unwilling to discuss anything but the case. She was in cop mode, and she talked to him like she could swoop in and fix what he had done. While she thought he didn’t know, she’d talked to McCoy, talked to Stone, talked to anyone who would listen. But what she didn’t understand is that he’d accepted going to prison was a possibility, but it was one he felt was worth it.

“Barba!” he heard from the backseat, smiling softly to see Ollie more awake than he’d expected. He’d seen the boy periodically, mostly during evening handoffs when Carmen’s mother would drop him off so Carmen could take him home. There were a lot of single mothers in his life, and all were exceptional. The last few days, Carmen and Ollie both had spent a lot of time with him. He kept introducing Ollie to music and movies and foods like he could make up for everything Drew wouldn’t experience by making sure Ollie did.

“Oliver!” he smiled, twisting around to smile at him. The boy kicked his leg, and the blue stripe on the rubber of his sneakers lit up. “I like your shoes.”’

“Thanks,” he giggled, kicking again. 

“You’re good with him,” Carmen smiled, the navigation now leading her to get his take out. 

“He’s a good kid. Noah made me better with kids. Liv said I held him like a sack of flour at first.”

“You’ll be ready by the time you have your own.”

“I work too much.”

“That can change.”

“I don’t deserve to have a child,” he shrugged, and he could see Carmen purse her lips. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be good at it anyway. Wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I might end up like dad. No kid deserves that shit.”

“Bad word!” Ollie scolded, tablet in hand as he watched a movie.

“Sorry, Ollie. Stuff.”

“You’ve never told me what he did.”

“He wanted heterosexual, toxic machismo and got a swarmy, emotional bisexual.”

“You’re not that emotional.”

“He took care of that,” he said darkly. “I used to cry when he went after mami. That turned his attention to me.”

Carmen knew there was nothing she could say, so instead she silently took his hand, squeezing softly. He was taken aback at first, but he kept her hand loosely in his as his head lulled against the headrest. It was strangely grounding, the physical affection. He’d felt like he was swimming the last few days as memories of his father, his father’s death, his childhood, and each case he tried bubbled up. That wasn’t including the vision of baby drew and Maggie in the hospital room that lingered everywhere. 

The conflicting guilt and conviction he’d done the right thing also broke a damn and the feelings he’d suppressed- loneliness, guilt, abandonment, distrust- were all bubbling to the surface. He’d spent so much of his life trying not to process them so he could focus on a conviction rate and moving forward that he didn’t have the tools everyone else did sometimes. Right now, Carmen felt like an anchor, and he was grateful for her. 

He got out of the car when Carmen parked, ordering enough food for three adults, one take out container containing whatever he thought a toddler could handle. Soon enough, they were settled in his living room and eating, though Ollie had minimal interest in the pork, beans, and rice in front of him. The thought crossed his mind that when he took one of the out of state jobs, he wouldn’t have Carmen there like this. He was sure this friendship would be short lived; when he didn’t need her anymore, she’d leave him. That’s what usually happened, wasn’t it? She just felt bad for him.

“I’m moving to Iowa,” he blurted out before he was able to spiral into the self loathing he’d recently discovered.

“That’s far,” she said, and he thought he could detect sadness in her voice.

“There’s FaceTime.”

“Not quite the same, but I’ll take it.”

“Tripp understands,” he said, sobering up as the food hit his stomach. “He lost a sister. Watched someone dying like with my dad except she’d been born that way. It was years, Carmen.”

“That’s a lot. I’m going to miss you, Rafael. Ollie will too.”

“Come visit. If the tickets are bad, I’ll pay. Or cover renting a car.”

“You’re drunk,” she chuckled. 

“Sorry. Best friend. It’s the rules.”

“We’ll come. But I can afford tickets.” 

“Promise if it’ll make things tight, you’ll let me. You’re raising a kid. No kids means I can afford to get my friend the occasional plane ticket.”

“Deal.”

“Next week, will it be Des Moines or prison? Who knows! I’ll probably grow a beard either way. Think they’d recognize me in prison if I grow a beard?” 

“I’ve never seen you with a beard. Stop shaving and we’ll find out.”

She could see Rafael getting tired, head leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. She preferred when he joked about all of this. They were stuck waiting, and this time the next night they’d probably know. Ollie climbed between them on the couch, and she realized her boss wasn’t the only one almost asleep. 

“You two can stay,” Rafael yawned, hand smoothing Ollie’s curls back. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice not being alone in the morning. And you can stay here to work. We didn’t talk about it, but I know you hate Stone. He’s a good attorney. Doing his job.”

“His job is wrong.”

“That isn’t his fault. If another ADA had done what I did? I’d be prosecuting them.”

“Go get ready for bed,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. As she scooped Ollie up, she kissed the top of Rafael’s head. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Carmen?” She turned in the doorframe. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“I’m glad to, Raf. Promise you’ll actually sleep.”

“I promise.”

“Night, Barba,” Ollie yawned, waving over his mom’s shoulder as they entered his guest room. Maybe Iowa was going to be too far if he didn’t go to prison. He was getting quite fond of having Carmen around quite quickly. He wasn’t going to be her superior anymore, so this friendship could be something he maintained. 

Olivia would be a given; even if they were primarily united around work, she was also one of his closest friends and maybe not working together would make him relax. Hell, maybe the end of his life in the city would do it. Rafael couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t felt he was chasing an upward trajectory in New York City. Even at Harvard, the plan had been to return. Maybe coming into Des Moines established would let him feel comfortable just existing. 

He liked cooking and reading in the park and going out dancing on occasion. He rarely had time for two options, and the latter made his cheeks red with embarrassment at the prospect of a colleague seeing him during the outing. In Iowa, maybe he could go dancing and take up a new hobby and wear jeans without feeling like something was out of his control. 

He woke up before Carmen, excited to be able to cook for her. He appreciated the fact she was happy to help him, but she had paused her own life for the last few days. Their friendship was relegated to offices and dinners by the office. He’d come to her baby shower and birthday parties and even a holiday party, but that was it and that had other colleagues present. Except maybe the baby shower, but he was determined to buy up whatever was left on her registry when the day came, using mami, abuelita, and the older women at church as pseudonyms to pretend he’d just let family know. 

“You can cook?”

“I just never had time,” he shrugged, tray coming out of the oven.

“You made pastries?” 

“Pastelitos de guayaba.” Carmen didn’t miss how proud he looked as he admired them. They were something he’d always made with family. “They aren’t hard, but abuelita used to make them for me all the time. Puff pastry, sweetened cream cheese and guava paste. Cafe con leche on the way.”

“You couldn’t sleep?” He shook his head, pouring the espresso and adding the milk before placing mugs at the breakfast counter. His mouth was set in a line now, the corners sucked in as he focused on the countertop. Her hand rested on his, giving a squeeze and he rewarded her with a soft smile. “We’ll be helping you pack for Iowa in no time.”

“I hope,” he nodded, biting into a pastry. Ollie came out, eyeing the countertop. “Want one, Oliver?”

“What are they?”

“Delicious,” Carmen groaned, having torn into her own. That was enough for Ollie, who accepted a pastry from Rafael with a soft Thank you before biting into it carefully.

“Wow! It is good!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

It felt a somber affair, despite the pastries, when Carmen saw him off to court. She chose to wait in his apartment, ringer on high and news coverage on. Ollie was easily entertained by the toys she had in the car, and the phones were forwarded to be answerable on her cell phone. By the end of the day, she’d put dinner in his slow cooker and cleaned most everything at least once. And then her phone rang with his ringer. She’d picked one of the other presets for him long ago, and she watched Ollie with his blocks as she answered.

“Rafael?”

“Not guilty,” he exhaled, still unable to believe it as he surveyed his office to begin packing. Her desk was empty, and he didn’t mind today because if she had been here, McCoy would’ve had her helping Stone. Carmen was his assistant, his friend, and it was bad enough to know Stone would probably take his place at work.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Did you turn the letter in?”

“I put it on Jack’s desk. I’m hoping to be gone buy his return. I think three heavy boxes will cover it. Plus anything I hung, but other than diplomas most of it came with the place.”

“I put dinner on. Ollie and I ran to the store and picked up short ribs and potatoes and carrots. I needed something to do.”

“Nervous you’d be visiting me in prison?”

“You know damn well juries can be swayed. You’ve done it.”

“And I’m safe. I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you get to go to Iowa.”

[iloveyou3thousand]

Ever

Pairing: Pepperony Rating: Teen & Up Word count: 2785 A/N: This was written for the Pepperony Valentine's Exchange for @kassyscarlett​. I hope you like it!!

Tags: Jealousy, misunderstandings, light angst with a happy ending, established relationship, mid-canon

Read it on AO3 here!

__________________________________________________________

“Oh—” Pepper stops dead in her tracks, and almost takes a step back, “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

Which is odd, considering that she is used to knowing the ins and outs of Tony’s schedule by heart. Rarely does any set appointment pass by her unnoticed. She may not be Tony’s personal assistant slash glorified secretary anymore, but that doesn’t mean she’s managed to get out of her ways yet. Old habits die hard, as they say.

The lady in the chair opposite Tony’s turns, and while she gives Pepper in the doorway a polite smile, Pepper can tell that they were laughing about something just moments before by the way her eyes are still wrinkled at the corners and the way Tony’s leaning back in his own chair, so nonchalant, with a lopsided grin on his face.

A grin that, in any other circumstances, could make Pepper feel weak in the knees.

But she stands firm, looking from the vaguely familiar woman to Tony and back again.

“It’s fine, Ms. Potts, join the party,” Tony says with an air of relaxation.

I’d rather not, she thinks, but doesn’t say. She stays polite, as much as it infuriates her to have to do so when the cogs in her mind are already working overtime connecting dots that she’s sure aren’t there, or shouldn’t be there.

“You remember Ms. Hansen, right?” Tony continues.

“I do,” Pepper says, “How could I forget?” Frankly, she’s a little surprised that Tony remembers. Or maybe he doesn’t, and he’s doing a great job at bluffing his way through this little get-together – or whatever it is.

She briefly shakes hands with Maya when she extends hers over her shoulder to not have to twist around in her seat too much. Either she doesn’t want Tony looking right up her skirt, or she’s found a position in which she knows Tony can most certainly look directly at her panties and she doesn’t want to risk losing that. Pepper doesn’t know which one it is, and she’s not sure she even wants to know.

Maya’s smile is friendly and her handshake is professional but still, something about the situation doesn’t sit right with Pepper, who suddenly feels like she would much rather be anywhere else than with those two in one room.

“Pleasure to meet you again, under somewhat better circumstances,” the other woman says, and Pepper flashes an amiable smile.

“Likewise,” she responds, and backs up again to return to her spot in the doorway. She focuses her attention on Tony again, because that’s who she came in for in the first place after all. It looks like she manages to cut him off right before he is undoubtedly about to say something about what him and Ms. Hansen were just talking about. Pepper, frankly, doesn’t want to hear it. “I have something I want you to look at, but it’s not urgent. I’ll forward it to you so you can tell me what you think later. Okay?”

Tony salutes her solemnly, and gives a nod. “You got it, Pep.”

“Good. And don’t forget you’re having lunch with Osborn.”

Tony mutters a grumbled ‘how could I forget’ under his breath before Pepper turns to take her leave. She closes the door behind her and puts a good amount of distance between her and it in just a few quick strides. But even so, she can hear the unmistakeable sounds of laughter coming from inside the office. She stops, listens to the muted cadence of Ms. Hansen’s voice, honeyed sweet without a doubt. She winces, and makes herself scarce as quickly as she can. It won’t do her any good to stand outside of Tony’s office and listen in to what she assumes might very well be going on inside.

She doesn’t want to know. Ignorance is bliss, right?

Except even though she doesn’t really know what has been going on inside Tony’s office, she still spends the rest of the day thinking about it. Tony rarely invites women over nowadays, and they rarely show up in the kind of skirts that Maya was wearing. Jesus, she wasn’t even wearing pantyhose or anything. Pepper can’t help but wonder if she was wearing anything underneath her skirt at all…

But Tony has changed over the years. She thought that he was really committed to what they had going for them and how their relationship had grown. She had been tentative in hoping that Tony’s playboy days were over, but Tony had proved himself to be loyal, at least in the first few months.

As the day progresses, Pepper can’t help but think that maybe he’s slowly drifting back to what he used to know because he’s gotten bored of it all.

And what if he has? What if he has gotten bored of Pepper and of their relationship and of what she can and has offered him for the time that they have been together? What is she supposed to do, or say, about that? It’s not like she could help that – if it was even true at all.

That is probably the worst thing though. Even if this is really taking place, if her fears are correct, then there is nothing she can do to change Tony’s mind. She doesn’t have much more to offer than she has already given Tony, and she can’t exactly make something up.

She thought it was enough…

But now she can’t stop thinking about all the things they could possibly be doing behind closed doors, and all the things that Pepper should have been doing, or could have done, or at least suggested. Has she really not tried enough? Has she not shown Tony that things don’t have to stay the way they used to be?

She really thought that Tony had been happy with what they had.

A voice in the back of her mind says that it should reassure her that at least he’s not going for any random floozie at least, he’s sticking to someone he knows this time, but the longer she thinks about it the longer she realizes that that’s actually even worse. At least there are no feelings involved when he sleeps with someone he doesn’t know and won’t remember the next day.

Has he fallen out of love with her?

Was he ever in love with her in the first place?

Pepper can’t concentrate the rest of the day and it shows. Usually she’s all smiles, even with the people she doesn’t like. She knows that politeness gets her furthest, but her face is set with tension for the remainder of that day at the office and she avoids people she doesn’t necessarily have to see at all cost.

Unfortunately, Tony is her ride home.

Or, well, she could call a taxi. But if she gets her own ride back while they usually drive together, it will most certainly arise suspicion, and she knows that Tony won’t be able to let it go until she spills her guts – and she’s not keen on doing so at the moment. She’s sure that if she does, a lot more will come flooding out than she intends to allow, and that’s a recipe for disaster.

So begrudgingly, she walks into Tony’s office toward the end of the day, glad to find that it’s empty bar for Tony this time, at least. She can’t help but comment on it.

“No more surprise guests?”

“Just little old me, Ms. Potts,” Tony hums as he gathers his things before whipping out the doors and heading toward the elevators.

They ride down toward the garage together but Pepper doesn’t have much to say. Usually she would put some effort into trying to explain Tony’s schedule to him so that he’s prepared for what the following day has in store for him in case he forgot (which he is prone to do), but this time she is quiet.

Occasionally, Tony tries to break the silence with a comment here and there, but Pepper’s answers are short and to the point, leaving little room for the conversation to continue. She tries to busy herself with her phone, drafting some emails to send the following morning, but she comes up blank most of the time now with her mind so clearly on something else.

Even as Tony puts the top of his car down as they drive down a long, winding road back to their home, offering the occasional glimpse of the sea and the California coast, she’s quiet. Lost in thought. Normally she might have complained about the wind whipping through her hair and pushing it into her face, might have tried to control it with both hands while watching Tony laugh as she cusses him out, but now she just lets it.

Maybe that’s what is the final straw for Tony.

He slows down, which Pepper doesn’t realize until they’re pulling up alongside the mostly empty road, and Tony goes as far as to turn the engine off and twist in his seat towards her. He means business, that much is clear. Pepper turns her head to the right and looks out over the ocean and the sun dipping lower and lower toward the horizon.

“I feel like I’m being punished for something and I’m not quite sure what it is,” Tony says. Pepper worries her lower lip with her teeth for a moment, but doesn’t answer.

“C’mon, Pep. Can’t even look at me now? Must be something serious.”

There’s a beat of silence before Tony’s warm hand lands gently on her thigh just above her knee and just below where her skirt stops. She resists the urge to pull away because she knows it’s childish. Instead, she turns her head to Tony at last. It’s the least she can do.

“Oh, it’s definitely something that I did,” Tony teases, although a moment later a frown creases between his eyebrows as if he can see something in her expression that worries him.

Pepper takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Might as well be honest and get this over with to avoid stewing for much longer, right?

“Why was Maya in your office?” She can barely stand to look at him, but keeps her eyes level as best as she can.

Tony looks puzzled for a moment.

“Ms. Hansen,” she clarifies. Immediately, Tony’s expression clears up significantly.

“Ah, Ms. Hansen. Honestly, I’m still not entirely sure why. Something about… Right, she was wondering if I could oversee a project she’s doing. As if I’m responsible enough to be able to oversee anything.”

Tony flashes a smile but Pepper doesn’t think it’s entirely funny. He has a habit of playing the self-deprecating joke card when she’s not feeling great, and she doesn’t think that that kind of behavior should be encouraged. She doesn’t want Tony to think about him in that way.

When Tony sees that there is no smile on Pepper’s face but only a slightly disapproving set of her mouth, he drops the joking act and tilts his head toward one shoulder.

“Why does it matter what she was there for?” He asks. Pepper doesn’t have a good answer for that except the truth, and she’s not about to hand that over to Tony on a silver platter. It feels ridiculous. She shouldn’t be so doubtful to the point of distrust, but seeing Tony so at ease with a woman he’s slept with doesn’t sit right with her.

It’s prejudice, she realizes. She doesn’t have that reaction to Tony talking to any other woman, and there aren’t enough ladies like Maya who slept with Tony and yet somehow always kind of…stuck around.

Pepper looks away, shame on her cheeks. She feels awful for the way she feels and can’t argue past the lump in her throat because it’s getting too real. Either Tony is about to tell her that it’s fine and nothing is wrong, or he’s about to tell her that they can no longer work things out, that he’s no longer interested, that once they get home maybe it’s better if they part ways…

“Hey…” Tony murmurs, his voice dropping into something concerned now. He takes his hand off her knee and puts it on her back instead, laying the warm flat of his hand over her spine – something that could have been so soothing if it hadn’t been for the intrusive thoughts in Pepper’s mind that maybe Tony would rather be somewhere else touching someone else like that right now.

As if he can read her mind, Tony leans in and presses a kiss into her hair just above her ear.

“You know you’re the only woman in my life, don’t you?” He says softly, a kind of soft that is usually only reserved for her. She hopes that’s still the case. She really does. “If that’s what you’re worried about, then don’t be. I only have eyes for you, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper doesn’t realize how much she needed to hear that until she sighs out another deep breath, and feels the tension set in her shoulders ease, feels herself lean into Tony a little bit, almost wishing they weren’t divided by the center console in the car.

Again, it’s as if Tony reads her mind, because he’s out of the car and around by her side in moments, opening the car door and offering her his hand to get her out and pull her directly into a firm embrace.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Pepper says, breaking her own silence for the first time since the last thing she said in the elevator.

Tony combs a hand through her hair at the back of her head, and presses a kiss to her shoulder. She buries herself into his neck even further at that.

“A little bit,” Tony admits, but Pepper can hear the playful tone in his voice, “But if it was really that ridiculous then you wouldn’t be feeling this way. So I guess I just have to prove to you that you’re the only one for me until that feeling subsides once and for all. Are you agreeable, Ms. Potts?” He pulls back, cups her cheek, and makes her look at him.

Sometimes, Tony’s emotional availability is far beyond what he makes it out to be and it still surprises Pepper sometimes. But above all, she’s relieved that he knows just when to be serious and genuine about these things. Right now, it helps her calm, and see the realistic side of things.

Tony would never have stayed with her if he didn’t love her anymore.

He would never have lead her on like that. He respects her far too much.

And of course, that feeling is mutual.

She sighs again, and nods her head, mimicking the tentative smile curling at the corners of Tony’s lips. “I’m sorry,” she says, but Tony shakes his head.

Wordlessly, instead of tucking her back into the passenger seat and driving them the rest of the way home, Tony takes Pepper’s hand and guides her toward the hood of his expensive car, where he urges her to sit down.

In the distance, the sun is just about to dip below the horizon. With all the things that had been going through Pepper’s mind, she barely noticed it before, but now she can see it all up ahead.

The sky is a canvas of blended hues of yellow, orange and pink, stretching far and wide. Tony sits down next to Pepper and puts his arm around her. Pepper doesn’t hesitate to lean into his side.

“It’s almost as if you planned this. The timing is immaculate,” Pepper comments as the sun sinks down further, remembering how Tony had delayed their departure by a little while, saying he still had some work left to ‘finish up on’. Pepper feels Tony smile where his cheek rests atop her head.

“I may or may not have heard through the grapevine that you weren’t feeling too well today,” he admits.

“Tony…”

Pepper loves sunsets. She’s always loved sunsets. It’s the sole reason she sits by the large floor to ceiling windows of their Malibu house every night, looking out over the sea and at all the colors swirling in the sky.

“I would do this any day for you, Pep.” Tony’s voice is soft. “I’ve already missed so many sunsets in my life. I never want to watch another one without you.”

“Ever?” Pepper asks with a curious quirk of her brow, lifting her head a touch to be able to look at Tony.

He smiles, and kisses her gently, pulling her close.

“Ever. Never ever.”

[thewritershelpers]

Improving Your Writing when English Isn’t Your First Language (mega-ask)

As you can see above, we've gotten more than one question about writing, improving your writing, and even publishing in English when it's not your native language. First off: that's awesome. To anyone writing or even consuming in a language that's not your first, kudos to you.

You can google any variation of this question and get different articles with a ton of the same advice, and some with conflicting advice. Not only have I compiled the most commonly repeated information, but I've also reached out to people on our Discord server and others for their personal experiences.

I'll start off by listing concise versions of the advice and then expound on them further on in the article. Remember that we are not experts on your writing and that everyone learns in different ways and at different paces. These are in no particular order.

-be patient

-practice

-get feedback from native sources

-don't undermine yourself to your audience

-Grammarly

-research

-don't get discouraged

Be patient

That's first because, well, duh. Patience is so important for both yourself and your writing. Writing is hard enough of a passion without the added difficulty of doing it in a language that doesn't come naturally. In the world of literature, writing/publishing in your non-native language isn't just a matter of translating words. It requires translating of ideas, concepts, and even cultural norms, which is why just slapping it into Google translate won't work.

Part of the reason for the advice of having patience, too, is that writing in your native language needs to take time. It doesn't really matter how fast you can whip out 20 pages of a first draft--it'll still be a simple first draft. Writing is a craft that requires not just love and passion but time. So what if you need a little bit of extra time--or a lot of extra time--because you're accomplishing a feat most don't even think about attempting?

Next is to practice.

That goes hand in hand with what I said about being patient. Again, writing in and of itself is all about practice and doing it daily (not that I'm an expert on getting that done, but you know). But when it comes to practice another language, there are different ways you can do that. You can reach out to native speakers (for English, there are going to be so many people willing to help, even just in our community! you just need to ask) and practice having conversations or ask them to look over your work. Practice by turning on your favorite movie or TV show in English with subtitles in your native language. Watch videos on YouTube, find a Spotify playlist/podcast, in your target language. There's also plenty of people who have done what you're trying to do who have shared their experiences and what helped them on those same platforms.

Get feedback from native speakers

This is a bit of an expansion on what I mentioned in the previous paragraph. In my experience, and from what others have shared, writing in a non-native language can be pretty clinical. Writing with figurative language or in metaphors won't be as easy or come as naturally as it does in your own language. Things like idioms and even pop cultures reference aren't always going to translate even if you have the exact words. That's where native speakers come into play. If they're willing to look over your work, whether as a friend or in an editorial position, they can give you advice about whether the wording in one spot sounds clunky or if a phrase doesn't make sense or if there're synonyms for what you already used to help convey your message even stronger.

Don't undermine yourself

This is something that I personally am saying. It's not mentioned on any of the linked sites, and no one I talked to said it. But as someone who is a native English speaker (and even has a degree in it) I think this is super important. This point goes towards native English speakers/writers, too. Don't undersell yourself and undermine your work to the audience before they have even picked it up. Disclaimers are different, and it all comes down to the words you use and how you use them. Let your readers know, whether it's people on AO3 or a literary agent, that English isn't your first language. Let them know concisely that they may find some basic errors--but stop there. Don't grovel. You have nothing to apologize for, especially once you've given that warning (those is it really a warning? what's so dangerous or scary about a few mistakes?). You're writing is not going to be any less of an accomplishment for a few grammatical errors, or mistranslated phrases, or even typos. I've seen so many mistakes in published works that it's kind of ridiculous. But if you put something out there for someone to read and in the same breath say "I don't know that this is worth reading" I'm going to need extra convincing to pick it up. *kicks soapbox away*

Grammarly

*NOT sponsored*

Grammarly is a wonderful tool that you can use, for FREE. It not only (with the free version) helps correct spelling and grammar, but can also help point out the tone you're writing with. For example, right now, Grammarly is telling me that this writing sounds mostly informative--which it's meant to be--and a little appreciative and friendly. When sending emails I've had it tell me that it sounds formal (which I was going for), and I've also had it not say anything because the text was a different kind of writing (like when I'm proof-reading something being posting it on AO3...). I honestly don't know what else it helps with once you've paid because I've been happily using the free version for about 3 years now.

Research

Don't be afraid to pick up a book, or head to the library, or pull up Google. Research is paramount to writing anyway, let alone once you're doing it in another language. Your research options are limitless and can include your mutuals on social media as well as those dictionaries that translate from one language into another. Research can also include (in my humble opinion) binge-watching/reading your favorite things...in English. In four years of university, one of the most frequently said things was to improve your writing 1) write every day and 2) read every day. You're never going to learn from worrying or overthinking, and you're also never going to learn from just doing DuoLingo (that's more conversational than literary anyway).

Something a member of Discord specifically said in relation to research was to look at morphology, at the roots of words (and root words). Morphology is, in linguistics, looking at how words are formed. For example, let's look at "biology". There are parts to this word that each has a different meaning, that formed together created a new/elevated meaning. "ology" means the study of something, and bio means life. So biology is, simply, the study of life. Once you've got those basics of things like "ology" under your belt it'll become easier to not just translate words but the concepts (if this works with your learning style).

Last but not least, don't get discouraged.

Writers of all kinds get discouraged when writing in their native language. Even those of us who speak English as our first language make mistakes worth discouragement (you will never know how many typos were corrected by Grammarly as I wrote this all out the first time). English is not an easy language. It's not the hardest, but it's far from easy (learning another language isn't easy regardless of what languages are involved). This is a post from someone who is a non-native English speaker but you would never know unless they told us.

While researching for this, I found some articles/blog posts that said mostly the same thing, and are where I got some of the information

This one is from a native English speaker giving advice

This one is for writing for non-native English readers, but still has good advice

And finally this one is a blog post (I think) from someone who is a non-native English speaker!

In specific response to some of the asks:

English, like any other language, changes. It's a very dynamic language, actually, and from region to region, there will not only be different accents but different frames of reference. 1950 isn't so far back in time for the English to be drastically different from what is spoken today, but I'm in the USA and you're asking about Oxford. English in England has very different nuances, even more so than you would get between California and Texas and New York. This is a link to the Oxford English Dictionary list of words that became more common in the 50s. However, this is a generalized list, not specific to any English-speaking country let alone region or city. If you're wanting to look at how to convey the accent of people from/in Oxford, there are videos on YouTube of people speaking in different accents so that you can have an idea, a comparison, at least in your own mind. With the 50s it's going to be more just thinking really of what words and lifestyles and things weren't around yet; cell phones didn't exist yet. Here's another link to some stock images of Oxford in the 50s. Remember, this time was very close to WWII so there'll be lingering effects of that, especially in England.

About fight scenes and curses, there's a ton of resources on that. If you just search "fight" on our page, you'll get a ton of posts answering that question. Also, here's a link to a superb and excellent source on writing fight scenes. When it comes to curses...just watch Rage Quit on YouTube, or spend a while on TikTok. If you want to dive right in just Google "English curses" and there'll be YouTube videos, entries on Urban Dictionary, you name it.

When it comes to publishing, once you've gotten your manuscript is a perfect time to have a native-speaking friend look it over. Whether editing is their thing or not, they'll be able to help with the things that are really obvious. I don't have any experience publishing in a different language, though, so there might be other resources along the different stages to help you. Some general publishing advice I've gotten: when wanting to publish fiction, literature, start small. Start with short stories in literary journals, online and in print. You really can't make much headway with large publishing houses without a literary agent and it'll be easier to attract one if you have evidence that you can write, and write well enough people want to read it. When it comes to poetry, just start submitting. Get familiar with the process, and educate yourself on things like simultaneous submissions and a good rejection. Publishing is an ever-changing game that isn't cut and dry in any language or country. We can't tell you what's best, but my advice is to go with your gut and try your best. Don't be afraid to try again, too.

Everyone overthinks their writing. Or at least, everyone I know who writes does. Honestly, in my opinion, if you're not overthinking at least a little bit, you're not worried enough. You will never be able to fully know whether you've explained or described enough. A good chunk of the experience is up to the readers, so you have to leave them some wiggle room for imagination. But that doesn't mean you have to cheapen your story or short-change your characters. You mention specifically that you're POC, which I'm gonna guess also means that your characters will be POC. It's never too much to specify the race/ethnicity of your characters, even in a fantasy work. How you go about writing those descriptions might need to change but it's kind of like chocolate chips, in my mind: you decide those things with your soul.

So, there you have it. A ridiculously long way to say: you're awesome, you do you, practice, love yourself and your writing, and don't be afraid to put yourself out there (in any way).

(images read:

Anonymous said: Im writing a book based in Oxford in 1950s. how was the language different from now. I am not from an English speaking country at all. Never been outside my country either. And Im going to write a book based in England in English

Anonymous said: Hi there, I’m a writer for almost 3 years now but since English isn’t my first language I get discouraged easily if things I write come off strange to myself. Do you maybe have any advice for me, on how to motivate myself and not comparing myself with native English speakers? Thank you in advance!

Anonymous said: Hello! I starting to work on this shortfic but it’s been really hard. It’s like I’m trying to building a house alone and with my bare hands. Even though I’m already used to write in mother tongue. Any advice for non-english speaker trying to write their first story in English?

Yaelburstine said: Hi. Do you have any tips about how to write a good fight scene and curses that people speak English get cus’ it’s not my first language

gyger said: I am not a native english speaker, but most of the books I read are in english and I generally prefer writing in english as well. However, I am worried about making mistakes that I can’t recognize myself. I have no idea how good my english is to a native english speaker, plus some things are easier to write in my native tongue (such as dialogue). I’m also worried about publishing, since that definitely would be easier in my country than abroad. How do I decide what language to choose?

Anonymous said: As a POC writer and English as their second language, I overthink all the writing I do. I feel like I don’t describe my ideas thoroughly or my character descriptions are vague or not good enough. I’m currently working on a YA novel but I plan on writing a YA fantasy novel but I feel like my lack of vocabulary and grammar structure makes me give up on finishing my book. Is this normal for native English speaking authors or is this considered a language barrier thing? Thanks! Love your blog!

Thank you for your questions, and for your patience as we do our best to answer them.

-S

[adenei]

Always A Bridesmaid, Never A Bride - Chapter 6

AO3 || FFN

Hermione

It was official. I’d agree to anything if it meant I had a chance to spend time with Harry outside of work. I knew it was a problem, and it was blatantly clear when Jenny called me in a rush this morning. She thought she’d scheduled an appointment to set up her registry at John Lewis  for Monday, but her days had gotten mixed up and she took the only open slot for Sunday. 

Of course, I knew she’d already booked herself at the bridal salon and florist, and couldn’t fit it in as she was explaining her mix-up. I was going to suggest she reschedule, but then I heard her mutter about sending someone else, and thinking she was going to send Harry, I offered to go, too. So, despite telling myself numerous times to just call her and cancel, I still forged ahead, even though I knew my ulterior motive was despicable.

Jenny had slipped her list of items under my door while I was in the shower. I thought it was odd if she was sending Harry, but then maybe she didn’t have time to stop by his place before her first appointment.

I took the list and caught a taxi to take me to the department store in the city. My phone buzzed and I checked it to see I had a text from Jenny. Your reinforcement should be there soon. Thanks so much for doing this again! I decided to go in and get started at the registry desk since I knew the set-up process would take a while. Finally, after I finished the paperwork, I was ready to begin. 

“So, here’s the scanner!” the clerk said. “This is all you’ll need to choose the items that you’d like. Once you hear the beep, you’ll know it’s been added. If you scan something by mistake, just scan it again to take it off. I’ll be here if you need anything, and if not, just drop the scanner off before you leave.”

“Thank you,” I said as I pulled the list out from my bag and determined where I should start first. 

I was paying so much attention to the list, I didn’t notice someone joining me. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” I looked up to see Ron standing next to me.

“Jenny sent you?” I asked. Surely, this was a joke.

“Are you surprised?” Ron asked me innocently.

“Yes, actually, I am. What writer helps with menial wedding tasks like this?”

“When I cover a wedding, I cover the whole wedding,” he explained as I shook my head. “So, where should we get started?”

“Probably housewares,” I said with a sigh.

I handed Ron the list to check things off as we scanned them. If he was here, I was going to make sure he was helpful. Maybe it’d make the job go by faster.

“Who needs all this useless junk, anyways?” he asked as I scanned a beautiful set of ivory candlestick holders. “Don’t they both have separate flats already? Surely, they have enough stuff between the two of them to outfit one apartment.”

I rolled my eyes in his direction. “When you’re starting a life with someone, you want to pick out items for the home you’re going to share together. You know, to make it both of yours instead of a mix of two people’s things,” I explained.

“So you’re telling me if you were to get engaged, you’d chuck all of your current stuff just to ask for new versions of the same stuff because you’re marrying someone else?”

“Well...not everything, but I’ve been inside Jenny’s apartment and it’s rather bare in there.”

“What about Harry’s stuff?”

“It’s okay, but he is a bachelor. He only has half the stuff he does because of Teddy,” I said.

“Harry has a kid?” Ron asked, his eyes wide.

I chuckled. “Not exactly. Teddy’s an orphan that’s part of the Boys & Girls Club. Harry’s his big brother. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if he really does try to adopt Teddy after he and Jenny are married.”

“And how does Jenny feel about that?”

“Why do you care so much?” I gave him an odd look. 

“N-no reason. It’s just an interesting dynamic, that’s all.”

“Well, when we went to Teddy’s football game, Jenny seemed really taken with him. She’s surprisingly good with kids,” I mentioned offhand.

“Surprisingly? What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked curiously.

“Oh, um, I suppose she probably has several nieces and nephews if four of her brothers are married.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good, then. I’m sure they’ll make a beautiful family,” Ron said. 

“Yeah,” I said distantly. It was hard not to think about it, even though I really didn’t want to. 

Ron was looking at me curiously. “You know what I think you want?”

“What? Please bestow your infinite wisdom about me, a person you barely know, to me,” I scoffed.

“I think you do all this because you just want a wedding for yourself. Not an actual marriage, but a wedding.”

I stared incredulously at him. “How can you even say that? You don’t know me! Of course I want a marriage! Who wouldn’t want someone to spend the rest of their life with?”

“Well then why aren’t you looking harder for your ‘one true love’?” he said in air quotes. “You spend all your extra time helping brides and attending weddings, and it seems like you barely date.”

“I do too date!” I retorted.

“Yeah? When’s the last time you dated someone? I don’t count,” he said pompously.

“What do you mean you don’t count? Of course you don’t!” I argued.

“Oh, you wound me,” Ron said, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Are you going to answer the question?”

I stopped to think about it. Was it bad that I really couldn’t remember. Ron took advantage of my distraction to steal the scanner from me and started scanning random trinkets.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I tried to take the scanner back. 

He used his height to an advantage to block me. “Oh, come on, it’s all in good fun. Every couple deserves some random trinkets that they open and have to fake a smile for, don’t you think?”

There was a mischievous glint in his eye that made me laugh even though I should be scolding him. I was still mad at him for his accusations, but I was willing to play along so I didn’t have to answer the dating question.

“Is that what you think?” I said with a smile. “You’d want to open random gifts you didn’t ask for because someone thought it would be funny to play a joke on your registry?”

“It’s never going to happen for me, so it doesn’t matter what I’d do, now would it?”

Ron was smiling, but it wasn’t reaching his eyes. I stopped to contemplate his words for a moment. “Something must have happened to make you resent love so much. So, what is it?” 

I snagged the list from his hand to see how we were doing as I began walking again. We needed to get to the linen section next. Ron still hadn’t answered me, so I decided to push his buttons a bit.

“Did your parents get divorced? An ex-girlfriend cheat on you with your best friend like in those cheesy romantic comedies? Or, were you left at the altar or something tragic like that?” 

“Yeah, actually.”

I froze. I wasn’t really serious. I turned around to look at him. “What?”

“I was engaged a few years ago, but about two weeks before the wedding she called it off. Apparently she was more interested in my brother instead, and only realized it when she came home to meet the whole family.”

“Oh, my God, Ron, I’m sorry. It was—I didn’t mean it,” I apologized. That was awful and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“It’s fine. I was too blinded by love to see that we weren’t a good fit anyways. My brother saw right through her shallowness and told her to fuck off. So, I guess there was a silver lining.”

I handed him the scanner. “Scan all the ugly things you want. I’ll feign ignorance as long as all the stuff on this list gets added.”

He let out a weak laugh. “Thanks.”

“Are you close with your brother, then?” We hadn’t discussed anything personal yet, aside from my involvement in weddings, but I found myself wanting to learn more about him.

“As close as we can be. He lives in Africa on a wild nature preserve.”

“And your ex was more interested in a—”

“Zoologist? Apparently. Guess my career as a writer wasn’t adventurous enough for her. Or it didn’t make enough money for her lifestyle.”

“If she’s more interested in money than love, you’re better off. You’ll find the one someday, I’m sure.”

“So will you...maybe,” he smirked.

“Good to see you being so supportive,” I said sarcastically. 

Just like that, the moment had passed. Maybe I’d been a little too quick to judge Ron without knowing his backstory. First impressions were typically a good indication of a person for me, but now I was starting to think that maybe I’d misjudged him. Even though he reverted right back to his sarcastic ways, I was fairly certain that it was all a cover. I couldn’t help the feeling churning inside of me that yearned to know more.

Ron

I was sitting at my cubicle on Wednesday when Rita stopped by my desk. “How’s the article coming?”

I knew she was talking about the perpetual bridesmaid one. “It still needs work; still a rough draft,” I told her.

“I want to see what you’ve got. Email it to me,” Rita said bluntly before walking away.

“But—” It didn’t matter what I was going to try to say, she was expecting it and I needed to send it along.

I didn’t understand why I was hesitating, though. This was going to be my big break, and yet I had this nagging feeling in my stomach. 

Sure, Hermione was strong minded and opinionated, but she was always so interesting to talk to. I found myself craving her company and wanting to learn more about her. Hell, I’d even admitted my darkest secret about Romilda that no one knew outside of immediate family.

The last time I put love ahead of my career I lost the section for my contributing investigative pieces and landed my arse firmly in commitments. I needed to stay focused so I shook the thoughts of Hermione from my head as I carried on with cleaning up the article. It’d been so long since I let anyone into my life, and I just didn’t know her well enough yet to trust her. 

I did make one small concession, deciding not to use her real name because of the business. So I called her Hermione Wilkins in the article. No one needed to know, and it was my feeble attempt at protecting her identity. Satisfied with the draft, I pressed send on the email and moved onto my next task.

On Friday, Rita called me into her office. “This is really good, Weasley. You should be proud.”

I looked at her in slight confusion, not exactly sure which article she was talking about.

“The perpetual bridesmaid article! We’re running it on Sunday. You’re on the front page of the Styles section. And you’re out of commitments for good after you cover that Warrington/Potter wedding, of course.”

“Er, right. Yeah, thanks!” I tried to fake excitement over it, but the knot was pitted even deeper in my stomach.

“Why aren’t you more excited?”

“I just think it could use some more time, that’s all. She’s in that wedding, too. The one next weekend. Let me wait and see if I can learn more. You know, to add—”

“Ron, this is perfect as is. Isn’t this what you wanted? Or has someone taken a fancy to Ms. Wilkins?” Rita gave me a knowing smile, but it wasn’t a genuine one. It made me uncomfortable.

“Can we please just push publication one more week?” I asked once more.

Rita sighed dramatically. “I’ll see what I can do, but if you have started to care for her, you might want to tell her. You can go now. I’m sure you have things to accomplish before the weekend.”

I nodded slightly as I turned to leave. I had to find a way to tell Hermione. I wasn’t ready to lose whatever dysfunctional new friendship we’d created, but after she’d already accused me of lying to her, I had no idea how I was going to spin this. No matter how I looked at it, it was totally deceitful.

 Not to mention my sister and all of her lies, too. No matter how annoying I thought Hermione could be, I knew she didn’t deserve that. She needed to know this was coming. I had to tell her.

~o~

My phone rang on Saturday afternoon. It was the first Saturday where I didn’t have to do anything related to weddings and it was brilliant, until I saw Ginny’s name on the caller ID.

“What?” I answered.

“I need your help.”

“Aren’t I already helping you enough?”

“Never,” Ginny said through a grin that I knew was undoubtedly plastered on her face.

“Well?” I asked, pretending to be annoyed.

“I just got a call that the favors are done and ready to be picked up in Brentwood. Harry was going to do it after the dinner tasting, but I’m worried that won’t give him enough time to get to Andover for dinner with Mum and Dad since it’s in the complete opposite direction!”

“So, you’re asking me to pick up the favors, then?”

“Unless you wanted to come to dinner—”

“Nope, I’m good. I’ve got to try and get a hold of Hermione tonight for something anyways,” I told her.

“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice sounded intrigued.

“Yeah, but it’s not what you think. It’s not like I’m into her or anything,” I said a little too quickly.

“Sureee,” Ginny teased. “Well, you’re in luck. She’s with Harry right now for the tasting at the Winchester in Putney. She offered to go to the tasting since I was wrapped up with things back home. Maybe she could go with you?”

“Yeah, maybe…” I had to admit that Ginny came up with a good idea.

“Listen, I have to go, we’re getting ready to leave now. Hopefully Harry will be hungry enough. I did reserve a later dinner, but Mum and Dad wanted to get settled at the inn beforehand since they didn’t want to drive home tonight…” Ginny trailed off.

“Okay, tell them I said hi, and I’ll take care of the favors for you.”

“Thanks, Ron, I owe you!”

“Yeah you owe me for a lot of—” I stopped talking once I realized she’d already hung up the phone.

“Doesn’t she believe in saying goodbye?” I said out loud as I shook my head. 

I could be at the Winchester House in fifteen minutes. Grabbing my wallet and keys, I headed out the door and hailed a taxi.

When I arrived at the hotel, the maitre’d pointed me in the direction of where Harry and Hermione were seated. It was a relatively nice day. Warm and partly cloudy, but I could tell by the way the sky was changing that a rainstorm was coming in.

I walked through the main area to the outdoor seating section where I stopped near the doorway to look for them. I spotted them on the other side of the terrace overlooking the Thames at a small table. My first thought was of how gorgeous Hermione looked when she was smiling. She normally only reserved scowls for me, and I hadn’t realized how attractive she truly was until that moment.

The thought terrified me. I wasn’t sure if I was even ready to let someone else into my life like that. I’d sworn off love, convinced it wasn’t in the cards for me. If things were meant to look up, there was no way it could be her. Especially not after that article dropped. At least Rita was giving me more time to explain it to her.

I refocused on the two of them and began to take a few steps toward their table. That’s when I saw it. The look I’d seen on every bride who was hopelessly in love with their soon to be groom. How had I never realized it before? The way she smiled and leaned across the table. 

All the unabashed flirting. Everything was making sense now. Why she was so upset at the club that first night, why she was so dejected when she called me, and why she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to be part of my sister’s wedding. Hermione was in love with her boss, who was also my sister’s fiancée. I wasn’t sure what was worse. Her pining over a man who had no interest in her at all, or Harry’s complete obliviousness to the entire situation. I’d seen him around my sister long enough to know he only had eyes for her.

I was feeling a mix of hurt and anger that I hadn’t felt since Romilda left me, and I didn’t understand why because it wasn’t like I was in love with Hermione or anything. I just enjoyed her company and was keen on the prospect that she might be a good friend if we could get past her constant accusations. 

At that moment I lost all my ambition to tell Hermione about the article, and even to ask her along on the wedding errand. I was about to turn and leave when Harry happened to look in my direction and called me over. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione looked at me in surprised annoyance.

Of course she was annoyed, I just ruined the probable fantasy she was currently living with this whole situation.

 “Jenny called and asked if I could go pick up the favors with you before the shop closes.”

“Oh, I thought I was going to take care of that,” Harry said.

“Yeah, Harry and I were just getting ready to head to Brentwood now,” Hermione said pointedly.

“Well, the bride is worried that it’ll make him late for some dinner that’s past the other side of London, so…”

“Hmm, she does make a good point. And it looks like the rain is heading in, which would make travel conditions worse,” Harry said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Hermione’ll ensure everything is sorted as the maid of honor, right?” I asked, raising my eyebrow in question and knowing she couldn’t say no.

“I—I guess,” Hermione sounded deflated as she shot me a death glare as Harry was finalizing the menu.

Good. Someone needed to pop the bubble because she was holding onto a dream that would never come true.

“Great, thanks again, you guys. I better get going if I have to stop home before heading to Andover.” 

Harry got up and clapped me on the back as he took off toward the exit. I smiled widely at Hermione, who looked like she was going to murder me. I couldn’t wait to reveal what I’d found out about her little secret.