#graduated into different positions except for her

[arolesbianism]

Oh also I made some new salmonid ocs recently 👍 I was thinking abt how I wanna fit fish sticks into my hcs and then realized my ideas actually have a basis in canon so I'm running with it, time to make the world's most codependent toxic polycule along with the shitty deadbeat gaslighter that bosses them around

[munariplans]

forty, love | part 3 | natasha romanoff

part 3 of forty, love | read part 2

synopsis: nothing's changed, or everything's changed, really, in the years away from you. natasha doesn't know which is better.

natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

word count: 5k words

a/n: the final part to this very wonderful series. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. as always, thank you for your support.

masterlist

working up the courage to approach you after the match felt like having to work up the courage to approach you at graduation, except this time, she was being pushed around by a swarm of other reporters, cameramen, and the fans, all trying to get a glimpse of the winner of the grand slam. it was no longer the college’s favourite tennis player that she was seeing, no, it was almost as if she was looking at a completely different person. 

you were grinning from ear to ear, unbothered by the fans coming in swarms and happily signing each ball, each cap, each shirt that was passed your way. natasha assumed when you were in the position that you were in, paying fan service to the fans was the least you could do. the crowd was singing your name, and natasha was getting drowned out by people who were much taller, much bigger, and louder than her.

but then, by a stroke or luck, or mere fate, your eyes were roaming the crowd again, as if looking for someone. you were smiling and laughing with everyone around you, but your eyes betrayed the intention behind your search. somehow, this time, you caught natasha’s gaze in the crowd, among the many fans towering over her, among the cameras over her head obscuring your view. your smile faltered in the slightest bit, and natasha’s heart dropped. 

it was going to be like a repeat of graduation. it was going to be you, telling her no, not to come any closer again, and forcing her to retreat. it was you refusing to take her back, even then, even now. she took one step back, almost stepping on the foot of a photographer behind her, when you suddenly pulled your manager in by the collar, and whispered something to him. she saw his eyes shift to her as well, and he nodded, walking towards her while you returned your attention to the people around you. natasha found herself being escorted to your dressing room.

you only came in half an hour afterwards, when natasha had finished biting the last of her fingernails, and paced around the room about a hundred times by then. but when the door unlocked and you stepped in, it felt like natasha’s breath was knocked out of her lungs again. 

“hi,” you started, giving her a small smile. you were carrying the trophy natasha watched you receive with joy earlier. but then, you set the trophy down behind you, not even giving it a second thought when you returned your attention to the woman before you. you had decided natasha was more important in that moment. 

it was awkward at first; speaking after years of no contact. “hi.”

“you came.”

she wanted to say of course, i watch every single match of yours, but instead, she uttered, “yeah, my company sent me. i was covering the finals.”

you chuckled, nodding. you took the seat across from her, trailing your eyes up and down natasha. you thought she still looked like the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. natasha caught you casually glancing at her fingers, and at the absence of a ring on the fourth one, you were ashamed that she had seen your expression brightening. 

you cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “you did what you always wanted to do. i always told you journalism was much more fun than chemical engineering.”

natasha couldn’t control the laughter that bubbled at her throat, remembering all the times she complained to you of how much she hated her degree, no matter how good she was at it. she always had a fondness for covering stories instead. you had been supportive of her pursuing her dreams, but she had wanted to be practical. you were proud that she was finally doing it then. “yeah, i tried my hand at a smaller firm after college, then i got this opportunity and…”

“...and you’re amazing at it. like i knew you always would be.”

she blushed brightly, fingers digging into the couch she was sitting on. then, she sat up. “but you! look at you…winning a grand slam, finally.”

it was your turn to get a little shy, sneaking a look back at the trophy, the shining Tiffany silver, and shrugging. “i won a grand slam.”

“congratulations.”

you thanked her, replying with, “it’s been a long time coming. i think…and i’m sure you know, you knew, that it’s all i ever wanted ever since i started playing. and now…it feels a bit surreal.”

“you deserved it more than anyone.”

there was no smugness, or arrogance, in your expression. it was one of quiet relief. natasha thought you still looked so beautiful when you sighed, nodding towards her in happiness. 

then came the reason for why you had invited her to your dressing room. “i was very happy to see you. i thought i’d seen you, from way down in the court and you were in the hospitality suite, but i thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. and then you came to see me after the win, and i knew it…it hit me like a ton of bricks.”

natasha’s lips were already quivering, watching you nervously profess to her of the reality that she too, had been experiencing, since seeing you again. “i was very happy to see you too.”

the glint in your eyes twinkled, knee bouncing in excitement as you heard her words. you had doubted if natasha was happy, or even willing to say yes, when you had asked your manager to ask her if she wanted to see you after. you were half-expecting her to say no, or to leave after a brief congratulations with you, but she stayed. the both of you stayed, in that dressing room for hours after, catching up and laughing and talking like the years had never passed. you forgot that natasha was once your best friend before she became the love of your life. 

and at the end of the day, when your team had to inevitably ask you to leave the room so they too, could pack up and return to celebrate, you were yearning not to have the time with natasha come to an end. you asked her if she had work to do, or any other players to interview or cover for, but when she said no, and looked back at you in hopes for something more, you decided to risk the chance.

“would you…want to go get dinner with me then?” you asked, fingers gripping the ends of your racket bag strap, drumming in anticipation. 

the look of surprise on her face caught you off-guard for a moment. “y-you don’t have plans? to celebrate?”

she watched you sheepishly admit, “to be honest, no. i didn’t expect to actually win the slam and…and i usually celebrate by myself, alone in my hotel room. which i know is pretty lame, and boring, but i just like to–”

“–to take it all in.” 

“you remember,” you grinned, and at natasha’s laugh, it grew even wider. you had missed hearing that laugh so much. 

she nodded, affirming you, “i remember. and i would really like to, getting dinner with you.”

–

you asked natasha if it was okay, for old time’s sake, that the both of you visited a diner a little outside of town. a little afraid that she would be upset that you weren’t taking her for an upscale restaurant, or high-end steak place, considering your status and the occasion then, but she said yes. she found that your preference for the little things never really changed, including your love for the nostalgia of celebrating the way the both of you celebrated in your years in college. 

with a fry in your mouth, you watched as natasha let out an uneasy chuckle halfway through dinner. then, she joked, “i guess you only stopped your losing streak after you left me, huh? maybe i was what was weighing you down for so long, stopping you from winning a grand slam earlier.”

“you weren’t.” natasha was a little taken aback at the seriousness, and the hint of vexation, of your tone. your expression too, had gone solemn.

“i–i mean–”

“–you weren’t the cause of my losing streak, natasha. and you definitely were the reason for my winning of a grand slam so early in my career. i want you to know that.” you were all i thought about before, during, and after my matches. you were all i ever thought about. 

she nodded, indicating that she understood. the atmosphere had gotten awkward again, no thanks to natasha’s self-deprecation. but you let down your own guard a bit, and offered her a taste of your drink. 

inevitably, you also asked, “how’s steve? did you and him make it? are you guys still together now?”

it was natasha’s turn to laugh, quite incredulously this time, to your face. your eyebrows raised, she let out another snort before she managed to calm herself down. “n-no! steve and i…we were never a thing. and we would never be, because…”

“...because?” you continued, but then natasha did a gesture, a flick of her wrist downwards, and her eyebrows telling you what it was suggestively, and it hit you. oh. oh.

the fit of giggles and chuckles that left the both of you at the same time was infectious, as both you natasha leaned forwards with how hard you were laughing. her hair shrouding a little of her face, she was still incredibly breathtaking even as she was snorting and laughing her heart out with you. you almost hadn’t wanted the moment to end, pure joy indescribable in both your faces. 

the both of you talked, and talked even more, into the night. it was like the years had never passed, like nothing had ever changed. at dessert, she even spotted another couple ordering a milkshake, and plucked up the courage to ask you, “can we share a milkshake too?”

your eyes travelled to the couple, and the memories of how the both of you would head to the diner for your weekly cheat meal and share a milkshake after when you won matches all returning to you then. it was a bittersweet memory that you enjoyed very much with natasha.

she always liked the flavour with chocolate ribbons, and you loved vanilla. in the past, you would argue over the flavour that you would order, the other never backing down on their insistence for the superior flavour. 

natasha, noticing your silence, and longing gaze at the couple, suddenly cleared her throat nervously. maybe it was too much, maybe she was being too much. “it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to. you’re probably on a strict diet now, and it’s probably weird, to share a milkshake with someone who’s like a stranger, and–”

you returned your gaze to her, smiling. “–we can share a milkshake.”

you flagged the waitress down, and natasha’s heart skipped a beat when you told her that you wished to order a milkshake with chocolate ribbons without so much as a thought for your own preferred flavour. she remembers as well as you did of your little fights.

when the milkshake arrived, you even grabbed the little bottle of sprinkles by the table, and let it pour all over the top of the whipped cream, just like how natasha liked it. you remembered everything. 

she caught herself from reaching over to kiss you, many times, as the both of you inserted straws into the drink and began sipping the sweet treat.

you could tell natasha was longing for something more, still. she guessed she hadn’t realised how much she had really missed you; of course she did, she always did, but seeing you in the flesh again, spending the night and catching up with you, it felt like she was taken back to a happier, simpler time. natasha never realised just how much she had lost, being apart from you.

however, on the other hand, you were scared, and doubtful, of the woman before you. had natasha really changed, or grown up, you weren’t sure. for all you knew the reason she was making you so happy, and was being so kind, in the moment, was all because you had won the grand slam. if you hadn’t, things would have been completely different. you couldn’t be more wrong. 

natasha never cared about the grand slam, or the trophy you carried in, or even your career at all. all she wanted to see was you, and all she wanted was you. she just missed you.

you let natasha finish the shake, and when she did, you joked this time, “have you gotten enough insider scoop for your coverage of the US Open, then, ms. romanoff?”

you gestured towards the clip-on name tag natasha still had on her breast pocket, grinning at the title of senior reporter. it fit her so well. but that smile quickly disappeared, when instead of laughing along with you, natasha suddenly looked down, pushing the milkshake away dejectedly. a hurt look flashed onto her face, before she tried hiding it under the guise of looking away at something else. 

“you think i said yes to dinner with you so i could get information for my firm?”

damage control. damage control, now, the sirens in your head immediately rang, as you sat up straighter, panicked at hearing her voice crack. “n-no, no. of course not. i was kidding, i didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“i’m not using you, if you think that’s what this is.”

“of course, i didn’t…” you choked on your words, “...that wasn’t in my mind at all. i trust you, natasha.”

it was a relief to hear, of course, but the sting was still there. however, in your desperation, and perhaps regret, still, you reached out your hand, holding hers, and natasha physically melted into your touch. “please, please believe me. it was a joke, which i realise now is a badly made one. i never meant for it to sound like you were using me, because…because i really enjoyed tonight. i really, really wanted to hang out with you, and this is the best way i thought we could celebrate my grand slam. i’m sorry.”

after all this time, natasha thought, she somehow still had you wrapped around her finger. she rubbed her thumb over yours, and nodded. “i understand. apology accepted.”

afterwards, you offered natasha a deal; free VIP passes to any future matches she wished to watch you in, in exchange for her forgiveness of the crudeness of your words. she found it adorable that you were still so apologetic, and touched when she got reminded that this was precisely the person she fell so hard for. 

– 

natasha appeared for almost every single match that you played when she had pockets of breaks away from work. wherever you were on the court, you could look up to find her there; smiling encouragingly and cheering you on regardless of the scores. even when there were so few spectators that she was only one of a handful, and even when it was a match that drew in the thousands. 

you often hung out after, and outside, the matches, natasha following you around the country when she secured a promotion that allowed her the flexibility to work remotely, and became, as one could call it as accurately as they could, best friends. you talked to her about your woes and struggles of your schedule, and she noticed that you loved it when she talked about her journalism too. she was there for you as much as you were there for her through it all this time. 

still, natasha always wishes there could be something more. it could have been pure selfishness on her part, or dissatisfaction from something unfinished, but was it so wrong to want to keep you all to herself? often, when she toured around with you for your matches, she would catch the occasional pining gaze of others upon you, wanting to experience what it was like to have a champion for a partner, and it would fuel her blood boiling at people who she barely even knew. other times, when there were celebrities, or public figures, who flirted with her in interviews, and she was in your presence, it almost made her even more upset when you would only look briefly in her direction, almost trying to gauge her response, before looking away again. was it so wrong for you to want her again?

this time, she was there to love you and support you through your losses. though you were no longer the irrational, insecure, and doubtful youth player that you were in your college days, a loss was a loss and it would still hit a professional player as hard as it would a rookie when it came to feeling like you could have done better. when your confidence was shaken, natasha would be there to hug you after your matches, whispering words of encouragement and telling you that you did your best out there. you hugged her back just as tight. when you received an unfair result, natasha was there to shit talk the umpire just as much as you were, allowing you to crack a grin and eventually end up laughing along with her on the poor person that was destined to give you the poor score. and finally, when you tell her that she could skip the next match if she wanted because you feared the result, she told you that she wasn’t going anywhere, and she would be just as happy to see you as she would be in any other match. 

eventually, natasha proposed that the two of you forget about tennis altogether when you were alone and outside of the tennis courts. ice cream hangouts became simply talking about the flavour of the month instead of the impending match the following day, picking her up after her shifts at work became a nice solace for enjoying the music on the radio instead of talking about strategies that you could have used in matches earlier in the day, and movie nights became a time for you to rest your laurels for a bit, and lean your weight against natasha, to take away your stress and sorrows for the week instead of thinking about tennis the whole time. natasha would never know it was the respite you had so badly craved ever since you started playing professionally, and the closest thing to a work-life-balance you had between tennis and the woman you loved.

in those moments, natasha refused to talk about anything, or touch anything remotely close to tennis, when she was with you. she had reminded you that she was there to hang out with her friend outside the court, not the professional tennis player, and while it took you some time to dissociate your identity from all that you knew, which was tennis, you began to learn to like the person you were outside of the sport as well, all thanks to her.

and eventually, natasha noticed, you finally allowing yourself to look at anyone else in the face after losing matches, ready to confront and thank the crowd for their support, still. you seeking her for comfort after certain hard matches, instead of her coming to you, you letting someone else in to the world that you had carved a path for all by yourself, all those years ago. and with a support system like natasha, it was hard to lose many matches, not when you found confidence independent of your results and began climbing up the ladder to become one of the top tennis players of all time. 

maybe the both of you had just grown older, maybe you both matured out of your college ways, or maybe something was different now; the way you would look at each other across the room and know, just know, what the other was thinking, what the other wanted. maybe something really had changed, when you would catch each other’s smiles and finish each other’s sentences. maybe natasha had changed, and so had you.

it was after a gruelling day in the office, natasha remembered, she wasn’t so sure of the date, but she had been of the time. she hadn’t asked you to, and she certainly told you to just go home after your match, since you would be tired and drained from the day, but you waited, in your car, until nearly 2 in the morning to pick her up and get her home safe. she had come out in a hurry, apologising for keeping you waiting and being so mentally exhausted from work herself. but you had gotten out of the car, and, taking her stuff away from her to load it into the back, you had come back for her afterwards, pulling her in for a tight, comforting hug before she could even open the car door. natasha immediately felt all of the stress and worries for the day melt away into the ground then, almost whimpering with how comforted she felt being in your arms. she felt like she could cry. 

“it’s okay. you did great today.” you said, smiling down at her.

“how would you know?” she muttered into your sweater, letting you rock her back and forth for a minute, “you were busy being amazing at tennis.”

“i asked my manager to record you on the news while i played. watched it after. incredible how you could look so cool even when you’re delivering the news.” you got what you wanted when you heard her chuckle, finally letting go after making sure she knew she was off duty, and with you now.

your tennis rackets and equipment were still in the back of the car, and natasha got reminded just of the day you had before you even came to pick her up. “how was it? the match?”

you kept your answer brief, already driving into the parking lot of the diner the both of you first went after your grand slam win. natasha was craving for a milkshake after a long day. “i won.”

“that’s great!” she exclaimed, and you nodded, thinking that no matter how great it felt to win, somehow, the feeling of being able to see natasha after a long day felt even better.

the both of you ate in the car after, natasha laughing about a stupid thing your coach had told you during training, and you listening intently as she told you about a new unfolding story she was covering. it was safe, and familiar, and everything you had wanted after a match. 

it was the way that natasha wiped a crumb off your cheek, eyes glistening with something you always knew was more than friendship, fingers soft against your skin. the realisation that you had always known, but never dared to admit, all came rushing back. it was now or never. you never wanted her to be apart from you ever again.

“natasha.”

she was busy finding the sprinkles in her shake. “mmm?”

“do you think we’ve changed?”

she paused for a moment, looking up at the dashboard, before letting out a nervous snort. “what makes you say that? what a serious topic for tonight.”

“because i’ve changed. i think i’ve changed, a lot.” you angled your body to face her fully, inviting her to do the same. she sensed the shift in emotion in your tone, and finally turned to look at you. your stance mirrored that of the one you had displayed so many times in the past, when you were apologising to her after a bad fight the both of you would have.

you continued. “i’m not…that kid anymore. that angry, hotheaded, smug, and insecure kid you knew back in college. i-i think i’ve changed, i’ve grown, and i don’t ever want to go back to what i was back then.”

“i know,” natasha probed, “i know you’ve changed. i’ve seen it in person.”

you nodded, biting the corner of your lip, and natasha sighed. “and i’ve changed too. i’m not someone…who projects her desires, her insecurities of losing, onto someone else anymore. i’ve found peace with myself, and the time apart from you…it’s really helped me find myself and what i wanted for my future. winning clearly doesn’t matter to me anymore, and though it is nice, i think being able to enjoy and live in the moment, with people i cherish and love, that’s what’s more important.”

“i’ve changed because of you.” the both of you managed to say at the same time, sending shocked looks to each other at least, before natasha laughed nervously and you grinned with your heart pumping in your chest.

she motioned for you to speak first, seeing as you had something so earnest on the tip of your tongue. “i was going to say…i’ve changed, and everything’s changed, but i don’t think i have loved you any less, over the years. my love for you, it is the one thing that’s remained the same.”

natasha knew and didn’t know what was happening, both at the same time, until you reached over the console, and held her shaking hand. “i still love you, i always have, over the years, until now. and i know you might call me stupid, or even rash, for trying to repair something that we clearly thought was broken back in college, but…but i think we can make it work, this time. i think we can try again, and have the love we always dreamed of back then, now, as adults.”

at her stunned silence, you persisted, “i’m not saying you have to say yes now, or for us to get back together now, but i want you to think about it. really think about it, because i am certain that you are the one i have always loved, and you are the one i want to spend the rest of my life loving. so–”

“–yes.”

it was your turn to stare at her in shock. “...yes?”

then, natasha had tears down her eyes again, this time filled with joy and relief, as she threw herself over the console, and into your arms. “yes, yes, you idiot! yes i’ll get back together with you, yes i want to love you for the rest of my life as much as you want to love me.”

she felt you chuckle in relief through her arms, bringing her in for a kiss right after.

– 

“do you think you want kids? soon?” the topic had come up before, and while the both of you had discussed it briefly, it had never come to any real conclusion. natasha, naked and vulnerable and laying in your arms then, years after your confession outside the diner in your car, asked again. 

you were still catching your breath  beside her, the activities of the night after such a win tiring you out more quickly after the activities in the day.  “i want whatever you want.”

“well…” natasha drew circles on the bare skin of your back, “...i want them. pretty soon. i think we should start a family.”

she felt your smile against her own skin, nodding in agreement. “sure.”

“sometimes i see the kids that show up at your matches, up in their parents arms and wearing your caps to cheer you on, or even the ball girls and boys eagerly rushing in and out to help you during the matches, and i can’t help but want them then and there. even now, i can’t help but want them right now, with us, in this moment.”

you leaned over to kiss her sensually, cradling her face in  your hands, before returning, “my love, are you saying you have baby fever during my matches? and not a lovesick, guttural, lusting feeling for your fiancee that is playing–”

“–oh shut up!” she groaned, throwing a pillow at your face, “you’re the one that brought that stupid trophy to bed before you even thought about bringing me on it!”

she pointed towards the trophy at the end of the room, that natasha had almost kicked in frustration when she came in after her shower, sported in a brand new lingerie set just for you, and caught you hugging it and trying to fall asleep. you had to remind her that doing so would have broken your heart, and definitely your proposal to get married with her.

she felt herself being rolled over then, out of sight of the trophy, as you nipped on her skin and apologised until she gave in again. she always gave in when it came to you. “sorry. got jealous that my very beautiful, very sexy fiancee is busy looking at how cute the kids that support my matches are, instead of me. totally my fault.”

the glare natasha shot at you was met with another kiss that made her melt, but you weren’t free just yet. she rolled you back to straddle you, hands pushing against your shoulders to say, “i still want the kids.”

“my god, woman,” you sat up, pulling her down with you, “you just fucked my brains out, and we have a wedding to attend tomorrow. let me marry you first tomorrow, and we’ll have the kids after, okay? one thing at a time.”

it was getting pretty late, as she reluctantly grumbled her agreement. she was already breaking rules by sleeping with you the night before her own wedding; but how could she not? when her bride looked as gorgeous as the one she was snuggled up with, natasha didn’t mind breaking a few rules.

“fine, but if you dare bring that godforsaken trophy tomorrow, baby…”

that sprang your eyes open, lulling you out of the sleep you had been succumbing to. “come on, it’s wimbledon, i won wimbledon! don’t you think people deserve to see a wimbledon trophy in the flesh once in their lives?!”

“but not at our wedding!”

[yostresswritinggirl]

What Do You Mean I'm The New Grand Sage?!

Alhaitham, Cyno, Tighnari, Kaveh x Grand Sage! Reader; separate, gender neutral

In some twisted turn of events, Lesser Lord Kusanali herself thought you are the best candidate for the position of the Akademiya's Grand Sage. From a Haravatat Researcher to soon running a whole region, how do you deal with this? And do the prodigal scholars approve of you?

'It's been weeks now and there's still no proper Grand Sage.'

'If it were me, I would have fired the two remaining sages, they might scheme as revenge.'

'How can we trust the choices of the next Grand Sage anyways? What if history repeats itself?'

Despite the House of Daena being respectfully quiet with only murmurs and mumbles from the surrounding entourage, these unspoken words taunt and occupy the mind of the Dendro Archon as she takes into account all the thoughts of her people regarding the matter.

All the candidates for the Grand Sage and other sage positions, as well as the exceptional figures of each darshan (some of which are familiar to her) crowd around the table where the Lesser Lord situated herself.

Unfortunately, based on Nahida's standards, none of them qualify for the position.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali?" Opening her eyes, Nahida tilts her head to the Scribe situated on a seat next to her, a quill unused in his hand. "Is something the matter?"

"Just deep in thought." Crossing her arms, the god of wisdom would hum to herself as she tapped her chin. "For example, what would the new Grand Sage do once they get appointed?" And with that, she closed her eyes again.

As expected, more thoughts filtered through her mind as the audience took the bait and began pondering on the provoking question in their minds.

'Just do what the past Grand Sage did? Minus the evil? This is easy.'

'As a Grand Sage, I would probably fire all the personnel, they can't be trusted.'

'Cultivate wisdom and govern Sumeru as best as possible, right?'

'With the Lesser Lord in power, probably just answer to what she wants.'

'Hm, to what extent did Azar mess up the system anyways? It would definitely be good to fix the things that he deliberately abused as soon as possible, right? The unnecessary laws, look into the international affair decisions he's done too, he might have signed contracts that would be damaging to Sumeru in the long run -'

A hit! But an unfamiliar voice. Opening her eyes, the god of wisdom looked around the area to look for the voice to match a face.

"Are you looking for something, Lord Kusanali?" Cyno straightened up on his stance by her side as he watched the archon stand on her seat. The action urged him to scan the area too, albeit for different reasons.

'Why am I thinking about this right now? I should really hurry home -'

"Over there!" The crowd parts like the sea as everyone in the area turned towards someone in researcher garb. Which looks to be... drenched in water. Looking up from wringing the sleeves of your robe, you finally notice all the attention on you.

"Ah! Sorry about the mess, I fell in the fountain in front of -"

"You shall be the new Grand Sage, (Y/N)."

The whole Akademiya seemed to have quieted down to the point that you could hear the individual droplets of water splatter from your hair on to the marble flooring of the House of Daena.

"Huh?"

And like catharsis, everyone exploded in exclamations of disbelief. Including you.

"With their determination alone, their steadfast effort is enough to shape them to the right person to hold the title of Grand Sage."

With the absence of the Akasha Terminal and the person that holds records of documentations and research, Alhaitham was reasonably the person that people flocked towards for information about you. Despite the inconvenience, there are a lucky few that the Scribe entertained.

The male personally knows you as a Haravatat graduate who researched about the current civilization and quality of life of Sumeru in great detail, something that honored your name for being their darshan's most cited thesis. And when asked about your eligibility to be the next Grand Sage, he repeats those words, even when the archon herself asked.

After all, he himself had been privy to that determination. Your dedication to graduate and use your knowledge to create something worthwhile, beneficial, purposeful. A kind of vigor for knowledge so pure and immense that not even he remembers having the same amount of passion.

Even now as he pretends to be occupied with his book, he watches as you practically lay on the huge table for Azar the Grand Sage in exhaustion, Alhaitham was confident that your sighs results from your worry of finding the best solution.

He lowers his eyes back to the pages just in time with you finally lifting your head. "Alhaitham?" He pretends the small smile was out of politeness, not because you have yet to get accustomed to being entirely formal with him.

"Yes, Future Grand Sage?" Alhaitham masks his voiceless laugh with the book in his hand at the sight of you huffing, sputtering at the foreign title.

"Azar had you draft the gazette when he makes up a new law or order, right?" He nods, you grip your head as if you were having a headache, which is quite likely at this point. "If you don't mind, do you think you can give me a copy of all of the laws he created? And the meeting transcripts too?"

"That is certainly doable. However," you straightened up when Alhaitham stood across the table to stare you eye to eye, placing his book on your table. "That would be hundreds of documents to go through, are you sure you're able to utilize that amount for your perusing?"

The expression on your face showed that you haven't exactly accounted that part. But there it was, that flicker in your eyes that captures you so perfectly, the perseverance that had always kept you afloat. Now he can bare witness to it. "I'm sure."

Even if he didn't have to, Alhaitham stayed by your side the whole time, assisting you about certain laws and contexts if you ever needed it.

And when you fell asleep on the table after hours of reading, he immediately placed his cape on your shoulders, because you needed it.

Surprisingly enough, Alhaitham is the one who puts in a good word about your designation out of all of them.

What they're unaware of is that he's quite fond of you and your prestige, being in the same darshan had him subtly defending you from the rumors other darshans/candidates spread.

You should be grateful that you have Alhaitham as your Scribe. Not only is he meticulous and dedicated to his work, but he acts as your assistant with how closely related your positions are.

Perhaps his usefulness and help also stems with the fact that he was the most recommended candidate before he declined, and the knowledge he had honestly makes him look like your master and you his apprentice.

A lot of times, you end up comparing yourself to him when you feel like you're lacking.

Thankfully, Alhaitham's perceptive made him aware of your tells, and knows when you're having such thoughts. He would try to derail that train of thought immediately, subtly remind you of your progress, or straight up tell you you're wrong.

For such an emotionless co-worker, he sure does well with being your hypeman.

"A lack of harmonious relationship with the archon, even with the people of Sumeru, became the downfall of Azar, . That level of respect is crucial in ensuring that history would not repeat itself."

As Lesser Lord Kusanali's main guardian, it was only logical that his beliefs about what the new grand sage should embody reflects that. And perhaps there were also some details that influenced his opinion, details that he would never elaborate on.

This isn't the first time he had been less receptive to the decisions of the archon (the first being the punishment of the Sages, if you can even call it that) but this one has more potential to go awry than any other.

His cold stare only grew colder, sharper, now that you've been assigned the highest seat in the Akademiya. You can tell his prejudices without him having to spell it out.

The harshest of glares usually happen when you request an audience with the god of wisdom, him always standing by her side in case you become hostile. Which is honestly quite a hilarious take - you? Harming a god? But with the history of the previous Grand Sage's you can't exactly call his fault.

In your case however, despite the stories of Cyno's job as the General Mahamatra, you never once feared the possibility of his judgment on you as an academic. After all, if you had done nothing bad, then you're out of his case, right? So as far as you know, this is your first time knowing about each other's presence.

Although, being nominated after you fell in the Akademiya's fountain and made a mess everywhere you walked certainly isn't the best first impression.

However, after one too many times you feel a chill up your spine yet see no one when you look around the area for a possible cause, you're starting to suspect that he may know you more than you know him.

"She's currently resting in the Sanctuary of Surasthana, don't -"

"Ah, no, I'm not here to ask about Lesser Lord Kusanali today." At your sheepish demeanor, Cyno opted to close his mouth and wait for your reason to approach him. So you continued. "I was actually hoping if you could accompany me to Aaru Village."

"The desert?" Why him?

"I've heard that you've been closely working with Lesser Lord Kusanali to rebuild the relations with the desert side of Sumeru." Your fidgeting made him notice the thick notebook tucked under your arm. "I wanted to ask questions about the details, as well as see for myself what else could be done."

There was a long pause of silence that passed by with you mostly avoiding looking into his eyes directly. Humbled but respectful. Cyno sighs. "You're not in proper attire to journey to the desert, nor do you have the proper equipment." Your gaze followed his retreating form until he stopped and looked over his shoulder to you. "Are you coming or what? Standing around does not count as preparing."

"Right! I'm on it!"

It was a long process, but you managed to convince Cyno of your worth, especially when it comes to your efforts to help the desert. He had seen it all himself and at this point he couldn't deny it any further.

Cyno would find his tailing to be out of security instead of suspicion, often times finding himself walking by your side as your protector whenever you had to go out. After all, you're still an important figure, your safety is high priority.

Soon, it would be you who he would go to concerning updates about the desert, hearing out your efforts for rehabilitation. Your desert internship program to help Setaria with her education efforts is by far his favorite.

Despite being the General Mahamatra, he found a bit of his job description changing: being the protector of the Dendro Archon and the new Grand Sage.

Whenever you have to cross to the desert to either talk with the village chief or negotiate with the Eremites, he would always find time in his schedule to be your escort.

Perhaps it was his mistake to doubt Alhaitham's judgment on this one. At the very least, Cyno became your ever reliable check-and-balance.

"At the end of the day, well intentions are enough of a factor to understand the path one would trek no matter the adversaries."

Tighnari was positive that he wouldn't have to deal with the Akademiya anymore after Lesser Lord Kusanali, maybe even enjoy a more peaceful life in the forest now that the Withering had stopped spawning together with Eleazar disappearing.

But of course, the exiled sages just had to be dropped into his forest for their 'tap on the wrist' punishment. Perhaps that would be the end of the Akademiya pestering him now that there's no need to exploit him for some evil scheme.

Well, the world had never been to kind to the forest watcher, what would make this any different? The hybrid would sigh as he watched a group donning Akademiya robes approach Ghandarva Ville, none of which he's familiar with.

This is a larger group compared to the ones the previous sages trying to coerce him back to the city brought - now that he squints, there seem to be Corps of Thirsty members tailing the group, too. This doesn't bode well at all.

At least Cyno's there. "And what business do you have in Ghandarva Ville to cause such a ruckus so early in the day?" Straight to the point, Tighnari stares dryly at the person that seems to be in charge of the group.

However, at the sight of Cyno freezing up in his peripheral, the forest watcher immediately realized that this is unlike any other encounters he had dealt with. Unlike the arrogance of the other scholars and sages, he could see how you looked conflicted from speaking.

"Seeing as you don't look to be well-informed," ah there's the Akademiya scholar he expected. The researcher gestures to you. "The Future Grand Sage is here to see the exiled former sages in hopes to interview them about their previous positions."

He wants to bite back, he really does - why was he not informed beforehand? Why are there so many personnel with you? How sure are they that you are not trying to conspire with Azar? Why are YOU the next grand sage?

"Alright." And he will never admit the relief he felt when your despondent look immediately lifted at his response. "It's a bit of a walk from here. And being the person assigned to oversee their training, I would like to be there during the exchange too."

"Thank you." You cut off the arrogant spokesperson before he even uttered a single word of protest, presenting a bulky journal in your hand to the forest watcher. "I actually prepared a set of questions to ask that you could verify -"

Old habits die hard, and admittedly, Tighnari didn't want to treat you more than the people he works with everyday, the people around you can easily do that for him. But he refrained from letting any past prejudice cloud his judgment on your character: there is undoubtedly something different about you in comparison to the old sages, and he didn't want his attitude to change that.

One day during one of your many visits however, Tighnari may have spilled a bit about his discontent about the attention your entourage brings to his forest. Even with you next in charge, he still dislikes bringing the affairs of the Akademiya to the forest rangers' territory.

He thought his words was out of pocket when letters of notice regarding your arrival ceased. Did you get all the information you needed from the sages? Or was what he said finally drove you away? That wasn't at all his intentions.

One random encounter brought him answer when the suspicious cloaked figure waving at him from behind a tree turned out to be you. "You said you didn't want my personnel to come so I decided to visit discreetly from now on."

At least you were... considerate. Conversation came easy without multiple glares constantly stabbing him in the back, talking about your progress as well as the conditions of Ghandarva Ville on the way to the training area of the sages.

While he was wary and skeptical about your appointment despite his utmost trust in the dendro archon's judgment, Tighnari soon came to accept your honesty and determination.

That transparency and good-intended perseverance are what Azar lacked, but under your rule, perhaps Sumeru would really be in good hands now.

Tighnari leaned against the tree as he watched your passionate discussion with the previous Haravatat sage. Undeniably, you as you are now without the title, greatly reminds him of someone dear.

"We've long realized that wisdom alone begets arrogance. Perhaps fixing the prejudices against the pursuit of art and whatever this and that Azar has gotten his grubby hands on should be first priority."

"Let me through! I must speak with them, this is important matter, too! If the new grand sage is really -"

Turning your head towards the commotion, your conversation with Alhaitham ended shortly as a tuft of blonde became visible from the sea of Mahamata's trying to keep him away from you.

Patting the imaginary dust off his sleeves, Kaveh would look into your baffled gaze with unyielding resolve. "I've heard you had been meticulously gathering the opinions of Sumeru and thought I could be of help."

"Exercise some tact, Kaveh, we're in the presence of the appointed Grand Sage here."

"I don't need your sass today, Scribe -"

"No, it's fine, Alhaitham. I was actually planning on talking to Kaveh at some point, anyways." Wait, you are? Kaveh dumbfoundedly asked as he watched you move a few books around to get to a worn out journal under the pile. "I assume you're here to represent the arts."

Besides the conversation, Kaveh insists he takes you out to the Bazaar and his magnum opus to properly showcase the culture. Alhaitham, who looked positively displeased of the impromptu outing, had to stay back to focus on documenting a new batch of submitted thesis.

It was endearing to see someone as passionate about change in Sumeru as you talk about the harmful acts Azar published against the Bazaar and the pursuit of arts. Well, what else can you expect from the Light of the Kshahrewar?

Talking to him about anything and everything felt like you were conversing with friends, a very vocal and expressive friend. Especially when you're introduced to the Palace of Alcazarzaray, something he looks at with both pride and regret.

"I am simply making sure that Alhaitham had not brainwashed you with his sense of morality. Knowing him, you won't gather such thoughts about the importance of arts from him."

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention." You really were, after running around from here to both ends of Sumeru, you're very grateful that your source of info decided to come to you instead. "It's not an easy feat trying to undo 500 years worth of corruption."

"I can already see how Sumeru would be under your care." He flashes a genuine smile. "Thank you for hearing me out as well, future Grand Sage, I'm rooting for you. You're already doing much better than the previous Grand Sage."

It was a simple reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, but when he finally sobered up from the feeling of elation, Kaveh can't help but scream to his pillow about how buddy-buddy he acted to THE FUTURE GRAND SAGE!

Kaveh offers a fresh perspective and a lighter, reassuring encouragement in comparison. Perhaps being the person who knows less of the details helped form a positive judgment.

Like Tighnari, he keeps a level-headed approach when it comes to your position, but less about respect and more on shared beliefs.

When it comes to efforts to rehabilitate certain areas, Kaveh is always quick to offer his guidance and opinion. He knows you trust him due to his honesty and genuine want for a better future for Sumeru.

He's also the type to casually waltz in to your office when he has a brilliant idea or important information to share. At this point, he's talked to you more than the new Kshahrewar sage - if he's so adamant to be heard, why didn't he accept the nomination?

Whenever he stumbles upon you when you're outside or he sees you pondering the giant orb™ in your office, he's quick to voice his concern and urge you to take a break.

His intentions recently are hard to read, but he really does believe in you, and he's not shy to voice that fact.

You just find yourself missing the quietness of your office before Alhaitham and Kaveh's banter in front of your table became commonplace.

"The Akademiya and Sumeru as a whole would surely flourish under this new samsara if I were to lead it with you by my side."

Lesser Lord Kusanali gives a knowing look at the sight of you standing straight in the presence of the archon, opting to offer your seat (which she declined) and refusing to sit down as a sign of respect.

She didn't need to read your mind to know. "How have you been? I've heard from the others that you've been working really hard to prepare for your inauguration."

Conscious, you pulled at the grey sleeve signifying your position as the current sage of Haravatat. Admittedly, it was a little stiff and stuffy for you, thicker and more uncomfortable than your uniforms in the Akademiya as a scholar and researcher. You missed those times.

"I've gathered a lot of opinions and information about operating as a sage as well as the current matters of Sumeru." Nahida smiles widely at this, before her expression faltered when you still had a bothered look on your face.

As far as she knows, you've gathered all the resources you need, more than you need even. So why do you seem troubled still despite your meticulous preparation? "Is there something in your mind?"

"I don't - I respect your wisdom, I really do and I'm honored that you think of me this way. But I'm - is this really the right decision? Am I really fit for this?"

Oh, so it's about that! You looked up from your journal laying on the table at the sound of the dendro archon's giggles, not at all expecting that reaction. Was your question that laughable?

"Not at all, I'm just amazed that you haven't noticed." Floating over to where you stood, her tiny hands reached up to give you - head pats? Embarrassed but too scared to deny, you took the gesture. "Since that day, I was certain that there would be no other puzzle piece that would fit the position of Grand Sage other than you."

You part your lips to interject, but she was quicker.

"And besides, there are many who share my view. I'm not the only one who believes in you, and you will see it for yourself when the time comes."

"When the time comes?" Holding on to your hand, Nahida starts pulling you towards the elevator and out of the House of Daena. Only when you reached the double doors of the Akademiya did she finally let go.

"You have these doubts because you are a good person, (Y/N). And even then, your own thoughts cloud your mind from seeing that the only person that doubts you now," Nahida would gesture towards the door. "Is you."

Looking back and forth between the entrance and Nahida's encouraging smile, you took a deep breath before pushing open the door -

Only to be met by a roar of cheers and explosion of applause.

Your fellow Sages, Alhaitham, Cyno, Kaveh, even Tighnari (with his ears pressed down) stood near the entrance with smiles of their own. But looking past the Akademiya staff and scholars, a crowd made up of Sumeru citizens from Port Ormos, the Bazaar, Ghandarva Ville, and even Aaru Village occupy the platform and every inch of the paths going up and down the Divine Tree.

Their collective chants mixed together to convey their utmost respect and belief in you.

"Every single one of them are here to root for you," turning to your side, Nahida stood next to you with a gray hat cradled on her palms. "Grand Sage."

Biting your lip to stop a big wobbly grin, you finally let out a relieved sigh as you kneeled in front of the god of wisdom, closing your eyes as she walked forward to place the hat of the Grand Sage on your head.

"People of Sumeru, may I present to you the new Grand Sage, (Y/N)."

The overwhelming amount of support from everyone made you take off your monocle to rub at your eyes.

And when your biggest supporters stepped forward to congratulate you, everything felt just right.

You got this.

Can't believe my random idea got written first lmaao alright we're in the good feels arc now

@ireallylikehamsters

[gavisuntiedboot]

We Can't Be Friends (but I'd like to just pretend)

Pedri x Reader

Part 1

Warnings: None

Word count: 8.7k

A/N: After a lot of consideration, I have decided to start posting my Pedri series. I think that I can get a lot of interaction with these, and I think it is a good way to feed my soul and get eyes on what is happening in Palestine. So please, if you enjoy this series, consider helping out Palestine. Even if it's just with a click (second link!)

(Also if there are any continuity errors pls pls pls lmk)

Operation Olive Branch is an org working to help raise money to evacuate people from Gaza. I have decided to highlight Anwar and his family, who need to raise $35,000 in order to survive. Please donate what you can:

I will continue to highlight this family on all my posts until they reach their goal inshAllah.

Synopsis: Moving to a new country can be a pain in the ass. So can starting a new job when your position is completely different to what you thought. But nothing is going to stop you from achieving your goal of being the next Law Roach. Not the language barrier, your aching feet on the wonky streets, and definitely not your annoying, full of himself client. Because everything is going to stay professional, right?

~~~

"Bryce, can you please pay attention? God, I hate Americans."

The slow and thick laughter flowed through the line, peppered with static and cutting off whenever a particularly loud vehicle rolled past.

"Self-hating much? You are also American."

"I'm Texan, sweetheart. We are basically our own breed. Now can you help me?" You were finally able to flag down a taxi, stepping in carefully to make sure you didn't flash the driver. The stark white of the flowy skirt contrasted heavily with your bright orange cowboy boots, worn to match the white "TEXAS" baby tee with orange lettering. Your bangles clinked happily against your wrist as the door closed, hair mused by the late September wind. It was a comfort-from-home turned fashion statement, a way to stay close to your roots but show everyone at the office you were the type of girl that people saved on their "cool y2k outfit inspo" Pinterest boards. At least, girls back home would.

"How the hell did you move to a foreign country without learning the language?"

"Because I was supposed to be in PARIS, remember? I didn't minor in French just for mierde and giggles."

"Yeah, yeah, and then Paris decided to self destruct. I've heard the story. Just put me on speaker already."

Through the phone, Bryce's Spanish flows fluently as she instructs the driver to deliver you at your new place of work. Style Di Fortuna was one of the best styling firms in Europe, if not the world. Located a mere two streets from the Passeig De Gracia, there was nowhere better for a young woman to start her career in the fashion world. Except you weren't supposed to be here.

The plan had been perfect. After 4 years working your fingers bloody at UT Austin, you finally turned the bright orange tassel and accepted your B.A. in fashion. You were able to say "couture" with the perfect amount of phlegm to be taken seriously by the French snobs you had interned with, the ones who were supposed to be your colleagues after you graduated. The dreams of smoky cafes, bike rides through the city, and the lights of Paris fashion week were often the only things that helped you push through your professor telling you that you sewed like a blind sloth.

But then the French did what they do best: went on strike. For months. And after the long periods of no productivity and the destruction of half the inventory, you got the concise email that you would need to find employment elsewhere. About a week before you moved to France. So in a blind panic, you applied to every job you could think of within Europe, desperate to not have your first year post grad be spent at the soup kitchen or bagging groceries. You finally heard back from one of your contacts, another alumni from your school who said they could get you a job in Spain, but it was a little far from the type of fashion you wanted to do.

A "yes please I'm begging" email and 24 hours later, you had a job with SDF. Hey, fashion is fashion, and if you have to start by styling TikTokers in sparkly mini dresses before you could get to the good stuff, so be it. There were dues to be paid after all. So you grabbed your already packed bags and changed your ticket from Paris to Barcelona.

"I can speak Spanish. I lived in Texas for 21 years. Just not... Spain Spanish." You said quietly, rummaging through your bag for the ID that had been mailed to you the week prior.

"Right, and my white ass took it in school and he seemed to understand me just fine. So you, Miss Texican, need to stop with the perpetual fear that people will think you're stupid. Be confident and just speak. The company is Italian, anyways. Most of them will probably speak English, and if not, they'll think you're exotic and sexy."

"Mhm I'm sure."

"You're going to do great, okay? Just be yourself. You had like ten billion friends at home. It's almost impossible not to like you. You got it girl - go hook 'em."

Laughter bubbled out of you at her cheesy pep talk, feeling lighter already. She was right - even if you had gotten this job on the fly, your portfolio was super impressive, and people had no trouble liking you. So what was there to be worried about. After bidding her goodbye and having the courage to thank the driver in Spanish, you stepped out of the cab to the front steps of the new building. It was much taller than the surrounding, standing out like a sore thumb amongst the lower buildings and pale stone. Making your way up to the 16th floor, you were quickly ushered past bolts of bright fabric, racks of shoes worth millions, and some very stressed (yet very stylish) other employees.

"So excited that you're going to be joining our team! It is going to be so helpful having some international input to make sure we are not pigeon-holing our clients into fashion that is not received well globally. You will be reporting directly to Katerina, and she will report to me. Your colleagues are mostly male given the nature of the division. But Tania, Silvia, and Maria should be a good support as you move into the role. We also have Juliana who is between here and the Milan office. So it isn't a complete boy's club."

Huh?

After years in fashion, one thing you definitely knew was that it often was not a "boy's club". Sure, all the suits and big investors were often old and withered men, but most of the creative side of the business had been run by almost fully female teams (and the exceedingly rare stylish man).

"I'm sorry, the nature of the team? What do you mean?" You asked, trying to keep smiling while running after her towards a more and more barren part of the office.

"Sorry, was it not included in your offer letter? You're working in our athletics division. We are horribly understaffed in that department, especially now that we have taken on all the Adidas athletes in Spain. My word there are a lot of them. Bellingham alone needs three team members for every event."

No no no no no. This cannot be happening. You had come in prepared to style a lot of things: prom dresses, lingerie, even the scraps of fabrics that were rented out by the local burlesque show. But sports???

Now don't get it twisted, this isn't some "I'm a girl and I don't know anything about sports!" kind of thing. On the contrary. You were at every football game rocking the longhorns, cheering on your friends as they crushed it at basketball, and even tried watching a formula 1 race (there was a three car crash and you fainted) - you were totally hip with sports. Although you were not a fan of stretch materials or athleisure, you were willing to bite the bullet as a first step. The issue was the hidden undertones of your job. It was the fact that you would be working with, from what you could surmise, a lot of male athletes.

Bryce was right - it did feel like you had ten billion friends back home. Everywhere you went, you spoke to strangers with ease, and people warmed quickly, conversation flowing and bonds forming. But that's the issue: everyone seemed to warm to you, and so it meant a lot of male attention. And despite your best efforts, you always made a "too flirty" comment to someone's crush or "inappropriately smiling" at someone's boyfriend. And so as fast as they liked you, suddenly you were public enemy #1, and the drama became all-consuming.

No one seemed to understand. There was constant advice to just brush it off, to ignore the people who brought pain to your life. But you couldn't help it, laying in bed, stomach in knots, questioning why no one could see that you were just trying to be kind to everyone around you. The cycle of worrying had created a very isolating experience.

"Tania! Where are the other girls? I want to introduce you to the newest member of the team."

A girl with blown out black hair turns around, double nose piercings taking a back seat to a piercing charcoal stare. She was in high waisted jeans and a leopard print button up, the first two unbuttoned to show off the black strap of her bra. Her neck was adorned with a simple gold cross necklace, and she flashed a cordial smile as she stuck out a hand.

"I love your shoes." You said sweetly as you exchanged a shake, eager to make your first friend at work (and maybe in all of Spain).

"Oh, thank you. Dolce and Gabanna - they're friends of the firm. Your shoes are..." She gave a glance to the cowboy boots you had on, "muy naranja" (very orange).

You crossed your legs, self confidence waning after she addressed you like you had traffic cones on your legs. You were introduced to Silvia (a tall girl with short blonde hair and vintage Adidas Sambas paired with boxer shorts) and Maria (dark blue hair slicked back to show off her Italian football jersey). All of them oozed the coolest essence, and you were excited to get to know them.

"Alright, girls, not too much chattering. Barca arrives in 15 minutes, and there is not a single jersey in sight. Lets go! Rápidamente!"

A gasp spread across the room, accompanied with a groan from Roberto in the back, and there was suddenly a mad dash. Stretch fabrics in a hundred different colors were flying across the room, and it seemed like no one could move fast enough.

"I'm sorry to ask but... what is a barca?"

Silvia's sambas squeaked loudly as she came to a halt, whipping her neck towards you. Her eyebrows knitted together, looking at you like you had just said Jesus was a goat.

"Who is Barca? You cannot be serious. Please don't say anything like that when they walk in the door. Just stand out of the way and do some googling. We will fill you in when the team leaves."

You stepped back towards the mannequins, trying not get trampled by the other employees. A quick search on Instagram gave you the basics. Soccer (or well, football now) team that was super famous. SDF was tagged in their post from their TV series premier, so you came to the conclusion that they were long time clients. You were so consumed with your search that you didn't notice the gaggle of young men enter the constricted space until you heard a chorus of voices chant "Bon Dia, Pedri!"

You glance up, trying to see the man that the girls were addressing, but he was covered by a crowd, which was comprised of Tania, Silvia, and girls from the other departments of the building (you could have sworn that red head worked at the café in the lobby).

"Bon dia, ladies."

The giggles that came as response were far too exaggerated for just politeness, and before you could roll your eyes, you heard the gag from beside you and turned to who was ultimately Maria.

"Don't mind the girls. They aren't usually like this, but their brain turns to mush around the magician."

"The magician?"

Almost as if planned, the swarm of girls parted in that moment, a pair of sickly sweet molasses eyes meeting yours, holding your gaze in something that felt warm and almost intimate. His stubbled cheeks spread into an infectious smile, and suddenly a gorgeous man in a hideous pair of jeans was giving you a subtle wave across the room.

"Pedri "The Magician" Gonzalez, current reigning golden boy at FC Barcelona. Who knew God could pack so much talent and trouble into such a small package? Anyways, the other girls in the office are obsessed with him. They all think they're going to be the special little snowflake to pull him away from the line of Instagram models waiting to jump in bed."

As you listened intently to Maria's rant about the sports star, the two of you couldn't keep your eyes away. As Tania and Silvia went back and forth, talking his brain into oatmeal, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Who is the new girl?"

~

Pedri Gonzalez was many things: a generational talent, a laid back 20 year old, and (though less known) a shit-stirrer. These monthly team visits to SDF ranked very highly on his list of favorite activities. He was able to sit with his teammates as they watched some of the hottest girls in Europe fall over themselves just for a kind word or a prolonged glance. He just wished the boys would have seen the way they moved when he came in for personal sessions whenever there was a new Adidas campaign. Not even the king was served so wonderfully.

As the team bus parked outside the building, he lazily draped one arm over Gavi's shoulders, ripping his attention away from his phone screen.

"You know she does have a life outside of answering your texts, Gavi."

There was no attempt to hide or deny, just a continued scowl coupled with scrunched brows.

"She was really weird during the drive home the other day. After Martin was a little bitch on the field, she hasn't been the same. I think there's something wrong, but I don't want to push her away. I just want her to be happy."

"Ay, you'll have lots of time to make her happy after you confess your undying love in her passenger seat and kill her boyfriend." Pedri quipped back, taking a few careful steps off the bus and rushing into the building, the squeals of his name from adoring fans fading into the background.

"Okay, maybe not the best idea I've ever had, but now you do have work with Adidas and Springfield and all the other brands that want a piece of Pedri Potter." The nickname earned Gavi a light smack on the back of the head. "So in the end, I did you a favor."

The boys make their way upstairs, greeted at the elevator by Pedri's fan club.

"Bon dia, ladies."

"Bon dia, Pedri. We missed you."

Gavi tried to tone down the look of confusion that painted his features, watching these two girls trail behind his teammate in a way that was anything but professional. But there was a natural air to Pedri that had women swooning whenever he uttered a sentence, so Gavi supposed this situation would be no different than the one he had seen before in the club, at the beach, in the grocery store - basically anywhere Pedri went. He said a silent thank you to the powers that be that their types were vastly different.

The girls vying for his attention were promptly shooed away, with only the two who were actually part of their styling team remaining. Pedri scanned the room, making a mental note of who he would be looking up on the SDF Instagram once he was done for the day. He was a humble young man, but he wasn't self depreciating. He knew the number of women that wanted him was rising into 6-figure range, and he was not one to deprive himself of a pleasure that wasn't closely regulated by the staff over at Camp Nou. He loved entertaining the occasional tryst with an influencer or model or bottle service girl - whoever caught his eye for the evening. The world was his field, and boy was he ready to sow.

His newest playthings were his regular stylists. Since he was going to be spending a lot more time at the firm, he decided to at least enjoy himself a little bit. He dropped casual compliments, noticed the changes they made to their appearance, let them talk his ears off about how well he did in the previous match. Whatever they wanted he would provide. Why not? He was young and single. If they were to delude themselves into thinking he was going to settle down and take a wife at this stage of his career, then really they had no one but themselves to blame.

Tania and Silvia were nothing if not wholly entertaining. They always bounced around the office together, blonde and black hair making them look like a salt and pepper shaker set. Today, they dedicated themselves to dressing Pedri in the vintage Barca jerseys that were being photographed, leaving the rest of the squad to be dealt with by Maria, Roberto, and the bright spot in the corner of the office that caught Pedri's eye.

"Who is the new girl?"

He knew the question was going to cause the bile to rise in the throats of the two girls in front of him, who were already milliseconds away from killing each other if it meant he would take the survivor to dinner. But there was something about the flash of color that had caught his eye, hair falling in front of a pretty face that was glued to a screen and trying to stay out of the way.

"What new girl?" The response came from Tania, the more jealous of the pair by a mile. Pedri had often caught her stalking his account, his brother's account, and the account of every girl DeuxMoi "spotted" him with during the international breaks.

"Her. In the corner. She's new, right? That's someone I would remember seeing." He raised his head to get a better look at her, taking in the tight shirt and bright colors, watching her jewelry sway along as Maria (his least favorite in the office by far) called her over to help dress the rest of the team. The girls whipped around, taking in the same view that Pedri was.

"La naranja?!" Tania asked, disgust evident in her louder-than-appropriate tone. At the use of what was quickly becoming your office nickname, you looked towards the sound of the commotion, seeing Pedri staring intently at you once again. And while the depth of his gaze threatened to ignite a warmth somewhere within your chest, it was Tania's furious expression that had your heart racing in fear. You hadn't even been at work for an hour - what could you have possible done to have invoked such a murderous glare?

"I didn't think foreign girls were your type." Silvia said, much calmer but tone still icy.

"Maybe I just like the color orange." He replied smoothly, whipping off his shirt to slip into the one from 1980 that he would be modeling for the Barca site. The sight of bare skin was enough to make his playthings forget their rage, being replaced by lustful stares and lingering touches as they "adjusted" the fabric over his pecs about 20 times over.

"I think orange is a hideous color on girls." Tania couldn't help but mutter and she fixed his collar, putting in a couple pins so it wouldn't move as he walked to the photographer.

"I think the ugliest color on a girl is jealousy green." Pedri's eyes met hers in a silent warning. She was officially nothing more than one of his stylists. He was a busy man, and the last thing he needed was for his distractions to become a new stressor. He was notorious for being quick to cut girls off for the most superficial reasons, and Tania was not eager to be one of those deprived of his affections. She smiled sweetly, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Oh, of course. Especially when there is obviously nothing to be jealous of. Go welcome her on her first day - if she can even understand a thing you're saying. I don't think the American school system teaches Canarian." She left Pedri in that moment, calling sweetly to Ferran to come get dressed.

"Ay, Gavi, I knew you were short, but they can't even find pants that fit you now?"

The sudden voice behind you made you jump, causing a yelp from Gavi, who had been stabbed with a stray pin due to your scare. Your head whipped around, meeting that same smile that was brighter up close.

"Perdon, Naranja. Didn't mean to startle you."

Your eyebrows came together, a small frown on your features.

"I don't know what Tania told you, but that's not my name."

"I didn't think it was, but it's quite fitting, don't you think? A cute nickname for a cute girl."

The complement caught you off guard, and your mouth dropped open, reply unable to form in your mind. Was he seriously flirting with you? After half the office just threw themselves at his feet?

"Thank you, but I would really prefer if you called me-"

"Your accent is strange. Where are you from?" Pedri cuts you off, giving you a once over and taking in your figure, focusing intently on the writing across your chest.

"Texas. Can't you read?" You asked, growing more annoyed by the minute. Maria would be back any second to grab the boy who you were hemming, now identified as Gavi. You weren't eager to be seen as a slacker on day damn one.

"Houston?" He asked, accent preventing him from getting the "S" in the word quite right. "My brother used to live there for a bit."

"San Antonio, actually. But I went to school in Austin." As desperately as you wanted to make a good impression on your first day, something inside your chest wanted to make a good impression on Pedri, who was listening intently to the mini tour of Texas you were giving him.

"Is that close to Dallas? We are meant to play a game there in the summer. Maybe you can come along, show me around your city." He punctuated his sentence with a wink. You wanted to speak, tell him that Austin was actually several hours from Dallas, San Antonio even further. But your heartbeat was in your ears, and you could do nothing but nod along.

Pedri was not much better off. He had spoken to some of the most gorgeous women in Europe, maybe even the world in his mere 22 years on the planet, but something about the way you looked at him while speaking, eyes locked onto his, made his heart race in a way that was foreign but not unenjoyable.

"Hey! Hurry up - they need Gavi next. Or are you incapable of putting in a couple pins?" It was Silvia barking down at you, causing you to tear your gaze away from Pedri and back to Gavi's leg. Thankfully, the boy was typing away and didn't notice the break you had taken to chat with his teammate. "Pedri, stop distracting la naranja with your flirting and go get a pair of shoes from Maria."

You burned with embarrassment, the nickname turning from something affectionate to something sour, used to remind you of your outsider status as 'Cinderella' was reminded of her place by the coals.

"I was just being friendly." Pedri said, standing to follow her instructions.

"I think you have enough friends in the office." She bites back, shoving him lightly towards the wall of sneakers.

Your cheeks burn, embarrassment causing your hands to tremble as you continue hemming the trousers in front of you. Maria had gone out of her way to warn you that Pedri was off limits, and yet here you were again: persona non grata with your coworkers because some boy had taken an interest in you.

"You speak really good Spanish for someone from America." A quiet voice said from above you. Looking up, Gavi was gazing down at you, distracted by his phone every few seconds.

"I'm half Mexican, and most people in Texas speak Spanish anyways." You reply, trying to tone down the annoyance in your tone.

"Oh, I didn't know that. My friend- eh, physiotherapist also studied in America. She has this really cute accent when she says some of her words now." You watched his eyes glaze over in a way they probably shouldn't if he was just talking about his doctor.

"You don't have to make conversation with me, you know." You mutter back, scared that maybe this player was Maria's and you would sever the final connection you had left in the office inadvertently.

"Oh. I didn't mean to annoy you." The tone in his voice and his crestfallen expression made you feel like you had just kicked a puppy.

"Oh no! You're not. I just... It seems like I just pissed off the girls by talking to Pedri, and I don't want to make any other mistakes."

He laughed, eyes crinkling and head tilting back. "Pedri is a special case. When you flirt with everything that moves, someone is bound to be upset eventually."

The admission caused a pit to form in your stomach. Everything that moves? The romantic heat you felt earlier cooled into a slimy, sickening emotion. What kind of person toyed with people's feelings for fun? As you entertained the thought, you tapped Gavi on the leg, instructing him to hop off the stand and go get photographed. A shadow loomed over your form as you tidied pins from the floor of the workroom.

"So, I believe you were about to give me your address before we were so rudely interrupted." It was Pedri, returning with a grin, standing coolly with his hands in the pockets of his cargos. "Of if that's too personal, I'll settle for a phone number. Or an Instagram handle - I'm not picky."

"I can tell." You muttered back, unease still sitting in your chest. You avoided his gaze, chewing nervously on your bottom lip and directing your eyes to anything but Pedri.

"I'm sorry about Silvia. She can be... intense. And let me just go ahead and apologize for Tania as well, in advance. They're weirdly possessive over me for some reason." Pedri sounded sincere, eyes doing their best to catch yours and convey his message.

"Don't worry about it. I can see why you're so popular." You shuffled to collect stray pins off the floor. Pedri was not like any other guy you had ever been attracted to. Usually they were tall, lanky frat boy types, all blue eyes and khaki shorts. But the combination of beautiful brown eyes brushed by dark hair, chiseled jaw and plump lips, and strong arms that lifted a mannequin out of your way did weird things to your heart and your stomach.

"Can you now?" He was smirking. You could practically hear it in his voice, the amusement dripping from every syllable. He was obviously completely unbothered by your clear signs of distress.

"Yeah. Every girl I ever knew wanted to be the sugar baby of an athlete. Watch out or you'll get your bank account drained." Despite your best efforts to come across as cutting and sharp, he laughed at the statement. A full head thrown back and hands on his belly type of laugh.

"It's been a long time since I've spoken to a girl as funny as you." His eyes held yours, and the look was so captivating you simply couldn't avert your gaze. In that moment, it was also lost on you that you had, in fact, only made one joke. You responded with a half smile and heat radiating from you.

"Hey listen, a couple of the boys and I are going out tonight. You should come with us."

The invitation started to knock some sense back into you. Out? As in out out? Back home, going out usually meant getting shit-faced and riding a mechanical bull. It wasn't the best look to pull up to work the following morning looking like death and smelling like tequila. You were already on the way to holding the record for the worst first day in history.

"I don't know... I think Tania would put Nair in my shampoo if we were seen together when not contractually obligated."

You looked up shyly, and a part of you waited for him to insist, to feel somewhat special.

"Ah, I won't make you do anything you're uncomfortable with. Just DM me on Instagram if you change your mind. I'm not hard to find."

"Do you answer DMs from every girl that finds you?" You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

"No. But I'll be looking out for yours."

Another voice called out to Pedri, and he left you standing there slack-jawed. Who was this man? And what was so special about you to have piqued his interest? You asked these same questions of Bryce, who was now fully awake.

"Girl, the answer is obvious." She said through face time, words garbled by her teeth-brushing.

"Please don't say-"

"You're hot."

"That. Bryce, these girls in the office, they're stunners. 10s across the board. If he was going for looks, he wouldn't be going for me."

"I think you're over-thinking this whole thing. He just wants to talk to you for now," She paused to spit, "So talk! What's the worst that could happen?"

A shrill voice cried out 'Naranja!' and the trill of your new unwelcome work nickname was the signal that your lunch was over. You trudged back into the office, abandoning the warmth and sunshine for the cold front put up by Tania and Silvia. They bumped you every time they walked past, making comments about your clothing, your hair, the speed of your work, your taste level - everything. You stuck close to Maria, getting only two smug "I told you so's" before it was back to business. The boys left a disaster in their wake, with jerseys, trousers, socks, shoes, and all manners of accessories scattered about the workroom. Maria exchange stories of her childhood in Rome for your escapades in San Antonio and Austin, and the day passed with relative ease. Katerina click-clacks into the room an hour before your sweet release, huddling together everyone who worked with the team for a summary of what was accomplished.

"Great job team. I think Barca will be very happy with the photos, which will make me very happy. Now," Katerina handed out a series of files to everyone in the circle. "As some of you know, we have been fighting tooth and nail against Fordham Fashions for the new Adidas Rising Stars contract. Well, we have finally won! Here are the clients that we will be working with closely for individual Adidas campaigns, collaborations, and so on."

Opening the file, a familiar face grinned back from the first page.

"Everyone already knows Pedri, so we will move past him. Now, let us begin the style briefing for Bellingham..."

You stared for another moment at the bright grin on the page before turning it to take notes on everything Katerina was saying. The meeting wrapped 30 minutes later, with one final request from the boss.

"The new Predator boots have just come in from Adidas. We will be sending a pair to each of our athletes to allow them to adjust before we style and shoot in the coming weeks. And to avoid another, ehem, hair pulling incident, the new girl will be sending Pedri's. Sort the rest out among yourselves. See you tomorrow!"

The glares burned your skin before you even had the chance to process that the 'new girl' in question was you. Everyone scurried to the wall of blue shoe boxes as you looked over the brief again to find the man of the hour's shoe size. Pulling it out of the pile, you moved to a far corner of the workroom, but that did not seem to stop Tania from coming your way.

"So, you think Pedri likes you?"

The statement caught you off guard, hands slowing and your eyes widening at your coworker.

"Excuse me?"

"You think that now he's going to date you just because he laughed at one of your jokes? Because trust me, you're not his type."

You were prepared to rebut, tell her that she had completely misunderstood the situation, and you were just being nice to a client. But it died on your lips as the meaning of her words washed over you like an icy tidal wave, leaving you to pathetically whisper out,

"Why not?"

Her laugh trickled out lightly, delicate and beautiful and cutting all at once.

"Just look at you, Naranja. Anyways, this is a note from the agency that needs to be included in Pedri's box, so slip it in there, 'kay? See you tomorrow!"

Swallowing thickly, you didn't watch her walk away, staring at the table top to stop the flood of emotions that was clogging your throat. You knew you weren't ugly. Quite the opposite actually. It usually only took a coy glance and the bat of an eyelash for you to have people eating from the palm of your hand. But the self doubt started to eat away at you. What was wrong with the way you looked?

And then your eyes focused on the crisp white envelope on the table. The girly scrawl of Pedri was too... romantic to be a formal note. The green slime of jealousy seeped through every one of your veins. You took a quick look around the room, and finding no one, you carefully opened the envelope. Immediately a strong perfume assaulted your senses. The letter was a quick confession of love, and you couldn't help the increase in your heart rate. If your coworker was determined to hate you, then you should at least give her a reason.

Your childish antics came two fold. First, you tiptoed over to the cabinet with the stationary, grabbing a blank envelope and some corrector fluid. You carefully removed Tania's name from the bottom of the letter, writing in a little "S" with a heart beside it. You refolded the letter and placed it into the new perfume-less envelope. The letter found its home in the shoe box, and on your way out of the building, you dropped it off at the mail room. As you waited for your cab home, you typed five familiar letters into the Instagram search bar, and sent a message asking,

"Am I still invited out tonight?"

~

Pedri could not contain the Cheshire cat grin that lit up his face when he saw the DM from you. Scrolling quickly through your Instagram, he zoomed in on your pictures from the summer, swimsuits the same bright orange that had hugged your chest earlier that day. He responded quickly, telling you that you would be the highlight of the entire outing, and as he predicted, your phone number quickly followed.

"See, Gavi? I told you." He turned the screen to his teammate, who could not possibly be less interested. Being met with silence, he quickly snatched Gavi's phone from his hands, eliciting a protest.

"Gavi, this is an intervention. You need to stop this sad puppy behavior. After the sixth unanswered text, it's time to accept that she's not going to respond."

Pedri almost regretted it as soon as he said it, the sunken look painting Gavi's features being too much to bear. It was like taking a baby's favorite toy away.

"I just mean that she's probably busy, hermano. She'll respond when she can. Now, back to me."

Gavi rolled his eyes and leaned back against Pedri's couch. He displayed his most exasperated expression.

"Please, Pedri. Tell me again how you got a girl to swoon for you in a matter of minutes. It's always my favorite story."

Gavi barely missed the pillow chucked at his head, but pressed on anyways.

"Come on, Pedri. It's the same story every week. Find a cute girl, flirt, invite her out, sleep with her, and then block her on all your socials."

"Okay but this one is different. She's my first American."

Gavi gave him a look that told Pedri that maybe the joke should have been reserved for Ferran. Despite all the wisdom Pedri had imparted, Gavi hadn't listened. Instead of taking advantage of the swarm of women ready to show him heaven, he had gone and fallen in love with one of his coworkers. Sheesh. What a stupid idea. But he had never seen Gavi, or anyone really, care so much about a person. So he was being a good friend, just pretending that this love story wouldn't go down in flames (badum-tsss).

Pedri was not willing to be a hopeless lover boy. He killed himself on the pitch, and there was no way he wasn't going to enjoy life after the whistle blew.

"I just don't think it's an idea to start involving girls you're going to have to see again."

The statement cut straight through Pedri's daydream of what you would wear to the club that evening. Gavi may have been right. When messing with Instagram models, it was easy to avoid previous flings. A block online, a slip of their photo to Camp Nou security, and worst case scenario, when they came up to him at an event, he just put on his best confused face and asked, "Do I know you?"

But this was new territory. He had toyed around with Tania and Silvia for months now, but it never left the office. Inviting a girl who he would have to see again and again for work out was risky. But the risk-assessing brain cells were on vacation. All that was left were the party neurons, the ones that craved dopamine and finding out what your skin would feel like against his palms. So he pushed all of Gavi's valid objections into a dark corner of his brain. He opted instead to ask,

"So, are you coming out tonight as well?"

Gavi lifted his hoodie up to cover his face, using all his self control to not grab his phone from its place on the coffee table.

"I don't think so. I'm not in the mood to see Ferran or... anyone really. Just want to sit home and watch my show."

"Suit yourself then. I'll let you know how the night ends."

"I'm begging you not to."

~

You smoothed your hands over your dress one final time. You were pacing around your living room, eagerly waiting for Pedri to pick you up. Despite your best efforts to assure him that you could Uber yourself to the club, he refused, and you couldn't help the giddy feeling at the gentlemanly antics.

Staring at yourself in the mirror once again, you thought of the dates you had been on in your senior year of college. From darties on frat lawns to drive-thrus to fine dining, many guys had tried to win your favor. It wasn't that all of them sucked (even if the majority did). It was just that the guys back home in America were... boring. All of them were pretty self centered and shallow, nice to look at but nothing deeper. While a pretty boy was nice at 19, it was time to grow up and look for something more.

The buzzing of your phone knocked you out of the trance you were in. "Pedri from work" illuminated the screen as you rushed to answer.

"I was going to come in and knock on your door, but I can't get into your building."

You laughed lightly in response, apologizing about the door code while grabbing a jacket and heading downstairs. A low whistle greeted you, dark eyes tracing your figure with a look that you tried not to interpret for your own sanity. A shy smile played across your features as you allowed Pedri to open your car door, sweet talk you throughout the drive, and escort you in to what was more of a lounge than a club. Live musicians played just loud enough for ambiance, but not enough to completely drown out everyone chattering amongst themselves. The two of you walked up to a table of Greek Gods, which you assumed were his teammates.

Pedri introduced you to the group, making sure that his body was physically situated between you and Ferran. He was a good guy somewhere deep, deep down, buried under the anguish of his last girlfriend, who left him upon finding out about the pay reduction that came with moving from Manchester City to FCB. Pedri tried to stop him from taking out his rage on a coworker (and Gavi's crush), but he was hard headed and couldn't be swayed. Eventually he would calm down, and they could go back to being young and single and not bitter. Pedri's phone glowed with a notification from the boy on his mind.

[Gaviiii]: dude i foujd her outside my house just sitting in her car n cryng so im gonna take care of that

[Gaviiii]: dont tect me or call me im not gonna answer

The typos were normal, as it was hard for Gavi to avert his eyes for even one second when his most precious was in sight. Pedri shook off the text and turned his attention back to you, arm coming to rest around your waist in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You were not comforted. On the contrary, you were on the verge of throwing up. You were one of only two girls in a circle of incredibly attractive men, the other being someone's wife. You couldn't remember the names of any of them, except for Ferran, who you had been specifically warned about on the drive over. The devil really is a charmer. His short cropped hair showed the angels of his face beautifully, long lashes fanning against his cheeks. A few tattoos peaked out from under rolled up sleeved, and you had to remember that you were with his friend on a... what was this exactly? Pedri had never said anything more than that he wanted to be friends. But he asked you to go out with him, picked you up, gave you the pre-date compliments, and now was shielding you from other men. Were you on a date?

You tried your best to participate in small talk, listening to them go back and forth about football and training and life in general. The various accent were not kind to your brain that was barely used to the Canarian lilt to Pedri's speech.

"Are you okay?"

The whisper came softly in your ear, hot breath against you skin causing an eruption of little bumps. Pedri's arm had not left your waist, but now he was rubbing delicate circles into your skin.

"I'm fine. Just... a little overwhelmed? I feel sort of out of place."

"Don't worry, linda. No one can take their eyes off you."

The affirmation only increased your heart rate once again, the thump against your chest beating in rhythm with the base from the speakers. You were acutely aware of the warmth of his palm against your skin, radiating through the fabric of your dress. You loosened up as the evening progressed, participating in the conversation more confidently and laughing more freely. Slowly, the boys excused themselves from the gathering one by one, and soon it was only you and Pedri in the low light, talking about the most beautiful scenery you have ever seen.

He was lost in describing his home island, the clear waters and lush foliage that he called home. You leaned forward, enraptured by the passion that he spoke with about the places and people he loved. Slowly, you found yourself getting closer and closer, until there was only a few inches of space between you. The gold flecks interspersed in dark brown became clearer, and you struggled to breathe as you watched Pedri's gaze drift to your lips.

"I am getting the impression you want me to kiss you. Please correct me if that's not the case." Pedri breathed out slowly, more strained than you had previously thought. You don't know what you were thinking. Maybe you weren't thinking. You just acted on what felt right. Closing the distance, you joined Pedri's lips to yours, arms around his neck as you kissed with a hunger borderline inappropriate for the public.

You weren't usually this person. It was usually a couple dates before you would allow for a goodnight kiss, let alone the almost make-out you were currently engaged in. You pulled away from Pedri, the heavy breathing a commonality between the two of you. Maybe it was the being in Spain. Maybe it was that he was hot and young and famous. Maybe it was that of all the girls throwing themselves at him, including your coworkers, he picked you after an hour of conversation. Something told you to take a chance on what could be your love at first sight moment. So when Pedri leaned close and asked,

"Do you want to go back to your place?"

There was no answer but yes.

~

The following morning was filled with bliss. Pedri had woken up just as the first rays of sunlight were painting the stone. He kissed you on the cheek, whispering something akin to "see you around" before he left to training. You floated through your morning, making a coffee in a daze and dressing with a permanent smile. Bryce was still fast asleep, so you left her about 30 minutes worth of voice messages before you had the guts to step out and hail your own cab to work.

You walked into the office still riding the high from the night before. Your skin was ablaze, and every time you thought of the "activities", heat spread through you rapidly. Luckily the November chill kept you from sweating through your bones. Your bliss lasted for most of the morning, as you worked with Maria and a couple of people you had never met to create a mood board for an upcoming photoshoot. As you flipped through paint swatches, a piercing scream split the air, causing you to drop to the ground and cover your head.

"Why are you on the floor, Naranja?"

One of the boys looked at you with raised eyebrows, and a part of your brain registered that your new work nickname had trickled into other departments.

"Oh, sorry. I went to high school in America. Screams like that meant someone was getting jumped. Or shot."

Another scream rippled through the hallway as Maria helped you up.

"That was Silvia. Given recent history, your prediction about her being attacked might be correct."

The both of you scurried down the hall, the clicks of the other department workers followed behind you, eager for the newest and juiciest chisme. The sight before you made you stop dead in your tracks. Roberto was holding Tania by the waist, apparently the only thing that was keeping her away from Silvia, who was on the other side of the room crying and grabbing her head. There was a trail of silver thread between the two hysterical women. No, not thread - hair.

"She cut my hair! She came up behind me and cut my hair!"

"She's a traitor and, more importantly, a whore! I should've slit her throat."

Katerina had finished ushering everyone who didn't work there out of the room, and now she was standing in the middle of the room ready to mediate.

"You two have 5 minutes to explain what the hell happened and why I shouldn't fire you."

Tania had calmed, no longer straining against an iron grip and gaze filled with slightly less murderous intent. She released the clump of hair that she had in her hand onto the floor, revealing the absolute carnage that had taken place. Safe to say Silvia was going to be rocking a pixie cut for the next few weeks. Both of the girls remained silent. The prisoner's dilemma in real time. Katerina clicked her tongue after the moment of silence and simply said, "Roberto."

You could swear you saw a smile on his face briefly before he cleared his throat and began.

"Tania gave the new girl a note with her phone number in it to send to Pedri. Pedri texts the phone number, but instead of addressing it correctly, he says-"

"HEY SILVIA. THIS MORNING HE TEXTS MY NUMBER WITH HER NAME." Tania's outburst had everyone stand up, fearing that she was going to lunge. She remained in place, but no one sat back down.

"So you decided to attack her because he can't tell you two apart?"

"She must have done something to my note. She-"

"No." Katerina interrupted. "I have hear enough. Both of you are no longer working on any project Pedro Gonzalez is involved in."

Protests came from both of the girls, suddenly sullen and docile. They began to plead to be punished with anything else, but not exile from their favorite footballer. As they whimpered to your boss, who reminded them they were lucky to still be employed, it dawned on you. This morning. He texted who he thought was Silvia this morning. In response to a flirty message. After he left your bed. Maybe before he had even left the apartment.

There it was again. The nausea. The urge to projectile vomit. All because of Pedro Gonzalez. Fuck a nickname. He was a rich fuckboy that had played you like a fiddle. You held the tears back as you went back to fabric swatches, taking a moment to block him on Instagram.

"So, how does it feel to be Pedri's personal stylist now?" Katerina startled you, and the shock caused a delay in processing what she had just said.

"His what?"

"Well, now that those two are not allowed to be within 50 meters of him, it's only you and Maria working the Adidas contract. Especially now that Roberto is part of the Olympics team. So you get Pedri, and she gets Bellingham. Perfect, no?"

You nodded, swallowing hard to push the bile back down. This very unfortunate one night stand maybe have been the worst idea you have ever had. You walked through the rest of the day with disgust and rage flowing through you. You decided to brave the cold of the November afternoon and walk home, stopping by a bakery to get something with chocolate to keep the tidal wave of intense depression at bay.

How could this be happening? You weren't this girl. You weren't someone who let yourself be gullible and played. Hell, you had gone the last four years with all of Texas and parts of Mexico vying for your affection. But this little Spanish boy took advantage of the connection you felt, and he had barely left your bed before starting to text your coworker. Your phone buzzed with several messages in rapid succession.

[Pedro Gonzalez]: My agent just told me you were my own personal stylist

[Pedro Gonzalez]: that's good to hear.

[Pedro Gonzalez]: At least I'll have a friend at all these long and boring photoshoots

No mention of the night before. No "I had a good time". No question about your wellbeing. Nothing except his own self interest. How the situation would be good for him. Again. You felt awful as you pushed a teenage boy out of the way, barely making it into the bathroom before throwing your guts up. What the hell. How did you manage to fuck up so poorly so quickly? It was day damn one. And now you were throwing up in a bakery bathroom in Spain because of a man that's 5'9". You sat at a table, cake and coffee cooling in front of you. You didn't trust your legs or your stomach just yet, so you decided to type out a response instead.

Pedri was in overall low spirits. His injury had had another flare up, causing him to limp to the locker room. The email from his agent brightened his day, as he saw your name in the email. He shot a quick text your way, excited at the prospect of seeing you again, only to sour at the response.

[Naranja]: dont speak to me pedro

[Naranja]: we are not friends

[Naranja]: and we never will be

[You can no longer send messages to this user]

~~~

A/N: Here it is! The first part of the new series! Just some preemptive answers: I don't know what my posting schedule will look like and idk how many parts it's going to be. I hope you enjoy this first part. It might be a little rushed because I just wanted to set up the main story. Please let me know your thoughts in comments and asks! I'll try to reply to as many as I can. I love you all <3

Palestine: I will try to donate $1 for every comment that has a watermelon or an olive in it. I will keep y'all updated with how it goes.

Here are some more links to please please please look at while you're here.

Care for Gaza: an org that has been getting help and aid to people on the ground -> https://www.gofundme.com/f/careforgaza

Daily click that donates money to help Palestinians -> https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

[onlyjaeyun]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐄𝐎.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: the boys barely use their twitter bc they're "too busy" and it wouldn't fit their characters but they do use IG more (except for jongseong) and enha's maknae line are going to make cameo appearances!🥺)

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆: 28, only son of The Park Company's owner Park Jongil, hobby chef, new CEO, one of SK most successful business men under 30, "the public's prince charming"

𝐘𝐋𝐍 𝐘𝐍: 21, university graduate but never had the opportunities to get far in her job until she runs into park nayeon at a cat cafe and gets an offer for a secretary position where she could finally work her way up, hobby baker, introvert, spends most time with her friends but lives alone, no contact to her family, moved to seoul after graduation (@/__solvely__ as faceclaim!!!)

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍: 28, TPC's CFO (chief financial officer), 1/3 of Jong's childhood best friends, seoul's man of the year

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍: 28, TPC's head lawyer, 2/3 of J's childhood best friends, literally known as "the standard" bc of how pretty he is, lives in the penthouse next door to jongseong

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆: 29, TPC's CMO (chief marketing officer), 3/3 of jong's cbfs, lowkey jong's right hand, made it on the forbe's list of most successful people under 30 alongside jjong

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐍𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍: 30, jong's older half sister, doesn't really have a job, does modelling work every now and then but mostly content creation on social media, same dad different moms, lives close to jongie bc as much as she hates her failure of a father she adores her baby brother

𝐘𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐀𝐇: 28, jong's childhood friend who grew up in the same circles as him, content creator as well, works part time at TPC bc jong's father forced him to hire her, unhealthily obsessed with jongseong, actually thinks she's going to marry him lmao

𝐘𝐔 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍: 22, y/n's childhood bestie and aeri's roomie, works in the marketing department of TPC, cat mom, loves her job but hates working, draws caricatures of her coworkers during meetings

𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐀 𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐈: 21, y/n's other childhood bestie who works in human resources at TPC, hates yoo shiah with her whole being but likes her job, besties with her boss, always has boiling hot office tea bc everyone just tells her everything

(A/N: I know I said I'd take a break but I really felt like posting the profiles now to hype you guys up a little more 🫣 i know i haven't responded to all the poison asks yet but i promise i'll get to it once i feel like it! this was also pre-made and ready to be posted weeks ago so not much work! sending everyone the fattest kiss and thank you so much for all the love and support. feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!!🥺💞)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @starlightmkl @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jjaeyuns @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @soiimo @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @teddywonie @azures @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @glitterssim @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

[babsisbakery]

The reunion (Ona Batlle x reader)

It has been 10 years since your graduation. Consequently, there will be a reunion and because you were the class representative you had to organise everything. Finding a date beforehand for everyone to have time to be present wasn’t easy. The next step was to send out invitations which did ask your former classmates if they’ll show up with a plus one or not. There were a few bets placed before you all parted ways, except for close friends of course, so you were eager to find out who for example had the first child or who was still single. You of course asked your remarkable girlfriend Ona if she’d be interested in joining you, anyone who bet on you to remain single on this day was so goddamn wrong that you couldn’t stop grinning. Since she held so much love for you, she agreed even though she only knew 3 people attending. Your two best friends, sadly one of them can’t bring their partner due to sickness. She wasn’t great with many new people but she’ll manage for one evening, her words not yours. You knew of her difficulty in large crowds but you promised to be by her side the whole event.

Considering Ona and your need to avoid last minute disasters, you bought matching outfits for the event. An extra fit was also purchased, if somehow the original fit got a stain or you changed your mind. Great to have oooptions. Therefore, the full-back picked out a black suit, whereas you chose a neat dress which exposed your left thigh to drive your girlfriend crazy. Plan B was similar, the only magnificent difference was the colour, it was Sacramento. If you don’t have to use plan b, it will be worn on the next award show your talented girlfriend has to attend, no doubt pleading you to accompany her.

Finally, the day of the reunion arrived. It was one of Ona’s free days. You spend it cuddling and watching Harry Potter, in Spanish. To make it easier for your girl, additionally to improve your Spanish. When it was time to get ready, which was a few hours before the actual event, you started to do your makeup. Ona and you preferred a more natural look which meant you didn’t spend much time doing it. “Mi amor you look so incredibly gorgeous, I can’t believe my eyes right now.” Ona’s jaw was hanging open. You were a blushing mess at seeing her reaction. “Th-th-Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself cariño.” Deciding its time to get dressed, showing your outfit to the full-back for the first time. Prior to this Ona hasn’t seen it yet. She was lost for words. Her eyes roamed shamelessly your body. 

It was as if her hands had a mind of their own, as they found their place on your waist pulling you into her. Standing right in front of her, lips almost touching. Additionally, your girlfriend towered slightly over you. Her hand sliding along your exposed left thigh. Your breath hitched. Standing on your tippy toes you broke the tension and kissed her. What initially started as a soft and tender kiss turned into a passionate make-out session. Tongues fighting for dominance, she bit into your lower lip. Subsequently saving the win for your girl but you for sure weren’t going to give up this easily next time. Next, she went to nibble under your ear. Your legs turned to jelly, mind completely foggy. The only thoughts you had were about your girlfriend and yourself doing not innocent things. Her making you unable to walk afterwards. Ona found way her up to whisper seductively into your ear, “You’ll be the death of me amor. This dress fits you so well. I want to do so many things to you.” Then reality hit you, you remembered how you ended up in this position. Quickly removing yourself from Ona’s proximity. Ona was confused, why the hell did you pull away. “Cariño we can’t, we need to leave in a few minutes.” You saw your reflection in the wardrobe mirror and gasped, “my lipstick is smeared,” turning your head to check if hers was smeared as well, “oh god, yours too. Okay let’s fix the mess we made and head out. As much as I wished to continue what we were heading to, we sadly don’t have time for it. Maybe later though.” You shot her a suggestive wink. The midfielder had a flabbergasted look on her face, after getting her brain to function normally again she went to you. Fixing your lipstick with her fingers, “Done”. You did the same in return. Both of you smiling from ear to ear. Shoes put on as well as purses ready to go, you headed out. Ona was driving as you loved to be her passenger princess. Her hand was always on your thigh. Squeezing it from time to time to get a reaction out of it. Breath hitched.  

After a short drive to the location you were the first to arrive, just as you had planned. You were the “host” which meant your duty was to greet everyone. Ona was by your side the entire time, you introduced her to the people you knew. She seemed to relax with each introduction she got into the flow of small talk. Some were nicer than others, which you had expected but it was uncalled for. Giving them a dirty look, no one messes with your woman or they’ll have to deal with a fuming Y/n.

Most people were chatting and mingling around. Whereas your girlfriend was directing you towards the open bar. She had to calm her mind because this event would be draining a lot of her social battery. “Cariño do you want your usual order or try something else?” you asked. Ona weighted her options for a second before replying with a sheepish smile, “The usual please.” Waving the bartender over you ordered two vodka lemons neat. To show gratitude the full-back pecked your lips. Just as your drinks were done, three former classmates joined your company. It was good to catch up with them but you could sense Ona occasionally zoning out. By the time they went back to chat to others, your drinks were already finished. Since Ona was the driver she couldn’t drink anymore but she wouldn’t stand in the way of your consumption. She damn well knew you required another one to get through the whole night. Despite this you refused another alcoholic beverage, if Ona couldn’t drink then you wouldn’t too.

Eventually you went to the crowd. Joining a small group to mingle. Loud voices surrounded you, music on a medium volume to be able to converse. It was getting to overwhelming for your girlfriend. Yet again you noticed your girlfriend zoning out, something wasn’t right. Whispering in her ear you asked “Mi vida are you alright?” She played it cool and responded “No, don’t worry all good.” It was hard to believe her words, yet you trusted her to tell you when it would get in a critical stage. In the middle of your conversation, Ona excused herself to go to the bathroom.

A few minutes have gone by and the full-back still hasn’t returned. As a concerned girlfriend you left your group to find her. Firstly, you checked the bathroom but she must have finished her business here. Next you checked if she was somewhere in the location. No luck. Your final option was to go to the balcony and hope she’ll be there, which she was. Her breathing was irregular, she was squatting and shivering. This rung your alarm bells. You went into full blown protective mode. In her state you knew she wouldn’t be able to leave right now, you decided to run and get her your coat from the car. Luckily the keys were in your clutch. Taking the coat and getting a glass of water on the way you arrived at Ona’s side in record time. Without saying a word, you handed her the water and covered her with your jacket. She took a few sips. Squatting before her, you placed your hand on her cheek. “Bebe what’s wrong, are you overwhelmed?” Her only response was a nod. “Take deep breaths for me okay, repeat after me.” You took her hand and placed it over your heart. This gesture helps to calm her down usually. Hence why you had to try it out. Ona lifted her head to look in your eyes. Taking deep breaths for her to mimic you. After a few moments she matched your breathing, she seemed to calm down. Your presence always calmed her down. Leaning into you she sighted “Gracias mi cielo. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here to help me.” You whispered “Shhh let’s not think about this okay. I am here, with you and I’ll be with you for eternity my dear.” Ona’s head was now on your shoulder, seeking the comfort she desperately needed this instant.

To see her in such a state was never pleasant, your heart crushed for your lover. You knew her limits for the evening were reached. Subsequently, you decided that enough is enough, time to go home. Even if Ona tried to argue with you to stay for a while longer you wouldn’t let her torture herself. Your mind was made up the moment you saw her helpless form on the balcony.

You went around as quickly as possible to say your goodbye’s, only out of politeness and maybe because your girlfriend insisted you to do so. You would’ve preferred to drive your girlfriend home but after receiving a harsh glare you didn’t dare to argue further.

Once this was finished, you were comfortably seated in the car. This time with you in the driver’s seat. Both of you buckled up, you started short drive. You decided to take Ona’s mind off by sharing something you had found out during the constant chatting, “Julia had the first child, the one who lives in Australia” “Ah you bet on her didn’t you amor.” Your girlfriend knew you too well by your shy smile she could tell she was right which made her smirk. “Which means I got from every participant 5 bucks. Take-out is on me.” A snort left Ona, “Most take-outs are on you, you won’t let me pay for anything amor.” “Well I love spoiling you darling.” The ride was filled with some light banter being exchanged.

Upon arriving at your destination, you both agreed, what to order and to simply enjoy the rest of the night cuddled up on your shared bed with lots of blankets, hot chocolate, the ordered food and many kisses.

[armpirate]

I hate how bad I want you || Choi San

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

pairing: Choi San x fem!reader || Boss x employee

w.c.: 2.5k

Warnings: Suggestive, making out

Summary: You hated your new boss with your guts. The mere thought of being around him made you lose it. Or so you thought until you saw a side of him, and yourself that you didn't know of.

You loved your job. You genuinely did. When you graduated, you thought you’d have an awful position in a small company that’d kick your ass after a few months. But unlike your low expectations, everything turned up quite well for you. Of course working as a secretary, when you studied Business Administration, wasn’t the ideal, but for that moment, it was perfect. It was a job that helped you pay the bills -after you were stubborn enough to leave your parents’ house- and allowed you to save some money, your colleagues were great -you ended up befriending most people in the office-, and your boss was awesome. Mr. Choi would always try to be a resource of help for everyone in the company, especially for you. Although you were his secretary, he always tried to show you how upper positions worked, and what tasks they had. Kind of as if he were preparing you for any promotion that could come your way. 

The job was perfect.

Or at least it was before there were some changes, and your position was the first one to suffer a change. While others were transferred to a different area, or directly to a different office, you stayed in the same place -which you thought was great, because your building was only twenty minutes away from your home, by bus. The only difference? Your boss. You went from assisting Mr. Choi, to be his son’s secretary as he was going to join the company after graduating. 

At first, it didn’t bother you. You’d lie if you said you didn’t like the change. San caught your attention the first day he set foot out of the elevator, walking around like he owned the place while his hands were hidden inside the pocket of his gray thick long coat. Just like the rest of the girls in the office, you were part of the group that were drooling over him -except that you did it in secret, instead of being as open as them about it. Mainly, because you were his secretary, and you wanted to keep your job. 

But as time went by, all that attraction started being replaced by annoyance and disgust. You didn’t want to say out loud that you hated him -because it was such a strong word-, but thinking about having to see his face every time you looked up, because he insisted on you being aware whenever he needed something, made you think of calling in sick every morning. Sometimes you’d even think about quitting. 

Okay, maybe you did hate him. But it was justified.

You lost count of the amount of times he fucked up since he started working there, which have been only three or four months. And that wasn’t even the worst part. The problem was that he’d always blame it on you. If he forgot about a meeting, it was because you didn’t schedule it properly -and not because he didn’t check. If he sent an email to the wrong person, it was because your calligraphy was barely readable on those post-its. 

Every day there was a new problem. And, with it, a new excuse to back it up. The problem with that was that he made you look useless and clumsy, and that could affect you during the evaluations at the end of the year. And, unlike him, you needed the good results to stay in the company and be able to pay all the expenses that came from living -basically. 

You got there earlier -as usual. You’d get there almost half an hour before the office started welcoming your colleagues, so you’d have plenty of time to get everything ready, surrounded by silence and calmness.

Thirty minutes later, some people started coming in, barely muttering a low “Hello” if they happened to walk past your desk, a way of greeting that really contrasted with your friend’s, Yana, who would sing out loud while resting her weight near the corner.

“How did your weekend go?” but she didn’t want to know about the several tasks you did back home, or how you argued with your landlady -who wanted to increase your rent out of nowhere. Yana was asking about something more interesting, more juicy.

“It was okay” you shrugged. 

The date was fine, the guy was friendly… but there was no chemistry. Talking to the technician that repaired the printers was almost the same, which was disappointing. Because you genuinely thought there was something going on when you both flirted non-stop in the office.

“Just okay?” she sighed disappointed, standing next to you while she waited for a better explanation.

“Yeah” you nodded, but you knew it wasn’t over.

“Did you invite him to check your cave?” the way she referred to sex made you cringe, moving uncomfortably on the spot. The lack of an answer made Yana insist “A kiss?” she frowned.

But before you could tell her that wasn’t the place nor the moment to talk about that, your new boss made sure to let her know. After making sure Yana flinched enough to stand up, San walked over his desk. His attitude was so weird. Usually, when sitting there, he’d always throw a sided smile at you, and you guessed it was because he knew you hated it. But today he sat there, with his eyebrows frowned while his eyes were lost on his own desk. 

Not like you cared though. If that was a sign that it’d be a calm day for you, you weren’t going to complain. You saw him placing his glasses properly, reaching out to one of the papers so he could read it. 

Looking at him right now, you couldn’t deny the sex appeal he had. His harsh factions made him a man that was easy to slip your eyes to. Way too easy. The problem came up when he interrupted his silence to open his mouth. 

The sound of a notification in your computer made you go back to reality, moving your eyes away from him to focus on the screen in front of you.

Mr. Choi: Did you get everything ready for my meeting?

You: Yes, the samples are on the small table behind you, and I already emailed you the presentation. 

You didn’t need an answer from him to know whether he got it or not, it was enough with lifting your eyes again to see San turning on his chair to pick up all the bound samples and leave them on his desk. 

“Hey, Y/n” another voice got you to finally move your eyes away from your boss. Marshall was looking at you with a smile “I really enjoyed the other night”.

Did he? You made your biggest effort not to frown and show how you didn’t feel the same way. Instead, you tried to match his energy, smiling and nodding, and even lying saying you two should repeat it any time. 

Another notification from your computer interrupted your chat, making you turn to it momentarily to find out that -not surprisingly- your boss sent you a new message.

Mr. Choi: Get ready. You’re attending the meeting, too.

You avoided looking up to San, because you were sure that if you did, the first reaction from you would be showing him your middle finger. You had scheduled an interesting workshop regarding leadership, that was planned by his father, and you wouldn’t be able to attend because your new boss was dumb enough to not be able to do shit by himself. If he had told you earlier, you’d have registered on the one that took place in the afternoon instead, before the inscriptions closed.

“Ready?” you heard his voice over you, while you saw his gray suit behind your computer. “Also, Marshall, don’t you have something to do?” you looked up to the two men, seeing an expression from San that made you want to punch him. It was that arrogant look you knew too well. 

“Yeah, I’m attending the meeting in five minutes as well” he let him know with a smile. 

That answer was something San didn’t expect, and his reaction was curious to you. Because why was he frowning, and clenching his jaw over his employees doing their job?

Too late to backtrack on his decision of having you there, San just waited for you to follow him to the big meeting room. 

San’s attention during the meeting kept shifting to you, seeing how Marshall and you kept exchanging smiles and looks every once in a while. It shouldn’t bother him the way it did, but there he was, trying his best not to throw that man off the window for earning those accomplice gazes from you. 

“Break time” you heard his voice sentence. Looking up to him, you found him twisting his jaw while tilting his head. 

You didn’t know what bothered him, and it wasn’t like you cared either. Honestly, you were grateful for that break, because your body was craving some coffee before being able to keep up with taking notes constantly. “Not you, Y/n” he said, as soon as he saw your attempt to walk to the door. 

Giving you an empathetic smile, Marshall just left the room, while the rest of the attendees also left the room and closed the door behind them. And you just stood there, waiting for him to tell you what he wanted from you, or what he wanted to change in five minutes and that’d put you in a tough position. 

“I see you laughing a lot with Marshall” he mentioned, without even looking at you. 

You couldn’t describe your face at that moment. Both eyebrows arched, surprised by that comment, but also confused by the nature of it. Sure you were paying attention to what was being said, but you were only there to take notes, which you did. It wasn’t your fault that he read the slides you prepared, instead of coming up with something to make it more dynamic. 

“In case you forgot, we’re in the middle of a meeting” he raised one of his eyebrows over the frame of his black glasses. 

You scoffed, not believing you were receiving a lecture about professionalism from the least appropriate person for it. 

“You have something to say?” he asked, finally getting up from his chair and walking over to you. 

You wished you were able to bite your tongue, to form a tie with it so it wouldn’t spill more than it should. But you were so fed up with him, that having San lecturing you about your work made you reply back without giving it a second thought “Quite funny how you’re the one calling this out, as if you hadn’t done worse”.

San tilted his head, with a sided smile forming on his face before he spoke “Difference is that I’m your boss, and you’re my secretary. I can make as many mistakes as I want, you can’t”. By the way he arched his eyebrows, you knew he wasn’t done.

“So talking with a coworker is a mistake now?” you tried to do your best not to laugh in his face.

“It is if it distracts me” he stepped closer.

“For fuck’s sake, you get distracted by a fly. How is that my problem?” It was after exclaiming that, that you were finally aware of how close you two were. You could perfectly see the way his skin wrinkled on his frown, and could feel his heavy and thick breathing making some of your locks move. 

San analyzed your burning gaze, eyes dropping to your plump lips, before he gave in to his wild instincts. His lips captured yours in a rough way, trying to suck into your lower lip as if that would refrain you from pushing him away. 

A wet sound flew between you two when your hands, pressed against his chest, forced him to step back and break the kiss. You were ready to slap his face and leave the room, but something in the way he looked, how his lips were parted for more, built some type of electricity inside of you that clouded your judgment. Because you weren’t seeing your annoying boss anymore, you were seeing a sexy man that was giving you the most shameless of looks with his foxy eyes through his lenses. 

Your tongue clicked, scolding yourself for your thoughts, but also working as a sign of where you lost your mind. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him to you so you’d be able to link your lips together again. His arms instantly moved around your waist, making sure your bodies were glued together. 

You were impressed. Completely surprised by the fact that a two second kiss did more for you than a two hour date. And, to top it all, all your senses went numb because of your boss, instead of everyone’s crush. But instead of fighting all your awakening needs, you just let yourself go, lost in the kiss that made your head turn in circles and turned your knees weak as jelly. 

Just like the entitled asshole he was, he dug inside your mouth without a previous warning, earning a gasp when his tongue pushed yours. You held onto his blazer when his hands started pulling your pencil skirt up, folding it until it barely covered your ass. His hands grabbed it, and you couldn’t understand it, but feeling his growing bulge against your stomach woke up something that you didn’t know you felt about your boss. 

His fingers moved lower, confidently traveling down your legs until they got to your inner thighs while his thumbs still pressed tight over your ass cheeks. One move from his whole body, and he already got you lifted over the crystal table with your legs wrapped around his thin waist.  

Your body reacted to every kiss and every move of his tongue, to his fingers rubbing all over your thighs to spread them wider so he could fit better -and, especially, to the dangerous situation you both were in. 

“I could fuck you right here and now” his raspy voice felt like the most torturous caress in your ear. “, but I’ve already been unprofessional enough, according to you”. 

Confused by his words, you felt his hands dragging your thong down your legs. And instead of being filled with anything that came from him, you felt the cold air hitting your sensitive spot when he stepped back. “Now go and tell everyone to come back inside”.

You tried to reach for your underwear, but his hand was quicker, moving it away before you were able to even touch it. Any hope of having them again disappeared when he saved them inside one of his pockets. “Are you fucking crazy? Give them back” 

“Take it as a punishment for being way too friendly with Marshall all up in my noses” he said, walking back to his seat to act as if nothing had happened between you two. 

Nothing could describe the anger you were feeling, and how you were ready to break each one of the laptops in his head. But you tried to keep your cool, placing your skirt like it was supposed to -thanking god its length was under the knee, so it was easier for you to hide the fact that you were wearing no underwear. 

You swore one of those days you’d kill him, and there was no way you’d feel bad in the slightest.

[sushiwriterhere]

pink light

summary: "He had done as best as he could, had stayed through a pizza dinner huddled on your bed. Your mom had tried to soothe you after he’d left, promising you’d find your person, that it wouldn’t always feel this way, being the butt of the joke. You didn’t really believe her–but how do you describe feeling like you’re always walking into the middle of a conversation, missing out on the inside joke and not really ever belonging?”  rating: teen + up pairing: jake seresin x f!reader (unrequited) word count: ~4k warnings: unrequited love, angst, potentially ooc!, no use of y/n.  notes: this is my first fic in a long while and my first attempt at top gun/writing hangman. also incredibly self indulgent and therapeutic – please feel free to tell me what you think!!! not beta'd <3 after some consideration, I have decided I will not be writing a second part to this fic.

If you had to describe your relationship with Jake Seresin, how you knew him, you’d probably say friends since childhood, fellow military brats, maybe even Thing 1 and Thing 2. You two were inseparable from the moment your parents introduced you. Despite any worries about Jake being a few years older, he took you under his wing. There you stayed–ever his dutiful shadow. He’d invite you to parties, let you sit on the sidelines during sports practices, field snide comments about your relationship. 

Now, here you were however many years later, having followed him to Fightertown after a brief stint of separation during college and him in flight school. You’d followed your parents desires dutifully, getting a degree in something ‘useful’ and maintained a slew of internships, part time jobs, and your studies all at the same time. But all you ever really wanted was a routine, a quieter place in the world. Your classmates went off to graduate school, first-year positions at big consulting companies, and all you wanted to do was be near Jake.

To his credit, he’d taken it completely in stride. He’d helped you apartment hunt and settle in, had talked to Penny about getting you a job and so there you were, reunited again. Except something was different. 

It was a secret to absolutely no one that you loved Jake, deeply. At first your parents had laughed quietly at the puppy love, the way you quietly followed him around, blinking owlishly behind your glasses and just nodding along to whatever he was blabbering on about at the time. Then it was a bit less funny, watching Jake go through high school and all of a sudden be tall, blonde, and handsome. You didn’t really have the words for what you felt, so you just watched as he had girlfriend after girlfriend, each of them treating you with a range of emotions from kindness to outright disdain. 

It had been especially bad once–you’d been asked out as a joke by one of the more popular kids in your grade. You’d shyly accepted before being met by laughter that echoed around the hallways, everyone turning to look (if they weren’t observing already). 

Your mom picked you up early that day. 

“I’m going to beat his ass.” Jake burst through your bedroom door, interrupting your quiet sniffling and causing you to jump with surprise, “Tell me who it is and I’ll fix it.”

You paused your crying to force out, “It’s fine, Jake.”

The scowl on his face was as dark as a thousand nights, “Oh it absolutely is not. I’ll make his life a living hell next year.”

And there he was, saving the day as always. You’d cried harder that night after he left, apologizing but he “had a date” that he couldn’t miss, not even for you. He had done as best as he could, had stayed through a pizza dinner huddled on your bed. Your mom had tried to soothe you after he’d left, promising you’d find your person, that it wouldn’t always feel this way, being the butt of the joke. You didn’t really believe her–but how do you describe feeling like you’re always walking into the middle of a conversation, missing out on the inside joke and not really ever belonging?

So when you and Jake had drifted slightly during his time in flight school and your eventual transition to college, there again was that feeling. Like you were watching your own life on an old TV, trying to tune the frequency and always coming back in in the middle of the plot, not sure where you were supposed to be and with whom. The calls became infrequent, more apologies than actual conversation. Then the first deployment happened, and the letters were brief, impersonal. 

Somehow, even now, in the same town, in an apartment not far from base, from where he lived, you felt like there was a part of the story you were missing. You tried not to let it gnaw at you but seeing him come to the Hard Deck with his buddies, sitting there on the sidelines for beach football, seeing how close he had gotten with the other fighter pilots in your absence–now that stung. 

But you had to focus on the everyday, the constants.

“That better not be a phone on my bar!” Penny’s voice rang out over the din of the shouting in the bar, and you felt yourself laugh as you watched Mav’s face turn bright red. 

“I’d be happy to re-open that tab of yours, Maverick.” You grinned at him, and he shook his head.

“I knew I should’ve stopped Hangman from talking Penny into hiring you, you’re more on her side than mine.” You smiled at the man, glad for his presence–besides you knew he didn’t mean it. 

Your parents were far away, and though they loved you, they were always just a bit detached. Military parents just tended to be like that in your experience. So having Mav and Penny around really made Fightertown feel like home. And certainly, having Jake around didn’t hurt at all (despite the distance). 

And like speaking the name of the devil, over the chaos you heard your name–Jake.

“How’s my favorite bartender doing?” You’d never get over that smile of his, the one he reserved for you (at least you hoped). It was all teeth, crinkles by his eyes, and joy. 

You shook your head, “No matter how much you flatter me, I’m not giving you free beer.”

“You wound me,” the smile never faltered, “But I’m actually not here for a free drink. I’m here for all that worldly wisdom that you gain by being a bartender. Psych’s of the drinking world, something like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you poured a gin and tonic without sparing him a glance, “A major in psychology does not count as me being a psychologist, Jake.”

“Ah, see, but you’re also a woman, so that means you’re qualified to help me out.” This time, he wasn’t looking at you when you turned your attention to him. 

Look, you weren’t dumb. You’d understood since his early high school years that Jake had become a very handsome, very charming man. He’d always been cute, and you’d always thought he had a certain air about him, but somehow shooting up to a solid six-foot and spending all his time in the gym had really done it for every other woman ever. And the string of girlfriends, one night stands in between, never stopped. So you just resigned yourself to nodding along. 

Absolutely nothing about that part of Jake had changed in flight school or beyond, apparently. And he seemed determined to make his way through the female population of Fightertown. For what it was worth, at least he never let them think anything of him but exactly what he was offering–a good time, and nothing else. That’s what he wanted and what they gave him. So him asking for advice from you because you were a woman? That made something clench tight in your chest and grit your teeth just a bit. 

“So now I’m a dating guru?” A rum and coke with a smile to the patron who didn’t even glance at Jake, “Here’s your card, sir, enjoy your evening.”

When you finally made eye contact with him, he just had one eyebrow raised in that incredibly irritating way of his, “Uh, no. But you have feelings and you like poetry and shit, so I need your help.”

If there was one thing that Jake’s string of one night stands was good for, it was letting you maintain your silly daydream of him wisening up one day and seeing you the way you saw him. This, however, felt like a punch in the stomach, like someone had come in the middle of the night and stolen all the spouts off every liquor bottle in the Hard Deck. You wouldn’t necessarily be flying blind during an evening of pouring drinks, but there would be a lot of spillage and a really high chance of tears. 

“I’m not helping you manipulate some poor girl, Jacob.” The full name card; his eyebrow lowered a smidge, “Besides, why don’t you ask Phoenix? She’s a woman.”

He groaned and slumped over on the bar. Gross. You hadn’t had a chance to wipe it since the start of the evening rush, and that had been a very, very, long time ago. You ignored his mini moping session, hoping he’d give up asking you about poetry (what the hell?) and feelings. This was the last thing you wanted to deal with right now. 

Instead, he just stood straight up after a few moments of grumbling, smile intact as ever, “Phoenix doesn’t count, I’m pretty sure her dick is bigger than mine. But you’ll help me right? C’mon, where’s the Bug I know? You used to do anything I’d ask you to.”

A low blow, your childhood nickname. It still stung sometimes that he called you that–you hadn’t been ‘bug-eyed’ since freshman year of high school since you refused to put your middle school glasses back on and your parents had relented and let you get contacts. 

You huffed, “Leave me alone, Jake, I have to work.” You bent over to start breaking up the blocks of ice in the cooler by your feet, if only to hide the way your face was bright red. 

He slapped the bar counter, signaling his retreat, at least for now. This was not going to end well. 

-

Not going to end well? That was the understatement of the year. Whichever girl Jake had his eyes on now was clearly different from the others. He hung around after your shift to annoy you again, and this time he would not take no for an answer. Following you around as you closed, he lifted kegs and moved twenty pound bags of ice, all the while managing to maintain a monologue all about this girl. At some point you almost considered breaking a beer bottle over his head if only to get him to stop talking for ten seconds. 

“Listen, just this once, okay? I just really want your help. Tell me what to do.” How was his voice carrying from where he was under the pool table, scraping gum off the underside. “God, this is fucking disgusting–Penny makes you do this every night? It looks like this hasn’t been cleaned since she bought it.”

Penny actually pretended she couldn’t see the nasty shit stuck under the pool tables, but Jake was annoying you enough that it didn’t matter. Anything to get him to stop asking you for advice about this girl. 

“Please shut the fuck up or go home.” The sound of you throwing a wet rag into the bucket by your feet echoed throughout the empty bar. 

You’d had enough. At this point it was almost four in the morning and all you wanted was to lay down for the next forty-eight hours and not think about anyone or anything. 

His head popped out from underneath the table with a look of surprise. You usually didn’t tell him off, at least seemingly content with letting him prattle on about whatever he felt. There was a good flow, sometimes he’d listen to you complain and other times he’d rest his cheek on the bartop and talk about a particularly bad flight drill. This was clearly different.

You hoped you didn’t look as exasperated as you felt, but you saw the sag in his shoulders at your expression, “Right. Sorry.”

You hated it when he did that–you knew it wasn’t on purpose but it took all the air out of the room when he was upset. But this time you were upset enough that you ignored the tug in your stomach at the heavy silence in the room. 

“Look, I’m finished closing here, and I just really want to go home.” 

The two of you maintained an uneasy silence as you shut off the lights and locked the doors behind you. You did your best not to meet his eyes, the overhead lights of the parking lot casting funny shadows on his face that made him look much younger than he actually was. Sometimes you thought you couldn’t breathe when he looked like that–like when you’d first met, attention always focused on you as you followed him around. 

“I upset you. I’m sorry.” His lips were pursed in a flat line, but he was looking at you like he was trying to understand something. 

Suddenly, the gravel beneath your feet was the most interesting thing in the world. That was, until he pulled you into his arms and squeezed you tight. There he was, enveloping you, burying you in the smell of something so distinctly Jake it made you dizzy with want and hope. 

“It’s okay. Drive me home?” 

You felt him nod against your head, and you silently let him go. His arms didn’t drop from your shoulders until a few moments later. He always did that and somehow it was the worst and best thing in your life. 

-

It wasn’t until your shift the next day that what had transpired between you two hit you fully watching him act sheepish and lay it on thick for who he was evidently asking you about. She was beautiful–tan skin, a wide smile, and bright eyes. Her laugh sounded like music and she was dressed just right, like she was putting in effort but still casual enough for a bar like the Hard Deck. 

You wanted to be sick. Scream, cry, whatever it took. Again, you weren’t entirely naive, but Jake had never made it so obvious to you. There had always been an ocean, an eight hour flight–something, anything, separating your realities. He’d always maintained that you were someone special to him but this felt like your world was shattering in front of your eyes. 

It was embarrassing to admit, but at least the high school girlfriends and the one night stands were easy enough to watch pass by. You two moved around too much for any high school sweetheart nonsense, and by the way Jake made flight school sound, he was clearly more focused on being top of his class than anything else. 

At the very least, the universe seemed to pity you if only for the moment. The Hard Deck was incredibly busy on a Friday night, and it only took a few patrons to block your line of sight to your worst nightmare. You worked on autopilot, letting muscle memory and the part of your brain that excelled at customer service take over. In your head, though, you were about to lose it.

All you could see was him leaning close to her, clearly whispering something hilarious into her ear, and her throwing her head back in laughter. The way his hand pressed into her waist made you sick.

It was only after closing, after everyone had been sent home, that you let yourself exhale. Sinking to the ground behind the bar, you buried your face in your hands, reeking of alcohol and all. It took everything in your not to completely break down–you still felt a few stray tears slip out. God, you were so stupid. So young, so naive. 

In that moment it didn’t feel like you had ever moved past that wide eyed six year old meeting Jake for the first time. You’d had boyfriends, kissed a few strangers, but they’d all faded into a sort of background noise whenever compared to Jake. But in that moment, it felt like you were finally hearing the beginning, middle, and end of the conversation.

Beginning: You were Jake’s little shadow, always two steps behind, always tripping over yourself to keep up. 

Middle: At some point, Jake grew up, and you didn’t. 

End: Jake was not in love with you. 

-

Penny took one look at your face when you walked in for your Saturday shift and immediately tried to send you home, “Even if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not letting you work when you look about three seconds from bawling.”

It stung but she was right. You’d gone home after Friday’s shift and sobbed yourself to sleep. Jake had tried to call in the middle of the day Saturday and you sent him to voicemail. That of course prompted several more calls, all to voicemail, and at least six text messages, all of which you left unanswered. You half expected him to show up at your place and breakdown the door, but he didn’t show. Whether that was worse or better, you hadn’t decided yet.

“Penny, I’m–Look, I’m fine. I’d actually really prefer to work, I need the distraction.” You did your best at a smile, truly hoping she would buy it. 

She narrowed her eyes at you, and gave you a once-over. By the grace of something bigger than the universe, she let you pass her into the back so you could clock in. 

You knew Jake would be here, but you just kept your head down, hoping that would somehow protect you. It was actually Phoenix who found you first, tucked in the back taking a breather from running cups and bottles of liquor so you wouldn’t have to talk to customers. 

She called your name softly and offered a small smile, “Hey, there you are.”

Phoenix and you had always gotten along. She was always sweet to you, always ribbing on the guys on your behalf, and defending you from any creep who decided to try and make a move. But she was also always dangerously observant, and you could tell that this time would be no different.

So despite everything going on around you two, she crouched down beside you, and began pulling everything out of you the way she always did, “I can tell something’s wrong. And I know it’s because of Hangman.”

That was all it took–slapping a hand over your mouth, you felt the sob rise in your throat. Clearly alarmed, she grabbed your other hand and tugged you out back, doing her best to avoid the eyeline of the other fighter pilots. Once out in the dark you sank into the sand and she rubbed your back soothingly as you let your emotions pour out. 

You left no stone unturned, spilling every part of your heart out to her. How you had been in love with Jake probably since the beginning, how you’d waited on the sidelines for your moment, how you’d gone to college on the other side of the country hoping it would help, how the distance felt like an old battle wound. And through it all, she sat and listened thoughtfully. 

“I think you should talk to him. Hangman-” She stopped herself, “Jake shouldn’t be making you feel like this, honey, no one should. But he won’t know unless you tell him.”

Despite it all, you were a romantic. When you had your first middle school crush (other than Jake) you’d marched right up to him and told him straight to his face. You went on your first date because you asked. It never made any sense when looking at every other part of you, but love was just something you couldn’t keep to yourself. Other than Jake. 

“You should talk to him.”

“Phoenix?” There he was, calling your name, “Guys? What’s going on?”

He thundered down the back stairs of the Hard Deck, shaking sand everywhere, his silhouette blocking out the light from the bar. When he spotted you kneeling in the sand with Phoenix at your side, his shoulders sagged. 

“Are you hurt? What happened?” He stopped short by Phoenix and they seemed to have some sort of wordless conversation because she stood and he plopped himself down in her stead.

You wouldn’t look at him. The world felt too big and too small at the same time, like the universe was crashing down on your head and the only thing you could manage to do was let it happen. Phoenix, that traitor, pressed her lips to your head, and walked back into the bar. 

There it was, that part of you that just couldn’t hold back its feelings rearing its ugly head. Except this time it wouldn’t be a schoolyard rejection, it wouldn’t be an awkward pizza date, it would be the end of something bigger than yourself. For a moment, you let yourself bask in what you knew, deep down, was the end of what you had been, and an uncomfortable start to where you would go. 

“Well, I clearly did something.” Jake wasn’t looking at you either–he was looking at the ocean and fiddling with a drink straw. 

“You, uh, well,” You cleared your throat, “It’s not really your fault.”

“Bug, you have like a thousand missed calls from me and probably a thousand more missed texts.” 

The tears were coming again–guilt, fear, sadness, all pouring out of you. You imagined him pacing around his apartment, wearing a hole in the carpet, trying to reach you. You imagined him calling Phoenix and asking for advice. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Isn’t that my line?” He turned to look at you, clearly hoping cracking a joke would ease the tension–no such luck. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” He stilled beside you. 

“Bug, I don’t–I can’t fix what I did if you won’t tell me.” He was looking back at the ocean, the drink straw now some sort of complicated sailor’s knot.

Swallowing roughly, you figured it was now or never, truly. You closed your eyes, pretending that this moment would be different, that what you were about to say would bring an outcome different than it really would. Maybe in another universe there would be a Jake who saw you as someone other than a younger sibling, his little shadow. 

“I love you, Jake. And there’s nothing that can fix that aside from time.”

He was quiet. There it was. 

“I’m sorry,” He dropped the nickname, using your real name, “I didn’t realize. I must’ve really hurt you with all that poetry shit.”

You felt hollow, numb from every fingertip to your core, “Right.”

“You’re brave, Bug, braver than I’ll ever be. But, I can’t–I’m not that person for you, I’m sorry.” His voice sounded thick with emotion. “I can give you space, whatever you need. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, you just sat next to him, looking out at the ocean. The moon was clear in the sky, Fightertown always maintaining a balmy, clear sky. Here you were, having followed your first, and one true, love across the country. None of it felt real. 

“Thank you, Jake. It’ll take time, but I’ll be fine.” You looked at him for the first time, truly, since things had started unraveling. 

He looked so human, so tired, under the moonlight. It pained you, but for a moment you felt that flicker in your chest, the one you felt whenever he distanced himself, the one that reminded you how human he was. He hadn’t been that little boy for a long, long time. Your days of swingsets and bike rides and childhood inside jokes were past. 

There was some part of you that knew you would be able to breathe again, if not now then in a week, a month, a year. He’d get deployed again, you’d settle back into your routine at the Hard Deck. You’d find your person, like he clearly had. 

And it was time for you to accept that.

[billthedrake]

Another story idea given by @maturedadsandmen

BIRD IN THE HAND

Cole Walker was about two blocks from his destination when his phone rang. He normally wouldn't answer it, but it was his sorta-kinda boyfriend/fuckbuddy John. Cole still made fun of John for still preferring to call instead of just text, but that's what you get sometimes for dating a man much older.

"Hey," the 24 year old answered. DC weather had moved from cold to brisk and his cheeks were flush.

"Hiya sexy," the said. John's voice was a craggy tenor, with an upstate New York accent. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

Cole smiled. The whole arrangement with John was weird, to say the least. The congressional staffer didn't even know the guy's last name. John was an FBI agent who was VERY closeted. In a town like DC, that wasn't unusual, and Cole himself had only told a couple of close friends that he was gay. But John seemed to want the boyfriend stuff as much as the sex. Cuddling, long talks, dates. All while being crazy protective of his privacy.

"Tough day?" Cole asked. He wished he didn't feel so eager to talk to the man, but it wasn't like he was ready for an open boyfriend either. The fact the federal agent was 47 made something real and public seem impossible to the younger man. He, too, enjoyed the play-pretend nature of their dating if he was honest with himself.

"And how," John breathed. "I'm about to meet a buddy for dinner, but I wanted to call... we still on for date night Saturday? I'll take you somewhere nice." It was only then that Cole could tell the man was in a public place and talking a little quieter than normal.

"Yeah," Cole replied. "And you don't have to go all out. I just enjoy seeing you."

There was a contrite pause on the other end. "I know I've not been good at things lately.. but would it be pushing my luck to have you stay over this time?"

Cole's heart pounded. It was hard to hold a grudge. "No, not at all."

John's volume got lower. "Damn, studly," he hissed. "That's gonna help me get through this week all right."

"Yeah," the younger man chimed in.

"Listen... I gotta go. But see you Saturday?"

"Yep," Cole replied. "Looking forward to it."

After they hung up, Cole felt guilty. It wasn't like he and John were boyfriends, really, not in the conventional sense, and they'd never said anything about being exclusive. If the agent ever asked, Cole would very likely agree to be a one-man guy but until then...

But the real reason he felt guilty is that Paul Ricciardi pushed his buttons in a different way than John. Cole dubbed him the "Head Honcho" is his mind, and while Ricciardi wasn't the number one guy at the Bureau, he wasn't that far down the org chart. In a lot of ways, he was the opposite of John - married and addicted to down-low sex, more dominant in bed, and confident in hooking up with a recently graduated dude despite his high-profile position. He knew Cole Walker was after dick and wasn't gonna blab to anyone.

Paul was just wrapping up a phone call when he heard the buzzer of the apartment. The rental was justified as a place to crash for late nights, but certainly his wife knew her 53-year-old husband kept on an affair, maybe more than one. They just never talked about it. The dont-ask-dont-tell approach worked for the law man.

Ricciardi's gruff face cracked a smile when he opened the door to see Cole. Dudes like this were dime a dozen in DC... congressional staffer, needy bottom, daddy issues galore. But this Walker kid was exceptional: he'd played soccer at Georgetown and his bulking up since graduation had interfered with that youthful jock look. The real deal. No two ways about, Cole was gorgeous. Just the right amount of masculine, the right amount of cute, total boy-next-door who still carried that jock gain as he walked in.

"Hey," Cole's voice said, quietly as he walked in. He respected Paul's need for discretion, it was almost intuitive.

"Hey," the career law enforcement man whispered in a soft growl, shutting the door. "You look hot as fuck."

Cole's eyes swept up Ricciardi's build. Mid-50s and fit as ever, the toned daddy beef filling out Paul's conservative but expensive suit and the short-cropped gray hair setting off the intensity of the man's brown eyes. The tie was loosened but other wise he was a poster boy for Bureau leadership. "You too," he gulped.

Paul grinned and reached up to cup the back of Cole's neck, yanking the younger man into a hot kiss.

Cole moaned into Paul's mouth as that thick tongue conquered him. He could taste scotch and smell the man's cologne. Reflexes kicked in as he reached forward to hold the man's suited waist, enjoying the feel of the Head Honcho's hard body beneath.

The kiss was over as quickly as it started. Ricciardi stepped back and reached down to unzip his suit trousers. The man wasn't overly hung - like John, his cock was meaty, even fat. "Gonna suck Daddy's cock, kid?" Paul roughly growled.

"Fuck yes," Cole said. He's been with only six men since first becoming sexually active at 21. But he quickly realized he was all bottom - orally and anally. He was still surprised he'd bagged two FBI men over the last year and a half. Luck, for sure, but it was also clear the ex-soccer jock had a type. Both Paul and John were strong, silent daddy personalities. His own father was a PA state trooper, and one day Cole would have to analyze the fucked-up part of his head that got turned on by that. Or not. Maybe it was something that could never fully be explained - it's just something about a law enforcement man pushed his buttons big time.

Paul Ricciardi was careful about who he fucked. He had a one-at-a-time rule, for the sake of discretion. By now, he'd had his share of hot young men. He'd met some real sluts and a couple of ex-jocks like Cole. But no one had combined that effortless masculinity with a real bottom eagerness like this kid.

"Fuck yeah," he growled as Cole began deep throating that fat hog. "Swallow Daddy."

More than he realized Cole was worked up that evening. He would have chalked it up to missing this cock, but actually Paul had reached out to him more frequently lately, no longer the once a month booty call. Maybe the more he had it, the more he wanted it.

That hand now clasped the back of Cole's neck and held tight as Paul's hips went into overdrive. Fast hard jabs battered the back of Cole's gullet. It was too much, and Cole coughed some on it, which made Paul pause before starting a gentler, if no less deep, thrusting.

Finally he pulled out, that dick spit wet and rock hard. It was beautiful to Cole. Like with John, he decided he liked the extra girth more than he craved extra length. For as bottomy as he was, the young stud wasn't a size queen. He'd prefer a tool that could use him without too much discomfort.

"To the bedroom, kid," Paul hissed, a hint of a smile cracking on the stern face. He was used to being in charge in every aspect of his life. He was in charge now. But something about this jock stud made him feel a little less in control.

Cole scrambled up. He'd learned to come over to Paul's prepared. Sometimes the two took their time, sometimes the married man seeded him in two minutes flat and sent him back home. As they entered the spare bedroom for the apartment, Cole quickly peeled off his sweatshirt and T in one move and just as quickly kicked off his sneakers and peeled down the jeans. There was nothing underneath and his own hardon stood up erect and excited. Cole may not have had the girth of his boyfriend or this man, but he was hung longer and the sparser crotch hair made his jock bone look even longer.

Paul was taking off his suit and laying it on a chair. He'd hang it up later. For now, his ravenous eyes were on Cole as he got onto the bed, on all fours. They didn't always mate this way but it was Ricciardi's favorite position, and Cole's too, thought they'd never talked about it. They just fucked.

Then watched the Head Honcho step toward the bed, his body tightly dense from dedicated workouts. The chest fur wasn't as silver as his hair, but it was getting there, and it got denser the closer toward that magic cock, which was already dripping.

"Damn, when was the last time you got off?" Cole asked.

Paul climbed on the bed and ran his hand over the ex-jock's dusty haired but half smooth rump. "Fucked the wife yesterday," he hissed. "I'm just a horny guy."

"I'll say," Cole replied. He didn't know what he thought about fooling around with a married man. It probably wasn't the moral thing to do. At least John was single, or said he was single. Maybe the man lied, hence the lack of a last name.

Then Cole felt the nuzzling of the man's face in his clean crack and the contact of that thick tongue. John was actually better at rimming, or at least liked to go longer, but something about Paul's intensity drove him wild. "Yes," he hissed backing his ass back against the man's munching face. A hard slap hit his cheek as the Head Honcho dove in more eagerly. It was gonna be a quick one, but Ricciardi was a grade-A ass man and could rarely resist a taste of Cole's jock hole.

"Goddamn," the FBI man finally said as he leaned up. Cole could feel that hard beef press against his back as Paul reached over for some lube. Just a squirt, not too much... Ricciardi liked a snug ride.

The man quickly fingere Cole and almost as quickly lined up that fat prick to press in.

Cole's deflowering, the night after his 21st birthday, had been by a very patient man, and he'd lucked out to find a couple of tops who knew how to go slow at first. Paul Ricciardi was the first man to show Cole he didn't always need slow.

That dick popped in now, snapping open the elasticity of the young man's pucker.

"Fuck yes!" Paul growled. He leaned forward again, covering Cole's smooth back with his own meaty furry one. "You feel that kid?"

"God yes," Cole hissed. Maybe it was the rank or the badge, but everything about Paul turned him on and made this FAR easier than he'd ever imagine. He even enjoyed the crude way Ricciardi's bone just barreled in further, past his internal tightness. "Fuck me, man."

That was Paul's cue, his green light. Wrapping an arm around Cole's shoulder and neck, he held on tightly and thrust all the way into the hot stud. Barely taking a rest, he began fucking, hard.

"Oh fuck!" Cole whimpered. He wished he could keep his normally deep voice low, but the pitch rose once Paul reamed him like this. "Oh god, oh fuck!"

A hand clasped over his mouth. Paul wasn't overly verbal today, though he could be. Instead he gripped the kid close and rode him hard. It had been a tough week and he needed a fuck like this to channel his stress.

Each mating like this made Cole wonder if it could get better. His prick was now leaking like crazy on Paul's bedsheets and his muscles flexed involuntarily in the man's strong grip.

THIS is what made him feel about going around behind John's back. Cole wished to god that John could fuck like this, or would fuck like this. The Head Honcho was even less available a man than John, but he outmanned Cole's boyfriend in the sack.

BAM, BAM, BAM. Paul's fat cock was relentless now. Some guys couldn't take it. Cole could, and would. The very knowledge had the FBI big-wig's prick getting slick with his own precum.

Cole concentrated and forced himself to quiet his moans. The hand unclasped from his mouth and moved to feel up more of the ex-soccer jock's lean body.

"You're close," he heard. Paul wasn't asking a question.

Cole forced his voice back to its deeper register. "Yah." He felt light headed now. Before Paul he thought hands-free cums were a myth. They weren't though, and he was about to offer proof again now.

"Oh shit," he breathed in a whisper. His dick jerked and the first spray of precum jetted out, matching what Paul was pushing deeper and deep into his guts with each hard jab.

BAM, BAM, BAM. The fucking was harder and faster, if possible, only Ricciardi was starting to lose his cadence. The man was orgasming now.

Cole's dick now jerked again, and the cum flew out. Seven heavy ropes of young cum being pressed out from within. Cole didn't pass out exactly, but he lost focus, like he'd sucked too many poppers at once.

Paul's body slowed and now rested immobile on his back. A light kiss was the one gesture of affection Ricciardi offered him, ever, but the simple act was more powerful for it. Cole wished he could have experienced his partner's cum more vividly, but the payoff of the simultaneous orgasm made up for it. He and John had done that once.

Paul rolled his muscular, FBI-fit body off his sexual conquest and lazily plopped onto the mattress. He was sweaty and handsome as fuck and his prick still twitched in its wetness, semen oozing out of the tip.

Just as lazily Ricciardi reached over to stroke Cole's side as the younger stud gingerly stretched his legs and lay on his back. "Remind me to thank your boyfriend for the hall pass," he hissed.

Cole had told the Head Honcho that he was seeing someone. He's admitted it to put Paul at ease for a discreet hookup, but he regretted sharing that info now. "He doesn't know, actually."

Paul chuckled. "I thought you said you had an arrangement... but that's cool, kid."

Cole felt embarrassed. "I mean, we don't have an exclusive thing, but I guess I haven't gone into details with him."

Normally the Head Honcho would be getting up, going to piss, showering off, or just slipping on some sweat pants in a clear signal it was Cole's time to go. Instead the man's eyes seemed not to get enough of the 24-year old and his hand moved up to gingerly stroke Cole's cute-handsome face.

"Well, I'm glad this works out for you," Ricciardi said. "I know I come on strong, but you're really fucking hot."

"I know," Cole smiled. He knew his worth, but it was also a joke.

Paul got it, chuckling. "As you can tell, I'm a busy man... but I'd love to see you a little more often. If it works out with you and your boyfriend." For a take-charge man, he seemed surprisingly shy in his request.

"That's be hot," Cole said. Paul Ricciardi didn't kiss as much as Cole would like, almost never after the act itself. But it was hard to give up the man's harder approach in bed and his overall sexiness. "You're really fucking hot, too."

"I know," Paul repeated Cole's joke back to him in perfect timing. "Am I hotter than your boyfriend?" he asked with a wink, then patted Cole's chest. "Sorry, that was my male competitiveness kicking in."

Cole nodded. He wasn't going to give Paul the satisfaction of an answer. Besides he didn't know how he would answer. John was sexy as fuck, too, and reminded Cole a lot of Paul in his stature, build, and appearance. "Maybe I shouldn't admit this but he works for the bureau, too."

"Yeah?" he smirked.

"Yeah," Cole nodded. He was glad to see Paul's laid back side. Maybe being married, the man wasn't bothered by hearing about another man. Lazily, the man's fingers caressed Cole's chest muscle. "John. A field agent," Cole said, opening up. He'd not been able to tell a single other soul about the most important development of his life over the last year. It turns out this DL hookup with a DC big shot gave him the only opportunity. He blushed as he added, "Funny thing is I don't even know his last name. He's super closeted. Always going on about how he's married to the Bureau and doesn't have time for anything else."

"Sounds like my brother Jo..." Paul stopped, his face growing beet red and his fingers pausing in their motion on Cole's naked body. "Jesus Christ, you're not fucking my brother are you?"

Cole was taken aback. The idea was crazy and yet once Paul said, he knew it was possible, even likely. The resemblance wasn't dead-on, but it wasn't far apart either. "I dunno," he stammered. "Fuck."

Paul got out of bed and Cole felt bad. Ashamed but also pissed. This guy was probably overreacting. There had to be a thousand Johns in the Bureau. But judging from the Head Honcho's reaction, Cole worried he'd fucked up a good thing.

Only Paul's expression wasn't anger as he walked back in. He had his phone in his hand. He slid back into bed and held it up. There was a photo of John already, probably taken a year ago at the beach, the agent in chino shorts and a casual polo, barefoot in the sand at sunset.

"Is that him?" Paul asked, like he was interrogating a suspect.

Cole nodded, tears welling at the edge of his eyes. "Sorry, Paul," he muttered. "Fuck, I didn't know."

Paul gave a grimace which was strangely comforting as he set down his phone. "I know you didn't, kiddo." He gave Cole a good look, like he was still trying to process things. "Confirmed bachelor, my ass," he laughed cynically.

"I don't know... he's kept things casual with us. Sometimes I think it's more a fuck buddy thing, you know?" Cole was trying to make it sound better, but the more he talked the more he realized it was sounding worse.

Paul had one last shake of the head. "Well, my brother had good fucking taste... I'll give him that." Then, "maybe you should go, OK?"

His tone was surprisingly empathetic, not mean. Cole could tell Paul was feeling concern that he'd encroached in onto his brother's guy and was processing the fact John was very probably full-on gay. And maybe the Head Honcho was worried how Cole was processing all this.

"Yeah," the ex-jock said, quickly gathering his clothes to put back on.

"Don't worry, kid," Paul said, leaning up in his bed, still naked and hunky looking. "This shit happens. Well, maybe not very often, but it's nothing to get freaked over."

"I'm OK," Cole said gamely. A million thoughts were racing in his mind but one worry in particular.

"But what?" Ricciairdi prompted, able to tell something was bugging the young guy.

"I shouldn't admit this," Cole said. "But I'm gonna miss the sex we've had."

Paul's brown eyes sought his and it was like their connection was a spark of energy. "Me, too, kid, me too."

Cole Walker thought about those words the whole walk back to his apartment.

[lonniemachin]

Omar reached out to me to help spread his fundraiser. He is a Palestinian in Rafah urgently trying to raise money for necessities of survival and to evacuate his 9-person family. He has only raised €4,893 out of his €50,000 goal so far! Please share and donate, and if you can't donate, please still share!

From Omar's GFM:

Hello, I am Mohammed, a Palestinian student in Germany, I am trying to forward the message of a good friend in Gaza, please support him !!!

Hello to everyone with humanity in this world. I'm speaking to you from Gaza, and I don't know if we will survive in the coming days from this death that draws nearer with each passing day. God spared me from the previous four wars on Gaza, but this war is entirely different. Perhaps in the coming days, I won't be among you anymore. Maybe death will take me as it took my friends and relatives from me.

I am Omar Hamad from Gaza Strip, Beit Hanoun city. I graduated from the College of Pharmacy in 2019. I worked hard in pharmacies and pharmaceutical companies to save up enough money to open my own pharmacy. Because I am very interested in the field of cosmetics and skincare, I didn't open a pharmacy. Instead, I opened my own skincare and hair care store, "Cosmatics," and it cost me around $45,000.

In the last few months before the war, I prepared my apartment and, literally, "poured my heart's blood" into furnishing it. It cost me a hefty amount, around $20,000, and I was ready to get married. But the war did not allow that. It did not grant us even a simple life, which is the right of every human in this world. This world has become desolate, where we see death every day and it cannot even save our children.

I belong to a beautiful, loving, and kind family. My father, mother, brothers Ahmed, Abdullah, Sameh, and Mohamed, and my sisters Faten, Ward, and Reem. My elder brother Ahmed is deaf and mute, suffering in the war from the intensity of the bombing and the concussion in his ear, where he never sleeps at night. My sisters Faten and Ward are also deaf and mute, and their suffering is more difficult because they are females and their physical structure is weaker, as those vibrations and concussions in their ears reverberate heavily. Meanwhile, my sister Reem's fiancé was killed in the war. She couldn't look at life with a hopeful gaze. Our sorrows could fill the whole world and overwhelm it. Oh God, why does all of this happen!

My mother also lost her three brothers, her mother, her brother's wife, and her brother's daughter during the war, all brutally killed. Despite all the sorrow that fills our hearts, we still have a positive outlook towards the future.

After being forced to evacuate from the northern Gaza Strip to its south, we went to the Palestinian Red Crescent in Khan Yunis. The bombing and scenes of killing and destruction were numerous. One day, while my friends and I were eating in our tent, the house next to us was bombed, and shrapnel fell into our food, miraculously sparing us. On another day, a group of people in the street next to us was bombed, and I saw before me 17 bodies, all torn apart, scattered flesh. I couldn't stand from the horror of the scene.

Then we moved to Rafah, on a barren sandy land, if found, on an area of 8 square meters. Twenty meters of expensive nylon and some ropes, that's how a scar is made on the ground bearing the name "tent," assigned to shelter an entire family that meets all its needs within its walls. Living inside it without a bathroom, without a kitchen, without flooring, without pillars, without covers, without warmth, without anything except a heavy heart, a wandering mind, an empty stomach, dense fog, and a very long night, accompanied by sadness, loss of loved ones, wind, rain, and bone-chilling cold. And thus, we await death.

We all need at least medical and psychological care to alleviate some of this pain, also due to the prevalence of diseases and the lack of clean drinking water and the scarcity of food.

We deserve a dignified life like any human in this world. We don't want to live just to survive; we don't want to live like animals only thinking about drinking and eating. We want to live with dignity, with freedom. I am full of hope and optimism that you will support us and help us. If you find that we deserve a better life, please help us in this campaign, which is $50,000.

• The permits and fees necessary to leave the Gaza Strip through the Egyptian Rafah are $5,000 per person (9 people, which is $45,000), in addition to $5,000 to secure the lives of 9 people for rent, buying clean clothes, and securing food and drink at least in the first few days.

Thank you very much for being interested in reading and hearing my story. You are not obliged to help, but we all hope that you will help us and that we will live a dignified life free from bombing, death, blood, and destruction, and also free from continuous hunger and thirst, a life full of cleanliness and hope.

Omar.

[lydiamartinappreciation]

Lydia Martin Appreciation Week is coming back!

How to Participate

Simply create something about Lydia. Fic, art, gifsets, moodboards etc are all welcome. If you want your work reblogged, simply tag it #LydiaWeek2024 or tag @lydiamartinappreciation. If you write fic on ao3, you can add it to the Lydia Martin Week 2024 collection.

All works must be Lydia-centric and Lydia-positive. A further list of rules can be found here.

Prompts

NOTE: These are just a guide. You can produce visual work for the writing prompts and you can produce written work for the visual prompts. You can combine prompts. You can choose not to use the prompts. All of this is just for fun.

Writing Prompts

Day 1: Lydia & Pack

Pack is at the forefront of Teen Wolf so it's time to focus on how Lydia fits in or stands out. This could end up being really introspective or it could end up being light and fluffy. The choice is always yours.

Day 2: Lydia & Trauma

Teen Wolf can get dark at times and there's no exception for Lydia. Whether it's being manipulated by Peter in season 1 or reliving her grandma's death in season 5, Lydia certainly has a lot to keep her up at night. How does she handle it?

Day 3: What-If Wednesday

It's What-If Wednesday! Here for all your missing scene, fix-it and alternate universe needs.

Day 4: Pre or Post Canon

What are the parts of Lydia's life that we don't get to see on the show? How did she and some of the pack members like Scott or Stiles first meet? What does she do after graduation? The possibilities are endless and anything goes!

Day 5: Rarepair Friday

Today we're focusing on rarepairs. This could be romantic, platonic, familiar etc. Any kind of bond works. We simply want to celebrate the less appreciated dynamics (or potential dynamics) of the show.

Day 6: Lydia & Mentors

This could be interpreted as Lydia being mentored by another character or it could be interpreted as Lydia acting as a mentor for another character. It's totally up to you!

Day 7: Free Day

Do whatever you want - Just have fun!

Visual Prompts

Day 1: Lydia & Pack

Pack is at the forefront of Teen Wolf so it's time to focus on how Lydia fits in or stands out. This could end up being really introspective or it could end up being light and fluffy. The choice is always yours.

Day 2: Lydia & Seasons

Do we mean seasons of the show or seasons like Spring or Summer? Either! It's totally up to you.

Day 3: What-If Wednesday

It's What-If Wednesday! Here for all your missing scene, fix-it and alternate universe needs.

Day 4: Favourite Lines

What are your favourite things Lydia has ever said? Or, if you'd prefer, what are your favourite things other characters have ever said about Lydia?

Day 5: Rarepair Friday

Today we're focusing on rarepairs. This could be romantic, platonic, familiar etc. Any kind of bond works. We simply want to celebrate the less appreciated dynamics (or potential dynamics) of the show.

Day 6: Lydia & Colours

You could choose to focus on one colour or a selection. It's really up to you.

Day 7: Free Day

Do whatever you want - Just have fun!

Alternate Prompts

1 - Lydia & Emotions: How does Lydia express her emotions? What emotions does she hide? Anything works.

2 - Inspired by a Song: Inspiration can mean different things to different people so put on a playlist and let your creative juices flow

3 - Lydia & Hobbies: When she's not fighting off supernatural threats, how does Lydia like to spend her time?

4 - Lydia & Fights: This could be a physical fight, a mental battle, or Lydia using her banshee powers against an enemy. Or, again, anything else you can think of.

[readbyred]

Hi :)

Heard you were accepting dps requests so what about a charlie fic

I feel like charlie is the type of person to flirt with everyone and ask anyone he finds attractive out except when it comes to the person he actually has feelings for so what about charlie x reader where reader has been waiting since before they graduated for him to ask her out and as soon as she decides to move on charlie gets all sad and jealous and confesses and yknow how it goes

Would love to see this in a fic ♡

Not a fic blog (maybe someday), but I can give you a headcanon (so, shorter and no dialogue) though… I did get a bit inspired, so its longer than my usual writing

I think as a teen he was the sort of person to try and prove he’s popular with people. It would feel bad to lump you in with that. Like, he actually liked you, so it's different. Not that he has no respect for people he flirts with, but he knows it isn't anything serious. He was just a teen guy trying to impress his friends and get the experience he was prevented from getting (with his strict school and all). Especially with his position in the friend group and all.

Still, he hoped to have something serious with you one day. One day when he gets the courage, when he feels like it will work out and he won't jeopardize the whole friend group because of his crush.

But that day didn't come when he was at Welton. Then he had other things to worry about, considering his departure from the school. It was a hard time for everybody. But no matter the odds the poets kept in touch, as much as they could. And that included you.

Only, as years passed you started losing hope. I mean, if he wanted to he would, right? It felt so helplessly pathetic to be waiting for Charlie when it seemed that he had never and will never return your feelings.

When you were younger, it felt like the end of the world. Like you were destined to be alone. Oh, how many nights you’ve spent with Knox, wallowing in self-pity after Chris left him. Just sitting there with your buddy, talking about how you should go to a monastery. Not out of a spiritual need, but because there would be no one ever to love you. Guess you were a bit dramatic back then. It took Pitts many tries to smack some sense into you but you matured eventually.

When college approached, you were ready to meet new people. Although you weren't in the same school together anymore, you made a promise with the poets to keep seeing each other regularly.

Meanwhile, you met Mark. A true romantic soul with quite a witty humour. And Jack who would always treat you so sweetly and had the same interests as you. And Adam who walked you to the dorms every day. And Matt who had so much passion for life. You opened yourself up to people. Started meeting up with others.

Suddenly, you’d bring up your dates every meeting. Not to rub it in, just to recall funny moments. Like when a rainstorm caught you and Jack in the middle of a walk and you raced to the dorms. Or how you and Adam got lost in the park at night because neither of you lived in that city before. Knox would encourage you to spill every detail.

Surprisingly, the more you talked about your love life, the less you heard Charlie talk about his. By winter break you haven't heard him talk about any girl in weeks. At first you didn't notice. Then you figured that maybe he just fell for someone who wasn't as easy to charm so he didn't have anything to brag about yet.

The thought of him being so head over hills for this unnamed person made something inside you feel empty. You knew the feeling well from high school and you detested yourself for still having those sorts of thoughts and feelings. But you decided to let it all fizzle out.

You had better things to think about too. There was a ball coming around. Some fancy tradition at your university. Before you knew it, you had quite a few invitations. The sweetest one was from Jack.

He told you to close your eyes and open your palm. Then, he handed you a handcrafted note asking if you'd like to go with him. Later that day you found another one in your pocket (so that's why he told you to close your eyes) telling you he’s grateful to have you in his life. It was perfect. And officially approved by Knox Overstreet!

When you recounted the story, the guys were pretty happy for you. Before anyone could get a word in, Charlie suddenly asked if you were planning to go with Jack. Sincerely, you affirmed. Why not? He was the sweetest guy and you certainly were done moping around. I mean, you knew that Charlie wasn't going to change his mind so you could as well see if you end up liking someone else.

To your surprise, Charlie wasn't as ecstatic as the rest of the poets. He was rather skeptical and even a bit snarky. Commenting on the guy and just being so… weird about it. It angered you to no end because softly rejecting you is one thing. But trying to get in the way of you moving on? That didn't sit right with you. But your drama queen days were over, so you didn't walk off or anything. Just huffed and looked for a way to change the topic.

At the same time Charlie was thinking. Before college it was easy to reassure himself that he had all the time he wanted to make you his. And all the time he wanted to decide if he would do that at all. Everything was easier back when you didn't talk about any guys. Ever. Now he felt like he had to do something. Damn the risk of ruining the friend group. Damn the fear of rejection. And damn Knox for encouraging this mess.

The last thing you expected was for Charlie to get up suddenly. The poets all looked at him confused. When he stood up, his eyes met yours and he asked you to talk with him outside. Honest to Gods, you had no idea what that was about. But he was being dramatic (more so than usual) and something about the determination in his eyes told you to follow your friend outside. It was snowing and only buildings around you somewhat shielded you from the cold wind.

Charlie didn't waste time choosing words. For the first time when talking to a girl, he was completely raw. Just as it hit him, he blurted out his confession. No overplayed charm. No smirks and winks and cheap tricks. Just him. Charlie Dalton telling you that he likes you. That he had liked you for some time. That you should just, please, think about it.

As the last word fell from his mouth, a heavy silence fell between you. Silence colder than the wind and the snow. But Charlie stood there, undeterred, waiting to see the answer in your eyes. Even at his most frantic, he was confident. He understood that he did what he did, what it meant, and that he grasped this last chance by a miracle. There was no turning back now.

Your response first came muffled, as if the falling snowflakes were absorbing your voice. But finally, you confessed. Not without telling him, how long he made you wait. And how stupid he was acting, if he really just ignored his feelings for this long.

Your talk was tender, full of relief. But, as it happens with Charlie, as soon as the talk of real feelings was out of the way, he dragged you back inside, to announce your happy ending.

You couldn't believe he wanted to brag to your friends at a moment like this. But you just stood there, watching him with a smile. Some things never changed. Charlie certainly didn't. And you wouldn't have it any other way

[celepom]

For Transgender Day of Visibility, here’s several books about Gender that I haven’t recommended before (I Think)!

Fine: A Comic About Gender

By Rhea Ewing

As graphic artist Rhea Ewing neared college graduation in 2012, they became consumed by the question: What is gender? This obsession sparked a quest in which they eagerly approached both friends and strangers in their quiet Midwest town for interviews to turn into comics. A decade later, this project exploded into a sweeping portrait of the intricacies of gender expression with interviewees from all over the country. Questions such as “How do you Identify” produced fiercely honest stories of dealing with adolescence, taking hormones, changing pronouns—and how these experiences can differ, often drastically, depending on culture, race, and religion. Amidst beautifully rendered scenes emerges Ewing’s own story of growing up in rural Kentucky, grappling with their identity as a teenager, and ultimately finding themself through art—and by creating something this very fine. Tender and wise, inclusive and inviting, Fine is an indispensable account for anyone eager to define gender in their own terms. 

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star 

By Jadzia Axelrod & Jess Taylor (Illustrator)

It takes strength to live as your true self, and one alien princess disguised as a human boy is about to test her power. A vibrant story about gender identity, romance, and shining as bright as the stars. Taylor Barzelay has the perfect life. Good looks, good grades, a starting position on the basketball team, a loving family, even an adorable corgi. Every day in Taylor’s life is perfect. And every day is torture. Taylor is actually the Galaxy Crowned, an alien princess from the planet Cyandii, and one of the few survivors of an intergalactic war. For six long, painful years, Taylor has accepted her duty to remain in hiding as a boy on Earth. That all changes when Taylor meets Metropolis girl Katherine “call me Kat” Silverberg, whose confidence is electrifying. Suddenly, Taylor no longer wants to hide, even if exposing her true identity could attract her greatest enemies. From the charming and brilliant mind behind the popular podcast The Voice of Free Planet X, Jadzia Axelrod, and with stunningly colorful artwork by Jess Taylor comes the story of a girl in hiding who must face her fears to see herself as others see her: the prettiest star.

To Strip the Flesh

By Oto Toda

A moving collection of six short stories that explores what must be stripped away to find the truth and celebrates the beauty of embracing who you are. Chiaki Ogawa has never doubted that he is a boy, although the rest of the world has not been as kind. Bound by his mother’s dying wish, Chiaki tries to be a good daughter to his ailing father. When the burden becomes too great, Chiaki sets out to remake himself in his own image and discovers more than just personal freedom with his transition—he finds understanding from the people who matter most.

Sir Callie and the Champions of Helston 

By Esme Symes-Smith

In a magical medieval world filled with dragons, shape-shifters, and witches, a twelve-year-old hero will search for their place as an impending war threatens. A thrilling middle-grade series opener that stars a nonbinary tween and explores identity and gender amid sword fights. My name is Callie, and I'm not a girl. I am here as Papa's squire, and I want to train as a knight. In a world where girls learn magic and boys train as knights, twelve-year-old nonbinary Callie doesn't fit in anywhere. And you know what? That's just fine. Callie has always known exactly what they want to be, and they're not about to let a silly thing like gender rules stand in their way. When their ex-hero dad is summoned back to the royal capital of Helston to train a hopeless crown prince as war looms, Callie lunges at the opportunity to finally prove themself worthy to Helston's great and powerful. Except the intolerant great and powerful look at Callie and only see girl. Trapped in Helston's rigid hierarchy, Callie discovers they aren't alone--there's Elowen, the chancellor's brilliant daughter, whose unparalleled power is being stifled; Edwyn, Elowen's twin brother, locked in a desperate fight to win his father's approval; and Willow, the crown prince who was never meant to be king. In this start to an epic series packed with action, humor, and heart, Callie and their new friends quickly find themselves embedded in an ancient war--the only hope to defeat the dragons and witches outside the kingdom lies in first defeating the bigotry within.

I Think I Turned My Childhood Friend Into a Girl 

By Azusa Banjo

It's a familiar story: a popular high school student gives their plain friend a makeover and transforms their life. But this time, the path to a new life isn't quite so straight and narrow. Kenshirou Midou has loved cosmetics all his life, keeping his obsession secret from almost everyone except for his childhood friend Hiura Mihate. One day, Kenshirou gets permission to practice applying makeup on Hiura, and the results are earth-shattering: Hiura's appearance transforms from a plain, undersized boy to a pretty, petite girl, and Kenshirou discovers just how freeing it is to apply his passion! Yet he's not the only one who finds the process liberating. Hiura likes the makeup, and the subsequent dress-up in feminine clothes, and decides to start wearing the girls' uniform to school. Kenshirou doesn't understand if he's unlocked something in Hiura, or if he's simply seeing a new side to his childhood buddy that he never noticed before. What are these feelings bubbling between them now--is this attraction truly new?

My Androgynous Boyfriend 

By Tamekou Wako and her androgynous boyfriend don't exactly have the most traditional of relationships. She spends her days working hard in the world of publishing, while he spends his time obsessing over fashion and makeup--all with the goal of making himself beautiful just for her. This romantic slice-of-life story is about love, relationships, and breaking with tradition!

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

i know theres no indication in canon of this probably bc JKR didnt think of it, but do you think Tom wouldve applied for a Time-Turner in his time at Hogwarts? i imagine if hes such a teachers pet Slughorn and Dippet would be a-ok with approving it

Anon, you're hilarious, because there's a key difference between Hermione and Tom here.

First, while McGonagall was her head of house and approved, she was not only head of her house but deputy headmistress. Tom here, while Slughorn adores him (depending of course when this takes place), and Dippet seems to like him (we actually never see much indication that Dippet thought about Tom much if at all), the problem is Tom has to get through Dumbledore as deputy headmaster and that ain't never happening.

Remember that canonically we have Dumbledore do things like:

Prevent Tom from staying over the summer even though his home is being bombed and all children have been evacuated with a "so sorry, Tom, no exceptions"

Actively petition Dippet against hiring Tom for the DADA position when Tom graduates

Even if Dumbledore wasn't involved in this decision process, he would absolutely petition Dippet and say "no no no".

Tom would never get that time machine.

[stupidfreakingthoughts]

Thinking about teacher Steve Harrington. Because there is no way in hell Steve wouldn’t go into some type of career working with kids. He was too good at it, he loved it, loved having kids that he could take care of and provide support too in case their childhoods are anything like his was. because if there is any chance of Steve preventing another King of Hawkins High, he’ll take it.

Steve struggled with finding a career. He stayed at his job at Family Video working with Robin until she and the older group graduated and Nancy left to go to some fancy college away from all her trauma. Eddie, Robin and Jonathan went to a community college because that’s all they could afford and Steve was still stuck at his Family Video job. He decided to apply at the same college they all went to for the next fall, doing a two-year degree like the rest of them (except Nancy, she was taking a four-year english degree so that she could take her journalism career further).

After those two years, Eddie’s band got bigger and bigger until it could become his full time job. Corroded Coffin became one of the top metal bands in the world, touring and selling out venues. Meanwhile, Steve and Robin decided to go into the same career path, because they both loved their kids and they had never not worked together, it just felt right.

Steve wanted to work in a middle school, so that he could hopefully help kids out, stop them from becoming bullies like he was. He got a position as the Hawkins Middle Gym Coach, and Robin was the Drama teacher. Steve knew that not everyone was like him in middle school, plenty of people hated exercise and being active. He tried to make the class as fun as possible, playing fun games and not forcing anyone to do anything. Plus, there was always music playing in his class.

His students very quickly picked up on his love for the up and coming band, Corroded Coffin. Of course, they didn’t realize that he was the subject of most of their songs, whether they were sappy love songs (though still metal, of course) or some of CCs more obscure songs, the ones about bats and other dimensions that none of the public understood. His class just knew that whenever they were running laps, they were usually running along to the awesome guitar riffs and drum solos of Corroded Coffins music. They didn’t get why Mr. Harrington, the former basketball captain who was always in his sportswear or jerseys from different teams, liked this punk, metal band that just seemed completely out of his preferred genre of music.

But when they find out who Mr Harringtons husband is, it all starts to make sense.

[miheartsedthings]

good morning, with billy !

Lovely ~ @billysbot

Thanks for being patient while I worked on this. It's kinda angsty, but ends on fluff. Hope you like it!

Words: ~ 3,000

SFW Billy x Reader

Summary: Billy moves back to California with scars and unfinished business with you. He shows up to a party you're throwing. As usual, the two of you are the last ones awake, and it's finally time to settle your childhood beef.

Warnings: Aggressive behavior, angst, Mind Flayer, fluff

Billy’s been home a few months already. He has a job at his buddy’s surf shop and an apartment Susan insisted on putting him up in. What he doesn't have is the nerve to call you. The events at Star Court left him changed, and as he sat in the hospital through graduation, he couldn’t stop thinking about the road that had led him there. All the anger and resentment he’d brought with him to Hawkins, all the ways those negative emotions had torn through him, bringing out the very worst. Sure, some of it had been that monster, but there was plenty of darkness for it to feed on. Wrath he’d cultivated and thrived on. The Flayer had only taken advantage, turned it on him so he could feel it just as harshly as he inflicted it on others.

Steve, Nancy, and the kids all regarded him differently. With reverence and a little weariness. They had never trusted him, and now they never would. The only exception to this was Max. After the Mind Flayer was gone, she treated Billy like a brother, and in his injured state, he was in no position to refuse it. She visited him in the hospital, with food, and mixtapes she'd made of new songs coming out. He was grateful for her, happy the rest of them were alive. But he needed to get away. 

Hawkins was a different place in the wake of that nightmare. Every shadow filled with movement, every sound insidious. Even the buildings themselves were strange. Besides, he was shaken, and there was no more energy for keg stands and ripping around town in the Camaro. He needed to rest in a place that felt safe. To rediscover the person he’d been before Hawkins, before his mom’s desertion. He needed to go home.  

As soon as he was well enough, he packed up the Camaro and took off, bound for California. Max refused to cry but he could tell she was sad. It was wild for Billy to think his little brat of a step-sister would miss him. Back in Cali, the scenery was brighter, but Billy was flooded with memories of his childhood; days that were full to the brim with you. 

The two of you met as kids, taking swimming lessons at the local pool. You were partnered up one day and from then on you were inseparable. You went to different schools, which didn't stop you from meeting every weekend to go swimming or hit the arcade or the movie theater. You spent Summer days riding your bikes around town trying to find trouble. He was the person you'd talk to when you fought with your girlfriends. Your house was where he ran when things got hard with his dad. You were best friends until the day his mom disappeared. 

It was your junior year of high school. You'd watched each other change and grown attached to each other's company. Even though you'd both dated and cared for other people, you'd never felt for anyone else the way you felt about each other. The line between friendship and love was so thin the slightest pressure could’ve broken it. You thought you’d have the courage to confess your feelings that summer before senior year. Then, one day, he didn't wanna talk to you anymore.

“Are you kidding?” 

You sat there on your bike, watching him flick a lighter over and over just to see the flame spring to life before letting it extinguish. All you knew was that his mom was gone, not how, or when or why. 

“You're really not gonna tell me what happened?”

He sat on his porch steps, his face etched into a frown. He was acting tough but you could tell he'd been crying. When his eyes lifted to yours you expected they would soften like usual, but he glared at you. 

“Hello?” You called. 

He looked away. That's when you hopped off your bike, letting it fall in the grass, and snatched for the lighter. He shoved you away. You landed hard on your wrist, an instant burst of pain making you cry out. Usually when you horsed around and one of you got hurt, the other would snap out of it. Apologize. He just stood there on the porch steps, glaring down at you. 

“Don't act like you care.” He sneered.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He turned to walk inside and something desperate let loose inside you. The need to reverse whatever was happening by whatever means necessary. 

“William.”

He stopped in his tracks. 

Slowly, he turned, his eyes full of ice. For a moment you thought good, I have his attention. Then, he came down the steps and grabbed you by your injured wrist, yanking you to your feet. It didn't seem to matter that he was hurting you. He got in your face, glaring with such coldness. 

“Don't you ever. EVER fucking call me that.” 

His eyes were stone, his lips pinched into a tight line, and for the first time in your life, you were afraid of him. You felt yourself shrinking away, and when he let you go you stumbled back, tripped over your bike, and landed hard on the sidewalk. 

The boy you'd grown up with was gone, and in his place was someone too full of anger to get close to. He was a burning sun. 

The two of you stopped speaking. 

A couple of weeks later you heard a rumor he was moving, and then he was gone. 

Billy has looked back on the day he pushed you so many times. Every time he remembers the look on your face, all that pain and confusion, it fills him with regret. He wanted more than anything to call you and apologize, but every time he picked up the phone he found himself frozen, just staring at it. What would he say? How could he explain? In the end, he heard from one of his old buddies that you were throwing a party, and he resolved to be there. He'd say what he needed to say. One way or another. 

“Happy Youcla?”

Piper makes a face looking at the banner Tracy made, and Tracy makes a face back. 

“You-C-LA. It's like, an acronym. For UCLA?” 

“Okay. Why?” Piper asks. 

“It's fine,” you interject before the two can start fighting again, “It's cute. It's unique, Trac, I love it.” 

Your friend group is…eclectic, and only on special occasions do they tolerate each other for your benefit. Your college going-away party is just the thing to bring them all together for one night. Which didn't stop it from being nerve-wracking. The house is yours for one more weekend, your parents away on a strategically planned vacation, giving you space for one final iconic L/N bash. Your friends have pulled out all the stops, decorating, sourcing booze and grass, one of them even offering to DJ. 

The party is going well, friends from high school plus some people you’ve never even met crowd into the house, sitting along the stairs and standing in the halls. Filling the house with noise and laughter. You quickly get lost in it, drinking and dancing. Your head is empty until Billy walks in. 

He takes you completely by surprise. You recognize his face, of course (who could forget that face?) but the rest of him is a shock. Growing up, both of you were a couple of dorks. Your mothers dressed the two of you in corduroy and plaid. Matching Mickey Mouse sweatshirts. Now he's wearing denim and leather, putting a cigarette out in an abandoned solo cup. His chest is clearly bulky under his red button-up, and he saunters through the foyer with an undeniable magnetism that draws dozens of eyes. 

He's fucking hot.

His eyes scan the crowd, and then he sees you. He pauses mid-stride and stares at you for a long moment, a little smirk curling his lips. You turn away, your whole body flushing hot. God damn. Your childhood bestie is a certified smokin'-hot baddie. When you glance back he's flanked by a few of your friends who didn't grow up around here. He gives them well-meaning smiles, but his eyes come back to yours, making you look away again. 

Fuck.

You thought you'd be ready when B-boy came back, but you can hardly stand his gaze. You didn't expect he'd be this fuckin fine. You’d always found him cute, but it was nothing like this! Now, he's being mobbed by girls the second he enters a party. You find yourself wondering how you look compared to your old self. Billy used to tease you about your looks, and now here he is. You move around the corner into the living room, taking another long drink to take your mind off things. 

“Is that who I think it is?” Piper says, coming into the living room with you. “Is that B-boy Hargrove?”

You make a weak, anxious noise and drain your cup, your body buzzing. 

“Holy shit.” Piper continues “He’s a fuckin smoke show.”

You have to buy yourself time to figure out how to talk to him without losing your mind. What on Earth would you even say? You spend the night dodging him. Luckily, everyone's eager for his ear and keep flocking to him, flooding him with questions. You’re sure he hates it, the smell of desperation always annoyed him, but you aren’t ready. Your wrist had been sprained that day and ever since it tends to ache when you’re upset, as you are now. Your heart is thumping out of your chest, and old bitterness is filling your throat. 

At some point, you're heading into the garage for more beer, and just as you're opening the extra fridge the door to the house opens and there he is. Billy stands there looking you up and down. Your body is warm and you're full of nerves. 

“Hey.” You manage. You clear your throat and grab the six pack you'd come for. “I don't know why everyone insists on these being ice cold.” You say, at a loss for words. At least, words that make any sense. “I mean, of course, you don't want warm beer but it gives you a damn brain freeze sometimes.” 

He's standing there stone-faced, looking at you so seriously you wonder if he's come with bad news. 

“We should talk.”

Your breath catches in your lungs, staying there for a moment. 

“About what?” You shrug, panicking. 

Of all the ways you thought you'd react to Billy coming home, you didn't think it'd be like this. At the moment, all you want is to scramble away from him. Escape the tangle of emotions welling up inside you. The anger you thought you’d let go of, and the sadness underneath it. He’d thrown you away. There's so much you wanna say to him. Too much.

“Ya know, we were kids, B. It's whatever. I gotta get this beer inside, though.” 

You approach him, hoping he'll move, and when he doesn't you're forced to confront the reality of how he looks. He’s fucking beautiful, and he’s looking at you like he wants to say something. You're right in front of him and memories are flooding you, rushing around in a whirlpool. 

The time the two of you hid in the mall until it closed, or hacked one of the PAC Man games at the arcade and used the bounty of quarters to go hog wild in the candy store. The night you had your first kiss stolen by some jerk at summer camp and Billy kept ranting about finding the guy and beating him up for you. 

His desire to defend you had put you at ease. 

“You're a babe now, but you're still a chicken.” He says with a smirk. 

“You're one to talk.” 

You brush past him, successfully avoiding him for the rest of the night. 

The house is quiet and littered with abandoned cups. Here and there things are where they shouldn’t be; a throw pillow on the stairs, a desk lamp in the bathroom. It’s so close to sunrise and you’re so tired, but you can’t sleep. You can never sleep after a party. So you go downstairs, finally leaving your room where you’d been hiding out (crying), and make your way to the living room. Someone left the TV on, and Singin' in the Rain is playing at a low volume. Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds, and Donald O’Connor are tapping through the opening number. You pull a throw blanket from the floor and wrap it around yourself. Just as you’re getting comfortable on the couch, you hear rustling in the kitchen. Billy emerges with a coffee mug. 

You both pause, and he leans against the archway, looking as comfortable as ever. Like he belongs there in your home.

“Can’t sleep.” he says.

You're too tired to scurry away and let him sit beside you.

“Since when do you drink coffee?”

“They gave it to me all the time at the hospital.” 

This gets your attention.

“You got hurt?”

“It's a long story.” 

The two of you sit side by side, falling into a comfortable silence. His presence beside you is warm and familiar. 

“You’re different.” he says. 

“Yeah well, so are you. Ladies man now.”

He smirks a real cocky little grin that doesn’t last. It melts away while he’s looking into the mug, and it's replaced with a forlorn expression. He’s nervous. You can always tell when he’s nervous.

“For a while, I thought I’d never see you again," you say. 

His grip tightens around the cup. It’s the novelty mug you got from Virginia Beach the summer you turned 12. A vacation you'd shared with Billy and his parents. 

“How was Indiana, anyway?”

He groans, leaning back against the couch. 

“A fuckin nightmare. And I mean that in so many ways, when I tell you about all the shit…” 

He looks at you, his eyes groggy from alcohol and lack of sleep. 

“It was like that time I got stuck in the Devil's Mansion at the county fair.”

You nod at the memory.

“I remember. You freaked out, and started breaking all the puppets.” 

His eyes are clouded with memories, and the kind of fear you haven’t seen in him in a long time. He’s come home haunted. Injured. Your heart beats hard in your chest. 

“There's so much I wanna tell you.” he says. 

“Just start by saying you're sorry.”

His blue eyes are the ones you recognize. 

“I am, Y/n. I think about that day all the time.” 

You look at him and see the boy you grew up with. 

“What happened?” 

He sighs, taking a beat to reach that tender place he hides away. It's hard for him, even with you. 

“She left. She just left that morning and she didn't say shit to me.” 

Your eyes tear up as he lets this out, replaying the day he’d hurt you. 

“But that didn't mean I had to take it out on you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay. 

“It kinda…you kinda fucked me up that day..."

Your voice is strained, feather fragile. He sets down the coffee and turns his body to face you, pulling his leg up on the couch so there’s only a small wedge of space between yourself and his lap. His face is tight, and he runs his hands into his hair the way he does when he's frustrated. 

“I know, I'm- I'm fuckin sorry, I…I've been thinking about all this shit lately. I've hurt a lot of people, and it all started that day. You were the first person and you didn't deserve it.” 

You can't help it anymore, you're swelled with emotions and the tears start coming. You wipe them on your sleeve. He looks so sad to see you cry, his face growing red. 

“Ya know,” you begin “My biggest fear for a while was that you'd never apologize, and we'd never go surfing on Lizard Island.” 

He laughed. It filled him with so much relief that you were the same sentimental weirdo he'd left over a year ago. 

“You forgive me?” He asked. 

Outside, the first rays of sunlight were peeking through, and on the screen, the trio tapped across a grand foyer singing ‘Good mornin’, good mooornin’!’ 

“Yeah, B,” you manage, your voice breaking “I forgave you a long time ago.” 

He smiles, and in the light of morning, it’s the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You can't stand it anymore, you lean over and kiss him and he pulls you into his arms, your body falling into his warm lap. He kisses you deeply, taking your lips and tongue in a greedy show of affection. 

The sweetest ‘Good Morning’ you’ve ever known. 

 

Thanks for the request! ~