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roosterforme · 7 months

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Adult Education Part 21 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jake works to secure his future with Jessica while also being supportive of her. She is dreading Brian's return to work, but she recognizes that she finally has the friends she deserves.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, drinking, language, 18+

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

Jessica had never been hungover during the week before, but all the celebratory champagne and rough sex had definitely gone to her head a little bit. She groaned when she felt Jake's hand on her shoulder. "Baby, you have to get up," he said, voice hoarse next to her ear. "We have to go to work."

"Oh, god," she groaned, rolling over away from him. "No."

"You have to," he repeated. "It's your first day with tenure, Reedy. You have to go."

A smile spread across her lips in spite of her headache, and she whispered, "Tenure. I have tenure."

"You sure do," Jake drawled softly, and she finally opened her eyes to see him grinning at her. "If you get up now, I'll make you breakfast."

Her stomach growled so loudly they both laughed, and then she pouted playfully. "But I don't have a waffle iron."

He kissed her forehead. "No. But I do. And you told me you weren't going to renew your lease."

"I'm not," she whispered as her heart swelled with happiness.

"Well, soon enough you'll have daily access to waffles," he whispered, kissing her just below her ear. "I guess I better start cleaning out my closet to make room for your lingerie collection."

Now she wanted to move in with him as soon as possible. She could already picture herself organizing all of her pretty pieces in his nice closet while modeling a few of them for him. She still had some things he'd never seen her in, and it was going to be so much fun to tease him.

"Get up," he said, patting her butt as he climbed out of bed. "I'll make some eggs."

Jessica went through her morning routine only after taking some Advil, and she had to drink two mugs of coffee before she really felt human. She also left her apartment a good fifteen minutes after than she usually did. "You'll be late," she fretted, running toward her car which was parked next to Jake's truck. "You'll get in trouble."

"Nah," he replied, "Bradshaw will cover for me." He kissed Jessica as she tried to push him toward his truck, stumbling in her high heels.

"Go to work. Goodbye. I love you," she said quickly. "I'll see you tonight!"

"See you tonight, tenured Dr. Reed," he called out as she climbed into her car and started the engine.

Jessica barely had time to get to her office before she had to grab her notebooks and head back downstairs to give her first lecture of the day. But it felt so damn good to stand there in front of her students. Dr. Rosenthal wouldn't be stopping in, because he didn't need to. Because she had tenure. And now that her headache was virtually gone and the breakfast that Jake made was sitting nicely in her belly, she kind of felt like screaming about it from the rooftops.

But she settled for screaming about it at lunchtime when she grabbed the little container of food Jake made and took it over to the math building. After one knock on her friend's office door, it swung open revealing a bright smile. Jessica screeched quietly and hugged her.

"I have tenure," she whispered.

"Well, obviously," Advanced Calculus replied. "There was never any doubt in my mind."

Jessica set her lunch down on the desk while her friend closed the door. "I can't thank you enough for everything you did for me. Helping me set everything up with Rosenthal and giving up so much of your free time and everything," she gushed. "Just... thank you. And I hope you had a nice time at the library with Bradley."

She snorted in response as she opened her tie dye lunchbox. "Bradley had a great time at the library, as per usual. And once again, I don't think you appreciate how very much I want to see Brian go down like a sinking ship. In fact, I volunteered for another special project."

"What kind of project?" Jessica asked as she watched her friend dip a carrot stick into some hummus.

"I can't talk about it quite yet. I have another meeting with Dean Walters in an hour, but I think it's a project that you'll fully support." Then she bit into the carrot like a woman who was in complete control of her surroundings, and Jessica couldn't think of a single reason why she couldn't be the same way.

"If you think I'll appreciate your new project, then I can't wait to hear about it later," she said, taking a bite of the delicious food Jake made for her.

"I'll tell you all about it as soon as I can."

After lunch, Jessica took some time to gather her scattered notes to teach Brian's senior studies class for the last time. She learned as much about chemistry from the students as they had from her, and after she worked a few problems out on the board with them, she asked, "If you have any other questions for me, please let me know now. This is the last time I'll be covering this class."

"What do you mean?" one of the students asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"Dr. Conley will be back for class next week," she explained, and then she heard an outraged sigh followed by some muttering. "It'll be okay though," she said in a tone she hoped was reassuring. "You've all been doing so well, and you're so close to graduation now!"

"But Dr. Conley doesn't even show up to class."

"He doesn't help us with anything."

"Is there any way you can stay until the end of the semester?"

"What about the practice problems you give us?"

The sudden influx of comments and questions made Jessica feel better and also so much worse at the same time. She let them all get their concerns out of their system before she said, "My office hours are always available for you. And you can still email me if you want to. I can even try to make more practice problems, but honestly, all of you are much better at chemistry than I am. Maybe you can run the class yourselves if Dr. Conley isn't here?"

She hated Brian. She actually still hated him. But more so for these students now than on her own behalf. They all looked concerned and apprehensive, and she spent another ten minutes talking to them until they were calm enough to head to their next class. She wished she could finish teaching them for the rest of the semester, and she decided she would ask Dean Walters if there was any chance she could teach her own senior studies class for physics majors next school year.

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

Jake was already home and showered with dinner in the oven, eating some chips on the couch while he waited for Jessica. He was keeping a running tally of things he still needed to give her since he'd already willingly handed over his heart. His spare key was sitting next to his feet which were propped up on the coffee table. He had already cleaned out half of his closet and consolidated his stuff to make some room. And he wanted to pay for the flights to Massachusetts and Texas for her once she approved the dates.

When his phone lit up with a text letting him know she was here, he ran down to her car in just his sweatpants and slippers with his spare key ring looped around his finger. "Did you have a good day?" he asked, taking her overnight bag from her hand as she locked her car.

"I did," she replied quietly. "I left so late, because I talked to the dean about teaching my own senior studies class next term."

"And?"

She smiled as they walked to his condo. "He said it's a good possibility now that I have tenure."

"There's nothing you can't do." Jake kissed her and pressed the key ring into her hand.

"What's this?" she asked, looking at it as she stood outside the front door. "Oh!" She slipped it into the lock and let them both inside as she blushed. "You want me to have it now? Even though I'm not moving in quite yet?"

"Please," he replied as he walked inside, his eyes catching on the print of his jet that she gave him for his birthday. "You can come and go as you want, but I hope you'll be here more often than not."

Jake watched as she took her keys out again and added his ring to them. "Thank you." She was fiddling with them a little bit when she looked up at him as she stepped out of her high heels. "Brian will be back tomorrow," she said softly. "That's what Dr. Rosenthal told me when I ran into him. And if he doesn't know I have tenure by now, he'll find out soon enough."

Jake collected her in his arms. "He can't do anything about it now, Reedy. It's a done deal. And unless you fuck up spectacularly at work, which you definitely won't, he's not entitled to say anything about it."

She nodded against him. "I know that. I do know that, but I still don't want to have to see him and hear his stupid, condescending voice complain about me."

He pressed his nose to her hair and kissed her before he whispered, "You wear your tenure like a shield. And if he can't figure out how to shut his mouth, you let me know, and I'll be there in an instant."

Jessica shivered in his arms. "That shouldn't sound as sexy as it does. You know..." she mused, "none of this would have happened if you hadn't punched Brian in the face the first time. So I guess I really have you to thank."

"How so?" Jake asked as he led her to the kitchen where the oven timer was going off.

"You punched Brian, and then his wife saw his messed up face. And then she came to campus looking for answers and found him with the teaching assistant. And then he took a leave of absence." When Jake set down the baking dish and glanced over his shoulder, she was smiling brightly. "Jake, you literally saved my career with your fist!"

He shrugged and shook off his oven mitts. "All I did was punch someone who was trying to intimidate my girlfriend. I'll do it again if I have to. Now, would you like some parmesan cheese sprinkled on top of your dinner?" he asked as he cut into the casserole. He ended up with Jessica in his arms.

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Jessica heard the whispers all day on Thursday. If Dr. Rosenthal hadn't told her that Brian was coming back, she would have chalked it up to everyone at the university being addicted to their daily gossip, but she half expected to see him lurking around every corner. She kind of wanted to go right to Brian's office, knock on the door and tell him that she got tenure just to get it over with. But when she thought about seeing his face, she shook her head in disgust.

She hadn't heard much from Jake all day, and Advanced Calculus was scarce as well. But when she went to the lounge to make a sad cup of coffee before her office hours started, the teaching assistant that Brian had been sleeping with was in there along with another one that Jessica wasn't familiar with. They must not have seen her at first as they were clearly talking about Brian.

"He looks terrible, honestly. Like he hasn't slept. I'm sure he's going to ask me if I want to mess around again, especially since his wife left."

"I don't know. I heard he's actually pretty upset that she took the kids. But I really want to know who broke his nose in the first place."

Jessica considered sneaking back out of the room, but it was too late. They had seen her, and they both snapped their mouths closed. Had Sabrina Conley really taken their kids? Was she gone for good? Jessica thought she'd probably be better off without her husband. She also wanted to ask the TA if she knew Brian was married when they were messing around before, but it was really none of her business.

"Hi," she greeted evenly, strolling toward the coffee maker. The only sound in the small room was her high heels tapping against the floor as she walked. But neither of them said a word in response before they turned and left. Maybe they were embarrassed about being caught talking about Brian, or maybe Jessica still had a bad reputation in the science department. Either way, she was going to take her coffee upstairs and wait for Luca to stop by before spending the night cuddled up with Jake.

When she finished stirring her drink and turned toward the door, she almost spilled her coffee all over herself. "Brian," she gasped, taking an awkward step backwards so her hip hit the edge of the counter a bit painfully. He looked so angry, she immediately felt like her heart was going to explode out of her chest as her nerves took over.

"Call me Dr. Conley," he snapped, and she could feel her face flushing with embarrassment as she stood there silently.

Jessica's hands shook as she tried to walk to the door, but he didn't budge from his spot blocking her exit path. "Excuse me," she said, trying her best to sound stronger than she felt.

"I don't even want to know how badly your lesson plans have gone off course over the past few weeks," he practically growled. "You're going to need to schedule a meeting with me to go over everything. The sooner the better."

"No."

Brian looked surprised by her response. "Yes," he replied with a sarcastic laugh. "I know you think you really did something special by getting that asshole to punch me in the face, but your days here are fucking numbered. Understand?"

"No," Jessica repeated as Jake's voice in her mind kept telling her to wear her tenure like a shield. Plus, she could clearly picture the paperwork she signed with Dr. Rosenthal since she read over it a dozen times. "I don't have to answer to you about my curriculum choices any longer."

He laughed. "Okay, so now you're unreliable, slutty, and stupid?"

"I have tenure," she said firmly, gripping the coffee a little tighter while his eyes bugged out in anger.

He shook his head. "You can't get tenure unless you get it through me," he snarled.

Jessica looked at his crooked nose and miserable expression, and if she wasn't on the verge of tears, she might have laughed. "You can ask Dean Walters for a copy of my signed paperwork. And if you have concerns about my curriculum, then you can take it up with him." She tried to duck past him through the doorway, certain her resolve was almost gone now.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Brian demanded loudly, and she jumped back. "Explain yourself right fucking now."

"Dr. Conley!" came a familiar voice from the hallway, and then Dr. Rosenthal was poking his head in the lounge door. "You shouldn't be raising your voice like that to Dr. Reed, especially since you're on probation."

"Probation?" Jessica whispered, and Brian's face soured further.

"Mind your own business, Rosenthal," he snapped, and under his breath he added, "you should have retired a decade ago."

"Yes. Probation," came another familiar voice as Advanced Calculus strolled in with a notebook in her hand like she hadn't a care in the world. She stopped right in front of Brian with her back to Jessica, acting almost like a buffer. "He's in a lot of trouble," she said in a voice that bordered on teasing, and Brian's face grew pink.

"What do you mean?" Jessica whispered, and the other woman smirked at her over her shoulder.

"He's on probation for a history of behavioral issues, and I volunteered to be his probation officer of sorts," she replied before turning back toward Brian. "Don't forget, Dean Walters asked to check in with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And I'll be dropping by your classes to make sure you actually show up to them. Oh, and I'll have to add to my report that you raised your voice to a professor with tenure while she was just trying to make a cup of coffee." She tapped her notebook. "It's not looking good, Brian."

Jessica watched Dr. Rosenthal shuffle away after he cleared his throat, and Brian spun on his heel to follow suit. "Is this for real?" Jessica asked, looking around the room to try and tell if she was in a dream.

"Yep. He's my new volunteer project. I think Dean Walters could just tell that I have a lot of experience taming fuckboys. But Brian takes the cake, let me tell you. He's been skipping out on his classes to meet up with different women."

Jessica adjusted her glasses and looked at the floor as she whispered, "I never missed my classes when he and I were...."

"Of course not," she said blandly. "That's why you were given tenure instead of being put on probation. You actually do your job. He doesn't. Now, I was thinking about Chippy's tomorrow night? Kind of a celebration?"

Jessica just blinked at her. "A celebration for what?"

"You! A tenure party! Fratraiser part deux as Bradley has been calling it. You know what, I'll take care of the whole thing. Don't even stress about it."

Jessica had been planning on spending the weekend cleaning out her apartment before she started to move a few things to Jake's place. But going out for a bit could be fun. She had more friends in San Diego now than she ever dreamed she would. "What were you thinking? Like a double date?"

"Something like that," she replied with a twinkle in her eye. "How about tomorrow night at eight?"

"Let me check with Jake," she said right away.

"Oh, Jake already knows."

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

"We'll just stay for a little bit and then head home again," Jessica whispered as she and Jake made their way slowly from his truck to Chippy's. He was fucking obsessed with the way she just called his condo home. He was obsessed with everything about her as he pressed her up against the side of Chippy's out on the sidewalk. She'd let him dress her for the night by turning it into a game, and he had chosen a black lace bodysuit paired with a mini skirt and denim jacket.

"I made a mistake," he whispered, voice rough with need as he let his hand slip underneath the skirt. Then he moaned, "A huge mistake."

She laughed as he bumped her glasses with his nose while he kissed her ear. "Did you?"

Jake was uncomfortably hard in his jeans. "Baby, I really want to fuck you. And your outfit is not helping," he added as he squeezed her bare thigh.

"That's your fault," she whispered with a grin while he whined. "Seriously, we'll just stay for a drink or two. It'll be like a double date. And then we can do whatever you want, okay?"

Jake took her hand in his, kissed her fingers and said, "On the way home, you're ordering those toys from that dirty website you found. I think we need all of them."

He could tell she was blushing in the darkness by the warmth of her cheeks against his lips. "Okay," she agreed softly, and Jake had to adjust himself in his jeans before they could walk inside.

"Holy shit," he gasped when a crowd of people cheered Congratulations! to his girlfriend. Bradshaw's wife didn't mention there would be this many people in attendance. He saw Bradshaw with his backwards hat and hideous tie dye shirt with his arms wrapped around his wife, but all of the other aviators were there, too. Jake spotted a much older man in a sweater vest sipping a beer, and he assumed that must have been Rosenthal. And of course someone had invited Dev.

"You okay?" Jake asked Jessica as she just stood next to him with happy tears in her eyes. She nodded and sniffed as she read the banner that was hanging above Chippy behind the bar.

CONGRATS, REEDY!

"Yeah, I'm okay," she whispered, burying herself against Jake as he wrapped his arm around her. "I'm just surprised so many people cared enough to be here."

"Don't cry, Jess!" Bradley shouted over the music and conversation as his wife headed over. "It's a happy occasion! It's not like you're in a relationship with Jake or something horrible. Oh... wait...."

Jake shot him a nasty look while he laughed hysterically, and he watched Jessica hug everyone in attendance, thanking all of them individually for coming to her party. Jake briefly wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as he asked, "You want a Sam Adams, Baby?"

"Yes," she replied, but then she added, "but I want to thank Chippy, too." And with that, Jessica walked right behind the bar and gave the grouchy bar owner a hug, and Jake saw a rare smile break out on his face. "Thank you for always welcoming me here," she told him softly while Jake leaned on the bar. "I felt safe here when I didn't really feel safe anywhere else."

Chippy patted her on the head and then started to push her away as he got a little emotional himself. "You're always welcome here, Reedy," he told her before he started to reach for some bowls to fill them with peanuts, and Jessica walked back around the bar and into Jake's arms. Chippy poured a few beers, and set them down in front of Jake as he growled, "So I guess you're sticking around then?"

"Looks that way," Jake replied, leaning down to kiss Jessica's cheek. "Until this one comes to her senses."

"I told you I wouldn't," she replied with a laugh. Then she turned to Chippy and said, "He's not so bad. And he's sweet to me."

"Then I guess he can stay," Chippy replied with a shrug, still glaring slightly.

Jake picked up two beers and led the way to a table near the others while Jessica carried the peanuts. "I think he finally tolerates me," Jake boasted.

"It only took you several months," she replied with a smirk. "Chippy didn't fall for your charms as quickly as I did."

Jake set the beers down next to the peanuts and pulled Jessica closer to him. "You made me work hard for it. Ever since the first night I met you when you brought me here for a three dollar beer."

She reached up and raked her fingers through his hair. "I had to know for sure. That you really wanted me."

Jake kissed her rough on the lips right in front of everyone. "I need you, Jessica," he promised, making her smile. "I love you."

"Okay, that's enough of that," Bradshaw's wife said, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "I just have a few words I want to say." She looked a little emotional as she started. "Jessica, you've become one of my very best friends in just a few short months. I know that your time at San Diego State started off a little rocky for you, and I'm sincerely sorry from the bottom of my heart that I didn't take the time to get to know you last semester when you really needed a friend in your corner. You're one of the kindest and smartest people I have ever met in my life."

Jake held Jessica as she looked like she was about to cry. "I'm the one who should be saying nice things to you!" she replied, swiping at her tears behind her glasses. "You've done so much to help me."

"And you've done so much by taking Jake off our hands for us," Bradley added loudly as everyone started laughing.

"That's fair," Jake admitted with a grin as he pressed his lips to Jessica's hair.

Then Bradshaw's wife lifted her pint glass in the air, and everyone else did as well. "Congratulations on your tenure, Dr. Reed!"

The bar erupted in loud cheers, and Bradley shook up a bottle of champagne. Jake spent the rest of the night kissing the sticky sweetness from Jessica's face and making sure Dev kept his hands to himself. He made sure his girlfriend always had a Sam Adams in her hand and that her denim jacket was neatly buttoned over that bodysuit that he was dying to get his hands on.

He didn't mind sharing Jessica with everyone else for the evening, especially since she'd made such a good friend in Bradshaw's wife. But much later, when Jessica turned and looked at him while she intentionally unbuttoned her jacket, he was more than ready to get her alone.

"Take me home, Jake," she said sweetly, reaching for his hand. "I'm ready to go home."

He kissed her lips and wrapped his arms around her. "Let's get out of here, Smart Girl."

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I hope you loved reading this as much as I have loved writing it! There will not be just one, but TWO epilogues! Stay tuned for those and pegging! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 22

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ferrstappen · 1 year

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the second time we broke up l Lando Norris series

a/n: HELLO, I really like this concept and hope you enjoy it enough so I can come up with a third and final part that I have in mind <3 thank you for your messages, sorry for the delay on the requests, but I promise I'll get through them and announce the 1k celebration! <3

PART ONE HERE

pairing: Lando Norris x female!reader

words: 3.7k

warnings: teeny tiny allusions to sex, wear words.

genre: angst and some fluff <3

summary: there were reasons to try again, but maybe not enough.

You mourned the relationship, your first relationship, the classic way: crying, ice cream, sad love songs, getting drunk, bashing him with your friends who trash talked him with you, more crying, trying to get back up, realizing your worth.

Learning to live with no Lando, your dorky friend and loving boyfriend.

On the other hand, Lando was angry. He didn’t let himself cry, feel sad, be sorry for himself, be apologetic. He was resentful. Did you feel superior to him? How could you do better than him, a Formula 1 driver?

Maybe it was his bruised ego talking, acknowledging you actually could do better than an immature F1 driver who couldn’t give you stability, the comfort you deserved, the attention he couldn’t (or didn’t want to) reciprocate.

He simply let go, detached himself from the situation and simply forgot about it; rolled his eyes whenever friends from home brought you up at the same time he was getting acquainted with other people. Lando Norris was just realizing the world was his and had to take advantage of it; he was wanted, he was desired, and he let it go to his head while walking the streets of Monaco, letting his eyes trace the silhouette of women who dedicated him a flirty smile.

He spent more time discovering Monaco’s night life, going out with other drivers and their social circles, leaving the club with a stunning woman by his side, gaining the experiences he lacked because everything he got to know was you.

This went on for the entire break, he rapidly left the family home after Christmas under the excuse of clearing his head, feeling comfortable in his new home, new country.

It all lasted until the season was supposed to start, but it didn’t.

In the blink of an eye, he was cloistered; no more night life, expensive champagne, exotic cocktails, waking up with a different figure every morning before gently letting them know it was time to leave.

For the first time he was realizing the hotel room was empty; one suitcase, one phone charger. The bathroom only had the miniature hotel goodies, there wasn’t a shampoo bar, some Lush shower gel (that he always used), no hair left in the tub, YLS perfume on the counter.

The next day he noticed Charles had a new girlfriend, Charlotte he heard, and he saw a bit of you in her; she was shy, educated, wealthy family, an outfit that could’ve resembled yours whenever you blessed the McLaren garage with your presence, and she was also carrying her laptop in order to get some reading done while supporting her boyfriend.

That was the moment Lando noticed you were missing.

He didn’t know what to do at first, what are you supposed to do to regain contact with your ex-girlfriend with whom you didn’t have the friendliest of break ups? It’d only been a couple of months, but he was aware he was different and of course you would be as well.

He tried to subtly ask Max whenever he flew over to Monaco (pretty much every weekend). His best friend only fed him small details here and there, knowing exactly the intentions of his friend, even if he tried to act all nonchalant and recounting his experiences with girls here and there.

But there was only so much Max could take.

“Mate, what’s the thing with (y/n)? Why do you keep asking me about her?” Max asked, Lando caught unprepared for the question (or outburst) of his friend.

“What do you mean? Of course I want to know about her, she’s still my friend,”

Max rolled his eyes. “Mate, you’ve rolled your eyes during the last month whenever someone brought her up, behaving like a child throwing a tantrum and now you’re all interested?” Max questioned his best friend, trying to use an understanding tone so Lando wouldn’t shut down. “I can’t help you unless you tell me, mate.”

Lando took a deep breath.

How was he supposed to tell him he missed you?

No, that was too simple, too ordinary, I miss you couldn’t begin to express the turmoil of feelings wanting to burst out of his lips after being muted and ignored for so long.

He enjoyed silence, but he missed your quiet humming.

He had fun meeting new girls, but he craved your body under, on top, against his own, like two pieces of a perfect puzzle knowing what the other needed.

He got annoyed sometimes when you asked him to keep his voice down while streaming, but he missed the scattered papers, books, class notes on the living room table, eyes closed and hair scattered over the table.

He hated his closet, full of hoodies, not one trench coat, denim or leather jacket, thick sweater.

He despised his kitchen, only watching his trainer approved food, no ice cream, hidden Maltesers as to not tempt him, bland orange Jaffa Cakes he’d always laugh and call you a grandma for having them.

He missed your careless figure, only a bra and thong or boy shorts roaming from the bathroom to the bedroom over and over again, always missing a t-shirt, a skin tint, a brush, a hair pin.

He hated himself for forgetting to call his mum, being used to you reminding him to FaceTime her.

And so he told Max everything; the void on his chest, the shivers in his arms, the empty side of the bed, the rose scented shower gel, the tingling on the palm of his hand, the exhaustion of trying to find you in other people when he knew there was no one like you, the desperation of thinking of you with someone else, the fear of not living the future he made up in his head.

Of course, after he let it out of his chest his best friend was staring at him as if he grew an extra head. Why didn’t you say this before? Lando answered he hadn’t realized, he wasn’t aware of his feelings, eyebrows rising when Max snorted; half mocking, half shocked at Lando’s cluelessness.

“Mate, you have to be honest with yourself if you even want a fighting chance,” Max knew if he didn’t tell Lando, he’d never be aware or liable of his actions. “Mate, she’s fine now, but it was such a low point, her parents didn’t want me to see her at first because I’m your best mate,”

Lando threw his head back in surprise, squinting, asking Max whatever he meant, because he was well aware of his feelings and what he longed for.

I cannot be the one to break it to you, mate. Those were Max’s words, and Lando was getting annoyed.

“Fuck’s sake, Max. what do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? She’s the one who broke up with me!” Lando exclaimed with a raised voice.

Max groaned, an annoyed, i-can’t-believe-i-have-to-be-the-one-who-tell-you-this groan.

It’s your fucking ego, Lando. It got so fucking big don’t even know how a body as small as yours could handle that incredible vision of yourself when you couldn’t bring yourself to go back home and have some pints together, you didn’t care on calling for our birthdays, we got some fucking McLaren merch you told someone to send us, nothing. Max felt as if he was slowly emptying his chest.

Lando was shaking his head, the events he was hearing weren’t veridic, Max created a scenario that never happened.

Max continued, ignoring Lando’s denial.

And we are your friends, (y/n) was your girlfriend. Mate, you forgot about her and she didn’t even have to tell any of us because she was making excuses for you. Of course you were busy, mate, but so was her and you couldn’t care less. Bob, I’m telling you this because you are my best mate, but please hold yourself accountable. Yes, she was the one who announce the break up, but it wasn’t because she wanted to.

Taken aback, trying to come up with a response, Lando realized his walls were crumbling, his heart was aching, his brain was making the connections, bringing back the actions he knew were wrong.

Fuck you, mate. I’m still putting on a good word and try to come up with something, but fuck you, Bob.

Nothing a hug, a pint and Call of Duty couldn’t repair.

Three weeks went by where Max prepared the field for his friend, making sure every friend was on board, slowly settling ideas on their friends.

We all have free next weekend?

It’s been long since we’ve all hung out together.

We’ve all been studying and working so hard, we deserve to have a little break.

Do any of you have any ideas?

Lando told me we are all welcome at McLaren for Barcelona, two more weeks.

That’s when Max’s efforts and intentions were clearer. Lando wanted to make amends or bring back the group? Did he need something? Probably not, it still didn’t make sense.

Your friends agreed with very little hesitancy, probably assuming if Max was proposing the idea chances were you were in the loop of sharing a space with Lando, especially after the circumstances.

After everyone left you asked Max why would he put you in that position, knowing being back on the paddock would be full of awkward interactions for you, asking whether or not you were back with Lando, your name being thrown around on social media, strangers paying just a little more attention at you in classes, righ after you’d gotten over it.

But were you truly over it? The situation, yes. The wave died, only focusing on your well-being, learning to be without him.

Now, were you over him? Of course not. You missed his teary laugh, his messy curls in the morning, the glint in his eyes when he saw you get off the plane with your bag, the flutter on your stomach whenever he smiled at you, unafraid of letting you know how much he loved you.

It was two weeks, but felt just like a couple of minutes, boarding a crowded British Airways flight to Barcelona, using the excuse of having too much to study in order to not pay much attention to what was going on, Apple Music choosing the worst song choices for your state of mind.

But God, you couldn’t have cared less about someone who loved you more

I’d say you broke my heart, but you broke much more than that

Now, I don’t want your sympathy I just want myself back

This was a terrible idea, your thoughts of getting up and announcing you didn’t feel so good so the plane couldn’t leave the ground. You weren’t ready to face Lando and all the feelings it’d bring back.

And don’t you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded?

Don’t you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing?

Ugh, and fuck this song as well. That’s the last thought on your mind before angrily opening a Maltesers family sized bag, preparing your nostrils to feel his perfume again, your hand to touch the soft fabric of his hoodies, your check for the courteous and familiar peck on the cheek.

The hotel was the same, papaya t-shirts walking all directions before going to the track, with some people not knowing you, others trying to hide their surprise before saying their heys.

And the rest was a blur, completely.

He saw you, you saw him.

Lando put on his best façade, a relaxed expression on his face, usual smile, normal stance. Neither you nor Lando lingered on the first hug, make eye contact after the greeting cheek contact, announcing you’d all go out on Sunday, Carlos would bring some friends and whatever.

Max expressed his frustration to Lando, noticing he didn’t do anything to even get close to you, with the driver telling his best friend he was paralyzed, his mind betraying him and not letting him think straight; your perfume too familiar, too starved of your touch, too drunk on your voice. But he tried his best, supported by his friends, Carlos patting his back before directing him towards you, using the excuse of you catching up with Isa.

Isa ad her boyfriend quickly fell into a quiet conversation, trying their best to give Lando and you the space required while both of you updated each other on whatever happened since you last saw each other.

And you were weak.

Weak for the veins showing on his arms, the grip of his hands on the bottle, the light stubble on his chin, Lando throwing a joke on the only reason behind the light hairs even seeing the light of day was because you weren’t with him because, being honest, you would’ve told him to get rid of it.

Maybe you wouldn’t fix things, but maybe you could get something from this trip. At least waking up next to him, stepping inside your bubble one more time.

Crazy stuff how body and soul connect, completely silencing your reasonable head screaming to get away from him, trying to remind you of the tears, the disappointment, the crushed self-esteem, the sleepless nights seeing him with girls who didn’t always look like you. Body on the other hand… was ready to throw it all overboard just to touch his lips again, caress the soft skin, draw the freckles and moles decorating the beautiful canvas called Lando.

That’s why you agreed to leave with him, but little did you know Lando’s thoughts never mimicked yours. He just wanted to walk you to your assigned hotel room, asking if you could talk; maybe now, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a couple of weeks, but he needed to inform you he’d be waiting for the conversation, the uncomfortable heart-to-heart.

And it happened.

He recounted the facts from his point of view: overwhelming welcome to the historic team, his name thrown around all over, everybody trying to get a bit of him, and in the attempt to please everyone, he neglected you and your history, disrespected the shared love and admiration, destroyed the strong pillars of your entire relationship.

You chronicled every phase of your process: the denial, anger, adoration, sadness disappointed. How the situation decimated the vision you had of yourself, trying to understand why your heart ached for him still.

He wasn’t afraid this time to let a few tears run down his beautiful eyes, quick to erase them and hide the quiver on his voice, to tell you he was willing to fight because after not having you, at the short age of twenty, he was sure you were his person, his meant to be.

You let him kiss you softly; not rushing, not letting your hands wonder over known but forbidden places. With the only purpose of trying to keep up, inform each other of the feelings, the love, adoration and need.

It was like the break up never happened, you were flying and walking next to him during the next GP, kissing his helmet for good luck. You’d never deny the awkward moments when he crossed paths with a regular paddock girl with whom he shared a short time with, but you were able to understand.

The love only grew.

This time, more mature and secure, no longer with books scattered and messy buns after days and nights of studying, you packed everything and moved to Monaco with him, taking his words to heart: you were his person, his meant to be.

Then years passed, and what you thought was a more mature relationship, more secure, crumbled down with one simple DM telling you a model was exchanging messages with Lando and were partying together a couple of weeks ago, a little too close.

You never questioned his late nights, inconvenient meetings, new projects. Never once doubted him and his love for you.

Now you are twenty three.

This break up was different. You were adults; more mature, with more to lose.

This time he was crying and you were angry; angry as you stared at the kitchen you had carefully chosen the right cutlery, the right shade of beige, the perfect vase. You had jumped, even when he gave you no reason at all to do it, your love for him was that great, sacrificing everything you could think of.

For it to end up like this.

He was crying. Not that fake crying with soft whimpers and sniffling. No, he was crying.

Lando was aware of the weight of his mistake, his brain knew the outcome, but his heart was trying to hold on for dear life, working to get a reaction out of you, doing everything in his power to show the desperation trying to crawl off his skin.

How could you? How can you be so selfish, when did you become this sorry excuse of a man who couldn’t tell me to my face you were seeing someone else, you chose to humiliate me. How can you care so little about me that you keep breaking me? What did I do to you to put me in this position? The painful thoughts and reality shaking you and letting

I am not seeing someone else! Baby, you flinched, yes we were exchanging messages and whatever but it meant nothing. You know a lot of influencers and fucking whatever message me all the time.

Yes, Lando, and you answer to each one of them. That’s what you told him while rolling your tearful eyes.

I know it was right there, borderline, I didn’t do anything, we just exchanged some messages, she was flirty and yes, I kind of followed along but she always knew I am in a committed relationship.

“Are you trying to make things worse?” That was your honest question, catching his desperation but devastated by the situation.

She found me. I was hanging with Max and Kelly and she found me, I don’t know how. I held her waist for like ten seconds and then she tried to kiss me and I backed away. Kelly even told her to go away, she even spoke in Portuguese, she can tell you that!

Stil you some how are not aware of your actions, Lando. Please tell me how you still are the same boy I fell in love you years ago, but not in a good way! you’re immature. Again, once again I’m here, in this fucking position, how am I supposed to get over this? I do not have the strength to get back up from this because you’ve somehow taken everything.

That was the catharsis, the implosion of your insides, breaking everything it came in contact with.

At least, this time you were not staying with things to tell him. This time you were letting him carry the burden of fucking things up.

“I gave up England, I gave up festivities with my family because you were tired, created this whole new life because it was convenient for you, your career, your everything and the last, the only thing I asked from you was respect, because it’s not enough for you to love me, you have to respect me and you keep showing me you don’t and it’s heartbreaking because I don’t know how, after all these years…”

The silence was unbearable, your pain was deafening. Lando’s helplessness palpable.

“I don’t know what to do for you to see everything I do, everything I sacrifice. For you to realize that I’m great, that I am not just a pretty girl for you to show around sometimes. I’m intelligent, I know that I am good,” Now you were choking, the sobs were excruciating even if your words didn’t make sense for Lando, but the feelings were strong your head was spinning.

“Why can’t you see that? Why do you put me in this position, humiliated once again when you are supposed to love me, respect me, cherish me…”

More silence. More desperation. More tearing.

“Or maybe I don’t deserve that?” You quietly asked him. Because maybe you were the problem, the factor why things failed. Maybe you really were not enough, the image of yourself not real, your love not that important, your presence not very needed.

Lando shook his head and said no, of course not, to please don’t say that.

“Maybe I have this image of myself and it’s not the truth, because I feel worthless, Lando. All I’ve ever wanted is to be enough for you, to be the person you come home to, and I don’t know why I failed again.”

He cried and denied everything, completely taking the blame, assuming the consequences but trying the last desperate resorts.

One month later, he was with the girl on a yacht.

Two months later, you saw them entering Lando’s parents house, iron gates opening and letting you catch a glimpse from across the street of your parents’ home.

That was the last time you saw Lando Norris.

At least for now.

#lando norris au #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris blurb #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #f1 x you #f1 masterlist #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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strawberrystepmom · 1 month

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jotaro x f!reader. going to a wedding is hard when you run into your ex who isn't quite your ex. | divider by @cafekitsune, wc 2k

cw alcohol consumption, implied age gap (reader is in her late 20s/30s and jotaro is in his 40s/50s), implied unhealthy relationship.

You feel like a fish out of water.

This would be a hilarious joke for you, marine biologist, to make if anxiety weren’t currently making every inch of your skin crawl. In search of another glass of champagne, you exhale your relief when a tray is walked right past you. A glass is plucked off, carefully, and situated between your fingers so that you can take a moment to assess the situation.

This isn’t even the first wedding you’ve been to within the last six months. Unfortunately, it is the first where you may accidentally run into a man you’ve been hoping to avoid as much as possible.

Jotaro.

Just the thought of his name makes that itchy feeling return.

You pinch the underside of your right wrist with your left fingers, reminding yourself to keep it cool and together. There’s no guarantee he’ll even be here, perpetual flake that he is. This is a wonderful opportunity for you to reconnect with your former research lab interns, now professionals either working in the field or furthering their education.

Like clockwork, one of them approaches you. You remember him as Alexander though he told you many times to call him Alex, a boyish young man with deeply tanned skin and hair that you’re certain he gets professionally permed to give him a beachy and easy going appearance.

“Hey doc!”

Smiling, you nod. Last year was your first postdoc, although you still find yourself uncertain if academia is for you or not. You’re still in your lab this year, sticking close to the place you’ve made your home. At least for now.

“Hey, kid. It’s good to see you.”

Pleasantries are exchanged, the two of you idly chatting about what has happened since the last time you saw each other. His life is far more exciting than yours, doing his time at the Speedwagon Research Station in Newfoundland just as you did yourself nearly a decade ago. Time passes so quickly even if little changes it leaves you breathless but you drown the anxiety with another sip, allowing the talkative young man to take the conversational lead.

“You know, all of us assumed last year that you two were, like, secretly married and just didn’t want anyone to know.”

Your former intern laughs, a jovial lopsided grin on his face. He did a lot of that over a year ago too, mostly at your goofy jokes or whatever playlist you picked for light lab days that would make your program co-head shake his head and silently return to his reports, a hint of a smile across his lips. Things felt good back then. Stable, at the very least. The lab was full of life, you and Dr. Kujo worked in tandem verifying research and giving advice to kids who someday hoped to do the same things the two of you have been able to do.

It sucks you haven’t heard much from Jotaro since then but hey, you understand that life happens. Always cool, always rolling with the punches, conveniently blocking out that your mattress has a permanent indentation in his shape now.

“We used to refer to you colloquially as the doctors Kujo.”

The smile you give him back doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s polite, curving just enough to show your teeth to seem less tense. You’ve perfected this smile over years of schmoozing for grants and an audience to your research alike and only reach for it when completely necessary. There’s only one person who can tell the difference between your fake smiles and your real ones anyway.

You hope his flight got delayed while tossing your head back.

“It has never really been like that between us.” That smile fades as quickly as it appeared. Lifting your champagne glass, you take a quick sip and raise your eyebrows. Smacking your lips together, appreciating the acidic bubbles over your tongue, you raise the glass halfway and nod your head.

“It’s just me, myself, and I most of the time. Tonight especially.”

The trainee turned apparent Lothario leans in toward you, that lopsided grin becoming something a little more flirtatious. You picked up on these vibes when it was definitely inappropriate and politely warded him off back then.

“So you’re single right now, eh doc?”

Now, though, you fight the urge to indulge him just to assuage your loneliness.

The difference in age between the two of you is significantly less than the gap between yourself and Jotaro. Shame simmers in your stomach while you honestly contemplate giving this bright eyed man a chance. Maybe he could make you feel wanted or needed or beautiful even, just for the evening until he heads back to where his current research has taken him in the morning.

Pathetic.

Sipping from your glass again, you shrug, washing away the words that are on your tongue. Flirting back would be a cruel thing to do to him anyway when you’ll never mean it, your heart forever stuck on one man. The energy behind you shifts and you feel a gaze on your back, a familiar voice speaking from over your shoulder.

“Give it a rest, Alex.”

Your trainee beams and looks up, up, up over your shoulder, tempting you to do the same. Turning to the side, you look up and away as quickly as you spot him. The salt and pepper sides of his hair are slicked back and his face is as unaffected as ever, aquamarine eyes flicking from the bare skin of your shoulder to the twenty something year old man across from you.

“Dr. Kujo! I was wondering when we’d bump into each other.”

The younger man holds out his hand to shake and the older one takes it. You allow the distraction to give you time to get a good look at the proverbial ghost that haunts your every dream, in disbelief that he’s real and here.

He looks amazing. That barrel chest is encased in a perfectly fitted button down shirt, his wavy hair is completely off of his face; the lines around his eyes look deeper, maybe he’s been smiling more, and you ignore the sting in the middle of your chest imagining someone else is doing that for him.

Do you even have a right to feel that way?

The conversation around you fades and you’re only acutely aware Alex is departing, holding your hand up to offer a small wiggly fingered wave and wishing him a good time. It’s just the two of you now. Jotaro wastes no time collecting your empty glass, letting it dangle from his fingers while an attendant breezes by with another tray full of them. He carefully grabs one, pinching the stem delicately, and hands it to you.

“Think he may still have that, what did you call it last year? Puppy dog crush?”

Despite yourself, you laugh. Accepting the glass with a polite nod, you don’t bother to think before you speak.

“You’re twice his age, Jotaro. Act like it.” Rolling your eyes, you sip from your champagne. You’ll need about four more glasses to protect your good time tonight, especially if Jotaro is hell bent on going down memory lane but you play along. “Besides, a year isn’t that long depending on who you ask. He didn’t forget about me.” Casting him a sidelong glance, your mouth falls into an unimpressed line. “Unlike some people.”

“Is that what you think?” He asks, face impassive as ever despite the offended lilt in his tone.

How could you possibly think anything different? Eight months ago he kissed you goodbye in the apartment you had one month left leasing, telling you he’d see you later. Between then and now you’ve moved, started another term with fresh interns, and grieved. Sometimes silently, pensive and alone staring at your hands and your journal wondering when it will stop hurting. Sometimes loudly, bitching to your friend on the phone about how impossible and fake it feels to move on when nobody you go on dates with makes you feel the same way he does.

All you do is sigh, looking over his shoulder at the guests you do not know passing quietly, unaware. You could walk away to your assigned seat but you know his assignment is right next to yours, the neatly folded place card warning you for his pending arrival. Naively you assumed he’d leave you alone. Not that you wanted him to but you hoped he had sense enough to stay away.

“Answer my question.”

It’s hard to tell who is really lacking sense here. You giggle, a bit hollow and humorless.

“I never know what to think but regardless I’m happy you made it. Have you seen Maddie and Ben yet?”

The bride and groom, the pair that was brought together in this holy matrimony thanks to their time spent as your interns. You watched them blossom before your eyes and even told Jotaro you imagined that they’d end up together someday, happy, studying rocks and plankton and water temperatures. Having little babies they’ll eventually take to the beach, leaving nothing but footprints and giggles behind.

A life you used to idealistically imagine for yourself but have outgrown. You’ve never really been the type for marriage and family, a reminder popping your dreams like a needle to a balloon when you steal another glance at Jotaro’s profile.

He leans in closer to you, nodding, eyes dipping to look at your quickly disappearing drink. “Yeah, they look happy. I’m surprised it took them this long to make it here, they seemed really eager to get to the…you know.”

An honest to God laugh leaves you, for the first time since you can remember. It takes all you have not to double over with laughter at this grown man in particular suddenly censoring himself around you.

“You can say fuck, Jojo. It’s nothing I haven’t heard or done with you before.”

The return of the old nickname, one he confided in you years ago makes him feel at home, tells him that you aren’t so angry he can’t fix things. Your body language speaks volumes, fully turned toward him with a little smile on your face. Perhaps nothing was even broken to begin with. Aside from the little hairline fractures on your heart that heal themselves each second he spends looking down at you, eyes shining like the waters you both love so much.

“Okay then.” Jotaro dips his face, hiding a smile of his own lest anyone see it and forget he’s a big, mean, scary man. He bows low enough that his head naturally rests just above your ear, chin tickling the side of your head.

“They seemed really eager to fuck back then.”

Another laugh and you grab his bicep, wrapping your hand around it to balance yourself. His hand falls naturally to your waist and the two of you are once again existing in a world made just for lovers, void of sound and sight despite two pairs of eyes on you from across the ballroom that has been transformed into a reception space.

“I’m not gonna lie dude, I still think they’re married. They definitely arrived separately to keep it a secret.” Alex leans in to another one of your former interns, an unimpressed looking young woman who leans to the side to catch the two of you actively speaking.

Your hands move a mile a minute, Jotaro watches every single twitch and movement. She swoons, laughing to herself but turning her smile toward the man next to her.

“I used to think you were making shit up but honestly, you’re right.” She nods, wrapping one of her arms around his extended one. “Only people who were made for each other behave like that.”

#jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #kendall writes #jotaken #laflidjsfasjflaskdjfkdsja im just trying to post all this stuff rn im sorry

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theswordwrites · 21 days

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PART ONE (the alchemy)

Juniper receives good news and has no choice but to celebrate with her closest friends, leading her right into the path of Aemond Targaryen (again.)

(TW: 18+ partying, drug use, nothing too crazy!)

word count: 4.3k

NEXT PART

By midnight, June’s feet ached in the heels required by her uniform. It was ridiculous, truly. The gala attendees barely looked at her for longer than a few seconds, so why was she squeezed into a cocktail dress that had probably been handed down a dozen times and shoes that made her calves tense and sore for days? As she ran drinks to and from tables, flashing her best million-dollar smile, she reminded herself the paycheck would be worth it. Her rent would be paid, her credit card debt knocked down, and she could finally buy the cat tree that had been sitting in her online shopping cart for weeks. Maybe she’d even splurge on a night out at The Velvet Throne with her roommate, Arianne, and their friends.

After a night working the Green Party’s latest altruistic-yet-off-putting kickoff gala, she would need at least four martinis and a cigarette. She had spotted Alicent Hightower, as beautiful as ever, gliding through the room in a deep sage silk gown. June wasn’t sure what the gala was raising money for, but they had raised a hell of a lot of it. She had to admit, Alicent was so stunning she might have emptied her own pockets for her, too. The Targaryen-Hightower children had made an appearance. The eldest—whose name escaped her—was drunk by the time the opening speeches began. Helaena had left early, trailed by three bodyguards. She’d seen the second son, Aemond, only from behind. Taller than his older brother, and surprisingly, not wearing green. Odd, considering the rumor was he was at odds with party advisors ahead of the election.

That morning, Arianne, Edith, and Seraphina had dissected the election over bagels and coffee. Edith claimed he seemed different from his father, with more progressive policies aimed at gaining the younger generation's vote. Arianne rolled her eyes and insisted he might put on a good show, but he was just as much a Targaryen as his father, with his scheming grandfather pulling the strings. “I’m sure he’ll say anything to get into office, and once he’s there, he’ll line his pockets like the rest of them.”

June had stayed quiet, editing her thesis on her laptop and mulling over her use of the word "delve." She had no faith in the system, nor those who upheld it. But she had heard a speech Aemond had given about student debt, arguing that education shouldn't have a price because knowledge was power, and everyday people deserved to hold it. It intrigued her—how young he was, and the impact that could have. She promised herself she would research more closer to the election and do her duty as a citizen of Westeros. Her brain was too full of edits and deadlines to give it much space now.

“June, we need more champagnes to the front table, like right now,” one of the other servers hissed at her, voice anything but subtle. She nodded and forced her aching legs to move.

At the table sat the Hightowers and their equally powerful, politically savvy friends. She spotted Larys Strong, who had served the late Prime Minister, looking as intense and off-putting as ever as he leaned on his cane. Jason Lannister's spray tan was a shade too deep, and June had to bite back a giggle. How could someone be so rich and yet so blind? Surely, he could hire someone to remind him that a few hours was more than enough.

She set the glasses down gently, adding a smile and a dragon-embossed napkin. June tried to ignore that Alicent Hightower was looking at her but managed a polite, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“I think we’re okay for now, thank you,” Alicent replied, her voice as graceful as her movements.

June smiled again, hoping her lipstick hadn’t smudged, and glanced around the table. The eldest Targaryen son sat to Alicent’s left, and next to him was Aemond, the current parliamentary candidate. He was all sharp lines and elegance, with blue eyes that were now fixed on her. June paled, frozen in place. Her gaze traveled from his silver hair to the scar etched over his eye and then to the gold signet ring on his pinky.

He was a Targaryen in every sense of the word, elegantly leaned back in his chair, hands folded on the table, eyes like steel.

The seconds stretched into an eternity before her brain caught up with her body. With another awkward grin and a slight tilt of her head, she turned—no, scurried—away.

Nothing embarrassed June more than feeling out of place. And that had been mortifying.

Back in the kitchen, she sipped water and fanned her face, hoping she wasn’t too flushed. She quickly asked the manager—an older woman with a sharp determination to break in the new servers—if she could take her first break. The manager nodded, and June didn’t waste a second before slipping outside. The cool air of a late August evening felt refreshing against her skin, drawing out some of the heat as she leaned against the brick wall. Her phone dinged.

TO: JUNIPER GREYSONFROM: DR. ORWYLE

Miss Greyson,

I apologize for the late correspondence. I have just received confirmation that your dissertation has been approved by the committee. Please call my office tomorrow morning to set a date for your defense.

CongratulationsSent from my iPhone

She squealed—a high-pitched, elated sound that escaped before she could stop it. It didn’t matter who heard. She had spent three years on that thesis, hours upon hours of research and writing and scraping by, and now she’d done it. Her fingers found Arianne’s contact, and she didn't care if the brunette was with her “so-not-my-girlfriend” girlfriend.

After a single ring, Arianne answered, “Junie! Are you off work yet?”

“No, not yet. Another hour, maybe. Do you have a second?”

“For my beautiful, smart, strawberry blonde best friend? Of course!” June could picture her now, animated, hands moving as she spoke. Arianne always had a flair for the dramatic—and for flattery, which June usually appreciated.

“It got approved! My thesis, I mean. Dr. Orwyle just emailed. It’s going to committee as soon as I set a date.”

Through the phone came another excited, ear-piercing squeal.

“Oh, Seven! June, that’s incredible! I knew you could do it!”

“I—” June stuttered, adrenaline catching up to her, “I think I’m in shock. I expected another round of edits, you know? The conclusion didn’t feel right on the last read—”

Arianne cut her off before she could spiral into self-doubt. “Breathe, Junie. You got approved! That’s the only thing that matters right now. Any chance you can leave early so we can celebrate?”

June glanced from her phone to the open kitchen door. “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll be home.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Arianne, Edith, and Seraphina were waiting for her with wide grins and a drink in hand when she finally stumbled through the front door. In the mere twenty minutes it had taken June to get home, they had somehow managed to drape a glittering “Congratulations!” banner across the mantle, fill the room with balloons, and crack open a bottle of champagne. The faint scent of perfume and laughter filled the air.

Her heart swelled as they swarmed her, squealing and hugging her like they hadn't seen her in years. "Junie, we are so, so proud of you!" Edith sang, throwing her long arms around June in a hug that rocked them back and forth. The others echoed their congratulations, their voices bright and cheerful, brimming with the kind of excitement only best friends can muster.

They didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath, herded her straight to the bathroom, insisting she shower and change. She let them fuss over her, laughing as they debated outfits, finally settling on something so skimpy it would’ve made her mother clutch her pearls in horror.

For a moment, June thought of her mother, a sharp pang tugging at her chest. She should call her, share the news— but just as quickly, she shoved the thought away, burying it deep. Her mother had been so distant since the accident, so different from the bubbly, over-involved PTA mom who used to cheer too loudly at every recital, every bake sale. It broke June’s heart, but it had been three years, and she had learned to lock those feelings away in a box that she only opened on rare, quiet nights. She was different now too—tougher, more self-reliant. Or at least that’s what she told herself as she swiped concealer under her eyes and dabbed on a thick layer of blush.

"Come on, Junie, let’s go!" Arianne urged, grabbing her arm with a grin. "The Velvet Throne is gonna have a line out the door!"

She barely had time to grab her purse before they were out the door, tumbling into the warm night air. The city buzzed around them—cars honked, street lights flickered, and the distant thrum of music seemed to pulse from every corner. They giggled like schoolgirls as they raced down the street in their high heels, their excitement infectious. After a few glasses of champagne, the ache in her feet had disappeared and she was ready to dance.

When they reached the Velvet Throne, the line was indeed snaking around the block, a mass of people dressed to impress, chattering with anticipation. But Edith, ever the charmer, knew the bouncer. With a coy smile and a flutter of her eyelashes, they were whisked inside and escorted up to the VIP level.

The music hit her like a wave, a deep, pounding bass that vibrated in her chests. One drink turned into two, two into three. The bartender, hearing their redheaded friend was on her way to becoming a doctor, poured them free shots. June held her breath, pinched her nose, and downed it, wincing at the bitter taste but reveling in the warm, numbing sensation that spread through her limbs. The music was so loud it seemed to drown out her thoughts, and for the first time in a long time, she let go.

She danced like she was weightless, the beat coursing through her veins, her friends spinning around her, hair flying, eyes sparkling under the neon lights. They were all in their own little world, a blur of laughter, movement, and joy. At one point, she caught sight of Edith slipping a small baggie from a man in a dark jacket, his expression unreadable.

Edith grabbed her hand, pulling her into a corner and shouting over the music, "Cregan’s at a party at the Keep! He said we’re invited." She opened her palm, revealing the little baggie with a sly grin. "I say we take our new little friend here," she gestured to the baggie, "and head over! Lots of sexy, rich men and free drinks!"

The girls cheered, their excitement infectious, and June felt a surge of adrenaline. This night was far from over.

The Keep was the heart of King’s Landing, home to the city’s wealthiest and most influential residents. The girls had been to a few parties there before, the most memorable being the one where Seraphina ended up spending the night with a Prince from Dorne. They hadn’t let her live it down for months, teasing her with “Your Majesty” until they were breathless with laughter. The prince had texted her the next day, practically begging her to hop on the flight back with him. Sera had only shrugged, saying that while he was amazing in bed and seemed like a nice guy, living in the public eye wasn't for her.

Arianne and Edith had disagreed, dreaming up all the scandalous headlines they’d make if they were ever involved with someone so high-profile. "We’d be the perfect all-Westerosi girls," Arianne had insisted, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

June, as usual, had just nodded and giggled along, content to listen. But now, with the buzz of champagne and a little powder still fresh in her system, she was feeling more chatty. “How did Cregan manage to get into a party at the Keep?” she asked, her voice louder than she intended, her words slightly slurred.

Edith shrugged, adjusting the hem of her skirt. “Old money, babe. His parents have a house there. I’m sure he’s got connections.”

June leaned in closer, her eyebrows raised, chin tipped playfully. “So, are you two ever going to date? Or finally address all that crazy sexual tension?”

Edith laughed, tossing her hair back, her eyes gleaming under the streetlights. “Ask me that tomorrow,” she replied with a wink, just as a car pulled up to the curb. She quickly touched up everyone’s lipstick and hair with a practiced hand. “That’s us!” she shouted.

The Uber ride was a blur, the city lights whizzing by in streaks of neon and gold. It took only fifteen minutes, thanks to the late-night traffic, but it felt like a heartbeat. By now, it was past three in the morning, and though June wouldn’t admit it, she could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the night beginning to weigh heavy on her bones. Still, she was committed to the bit, the thrill of the night pushing her forward.

Cregan was waiting for them outside, leaning casually against the wall in his usual outfit: an open button-up shirt and jeans that clung just right. They exchanged quick hellos, June’s eyes flicking to Edith, who was already batting her lashes and nodding eagerly at everything Cregan said. She nudged Sera with her elbow, tilting her head toward the two of them.

“He’s definitely ending up at your place tonight, I hope you can sleep through it.” June whispered, twisting the silver ring around her middle finger. Sera managed a quick eye roll before they were whisked inside.

The drunk crowd sprawled across the plush living room seemed almost out of place, like they’d stumbled into the wrong kind of party. The room felt like it belonged to someone who read classic novels by the fireplace or debated politics over brandy. June noticed a distinct lack of personal photos; instead, the walls were adorned with stunning artwork, pieces that seemed to glow under the soft lighting and made her mouth water with envy.

She glanced up, her eyes following the endless ceilings that stretched toward a glittering chandelier, so ornate it looked like it belonged in a palace. Above it, a second level.

“Who’s place is this anyway?” she asked, turning to Cregan.

He tore his gaze away from Edith, though his hand remained comfortably on her lower back. “One of the Targaryens,” he replied with a casual grin. “I play ball with Aegon on the weekends. He’s around here somewhere.”

June raised an eyebrow, amused by the casualness of his tone, as if dropping the name of one of the city’s most influential families was no big deal, “He’s the oldest, right?” Cregan nodded, “I worked their gala event tonight. Rumor has it he left early because he was smashed.”

An arm slid around her shoulder, the weight of it startling her. She could see blonde curls from the corner of her eye. A voice, smooth and amused, spoke close to her ear. “Smashed would be correct, little red. But I have sobered up enough to throw one hell of a party.”

“June, meet Aegon. Aegon, meet Juniper Greyson.” Cregan interjected, gesturing between them. The blonde took his arm away from her shoulders and offered his hand to shake.

June took it, taking him in. While he and his brother shared the same icy hair and serene blue eyes, there was a softness to Aegon’s features that set him apart. His nose had a gentle slope, and his eyes, though strikingly similar in color, lacked the hard edge she’d seen in his brother— but were identical to their mother’s set and shape.

Aegon turned his attention to her friends, his grin widening as he introduced himself. His blue eyes stuck to Seraphina as they walked to the kitchen. June withheld her giggle, watching Sera blush under his gaze.

The girls chatted and the boys eventually drifted away to find more of their friends, not before finding the girls cans of seltzers and bottles of water. June watched as her friends chatted, feeling that odd sensation of being inside the conversation, but also outside of it. She figured the drinking, dancing and coke had caught up to her.

“I’m gonna find the bathroom— be right back.” She gave her friends a tightlipped smile.

“Want me to come?” Edith offered, but June shook her head.

“No, I’m alright. Go talk to Cregan again, he’s been staring at you this whole time.” She nodded her head at him across the room, and he quickly looked away, almost embarrassed that he’d been caught.

The first bathroom had been occupied but what she could only assume to be the raunchiest couple in King’s Landing with the sounds that they were making. She scoffed, sure she hadn’t really ever had mind-blowing sex, but that level of noise was just so obviously unnecessary. The second had just been locked with no answer to her knock. She sighed as she made her way up the stairs, finding not a single bathroom, but a bedroom with one connected.

After taking care of her business and washing her hands, drying them off on the fluffiest hand towel she had ever touched, she wandered around the bedroom. It felt wrong to snoop, but with the lack of trinkets or personal belongings she assumed it must have been a guest room. The bookshelf was full of classics and history books, a few well-loved first editions she could guess by the aged and worn spines. Now, in the silence, her head began to pound as the music faded away. She counted the drinks in her head.

One at home. Three at the bar. Add two shots at the bar. One downstairs. Two lines in between.

She realized she had definitely overdone it. While June enjoyed nights like these with her friends—welcomed them even—it wasn’t something she wanted to make a habit of every weekend. The way her vision blurred told her it would take weeks to muster the courage to drink again. Sitting on the bed, she ran her fingers over the dark green quilt and giggled.

Green. Of course it was green. Like the hand towel and the bathroom rug. She wondered if that’s what the owner of the room had told the interior designer, “Well, you see I like green. And I’m so, disgustingly rich.” She said aloud in the poshest accent she could manage, making herself laugh even harder.

The door swinging open seemed to sober her up quickly, pulling any laughter out of her chest.

She looked up, horrified to find Aemond Targaryen in the doorframe. He was wearing the same dark suit from earlier in the evening, but his jacket had been shrugged off and tossed over his arm and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. “You.” He said, something like recognition washing over his face.

“Me,” June stammered, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. “I, uh, just needed to use the bathroom and get away from the crowd for a moment. The one downstairs was occupied by a couple making the most disgusting noises, and the other one was locked—someone probably doing coke or something. I thought this was a guest room. I’m sorry. I should go. My friends might be looking for me.” She rambled on, the alcohol making her spill a play-by-play of how she ended up in his bedroom.

Aemond remained in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Despite leaning against the frame, he was still a head and a half taller than her. “You were at the event tonight, and now you’re in my bedroom. Stalking me?”

“You’re a very tough guy to stalk, Mr. Targaryen. I spent all night knocking on doors until Aegon let me in here,” June found herself looking down at her feet, the carpet much easier to maintain eye contact with.

“So, you’re friends with Aegon then?”

“No, not really. One of my friends is kind of seeing Cregan Stark, and he’s friends with Aegon. We were out celebrating and he invited us. I didn’t realize whose house it was—or that you must live here with Aegon.”

“I don’t live here with Aegon. The place is mine, but Aegon thought it’d be a good joke to throw a party here.” He crossed his long arms over his chest, and June tried to ignore the enticing hint of skin peeking from his undone shirt.

“Oh, that’s kind of shitty.”

“Kind of shitty should be Aegon’s middle name. I’ve already kicked everyone out. Your friends might be gone, but if my driver is still out front, I can have him take you home.” He gestured to the hallway and began to walk. June followed, too tired to argue.

“You don’t have to. I can call an Uber.” She said, not wanting to be a bother. But she did think, in the back of her mind, that Elide would have a fit if she knew Aemond Targaryen’s personal driver had taken her home. Arianne would pretend to be less impressed, but would hound her later on the make and model; asking if there was a privacy shade and free champagne.

“Ride-share crime has gone up 10% last quarter, I can’t in good conscience—especially not to a constituent.”

“Trying to win my vote, Mr. Targaryen?” She asked, grinning.

“I was hoping I already had it.”

“You probably do. I saw your student debt speech and liked it, but I’ve been putting off thinking about the election until school settles down. So I can make a well-informed decision of course.”

They descended the stairs. Indeed, Aemond had kicked everyone out, and only Aegon lay sprawled on the leather sofa. “Little red! I see you met my brother, charmer isn’t he?”

Aemond’s gaze was cold as he replied, “Go back to sleep, you oaf. I’m going to have Criston take her home.”

“Oh, I sent Criston back home. Oops.” Aegon giggled, clearly drunker than the last time she saw him. Aemond only sighed as they reached the door.

“I can take you home. I don’t drink, so I’m as sober as can be.”

June nodded, too tired to argue. The liquor made her pliant, and she was eager to get home. Aemond led her to a sleek black Mercedes, opening the door for her with a practiced ease. She found the gesture oddly intimate.

As he turned on the engine, the hum of the car snapped her out of her daze. She glanced around at the luxurious, leather interior. “You’re a PhD student at KLU, right?”

“Stalking me, Mr. Targaryen?” She peered at him.

“Aemond,” he corrected, his tone softer but still firm, glancing over at her as he handed her his phone, maps open and ready for her to enter her address. “Call me Aemond, please. ‘Mr.’ makes me feel old. I stepped out for a smoke this evening and overheard you on the phone. Congratulations, by the way. Dr. Orwyle is not an easy man to impress.”

“Oh.” June’s lips curled into a smile at the praise as she handed his phone back to him. She watched as the map popped up on the car’s screen, showing it was only a ten-minute drive home. “Thank you. I’m excited for it to be over, I think. You studied under Dr. Orwyle?”

She found herself looking at him again, her gaze lingering on his muscular hand gripping the steering wheel. “For my first PhD. He was a hard-ass, but pressure makes diamonds, and I couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Were you nervous for your defense? I know you do speeches all the time now, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to be the hardest part.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked, his voice dropping close to a whisper, as if anyone else could hear him. “I still get nervous. Every time. Whether it's a crowd of twenty or two thousand. But I remind myself that it’s not about me; it’s about the content, about getting people to listen. All the other stuff—the cadence of your voice or your posture—will come naturally.”

She hummed in response, her head resting against the cold window. The city lights blurred past, and she wondered if Elide had gone home with Cregan. “That’s good advice, thank you.”

“If politics doesn’t work out, my mother thinks I should go into consulting. Perhaps I have a knack for it.” He glanced over at her, his gaze intense. June tried to imagine the setting of that conversation. Was he worried about losing, or was the confidence from his team (or his family) faltering?

“You might, but I think politics might suit you better. The whole country seems to be buzzing about you.”

He shrugged, a flicker of something—appreciation, relief?—in his eyes. “We’ll have to see if that's the case in a few months.”

“Oh, this is me, with the red door.” She pointed out, and he brought the car to a slow stop. Before she could unbuckle her seat belt, he was out of the driver’s side and rounding the car to open the door for her. She found his chivalry oddly compelling, a sharp contrast to his earlier indifference to seemingly everything and everyone.

“Thank you for giving me a ride home, Aemond,” she said again, her voice tinged with genuine gratitude and something more. He just nodded, watching her unlock the door and step inside,

Juniper and Aemond failed to notice the blacked out SUV across the street, a long camera lens poking out of the passenger side, snapping away.

okay part one is out! I see this being 7-12 parts, depending on how much i daydream about it in class tomorrow. please leave comments questions etc! so excited to share this <3

#modern!aemond targaryen x original female character #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #modern au #aegon ii targaryen #aemond x reader #creepy larys #beautiful alicent #drunk aegon

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daydream-cement · 2 years

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so i was thinking about new years and loved the idea of larissa and r being each others new years kiss.

like the two of them are in an urgent meeting discussing something that had gone down with some students before christmas break, them needing to get some reports done and filed. them sipping some champagne, just for festivities. the meeting going on so long they lost track of time, only a few minutes left before midnight, realizing this one of them takes the leap and asks the other to be their new years kiss, and linger on each other’s lips longer than they should

New Years Kiss

Larissa Weems x Reader

“I can’t believe their end of semester prank was to reshuffle the entire filing room…” You sit back against the wall and lean you head back, banging your head gently against the wall to make your frustration known. Scattered around you were the files of the hundreds of Nevermore students, all needed to be put back into place.

Larissa Weems sat next to you, resorting through her file of papers, obviously frustrated with the task at hand. Students had been sent home a week ago and today, December 31st, you informed your boss that the entire hardcopy filing system has been shuffled about. Now all of student and staff information was in the correct place. Both of you had to cancel New Years plans to sit in a small back room of Nevermore Academy until it was fixed.

You kept sorting. Every once in a while you would exchange sheets of paper. You were reorganizing students and she started with reorganizing staff.

Larissa checked her watch, “I’ll be right back.”

You watched her get up and leave, but you turn your head back down to the filing job at hand. You saw Larissa Weems as an incredibly beautiful woman, but you had never expected more than friendship from her. When she returned, she was carrying a small bottle of champagne and paper cups.

“It’s almost midnight. We have officially been here for 8 hours.” She handed you a paper cup, and opened the champagne over a small garbage can in case it overflowed, “I kept this little guy in my desk for emergencies.”

Truthfully, you had only been working a couple of those hours. When you were together, sometimes your conversations would veer off into philosophy, politics, or educational dilemmas.

“We should have started drinking when we started.” You stated, holding your cup still for her to fill yours and then her own. You held your cup up to her as she stood above you, “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” She tapped her cup against yours, throwing hers back like a shot. Larissa took a seat back down by you. For the next few minutes, you took turns refilling each others cups and drinking.

11:58

“No New Years kiss this year.” You lean into Larissa’s shoulder, enjoying the light tingle in your skull from the alcohol.

“Who said no New Years kiss? You can kiss me.” Larissa questioned and stated, making your eyes widen. You wouldn’t object to kissing her, this was just unexpected.

11:59

“Okay. I mean, yeah sure. I-“ You were a little nervous at your automatic response, you didn’t want to seem overzealous, but you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to kiss her.

Larissa glanced down at her phone, your eyes glanced down at the time, 11:59. Do you kiss now or-?

She leaned in first. You wondered how she was so fearless or were you just too fearful? You met her halfway, pressing your lips to hers.

You hadn’t been this close to her before. She smelled so nice. Larissa brought up a hand to your cheek. Her hands were soft too. You reached a hand out, grasping at the fabric of her jacket to keep her close.

Her mouth opened a little, you felt her tongue graze your bottom lip. You deepen the kiss a little more. It was when Larissa placed a hand on your leg that you both part slowly.

12:02

She glances down at her phone again. Its 12:02. Had your kiss really been that long? Larissa picks back up the champagne bottle, drinking some before handing the bottle to you, giving you what was left.

Larissa’s face was flush. She was embarrassed by how she behaved during your kiss. You saw the redness in her face as she pretended to busy herself with the paperwork once more.

“Thank you for that…” You say, trying not to embarrass her too much more. You turn back to your paperwork at hand.

Both of you sat much closer together now, your thighs touching. You wondered what your relationship would look like from here on out.

#larissa weems #fanfic #wednesday netflix #gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #oneshot #larissa weems fluff

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siilvan · 11 months

Text

OC File: Mylène "Petra" Scholten de Ridder

gorgeous renders by the amazing wonderful phenomenal lovely @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot <33

finally posting my oc to cope with mw3... i've had her since november '22, didn't even mention her name to anyone until august lol. i've never had the confidence (or skill) to do this, so i'm thanking all of my mutuals with their wonderful ocs for giving me the strength to do it, even if they don't know it <3

note: despite petra being reader's callsign in bloodsport, it is not intended to be my oc. so far, the only fics that petra properly appears in are desideria and fortuna redux. i know it's confusing and i'm sorry 😭 more of her (and others) in the future!

very long post BTC...

edit: completely forgot to include this— credit to cptnprice for the file!!

GENERAL

Name: Mylène "Petra" Scholten de Ridder

Nicknames/Aliases: Petra, Doc, Bravo 0-5, MEDINT 5, Leni (by friends/family)

Rank: Lieutenant (since 2015)

Gender: Female

Birth Date: June 29, 1990

Nationality: Dutch

Affiliations: Royal Netherlands Army, Korps Commandotroepen, Task Force 141, Coalition (Warcom), SpecGru

Birthplace: Rotterdam, Netherlands

Current Residence: The Hague, Netherlands

APPEARANCE

Hair Color: Golden Brown

Eye Color: Blue (right), Green (left)

Height: 5'7" (1.70 m)

Weight: 160 lbs (72 kg)

Build: Athletic, hourglass (hips. That's all.)

Blood Type: O-

Marks: Various tattoos (pictured below), scar on cheek

Faceclaim: Rianne Haspels (Carlotta Champagne for body)

DETAILS

Sexuality: Unlabeled (prefers men)

Languages: Dutch (native), English (C2), Spanish (A2), French (B2), German (C1), Danish (C1), Russian (B2), Arabic (B1)

Education: Biochemistry BS from the University of Amsterdam, Biochemistry MSc from the University of Copenhagen

Preferred Hairstyles: Low bun or Dutch braid for missions, 3-strand braid or loose for everyday

Preferred Mission Attire: Anything from jeans and a turtleneck, to slim cargos and a tank top, to proper combat fatigues. Dresses for the weather, but hates anything baggy. Prefers to wear black and green, occasionally wears white, tan, or blue. Very athletic style.

Preferred Civilian Attire: Usually dresses fairly casual. Jeans, cargos, leather pants, leggings. Plain t-shirts, henleys, turtlenecks, off-shoulder tops. Wears bomber jackets or hoodies. Mostly wears black, green, or white. Likes feeling comfortable but cute when she's off the clock.

Favorite Color: Evergreen

Favorite Flower: Magnolia

PERSONALITY

Myers-Briggs Type: ENFJ-T. Extraverted, intuitive, feeling, judging, and turbulent. Petra prioritizes the better of the group over personal benefit and strives to have a positive impact on the world and the people around her. Happy to lead or follow, but preferring to guide others, she is a self-identified humanitarian with a pipe dream of world peace. Reliability, tolerance, passion, and altruism ultimately conflict with overthinking, stubbornness, perfectionism, and indecisiveness – Petra is both helped and hindered by the idea of what things can be or could have been.

FAMILY

Father: Colonel Hendrik "Chimera" Scholten de Ridder. Former KCT commander and military legend-turned terrorist. (deceased)

Mother: Johanna Scholten de Ridder (née van den Bos). Former MEDINT analyst for the BVD and MID. (deceased)

Brother: Sergeant Emiel "Nightfall" Scholten de Ridder. KCT operative and specialist in anything covert; never misses a shot. Ally of TF141, rarely stays in any one place for long due to the nature of his assignments.

Uncle: Unnamed paternal uncle. Father's younger brother, civilian military engineer. Lost his life in a terrorist attack in the mid-1990s. (deceased)

Aunt: Special Agent Merel "Songbird" van den Bos. Mother's older sister, former agent for the BVD and MID. Specialist in foreign relations and espionage. May or may not be living in the USA and married to Frank Woods (spoiler: she is).

Grandfather: General Emiel Scholten de Ridder. Paternal grandfather, former commander of the Royal Netherlands Army. Yes, her brother is named after him. (deceased)

SKILLS

Fighting Style: Adaptable, but prefers to keep her distance. Studied kickboxing, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and Krav Maga in her youth – CQC is influenced by these.

Weapons: Can use whatever is available. Is oddly talented with a quarterstaff despite none of her training involving it.

Preferred Weapons: M4 (Hightower 20" Barrel, Schlager PEQ Box IV laser, Cronen Mini Pro optic, Corio Precio Factory stock), X12, Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, karambit, throwing knives

Special Skills: Specializes in MEDINT analysis, trauma/medical care, chemical warfare, hostage rescue, asset protection, and foreign military assistance. Can act as a translator. Has received training in sniping, espionage, and stealth combat from allies. Is notorious for her strong fortitude. Very versatile.

Hobbies: Art, cooking, baking, reading, sports (baseball, climbing, kickboxing, swimming, ice skating), music (drums), studying languages

Former Hobbies: Did ballet and gymnastics in her youth. Still enjoys both, doesn't have the time to practice either. Has decent equilibrium thanks to them.

TRIVIA

The name Mylène can mean "merciful", Scholten refers to a schout (government official that handled administration of justice), and de Ridder means "the knight".

Her callsign Petra means "rock, stone" and is not implying that she's a stony person! She earned her callsign due to her high tolerance and endurance; she's also uniquely durable, often recovering from or withstanding injuries that would leave others in worse condition. It's a bit supernatural, don't worry about it.

Was introduced to drumming by her Uncle Frank when she was little. It's canon to me.

Mylène looks like a carbon copy of her aunt, sans some details like hair and eye color. She's also more well-built than her aunt thanks to being in the military.

Has a bunch of small rituals, habits, and very specific ways of doing things thanks to her OCD – nothing too crazy (she has no choice but to manage these thanks to her career), but you'll start to notice them if you're around her enough.

Has polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). She's learned ways to lessen the symptoms and has an IUD that helps immensely, but it's why she still has a decent amount of fat on her body despite working out religiously. (Not projecting my issues shh)

Doesn't date often due to her career and personal reservations. Prefers someone older, though. (I'm not projecting shh x2)

Keeps a journal on her at almost all times. Inside of it is anything from basic medical info for her allies, random drawings, important notes, etc. Likes to pretend it's organized, but it's not. At all.

Skipped a year in primary school, hence why she graduated at 17 instead of 18 despite attending a VWO school.

It was painfully obvious that she learned her Russian in school before she met Nikolai. After he laughed at her, he taught her how to sound more "natural" – AKA, he taught her almost exclusively profanity.

Bouncing off that, she's Mrs. Worldwide. Petra's unintentionally picked up so much slang from her coworkers.

Her favorite genres of literature are romance and philosophy. She can read outrageous smut with a straight face, but blushes and grins over fluffy stuff. Tries to read books in other languages to practice, too!

Will not touch any drug with a 10-foot pole. Same goes for tobacco, she's the type to dramatically cough if the team smokes around her. She's very health-conscious!!

TATTOOS

source 1 source 2

Tattoo One (Hands) I'm not going to lie... originally gave Petra the tattoo (two, actually – she has it on both hands) because I loved Freya's tattoos in GOW and the design is inspired by those. From an in-universe standpoint, it was her first tattoo (age 17) and she just wanted something simple that could be hidden under her gloves to prevent fading. Has to get them touched up every now and then.

Tattoo Two (Right Arm) Full sleeve of willow branches, florals, and butterflies. There's a lot of symbolism in this one. The butterflies represent transformation, hope, and rebirth; the willow branches symbolize a new life, protection, flexibility, and adaptability; the flowers embody anything from growth, joy, transience, hope, love, and death.

source 3 source 4

Tattoo Three (Left Bicep) Two-headed snake with flowers! I don't think I need to rhapsodize about the florals again, so I'll skip to the snake. Depending on the culture, a two-headed serpent can represent wildly different things. It's a symbol of rebirth and resurrection, with each head representing earth and the underworld. It can symbolize indecision and conflicting ideas. Duality, balance, power, healing, insight, and deeper awareness; snakes were often seen as a spiritual messenger, and the dual nature of a two-headed serpent represents learning from both positive and negative experiences. (if I see any "heehoo konni" comments, I will blow up the sun, this ain't about him babygirls 😔)

Tattoo Four (Left Inner Forearm) Compass with an arrow! The symbolism is pretty obvious, I think... Direction, guidance, and navigation; the compass arrow combines the arrow's representation of direction and forward movement and the compass' symbolism of finding your way and staying on course. Together, it represents the idea that, no matter how far away you are, your arrow will always hit its target – even when losing your way, you'll always be able to overcome adversity and find your way back.

BACKGROUND

⋆ CW: themes of child abuse, violence, SA (marked with ***) and overall mary sue levels of tragedy

Born on June 29, 1990 in the city of Rotterdam, Netherlands, to Hendrik Scholten de Ridder and Johanna Scholten de Ridder, Mylène had a normal – if not privileged, thanks to her family's prominent histories – early childhood. At the age of 3, her brother, Emiel, was born. Known to be a clever, compassionate girl, Mylène took to the "big sister" role with ease.

Her father was a captain from a distinguished military family with the callsign "Chimera", who ascended to the rank of colonel and commanded the Royal Netherlands Army’s special forces unit, the Korps Commandotroepen. Her mother was a medical intelligence analyst for the AIVD and MIVD (then-known as the BVD and MID) with a family history in government and politics.

In the late fall of 1999, when Mylène was only 9 years old, she came home from school and discovered her mother's corpse, having been killed by enemies of her father originally seeking to hold the family for ransom. This event, paired with the traumas he sustained over his years in the military, drove her father to "near insanity" as he became consumed with paranoia and grief. The rest of her and her brother's adolescence was defined by the trauma of her father's abuse; he subjected the siblings to rigorous physical and psychological training in order to mold them into "perfect soldiers" and prevent any further loss.

Despite this, her father was publicly viewed as a war hero. He would often leave the two alone when he was on deployment, forcing Mylène to care for herself and her brother with nothing more than a roof over their heads and grocery money provided. The siblings developed an unbreakable bond during this time that would extend into their adulthoods, rendering them a synergic duo both at home and in the field.

After finishing secondary school at 17, Mylène enlisted in the Royal Netherlands Army. She also studied at the University of Amsterdam – taking online classes – and eventually graduated with a BS in Biochemistry. She spent 3 years serving in various military hospitals, clinics, and field units under the 400 Medical Battalion, until she joined selection for the KCT in 2011. She was swiftly recognized for her high tolerance, natural interpersonal skills, and advanced aptitude for MEDINT analysis; she passed selection with top marks, setting several records during the infamous "hell week" exercise.

Mylène operated as a combat medic until August 2013, when she worked with the British SAS's Unit Bravo under the command of Captain John Price. Despite the joint team being greatly reduced in number and separated after a series of heavy artillery attacks from enemy forces, Mylène managed to provide emergency medical care and calm leadership as her party made its way to the rendezvous point that Price's group was defending.

After the joint operation concluded, Price took an interest in her, deciding to train her as a sniper and teach her how to better use her skills in combat. The two quickly developed a close relationship built upon mutual trust and a desire to fight for what's right, regardless of rules or orders. At some point after this, her unflappable nature and composure when faced with challenging conditions earned her the callsign "Petra".

*** By 2014, Mylène was in a several year-long relationship with a National Reserve Corps (NATRES) NCO named Florian Van Aller. On February 14 of that year, he suddenly came to her with an idea that left her speechless: "sharing" her with his unit. Despite his insistence and attempt to pressure her into it, Mylène refused, ending the relationship. They met on base the next day after Florian messaged her claiming to want to apologize – when she came face-to-face with him and his mentor, Captain Jozef Daalmans, she realized what she had been told was a lie.

*** Although the captain's only involvement was restraining her and watching, Mylène felt violated by both men. She was left at the scene, battered and ashamed, until the last person she expected to help found her – Colonel Hendrik Scholten de Ridder. In a rare act that she now describes as "the last time she ever saw her real father," he comforted her and took her to the hospital, where Mylène received treatment for the injuries she sustained in the assault. She never spoke of the incident afterwards, leaving herself, her father, and her attackers as the only people privy to it.

In early 2015, an assault team led by Chimera and Petra on an enemy submarine revealed that there was a traitor within the unit. The entire team, save for Chimera and Petra themselves, was killed onboard the vessel. The traitor was eventually discovered to be Chimera himself, with Petra as the only witness to his admission and subsequent attempt to bury her, and any incriminating evidence, at sea. With her father in the wind and knowing that her word alone wouldn't be enough to implicate him for his crimes, Petra contacted Captain Price, telling him: "You're the only person I can trust."

An unsanctioned operation to capture or kill Chimera was planned by the two, with the help of her brother – now a KCT operative nicknamed "Nightfall" – and Nikolai, a trusted contact of Price's. The small team managed to track the Colonel and his supporters to a base deep in the Alps, where they successfully wiped out the entire group and killed Chimera. After this mission, Petra felt indebted to Price and Nikolai, considering them two of the few people she could trust implicitly.

From then on, Petra lent her services to various humanitarian groups in an effort to provide protection and medical care on missions around the globe. With expertise in frontline trauma and medical care, hostage rescue, asset protection, medical intelligence analysis, chemical warfare, and the training and advising of foreign military units, Petra proved to be an elite operative capable of remaining calm in even the most dire scenarios. She’s been awarded the Military William Order, the Bronze Lion, the Bronze Cross, and the Cross of Merit for both covert and overt operations, establishing herself as a minor legend within the elite commando corps.

However, a little over a year after the unsanctioned operation in the Alps, Petra was captured and imprisoned by Ultranationalist forces. She was regularly tortured during her captivity, often by Vladimir Makarov, whom she now sarcastically describes as "a lovely man."

Sometime in mid-2017, Petra was yet-again assigned to a unit led by Price, tasked with infiltrating and securing an Al-Qatala base located in Kastovia. Another member of the unit was Nightfall, serving as the team's scout sniper. During the mission, while providing overwatch, Nightfall's radio was suddenly cut off. When the rest of the team finally reached his location to investigate, several IEDs planted in the area went off and forced the group to retreat. Petra attempted a rescue, but was prevented from doing so by Price, as it was too dangerous. Demolition teams cleared the area the following day. Once it was safe to extract Nightfall, however, the recovery team found nothing.

With her brother declared dead in absentia, Petra chose to abandon the special forces. She went back to school and earned an MSc in Biochemistry at the University of Copenhagen, refusing to contact any of her former allies so as to avoid being dragged back into the military.

In April 2019, Petra was tracked down in Denmark by Price, who informed her of Vladimir Makarov's plans in Verdansk and urged her to join the SAS team being sent to stop him. After thorough convincing, she agreed to come back for one more mission, seeking revenge against the man that tortured her years ago.

Petra was later handpicked for the task force Price established alongside CIA Station Chief Kate Laswell following the death of General Roman Barkov in November 2019. She was once again sought out by Price – and Nikolai, who was the "final nail in the coffin," according to Price – and convinced to join the team as a commanding officer.

About a month later, Laswell pinpointed the location of a prison in Georgia believed to be used by Al-Qatala to hold POWs. Reconnaissance of the prison confirmed this and the identity of several of the prisoners; Nightfall was identified as one of the POWs. Petra, leading an elite KCT unit, raided the location shortly thereafter, securing the captives, Nightfall, and intel about Al-Qatala's plans.

Between the invasion of Verdansk, Las Almas, and a burgeoning war with Konni group... Petra has fully committed herself to Task Force 141, willing to save the world or die trying.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod original character #call of duty oc #cod oc #cod ocs #mw2 oc #mw3 oc #mylène “petra” scholten de ridder #sylph.writes

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lego-man-speer · 7 months

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Nuremberg Defendants: Part 2, Joachim von Ribbentrop - Nazi Foreign Minister

Continuing my Nuremberg Defendants series. Check links to see posts I've made on previous defendants (Hess wasn't part of the series, but I've already made a post about him):

Rudolf Hess

Alfred Rosenberg

-Joachim von Ribbentrop was born as Ulrich Friedrich Willy Joachim Ribbentrop on the 30th of April, 1893. He was not born into aristocracy (his father did not have the “von” in his name), Joachim grew up in an average middle class family with an older brother and a younger sister.

-Ribbentrop's mother died from tuberculosis when he was still very young. This event undoubtedly had an effect on him for the rest of his life (and I will explain in detail as we go further).

-He had no formal education after the age of fifteen. In school Ribbentrop was an underachiever and showed no signs of being an academic. His father had paid for French and English language tutors to teach him both languages.

-At seventeen, Joachim and his brother were sent to London for a year to polish up their English. After that year they both moved to Canada.

-Ribbentrop's life in Canada seemed to have been a happy one. He was popular, invited to many parties and was argued to have been sort of a ladies man. He worked as a banker and also as a construction worker, going on to help the reconstruction of the Quebec Bridge. Ribbentrop also had a passion for dancing and ice skating. he was even a member of a Canadian ice skating team.

-It was during this time that both Ribbentrop and his brother came down with tuberculosis. Ribbentrop's brother died, however Ribbentrop fortunately survived but had to have one of his kidneys removed. The effects of having his kidney removed were very clear. His left eye would sometimes droop, giving the effect of him looking tired. As a result he had a crippling inferiority complex.

-When the Great War broke out, Ribbentrop carefully returned to Germany to fight for his nation. It was during the war when Ribbentrop first met Franz von Papen (who will be the topic of a future post), a man that went on to become Chancellor under the Weimar Republic.

-After the war, Ribbentrop made a living out of his champagne business, which involved smuggling champagne from other countries. At this time, Ribbentrop was friends with Jewish people, even doing business with them. Ribbentrop was the only member of the inner circle that had previously moved around Jewish circles prior to joining the Nazi Party. He had no strong opinions at the time, people knew him as a moderately conservative monarchist. At elections he would vote for the DVP.

-Gradually Ribbentrop's personality began to change. Gone was the polite and somewhat shy young man, now he was becoming more insufferable as he went on long rants on the dangers of communism. What's more is that Ribbentrop had asked his aunt to adopt him aged in his early thirties so he could add the 'von' (a sign of German nobility - his aunt was a 'von Ribbentrop') to his name. His aunt agreed but was required to pay her a regular sum of money. When he stopped paying, his aunt took him to court and forced him to continue paying.

-In 1920, Ribbentrop married Anna Elisabeth Henkell (Annaliese to her friends). Anna's parents were not fond of Ribbentrop and considered him to be an idiot. The marriage produced five children, and Ribbentrop's eldest (Rudolf von Ribbentrop - born 1921) went on to serve in the Second World War as well as writing a book about his father post-war. Anna was a very ambitious woman and often pushed Ribbentrop around in all matters, including political. Hitler noted that it was clearly her who wore the trousers in the relationship.

-Fascinatingly, Ribbentrop didn't join the Nazi Party until 1932, which was around the time that Hitler was starting to get desperate for power. In late 1932, Hitler was using Ribbentrop's house to hold talks with Franz von Papen (as Papen was an old war friend of Ribbentrop's - and at this time Papen had lost his job as Chancellor of Germany, he was looking for a way to return to power. This moment in history is often referred to as the “Backstairs Intrigue”.)

-For the first few years of the Nazi regime, Ribbentrop had no government role. He mostly spent time in Britain and France, trying to establish connections for Hitler. In 1936, he was made Ambassador to Britain after the incumbent had died suddenly of a heart attack. Ribbentrop's appointment was unexpected, nor did he want the role. Prior to becoming ambassador, Ribbentrop was fond of holidaying in Britain and had hoped to one day retire in St Ives in Cornwall.

-He had a very bad reputation as ambassador and was dubbed 'von Brickendrop' due to his multiple gaffes while in this role. His most famous was when he almost knocked over King George VI by doing the Nazi greeting when the King had reached to shake Ribbentrop's hand. He was not well liked by the British Press nor the British public. Throughout his position (which lasted just over a year) he spent no longer than just a few weeks in London, mostly to stay close to his beloved Führer back home. Overall, his experience as Ambassador turned Ribbentrop from being an Anglophile to an Anglophobe.

-In 1938 Ribbentrop was made Foreign Minister, succeeding Konstantin von Neurath (who will be the topic of a future post). This was the position that Ribbentrop had dreamed of (and a position that his long-term enemy, Alfred Rosenberg, had also hoped for). In this role, Ribbentrop had significant influence over Hitler in the early years of World War 2, even encouraging Hitler to invade Poland despite threats from the British as he claimed “they would not fight seriously.” In this post, Ribbentrop's proudest achievement was his Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact (also referred to as the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact). After the invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941, Ribbentrop gradually lost influence in his role as Foreign Minister.

-Ribbentrop's role in the Final Solution was fairly ambiguous, but he was most certainly aware that atrocities were taking place. Ribbentrop preferred to look the other way and have someone else do the work. From August 1941, Ribbentrop ordered all future communications sent to the Foreign office to be directed to the office of his subordinates. There is no evidence that Ribbentrop intervened in the exterminations, except on one occasion which was purely on the issue of jurisdiction, rather than humanity. Ribbentrop had involved himself in other war crimes, such as legalising and encouraging the lynching of captured Allied bomber crews in Germany. Although the likes of Göring opposed such measures, and the army favoured it in only a few circumstances, Ribbentrop wished to Lynch the perpetrators of 'every type of terror attack on the German population”, despite this being a violation of international law. This was the main charge against him on count 3 of the Nuremberg indictment (war crimes).

-From 1945, Ribbentrop was essentially powerless. After the suicide of Hitler on the 30th of April (ironic because that's also Ribbentrop's birthday), Ribbentrop fled to Flensburg in an attempt to secure a role in the Dönitz government. Ribbentrop was quickly turned down and so fled to Hamburg, where he went by the alias Johann Riese. He was captured by the British after his whereabouts had been exposed. Ribbentrop was discovered asleep, wearing pink and white pyjamas and a small tin of poison attached to his genitals. Upon being woken up, he began to mumble nervously in German, but as soon as he became conscious of the situation, he spoke in perfect English a prepared speech: “The game is up. I congratulate you. You know who I am. If you had come two days later, I would have already given myself up voluntarily.” The British had also discovered a letter written by Ribbentrop to “Vincent Churchill” (not a spelling mistake on my part, that's Ribbentrop's mistake).

-At Nuremberg, Ribbentrop was a depressed and broken man. So much so that his lawyer (Dr Martin Horn) feared he was close to a psychological breakdown. In fact, Ribbentrop was considered one of the worst suicide risks at Nuremberg, and prison Psychiatrist Dr Kelley was instructed to keep a close eye on him. Ribbentrop's first lawyer was Dr Fritz Sauter (who was also acting for Baldur von Schirach - a subject of a future post), however at the start of 1946 he ceased to be his lawyer either because Ribbentrop dismissed him or he resigned out of exasperation (sources differ on this). Ribbentrop was therefore represented by Dr Martin Horn. On the witness stand, Ribbentrop was a mess and had a tendency to ramble and contradict himself.

-Ribbentrop was found guilty on all four counts of the Nuremberg indictment and was sentenced to death by hanging. He spent his last few days closely studying his Bible. After the unexpected suicide of Göring on the night of the executions, Ribbentrop was the first to be hung. On the scaffold his last words were: “God protect Germany, God have mercy on my soul. My final wish is that Germany should recover her unity, and that, for the sake of peace, there should be understanding between East and West.” He then turned to the Protestant Pastor Gerecke and said “I'll see you again.” Ribbentrop's hanging was badly botched, his neck didn't snap when falling through the trapdoor, therefore strangling him to death. Ribbentrop took around 10-20 minutes to die.

#reichblr #joachim von ribbentrop #ww2 #wwii

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roosterforme · 10 months

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Adult Education Part 9 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jessica visits Beta Brewing and meets one of Bradley Bradshaw's former fraternity brothers. He's flirtatious, and she's surprised by it. But nothing surprises her as much as the way Jake can be so sweet and sexy at the same time. But she doesn't know he's only ever been like this for her.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, swearing, 18+

Length: 6600 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

Bradley Bradshaw helped Jessica climb up into the backseat of the idling vintage Ford Bronco with her notebook, a pen and her overnight bag. He somehow looked even more handsome in jeans and a tie dyed shirt with a backwards cap than he did in his uniform. "I can't thank you enough for doing this," she said as he released her hand and smiled.

"It's nothing," he replied casually with a shrug of his broad shoulders before closing the door. But it was definitely something to Jessica. It had been a very long time since she had friends. She watched as he climbed back into the driver's seat and leaned over to accept a kiss from his wife. His handsome cheeks flushed a little bit as he cleared his throat and asked, "Ready to hit the road?"

"Yes," Jessica said as she buckled in for the half hour drive up to Beta Brewing. Advanced Calculus was turned around in the front seat, handing her a snack box filled with mixed berries and artisan cheeses.

"Bradley packed these for us," she said with a grin as she held up a second one. Sure enough he was blushing a little more now.

"Thank you," Jessica gushed, biting into a ripe raspberry and thinking about what Jake might be cooking for dinner later tonight. She'd never eaten this well in her entire adult life.

"It's nothing," Bradley said again as he turned onto the highway. "So how much beer do you think you'll need for this fundraiser?"

"At least two kegs?" Jessica said as she ate some of the cheese that was practically melting on her tongue. "More than that will kill my thousand dollar budget."

"I think you're better off with three," Advanced Calculus said. "I know you don't have a final headcount yet, but with the way Bradley and Jake drink, you'll run out with just two."

Bradley laughed. "You really think Jake and I could drink an entire keg of beer ourselves?"

"The two of you drank the equivalent of a keg of champagne on New Year's Eve," his wife replied easily as she fed him a berry.

"Ah yes," he rasped, "the inception of Dr. Tits." Jessica laughed as Advanced Calculus smacked his shoulder. Bradley looked in the rearview mirror and asked, "You know about Dr. Tits?"

"Yes," Jessica replied, recalling the story of drunk Jake and the low cut dress. Of course Advanced Calculus had been a good sport about it.

"And you still want to date Jake Seresin? He's a goddamn menace."

"He's actually much less annoying since he met Jessica," he wife remarked.

"Shit. You're right," Bradley mumbled. "Okay, you actually have to date him. You're never allowed to break up with him either."

After that, Jessica got some inside scoop and funny stories about her boyfriend. Apparently he tried to sleep behind the bar at their Navy hangout on his birthday last year. And at Starbucks, he likes to give Hungman as his name just to see if the baristas will say it, but at least he leaves them a nice tip for their troubles. And neither Bradley nor his wife could ever remember Jake having a girlfriend since he graduated from the Naval Academy.

"Here we are," Bradley said as he pulled into a parking lot right next to a beautiful cliffside beach. Beta Brewing was written in huge graffiti lettering on the side of an industrial building. Bradley wrapped his arm around his wife and headed toward a door off to the side with a sign that said Tap Room.

Jessica followed behind them and asked, "What was your friend's name again?" She was suddenly very nervous that she was going to sound like an idiot asking for a deal on this guy's designer beer.

"Dev Borah," Bradley said, pulling the door open for the two women to go first.

"He's nice," his wife promised. "You'll like him."

Jessica took a few steps into the bar area that smelled delicious and was decorated like a tasteful fraternity house. "We open at noon!" boomed a voice from the long bartop. "Sorry!"

Bradley chuckled and said, "That's bullshit. You can't turn away a Beta Gamma brother."

"Oh shit!" the other man with dark hair and a big, beaming smile said as he looked up and slammed his palm down on the countertop. "Bradshaw! I completely forgot you were coming up today."

Jessica watched as Dev popped up from behind the bar and gave Bradley some weird, elaborate handshake before they both started laughing. "It's good to see you man. Been a few months," Dev said, eyeing up Brashaw's wife. "And it's honestly rude of you to try to keep this one away from me."

"Hi, Dev," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"I still can't believe the two of you got married. That's fucking wild," Dev replied before focusing his attention on Jessica. A crooked smile appeared on his lips, the kind that let her know he would have been quite a handful when he was in college. "And you're Jessica?" he asked, reaching out to shake hands with her. "Damn. I've gotta get down to San Diego more often."

She laughed and shook his hand. Maybe she didn't have anything to be nervous about after all. This man seemed like a goof as he took the three of them on a tour of the brewery and back into the areas he assured her were top secret.

He also seemed to understand the entire process involved here. He answered all of their questions about brewing beer and the business end of things. "We're shipping as far as Pennsylvania now," he said when Jessica asked about distribution. "Making it hard for me to crunch all the numbers myself, but I'm really particular about who I let in on the details." When he stopped in front of an industrial looking door, he punched a code into the keypad and said, "Let's dip into my personal stash."

The room was his office, and it was massive with floor to ceiling windows and a view of the cliffs and the beach. Jessica watched him open a stainless steel refrigerator and select a few bottles and cans from his collection and line them up on his glossy desk. "This is incredible," she remarked, looking out the window while Bradshaw gazed longingly into his wife's eyes and said something about only drinking the good beers. "Your whole setup is incredible."

"Thanks," Dev said as he opened a bottle of beer called Greek Week and handed it to her. "Started the whole thing myself about seven years ago."

The beer was absolutely delicious, and Jessica wondered if she could buy a six pack or something to take to Jake's place. "I like this beer. Can I get it in a keg? For that event I believe Bradley mentioned to you?"

Dev smiled and said, "We don't keg this one. It's a limited release of 500 bottles."

She almost choked on it. "500 bottles and you're letting me have one? Are you insane?"

His laughter was contagious, because soon she was laughing too. "You can have one. His wife can too, if she wants. But Bradshaw gets one of the regular beers. That's what he gets for never helping me with my homework. That asshole graduated top of our fraternity."

"Yeah, I absolutely did," Bradley said, winking at his wife as Dev handed him a different beer. "Sugar made sure I spent plenty of time in the library. Studying." His wife looked a little bashful, but she accepted her own bottle of the limited release Greek Week beer and sipped it.

"If you want kegs," Dev said, "we can walk through the warehouse so you can see what's available. I have a few brews that were aged in barrels and a few others as well right now. You can try some samples in the tap room and take whichever kegs you want."

Jessica nodded and finished her beer. "Sounds great. I'll probably need three kegs, but I have a very limited budget, so two might have to work."

Dev just waved her off. "We'll talk about it down there." He led the way through a labyrinth of hallways and down an elevator to the warehouse. "Careful," he told Jessica with a wink as he held a door open for her. "Usually I don't let anyone in here with high heels, but I don't think I could tell you no to anything you wanted to do."

Jessica looked down at her jeans and heels and then back up at him. "I'll be extra careful."

"Let me know if you need to hold my hand," he said with that same grin before leading the way toward rows and rows of kegs where a handful of employees were working. "Point out the three you want unless you want to taste them first."

"I've tried all of them," Bradley told Jessica. "There's no such thing as a bad beer made at Beta. They are all good."

She didn't want to cause any extra work for anyone. She just wanted the event to be successful which meant staying under budget. "Can I just take three of your least expensive ones?"

"Is that really your deciding factor?" Dev asked, waving someone with a cart on wheels over.

"Yeah," she replied with a wince. "I'm sure they're all great! The Greek Week was amazing! But I need this fundraiser to be as successful as possible, and the finances are tight."

Jessica wondered if she could come back up with Jake and his truck one day to pick them up, but Dev asked, "Can you fit three of them in your Bronco, Bradshaw?"

"Yep," Bradley replied, his arm draped casually around his wife's shoulders.

"Okay then," Dev said to the man with the cart. "Load one keg of Gamma Rays, one of East Coast Girls, and one of Nerd Core into the fancy blue thing parked outside."

Jessica's math brain was swirling. "How much do I owe you?"

Dev shrugged. "They retail for three hundred apiece, but you can have them at cost."

"Well, how much is that?" She was starting to panic now.

Dev was laughing again. "I'm not going to charge you a penny for the kegs. It's on me."

Bradley laughed, too. "That's just bad business, man. Didn't you study accounting?"

"Nah, I studied girls," Dev replied, smirking at Jessica as she blushed. "Come on, I'll send you home with some bottles."

Once they were in the tap room, Jessica insisted on paying for two six packs of beer while Bradley and his wife picked some out of the coolers as well. "I can't thank you enough," Jessica told Dev as he ran her credit card. "This whole thing is just really important to me getting tenure at my school, and... just, thank you."

"Don't mention it," he said as he handed the card back to her. "Bradshaw can make up for it in manual labor when I do my next brewery expansion."

Jessica looked to her left to where Bradley was setting down the beers he wanted to buy. "N-No," she stammered. "I wouldn't want anyone to have to do that!"

"I'm kidding," Dev promised as he took Bradley's credit card.

"You could come to the fraternity event!" Jessica blurted out. "And I could definitely promote your brand, too."

Dev tossed the card back to Bradley and shooed him away with his hand. Jessica thought she heard Bradley laughing behind her as Dev leaned a little closer, his perfect smile back on his face. "Just to clarify, are you asking me on a date?"

Her jaw dropped open. Would it have been that easy for her to get a date with him? She was shocked. He owned a brewery worth millions of dollars. "Oh. No. I have a boyfriend."

Dev shook his head. "Not surprising in the least. Email me the details for your event. I'd love to come, even if it's just an excuse to see you smile again."

"Okay," she said softly, taking both six packs in her hands. "And thanks again."

Jessica stumbled outside into the sunlight where Bradley and his wife were practically making out next to the Bronco which was filled with three kegs of beer. Even when she approached them, he didn't bother to remove his hands from her butt, but Jessica supposed that was a good sign that they considered her a friend as well.

"So? You ditching Jake for Dev?" Bradley asked, laughter in his voice.

"No!" Jessica replied. "But I can't believe he gave me the kegs for free. Really, it's thanks to you."

"Don't worry about it," Bradley replied, opening the door for her before walking around to the passenger side for his wife. "Dev's loaded, and he's nice anyway. So if you ever do decide to ditch Jake, you have options."

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

The Longhorns game was on, dinner was ready to go into the oven, and Jessica just texted that she was on her way. Jake was lounging on the couch, ready to spend the rest of the day and all night convincing her that she should show him her pretty green underwear and let him take it off of her.

He bought a new box of condoms, just in case. He felt a little weird digging into an open box for her, so he just tossed the last few he had, deciding to start fresh. In a lot of ways, that's what he was doing. Starting fresh.

Everything around him was spotlessly clean. There were new sheets on his bed. He had Sam Adams seasonal beers in the fridge. He had his couch ready for snuggling. He just needed her.

When she knocked, he rocketed off the couch, fixing his hair on the way to his door. "Hi-" The words died in his throat and he grimaced as he was met with Bradley Bradshaw, but at least he was holding some beers. "Rooster."

"Hangman," came the response with a smirk. When he pushed his way inside, Jake saw his wife was behind him, and then he finally saw Jessica.

"Jake," she sighed breathlessly, and he collected her up in his arms. He kicked the door closed as she kissed him, but he was wondering why there were four people in his condo instead of two when all he really wanted to do was take Jessica to bed.

"Hey, Baby. How was the brewery?"

Bradshaw was laughing as he made his way to the kitchen. "You can kiss your girlfriend goodbye. Dev Borah wants her. He just texted me asking how serious Jessica is with her boyfriend."

"Who?" Jake asked, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Jessica.

"The beer guy. His fraternity brother," she replied, kissing him softly. "Bradley's just kidding."

"He's not kidding," Bradshaw's wife said as she picked up one of the journals on the coffee table. "Dev really texted him."

Jake didn't think he actually had any cause for concern as Jessica wiggled her bag down her arm and let it drop to the floor so she could snuggle against his chest. "Why don't you text him back and tell him to fuck off," Jake told Bradley who was now rooting around in his refrigerator.

"What are you making for dinner?" he mumbled. "Bruschetta chicken? Sugar loves it when I make that for her."

"Bruschetta chicken?" his wife replied, also hustling into Jake's kitchen.

"Fuck," Jake whispered, "they're never gonna leave."

"Sorry," Jessica mumbled. "Bradley insisted on carrying the beers I bought up here for me. I got you a bottle of this one called Greek Week which Dev told me is a limited release, and I think you'll really like it."

Jake kissed her lips softly and asked, "What's it going to take for you to forget this Dev guy all together?"

She blushed for him and glanced toward the kitchen before she said, "I didn't wear my pretty green things for Dev. I wore them for you."

A smirk instantly appeared on Jake's face. Images of Jessica's bare pussy rubbing on his khaki uniform pants while she whined for him filled his mind. He would just have to make sure he was very good for her every single time, because there was no way he was giving her up now.

"Can we stay for dinner?" Rooster asked from the kitchen. "I want to compare recipes."

"No," Jake drawled as Jessica's lips found his neck in the briefest of kisses. "I'm going to say this as nicely as I can: Get the fuck out. Please."

"So rude," Bradshaw's wife replied, but she was smiling. Jake watched her lean in and whisper something to her husband.

His eyes went wide immediately, and he was nodding as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. "Yeah, I can do that for you, Sugar," he said softly, but Jake still heard him. Then Bradshaw cleared his throat and said, "See you on Monday, Hangman. Bye, Jess." He dragged his wife behind him as he made a beeline for the door, and she waved as she laughed.

And then they were gone, and Jake was just thankful it wasn't awkward at all when Jessica whispered, "I was afraid they weren't going to leave," as she ran her fingers up underneath his Longhorns shirt.

"He would have stayed, but she's a good wingwoman," Jake replied, kissing her temple, his lips meeting the cool plastic of her glasses. "And I just want to spend time alone with you. You want to sit on the couch? Have a few beers?"

The Longhorns game was on mute, but he'd lost interest in it anyway as Jessica carefully stepped out of her high heels. Now she really had to look up at him as she started to unbutton her blouse, and Jake's hands were on her denim covered hips immediately as he felt his cock twitch in delight. He was shocked and about to suggest taking things to his bedroom when he lost the ability to speak. She shrugged out of her blouse and draped it on the arm of the couch leaving her in a sheer, white camisole and her green bra.

"Sure," Jessica replied casually like she wasn't nearly stripped bare from the waist up for him. "I'd love a beer. Want to try that one called Greek Week?"

"Yep," he grunted in response as she pushed against his abs until he was sitting on the couch.

"We can share it," she whispered as she walked into his kitchen like she belonged there. Even from behind, Jake was entranced. The white fabric looked soft and stretchy, and he wanted to know for sure. He also wanted to see her without that silly little shirt on at all. "Fuck."

He watched her open the bottle and take a sip before heading back his way. When he patted the spot on the couch next to him, she settled in with her legs folded up and her knee resting on his thigh. He was plainly hard in his briefs and gray sweatpants as she leaned on him. He had a great view of her tits down her nearly nonexistent top as they were pressed together now.

"You want some?" she asked, looking up at him and adjusting her glasses. He wanted everything. It was actually fucking crazy how he reacted to this woman.

He leaned in and kissed her. "I want some of you, but I guess I'll try the beer as well." Then he took a sip, and it was good, which kind of pissed him off. He didn't know anything about this Dev guy, other than the fact that he was in Bradshaw's fraternity back in college in Virginia, but now he was imagining him flirting with his girlfriend.

When he handed the bottle back to her, she took another sip before setting it on the coffee table. Then she settled back against him, her hand grazing his cock through his sweatpants. She gasped. "Are you comfortable?" she whispered as he ran his fingers up her bare arm.

"Not really," he murmured, watching her head tip to the side in pleasure. He ran his lips along her soft shoulder. "You're teasing me right now."

"I'm not doing anything," she moaned. "Jake."

But he was too busy sucking gently on her pulse point below her ear while he worked his fingers underneath that pretty, green bra strap. She was half sitting on his lap now, reaching back with her hand to brush his cock again, this time intentionally.

Her breath was a soft whimper as she asked, "Don't you want to watch the Longhorns?"

Jake pulled his lips away from her and paused with his right hand on her hip and his left fingers dipping down inside the front of her bra. He watched her trace the head of his cock through too many layers of fabric with the tips of her pink painted nails.

"If you want to play games here, Jessica, I'm afraid you might lose, Baby."

That one sentence was enough to have her spinning around to face him, straddling him and sitting back on his thighs. "You didn't answer my question," she whispered, looking at him like she meant business in her decadent little outfit. She ran her hands down the front of her body to the button of her jeans and asked, "Do you want to watch the Longhorns?"

His fingers flexed on her hips, and he leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on her as she unzipped her jeans and let him see some of that green lace thong. She wiggled herself against him and reached for his left hand, guiding it inside her jeans. And if he thought her shoulder was soft, then the skin above her panties was heavenly. He was aching as he stroked her, watching her chew on her lip as her glasses slid down her nose a bit.

Then she reached for the bottom of that white camisole and pulled his clean off over her head, tossing it toward her previously discarded blouse. Jake groaned at the sight of her pink nipples pressing against green lace. And there was a tiny green, satin bow right there between her tits on her bra. He couldn't decide if he wanted to chew it off or rub his nose on it, so instead he leaned forward and kissed it before pressing his lips to the swell of her right breast.

She smelled like expensive perfume and she tasted like a dream. Her fingers were soft in his hair as he continued to toy with her panties, but he brought his other hand up along her ribcage to join his lips on her tits.

"Jake," she said firmly in what he could only imagine was her stern teaching voice. "Do you want to watch the Longhorns?"

He pulled his mouth away from her tits and reached up along her back to her bra clasp. He suddenly pulled her closer, making her gasp as she sat with her jeans pressed to his hardness and her hands on his shoulders. Then he looked her in the eye. "Jessica, the only thing I want to watch right now is your pretty pussy taking my cock."

Jake smirked as her mouth fell open, and she stared at him. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he licked her lips and undid one of the hooks of her bra. "And maybe the way your gorgeous tits bounce for me," he added with a smirk.

A moaning, whimpering mess. That's what was sitting on his lap right now. He watched her reach back and guide his hands so he was undoing the second hook closure on her bra. Then she pulled her hair to the side and let him guide the green lace away from her body. The way the straps slid down her arms was making him throb, and he kissed the soft skin in their wake. Then her breasts were free of the fabric, and she was looking at him expectantly as she chewed on her lip and stifled a moan.

"Baby," he gasped, throat suddenly dry as he let her bra fall to her lap and took her in his hands. She rolled her hips forward as he moulded his hands to the perfection of her tits and buried his face between them. Two flawless handfuls. And they were real. He could hardly remember the last time he'd been treated to something this exciting.

He had his mouth everywhere on her, sucking one nipple and then the other between his lips. Licking long stripes from beneath each breast up to her collarbone and back down again. He squeezed and caressed and nuzzled until she started to shake, his name starting to sound desperate on her lips. "Jake," she moaned like a wounded animal, shoving his hands inside her open jeans and grinding.

But he reminded himself that a horny quickie was not right for the first time. Second, third and fourth? Yeah, absolutely. But not right now. "Will you let me take you to bed?"

"Yes!" she practically shouted, fingers digging into his shoulders. He stood up, Jessica clinging to the front of him, and carried her to his bedroom with his hands on her ass. Her lips were on his neck, and he could hear the needy sounds she made as her nose pressed to his ear.

There was soft afternoon sunlight filtering in through Jake's bedroom windows, and everything looked dreamy as he set Jessica down on the floor at the foot of his bed. A bashful smile ghosted across her lips as she reached for the bottom of his Longhorns shirt and guided it up his torso and over his head. "Oh," she gasped, and Jake nearly purred as she ran her fingers through his chest hair. "Ohh." Then her hands trailed down to his sweatpants, and it was over.

"Jessica," he growled when she reached inside and yanked them down his hips. He was so hard in his black briefs, he had to beg her to be gentle as she pulled them down as well. Then she was stroking him with her small hands, giving him a few experimental pumps.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut and take a deep breath when she whispered, "That's enough teasing, don't you think?"

"Get on the bed."

With a soft squeak, she did as she was told, scrambling onto her back so her tits shook invitingly. But he needed to focus here. He needed to be good. Great. Spectacular. This was his girl, not just some girl. His cock was bouncing as he watched her pull her jeans down over her soft hips and thighs, leaving her in just that sinful green thong.

He crawled on top of her, propping himself up on his elbows, and he let his cock rest on her thigh as he kissed her lips. "You're so fucking beautiful, Jessica."

Her fingers were back in his chest hair before she looped them around his neck. "So are you."

He hummed against her lips. "I bought condoms this morning. Give me a minute to get them?"

But she shook her head. "I don't want to use a condom with you."

The noise he made was actually perverted, and he thought his eyes were going to roll into the back of his head when she pressed her pussy up against him. "You want me to skip the condom?" he ground out, his hand cupping her breast. He stroked her nipple as she whined the word yes over and over again.

"Please," she gasped. "I'm clean. I got tested last year. I haven't had sex in a year."

"Oh my god." She hadn't had sex in a year. How was that even fucking possible? Pretty face, perfect body, smart as hell, and she wasn't even getting fucked? "Jessica, are you on birth control?"

"Yes. Are you clean?" she asked, and Jake just kind of froze there. He had never skipped a condom before. Even at his drunkest. Even in the bathroom at the bar. Even in the bed of his truck on the Fourth of July. He had used a condom every single time he'd ever had sex since he was sixteen years old and lost his virginity. And right now he was afraid he was going to cum after two seconds inside her without one on. And if this perfect woman went a year without sex, she deserved to have him last an hour.

"I'm clean," he confirmed, and she pulled him down for a kiss.

"Then what are you waiting for?" she whispered before swiping her tongue into his mouth.

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

Jessica was so turned on, it felt like her skin was on fire. She was making this pitiful noise at the back of her throat, and she couldn't seem to stop no matter what she did. She was already thrusting up, rubbing herself on Jake like a needy cat, back arching off his bed. If he didn't fuck her soon, she was afraid she might start crying.

But right now he was just kissing her forehead and cheeks and looking at her while his golden chest hair teased her breasts. His cock was heavy on her thigh, and she needed it inside her. It was an absolute necessity right now. The fact that she could go from completely normal all morning at Beta Brewing to a filthy mess for him right now was startling.

"Baby," he whispered, shaking his head. "Jessica."

Then he let one hand trail down her body and slip inside her underwear, and as soon as he touched her clit she sighed in relief. His fingers were sure and steady as she stroked the back of his neck with both hands, scraping along through his hair with her nails.

"Jake," she gasped, and he kissed her lips as he fucked her with one long finger. But even when he added a second, she already knew it wouldn't compare to his thick cock. She was aching for it. He was going to make her beg for it, she needed it that badly. It had been a year since she had sex with Brian in his office, and he was nowhere near as big as Jake. This anticipation was almost too much now.

The swirl of his thumb on her clit was delicious though, and Jake trailed his kisses down her neck to her chest. He pulled her nipple gently between his teeth before sucking. Her back arched off the bed again as she rode his fingers. "Oh god," she moaned. "Jake."

Okay, okay. He seemed to know just what to do with his mouth and hands to make her wild. Just the right amount of pressure. Just the right speed on her clit, too. All she needed was for him to fuck her.

"Please?" she asked softly. Then she reached for her glasses. Maybe that was the problem. They always seemed to be in the way for activities like this, so she took them off.

That seemed to draw him out of his daze as he released her breast and gasped, "What are you doing, Baby?" His face was blurry to her now, but he still looked handsome.

She ran her foot along his bare leg up to his hip and brushed his cock. "I want you," she whispered, hips jerking as he continued to work her clit. "Thought maybe you'd want me to lose the glasses?"

"Back on," he instructed sternly, so she slid them back on her face. Then he kissed her lips again as he drew his soaking fingers out of her pussy and used them on her clit in place of his thumb.

When she ran her fingers along his face, he moaned into her mouth. "Jake, please," she whispered, breaking the kiss and shaking her head from side to side. "I need it."

He groaned and laughed softly, and she was searching his face. "I want to make you feel so good, but you do a number on me Reedy. I'm a little concerned I'm gonna come immediately."

"You are?" she whimpered.

He nodded and kissed her softly. "Yeah." She watched him pull away from her to gently ease her thong away from her pussy and down her legs. He held the green fabric to his nose and grunted, keeping it in his right hand as he took his time to press kisses along her thigh before kissing her pussy. She bucked against his face, already clenching as he kissed her again and again. Then he brought his hand down to his cock and pumped a few times before lining himself up with her and pressing the tip inside.

Then his face was hovering over hers again as he planted his hands near her head. His kisses were a little desperate, but so was she. Then he started to move, and it was everything she needed. "Jessica," he hissed, his face contorting in pleasure as he filled her all the way, stretching her out.

And if he was the one who was afraid of coming right away, he had nothing to worry about. She was whimpering, she felt so full. He was thick, and the stretch was so good, it was almost painful when he started to thrust. She laced her fingers through his silky hair, pulling him closer so he could feel her lips quivering.

"You're so big," she moaned, and he absolutely devoured her mouth just the way she wanted him to. Her fingers tightened in his hair as he rocked into her, and when he brought his fingers back to her clit, she was already fluttering.

She slowed him down just a little bit with the roll of her hips, and then it was perfect. He actually felt perfect to her. Whispering her name against her neck and moving his fingers just right as he kept her full. When he gasped, "Baby," she clenched around him, and it brought on a tidal wave.

"Oh," she moaned, digging her fingers into his neck as she rolled her hips and started to come. She was whining for him as he sucked on her collarbone, and she just kept getting louder. Her voice was strained to her own ears. There was a crescendo of her gasping his name, and then she was just panting softly and shivering beneath him, her hands limp by her sides on the bed as her pussy continued to clench.

Jake met her gaze, still fucking her as he combed his fingers back through her hair. Then he smiled, as she bit her lip and whimpered his name. "You feel good?" he asked.

"So good," she whispered. Jake adjusted her glasses and kissed her before tucking his hands underneath her and lifting her up. He flipped them so he was on his back and she was straddling him, and she had to brace her hands on his chest.

She combed her fingers through his chest hair again, and now she was the one leaning down to kiss him. She felt powerful now that she got her pleasure and felt sated. She was ready to give him what he wanted. "Do you feel good?" she asked, turning his question back around on him.

Jake responded by propping himself up with one hand and wrapping his other arm around her waist. "Incredible."

As she leaned back a little bit, she kept her hands braced on his shoulders, and sure enough, his gaze drifted down to watch as she slowly slid herself up and down along his cock. God, he was thick, and she could tell she was really gripping him. "You wanted to watch me take your cock, didn't you?"

Sweat was breaking out on his forehead, and he swallowed hard. "Jesus Christ, you're gonna be a fucking handful." Then he thrust his hips up, ramming himself deeper, and she shrieked in delight at the stretch.

"Do it again!"

So he did. And again after that. And again. His head was tipped back now as the tempo increased, and she pressed him flat on his back again as she rode him. He seemed so much more confident now too as he brought his hands and mouth up to her breasts. His white teeth looked so pretty as he ran them against her peaked nipples, and she fucked him a little faster. But his trimmed pubic hair was rubbing her clit at this angle, and the faster she went, she realized she was getting close. Again.

"Fucking gorgeous," Jake muttered, switching from her left nipple to her right and sucking. And then she bucked her hips, and he looked up at her as she parted her lips and tried to speak. But she just made another embarrassing noise, and her hair fell in front of her glasses as she sank all the way down around him.

But this time she took him with her, his fingers tangled up in her hair as he grunted, "Jessica." Pleasure rippled through her, not as intense as the first time, but it was still incredible, and she eased herself down to rest against his chest as his hips slowed as well.

Jake carefully ran his fingers through her hair until she could see his face again. "There you are," he whispered, coaxing her a little closer for a kiss. His cheeks were flushed, and he looked like he was as affected by everything as much as she was. His movements were languid and unhurried, and the smile on his face was dreamy and genuine. Had she ever been with a man who looked at her like this after he unloaded inside her? He wasn't even making any move to get up yet.

"I really like you," she blurted out, immediately embarrassed.

"Yeah, well, I just made you come, so..." he said with a little shrug as he ran his thumb along her lips.

"It's not that," she said, letting him trace her lips before she continued. She looked down at his neck as she whispered, "You seem excited by me."

"I am," he confirmed as she started to sit up. "Where you going?"

She wiggled her hips and let his softening cock slide out of her. "Just going to get cleaned up."

Jake's left hand shot out to hold her in place as she straddled him. He was propped up on one elbow, staring at her pussy as she felt his cum dripping along her thighs. "Oh my god," he growled. When she looked down, she watched his cum drop onto his abs, and she could feel herself blushing.

"You're looking at me like you've never enjoyed a creampie before."

He sat up so she was straddling his thighs and making an even bigger mess. "I haven't. I've always worn protection in the past."

She was shocked as she let her arms slide around his neck. "Always?"

Jake kissed her as her forehead came to rest against his. "Yeah," he whispered sheepishly. Maybe that's why he seemed to get a little nervous for a minute there. But Jessica was so incredibly turned on right now by this information, she was about to ask him if he could go again yet. But he was holding her so sweetly now, just cradling her against his bigger body and kissing her like there was nowhere he'd rather be. "Okay, Smart Girl. Let's clean up, and then I have something I want to show you."

"What is it?" she asked as he stood with her in his arms.

He ran his nose along her jaw and kissed her. "Oh, you'll love it, Baby. It's a spec sheet on the new Super Hornet outfitting."

She gasped. "Jake. Really?" This had to be the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

He chuckled softly as he took her into his bathroom. "It's an archive copy, so a few things have been redacted, but I have it all memorized so you can work out the math as many times as you want."

"You're a dream," she whispered against his lips.

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

Nice to see Dev again! It's been a while! Nervous Jake, I love you. He almost fumbled things for a minute there with his woman. Are we taking bets on round two later in the weekend? Think he can keep it together? Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years

Note

If you’re comfy - can we see Bruce at a wedding? Preferably his own wedding with reader, but not sure if you want to do that lol. I have dreams about having a first dance with Bruce 🥰

"Are you here for the bride or the groom," Bruce rumbled, bending so his lips were close to your ear.

"I'm here for my boss," you hum, scanning the room, mentally noting the location of people Bruce had wanted to speak to.

"Well that's no fun-"

"Mr. Wayne, please."

Bruce winced and stood up straight. Realizing that you didn't want to play with him. Not like this. Not right now. You sound tense. Tense and desperately unhappy. "What's wrong?" he asked, moving to stand next to you instead of behind you, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm- unusual, he supposed but. Less intimate seeming.

"Nothing, Sir-"

"Hmm," Bruce grunted. Still keeping his face neutral and pleasant but he felt his eyes narrow slightly. Looking for the source of the tension. He knew better than anyone how rude and sometimes downright cruel this layer of society could be. Pretty polite smiles hiding acid tongue and one hand offering a handshake while the other holds a knife.

"Three of your four targets just went into the lounge for-"

"You'll be alright?" he asked, looking down at you.

"Always," you answer, giving him a smile that didn't reach your eyes, "There must be someone charming to talk to here."

"Hm." He patted your hand and gently lifted your hand from his elbow. "Call if you need anything. I'll be-"

"I'll be alright," you tell him, accepting the glass of champagne he snagged off a tray for you. And made his way to the lounge that you indicated.

"Bruce!" A man he'd went to school with- did something in the financial sector wrenched his hand into a handshake and slapped him on the back, "Just the man I wanted to talk to."

"Why's that Tony," he asked, smiling, "Need a-"

"I gotta know what agency you get your girls from," he said, "God the one you brought today is gorgeous-"

"She's my assistant," Bruce said, smile faltering. Eyes going cold. "She's a professional-"

"I bet she is," he said, giving Bruce a smug 'knowing' look.

"She came highly recommended, well educated, and she's a great asset-"

"Sure Bruce," Tony scoffed, "Do you have to pay her extra or is fucking you-"

"Tony!" Another man said from the pool table, "C'mon, man. Leave the poor girl alone. Just because she told you she was working and didn't wanna go to your room-"

Bruce felt his eyes narrow, "You what?"

The other man, another person Bruce remembered from school- someone who'd been kind if not especially popular, stepped between them quickly, "Let's go get a drink," he said smoothly, glancing meaningfully towards where you stood having a perfectly polite chat with someone else's PA. Telling Bruce that beating someone to death for implying you were a sex worker wouldn't do much to change that opinion.

"Excellent," Bruce said, letting himself be lead away.

"You gotta start hiring ugly girls, Bruce," Gerald muttered, "Or find a guy that can do it-"

"The men can't take the pressure," Bruce chuckled. "And it's not Y/N's fault she's a pretty girl who has the skill set I need."

"Careful, B," Gerald said teasing, "I probably can't afford to let her get her nails done on company time when I act like an ass but- I might be tempted to poach her if-"

"Not a Chance," Bruce said grinning, "I hate breaking in assistants almost as much as I hate weddings."

And Gerald raised his glass in agreement before taking a drink, "You mind if I give my PA her number? He's green- having a little trouble making contacts."

"Go ahead," Bruce said nodding, "There's a little 'club' of them that meets on Wednesday afternoons for sushi and a couple drinks. Y/n said they commiserate and trade notes about everything from lawyers to party planners."

"Perfect," Gerald said, nodding to the guy, younger than you who seems to be trying to figure out how to approach you.

"Let's go introduce them before Miss Rory decides he's being creepy," Bruce said, smiling a little. You might give him a tongue-lashing and a lecture, but Rory would reduce him to tears.

#Bruce Wayne x reader #Bruce Wayne #assisstant!reader #ask answered #minors dni

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avaritia-apotheosis · 1 year

Text

Bid A Strong Ghost Stand at the Head Ch. 1

An art exhibition ends with Poison Ivy attacking a research facility and Danny getting caught in the crossfire. Bruce takes this opportunity to find out more about his firstborn son, but getting answers out of Danny is like chasing ghosts. 4th installment of the Hey Brother AU

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3]

MASERLIST // Next Chapter →

There was a bevy of older women surrounding Damian at the art gala. Mothers, all of them, with their bored children dragged behind and then pushed in Damian’s way. From where Bruce stood in his own circle of sycophants, he couldn’t hear what the matrons of high society were saying to his son, but he could make an educated guess that it was something along the lines of what a handsome boy you are, you take after your father so well. Why don’t you play with my son, Hunter, or my daughter, Regina? I know you’ll all get along so well!

Damian, unsurprisingly, was disinterested. Unimpressed, given by the way he looked down on all the children shoved in front of him. (An impressive feat, too, considering that Damian stood at least an inch shorter than most of them.)

Bruce inclined his head to the man towards his right, making the appropriate sounds as he half-listened to a story about the Bahamas and swimming pigs.

A brief glance towards the buffet table revealed that Damian was not there. The gaggle of children were, of course. The buffet table was one of the few sanctuaries a child could get in these events. He scanned the gallery a few more times. Dick had caught his gaze, flashing a quick ‘ok’ sign as he headed towards Iris Graham’s collection of charcoal drawings a little farther into the venue. Presumably to where Damian was.

A server came by with a fresh tray of champagne. Bruce took that moment as an opportunity to loudly exclaim that there is someone he absolutely must talk with on the other side of the room, and deftly extricated himself from the group. Now, off to find his son.

Bruce wasn’t worried that Damian would try something— wait, no, he took that back. Five children and even more ‘children-adjacent’ children taught him enough to know that peaceful galas with the Wayne family present were few and far between.

But that wasn’t the point.

Damian had been ‘off’ more times than ‘on’ these past few weeks, following the appearance and just as abrupt disappearance from his brother.

Damian’s brother. As in Bruce’s son.

(His firstborn son. His resurrected son. His ‘ trained in the League of Shadows to become a perfect killing machine’ son. Bruce was not one to believe in coincidences, but this was just absurd.)

Stubbornly, Damian continued to keep quiet on the subject of his brother. Either ignoring the question completely at worst or giving out cryptic comments at best. The best in the League , Damian had said. Even Grandfather feared him.

A pack of reporters hounded at his heels, all bright flashes and a hundred questions per minute. He gave them one of his signature BruceTM smiles, all gleaming white teeth, and empty-headedness. He ended up being saved by the star of tonight’s charity gala, Iris Graham, an up-and-coming artist who grew from the poverty-ridden streets of Gotham herself. She approached him, most likely, to convince him to buy one of her works. Unfortunately for her, Bruce had places to be and had no time for idle small talk.

“Ah, Ms. Graham, you look positively dashing tonight.” He turned to the reporters, gesturing at Graham’s elegantly cut dark green pantsuit. “Doesn’t she look lovely, ladies and gents? Anyway, have I told you, Miss Graham, how much I adore your work? Truly marvelous stuff. Especially the one with the Gotham skyline at night. How ever did you come up with that?”

The reporters shifted their attention to Miss Graham, who flushed under their gaze. Shoulders rolled back, she lifted her chin high and began to enthusiastically detail the story of the painting, first addressing Bruce on pretense, and then fully embracing the press’ attention. Bruce, without missing a beat, left to pursue his children again.

The past few days marked a noticeable shift in Damian’s behavior, however. There was a lightness in his step as if a thread of unseen tension came loose. He was less snappish, less moody.

And he spent a lot of time on his phone.

It did not take being the World’s Greatest Detective to guess that Damian’s brother came into contact with him again. Though whether this would bode them ill or not…Bruce couldn’t say for sure.

He met up with Dick who was leaning against a large square pillar, arms crossed and phone held at an angle that seemed a touch too awkward. “I would have figured you’d be over there with him instead of spying on him through your phone.”

Dick stuck his tongue out. He tilted his phone slightly to get his shoulder out of the frame and zoomed in on Damian who stood a little farther down the hall. “I tried, earlier, but he kept trying to run away from me,” Dick said. “He’s gotten better at this gala thing, for sure, so I thought it was fine to keep my distance. I’m just glad he’s not chewing anyone’s head off.”

“Is he texting again?”

“With the way his thumbs are moving? Oh, yeah.”

Bruce’s phone buzzed. So did Dick’s.

“It’s O.” Dick pushed himself off the pillar. “Poison Ivy’s been sighted and she’s causing havoc at one of Synototech’s research labs.”

Bruce grunted. “Get your brother. We’ll suit up.”

◆◆◆

Red Robin was already on the scene when they arrived, dodging and weaving through the hoard of vines that sprouted in front of the entrance.

“Poison Ivy has enough explosives inside the lab to level it to the ground!” Oracle said through their comms. “There are still people trapped inside. You guys need to get them out .”

A thick vine lunged at him. Batman barely rolled out of the way. The vine retreated, turning to curl itself around Poison Ivy, a calm and collected fury plain on her face. He barked orders at the others to disarm the explosives and get everyone inside the building out .

Farther away he spotted Robin with his katana drawn, slicing pieces of Poison Ivy’s plant army away.

“You’re not going anywhere.” She thrust her arms outward, the vines obeying her command. Batman threw explosive batarangs at them before jumping away.

Nightwing yelled at Red Robin to jump back and slug explosive pellets at the entrance. The explosion ripped a hole into the entrance, and the two dove inside the building.

Batman ripped a thick vine out of the ground and swung it around to take out the other plants. Another plant wrapped itself around his legs and flung him into the air. He barely stuck the landing.

The plants advanced on him again. Batman slid under them and slung a bolas at their base. The rope swung around the base and exploded.

Oracle’s voice crackled through the comms. “Nightwing got all the civilians out. Red Robin is nearly done disarming the bomb.”

He dodged a large thorned stem. At the corner of his eyes, he could see something dark red pulsing .

Fuck. Where was Damian?

It burst. A shrill scream. A bright blinding light.

Batman’s breath hitched. “Robin!”

He ran over to the plant bomb’s detonation sight. Pressing his comms, he shouted “Robin, what’s your situation? Where are you?”

“Help,” Robin said. Bruce’s blood ran cold. “ Father— he won’t stop screaming!”

“Poison Ivy’s fleeing the scene,” Oracle said.

Let her run, he’ll capture her later. Right now, his son needs him.

“Gas mask, B. Don’t forget to put it on.”

The screaming had tapered off by the time he found his son. Robin knelt over something, back turned to him, the edges of his black cape singed. A few feet away from there were the remains of a giant plant that laid limp on the ground, its red petals curled back tightly to the base of the flower. All around them there were giant holes— seeds —that dug straight through concrete.

“Robin,” He called out.

The other whipped his head back, eyes wide, gas mask already attached. “Father! Please— I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Robin shifted his position.

There, knelt on the ground, was Damian’s brother. His head was bowed, nearly pressed against the ground, one hand grasping at debris and the other clenched against his side. He whimpered on the floor, drawing himself tighter. Red coated his hand, seeped and spread through the white of his shirt.

He knelt at the boy’s—at Danny’s? That’s what he preferred to be called if Bruce remembered correctly— side. “What happened?”

“I was careless. I wasn’t watching my back. Poison Ivy’s new plant bomb has a quicker detonation time and I wasn’t able to get out of the blast radius quickly enough. My brother he— he saw and he shielded me. But I don’t know why he’s— He said he wasn’t hit .”

Danny convulsed. A scream ripped through his throat.

“Bullet?”

“A— a seed bullet from one of Ivy’s new plants. It’s still inside him.”

Shit. He fished out a small bottle of saline and wads of gauze from his utility belt and gave Robin instructions to help pack the wound. They’ll have to take him back to the cave.

Bruce spoke through the comms. “Red Robin, Nightwing, report.”

“Explosives have all been disarmed, B. I think I might know Poison Ivy’s motives, too.”

“The building’s all clear too, except for these plants. What the hell’s been happening on your end?”

“Poison Ivy’s escaped. Danyal al Ghul has been injured; I’m taking him to the cave.”

“What?” Nightwing and Red Robin exclaimed.

“RR and I can handle the clean-up here, B. You guys go on ahead.”Batman grunted. He lifted Danny up off the ground—why was he throwing himself into a fight wearing jeans and a t-shirt?— and carried him to the batmobile. Damian dogged at his heels, only pausing to swipe a sample of the plant bomb.

“Oracle?”

“Already sent a message to Agent A to prep the infirmary, B.”

“Good.”

◆◆◆

Danny slipped between consciousness and unconsciousness during their ride back to the cave.

Alfred was already prepared, the infirmary fully stocked and the operating theater ready for use.

“Wait—” Damian. “Anesthesia doesn’t work on you.”

Danny groaned through clenched teeth as Bruce helped him onto the operating table. “It’ll work. Righ— hah— ‘m weak ‘nough right now that it’ll work.” He turned to Bruce, words slurring. “Jus’ gimme the strongest you got.” Another groan. “Please.”

Bruce slipped that piece of information into the file labeled ‘investigate later.’ “Damian, get the computer to analyze the plant sample you collected.”

Alfred helped Danny slip off his torn and bloodied shirt and tossed it into a bin. “I wasn’t aware that crime-fighting attire would be so casual these days.”

“Gettin’ shot wasn’t r’lly on m’ to-do list today. Might’ve dressed better ‘f I’d known.”

They worked quickly, hooking Danny up to the appropriate machines and identifying the location of the seed. Damian had rushed back with an analysis report on the seed. Other than possessing a very tough shell, the seed itself was harmless.

Alfred finished cleaning up the wound. “The seed will have to stay inside, I’m afraid.”

Danny vigorously shook his head, eyes squinted and unfocused. “Nonono, ya’ gotta take it out.”

“Taking it out will only risk more injury than leaving it in.”

“‘Nd the seed is made out ‘f the only thing in this world that can kill me.”

What?

“Rosa disanthus,” Danny wheezed. “Check. That’s the plant, yeah?”

Damian flipped through the report again. “Its— the plant shares similar DNA with it, yes. But according to the computer it's harmless.”

“Not to me.”

With the exception of a raised eyebrow, Alfred looked nonplussed. “Very well then.” He injected more anesthesia into the wound site and pulled up a rolling chair next to Danny, forceps brandished in one hand. “Do try to keep still.”

“I’ll have you know that’m a champ at playin’ dead.”

◆◆◆

Danny passed out soon after Alfred fished out the seed. Damian insisted that he help bandage his brother up, and in a rather surprising display of empathy, refused to leave Danny’s bedside.

Bruce managed to wrangle him to sleep by setting up another cot in the infirmary with plenty of promises to wake him up if anything happened. He crashed the second his head hit the pillow, showing how much this entire ordeal shook him.

Before Alfred went about to clean the operating theater, he passed the bloodied seed off to Bruce. “While I may be old and hardly a medical expert, I’m quite sure that blood is not supposed to have bits of green in it.”

“Green?” Bruce took the forceps, holding the seed up to the light. It was unusually large, though judging from the plant it came from, he couldn’t be too surprised by it. He angled it slightly, eyes narrowed as he tried to spot a sliver of green. There. It was hardly noticeable amidst all the dark reds, but if you held it just right, you could see little flecks of green swirling about the blood.

The seed itself looked unharmed, so it couldn’t have been from that.

Hm. More unanswered questions.

While the blood was being analyzed, Bruce took the opportunity to breathe and—

And…

The remarkable thing about Danny was that his skin was unblemished. In their line of work—hero, vigilante, assassin — it was next to impossible to remain unscathed unless one had preternatural healing abilities or nigh-indestructible skin. Even Damian, young as he was, had a few scars to his name

Danny—with the exception of the wound Alfred had stitched closed (a wound that will scar)— had none. Not a single mark.

That should be a good thing.

He is the best the League has ever produced

Bruce rubbed his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. He checked Danny’s vitals one more time, pulled Damian’s blanket over his shoulders, then sat himself down in front of the computer monitor.

The first thing Bruce did was check on the summative reports that both Nightwing and Red Robin sent him. The mission was successful with minimal casualties and no deaths; all researchers within the facility were taken to the hospital for treatment. The two managed to neutralize the majority of the hostile plants Poison Ivy set both in and around the facility. Poison Ivy, however, still remained at large.

Dick’s report also said that he and Tim were going to get something to eat at BatBurger and not to wait up.

You have some shit you need to sort out , the message seemed to say. And we’re not gonna be a part of it.

He closed off the report and opened a random assortment of case files. Despite his efforts, none of them really caught his attention, and he found his eyes glazing over.

Bruce always had a good memory.

It was useful more often than not. He was good at remembering faces and storing away minute details that may or may not become useful in a case, and it helped him juggle both of his personas. But there were times when having a good memory was more trouble than it’s worth.

Time heals all wounds— but a sharp memory had a penchant of reopening them.

(The heat was one of the things he remembered the most. The hot desert son relentlessly bore down on him, sweat sticking to his skin and matting his hair. The air so dry that every inhale parched his throat, and insects buzzed annoyingly around his ear. But all of that— all the discomfort, the heat, the sun, the stress—faded away when Talia—his once-love, once-passion, once the owner of his heart and soul—pulled him aside to whisper in his ears “beloved, I am with child.”

He kissed her there in that cursed desert. And even years later he still remembered the feel of her lips against his. The way that her pulse fluttered beneath his thumb. The slow curl of her smile.)(Another memory: It’s that damn desert again. The moon shone high in the sky, a pale and waning crescent. The sand that was hot to touch in the day was cold beneath his fingertips. The air was still so dry. He is angry at Ra’s, angry at this mission, angry at himself. Then came Talia, face cold and impassive but her eyes rimmed red, her spine rigid but Bruce did not miss the way she angled herself against the doorframe, almost clinging to it. “It’s gone,” she said, simple and straightforward as if she was remarking about the fucking weather. “The baby is gone.”)

(And another: They’re miles beneath the sea, just off the coast of the United Kingdom. The cave is dark and infested with mutant man-bats trying to escape to the surface and their son—their son, arrogant and unexpected but as relentlessly determined as their parents—had run off to fight the world’s most renowned hitman. Talia was not dead, was not captured. She stood waist-deep in the Lazarus pit…waiting.

Then, as if possessed, she dove in. He shouted her name and went in after her. Pulled her back to the surface. The green waters had slipped into her wounds, suturing them closed and seeping its madness into her. Her eyes flickered green. She tore herself from his grip, but then fell limp. He caught her, and as he did saw something that might have looked like tears at the corner of her eyes.)

( A final one: Reunited and victorious, Damian ran to his mother. But as he came closer his steps slowed, then stopped. Face contorted into confusion. “Where—?”

Talia’s composure broke— but only for a moment. The cracks smoothed themselves away with an exhale. She closed the distance between her and Damian, fingers carding through his hair before coming down his neck and then cupping his face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s gone.”)

He blinked.

Alfred appeared at his side with a cup of warm tea in hand.

Bruce gave Alfred a grateful look and silently took the cup. He took a sip, long and slow, letting the scent of chamomile calm him, and appreciating the pleasant warmth on his tongue.

“Alfred,” Bruce said as he rolled back his aching shoulders. “What do you make of him?”

“Master Danny, I presume?” Alfred placed his hands behind his back. “I would not presume to make such judgments when I’ve only met him once. However, I do see a resemblance.”

With a grunt, he sipped his tea. “There’s something strange about him, Alfred.”

“I would say that about all your children, Master Bruce.”

Bruce chuckled. “Can’t argue with you there.”

#dpxdc #hey brother au #my writing.txt

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rishta · 5 months

Text

ANIKA RAWAL ────✧

・｡ [ DEEPIKA PADUKONE . CIS WOMAN. SHE/HER ] - ANIKA RAWAL was blasting CARMEN BY LANA DEL REY on the sidewalk in austin today . according to other atx residents , the THIRTY-FIVE year old PHILANTHROPIST has been given a reputation of being CUNNING , but also GENEROUS . [ BLINDING SUNLIGHT THAT REFLECTS AGAINST THE RUBIES AND GOLD OF HER NECKLACE ; HALLOWED VIRTUES AND LOFTY IDEALS DISCUSSED OVER EXPENSIVE CHAMPAGNE ; GENTLE TOUCHES AND SWEET KISSES IN FRONT OF FLASHING CAMERAS TO MASK A LOVELESS RELATIONSHIP ]

QUICK FACTS

Name: Anika Rawal Nickname: Anika Gender: cis woman Pronouns: she/her Age: thirty-five Orientation: bisexual Occupation: ─⟡ heiress and socialite ─⟡ philanthropist (chairperson of family's charity foundation) ─⟡ patron of the arts (chairperson of her personal art foundation) Residences: ─⟡ West Lake Hills (family mansion) ─⟡ Central Keys (personal townhome) Education: ─⟡ Harvard University, History of Art and Architecture Religion: ─⟡ Hindu (Shakti)

HISTORY

They say your cradle was laden in silver and gold. You were born encrusted with blood diamonds: the most ostentatious and fashionable accessory ever borne by your mother, the pride and darling of your father. You were born with a crown on your head, but not one that is ever meant for the one to rule. It is a beautiful crown, but it is a useless one. Your elder brother will take on the business: your elder brother is the one meant to sit on the throne. You have never contested this. You have never dared to, yes, but you have also never cared to. What did it matter to you, the family business? You have always dealt in beautiful things: photographs and paintings and sculptures and dances and films and plays and music and fashion and architecture and culture. You give your patronage to the makers and shapers of all that is good and beautiful. There is no greater thing to you than the virtue of art. You have everything that you could ever want. You have everything that anyone could ever want. It is not hard to smile the right smile; it is not hard to say the appropriate things; it is not hard to put on a part and play the dutiful child. Nothing has ever been hard for you. This is what life is: beautiful but sterile. And yet there is a part of you that craves for more. There is a part of you that craves something real, something with dust and dirt and scars, something that is grotesque and unique and beautiful because it is yours. There is a part of you that wishes to be more than what you are: to create something for yourself. Of yourself. And yet. Your cradle was laden with silver and gold, and so are the chains that you willingly shackle yourself with.

PERSONALITY

The public and the media know you for your calm grace, your quiet and careful luxury and elegance. You do not appear in headlines except for shows of generosity and public service, emblazoning your family legacy with the jewels of charity. Your peers know you for your spirited charm. A smile and a gaze that never seems to holds back its bright light ─ but it is, in truth, held back. Expectations temper you, and even those who deem themselves to be your closest friends know naught but a carefully molded image of you. Behind closed doors, to those who you deem closest to you: you are a wildfire. You are a wholly frenzied and untamable spirit bursting with passion and desire; you contain an intensity entirely too ferocious for the shackles of the role you are meant to play.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

NOTE: Connections here are just rough ideas! We can modify any part of it, mix and match whatever suits our characters, and even come up with brand new connections. ROMANTIC CONNECTION IDEAS FIANCÉ ─⟡ The perfect man. You are affluent, educated, flawless in every aspect. At least, enough to impress her billionaire family. Your marriage was written in the stars (read: perfectly matched by your stature in life and the will of your families). She does not hate you; she does not even resent you. Yours will be a marriage of convenience, and she knows and accepts this well enough. EX/ES ─⟡ Simultaneously lucky and unlucky souls. Your relationship might have been one of convenience, might have been one of passion, might even have been both at the same time. Perhaps it ended because she was too intense; perhaps it ended because she did not seem to care enough; perhaps it ended because you were never good enough for her family and stature in life, even if you loved each other; perhaps it ended because she still deluded herself that she could find something with a spark; perhaps it ended on good terms because you had just grown apart from each other. PLATONIC CONNECTION IDEAS BENEFICIARIES / PROTÉGÉS ─⟡ Perhaps you are an artist. Perhaps you are a student. Perhaps you are both. Whatever you are, you have applied or been found by one of her foundations and she sees in you something promising. She's given you a grant or funds your education. She takes you out on shopping trips and luxurious vacations. CRITICS ─⟡ Perhaps you see through her façade, and outwardly denounce her charity and her politics. Perhaps you dislike her taste in art. Perhaps you simply dislike her for what she is: a rich and spoiled heiress who has never experienced any real troubles in her life. PEERS / FELLOW SOCIALITES / FRIENDS ─⟡ Perhaps you have gone to the same schools. Perhaps you run in the same social circles. Perhaps you take vacations with her. Perhaps you frequent the same places. You are not quite close enough to her to see the bright burning blaze behind her eyes, but you get glimpses of it that make you wonder. CONFIDANTES / BEST FRIENDS ─⟡ However it had happened, you have earned her trust. Together, you are ride and dies. She is herself with you: she lets her free spirit run crazy. You are most likely not from the same social circles; you might not even know how you became friends. She will trust you with her life and her secrets.

#atxfm.intro

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paisholotus · 1 year

Text

Judging by the cover/A friend is Coming

Season one

-Narrative-

khadijah walks into her office towards her desk, turns to check on Synclaire, but stops when the phone rings. Synclaire answers the phone with the most horrible British accent, "Hello, this is Flava Magazine. How can I help you, Love?" Synclaire asks cheerfully.

Khadijah scrunches up her face, "Synclaire, what are you doing?" Synclaire covers the end of the phone and whispers, "I'm making them think we're international." Khadijah bended down and said, "make them think we need some money." Bending back up, taking papers from off the desk. "And keep in mind, this is a grassroots publication." She said sternly. Synclaire nodded, returning back to the phone. "Got it. Yo, yo, yo! How could I hook you up, G?" Synclaire yelled through the phone.

Khadijah shakes her and looks to the elevator when no other than Regine, walking out. "Hello, ladies. I've got good news, and I couldn't wait till you got home to rub your noses in it." She said, smiling at Khadijah.

Khadijah rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Well, if it isn't her royal heinie." Regine at the window turns around and smirks, "Look outside. What is Long, Black, and at the curb?" She said, pointing at the window. "I ain't touching." Khadijah said, walking back to her desk. Regine walks over as Synclaire runs to the window to be nosey. "Honey, it's a stretch limo." Regine said. "Well, good, it'll go with your stretchmarks." Khadijah said teasingly.

Regine scoffs, taking a deep breath side, eyeing khadijah. Synclaire walks up to the two, putting both arms on their shoulders. "Is it me, or do I sense a little tension here?" She asks. Regine and Khadijah look at Synclaire and roll their eyes. "Now, I know your Aries rising is constantly conflicting with her Taurus Moon, but can't we all get along?" She asked them nicely. Regine rolled her eyes again and huffed. "Well, look, you all can do whatever you like. I just came by to tell you that the limo outside happens to belong to my new boyfriend, Brad." She said, smiling dreamily.

Khadijah stood up, pushing Regine to the elevator, "If we didn't have so much work to do here, we'd love to hear more about your latest Canine Catch." She said, with a snide attitude.

Regine sits on Synclaire's desk, "Oh, would you?" She said. Patting khadijah on the arm. "Well, Brad and I were on our way to lunch, but we never made it out of the limo." She said, smirking. Synclaire gave her a dopey smile, while khadijah put her hand on her hip, not looking surprised. "He ate caviar from my cleavage, and we drank champagne from my shoe--ah!" Throwing her head back, laughing. "With them big old feet of yours, y'all must have been crazy drunk." Khadijah remarked, looking down at Regine's feet.

Regine waved her off and continued with her story. "I'm telling you, Brad, now, he could be the one. He is fine, educated, and wealthy. And has a butt that's dented on the sides, with the promise of power." Regine said. Fanning herself, giving the two women full imagery.

"We'll see how long this lasts." Khadijah said, shaking her head. Walking again to her desk. Regine frowned and got off the desk, walking to khadijah. "Wait a minute. What is that supposed to mean?" She asked, crossing her arms. Khadijah swung around, giving Regine a pointed look. "Men dump you like Eddie Murphy albums." Offended Regine looks away from Khadijah. "Look, Regine, if you want to have a lasting relationship, you need to start looking beyond man's wallet." She said, seriously.

"Eddie Murphy makes albums?" Synclaire asked, confused. Khadijah and Regine looked Synclaire with 'really' faces. "Synclaire, do your job, please." Khadijah told her. Synclaire nodded, going back to putting people on hold and reading her magazine. Khadijah snatched the magazine and threw it on her desk, causing Synclaire to pout.

Returning back to their conversation, Regine again gives khadijah an offended look. "Wait, are you saying I'm shallow?" Khadijah pretends to think for a second and eagerly nods. "As a kiddy pool." Regine makes an exaggerated gasp. "Mmct." She said, walking towards the elevator.

"I will see you at home, Synclaire. And by to you long neck Dinosaur." She said. Letting out her loud signature laughs, that could be heard from down the street.

Khadijah rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Going back to her papers, when the phone rings. "FlavaMagazine. Oh, hi, mommy." Khadijah said, smiling. Khadijah scrunches up her face in confusion, "who?" She asked. Khadijah smiled and signed, "You know ion like surprises." Khadijah told her. "Alright, I'll talk to you later, Ma, love you." She hung up the phone looking towards Synclaire.

"My mom said there was someone coming to visit. She said it was one of my best friends. But I wouldn't tell you because it's a surprise." Synclaire frowned in confusion, playing with a hair pink haired troll.

"Who do you think it is?" Synclaire asked. Khadijah shrugged, grabbing her bag and coat, "I don't know. But I know I'm hungry. Let's go." Synclaire rushed out the chair, grabbing her things, "don't have to tell me twice."

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justmultifandom · 9 months

Text

Kidge winter event

Day 6: Mistletoe/Movies

Christmas didn't exist in Altea, so Coran was very surprised when Lance asked him if they could celebrate it with their families at the new Castle of Lions. Keith remembered how complicated it had been for all of them to explain each tradition to him, and since they came from different cultures, each paladin had different traditions for that joyous day. He remembered how Lance boasted about the gifts to give to everyone, while Hunk talked about the cooking competitions with his family, while Pidge explained the religious reason in which she had been rigorously educated by her parents. Of course, Keith also had traditions that had been passed down to him by his father, and which he had continued to do after his death. However, Coran liked the idea, so he immediately nodded and accepted the proposal. For a week, the castle was in total commotion as robots hung pine garlands, branches, and fairy lights throughout the castle. The ballroom had been decorated and illuminated, and in every corner one could find small or large Christmas trees, and for a moment, although he hated large parties, he thought it was a nice thing to get all together on a day that it was Allura's commemoration.

December 24th arrived quickly, and all the families and important friends of the paladins showed up at the Castle of the Lions elegant and smiling. The foods that Hunk had carefully cooked together with his and Romelle's group accompanied the buffet of appetizers full of laughter, smiles and harmony, and for a moment everything seemed perfect in Keith's eyes. At least until the Holt family arrived, late, but not without smiles and elegant clothes; and as soon as he saw Pidge in a gorgeous, elegant green dress… well… that was more than perfect for him. The dress was a simple green dress with thin straps, a skirt with layers of tulle that fell above the knee but reached the calf at the back, a V-neck and stockings that perfectly reflected the color of her pale and warm complexion . She smiled and sat at the table apologizing to everyone for being late, while he watched her move around the room. Hell, it took Hunk to lock his jaw shut! But only then did he realize that, damn, she was now twenty years old and no longer a little girl, but it had taken such an elegant, tight and feminine dress, that it had surely been Colleen's idea, to make it for her. note? Apparently yes, but apparently that stupid reaction of his made someone else understand something else, even if in fact it didn't take him long to understand it. His cheeks colored every time he looked at her from behind or in front, even though he didn't have this effect with the other girls, who were dressed more or less the same.

Lance had approached him while he was drinking a glass of champagne in the corner of the party a few minutes after eleven while everyone else was dancing, an evil smile on his face.

“How's it going?” He laughed, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

“Good…”: Keith replied, shrugging and taking a sip of the yellow, gaseous liquid, hoping it would stop the slight blush on his cheeks, while he looked at her from across the room talking to Matt and Curtis.

“Pidge looks beautiful tonight, doesn't she?” Lance chuckled, hitting that sore point Keith had hoped he wouldn't mention, and in fact he almost choked on his champagne.

“W-What? Well, in short... It's the usual Pidge...": he stopped his embarrassment by wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Do you really hope that I believe you? Poor naive person, we all saw that as soon as she entered on your face exploded little hearts ...": he sighed, shaking his head.

"Everyone?": he turned pale: "Even her?"

“I don't know, either she's the only one who hasn't noticed or she's too kind to pretend nothing happened”: he replied.

“AH”: Keith nodded: “So what should I do now…?”

“You definitely can't miss her, I mean, look at her! She is smart, strong, smart and beautiful! Once upon a time, I admit, I would have questioned the fact that she was cute but now, man...": he interrupted the sentence, but the other immediately understood where he was going. For Keith, beauty was a subjective thing, and after seeing different alien races in so many physical aspects they had made him believe that, rightly, beauty wasn't that important, but then why was he now so attracted to her in that way? Once, as paladins, he was amazed at her strength and speed, her ingenuity and her mentality, perhaps it was that attraction that returned to the surface after all that time that made him react that way?

“You can't escape from love…”: his father always repeated every time he placed a mistletoe leaf on the ceiling. He always said that he did it because his mother liked that tradition, and that therefore for him it was like a symbol of hope that she would return. This had always made baby Keith cry.

“I didn't mean that…”: he shook his head: “I mean… How… How do you conquer a woman?”

"Oh! Wow! I never imagined I would have to give this speech to lone wolf Keith Kogane!”: Lance laughed.

“Just answer!”: he whispered, embarrassed and with his face on fire. Lance simply pointed to a small archway at the end of the room, where there was some mistletoe tied with a red Christmas bow.

“Are you kidding!?”: Keith shook his head, feeling his cheeks as red as his former uniform.

"Why not?"

“Because that's in front of everyone, you idiot!”

“Oh, well, then what's another one in the corridor before the stairs and the bathroom, almost no one ever goes there!”: he explained.

“Okay!”: He grumbled, rubbing his cheeks to reduce the blush. He looked back across the room at Pidge, who was standing up and giving Matt the glass of water. From her lips and how she pointed to the door he could assume she was going to the bathroom, perfect.

“It's your time!”: Lance exclaimed, giving him a pat on the shoulder that almost made the champagne fall. He growled for a moment, then sighed and with slow steps headed towards the door. Once he crossed the threshold he could see a short corridor lit only by the classic blue neon lights of the castle and by a few light lights on the stairs to the left, which had a small mistletoe plant on the ceiling at the beginning. He was alone for the moment, although he could hear the water running from the bathroom not far away, so he decided to lean on the start of the stair railing without rushing and waiting for her. Pidge came out a short time later waving her hands at the ground as if to dry them and when she looked up she jumped slightly.

“Keith, you scared me!”: she laughed, approaching him and leaning on the pillar as well.

“It's been a while since we talked, alone and as friends I mean…”: he sighed, and thanked heaven that the alcohol was finally having its effect, making his tone much calmer and sedate and his cheeks less reddish.

“Yeah…”: she nodded: “I've been pretty busy with the Garrison…”

“I know…”: he replied, looking up once again towards the mistletoe. After all, it was he who told Coran to put a few leaves hanging here and there around the castle, after all it was his tradition, and each paladin had been pleased with an important piece of their culture: Lance had embellished the tree and the gift packages with colored shells, Hunk had shared much of the traditional food on the menu, Shiro had bought lights of all kinds and Pidge had managed to steal an old nativity scene from her mother.

“Anyway, I was surprised to hear that your Christmas and your traditions are different from everyone else's…”: Keith confessed, looking at her.

"What can I say? My parents are very religious and then the traditional Italian Christmas is much less complicated than the American one. There's no mistletoe, Christmas Eve parties, stockings hanging on the fireplace...": she sighed: "You only see all this in those horrible Christmas films..."

“Have you really never imagined a kiss under the mistletoe?”: he asked.

“A kiss under the mistletoe? We don't even use mistletoe...": she shook her head.

“Oh, well, it kind of sucks… I thought everyone did that…”: Keith admitted.

“But, now that you make me think about it, it would be nice…”: she thought, thinking out loud: “It seems romantic…”

“It is…”: he nodded.

“Have you ever tried this?”: Pidge asked.

“No, I've never had the opportunity, like you…”: he shook his head.

She sighed, looking at him and then moving her gaze to the green leaves above his head. She looked around the empty hallway as loud sounds of music and laughter could be heard from the front door. Sometimes you could even hear someone yelling about the Christmas countdown.

“What if this was an opportunity?” She finally found the courage to speak, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Really? Would you like it?”: he asked shocked.

“Well, yes, just to try, and then we can just forget everything…”: she shrugged, moving away from the column and opposing him.

“What does it tell you that I want to forget?”: He followed her example, approaching her and looking down at her; she had grown and stood tall, but he still towered over her.

“And what does it tell you that I don't want to forget either?”: she replied in the same way. They both smiled as they slowly approached, moving backwards slightly so they were completely under the mistletoe. Shouts could be heard from the main room, probably the countdown had started.

“5!”

Her arms wrapped around his neck, gently massaging his tense muscles and jaw, adjusting the collar of his red shirt. Likewise he grabbed her waist, pulling her as close as possible and studying her hips with his fingers through the delicate fabric of her green dress.

“4!”

His hands moved from her hips to her cheeks, stroking them gently and looking into her eyes. With a slow gesture he moved her glasses, moving them above her head, definitively freeing those golden and shining eyes of hers.

“3!”

She looked into his eyes, drowning in that work of art of purple colors and shades. Maybe that was the only way she could tell that part of him was Galra. She wet her lips slightly, and, even though she had never done it, she didn't feel scared or embarrassed. Maybe it was Christmas that gave such a magical atmosphere?

"2!"

They came closer, again and again, closer each time. His hands fell to her sides again, while her arms wrapped around his neck as she moved on tiptoe despite the small heels she wore, and he bent over.

“1!”

Their lips joined with heat and passion, carried away by each other's taste as they gave impetus to what they had desired and hoped for for years.

"Merry Christmas to all!"

#voltron legendary defender #keith voltron #voltron pidge #kidge #keith x pidge #keidge #kidge winter event

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